SEEING ONE'S SELF.
A WEEK of Percy's visit had passed, and yet the "dreadful place" had
not come. Percy had thought it just at hand two or three times. Once
when Aunt Ackerman left her alone, at a great fancy store, to select
wools for a sofa cushion, and to match Flora's dead-leaf greens; and
once when she went with Margaret to spend the day at a house where
there were two girls of her own age. But the young woman in the worsted
shop was very polite and helpful. She assisted Percy in her choice;
told her how much of each colour she would need, and, when she had
finished, set her a chair and gave her a great heap of patterns to
amuse herself with, while she was waiting for her aunt.
Presently Percy gathered courage enough to go to the door and look out
for her aunt's carriage; and seeing that it had not come, and that
there was a nice bookstore next door, she actually ventured to enter
the said bookstore all alone, and there to purchase a book-slate and
two pretty note-books, intended as presents for Flora, Blandina, and
Jenny; for Miss Devine had given her ten dollars to do what she liked
with; and she had already spent it, in her own mind, in presents for
everybody she knew.
The other bugbear was rather more alarming. Maria and Alice Ward were
only just as old as herself, but their manners and dress made them
seem at least four years older. They were young ladies, while Percy
had never thought of being anything but a little girl. However, they
found a common subject of conversation in comparing their schools; and
when Percy heard their stories, she was very thankful that she had been
placed at Hansen School, instead of at the grand establishment of Mrs.
Flag. Then the girls found out that Percy had lived all her life on the
frontier, and they were full of curiosity about army life and Indians;
and, altogether, the visit went off very well, and Percy could honestly
say, in answer to her aunt's question, that she had passed a pleasant
day.
Percy's resolution, which she had faithfully kept so far, not to speak
of her terrors and worries, was a very wise one, and it did her a great
deal of good. She forgot her troubles much sooner when she did not talk
about them, and using self-control in words helped her to use it in her
thoughts as well. She did not say a single word even when the carriage
became entangled in a jam on Broadway, and made no objection to going
up and down in the elevator at Stewart's, though she felt quite sure
that they should stick somewhere and never get out.
Percy had not expected any Christmas presents after her beautiful desk
and paper; but when she came down on Christmas morning, there was a
mysterious pile on her plate, covered by a white napkin.
"Oh, aunt, you give me too many nice things!" she exclaimed, as
successive boxes developed a silver napkin ring, a set of Scott's poems
with beautiful pictures, a package of dainty little kid gloves (Percy
always loved kid gloves), and some unheard-of sugar-plums and dried
fruits. "You and Cousin Margaret give me so much and do so much for me,
and I can't do anything for you."
"You can do one thing for us, little cousin," said Mrs. Ackerman. "How
would you like to give us half of yourself?"
"I don't quite understand, aunt."
"You know Margaret and myself are two very lonely women here,"
continued Mrs. Ackerman. "Do you think you would be willing to give us
half your holidays and half of your heart, and let us be at half the
expense of your education?"
"But, but—Aunt Zoe—I don't know what she will say," stammered Percy. "I
believe mamma gave me to her, and she has been so good to me. I must do
as Aunt Zoe says."
"Very true, my love," answered Margaret. "But we are as nearly related
to you as Aunt Zoe, and we have a kind of right to help in your
education. We have written to her about the matter, and she has given
her consent. At first, mamma thought she would like to have you at
school here, so as to be near us; but you seem to be doing so well
where you are, that it hardly seems worth while to change. So, if you
will give us half your holidays and half your letters, we shall be
quite content. My dear little girl, what is the matter?" For two large
tears came splashing down right into Percy's coffee cup.
"Nothing; only,—only you are so good, and I was so naughty and silly
about coming here. I didn't want to come; and I thought Aunt Ackerman
would be exactly like a New York aunt in a story-book! I was just as
ungrateful as I could be."
"But, my dear, you couldn't be ungrateful for what you never had," said
Mrs. Ackerman, soothingly. "You did not know us at all then."
[Illustration: Percy's Holidays. "The girls say I am always borrowing
trouble, and so I am."]
"Well, I needn't have been so foolish," answered Percy, wiping her
eyes. "Jenny said it was silly, and it was; and I am sorry. The girls
say I am always borrowing trouble, and I am."
