WRIT IN AN UNKNOWN TONGUE
There were girls who envied Helen Grant, who thought they would change
places with her in a minute if they could. She wrote to Uncle Jason and
explained that it would not be possible to come home. School closed on
the 28th of June, on the 3d of July they would leave on the steamer at
New York. She sent the same message to Mrs. Dayton, with the wish that
she might be able to come and see her off, but she didn't suppose it
would be possible. She secretly hoped Mr. Warfield might make it so.
One of the schoolgirls, a graduate, would go home at once and meet them
at the steamer. The other two resided in New York. Mrs. Aldred was much
engrossed with business matters and her preparations.
The second week in June, when examinations had just begun, Mr. Castles
came up one evening. They were almost through dinner and Mrs. Aldred
closed the door of the reception room and desired that no one should
disturb her. Mr. Castles said he was the bearer of melancholy news. Mrs.
Van Dorn had died very suddenly in Paris. Miss Gage had cabled for full
instructions. Mrs. Van Dorn's body would be brought home and buried
beside her husband. Miss Gage was to have all personal belongings
inventoried and packed to come with her and the body.
"Do you know a Mr. James Fenton?" he asked.
"James Fenton. He is about as near a relation as I am. He is on the
father's side, I am on her mother's; about third cousins, I think."
"It appears this Mr. Fenton annoyed her some at Florence in the spring.
Then he called on her at Paris and had a long talk with her in the
afternoon, which Miss Gage said upset her very much. They went to a
reception in the evening at the Embassy, she seeming in her usual
health, but not quite placid. It was very warm and she fainted, it was
supposed, but the physician who was called pronounced her dead. This Mr.
Fenton insisted upon taking charge of everything, so I cabled my
instructions at once. The body will be here in a fortnight."
Mrs. Aldred was shocked beyond measure. It hardly seemed credible.
"Do you know anything about her affairs?"
"Not especially," replied Mrs. Aldred. "I once heard her say she would
not have much to leave behind. The money was from her husband, and if
she chose to live extravagantly it was no one's affairs."
"I am glad you take it philosophically," and he gave a faint smile.
"When she was about sixty-five she put nearly all her money in an
annuity so she would have no further care. She told me that she had no
near relatives."
"That was true enough."
"So she lived very handsomely at times, at others quite plainly. She
placed in my hands a sum amply sufficient for her burial, which has
never been disturbed. I collected and paid over her annuity. There may
be a few thousands beside. The income, you know, stopped with her death.
So there will be nothing for the heirs."
"I for one shall not complain. She paid generously for her _protege_,
six months in advance. She sent for her and I was to take her over with
me; calling on you in all business matters."
"Yes, she notified me. It was Mrs. Van Dorn's intention to keep
this young girl with her the rest of her life. Her last letter to
me was as buoyant as that of any young person. She was certainly
wonderful--eighty-six in March. It seemed to me as if she might have
lived to be a hundred. I am afraid the talk of that man Fenton did not
do her any good."
"It is a great shock. I can hardly believe it."
"What friends has this girl, if any?"
"Oh, some relatives at a small town in a neighboring State, an uncle who
has cared for her. She is a bright, ambitious girl, and I _do_ regret
the death for her sake. I am glad there is someone she can turn to, but
I think she has the courage to work her way up, with a helping hand now
and then."
"And you do not know about this Mr. Fenton?"
"Nothing much. I once heard her say that after Mr. Van Dorn's death he
applied to her for some money for business purposes and she refused. I
think she was not favorably impressed with him."
"Well, there will not be much for anyone to have. I think this annuity
was by her husband's advice, and it has saved her a good deal of care. I
thought it best for you to know at once and I did want to learn how the
girl was situated. Do you suppose she will be bitterly disappointed?"
"She will be very much shocked and grieved."
"It would have been the same if she had adopted her. She could have made
no provision for her future."
"No," thoughtfully.
"And now I must take a night train back, as I am very busy. I will keep
you informed as to matters."
"We sail on the 3d of July."
"The body will be here before that."
She walked down to the street with him; then took a rustic seat and
considered Helen Grant's future in so far as she could, but every moment
she felt more regret that her bright hopes should be so suddenly
quenched. She resolved to say nothing at present until she had evolved a
plan floating through her mind.
It was true Mrs. Van Dorn had not reached the period appointed by
herself. She had felt sure of ninety years. There were times when she
feared that nature was on the wane, but she still took excellent care of
herself.
This Mr. Fenton had besieged her for some money in the spring and a
liberal allowance in her will. As far as she could trace the
relationship there were but two families who had any claim on her, and
his was one. She had put him off with a sarcastic promise of taking her
will into consideration, then her quick wit intervened.
"If I should die without a will you would share equally. I think I will
let it go that way."
That was all the satisfaction he could get. She hoped never to see him
again. But he had found her in Paris, and again importuned her. She had
so much she could surely spare him a little now. She allowed herself the
gratification then of explaining the annuity to him and that she meant
to spend her income in each year. He flew into a passion and called her
some harsh names, when she had left him alone with a very curt
dismissal. She had been more provoked than excited. There were some
special reasons why she wished to attend this reception and she went.
Whether it might have been different or whether she had reached her
allotted span, only God knew.
The next few days Mrs. Aldred took especial pains with Helen. She must
be able to enter the graduating class. Helen was delighted with the
attention, and repaid it with earnest endeavor.
Mr. Castles sent word that Miss Gage had started with the body.
Helen had passed most of her examinations when Mrs. Aldred very tenderly
informed her of the sad news, and how almost incredulous she had been at
first.
