DIFFERENT STANDPOINTS
Helen would have been figuratively torn to pieces if she had spent
Sunday at the Center. Uncle Jason's first resolve was that he would wait
until Sunday afternoon before announcing the conspiracy. The more he
thought of the plan the greater the benefit to Helen seemed. She _was_
different from the Mulfords, and she had no Cummings blood in her veins.
She had changed these few weeks of her sojourn with Mrs. Dayton. Not
that she had grown consequential. Indeed, she had never been more simply
sweet than on this afternoon.
She would hate the shop dreadfully. And after all the three dollars a
week she would earn the first year, would not more than pay for her
board and clothes. Jenny had gone at it with a vim. But she hated books.
The only thing that interested her was arithmetic. Uncle Jason could not
put it in words, but he could feel it.
The supper passed off without any squabbles. Sam and Jenny walked down
to the house, the children were tired and went to bed, and Aunt Jane
came out on the porch to take a turn in her rocking chair and fan
herself cool. But the wind blew up, and she did not even have to fan.
"Did you ask whether Helen would come home next week? Polly Samson comes
two days to make Jen's wedding gown, and she'll be married on the
sixteenth. We've got along wonderfully the last fortnight, and I begin
to see my way clear. Dear, how I shall miss Jen, but I'm glad she'll be
so near by. And she bid 'em good-by at the shop to-day. Reely's getting
to be quite a help. I don't know but it _was_ better for her to have
Helen away in vacation."
Uncle Jason felt this was the golden opportunity. The lovers would not
be home until about ten. It took some courage. He cleared his throat,
listened a moment to the crickets, and then plunged into the subject;
blurting it all out before Aunt Jane could recover her breath. In fact
there was such an awful silence he wondered.
Then the storm descended. He smoked his pipe and listened, though he
heard the crickets with one ear, he would have said. And when he did not
make an immediate answer, she said angrily:
"You never consented to any such tomfoolery!"
"In the first place," he began slowly, "we couldn't keep Helen against
her will. Her father didn't make us guardians. At fourteen she can
choose. She isn't bound to us, and we haven't any real claim on her----"
"Except common gratitude," Aunt Jane flung out.
"We've taken care of her a few years. I dare say there'd be people in
North Hope who would take a smart girl like Helen and pay her three
dollars a week. Mrs. Dayton thought she might stay there and go to the
High School before that other offer come along. And Warfield thinks it
would be dreadful not to give her a chance at school when she could earn
it for herself. She doesn't want to go in the shop----"
"As if a girl of fourteen knew what she wanted!"
"Jenny did, and you agreed with her. I was awfully took by surprise when
old lady Van Dorn first snapped this onto me, but Helen and Mrs. Dayton
were so much in earnest, and then drivin' home I kept thinking it over.
If someone offered to take Sam and teach him store business, and he had
his heart set upon going, and it was a good chance, I don't believe it
would be right to oppose him. It's just the same with Helen."
"And have her stick up above us and despise us! She's had pride enough,
and I've tried to break her of it. I just wish I hadn't let her go at
all. She'll be unthankful and full of conceit, and she never _shall_ go
with my consent."
Uncle Jason kept silence, which was very irritating. Aunt Jane went over
the ground again, growing more dogmatic at every step. Then the young
people returned.
"Goodness sakes, mother, what are you scolding about?" cried Jenny.
"They can hear you half a mile away."
Then the story had to be gone over again.
"Well, I declare! I don't see that it's anything to get mad about," said
Jenny sensibly. "Why, it's--it's just splendid! Pop, don't you think she
ought to go? And if she likes teaching better than anything else, for
goodness sake, let her teach! I'd rather go out washing. And a girl who
don't like it in the shop won't get along. Helen hasn't quite the right
way with her. She's on the Grant side of the fence. My! The idea! That
old lady must have taken a smashin' fancy to her. And she has sights of
money, folks say. Maybe she'll leave her something in the end, and she's
quite old."
"I'm fairly stumped!" declared Sam. "Mother, what's the reason you don't
want her to go?"
"Mother's afraid she'll put on airs, and crow over us. Goodness! Let
her, if she wants to. I'm going to have a good home, and a good
husband," squeezing Joe's hand, "and she may crow over me as much as she
likes. It won't hurt me a bit. And if you undertake to keep her home
she'll be cranky, and you'll wish you hadn't."