At that moment, Sylvester brought in a letter, which Margaret opened.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, as she glanced over it. "Mamma, Cousin Sarah
is coming to-morrow, to stay a week!"
Mrs. Ackerman sighed gently. "Well, my dear, you know she must be
somewhere; and if we only have her a week, we shouldn't complain."
"There is one comfort: she can't be afraid of sunstroke in winter,"
said Margaret, laughing.
"I dare say she will make it up by being afraid of fires," said Mrs.
Ackerman. "However, we must be kind to the poor thing, and we won't let
to-morrow spoil to-day, if we can help it. Come, Percy dear, gather up
your pretty things and put them away. It is time we were getting ready
for church."
Percy had dreaded Christmas, because she thought she should feel so
sadly, but the day passed very pleasantly, after all. She went to
church with her aunt and cousin, and after church they drove round to
the Orphans' Home, and saw all the children at their dinner of turkeys
and plum puddings. Percy passed a pleasant two hours in her cousin's
dressing-room, by the light of the fire, telling Margaret about her
father and mother, and learning from her anecdotes of her mother's
school life.
"And you knew papa, too, when he was young," asked Percy.
"Oh, yes; I knew him very well," answered Margaret. She spoke quite
cheerfully; but yet something, she did not quite know what, made Percy
think that Cousin Margaret would rather not talk about her father, and
she asked no more questions.
They had company at dinner and to spend the evening: two or three young
ladies who were very plainly dressed, and who were brought and sent
home again in Mrs. Ackerman's own carriage. Percy found out afterwards
that they were teachers in the public school and the Sunday-school.
"Mamma is apt to make her holiday parties on Scripture principles,"
said Margaret to Percy, when they were alone together. "She does not
invite her rich neighbors, but looks out for those who have no friends
or home to go to."
The next morning Percy went to the station with Margaret to meet Cousin
Sarah.
"There she is," said Margaret, as a thin, tall, anxious-looking woman
came out of the car. "Take care! She will be run over."
Percy could hardly keep back a scream, as the tall lady, having
hesitated at least two minutes while the track was clear, ran across
directly in front of an advancing engine, and only just cleared herself.
"Well, I know I shall be run over by an engine sometime," said she,
as Margaret uttered an exclamation of thankfulness. "I don't expect
anything else. I don't know why I come to New York, for I never expect
to get out alive. But this is not your carriage, Margaret. This is a
public hack."
"I know it, Cousin Sarah," answered Margaret. "Our horses had to go to
the blacksmith's this morning. Just get in, and give the coachman your
check, and he will bring your trunk."
"But do you think it will be safe to give my checks to a hackman?"
asked Cousin Sarah, in a loud whisper. "Don't you think he may run away
with the things?"
"And leave us in possession of his carriage and horses? Hardly, I
think," answered Margaret, smiling. "I don't think there is any danger,
Sarah."
"Oh, but I assure you, I have heard of such things being done." Then,
after she had seen the trunk safely placed on the carriage: "Oh, I was
so frightened in the car. There was a man on the opposite seat, who
looked exactly as if he was drunk; and he spoke to me."
"Indeed! What did he say?"
"He said, 'Would you like to see the morning paper, ma'am?'"
"There was no great harm in that. What made you think he was drunk?"
"Oh, his face was red; and he kept laughing while he was reading the
paper."
"Perhaps there was something funny in it," Percy ventured to remark.
"I don't know about that, child. I wasn't going to have any words with
him, so I just said, 'No, I thank you, sir,' and looked out of the
window. Why, Margaret, there is the very man. Depend upon it, he is
following us. What shall I do?"
"Why, Cousin Sarah, that is Mr. Walden, a most respectable merchant,
and a neighbour of ours," said Margaret, laughing, as she returned the
gentleman's bow.
"Dear me! Well, I am sure! But, Margaret, does this man know the way to
your house? It seems to me this is not the way I have come before."
"No. Percy and I want to stop down town a moment to do an errand. You
will not mind waiting five minutes, will you?"
When they came to the shop, Cousin Sarah was so long in deciding
whether she would sit in the carriage, and risk being run away with,
or go into the shop and leave the hackman to run away with the trunks,
that there seemed some danger of the errands not being done. However,
she finally decided to wait while Margaret and Percy went into the
candy-shop and bought some matters with which to finish the decoration
of the orphans' Christmas-tree, which was to be lighted up that evening.
