THE COURAGE OF CONVICTIONS
The last mail came up just after dinner. It was in the Aldred House
mail-bag, and Mrs. Aldred handed out the letters. One she laid on the
table. But the recipient had no idea of it and was not among the
applicants.
When they were all gone she took that up. It was in a modern business
hand with a good deal of strength in it, not the kind of hand usual for
country farmers. The post mark was North Hope.
"Will you ask Miss Grant to come to me, Becky?"
Helen flew with eager blitheness through the hall and glanced with happy
inquiring eyes.
"Was there a letter for me? I did not expect one so soon."
"Is this from your uncle?" she held it up.
"Oh, no. That is from Mr. Warfield. I could tell that hand among a
hundred. Isn't it strong and quite as if he knew his own mind?"
She was positively eager with delight as she reached out her hand.
"He is no relative?"
"Oh, the Principal of the school where I went. You know I told you of
the interest he took in me."
"Of course you have read the school regulations in your room?"
Helen's bright face was suddenly shadowed.
"Oh, I do believe--I _did_ forget all about it. I wrote to Mrs. Van Dorn
and then to my uncle, and there seemed so many things I wanted to say to
him, and I just hurried them down. You see he asked me to write to
him----"
Helen paused embarrassed. She knew just where the little card was tacked
beside the door. Various rules and regulations and hours and a notice
that no correspondence would be allowed without permission, to any
gentleman except father and brothers or guardians. And she had never
thought of it at that moment.
"It must have been because he seemed to me like a guardian," she
explained. "That does not excuse my inattention, but please believe me,
Mrs. Aldred, that I didn't willfully break the rule. And you may read
the letter."
"You have the right of the first reading of it. Sit here, will you?"
Helen cut the end of the envelope, and was soon lost in it. Smiles
passed over her face, then she drew her brows in a little crease and the
lips were pressed together with a touch of annoyance. Then the smiles
again.
Mrs. Van Dorn had asked that Helen Grant should not be allowed to
correspond with Mr. Warfield. She did not approve of his influence over
Helen. It was too purely masculine. And Helen was too young to have a
man friend. It might divide her school interest, and she had selected
Aldred House because she wanted Helen to have the best feminine
training.
Mrs. Aldred had smiled over this when she read Mrs. Van Dorn's letter.
Strange that the fear should so soon have materialized.
"Will you please read it," asked Helen in a low tone. "I think he
doesn't quite like a girls' school. And he is all for study. He would
push anyone right straight along, and he believes my music would be
wasted time. I dare say I confessed I was not very bright at it."
The letter was certainly unobjectionable, a little severe perhaps,
betraying the school principal, but still showing the high esteem in
which he held Helen's capabilities. Such a correspondence would not be
likely to do any student harm.
"You see, Helen," she began in a tone of sweet friendliness, "I am
answerable for the girls committed to my charge. Some of the older ones
have young men friends who would be very glad to keep up a
correspondence, and no doubt two or three years hence the girls would
feel mortified at knowing letters of theirs were in the man's
possession. I have known young lads to read letters aloud to their
college or club friends. It is a demoralizing and indiscreet thing, and
no high-minded mother would consent to her daughter doing it without her
knowledge or inspection. One rule, therefore, must apply to all such
correspondences without the mother's consent. A letter like this would
do a girl no harm, indeed, I think your Mr. Warfield rather severe."
"I don't quite understand how I could have done it so carelessly," Helen
said in her frank, honest way. "And I am very, very sorry. But I should
like to write and explain to him why it is"--she cast about for a
word--"inadmissable."
"Of course it is best to do that."
Helen glanced up in such a straightforward fashion. There was nothing
concealed. And to make her renunciation still more earnest and the
obedience more cheerful, she said:
"I don't mean that I shouldn't care for the letters, for I understand
what Mr. Warfield means by every line, and sometimes it would be a
pleasure to write to so good a friend, for after all I owe him the best
fortune of my life. I am doing it without any demur because it is one of
the rules of the school and I do honestly and truly wish to keep them."
"Thank you for your ready acquiescence," and Mrs. Aldred's smile told
Helen the thoughtlessness had been condoned.
"I will bring it to you to decide upon----"
"No," the lady replied, "I can trust you to say just what is right and
proper."
Helen's eyes were in a soft mist as she raised them, and picking up her
letter she made a graceful obeisance as she left the room.
Yes, there was the notice. How could she have let it slip from her mind.
She had a vague idea that it really couldn't apply to a man like Mr.