They were all on Helen's side. Mrs. Mulford could not make any headway
and went off to bed in high dudgeon. All day Sunday she carried about an
injured look, and said she had reached the time of life when her
opinions were of no account, after all she had done, and where would
anyone have been without her thrift and judgment?
On Monday Jenny helped wash and iron, and sang about the house. She told
her mother the matter wasn't worth minding. Tuesday, Polly Samson came
with three new patterns of wedding gowns, and fairly alive with the
wonderful news that a rich old woman boarding at Mrs. Dayton's was going
to adopt Helen, and send her away to school.
The next afternoon the carriage came over with Mrs. Van Dorn, Mrs.
Dayton, and Helen, and the agreement. Certainly Mrs. Van Dorn's part
sounded very generous. For the next two years she would provide wholly
for Helen, and keep her at school, but she would be free in the summer
vacation. After that Helen must decide her course. Mr. Castles, the
lawyer, vouched for Mrs. Van Dorn. The Mulfords were to visit her
whenever they chose.
"I don't agree to any of this," said Mrs. Mulford, in her most severe
tone. "I don't believe in girls being brought up above their station.
We're just plain farmer people, and Helen's our kin, though if she was
on the Cummings' side, I'd have some voice in the matter. Mr. Mulford's
willing, and if it turns out bad, and she grows up proud and lazy, and
ashamed of honest labor, 'taint my fault. I wash my hands of it all,"
and she fairly wrung them out.
Helen's face was scarlet.
Mrs. Van Dorn said in a very dignified manner, "Will you sign this, Mr.
Mulford? You will see the money is in Mr. Castles' hands, and must be
used for that alone. You can compel me to keep my word," smiling.
"I don't doubt you at all," said Mr. Mulford. "I'd trust you without the
scratch of a pen."
"But that wouldn't be business."
Jenny brought in some cake, and some very nice root beer. If the ladies
chose they could have a cup of tea.
Mrs. Van Dorn thought she would.
Then they talked about Jenny's wedding. Helen was to go to New York on
Saturday, and on Friday of next week was due at Aldred House.
"I'm awful sorry you can't come to the wedding," said Jenny. "We're
going away for a week, then we shall have a house-warming at my house.
I'm going to be married at noon, so the relatives can get home before
night. And I'm sure I wish you loads of good luck. It is just wonderful.
Mother'll get over it, and be just as proud as anybody. Father thinks it
just right, and Joe says it's like something out of a story book. He's
fond of stories, and used to read them to his mother. I shan't mind his
reading to me, for I'll sew and crochet."
"And I know you'll be happy, Jenny. I wish you all the good things. And
I could--stay all night," hesitatingly.
"No, I wouldn't. Come over and spend Friday, then mother'll be in a
better humor," laughing. "But father'll miss you dreadfully. He'd lotted
on your taking my place. Well, we'll all miss you, but it's such a
splendid chance. You'll let her come over on Friday?" to Mrs. Van Dorn.
"Then my wedding gown will be done. It's white lansdowne. I thought I
wouldn't splurge in silk or satin. Lansdowne will dye when it's soiled."
Mrs. Van Dorn promised for Friday, and they said their good-bys. Helen
ran out to the kitchen porch, and kissed Uncle Jason.
"There were two votes against it," said Mrs. Van Dorn dryly. "I think I
can understand your aunt, but I don't see the force of Mr. Warfield's
reasoning. Your cousin seems a nice, sensible girl."
How the days flew! One of the neighbors took her over Friday morning.
Joe and Jenny would bring her back. And she had a really happy time.
Jenny took her down to the house, and it was attractively nice and
comfortable, even if Jenny had tacked up some advertising pictures in
her chamber, and the dining-room. There was an old-time door-yard with
its long rows of flowers. Joe was a master hand for flowers. The
vegetable garden was in excellent order, and did not look ragged, as
gardens were wont to do in early autumn. There had been a second crop of
several things, which betokened thrift on Joe's part. Yes; Jenny would
be very happy. People _were_ different, and the same pursuits and
pleasures could not satisfy all alike.