"Now, Percy," said Margaret, when they arrived at home, "do you suppose
you can run round to The Home with these things, and find your way back
again?"
"Oh, yes!" replied Percy, cheerfully.
"You know you turn to your left, when you come out of the Asylum, and
go to the next corner, and then straight down the street. If you are
puzzled, ask a policeman."
"I think I can find the way," answered Percy; and she actually enjoyed
the idea of going out in the street alone, and on her own feet. She did
her errand at the Asylum and came home quite safely, to report that the
tree was going to be beautiful; and that the two dolls she had dressed
hung right at the top. When evening came, there arose a new difficulty.
Mrs. and Miss Ackerman, being managers of The Home and knowing every
child in it, naturally wished to be present at the Christmas festival.
But Cousin Sarah would not go, because she was afraid to be out in the
evening; and she could not stay at home alone, because she should never
dare to be left with only the servants.
"But our coachman and horses are perfectly safe, Sarah," said Mrs.
Ackerman.
"Everybody thinks their own horses safe," answered Cousin Sarah.
"And with reason, I suppose, since most horses are safe," remarked
Margaret.
"I will stay at home with Cousin Sarah, Aunt Ackerman," said Percy,
following her aunt to the hall, whither she went to speak to a servant.
"Mrs. Stewart told me to tell you and Margaret to be sure and come
early; especially Cousin Margaret, because they want her to help."
"My dear child; but I thought you wanted to see the tree and the
children very much?"
"I did," answered Percy, with a little sigh; "but then I saw it this
afternoon, you know; and the ladies seemed to want you so much. Only,
please, I should like to know who gets my dolls. I hope that little
round-faced infant will have one—the little girl I told you, was like
my little sister."
"I will see that she does. My dear little girl, I am ever so much
obliged to you. I am afraid you will have a dull evening."
"Oh, no. And please, aunt, may I have those big books of birds to look
at?"
Percy was not destined to have much comfort with the big books of
birds. Cousin Sarah was by no means pleased to be left alone in the
house, as she said, though she had an able-bodied man and three women
within call, whenever she chose to ring the bell.
"But I ought to know what to expect," she concluded, plaintively.
"Poor relations are of no account here. They just measure everything
by money, money. Such worldliness! My dear, didn't you hear something
moving up-stairs?"
"I don't hear anything," answered Percy, listening.
"Well, perhaps not; but I am so afraid of burglars. I know perfectly
well that some night I shall wake up and see a man in my room looking
into my bureau. But, as I said, poor relations don't count. I dare say
you have found that out."
"I don't know what you mean," said Percy, colouring. "I am sure Aunt
Ackerman and Margaret are just as kind as they can be."
"Oh, well! I dare say they are kind to you, child. You have a social
position, you see. And Cousin Julia Ackerman does mean to be kind, I
dare say; but she is no hand to do shopping at all. I sent her sixty
dollars to buy me a Paisley shawl; and when I came to look it over,
there were three threads of cotton in it. Now, a shawl that is part
cotton will fade in streaks, you know; and it seems hard to give so
much money for a faded shawl."
"Has your shawl faded?" asked Percy.
"Why, no, not yet; but of course it will. Now, such a shawl ought to
last one a lifetime; but I can't wear it after it is all faded out. My
dear, I certainly do hear somebody up-stairs."
"I dare say it is only the cat; but I will go and see," said Percy,
rising.
"But suppose it should be a robber?" whispered Cousin Sarah; "or
suppose one of the servants should be looking over Margaret's bureau?"
"I don't suppose it is one or the other!" answered Percy, rather
impatiently. "I suppose it is pussy. She lies on aunt's sofa half the
time. There, don't you hear her mew to be let out? I must go, or she
may do some mischief." Cousin Sarah would not be left alone, and Percy
rang the bell for somebody to let out the cat. Then came another fear.
"My dear, I have left my trunk unlocked. You don't think any of the
servants will meddle with my things, do you?"
"I should think not," replied Percy. "You know they have all lived here
a long time, and aunt thinks they are quite honest. But I will go up
and lock it, and bring you the key, if you like."
"But you will be afraid to go up there in the dark. No, I think perhaps
you had better let it be. However, I assure you that the last time
I was here I lost fifteen cents in the strangest way. I never could
account for it."
"Perhaps you spent it, and then forgot about it," suggested Percy.
