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AN EVERYDAY GIRL
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BOOKS BY
AMY E. BLANCHARD
IN THE GIRLS’ BOOKSHELF
A GIRL OF ’76. A Story of the Early Period of the War for
Independence. 331 pages.
ELIZABETH, BETSY AND BESS. A Story. 284 pages.
ELIZABETH, BETSY AND BESS—SCHOOLMATES. A Story. 308 pages.
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS OF BRIGHTWOOD. A Story of How They Kindled
Their Fire and Kept It Burning. 309 pages.
FAGOTS AND FLAMES. A Story of Winter Camp Fires. 306 pages.
IN CAMP WITH THE MUSKODAY CAMP FIRE GIRLS. A Story of Summer
Camp Fires by Cabin and Lake. 310 pages.
A GIRL SCOUT OF RED ROSE TROOP. A Story for Girl Scouts. 320
pages.
A LITTLE MAID OF PICARDY. Story of a Little Refugee in France.
338 pages.
LUCKY PENNY OF THISTLE TROOP. A Girl Scout Story. 320 pages.
FROM TENDERFOOT TO GOLDEN EAGLET. A Girl Scout Story. 317
pages.
Each illustrated by Colored Frontispiece and with Colored
Jacket. Cloth Bound.
Also Books in the AMERICAN GIRL SERIES.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
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An Everyday Girl
A STORY
By AMY E. BLANCHARD
ILLUSTRATED BY
FRANK T. MERRILL
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
BOSTON CHICAGO
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyrighted, 1924,
By W. A. Wilde Company
All rights reserved
An Everyday Girl
Made in the U. S. A.
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CONTENTS
I. A Family Discussion
II. Ellen Begins to be Useful
III. Violins and Doves
IV. Callers
V. School Days
VI. A Birthday Party
VII. Getting Out of Difficulties
VIII. Once More
IX. Studio Doings
X. Bright Days and Dark Ones
XI. The Violin
XII. A Dull Winter
XIII. A Spring Visitor
XIV. Where the Summer Was Spent
XV. The Haunted House
XVI. The Bridge
XVII. An Unexpected Meeting
XVIII. A Night of Adventure
XIX. An Inheritance
XX. Fiddle and I
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An Everyday Girl
CHAPTER I
A FAMILY DISCUSSION
Ellen settled herself on the most uncomfortable chair in the room for
the simple reason that it was the only one left her, the others being
occupied by her elders, relatives of various sorts. She pulled down her
skimpy black skirt over the length of rusty-looking stockings which
covered her long legs, and gave herself up to a survey of the articles
in the room. There were so many little gimcracks that Ellen considered
she could entertain herself by looking at them while the others talked
and talked. She was not interested in the conversation at first, but
suddenly she withdrew her gaze from a group of wax flowers and fruit
under glass, and sat up very straight. They were talking about her!
“Being a bachelor whose housekeeper would leave if a child were foisted
upon her care, I couldn’t consider taking her, housekeepers not growing
upon every bush these days,” said Mr. Josiah Crump, a bald-headed
pot-bellied old gentleman.
Ellen pictured a bush with housekeepers dangling from it, and wondered
what such might be called.
But this fancy left her when Mr. Crump continued, “I always liked
Rosanne and haven’t a thing against her daughter, but I never cared much
for that artist husband.”
“Gerald North was a dear, a perfect dear,” spoke up pretty Mrs. Lauretta
Barton; “I always liked him and so did Bobby.”
“No business sense; impractical,” Mr. Crump differed with her. “No man
has any right to go off to war and get killed, leaving his family
unprovided for; it makes it very awkward for them, and furnishes an
unpleasant subject for the relatives to contemplate. I don’t believe in
having unpleasant subjects brought up when they might be avoided.”
“I don’t like unpleasant subjects myself,” sighed Mrs. Barton, “but they
have to be faced when they are thrust upon you. I wish I could advise,
or, indeed, assume the responsibility of the child myself, but in my
delicate state of health it would be impossible; it would be entirely
too great a task.”
“Delicate fiddlesticks!” broke in Miss Orinda Crump. “What you need,
Lauretta, is some vital interest to take you out of yourself.”
“If only Bobby were living,” murmured Mrs. Barton.
