AN ADVENTURE
The days passed slowly by, and Brownie became more and more accustomed
to her work.
Before the week was out, she found, by diligent application, that she
could earn seventy-five cents a day, and during the next week her
earnings gradually crept up to a dollar a day.
She became quite hopeful after this, for her nature was naturally
buoyant, and she was one who would not readily give up an undertaking,
for the spirit of the Douglas was strong within her.
She began to feel very independent, too, and she really enjoyed the
feeling that she was able to take care of herself.
To be sure, her earnings at the most were only six dollars a week. Three
and a half of these were paid out for her board and lodging, and another
dollar for washing, leaving her only a dollar and a half for other
needs.
But she still had the two hundred dollars which she had received from
Mr. Conrad, and her wardrobe was amply supplied for a year or two, so
that she had no fears but that she could live, at least until some
better position should be offered her. She hoped in time to find a
situation as teacher.
Had it not been for that dreadful boarding-house, with its noise, its
small, close rooms, and its ill-cooked fare, she would have been
comparatively content, for she had made the acquaintance of one or two
young girls who were refined and intelligent like herself, and who, too,
had been suddenly reduced from affluence to poverty.
Mattie Burnham was the name of the young girl who had been so kind to
Brownie on that first day of her life in the factory, and soon, by her
gentleness and refinement, won a warm place in her heart.
Both of the young girls were extremely fond of reading.
One evening they issued forth, arm in arm, and wended their way to a
public library to exchange their books, and to look over the new
periodicals in the reading-room connected with it.
They exchanged their books, and then proceeding to the reading-room,
seated themselves in a cosy corner, and were soon deeply interested in
the various reading matter which lay scattered about upon the tables.
They read for an hour or more, then Mattie, suddenly glancing up at the
clock, asked:
“Meta, do you know what time it is?”
“No,” absently.
“It is half-past eight.”
“Is it?” and Brownie’s eager eyes were not even raised from her book;
she scarce heeded what her friend was saying.
“What have you there that is so interesting?” demanded Mattie, after
watching her in silence for a few minutes.
“It is a little French story, and so intensely interesting! Must we go
home now?” and Brownie looked up wistfully at the clock.
“Yes, it is about time. We shall be locked out if we do not get in
before ten, you know.”
“Oh, well, there is time enough, then. I must read just a little more. I
will read aloud, for I know you will like it, the story is so
beautifully told. Do you understand French?”
“No.”
“Well, no matter, I will translate it as I go along;” and Brownie began
and read for ten minutes as fast as her tongue could fly, Mattie soon
becoming as deeply interested as herself.
She at length stopped, with a sigh.
“Well, I suppose I must leave it; and they will not allow us to take any
of these books away,” she said, regretfully.
“It is beautiful, Meta; but, before we go, just read me a little in
French. I should like to hear you.”
Brownie laughed, and glad of any excuse to return to the book, began to
read aloud in a spirited, piquant manner.
“Dear, dear, what a chatter! I should certainly take you to be a
Frenchwoman yourself,” interrupted Mattie, at length, adding: “It is not
half so interesting to me, though, as when you translated it.”
She arose as she spoke, and Brownie, with another wistful look at the
entrancing pages, reluctantly laid the book down and followed her
example.
They were suddenly arrested, however, by a pleasant voice, saying:
“One moment, if you please, young ladies.”
They stopped and looked around.
An old gentleman was sitting just a little back of where Brownie had
sat, and he had been a very attentive listener while she was reading so
glibly from the French romance. She had not dreamed of having another
listener.
He was venerable, genial-looking man, with flowing white hair and beard,
and he wore gold-bowed spectacles, through which his clear blue eyes
beamed kindly upon them.
“Pardon me,” he said, courteously rising and addressing Brownie, “but I
wished to ask you if you are a teacher of French?”
“No, sir,” replied the young girl, blushing, as she thus became aware
that he had been listening to her. “I only read for my own profit and
amusement.”
“Your accent is remarkably pure. Pardon me again, but where were you
instructed in the language?”
“In Philadelphia, sir. I had a teacher who was a native, and who never
allowed his class, after they once understood the language, to utter a
word in any other tongue during the hours for recitation.”
“An excellent plan, young lady. Now, if it would not tax your patience
too far, will you kindly read me two or three more sentences in French
from this book?”
The old gentleman took up the book she had but just laid aside, and held
it out to her.
Brownie bowed gracefully, wondering what his object could be in thus
testing her powers, as she took the book and began reading again,
fluently.
“Thank you,” he said, after a few minutes, during which time he had been
intently reading the face of the beautiful girl before him.