"One does sometimes. I know I paid twenty-five cents yesterday for
something, and I can't remember what it was."
Cousin Sarah here began to put Percy through a series of questions
relating to her aunt Devine, her father and mother, her school, and
other things which diverted her from her fears, till Mrs. Ackerman and
Margaret came home. Then came another trouble. She was sure she never
should dare to sleep alone, and in the third story, too. What if there
should be a fire, and she should not wake till it was too late to
save herself. What if a robber should come in? He would be sure to go
up-stairs first of all. The matter was finally settled by Margaret's
giving up her own room to her cousin, and sleeping with her mother.
"Dear me, what a fuss she does make," thought Percy, as, after she was
in bed, she heard Cousin Sarah fretting about the gas and the fire,
and the window fastenings, &c. "I wonder if I am as silly as that? I
declare I'll never borrow any more trouble; not if I never have any,"
thought the little girl, sleepily.
The next day at breakfast, Cousin Sarah announced that she had a great
deal of shopping to do; and she must have Margaret to go with her, as
she never could trust herself in those dreadful New York shops alone.
Margaret looked at her mother with a glance which said plainly, "What
shall I do?"
"I believe Margaret will be wanted at the Asylum this morning, cousin,"
said Mrs. Ackerman. "Will not Percy and myself do as well?"
"But I wanted Margaret's judgment," answered Cousin Sarah. "I always
expect to be cheated. I want to buy a poplin and an American silk; and
as likely as not they will make me take one that is half cotton; and I
don't think you are a judge of cotton in things, Cousin Julia: I really
don't, because there was that shawl, you know. I never put it on or
take it off without expecting to see it all faded in streaks."
"I think you will have to rely upon me, or else put off your shopping
till to-morrow, cousin," replied Mrs. Ackerman, without a trace of
ill-temper or annoyance; "because, really, Margaret cannot be spared.
I don't think you need be afraid of being cheated at any of the
respectable stores. I have bought dry goods at Stewart's ever since I
was married, and I have never been imposed upon in a single instance.
Percy, my dear, will you ring the bell?"
All that morning, Percy wondered at the patience of her aunt. She
herself was very well entertained, looking at the pretty things in the
shops, or sitting in the carriage with her book; but Aunt Ackerman must
look at and pronounce upon every piece of goods half a dozen times
over. Cousin Sarah at last made up her mind to buy a silk and a poplin,
after having looked at, at least a hundred pieces of each; but no
sooner were they cut off and paid for, than she regretted her choice,
and wished all the way home that she had bought the black silk instead
of the blue, because blue was apt to fade, and the green poplin instead
of the black, because black poplin was no dress at all. After they
had finished their shopping, they went to Bigot's to lunch; and here
Cousin Sarah would not take any chocolate, because she had heard that
chocolate was shockingly adulterated, nor any stewed oysters, because
she had been told that they always used the stale oysters to make the
stews; and having finally disposed of a large glass of calves-foot
jelly, she remembered having read that such jelly was always made of
gelatine, which was manufactured out of horses' hoofs and the parings
of sheepskins. After lunch, Mrs. Ackerman asked Cousin Sarah, whether
she would like to go home, or whether she had any more to do.
"I want to make a call in Brooklyn; and it is such a pleasant day, I
think Percy will enjoy the ride and crossing the ferry: won't you, my
dear?"
Now Percy had had a great dread of crossing ferries all her life; but
with the example of Cousin Sarah before her eyes, she resolved at once
not to be afraid, and answered promptly:
"Oh, yes, Aunt Ackerman! I shall like it very much."
"But won't it be very disagreeable getting out of the carriage down
there?" asked Cousin Sarah, doubtfully. "And what shall we do when we
come to the other side?"
"We shall not get out," answered Aunt Ackerman. "We shall drive on the
boat at this side and off at the other. Of course you can get out, if
you please; but I never do, because it is some trouble, and our horses
are perfectly steady."
"Now, Julia," said Cousin Sarah, solemnly, "do you really think I am
going to do such a thing as that? Suppose the boat should sink? How
dreadful, to be drowned in a carriage and horses!"
Percy laughed in spite of herself.
"What would you do, if you had to cross on a raft, Cousin Sarah?" she
asked. "Or in a little bark canoe, where you had to sit flat down in
the bottom, and not move for fear of being upset?"