Warfield, but it was the rule and it must be kept. It did take a certain
something out of her life that she could not have described, but she
felt it. He was so interested in her progress. For had he not roused her
and made a scholar out of her? She might never have known what the
hunger meant but for him, and accepted the husks even if under protest.
How much richer and finer all her life would be. She said frankly that
she was sorry, and that she had counted on the letters.
He was annoyed at the foolishness as he termed it. If she were sixteen
instead of fourteen it would have been different.
The days were so full and passed so rapidly to Helen. The autumn came on
in all its glory and splendor. The hills, they were almost mountains,
about Westchester were wonderful in their changing colors, but she
thought nothing could describe those over the river until she began to
read Ruskin, and that brought her nearer Mrs. Van Dorn again.
She and Daisy Bell slipped into a pleasant girl friendship. Helen was
the stronger, more energetic, more ambitious. But then Daisy had only to
be educated, to go home to her parents and take a place in society and
marry. The girls _did_ talk of the kind of husbands they would like and
the wedding journeys they would take. Two of the seniors were really
engaged.
"And you can't tell how many have lovers," Miss Mays said one evening
when several were sitting, curled up on one bed. "Of course you can't
write to _him_ unless you are regularly engaged and your mother
consents. But if I wanted to correspond with anyone, I'd find a way."
"And disobey the rule," declared Helen.
"Oh, a chit like you doesn't know anything about such matters. All is
fair in love and war. And there are times when strategy is commendable.
You find it a great resource in war as you read history."
"But you wouldn't, really, Roxy! Girls are sometimes sent home in
disgrace."
"I didn't say I would. I said I could find a way if I wanted to," and
she laughed with a sort of light amusement. "I often think up scenes
that would do for a novel; difficulties and how to get out of them."
"I don't want any more difficulties than the lessons," declared another.
"I shall be glad when school days are through with. The happiest time
of life is youth! Not much!"
"What period do you think will be the happiest?" asked Daisy,
thoughtfully.
"My happiest period will be going abroad on a wedding tour, and all the
money I can spend on the other side."
"And mine will be the intervening years," declared Roxy. "Through
school, lots of society, gayety, and admirers and a few flirtations
before I settle down. I'd like to go abroad quite free, and leave the
aching hearts behind."
"And you will make hearts ache, Roxy Mays."
Helen wondered at times how much she liked her, and others quite went
down to her. She was piquant and could be very charming, then she said
sharp and doubtful things, and had a way of twisting axioms around that
was amusing and rather dangerous, too. She stood fairly well in her
classes, but she was not an ambitious girl. How few of them considered
what they were going to do with their education.
After a month or so, Helen began to have what Daisy called an insight
into Latin. But, oh, dear, when she was fairly grounded there she would
have to take up French. And when it came time to sit at the French table
and ask for everything in a foreign tongue, how could she do it?
"I shall simply starve," announced Roxy. "And after Christmas that will
be my fate. I shall keep crackers and cheese under my pillow and nibble
on them in the long and sleepless hours of the night."
There was a good deal of fun when she came to know girls quite well, and
the arguing almost to quarreling. Some girls did and then would not
speak for days. Helen and Daisy agreed very well; Helen was robustly
conscientious, and Daisy gently so. They were of much assistance to each
other.
Besides the boarders there were the day scholars who lived in the town,
and some visiting was permitted. Helen was too busy to indulge in much
outside pleasure except just for exercise. She asked permission one day
to go down the hill for the sake of climbing up. "And I can say over the
Latin exercises, no one will think me crazy, because no one will be
there to hear."
Miss Grace laughed and gave permission, and so it became quite a
favorite excursion ground. If she made blunders there was no one to
laugh but herself.
Cold weather came on. The crimsons turned to russet and brown, the
hickories grew paler and paler until their gold had degenerated and
their leaves shriveled up. There was a soft, light snow the middle of
November that hung about on everything for a day or two and then winter
seemed to set in. But it was so cheerful with the crowd of girls and the
interested teachers that one didn't mind it.
Miss Craven was still very self-contained and reserved. She took her
place in some classes, however. In music she improved rapidly, leaving
Helen far behind. She spoke to Helen now and then of her own accord, but
waited for the others to speak to her. Mrs. Aldred took special pains to
make her feel at home.
"There's something queer about that girl," said Miss Mays one evening.
"And Craven is not an attractive name, though it seems to suit her. I
hope her father hasn't been a bank defaulter, nor a forger, nor a
swindler! You notice that she seldom looks up at anyone. That suggests
concealment."
