HOPE THROUGH A WIDER OUTLOOK
She had on nice-fitting button boots with heels only moderately high, a
dark-blue, thin summer-cloth skirt up to her ankles, with several rows
of stitching through the hem, the crumply white plisse waist that fell
like drapery about shoulders and arms, her hair was a mass of braids at
the back with a straight parting from forehead to crown, some short
curling ends about the edge of her fair brow, and the blue of her eyes
was many shades deeper than the ribbon around her neck. Mrs. Van Dorn
was no more anxious to have her a young lady than Mr. Warfield.
She was just a bright, intelligent, good-looking girl, who would never
be girlishly pretty, but something better, perhaps a handsome woman at
five-and-twenty, and always attractive from the sort of frank sweetness,
the wholesomeness of the thorough girl.
Mr. Warfield felt rather vexed at being disappointed, yet down in his
heart he was glad she was fulfilling the sort of ideal he had of her,
the girl she might become with proper training, he had often said, even
to Mrs. Dayton. He thought he should know on just what lines to develop
the best and highest in her. He held a very good opinion of a man's
training for certain natures, and hers was one. Then he felt a little
sore at not being able to keep a sort of supervision over her by letter.
But when she came and sat down by him in that unaffected manner and
looked out of such frank eyes; smiled with an every-day cordiality, as
if the smile was in constant use, he was a little nonplused.
"What have you been doing this whole year?" he asked with interest.
"Could you pass an examination for the High School?"
"Oh, do you remember how frightened I was? But some of the questions
would not cause me five minutes' thought now. I've had a magnificent
time with history and literature, and a tough time with Latin. It is one
of the things I have to delve at this summer. It seems to me most of my
life is school life. I can't stop anywhere. Something is thrust at me
all the time."
"You used to love to study," complainingly.
"I love it yet. Botany is delightful, it is so full of live wonders. I
do not care so much for chemistry. And physics----"
"They require close attention. And what accomplishments?" in a
dissatisfied tone.
"French that I am not in love with, but Mrs. Van Dorn insists upon it,
and the piano, drawing, and painting."
"A waste of time most of them," he commented severely.
"Sketching is very fascinating."
"And a camera can give you the picture twice as well."
"Some of the Seniors do beautiful work. One of them goes abroad to study
and perfect herself in art. Miss Gertrude Aldred will go after next
year."
"That may be very well for pastime, or waste-time," with a touch of
sarcasm, "but I don't suppose any of these girls could get their living
at it?"
"I don't know as they will be compelled to."
"But everybody has to be put through the same mill, I suppose?"
"Not exactly. Some studies are elective. Three of the girls go to
college. Of course many of them do not expect to turn their education
to any account. I should like to know just what I am to do with mine,"
and she laughed softly.
"I thought you once looked up to teaching as a sort of glorified
existence."
The touch of irony did not hurt her at all.
"I still think it one of the finest professions. Only--I should like to
have a school of smart, eager children, and go on and on with them. I
think it must be very hard to take up a new dull class every season."
"It is," he returned frankly. "It was one of the drawbacks, like going
down to the foot of your own class."
"So I think I shall have a boarding school and keep the girls year after
year."
"Well, are you deep in metaphysics or transcendentalism?" asked a
cheerful voice, as Mrs. Dayton's ample figure emerged from the door-way.
"You do not seem to be 'sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.'
That is an old-fashioned quotation and was in the copy books at school
in my day, when to be thin and pale was the mark of a student. And
wasn't midnight oil another? You do not show marks of either, Helen."
"Oh, the lights are out and we have to be in bed at ten. We can rise as
early as we like in the morning, however," laughed Helen.
"Numbers of the old ideas have been exploded. Still, we must admit they
made some good scholars. The students were more in earnest, they were
not so superficial."
"But it takes a long while to learn everything thoroughly. That is where
teachers and professors have the advantage, they can spend their whole
lives over it," exclaimed Helen. "Honestly," and a rather mischievous
light flashed across her face, "I do not think the average girl is a
born student. Perhaps the boy isn't either. But there seem to be so many
things in a girl's life, so many sides to it"--and a thoughtful crease
came in her forehead.
"You have found that out early. But the successes must be able to do
several things well, and to bring knowledge into action, not have a lot
of useless matter stored up in the brain waiting for the time to make it
serviceable, and then it is not fresh, often not useful."
"Like the old clothes you pile up in the garret," interpolated Mrs.
Dayton. "They are out of date and moth-eaten. There are many things it
is not worth while to save up. I have a boarder here who has saved up
all her troubles since she was ten years old, and lives them over, takes
them out and puts them back. She is a well-informed woman, too. There is
the bell, so come in to dinner."
