“You owe something to your family, my child,” Mrs. Wharton said one
day; “you make us all very anxious and worried by overworking so;
it’s your duty to take a little rest.”
“Mother, darling,” Sara began to protest, “I really can’t go away
now; the Girls’ Club and”--
“You needn’t begin the list, my dear,” her mother interrupted--“I
know them all. Dear, dear! Sara, when I was a girl, young women
owed some duties to their parents, as well as to all the
shiftless, worthless, improper people in the world.”
“I trust I’m not a Borrioboola-Gha person,” murmured Sara.
“Don’t be foolish, my child,” Mrs. Wharton said, “and use long
words when your poor old mother don’t know what they mean”--
“You darling!” said Sara, and hugged her so tightly that Mrs.
Wharton remonstrated.
“It would be a great deal more to the point if, instead of kissing
me, you would be an obedient child. You worry me almost to death,
working so hard. I want you to come to Florida. I asked Dr. Morse
if he didn’t think you were doing too much, and he said you took a
great deal of unnecessary trouble; so you see he agrees with me.”
“Mother, dear, how you adore doctors! Dr. Morse doesn’t know what
he’s talking about. But you might tell me what else he said?”
“Oh, some nonsense about--about your being of so much value to
Mercer,” Mrs. Wharton admitted, with evident fear that one
statement might lessen the effect of the other.
But whether it was Dr. Morse’s understanding of the value of her
work, or whether it was her mother’s entreaties, Sara at last
agreed to go away for a little while, though it was hard work
to get things in running order for a three months’ absence of
their head. Nellie was her greatest anxiety; three months without
oversight and guidance--who could tell what might happen! So Sara
made many plans; the girl was to be guarded on this side and on
that: she was to have steady work, and she was to have frequent
amusement; pleasure and profit were all arranged. And before she
went, Sara had a little talk with her. She had sent for the girl,
who came up into her bedroom, where, just before dinner, Miss
Wharton was sitting in the firelight. The pretty room was full of
dusky shadows; its faint scent of roses, its deep, soft chairs, the
shimmer of silver on the toilet-table, all its delicate luxury,
was evident enough to Nellie. The sullen upper lip swelled out as
she looked enviously about her. She liked the touch of the silk
cushions, the feeling of the soft white rug under her feet; the
color of Miss Wharton’s crimson tea-gown fed her eyes with delight.
She hardly heard what the young lady was saying.
“Nellie, dear, I want you to try your very best to be good while
I’m away.”
“Oh, certainly,” said Nellie, with a sigh.
Sara clasped her hands together over her knees, and held her lip
between her teeth, drawing in her breath; Nellie watched her rings
wink and flash in the firelight.
“Nellie” (Sara was saying to herself, “Oh, I _hope_ I will say what
is wise. I _hope_ I can touch her!”), “Nellie, you know how I have
always believed in you, and hoped for you, and loved you; and just
because I have, and because I am truly, truly your friend, I want
to ask you to do two things for me while I’m away: first, promise
me not to tell another lie; oh, Nellie, you don’t know how unhappy
you made me when you told me that lie about the club.”
Nellie dropped her head upon her breast, and made no answer.
“And then,” Sara went on, “I want you to try not to be so selfish.
I am so grieved to have you indifferent to Mrs. Sherman’s kindness
to you. She told me that you had only given her one dollar and
seventy-five cents since you went to work. And don’t you see, you
have been receiving everything she could give you, of love and
care, and yet you have given her nothing! You haven’t even been
kind to her, Nellie.”
“_Oh!_” said Nellie, “well, I wish I was dead. Everybody’s always
finding fault. I’m sure there’s lots of girls worse than me. But
I’m always being picked at. I wish I was dead.”
Sara was nervous and overstrained; besides, she was conscious of a
sort of physical disgust at this poor, repulsive little being; her
self-reproach brought the tears to her eyes. “I didn’t mean to be
hard on you, Nellie,” she said, “only I want you to try.”
“I _always_ try,” said Nellie.
“And,” Sara’s brave young voice went on, “I do want you to feel
that--that Christ cares; that God cares, Nellie, that you shall be
a good, true, dear girl. Will you just think of that, Nellie?”
“Why, of course,” Nellie answered resentfully, wiping her eyes. “I
do always. My aunt makes me go to church every Sunday. Miss Sara,
do you think you have any pieces of velvet in your rag-bag?”
Sara started. “Rag-bag?” she repeated vaguely, “velvet?”
“I thought I could trim my hat over,” Nellie explained. “You’ve got
so many things,” she ended sullenly.
Sara was silent for a few minutes, reasoning with herself. After
all, Nellie was young; it was natural for her to like pretty things.