“Which he isn’t,” pursued Miss Orinda, “and it doesn’t do you any good
to brood over your loss, or to magnify every little ache and pain;
you’ll end in a sanitarium.”
“But I do suffer; you don’t know,” complained Mrs. Barton plaintively.
“From lack of exercise, rich food, and nothing to think of but your own
self,” continued Miss Orinda. “If you had to hustle for your bread and
butter, and turned your thoughts out instead of in, you’d find life more
interesting; but when your hardest exercise is cutting off coupons, and
your chief interest is in germs, vitamines, and X-rays, what can you
expect? As I see it, it’s up to you to adopt Ellen. Don’t you think so,
Uncle Jo?”
“H’m, well, each must be his own judge in such matters,” replied Mr.
Crump, leaning back in his chair and placing the tips of his fingers
together. “I believe in freedom of thought, in——”
“Oh, do shut up, Jo,” said his sister, Mrs. Ed. Shirley, a stout,
comfortable, well-dressed woman. “Once you get off on one of your
harangues there will be no stopping you. Of course every one knows that,
with my big family, I couldn’t be expected to take the girl. It is as
much as I can do to manage my own brood, so count me out, Orinda.”
“I don’t see why you all constitute me chairman of this meeting,”
retorted Miss Orinda. “If age has any prerogative, it isn’t up to me to
preside.”
“Well, it’s your house, and you got us here,” returned Mrs. Shirley.
“To read you the letters from Dr. Markham and Mr. Barstow, that you
might understand how imperative it is that Ellen should be provided for
at once. You all have your own cars, so it was no effort for you to get
here.”
“What is the matter with her Uncle Leonard? Why isn’t he here? He is
nearer of kin than we are, and has no children,” Mrs. Shirley went on.
“He has sea duty for two years, and I don’t know where he is.”
“Well, there’s his wife.”
“She is with her people in California. She will stay till he gets back,
and anyway——”
“Where are her father’s people? Why don’t they come forward?” Mr. Crump
again came into the conversation.
“His parents are dead, and he was an only child. If he had any near
relatives, we do not know where they are.”
“Humph! I understand. Well, as far as I can see we’d better put the
girl in some good institution; there are plenty of them. What with taxes
and the high cost of living it isn’t up to any of us to increase our
expenses.”
Ellen smothered a little cry of dismay and clenched her hands. An
institution! She choked back her tears. She must be brave. She must not
let them see.
There was a moment’s complete silence. Mr. Crump sat with his hands
clasped over his ample front, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and an
expression which said, “The oracle has spoken.” Mrs. Shirley looked
across with a satisfied smile at Mrs. Barton, who lifted her hands and
let them fall helplessly into her lap, intimating that there was nothing
further to be said. Miss Orinda alone looked at Ellen, who sat with
downcast eyes, clenched hands, and a heaving breast.
It was but for a moment that Miss Orinda regarded the girl; then she
sprang to her feet. “Rosanne’s child shall not go to an institution!”
she cried. “Take off your things, Ellen. You are going to live with me,
and pray Heaven you will make a capable, useful woman.”
Ellen’s mute misery changed to an expression of intense relief. “Oh!”
she breathed tremblingly.
“Well, that’s good of you, Rindy,” declared Mr. Crump, rising from his
chair, “though, after all, you are the best fixed to give the girl a
home. You live alone, own your own house, have a garden, and in this
little place living can’t be as high as in the city.”
Orinda tossed her head and looked at him scornfully from under
half-closed eyelids. She gave a little bitter laugh. “Of course,” she
replied.
“Well, Susan,” said Mr. Crump, turning to his sister, “we may as well be
getting on; it’s right smart of a ride, you know. Good luck to you,
Rindy. Good-by, little girl. You’ve got a good home, and I hope you’ll
appreciate it.”
Ellen answered never a word, but stood in silence till all went out,
Mrs. Barton drawing her handsome furs about her as she entered her
shining car. She nodded and smiled her farewells as the car bowled off,
following the less elegant one of Mr. Crump. Miss Orinda did not stop to
watch them out of sight, but shut the door hard, came back into the
parlor, and stood for a moment in front of the Latrobe stove which
heated the greater part of the small house.