There were only Mr. and Mrs. White, Mrs. Carson, the woman of many
troubles, and Mr. Conway, who gave Helen a warm welcome, but was amazed
at the change in her.
They talked a little over the last summer's guests. "Miss Lessing was
married and the younger girl engaged. The Disbrowes had gone West. And
truly I wouldn't mind having Mrs. Van Dorn again. She certainly is an
uncommon woman and does enjoy life on all sides. And it is curious the
way she picks up knowledge everywhere. I dare say she sometimes mentions
facts about her own country to consuls and ministers abroad that they
have scarcely heard of," declared Mrs. Dayton.
Mr. Warfield gave a little sniff and a curl of the lip that seemed to
run all over his face in disapprobation, because he could find no
trenchant sentence to apply to Mrs. Van Dorn. But Helen glanced at her
hostess with a lovely grateful light more eloquent than words.
When they rose she lingered. "I ought to go out and dry the dishes for
Joanna," the girl said laughingly.
"Indeed, you will do no such thing," was the quick reply. "And let me
whisper a secret in your ear, though I don't know as it need be that.
Mrs. Van Dorn wrote me a note, asking me to invite you here and keep you
as much of the time as Aunt Jane would be willing to spare you. And she
inclosed a check. I'd been ready enough to do it just for the pleasure."
"She is very generous," said Helen, much moved.
"And some people think her mean. She is unduly exact, but I guess the
world would be better if more people paid their just debts instead of
buying you a dollar gift when they owed you forty or fifty. But run out
on the porch and talk to Mr. Warfield. He came purposely to see you.
I'll be out and join the fray presently," her eyes overflowing with an
amused light. "If you were older I should say--there, run along."
She checked herself just in time. It was on the tip of her tongue to
add--"he is half in love with you." But the girl's face was so
innocently frank that it would have been both ill-bred and cruel to
suggest such a thing.
On the whole, it was a pleasant evening, though Helen was not a little
puzzled by several things in Mr. Warfield's demeanor, and his resolutely
keeping to his opinion that she would have been better off at the High
School. Some way would have opened for her, he was confident.
Still, he gave her the most cordial good wishes. She had the making of a
splendid girl and woman in her. He took great credit in the
consciousness that he had seen this, and roused her from a commonplace
existence, for now, whatever happened, she could not be commonplace; as
if, indeed, the every-day lives were not often doing heroic and lovely
deeds in their every-day sphere.
He was going for nine weeks to a summer college term, on the borders of
a beautiful lake, where he would have refreshment of body as well as
mind. So he might not see her again under a year.
"I do hope they will not have you spoiled," he said with his good-by.
And as he walked down the street he muttered under his breath:
"That old woman will make a waiting maid of her in the end." He was
jealous that the old woman should be able to dictate the girl's life
just because she was rich.
She had such a happy morning with Mrs. Dayton, talking over last summer;
Joanna studied her with admiring eyes and declared that she was not
changed a bit, only had grown taller, and the mysterious alteration that
comes to a girl on the boundary line, for which she had no words.
Uncle Jason came in quite early and was delighted with his warm welcome,
more frank than Joanna's.
"My, you're growed every way!" he said, "and you're pretty as a pink,
and fine as a lady! I declare I don't know what Aunt Jane will do with
you. And the children are just crazy to see you. My! My!"
He studied her from head to foot and turned her round. His eyes
twinkled, he screwed up his face until it was a bed of wrinkles. His
hair was faded and grayer, the fringe of beard ragged. But there was
such a gladness, such an utter satisfaction that she felt doubly assured
of his love.
When she had gone to pick up a few articles Mrs. Dayton made a little
explanation that she felt would ease Helen's course. She would have a
good deal of studying to do, and Mrs. Van Dorn had made arrangements for
her to stay here part of the time, as it would be quiet, with no
interruptions to break in upon her time.
"Why, I thought it was vacation!" looking puzzled. "Mother's planned a
lot of things. And she's mortal afraid Helen will forget all about
housekeeping."
"She belongs to Mrs. Van Dorn for the two years, you know, since that
lady is taking care of her. You see now that is only fair. Helen's time
is planned out."
"Sho, now!" and he bit at the end of a wheat stem he found hanging to
his clothes.
"Helen knows a good deal about housework and if she should ever have it
to do, it will come back to her. But her heart is set upon teaching, and
I think that is about as easy a way of earning money as any, if you are
fitted for it."
Mr. Mulford said no more, but he felt there would be a clash between
Aunt Jane and Helen.
The rosy, bright-eyed girl said good-by to her dear friend, with the
promise of returning soon, and stepped into the rickety old wagon.
It seemed curious to her, but everything about looked so much smaller.
The houses appeared to have shrunk, fences were dilapidated, gates hung
by one hinge, the paths at the roadside were overgrown with weeds.