"I'm glad you are going to that school, Helen. You would never have
liked working in the shop. It's suited me well enough, because I've been
thinking of the money. I have two hundred dollars in the bank in my own
name, and Joe is going to let me have the butter and egg money. But I
don't know how I'll keep busy all the time, though I can help mother
with the sewing. She'd counted so much on you. And she thinks now----"
Jenny looked at Helen, and laughed merrily, "that if Mrs. Van Dorn would
put the money out at interest that she's going to spend on you the next
two years, it would be ever so much better for you."
"No, it wouldn't," returned Helen decisively. "Beside, what good reason
would she have for doing such a thing? She knows I am just wild for an
education. There are so many splendid knowledges in the world," and the
girl's face was brilliant with eagerness.
"You've changed some way, Helen. I guess you always were a little
different, though." Jenny seemed studying her from head to foot. "You're
taller. My, if you had on long skirts, you'd be a young lady."
"I just want to be a girl for ever so long. Mrs. Van Dorn doesn't want
me grown up."
"And I went in the shop when I was only half-past fourteen," laughing.
"I made mother let me wear long skirts, and when I was fifteen Joe began
to come round and bring me home from cottage meeting and singing school,
but his mother didn't like it a bit. She wouldn't have let him marry if
she had lived, but I was willing to wait and that maddened her. Now if
she'd been nice, I'd a' been real glad to have her round. And I say to
mother, don't you be getting cranky and snappy so as no one will want to
live with you when you get old. Isn't that Mrs. Van Dorn rather queer?"
"She is so bright and intelligent, and has traveled about so much and
read almost everything. Why I've learned about countries and their
government, and what they do at Washington, and about Congress and our
own capital, and the cities and towns that have mayors, and boroughs,
and villages."
"Oh dear, all that would set me crazy!" interrupted Jenny, holding up
her hand in entreaty. "I guess you _do_ take after your father. Well my
life suits me best. Just imagine me marrying a man like Mr. Warfield!
Why I shouldn't know what to do--I'd rather work in the shop and have
fun with the girls. But if all these things suit you, you ought to have
them, when they are offered out and out to you."
"I am glad _you_ think so;" and she gave Jenny's arm a caressing little
squeeze.
"And I do hope you won't get so big feeling that you will be too grand
to notice us. I'd like you to come next summer in vacation and make me a
nice long visit. I think I'll be able to stand book learning for a
while;" with her rather boisterous laugh. "And oh, you won't forget to
write to father."
"No indeed," with tender warmth. "I never loved Uncle Jason so much as
this last summer, though he's always been good to me."
"And he thinks a mighty sight of you, I can tell you," returned Jenny.
Then they walked homeward. There was a great ado bidding Helen good-by.
Aunt Jane gave her some severely good advice, which was quite
superfluous, seeing that she would not recognize the change in the
girl's life.
Uncle Jason put both arms around her and kissed her tenderly.
"Be a good, honest, truthful girl," he said in a rather broken voice,
"and then all the learning in the world won't hurt you."
The next morning there were some more good-bys. Joanna's was really
touching.
"There's a good deal of knowledge it's nice to have," she said, "but I
think your pretty ways must have come natural. And you do beat all at
drying dishes."
Mrs. Dayton felt almost as if she was giving up a child. Would it have
been better for her to have remained at Hope?
She was really astonished at the commotion the event created. Wasn't it
a great risk to have Helen Grant go off with a strange woman? Just as if
schools in Hope were not good enough!
"I never saw anything wonderful in Helen Grant," said Mrs. Graham. "Mr.
Warfield pushed her ahead when he should have been taking pains with
others, and I'll venture to say he helped her out with that examination.
She couldn't have gone to the High School anyhow. And Jason Mulford is
as stuck up as a telegraph post over her luck. We'd all laugh if it fell
through in a year!"
As for Helen there were several days of living in absolute fairyland.
The Hotel was a veritable palace to her, the ladies, queens and
princesses. As for the stores they were beyond any description, only she
thought they had been rehearsed in "Walks about Paris," but she was
sometime to see the difference.
Mrs. Van Dorn displayed excellent taste in selecting Helen's wardrobe.
It was simply pretty, fit for a girl in the ordinary walks of life. Her
measurements were left with madame, who, from time to time would send
her what was suitable and necessary.
