Produced by Heather Clark, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
HOPE BENHAM.
A Story for Girls.
By NORA PERRY
AUTHOR OF "LYRICS AND LEGENDS," "ANOTHER FLOCK OF GIRLS," "A ROSEBUD
GARDEN OF GIRLS," ETC.
Illustrated by
FRANK T. MERRILL.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1894_,
BY NORA PERRY.
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
[Illustration: "TEN CENTS A BUNCH"]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
"TEN CENTS A BUNCH"
"HE LIFTED THE BOW AND DREW IT ACROSS THE STRINGS"
"SHE TOOK HOPE'S VIOLIN FROM HER HANDS"
"IT WAS THE WORK OF A MOMENT TO POSSESS HERSELF OF THE BOOK"
"HOW DE DO, HOPE?"
"SHE STOOD THERE AN IMAGE OF GRACE, HER CHIN BENT LOVINGLY DOWN TO HER
VIOLIN"
"DON'T, DON'T GO"
"HOPE KNELT DOWN BY THE COUCH WHERE DOROTHEA HAD FLUNG HERSELF"
HOPE BENHAM.
CHAPTER I.
"Ten cents a bunch! ten cents a bunch!"
A party of three young girls coming briskly around the southwest corner
of the smart little Brookside station, hearing this call, turned, then
stopped, then exclaimed all together,--
"Oh, how perfectly lovely! the first I have seen. Just what I want!" and
they pulled out their purses to buy "just what they wanted," just what
everybody wants,--a bunch of trailing arbutus.
"And they are made up so prettily, without all that stiff arbor-vitae
framing. What is this dear little leafy border?" asked one of the young
ladies, glancing up from her contemplation of the flowers to the
flower-seller.
"It's the partridge-berry leaf."
"Oh! and you picked them all yourself,--the arbutus and this
partridge-berry leaf?"
"Yes."
"Oh!" repeated the young lady, giving a stare at the little
flower-seller,--a stare that was quickly followed by another question,--
"Do you live near here?"
"Yes; very near."
"But you don't find this arbutus in Brookside?"
"No, in Riverview."
"In Riverview! why, I didn't know that the arbutus grew so near Boston
as that."
"We have always found a little in Riverview woods, but this year there
is quite a large quantity."
Riverview was the next station to Brookside. In Riverview were
manufactories, locomotives, and iron-works, and in Riverview lived the
people who worked in these manufactories. But in Brookside were only
fine suburban residences, and a few handsome public buildings, for in
Brookside lived the owners of the manufactories and other rich folk, who
liked to be out of the smoke and grime of toil. The railroad station of
Brookside, as contrasted with that of Riverview, showed the difference
in the residents of the two places; for the Brookside station was a fine
and elegant stone structure, suited to fine and elegant folk, and the
Riverview station was just a plain little wooden building, hardly more
than a platform and a shelter.
"But you don't live in Riverview, do you?" was the next question the
young lady asked of the flower-seller, about whom she seemed to have a
great deal of curiosity.
"Yes; I live in Riverview," was the answer, with an upward glance of
surprise at the questioner and the question. Why should the young lady
question her in that tone, when she said, "But you don't live in
Riverview?"
The next question was more easily understood.
"You come over to the Brookside station to sell your flowers, don't you,
because there are likely to be more buyers here?"
"Oh, yes; I couldn't sell them at Riverview."
Just then other voices were heard, and other people began to gather
about the flower-seller, who from that time was kept busy until the
train approached. As the cars moved away from the station, the young
lady who had been so curious looked out of the window, and then said to
her companions,--
"She has sold every bunch."
"What? Oh, that flower-girl! Why in the world were you so interested in
her?" one of the girls asked wonderingly.
"Why? Did you look at her?"
"I can't say that I did, particularly. What was there peculiar about
her?"
"Nothing. Only she didn't look like a poor child,--a common child, you
know, who would sell things on the street. She was very prettily and
neatly dressed, and she spoke just like--well, just like any
well-brought-up little girl."
"Did she?" politely remarked her friend, in an absent way. She was not
in the least interested in this flower-girl. Her thoughts were turning
in a very different direction,--the direction of her spring shopping, a
gay little party, and a dozen other kindred subjects.
In the mean time the little flower-seller, with a light basket and a
lighter heart, was waiting for the down train. It was only a mile from
Brookside to Riverview, an easy walk for a strong, sturdy girl of ten;
but all the same, this strong, sturdy girl of ten preferred to ride, and
you will see why presently. The down or out-going train from Boston
passes the in-going train a short distance from Brookside, and she had
only five minutes to wait for it. This five minutes was very happily
employed in mentally counting up her sales, as she walked to and fro
upon the platform. She had brought twenty bunches of arbutus in her
basket, and she had sold every one. Twenty bunches at ten cents a bunch
made two dollars. She gave a little hop, skip, and jump, as she thought
of this sum.
Two dollars! Now, if she should go again this very afternoon to the
Riverview woods and gather a new supply, she might come back to
Brookside and be ready when the 5.30 train brought people home from the
city. So many people drove down to the station then to meet their
husbands or fathers or brothers,--ladies and children too. It would be
just the very best hour of all to sell flowers. Yes, she would certainly
do it. It was only half-past one. She would have ample time, and then
perhaps she would double--Cling-a-ling-a-ling, went the electric
announcement of the coming train, and pouf, pouf, pouf, comes the train
down the line, and there is her father looking out for her from the
engine cab. He nods and smiles to her, and in another minute she has
been helped up, and is standing beside him.
"Well, Hope, how did the flowers go?"
"I sold them all,--twenty bunches. Now!" The last word was thrown out as
a joyful exclamation of triumph. Her father laughed a little. "And,
father, I want to go to the woods again this afternoon for more flowers,
and come back here for the 5.30 train,--there's such lots of people on
that train."
The father looked grave.
"Oh, do let me, please!"
"I don't like to have you hanging around a station so much."
"But Brookside is different from a great many stations. There are no
rough people ever about;" and with a brisk little air, "It's business,
you see."
Mr. Benham laughed again, as he said, "Two dollars a day is pretty good
business, I should think."
"But it won't last long,--only this vacation week. 'T isn't as if I were
going to make two dollars every day all through the season."
"That is true. Well, go ahead and 'make hay while the sun shines.'
You'll be a better business fellow than your father if you keep on. But
here we are at Riverview. Mind, now, that you leave Brookside to-night
on the six o'clock train, no matter whether you've sold your flowers or
not."
"Yes, sir." There was a joyful sound in this "Yes, sir," and a happy
upward look at her father, which he did not catch, however, for not once
did his eyes move from their steady watchfulness of the road before him.