Every street and plot of ground at Westchester was so pretty and tidy,
the hills were so high and grand, and there was the beautiful river. To
be sure the great Creator of all had placed it there, had raised the
mountains to their height, but the residents had added the thriftiness
and beauty. Oh, she could never live here! She wondered how her father
had taken to it, and how Mr. Warfield endured it.
Uncle Jason was a better farmer than most of his neighbors. Aunt Jane
took the credit of that; perhaps she did deserve most of it. People and
towns seldom remain stationary; if they do not improve they retrograde.
The railroad was building up North Hope at the expense of the Center.
The house and the front fence needed painting sadly. The flower-beds
looked rather ragged, the grass wanted cutting. Sam had gone in the
spring to learn a mason's trade and only came home for over Sunday. So
Uncle Jason was short-handed.
The children made a rush, then paused. Helen sprang down with a dignity
that checked them, but she kissed them all round, and Aunt Jane, who
was wiping her arms and hands on her apron.
"I thought I'd get trigged up before anyone came," she exclaimed, "but
there's so much to do on Saturday. You might have opened the front door,
'Reely, but never mind," and they all trailed around through the
kitchen. Off the end of the dining room was a small room that Jenny had
used for sewing and odds and ends, and they went thither.
"Now take off your hat. My, didn't you bring anything but that satchel!
And here's a fan--it's hot in here, and as for flies, they eat you up!
'Reely, you and Fan set the table. How you've changed, Helen, you're
most grown up. But land! When I was fourteen I was grown up and did a
woman's work. And you're fifteen! Well, I suppose you've had a grand
good time, and forgot all the useful things you ever knew."
Aunt Jane's tone was good-humored, but it had a certain air of
authority, indicating that Helen could never outgrow _her_ right or
proprietorship.
"No, I do not think I have forgotten much, and certainly have learned a
great deal more," she replied quietly.
"Well, book-learnin' isn't everything. I'd like to know how houses and
farms would go on if everybody kept to books."
"There's Jenny," and Helen was delighted with the break. Jenny was
sunburned but looked well, quite like a country farmer's wife, and was
gayly cordial, laughed because her mother's supper was late; they always
had theirs early on Saturday afternoon.
"You wait until you get a house full of children," said her mother with
a touch of annoyance.
The girls sat out on the old bench that had gone a little more to
splinters. Uncle Jason came in; he had not quite worked Nathan up to the
point of Sam's usefulness. Aunt Jane didn't mean to lead off with any
fuss for Helen, so supper was in the kitchen, but the tablecloth was
clean--the other had met with a big accident at noon.
Nothing was much changed except the children were a year older and
larger. Two or three of them still talked at once. Jenny sat by and had
a cup of tea. Aurelia and Fanny were a little awed by Helen's fine ways,
and began to eye her furtively. Jenny kept most of the talk and when the
meal was through took Helen out on the front stoop. What was the school
like and were there many rich girls in it? And what did Mrs. Van Dorn
mean to do with her when she was through with school?
Helen was relieved when she branched off on her own affairs. How much
the egg and butter money had amounted to, and another scheme she had
struck. She helped mother out with her sewing, but she found in the
winter she had a good deal of time on her hands, so she began to sew for
the neighbors. "You know I always did like running the machine," she
declared. "And you'd be surprised at the money I've earned. I don't see
how women can dawdle away their time so, when they've small families. I
think working in a shop is a grand good training. You must be there at a
certain hour, you must put in every moment if you are going to be a
success, and you get brisk ways if there's anything at all to you."
Joe came over presently, and the two farmers smoked and talked. Then
Jenny said she would take Helen home with her, she had such a nice spare
room, and she and Aunt Jane had some words over it, but Jenny carried
her point. It was lovely and quiet, and Helen was thankful.
Yes, she _had_ grown away from them; while she loved them just as well,
she thought she loved Uncle Jason better. The life was so different. It
need not be so hard and,--yes, it was coarse, really untender. Aunt Jane
would have suffered anything for her children's sake, but it must be in
_her_ way. After all these years of married life, children, and a
certain degree of hard-won prosperity, she knew better than anyone else
how the world could be managed.
'Reely and Fan were fascinated with Helen, and Jenny said she had a good
deal of common sense, and she supposed all the airish ways were just
right at school, but they seemed queer among common folks. It was
inevitable that Helen and Aunt Jane should clash, and Helen felt even at
the risk of being misunderstood and wrongfully accused, she must
establish her own standing. She had not come home to help with
housework.
"I wish I'd never let you gone over there to wait on that old woman, and
have your head filled with airs and graces that you think sets you up
above your family. I knew that day I should be sorry for it. And this is
all the thanks I get for what I've done for you, while you'll crawl on
the ground after her."