She had been such a charming companion that Mrs. Van Dorn really hated
to give her up. If she were only two or three years older! Her
enthusiasms were so fresh and infectious, her health was so perfect, her
readiness, her pleasant temper, the pretty manner in which she took any
check or counsel, appealed curiously to the worn old heart still
hankering after something all its own, that should exhilarate and bring
her back to some of the freshness of youth. Two years. Well, there were
women who lived to ninety-six, or even a hundred. She would take good
care of herself and have this enjoyment in her later years.
Miss Gage took Helen to Westchester. It was a beautiful town with old
trees and old substantially-built houses. It was the county town also,
and twice a year presented quite a stirring aspect. The inhabitants were
refined and intelligent. Four different denominations had churches. A
lovely winding river ran on one side, full of suggestive nooks, dividing
it from a neighboring State. A smaller one ran nearly through the
center, crossed by several rustic bridges. Toward the east there was a
rather high bluff going up, a woody sort of crest, and on this stood
Aldred House, though it fronted on Elm Avenue. There were two terraces,
and two short flights of steps to reach it, and a great wide veranda
where a Virginia creeper and honeysuckle were burnishing their leaves in
the sun.
"Oh," sighed Helen with a long indrawn breath and luminous eyes, "tell
Mrs. Van Dorn that I shall be perfectly happy here, I know I shall."
And Mrs. Van Dorn wondered when the message was repeated. Youth was
easily caught by newness. What if Helen should be weaned away by other
friends? And there were girls born students who could not be satisfied
unless with some profession or business. What if she should be one of
these? The jealous old heart wanted all of her, all of the Babylon she
meant to build with its pleasant gardens and fascinating nooks of
variety. Well, Helen had cared for her old uncle, and she, Mrs. Van Dorn
would be a hundred times better to her.
The reception room was cozy, with one open bookcase, some pictures, a
great oriental jar full of trailing clematis and blazing sumac branches.
Mrs. Aldred came in, a rather tall, sweet-faced woman with a voice that
won at once, and a manner that had a welcome in it.
"I am very glad to have you come, and glad that I could oblige Mrs. Van
Dorn in any way. I hope you will soon feel at home," she exclaimed.
"Oh, it is so lovely everywhere! And the journey for the last mile or
two where you caught glimpses of the river, and in one place a great
pile of rocks big enough to shelter some of the old Norse gods was
enchanting. We have only one poor little river at home and there is but
one really beautiful place in it. And I am sure I shall like to live
here."
An enthusiastic girl, thought Mrs. Aldred. A fine, intelligent face
also, perhaps too romantic.
Miss Gage gave her few charges and said good-by, as she was to catch a
return train. It was early afternoon. Several of the scholars had
arrived and were settling their rooms. Then Helen's trunk came up. Mrs.
Aldred had been taking her through the long parlor on the opposite side
of the hall, and the dining room, where instead of one long table,
several small ones were cozily arranged. Back of this, toward the bluff,
was the schoolroom, and the study room, with several small ones for
recitations.
"I wonder if you would like best to be alone in a room or have a
companion?" questioned Mrs. Aldred. "I sometimes give girls a choice."
"I like folks," returned Helen, frankly. "That is----" pausing rather
confusedly.
"If they are agreeable?"
"Yes," said Helen, smiling.
"I will give you a room where you _may_ have a companion if you like.
Some girls get homesick at first if they are alone."
"Oh, I shall not be homesick," she exclaimed with gay assurance.
Up the broad staircase they trooped, though there were two smaller ones
convenient to many of the rooms. There was a long corridor with small
rooms opening on the one side, and a cross hall leading to those in
front. In the double rooms were screens arranged to insure as much
privacy as one cared for. A white bed, a sort of closet with
book-shelves above, a bureau and dressing table, a wardrobe built in
the wall, a wicker arm chair and a rocking chair, with a large hassock
and a small one.
"Now," said Mrs. Aldred, "when your trunk comes you will empty it and
put your clothes away, and the servant will take it to the trunk room."
It came up in a few moments. Then Mrs. Aldred left her with some kindly
wishes.
Helen went to the window. It overlooked the southwest. There were tops
of trees, then a depression that was the river, and over beyond fields
golden in the sunshine,--that was the stubble of grain, others a dull
brown with here and there a bit of green weed pushing up sturdily since
the hay had been cut, young winter wheat over beyond, houses, farms,
rising ground again and woodlands. Far over to the westward were the
grand hills of another State. It was so much more beautiful than all the
Hopes with their levels.