Cousin Sarah thought that under those circumstances she should
immediately die.
"But dying would be as dangerous as crossing the ferry," argued Percy,
gravely. Solomon, the coachman, giggled, and striving to turn the
giggle into a polite cough, he choked himself; whereat Cousin Sarah
remarked, in a terrified whisper, that she thought that he must be
drunk or crazy, and would certainly upset the carriage or make the
horses run away. She finally decided to be left at home, because
she wanted to see her bundles when they came, for she couldn't help
thinking, after all, that her merino must be part cotton.
"Aunt Ackerman," said Percy, very soberly, after they had gone on some
little way in silence, "I never will borrow any trouble again as long
as I live."
"That is a very good resolution, my dear," answered Aunt Ackerman.
"Borrowing trouble is very foolish, and it is also wrong."
"I know it is foolish," said Percy, blushing; "though I never knew how
silly it made people till—till lately. It makes one very unhappy for
nothing. I felt so badly because Aunt Zoe sent me to school; and after
all, I liked it ever so much; and, oh, aunt! You don't know how silly I
was about coming down here. Jenny said I was a goose, and I was!"
"And yet you have had rather a nice time, haven't you?"
"Yes, indeed!" answered Percy. "I am so glad I came. It seems as if I
had been unfeeling and heartless sometimes, to enjoy myself so much
without dear papa and mamma."
"My love, papa and mamma would wish you to enjoy yourself," answered
Aunt Ackerman, gently. "They do not want their little girl to be
unhappy all her life, because her heavenly Father has taken away her
earthly parents for a little while."
"But, aunt, why is it wrong to borrow trouble?" asked Percy, after a
little silence. "I know it is foolish, but why is it wrong?"
"It is wrong to be foolish, if one can help it: isn't it, dear?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I never thought of that, though."
"Then the habit of borrowing trouble is wrong because it interferes
very much with the comfort and convenience of other people," continued
Mrs. Ackerman. "Nothing is more disagreeable than to be in the company
of a person who is always foreboding evil."
"And it makes people fretful, don't it, aunt?" asked Percy. "Blandina
says sometimes, 'Don't fret, Percy!' when I am in a worry for fear of
being late or losing my place."
"Yes, it is very apt to make people fretful and impatient; and, besides
that, my dear, the habit of borrowing trouble shows a want of faith in
our heavenly Father, and is a disobeying of an express command: 'Take
therefore no thought for to-morrow: for the morrow shall take thought
for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'
You know who said that, Percy."
"Our Lord," answered Percy, reverently.
"We know that our heavenly Father is perfectly wise and good and
all-powerful," continued Aunt Ackerman. "And we know that he loves us,
and has promised to give us all things that we need, if we seek first
the kingdom of God and his righteousness. We know of course that he
does, and permits many things which seem to us very mysterious; but we
must be content to leave all such things to him."
"We don't always know how things will turn out when we do our very
best," observed Percy.
"No, we never know exactly; and all we can do is to 'do our very best,'
as you say, and leave the result with him. Our Lord says we are not
to be anxious even about such necessary things as food and clothes,
you know. You see how unhappy poor Cousin Sarah makes herself: and her
mother is just so. They are always sure that something dreadful is
going to happen. They have a nice house; but they take no comfort in
it, because they are afraid it will burn down, or that somebody will
break into it. The last time I was there; Mrs. McArthur and Sarah went
all around the house with a candle, to see that there were no robbers
concealed in any of the rooms or closets. Then they went around again
without a light, to be sure that they had not dropped any sparks; and,
finally, Mrs. McArthur made another round, to be sure that all the
doors were fastened. They have a beautiful garden; but they are always
certain that the buds will be killed, or the fruit stolen, or that
the grapes won't ripen. They are afraid of keeping a man-servant, for
fear of being robbed, or of doing without one, because they feel so
unprotected. I don't tell you these things to make you laugh at your
cousins, my dear,—though I allow that one cannot always help doing so;
but I want you to see what such a disposition is likely to grow to,
unless it is taken in time."
Percy had plenty of chances to see this during the week that she spent
with Cousin Sarah, and the lesson did her a great deal of good. All the
girls noticed the change in her when she came back to school. She did
not reform her fault all at once, of course, but her eyes were opened
to see that it was a fault; and that, as Blandina said, was half the
battle.
THE END.