“Well, that’s that,” she said at last. “If any one had told me this
morning—— But, never mind. Maybe I’m a fool, but I’d rather be some
kinds of a fool than a hide-bound, self-indulgent, cold-blooded
skinflint. I rather imagine there have been worse fools in this room
lately than I am. Come here, Ellen, and let’s take stock of each other,
since we’re to be housemates.”
Ellen came readily. Miss Orinda held her off at arm’s length and
regarded her steadily. “You’re not much like the Crumps,” she said
presently. “You get your hazel eyes from your mother, but your nose and
mouth from the Norths. It’s just as well, for the Crumps aren’t much for
looks usually.”
“Uncle Josiah isn’t,” said Ellen in a decided voice.
Miss Orinda smiled. “No, he’d never take a beauty prize, neither would
Susan. Lauretta wasn’t a particularly pretty girl; she grew up to her
looks somehow; and you may, too, for you haven’t a bad beginning, though
no one could call you a prize beauty either. Lauretta is about my age, a
little older in fact, but doesn’t look it. If I gaumed up my skin with
creams and clays, and was forever fiddling with my hair, maybe I’d look
younger, but life’s too short for me to spend it messing with my old
carcass, and I haven’t an eye out for the men, so there you are.”
While she was speaking Ellen was taking in her own impressions. She
didn’t guess her cousin’s age; she was about forty-five, but looked
older, for she used no devices for increasing her charms. She wore her
dark hair straight back from her forehead, which was too high for
beauty; she had somewhat small, but clear, frank gray eyes, a large
nose, a straight, thin-lipped mouth, long upper lip, decided chin, was
of medium height, slender, and straight. Her good points were her
finely-shaped head, well set, her figure, her perfect teeth, and clear,
unblemished skin. Ellen had seen the gray eyes snap and the lips
compress into a hard, decided line, and concluded that some might not
find it easy to get along with Cousin Orinda Crump.
But then she had delivered her from that terror which had
threatened,—life in a charitable institution. Tears gushed to Ellen’s
eyes as she thought of this, for she was an emotional, sensitive little
body. She gave a short gasping sob. “I want to kiss you,” she faltered.
Miss Orinda patted her on the shoulder. “There, there, child,” she
soothed, as Ellen put her arms around this deliverer from an unhappy
fate. “I’m not much of a hugger, not having had anything but a cat to
hug for a good many years, but if it would do you any good to kiss me,
go ahead and do it, only it isn’t to become a daily habit, I warn you.
We’ll get along all right if you’re a good child. You’ll turn out to be
a real smart girl, I have no doubt, but I must warn you right this
minute that you can’t expect either fine clothes or luxuries from me. We
shall manage to get along somehow, I dare say, but I shall expect you to
do your part.”
“Oh, I will, I will, Cousin Orinda,” promised Ellen after giving the
other a much less ardent kiss than she desired to bestow.
“Everybody in this town calls me Rindy Crump, and maybe you’d better
call me Cousin Rindy. What name did you go by at home?”
“Mother always called me Ellen, but Daddy often called me Nelly or
Nell.”
“Ellen it shall be; that’s a nice sensible name. Now then, Ellen, bring
your bag up-stairs, and we’ll get your room ready. We’ll send for your
trunk to-morrow.”
Up one flight of steps they went to a plain little room furnished with a
bureau, a washstand, a small white iron bedstead, and two chairs, but
there was an attempt at decoration, such as advertising calendars and
Christmas cards tacked on the walls, and on the bureau a very hard
pincushion. The mantel held two ornate glass vases and a small bisque
figure of a kneeling Samuel. The small house contained but six rooms;
this one was next to Miss Rindy’s; above was an attic. All was neat and
orderly.
“Now wash your face and hands,—the bathroom is at the back,—put on an
apron, and come down so I can show you about setting the table,” said
Miss Rindy; “then you can help me get supper.” She closed the door and
went out.
Ellen stood still for a moment and looked around. This was her home! Her
lip trembled, her eyes filled. She dropped on her knees by the side of
the bed and gave way to a fit of weeping. It was all so different from
the home she had left, a dainty, artistic one. But she must be thankful
for this one; she was. Her tears were half in regret for the things
which were lost to her forever, half in thankfulness for that which was
now provided.