He then immediately asked her a question in French.
She smiled brightly, and answered it on the instant.
He asked another, and soon they were in a lively controversy, which was
like Choctaw to poor Mattie, who was anxious to get home.
“Do you speak any other language? Can you speak Italian?”
“A _piacere_,” Brownie responded, in liquid tones, which, being
interpreted, means, “at pleasure.”
“And German?”
“I will not say I can speak it as fluently as the others, although I
understand it, and can read at sight in the language. But its guttural
tones never had that attraction for me that the more musical languages
of Italy and France have.”
“Are you musical?” demanded the old man, abruptly, after a few moments’
thought.
“Yes, sir, I am passionately fond of music,” returned Brownie, becoming
somewhat embarrassed at being so closely questioned.
“I fear you think I am very presuming, my young friend,” he said,
noticing her confusion, “but I have a very particular reason for asking
you these questions; and now, if you care to humor an old man, will you
come into the music-room yonder and let me hear you play a little?”
Brownie had ached to get hold of a piano ever since leaving her dear old
home, yet she shrank from displaying her accomplishments in so public a
place.
Still, the old gentleman was so courteous, and seemed so really
interested in her, that she disliked to refuse him, and bowing assent,
she beckoned to Mattie, and followed him to the music-room.
To her intense relief, she found it was empty, and sitting down at the
piano, she began lightly running her rosy fingers over the white keys.
The tones of the instrument inspired her in a moment, and she soon lost
all thought of self and her listener in her intense enjoyment of the
sounds which her soul so loved to hear.
“Sing something, Meta,” whispered Mattie, who had stood by in wondering
surprise at her friend’s accomplishments, and had only waited for a
pause to make her request.
Without a demur, she moderated her touch into an accompaniment, and sang
that beautiful little song, “Your Mission,” the words of which had been
running in her head ever since she had first entered that disagreeable
factory.
She sang the first verses beautifully, but the third was too much for
her, and ere the second line was finished she broke down utterly, and
bowing her head upon the piano, she had to let the bitter tears have
their way.
It was a song which Miss Mehetabel had dearly loved, and many times
during the past year, when they had been sitting in the twilight
together, she had sung it to her.
In a moment she remembered that she was in the presence of a stranger,
and almost as suddenly as she had broken down, she recovered herself,
and, rising from the piano-stool, she signified to Mattie her desire to
return home.
Upon the first outbreak of her grief, the old gentleman had retired to
the farther side of the room, that his presence need not embarrass her.
He now came forward, and she saw that his own eyes were shining with
tears.
He held out his hand to her, and there was a note of tenderness in his
voice, as he said:
“My young friend, forgive me for taxing your patience and good nature to
such an extent, and allow me to say that you have given me more pleasure
during this half hour than I have experienced this many a day.”
Brownie gave him her hand, and while holding it, he asked:
“And now will you allow me just one more question?”
She bowed, wondering what was coming next.
“I do not know what your circumstances may be,” he said, with a little
embarrassment, “but could you be persuaded to teach?”
“Yes, sir, if I could feel satisfied that I was competent to fill the
position offered me,” Brownie replied, frankly.
It had been her desire to teach from the first, but no opportunity had
offered, and she had resolved to secure the first situation of whatever
nature, if honorable, that she could obtain.
“I am happy to hear it,” returned the old man. “You ought to be a
teacher of languages and music. Now, if you will kindly give me your
name and address, I will endeavor to call upon you at an early date, and
talk with you further regarding the matter.”
Brownie did as requested, and did not fail to notice his start of
surprise when she mentioned her connection with the firm of Ware &
Coolidge, nor the contraction of his finely shaped brows which followed
it.
He then presented his card to her, after which he lifted his hat, and
bowed to both girls as if they had been the most aristocratic ladies in
the land, and then left them.
Brownie looked at the card.
It bore the name of Wm. H. Alcott, M. D.
Wondering what object Wm. H. Alcott, M. D., could have in view regarding
her, she carefully put the little bit of pasteboard in her pocketbook,
and then the two young girls hastened home, arriving there just as their
landlady was about locking the doors for the night.
“You’re late,” she said, grimly, and with a suspicious look into
Brownie’s beautiful face, she added: “I don’t believe in girls o’ your
age walking the streets at this time o’ night. I only advertise to take
respectable boarders.”
Brownie’s proud spirit boiled at these insulting words, but she did not
deign to notice them further than by lifting her proud head a trifle
more haughtily, as she swept up the stairs to her own room, followed by
the more subdued and trembling Mattie.