"No, I shouldn't; I do not," replied Helen with dignity. "I shall always
feel thankful to you and Uncle Jason for what you have done, and, Aunt
Jane, when I get to where I can earn money I want to pay you back for my
keep after father died----"
Helen's face was scarlet and the hot blood was racing up and down in her
pulses.
"Yes," she continued, controlling her voice by a strong effort, "I have
made that one of my duties. I can't take your way of life, Aunt Jane,
but I shall always feel grateful for the care."
"Helen Grant, do you suppose your uncle would take one penny from you,
his own sister's child! It isn't that, it's the--the----"
"Oh, Aunt Jane, I _am_ grateful. Do not let us quarrel because our paths
lie in different directions. I must work in the way I am best fitted
for, the way I shall like above all things----"
"Oh, yes, you'll go off with that woman, and she'll get tired of you and
ship you off. You mark my words."
"Then I can take up teaching, which will be my delight. She has offered
me these two years of training and I mean to make the best of them, to
crowd in all I can, to fit myself to earn my living in the way I like
best of all. I do suppose we all have some choice."
Aunt Jane flounced out of the room. There was something burning on the
stove, and she was glad of the excuse. And all she said when Helen was
going over to North Hope, was:
"Well, come whenever you like. The house is always open to you."
Uncle Jason was very tender to her.
"Mother's a bit cranky," he said. "Even Jenny plagues her about it. I
think she's jealous of that Mrs. Van Dorn, and she has an idea of her
own about bringing up girls. But they're not all alike and some are fit
for one thing, some for another. Jenny's got the right of it. It's best
for everyone to do what he's best fitted for, or _she_," smiling a
little. "And it stands to reason that you might take after your own
father. You're not all Mulford."
It was very delightful to be back with Mrs. Dayton. One new couple had
come, but they were very quiet people. And the girls about began to call
on her. Ella Graham had enough of the High School.
"I just went for the name of it," she explained. "I should never teach,
and what is the use of wasting all that time and bothering your brains
for nothing? I shall get married the first good chance I have."
Lu Searing bewailed the hard work as well and wasn't sure she would keep
on. She wanted to go somewhere to boarding school, she had heard girls
had such fun getting in scrapes and out of them again. Marty Pendleton
was sick of it too, and was going to learn dressmaking. Dan Erlick had
gone to be clerk in the drug store.
"And to think how hard Mr. Warfield worked over them all!" Helen
exclaimed, indignantly. "It doesn't do him a bit of credit."
"He had four new ones this summer. Well, there does seem a good deal of
work in this world without much result," said Jenny.
Helen studied her Latin with a will, and one day to make some knotty
point clearer went to the reference department of the library. Miss
Westerly, the librarian, had seen her the summer before and been
interested in what had befallen her, and now they took up quite a
friendship. The library was open only two evenings in the week, after
eight o'clock, and Miss Westerly found it very pleasant to visit on
Mrs. Dayton's porch and talk to a girl as bright and ambitious as Helen.
She was a college graduate and a thorough student, not considering her
education finished.
"I should like so to go to college," Helen said. "But I don't know--I
should have to earn some money first."
"I have a friend who entered college at twenty-seven. She was a clerk in
a store and then an old uncle left her some money. She was born for a
student, and she graduated with honors. She is thirty-five now,
vice-principal in a large seminary at the West, and a very successful
teacher. Then I know of a girl who spent two years at college, taught
three years and then went back and finished. Some women, as well as some
men, love knowledge."
"I have half a mind to say I will go, no matter what stands in the way,"
and Helen smiled vaguely. If one _could_ see into the future.
"Perhaps your friend may send you."
Helen wondered whether she would dare propose it.
Once a week she went out to the farm. Aunt Jane had "cooled down" a
little, for Uncle Jason had said, "If you can't get along, mother, I'll
hire someone through the heat of the summer. Nancy Bird would come in a
minute. As for thinking to put Helen to housework, washing and ironing
and all that, when someone else is taking care of her, I don't see as it
would be just the thing, no more than to call Sam home when Mr. Bartow
has given him a good lay."
"I don't see as Helen is any better than my girls, and they are going to
be brought up to work. Her father didn't make out much for all his
education."
Helen did have some nice visits with Jenny, who was rather more modern
and broader minded than her mother. She kept her house with some system,
of course, there was no one to disarrange her methods. She was blithe
and cheerful and eager to get along, but she and Joe went off driving
now and then, and she listened with slow-growing interest when he read
aloud to her.
But altogether, Helen was not sorry when she found herself on the way
back to school. She had a warmer feeling than ever for Mrs. Van Dorn and
had written her two charming letters from Mrs. Dayton's porch.
What a trouble her education seemed to some of those who had no hand in
it.