However, it was not like Ellen to remain long in the depths. She was a
courageous little soul, and the past few weeks had been desperate enough
to show her that the ills we have sometimes can be so bad as to make us
grateful for a chance to try out those we know not of; moreover, there
was a call from below. She sprang to her feet, bathed her face and
hands, and went down. If Miss Rindy noticed the traces of tears she made
no comment.
“Haven’t you an apron?” she asked.
“I believe I have in my trunk,” answered Ellen doubtfully.
“Well, here, put on this one of mine,” said Miss Rindy, taking one down
from a peg behind the door. “Aprons are most useful members of society,
they cover a multitude of sins; they ought by rights to be called
charities instead of aprons.”
The apron hung far below the hem of Ellen’s dress, but that didn’t
matter, as Miss Rindy remarked. “It’s the fashion now to have floppy
do-dabs switching about below the edge of a skirt,” she said. “Not that
I hold to such silly styles. I thought Lauretta’s dress too silly and
fussy for words. Come along, Ellen, I’ll show you where the dishes are.
I don’t use tablecloths; mats are much less trouble and more economical.
They are in that table drawer.”
Ellen found them and laid them as directed; then the rest of the table
was set and she viewed it approvingly. She liked the antique mahogany
with the old blue-and-white china upon it, but still there was something
missing. “Don’t you have flowers on the table?” she inquired. “We always
did.”
“You did? Well, I don’t; I can’t be bothered with them.”
Ellen was silent for a moment before she asked, “Would you mind if I
bothered with them?”
“Dear me, I don’t know where you’d find any. I don’t raise them; they’re
like Lauretta, pretty but useless. But, pshaw! I don’t see what’s got
into me, picking on Lauretta, though she always did rub me the wrong
way.”
“Maybe I could find something,” persisted Ellen.
“You’re welcome to,” returned Miss Rindy from the pantry where she had
gone.
Ellen opened the kitchen door and looked out. It wasn’t very promising.
A few green tomatoes still hung on the vines, a scraggy apple tree bore
several apples at the top, and there was a row of cabbages left in a
patch at the back. None of these offered anything like a bouquet.
Ellen went down the brick walk to investigate farther, and presently
discovered that a honeysuckle vine, which had strayed from the
neighboring yard and hung over the fence, ventured to display a few late
blossoming sprays of which Ellen took immediate possession. While doing
this she observed that there was an open lot bordering on the property.
It was easy to reach by climbing the low fence. An open lot always
presented all sorts of possibilities, and this one, while somewhat
disappointing, offered a sparse supply of blooms which Ellen was quick
to gather,—two or three crimson clover-heads, a cluster of purple
asters, yarrow more plentiful, and two belated buttercups. With the
honeysuckle these would do very well, and when at the last several
frost-touched leaves of woodbine added more color, Ellen returned well
pleased.
She ran into the kitchen. “Look, Cousin Rindy, look!” she cried.
Miss Rindy turned from her task of grating cheese. “Well, I declare,”
she exclaimed. “They’re nothing but useless weeds, but they’re right
pretty after all. You can get a tumbler out of the pantry to put them
in.”
Ellen set her bouquet proudly in the center of the table on which Miss
Rindy already had deposited a plate of warmed-over rolls, a dish of
stewed apples, some plain gingerbread, and the grated cheese. There was
a glass of milk for Ellen, tea for herself.
It was a simple meal, but there was enough of it, and Ellen rose from
the table satisfied. She helped her cousin with the dishes, and then
they sat down together in the parlor. The light from the big kerosene
lamp picked out the gleam of the two or three ornately bound books on
the marble-topped table, discovered the gilt frames of “A Yard of Roses”
and the big chromo where woodeny waves threatened to engulf a tin-like
ship.
“Now we’ll talk,” announced Miss Rindy, settling herself in a heavy
haircloth-covered rocking-chair. “You will have to be provided with some
work to do, Ellen. You can’t sit all the evening just holding your hands
in that useless way. I don’t suppose you have anything just now, but you
can hold this worsted for me and meantime tell me all about yourself. Of
course I know in a general way, but I want more information, if you are
going to live with me. You can tell me what you choose, and I will read
between the lines.”