GETTING SETTLED.
Caroline Stanley and Susan Cameron were cousins, and very nearly of the
same age; but neither from their looks nor from their characters would
one have supposed that there was any tie of relationship between them.
Carrie was very pretty; and it was not strange that she knew it. Ever
since she could remember, she had heard from her nurses the praises
of her curling hair; bright, black eyes, rosy cheeks and white teeth.
Even strangers whom she met in the street spoke of her beauty; and if
she had not been blessed with a judicious mother, she would probably
have had her little head quite turned by the flattery which she
received. But Mrs. Stanley had taught her that mere external beauty
was no substitute for loveliness of character. Carrie was by no means
free from faults. She was impulsive, hasty and extremely careless and
disorderly; but she was the life of the house, and the idol of all the
servants, from the oldest to the youngest,--so that they were too apt
to try and screen her from her mother’s just reproof by failing to
report her wrong-doings. If she was ill-natured or angry, she was so
sorry for it afterwards, and so ready to apologize, that the domestics
could not bear to have Mrs. Stanley hear of it, since they well knew
that Carrie would be punished, and there was not one of them who did
not prefer to be in disgrace rather than to see “Miss Caro” in trouble.
The only drawback to her happiness was her father’s long absences,--for
he was a sea-captain, and of course much away from home; but she was
passionately attached to her mother; and there was always her father’s
return, to which she looked forward with joy.
Even in his absence the time did not pass heavily. They had a great
deal of company, and sailing-parties, picnics and rides were
frequent,--so frequent that they interfered sadly with Carrie’s
studies; and it was for this reason that Mrs. Stanley had decided to
send the girls away to school, instead of employing a teacher at home
for them, as had been her custom.
Carrie’s life had been all sunshine; but poor Susie’s had been stormy
enough.
Before she was fifteen, she had passed through more trouble than falls
to the lot of many women in a lifetime. Her father, Lieutenant Cameron,
was an army-officer, and had been stationed chiefly on the frontier.
Moving from one military post to another, where of necessity they
were deprived of many comforts, Susie’s life had been a succession of
changes and hardships. Her mother’s health was delicate; and in their
frequent removals a great part of the care had fallen on Susie. She
was an active, willing and able assistant to her feeble parent, and by
degrees Mrs. Cameron came to depend on her for almost every thing.
The younger children were intrusted to her charge also, and most of
the duties of housekeeping were resigned to her. She was her mother’s
constant companion; and this, together with the trust reposed in her,
had developed her character prematurely. She shared all her parent’s
troubles and perplexities, and had never known what it was to be a
careless, happy child.
When at last her mother died, it was to her that her father turned for
consolation; and, almost heart-broken as she was, she was obliged to
control herself for his sake, lest the sight of her grief, added to his
own wretchedness, should unman him altogether.
One short year after Mrs. Cameron’s death the whole family had been
attacked by cholera, and of them all Susie alone was spared! The
desolate little orphan then came to live with her aunt Stanley, who had
been her mother’s favourite sister; and here no pains were spared to
make her as happy as possible.
It was not a long journey to Manchester, but both the girls were very
glad to hear the conductor call out the name of the station,--for
Carrie was impatient to see the place where she was anticipating so
much pleasure during the next six months, and Susan was anxious to get
established again quietly somewhere, even if it were at school.
The school-building was a large brick edifice, situated very pleasantly
in the midst of finely-laid-out grounds; and the girls were received
very cordially by the principal, Mr. Worcester, who had been expecting
them, as he had received intelligence of their intended coming. He was
an old friend of Mrs. Stanley’s; and this fact made Carrie feel quite
at home immediately.
They were soon shown to their room,--“No. 40,”--a large and airy
chamber.
“Very liberal in the way of furniture,” said Carrie, as she looked
around. “Two beds, two bureaus, two tables, two closets! They don’t
intend to give us any excuse for quarrelling as to the disposal of our
traps.”
They occupied themselves for the remainder of the day in unpacking and
getting settled, so as to be ready for school-duties in the morning. At
tea-time they were ushered into a large dining-room, where more than
sixty girls were seated round the table, all of whom looked curiously
at the new-comers. Poor Susan could hardly eat a mouthful, it was so
awkward to feel that so many eyes were upon her; and even Carrie lost
some of her appetite. After tea, they all went into the large parlour,
where Mr. Worcester conducted prayers; and then came the study-hour to
be spent in their own chambers.
Carrie and Susan gladly escaped to their room; but hardly were they
seated when two other girls entered and took seats as if they were very
much at home.
“This is our room,” said Carrie, modestly; for she supposed they had
made some mistake.
“This is our room too,” said the one she addressed,--a tall and
fine-looking girl.
“I beg pardon,” Carrie answered; “but I supposed my cousin and I were
to have it alone. It seemed quite unoccupied. The bureaus and closets
were both empty.”