"Is that a fair judgment?"
"Well, I like a person to look you straight in the eye."
"Roxy Mays, you could stare anyone out of countenance in two minutes, no
matter how straight they looked at you. And hasn't someone written a
verse or two about down-dropping lids and shy eyes, and eyes that seem
to listen rather than look."
"As if eyes could listen!"
"Isn't every sense assisted by every other sense? And doesn't a deaf
person listen with the eyes?"
"Well--I don't like her. She doesn't take hold anywhere. You must meet
people half-way. Now here is Helen frank to a fault, and looking up at
you like a saucy robin. One would know she has nothing to conceal."
Helen flushed and laughed. She often recurred to Mrs. Aldred's suggested
caution. She occasionally heard girls tell incidents about their
families that were neither amusing nor commendable, and that others
turned into ridicule. Some of these, girls would laugh at Uncle Jason,
and oh, what would they say about Aunt Jane! She had simply mentioned
them with the utmost respect. And that a relative of Mrs. Aldred's was
educating her was sufficient.
"Well, there seems to be plenty of money in the Craven exchequer. Her
toilette articles are exquisite. I don't believe she had the taste to
choose them, nor her clothes either."
"Oh, girls, let her alone. Isn't Miss Reid just as distant and
self-contained? She never joins any of the little crowds, nor mingles in
the fun."
"Well, she's of the severe order and is going to college. I'm glad I
don't have to go; if I did it would be purely for fun. I'm in for all
the good times I can possibly get."
How odd it was that so few girls really cared for knowledge! Of course,
the fun was exhilarating, the sharpening of wits made one bright. Roxy
Mays was an expert at twisting and turning and repartee, and making the
worse seem the better reason. Some of it was amusing. But to magnify any
trifling thing into a part of one's character, to give hard judgment on
the shape of one's features or the expression of one's eyes and mouth,
seemed hardly fair to Helen.
She wondered sometimes if one could grow beautiful on high and noble
thoughts? One felt broader and better at heart by giving a more generous
allowance. She soon found that Roxy had a bad fault, and all the girls
in her set condoned it easily, while several of them grumbled about it
to each other. She was always borrowing little articles and seldom
returned them. "I'll take your pencil a moment," she would say. "I'll
just run over this book," and you had to go after your book. It was
thread and needles, buttons of various kinds, even to a shirtwaist set,
and if one button or pin came up missing she was very sorry and would be
sure to replace it when she went down town. Borrowing money was against
the rules. There had once been a disagreeable trouble in the school
about this matter, and now Mrs. Aldred kept a bank for any girl that had
run ahead of her allowance, from which she was at liberty to borrow.
Running up an account in the town was also forbidden.
How soon Christmas came! It fell on Saturday. Some of the girls were
going home, several to visit friends or relatives, and those who
remained were given a holiday. Miss Lane was to go; Madame Meran on
Monday; Miss Gertrude was to have the week in New York. None of the
other teachers resided in the house.
Thursday night there fell a real snow. The others had been beautiful
attempts that had melted away in the next sunshine. Friday morning was
dull and gray, without a breath of air. The roofs wore white hoods or
blankets, the trees absolutely stood still, ermined to their finger
ends, someone said. But at ten the somber clouds began to give way,
growing thinner and thinner, and one spot rather to the south suddenly
became glorified with silvery touches, then golden and azure, and the
world was in a flood of sunshine. Helen thought she had never seen
anything so glorious before.
"Oh, you beautiful, beautiful world!" she cried as she stood out on the
porch, having said good-by to a group of girls. "It's a splendid thing
just to live! But isn't it knowledge that enables one to understand and
appreciate it all!"
She went through the hall. Miss Craven had just come downstairs.
"Oh, let us go out and look at the snow on our own small ravine. I am a
country girl, and I think I have never really _seen_ a snowstorm
before," laughing. "I lived in a rather flat country."
Miss Craven's face slowly lighted up and an expression went over it like
a smile that had not the courage to come out, but she followed readily.
There was the smooth expanse over to the iron fence, then the tops of
trees and shrubbery, set with thousands of gems of all colors, depending
on the rays of the sun. The black hollow, that was the little stream
they could not see from the porch, the elevation on the other side, the
houses and grounds, the men shoveling paths, children snow-balling,
active life already and here the extreme of silence.
"What a picture!"
"And I lived among hills and mountains," remarked Miss Craven. "I used
to get so tired of the solitude. But you can be alone----" pausing
abruptly, and adding: "You are not going away?"