“Yes, I can give you some velvet, I think,” she said cheerfully;
“and, Nellie, I have a plan for you; what are you going to give
your aunt for a Christmas gift?”
Nellie looked up blankly.
“I know you’ll want to give her something,” Sara went on, “and I
was thinking of a nice chair. What do you think of that?”
“A chair!” repeated Nellie in astonishment. “Why, I wouldn’t buy a
chair for myself!”
Sara sighed. “But you would like the fun of buying one for somebody
else, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, I ain’t got any money,” the girl said uneasily; and then
Miss Wharton unfolded her plan, which was that she should give
Nellie five dollars, and Nellie would add what she could, and a
present should be purchased.
“Add something, if it’s only a dollar,” Sara said pleadingly; “a
good, comfortable chair can be bought for six dollars.”
“A’ right; I don’t mind,” Nellie agreed, in a wearied way. She did
not understand all this talk; she saw no reason in Miss Sara’s
giving Mrs. Sherman a chair, and saying it was Nellie’s gift;
still, she didn’t mind.
“You’ll like to do that, won’t you, Nellie?” Sara said anxiously.
“Oh, certainly,” said Nellie, and then she rose, for Miss Wharton
was silent, and that seemed a sign of dismissal.
Sara rose, too, and stood looking at her visitor for a moment;
then, suddenly she put her arm around the little thin shoulders,
and drew the girl to her, and kissed her. “Oh, Nellie,” she said,
her voice passionate and trembling,--“Oh, Nellie, _dear_! I--I
wish I knew what to say, to show you--to make you feel”--her voice
broke; Nellie was greatly embarrassed;--“but just believe _I love
you_, won’t you? and be good!”
“Why,” said Nellie, with a sigh of fatigue and reproach,
“certainly!” Then she added, “Well, good-by; hope you’ll have a
delightful time, I’m sure,” and closed Miss Sara’s door, with a
sense of relief that was like the lifting of some harassing weight.
She came slowly downstairs, pulling on her soiled gloves, and
walking with a mincing step. Escaped from Miss Wharton’s room,
she felt as if all the luxury of this great house--the color,
the lights, the soft carpet under her feet, the sparkle of the
firelight in the hall below--was hers, and so she assumed the
gait and the manner which she conceived to belong to an owner. The
inside-man was just lighting a lamp under a big rose-colored shade,
and Nellie threw up her head with a haughty look, and drew down the
corners of her mouth, sweeping past him toward the door. James,
however, smiled with great politeness.
“Oh, g’d evening, Miss Sherman,” he said. “My! it does seem to get
dark early these days, doesn’t it?”
Nellie’s lofty coldness melted instantly. She simpered and said,
“Is that so?”
“It’s quite late for a young lady to be out alone,” James remarked
with grave solicitude.
“Oh, that’s a’ right,” Nellie protested.
She was smiling, and holding her head coquettishly, and looking up
at him with great archness. She dropped her handkerchief as she
reached the front door and James picked it up, and handed it to her
with an elaborate bow. He caught her fingers in his own as he did
so, and they both giggled, and Nellie said, “Now, you stop that!”
They lowered their voices with an apprehensive look towards the
staircase; James opened the door and stepped out on the porch with
her. “Well, you oughtn’t to be severe, Miss Sherman; it’s such a
little hand, a gentleman can’t help it; Miss Sara’s is twice as
big.”
“Is that so?” said Nellie; and then they both looked up at the
sky, and James observed that the weather was threatening, and it
certainly _was_ too dark for a young lady, a beautiful young lady,
to be out alone.
“Oh, that’s a’ right,” Nellie reassured him politely.
James in an absent-minded way put his arm round her, and said he
thought ladies ought always to have gentlemen escorts.
“Is that so?” Nellie answered, simpering; and, with the same
apparent absence of mind, sidling closer to him, which induced
his easy caresses; “well, I must be going along,” she announced,
giggling.
“Well, good-by, Miss Sherman,” said the chivalrous James, and gave
her a hearty kiss, which made Nellie slap at him with one hand,
and say, “Now you stop that!” and go off, still giggling, into the
darkness.
* * * * *
Sara Wharton, upstairs by her fire, had dropped her face in her
hands, and was saying to herself, “I must trust her more, and
believe in her more! Oh, I am sure she tries--poor little Nellie.”
And certainly poor Nellie was not conscious of any lack of trying,
so far as the episode with James was concerned. To her, as well as
to him, it was very harmless, that kiss in the porch. And really to
call such a thing “sin” is to lift it to a level where it does not
belong.
But probably Sara Wharton was constitutionally unable to understand
that.
The people who try to make silk purses out of inadequate materials
rarely can understand it.