This wonderful thing had happened to her. Hardly a year, indeed it was
at the beginning of the present year that Mr. Warfield had gone at her
rather fiercely, she thought, and told her there was no use of dawdling
and that she must pass for the High School.
"But I can't go to the High School," she had protested. That looked
impossible.
"No matter, you can pass," he had said so sternly that she wondered why
people must be cross when they were so much nicer in a pleasant mood.
Then Aunt Jane began to talk of next year when she should be through
school. She roused suddenly, she "took hold" as people say and found
that life meant something. Perhaps it was the growth out of childhood,
the development of mind; country children were not analytical. She began
to wonder about things, to ask questions that pleased Mr. Warfield and
tormented Aunt Jane, and all these events, more than had come in the
thirteen and a half years before, had happened in this little space of
time. Eight months only.
"Oh dear, I wonder if things, incidents, come this way to all girls. I
wonder if there is a time when you wake up," and she looked steadily at
the sky with its drifts of gray white clouds as if it could answer.
"Well, I do suppose Jenny woke up, too. She wanted to go in the shop and
earn money. Sam doesn't seem very wide awake, though he means to learn a
trade. Yes, I think there must be diverse gifts. Oh, it's just glorious
here! I wish Mrs. Van Dorn could know."
She did know one day before she sailed and her heart thrilled with a
warmth it had not known in a long while. Clara was serene, useful,
patient, but she _did_ lack enthusiasm.
There were steps and voices, gay laughs, some new girls had come, some
old ones rushed out to welcome them. Helen turned and saw her trunks and
began to devote herself to unpacking. There was a best hat in a
compartment. She opened the wardrobe door and on the shelf were two hat
boxes. That was settled. The small articles she laid on the rug, and
lifted out the tray. Then came the gowns and skirts, the shirtwaists and
all the paraphernalia. She found places for them. But here were two very
precious belongings, the Madonna she had once coveted, and a tall vase
of roses with a few fallen leaves so natural that one felt inclined to
brush them off. There was also an extremely fine photograph of Mrs. Van
Dorn. Of course the artist had done his best and turned back the hand of
time; she was not over fifty that day.
Helen was much interested in "settling." There were hooks for her
pictures, so she stood up on a chair and hung them. There were several
pretty table ornaments, her writing desk with its outfit.
Some one tapped at the partly-opened door. She found a bright
rosy-cheeked girl with a fluff of golden red hair, and a laughing face.
"You are one of the new girls," exclaimed a merry voice. "I'm Roxy Mays,
not half as hard as my name sounds. In full its Roxalana. I've tried
several other ways of shortening it, but they are delusions and snares.
I was named after a rich old great-aunt, she was my sponsor and
consented to promise I should renounce everything desirable. Why is it
that rich people have such ugly names and are always wanting to
perpetuate them, or do you get rich on an ugly name? There ought to be
some compensation. Now--have you any objection to stating yours before
supper time?"
"Mine is Helen Grant."
"Oh, that is splendid and strong and easy to call. There was Helen Mar,
and Helen of Troy, and several other famous Helens. Well, I like your
name to begin with. Are you going to be a doctor?"
"A doctor!" Helen gave a little shudder.
"Oh, that settles it. You haven't the courage for all you look so brave.
Two of our last year's graduates have chosen that walk in life. One goes
to New York bound to work her way through, the other to Wellesley. Seven
years of study, think of it and weep!"
"But if she loves to study?"
"Depravity of taste. Spider, ask in this timid fly hovering about your
gates," and as Helen stepped back with a gesture of the hand Miss Mays
entered and glanced around, though she kept on talking. "Do you like
getting settled, and are you not bothered about the right places?--oh,"
with almost a shriek--"you have that lovely Bodenhausen Madonna! I have
the Sichel and I never can decide which I like best. And then Gabriel
Marx, and Dangerfield! We're not hopelessly modern, for I have the
Sistine. Nearly every girl has it. And oh, who is this handsome woman? A
Duchess at the very least!"
"That is--a dear friend," Helen flushed. "That must have been taken when
she was younger. She is quite old now."