"No. But you shiver. Are you cold? Let us go upstairs to my room and
have a talk. I shall be alone until next Saturday night. Daisy Bell has
gone off to have a lovely time. There was no one who wanted me enough to
petition for me, though I believe I was not to go home until next
summer."
"Oh, you have a home?"
"Yes; and relatives. Come in," as they had reached the room. "We who
remain have a holiday, and just now I do not feel in the humor for any
serious thing. Let us compare our work. You are doing very well in
music, Madame said. I ask about you;" and there was an expression of
real interest in Helen's face that called a pleased flush to that of
Miss Craven.
"Yes, but I do love it so;" and there was an intensity in her tone that
aroused Helen. "If I were not so ignorant of other things I would devote
my whole time to it. And if I could sing! You have such a fine voice."
"It is strong enough to lead a forlorn hope. I'd like it to be a
contralto. There is so much depth and feeling and pathos in a contralto
voice. Did you hear Miss Morgan sing 'Mary o' the Dee' a few evenings
ago? Madame thinks she ought to settle upon music as a profession."
Helen had placed Daisy's rocking chair for her guest. There was a slant
ray of sunshine coming in the window, and the room had a habitable air
that some people always give. Daisy Bell possessed this in an eminent
degree.
"I sometimes wish I were not alone," began Miss Craven. "Only I feel
that girls are not attracted to me. I suppose I am too old for girls,
and I don't know enough for the young ladies. I almost made up my mind
that I wouldn't stay, but Mrs. Aldred has been so kind. And perhaps it
would not be better anywhere else. I am nineteen."
The girls had speculated about her age. Miss Mays said she was at least
twenty-five.
"And I'm not fifteen yet," laughing brightly.
"I wish I could be fifteen, but I would not like to go back and live the
four years over again. My life has been a very dreary one."
"You are so reserved. Don't you really like girls?"
"I like you. I have ever since that day you first talked to me. But you
have so many friends, and I do not want to intrude. I do not know how to
make friends," hesitatingly, while the tears flooded her eyes.
"Were you compelled to live alone?" Helen did not want to seem over
curious. She had visions of some queer old aunt who had shut her doors
to everybody.
"Yes. I'd like to tell you some things I could not tell Mrs. Aldred; at
least, my guardian's wife advised me not to be too frank about my life,
since it probably would not interest anybody, or if it did they would
pretend to admire me and care for the money's sake and what they could
get out of me. Grandfather always said so. I don't know as he meant me
to have it all, but he left no will, and as there was no one else it had
to come to me."
"I'd like to hear about it if you did not mind. And--if you would like
to be friends----"
"Oh, you don't know how dreary it is to be so much alone. Mrs. Davis
thought the school such a foolish plan. But I was so ignorant. I didn't
feel that I could go into society without knowing something. And I have
learned a good deal by watching the girls. Many of them have such lovely
manners. But if I had just one friend to talk things over with----"
There was such a longing in her tone that it seemed fairly to sweep
through Helen.
"I don't know whether I should be a very judicious friend." Oh, if Mrs.
Van Dorn could only set this girl straight, she thought, for that
lady's wisdom had come to be nearly the whole book of the world for
Helen. "But if you liked to try me. I should be true, I can answer for
that," and the trustiness rang in her voice.
"I've really had no one but Mrs. Davis, and I haven't been drawn to her,
although she has been very kind. Yet she is so different from Mrs.
Aldred, and I can't tell which is nearer right. Only I _do_ enjoy it
better here. It is more like the harmony in music. Then I am confused in
a big city, and I really couldn't go into society."
"How did you come to live so much alone?" inquired Helen, feeling as if
she was unraveling a story.
"Father died when Arthur and I were very little, and mother went home to
his father's. It's a queer, curious place with great mountainous ridges
on one side, and on the other, to the south, stretches of land, good for
nothing much, being iron fields, a sort of dreary waste, not considered
good enough in ore to be worked much. Grandfather had bought it twenty
or thirty years before in a great speculating time, then it had dropped
down. I suppose the misfortunes soured him. He had a small farm beside,
kept a cow, and an old nag, and pigs and chickens. Mother was his
daughter-in-law. The house up in the mountainside was old and forlorn,
but as grandfather said, 'It didn't leak and it couldn't blow over.' The
little town was more than a mile away. I used to go in to school when
the weather wasn't too bad. Arthur died soon after we went there. He was
older than I. Grandfather had not really cared for me, he was queer and
morose, and that disappointed him. Girls were of very little account
except to keep house and mend old clothes. I did love school and study.