“A very natural mistake,” was the reply; “but the way of it is, we have
just been moved from our room to accommodate two new girls who are
distant relations of our old room-mates, and who want to room together:
so we are put in here, and our ‘fixins’ will follow this evening. As we
are to be such near neighbours, we might as well introduce ourselves,
I suppose. I am Florence Anderson, at your service; and this is Sallie
Wendell.”
“My name is Caroline Stanley; and this is my cousin, Susan Cameron,”
said Carrie.
This introduction served to loosen the girls’ tongues, and they talked
quite fast, without appearing to remember that it was the study-hour.
Florence gave the new-comers an account of the teachers, and told
them beforehand which they would like and which they “would perfectly
abominate and despise.”
Carrie listened with deep interest, and was quite charmed with the
frankness and sociability of her new acquaintance. The clock struck
nine while they were in the full tide of discourse. This was the signal
for retiring, as Florence informed them; and they proceeded to put up
their books and papers and make ready for the night.
Florence and Sallie were soon snugly ensconced in bed, having first
politely offered the choice of beds to their new room-mates. Susan
took her little Bible and read a chapter, as was her custom, and then
kneeled by her bedside to pray. Carrie was still brushing her hair,
when she heard a whisper and a suppressed laugh from the other girls.
She glanced at them and saw the cause of their merriment. She said not
a word; but, having put up her hair, she took her Bible also and read a
short chapter.
“Ahem! Saint number two,” she heard, in a loud whisper from the other
bed.
The blood rushed to Carrie’s face. She felt indignant and a little
ashamed: she extinguished the light hastily and then kneeled by her
bedside a few moments in prayer. The next morning, Susie, as usual,
after dressing, read her Bible and offered up her silent prayer,--a
proceeding which seemed to afford Florence and her companion much
amusement; and Carrie delayed her dressing purposely till her
room-mates went out, when she hastily performed her morning devotions.
“I wish,” she said to Susie, “that those girls did not room with us!”
“Why?” asked her cousin. “I thought you liked them last night.”
“So I did,” was the reply; “but I don’t now.” And Carrie went on to
describe their conduct while Susie was on her knees. This did not seem
to trouble Susan in the least.
“Poor, foolish girls!” said she; and, having said this, she seemed to
dismiss the subject from her mind. But for Carrie it was not so easy a
task,--particularly as she saw Florence talking with a whole bevy of
school-girls on the piazza, who were laughing merrily; and, as they
immediately grew very sober and silent when she approached them, she
felt sure that Florence had been ridiculing her cousin and herself.
The school-bell soon rang, and the new pupils followed the other
girls across a covered gallery to the school-room. It was a pleasant
apartment, and the cousins had very excellent seats given them near a
window. Florence was quite a near neighbour here also.
“The Fates seem to throw us in each other’s way,” she whispered, with a
pleasant smile.
“What can’t be cured
Must be endured,”
whispered Carrie back again,--half in jest and half in earnest.
After the introductory exercises, Miss Forester, the principal teacher,
came to the new pupils, and, after talking with them about their past
studies,--how far they had advanced, &c.,--she told them what classes
they were to join, and added that although she did not expect them to
learn the morning’s lessons, yet she wished them to take their places
in the different classes, that they might see the mode of recitation.
When the History class was called, the girls came as they had been told
to do; and here they sat close beside Florence again. In the Arithmetic
class, in Thomson’s Seasons and in spelling it was just the same.
The spelling class was conducted on a new plan; at least, it was new
to the cousins. Each pupil wrote the words given out by the teacher on
her slate, and, after having done so, exchanged slates with her next
neighbour, who corrected and marked the misspelled words while they
were spelled properly by the teacher.
Carrie had to give her slate to Florence, who sat next to her. When
Florence gave it back to her, she pointed to something which she had
written under the list of words. It ran thus:--
“Room-mate and seat-mate, let me know
If you wish me as friend or foe:
If friend, extend your hand to me;
If not, we’re foes: so let it be.”
Carrie was much amused and quite pleased by Florence’s rhymes. All
her momentary displeasure had passed away, and she stealthily put her
hand into that of her neighbour, who pressed it warmly. At recess,
Florence invited the cousins to go with some of the girls to play,--a
proposition which they received with alacrity, and both entered into
the game with great spirit. This lively play did more to make them feel
acquainted with the other scholars than any thing else could have done,
and it dissipated entirely the slight feeling of home-sickness which
was beginning to creep over them.
At the study-hour, the four room-mates learned their lessons
together, and then arranged and re-arranged their respective uses
of their apartment. They consulted together about the best division
of book-shelves, bureaus, and the most convenient places for their
trunks; and during the whole evening Florence was so accommodating, so
pleasant and so lively that Carrie quite forgot her morning’s regrets
that she was her room-mate.