"Elderly. There may be old men and old peasant women in pictures, but
the living women are simply elderly. Well, one wouldn't mind growing
old if one could look like that. Have you ever been away at school
before?"
"No," returned Helen.
"North, South, East or West? Brevity is the soul of wit. I sometimes set
up for a wit when I can do it on a small capital."
"Rather southerly from here," laughed Helen. "A little country place
called Hope Center."
"Hope Center. Helen Grant. Well that has a sound! You will do. What else
are you going to put up?"
"I haven't anything else."
"That's delightful. Most girls bring so much from home, to cry over. You
don't really look like the crying kind. And school girl treasures
accumulate fearfully. It's nice to have a place to put the new ones."
She had a small photograph of Mrs. Dayton in her writing desk. There had
not been any keepsakes to bring.
"Won't you come and be introduced to some of the girls? They are in
Daisy Bell's room."
"Wouldn't I----" she hesitated.
"Be an intruder? Oh dear no. The sooner you get over these things the
better. Come!"
She took Helen's hand and led her to a room two or three doors down. The
screens had been pushed aside. On one bed sat two girls, two others were
hanging pictures and spreading bric-a-brac on brackets and shelves. One
of the girls was still in short skirts, and Helen felt secretly glad.
This was Daisy Bell.
"Oh, thank goodness you're not grown up," cried Daisy, eyeing her from
head to toe. "I wept, I prayed, I entreated for long skirts, and I
couldn't move my mother, any more than the rock of Gibraltar."
"Well, you're not a senior. Why should you care?"
"How old are you, Miss Grant?"
"Past fourteen the last of June."
"Oh, how tall for that! I'm fifteen. But I have two older sisters, and
they are always saying 'That child, Daisy,' as if I was about seven. How
many sisters have you?"
"None. And no father or mother."
"You poor wretched orphan!"
[Illustration: Helen's first day at Aldred House.--_Page 192._]
"She doesn't look a bit wretched, Roxy Mays," said a girl who had been
surveying her. "The juniors are all down there," nodding toward the
lower end of the hall, "so you might have known she wasn't 'sweet and
twenty.'"
"At what age do you begin to grow sweet so as to get ready for the
twenty?"
"Oh, girls, don't let's hurry into the twenty. I'd like to stay sixteen
three years, and seventeen four years."
"I wish they'd made the years longer. There could have been another
month or two put in vacation time."
"What is Hope Center like?" asked one of the girls. "It doesn't sound
like a city."
"It's the country, farms mostly. North Hope is the real town part, and
quite pretty, with stores, and churches, and a library, and a small but
nice park."
"There's a lovely old park here. Everything is old. There are the oldest
women you ever saw. One of them shook hands with Lafayette."
"And I've shaken hands with ever so many people and not a Lafayette or a
Washington among them," declared Roxy most lugubriously.
"Now look, girls, would you hang this picture here?"
"I think it's rather dark. Bring it over here."
"Yes, that's better. No one asks Miss Grant to sit down."
"'No stars were shining in the sky--
There were no stars to shine.'
No chairs were idly standing round,
In schools they never do abound,"
laughed Daisy Bell. "Miss Grant, sit on the bed. It won't break down."
"Oh, I don't mind," returned Helen.
"What I am to do with all these things!" moaned Daisy, glancing
helplessly about.
"Miss Grant has begun sensibly. She did not cart a lot of truck away
from home."
Helen had a mind to say humorously "There was no truck to cart," but two
others began to talk at once, and she wondered how they could say such
bright merry things. It seemed as if she had never seen real girls
before.
Then Daisy finished up and they went down on the big back porch where
chairs were plenty and hammocks were swung. Helen was introduced to
another bevy of girls, some quite young ladies it seemed. They all went
in to supper presently, and Helen found herself next to Daisy Bell. The
six girls at this table were all young. Afterwards they went out of
doors again and Miss Aldred joined them, welcoming several of the new
arrivals personally. She had a very sweet face without being really
pretty. She came over to Helen after a few moments and said in a low
tone. "You are Mrs. Van Dorn's _protegee_. I hope you will be very happy
among us."
"Oh, I am sure I shall," returned Helen.
At nine there was a hymn sung and a brief prayer. Then the girls
dispersed, and at ten everybody was in bed.