"When I was about thirteen there was a very hard winter, and mother took
a cold. I suppose it was consumption. She just grew weaker and thinner,
and really didn't give up until a few weeks before she died. She was a
good deal troubled about me. I've seen that plainer since than I did
then. And she kept saying, 'If any good ever comes to you, any money or
any time, get an education. And don't marry any man until you have
acquired that.'
"It was very lonely when she was gone, and I had the house to keep.
Oxford village wasn't very much, three or four hundred people, and
mostly farms, just one little spot with a church, schoolhouse, country
store and post-office. I couldn't go to school any more, grandfather
always went to town with butter and eggs and the produce he could spare.
I lost track of folks as one may say. Grandfather didn't believe in
church-going, and I seldom had anything nice to wear. We were real
hermits. You see I _was_ kept pretty busy. But I used to study the old
books over. There were two or three music books, and I learned to read
music just for a pastime. Then I made a sort of keyboard and used to
practise. I meant to have a piano if I was fifty years old.
"A year ago in August, a man who had a new way of separating iron ore,
and was concerned with a railroad surveying a new route, struck Oxford,
and was surprised that it had lain unimproved so long. A company was
formed that pushed things, and they wanted to buy out grandfather. There
was a great deal of wrangling and they were at the house nearly every
day. The rails were laid and a big smelting furnace begun. In six months
no one would have known the place. One stretch of land they were quite
in doubt about buying when it was discovered to have a vein of very
valuable iron in it, hematite, and then he would not sell it, but leased
it to the company for five years and he was to have a percentage on
every ton of iron taken out of it. He still had the farm and we went on
as usual, but it seemed as if he was more and more difficult to get
along with and grew more sordid in his views. Of course there was always
plenty to eat, but I did long for some of the other enjoyments. To spend
half of my life in that wild spot seemed unendurable.
"One blustering March day he had been out on the ridge all the
afternoon, but though he ate a hearty supper he complained of feeling
cold. I made him a hot drink and put a brick steaming with herbs to his
feet. The next morning he had fever and was flighty, but he wouldn't
consent to have a doctor. And when he was wild with delirium and I sent,
it was too late. In five days he was dead with pneumonia. It seemed
dreadful that he should die on the eve of prosperity, but I wonder if he
would have done anything worth while with his wealth.
"There was no will. I was the only heir, though a cousin did come from
parts unknown and was easily bought off as he had no real claim. This
Mr. Davis had been doing some of the business for grandfather, and was a
director I believe. There had to be an administrator and a guardian
appointed for me, and then I found I was a rich young woman, with a
prospect of being richer still. Mrs. Davis took me in her house and was
very kind to me. But I had a feeling that I wanted the education I had
so hungered for and missed. She proposed a year in a convent to be
trained in ladylike ways. I had a longing to know what real girls were
like; I wanted to go to some nice quiet school and have that training
before I went out in the world. I was afraid of society women, and I did
not want to be married out of hand.
"There was a Mrs. Howard who came to stay at the summer home of Mrs.
Davis. She was not so full of pleasure as some of the ladies, and once
when they were all out on the golf links we had a walk and a talk, and
she thought my desire to go to some small quiet school a very good one.
She had a niece educated here and admired her training very much. She
wrote for me and forwarded me the answer, and then I wrote, and this is
the result. Mrs. Aldred is kindness itself, and agreed that private
lessons would be best until I could begin to compete with other girls.
What I have gathered is such desultory knowledge, and I'm like a child
in some things. Oh, can't you see that? And I _am_ afraid of being
laughed at.
"You all seem so bright, so ready with your talk, you know so much that
I envy you. And if I am going to be a rich woman I want to know and to
do some of the best things. I don't believe I could be satisfied with
buying gowns and going to parties. There, it is a long story, and it is
odd to tell it to you, only there is such a look in your eyes at times
that it seemed to me you would understand and _not_ laugh or hold me up
to ridicule."
There was an almost breathless intensity in the face, a half fear as
well, but the telling of her sad story had roused her from her ordinary
apathy.
"I certainly should not ridicule you," Helen began decisively. "Why, I
think it is very brave of you to want to be educated when you could lead
a life of ease and pleasure. And I am beginning to suspect that a love
of knowledge is _not_ universal, but I like it myself. There is so
much in the world that I wonder women do not keep going on as some of
the men do. Only then, I suppose, they wouldn't marry. And you would
have to be quite rich to do it."