"Of course, this changes all the plans," she said, when she had given
Helen time for her first anguish. "But I have been talking with Mrs.
Wiley, who is quite willing to take you for some of the younger classes,
a year or two years, and in that time you can graduate. It is best that
you should have a diploma. You are very young yet, and will be more
capable of facing the world at eighteen. I really have no fear for you,
and am confident you will succeed."
"I cannot thank you sufficiently now," Helen answered. "I am bewildered.
May I be excused from dinner?"
"Yes, and anything you desire to-morrow. You have my warmest sympathy,
and I feel that I do not want to lose sight of you in the years to
come."
It was a sad night for Helen, a sad day following; indeed, it took all
the joy out of the graduation exercises for her. Mrs. Wiley made her
proffer and Helen accepted it.
"So you see we shall not be separated after all," she said to both Daisy
and Miss Craven, and the latter began to weave some plans for the future
that she would keep to herself until the time came. Ah, if she could
repay Helen's kindnesses!
Miss Gage reached New York the first day of July. Most of the girls had
dispersed from the school. Helen was to go to the city with Mrs.
Aldred's party.
The day before a telegram from Mrs. Dayton reached her, containing this
astounding news:
"Your father has returned. You will find him staying with me."
Could it be true--after all these years?
Helen seemed to herself as one in a dream. Her sorrow for Mrs. Van Dorn
had grown with every hour and she almost abhorred herself that she
should ever have hesitated a moment about devoting her whole life to her
benefactress, who had only asked for a few years. But this new claim!
She could not ignore it. How many times she had wished for his return!
But all these years he had made no sign, expressed no desire to know
whether she were living or dead. The neglect stung her cruelly.
She had no time to consider this phase of affairs. She had about decided
to accept Mrs. Wiley's offer. There would be home and training for
another year, and she felt confident now that she could graduate. On the
other hand, there would be clothes and small current expenses even with
the strictest economy. She would be a young lady, and she shrank in
dismay from all that implied; but now she was quite at sea. There was no
one to "give the word," and pilot her through the windings.
She went to the city with Mrs. Aldred and Grace. The other voyagers were
already there. The first business on hand was a visit to the lawyer's,
where Miss Gage would meet them.
The story was substantially what the companion had written. Mrs. Van
Dorn had gone out of life in that moment of time when she had felt
confident of some years before her. She had been spared suffering and
dread.
"When all expenses are met there may be a thousand or two thousand
dollars," explained Mr. Castles. "Mr. Fenton insists upon calling for
the strictest accounting, which he has a right to do, of course, and
this means the small residue will be divided between you," bowing to
Mrs. Aldred, "and himself. I suppose she thought she would have so
little to divide it was not worth making a will. He insists the valuable
jewels shall be sold. But here is one point in which I think you will
bear me out in believing the law has no right over. Mrs. Van Dorn gave
me each year a sum to be spent on Miss Grant. It was her desire, and a
most excellent idea, I think," smiling vaguely, "that Miss Grant should
not fall into extravagant habits. There was a small amount left over
when she made the new allowance. This, I take it, belongs to Miss Helen
Grant, and I propose to pay it over to her at once. It is a private
matter."
"I agree with you perfectly," returned Mrs. Aldred, in an approving
tone; glad, indeed, that it could be so. "I wish I dared double or
quadruple it, but I have no right. This will be precious to you, Miss
Grant, as the gift of your benefactress. I know it was in her heart to
treat you as if you were a near relative, a granddaughter, as she said
in a late letter."
Helen's eyes overflowed, but she could not trust her voice.
"It is a lovely remembrance," added Mrs. Aldred with much feeling. "And
Helen is worthy of it."
The lawyer handed her the envelope, but she was too much moved to
inspect its contents.
"Now, you and Miss Gage may take the ante-room, as I am certain that
step prefigures Mr. Fenton," the lawyer announced.
Miss Gage had much to say to the young girl.
"I am so glad you wrote just that letter of gratitude," she began. "I
cannot describe Mrs. Van Dorn's delight to you. She was almost childish
over it and read it again and again, and though she was not sentimental
about keeping letters, I found this in a box of trinkets and have
brought it back to you. She was not an effusive woman, but I think she
counted a great deal on having your entire love. You see I was one of a
family who have always been very dear to each other, and who clung
together as few families do. In the autumn I was to go home, as she had
found a most excellent maid, who was also quite a practised nurse. Mrs.
Van Dorn liked society and style and had many fashionable friends who
_did_ admire her, and then she would have a few months of simplicity,
and quiet living, which she believed preserved one's health and mental
faculties. No one would have supposed she was eighty-six--I did not know
it until Mr. Castles told me. I do very much regret she could not have
lived a few years longer; you would have had a charming time, and there
would have been no relatives to interfere."
Helen winced, but said nothing.
"She has purchased various articles the last year for you, boxes of
trinkets marked with your name and put in my hands for safe keeping.
Hardly a week before that sad day she came home one morning with the
eager interest of a young person. She had bought a beautiful inlaid box
with fine brass handles, and some new things, and bade me look up all
the others and put them in, and said laughingly it was a treasure trove
and when she was especially pleased she should bring you a gift out of
it. Mr. Castles has it, and will hand it over to you. I cannot tell you
how sorry I am you will not have this delightful time abroad. She was
counting on your enthusiasm to inspire her, to make her over, she used
to say. She had many admirable qualities. Of course, there were ways and
whims and times of depression when she looked to her companion to cheer
her. I think now they were the little advances of age that she
resolutely refused to yield to. She was very just, she abhorred plain
falsehood, though I suppose most elderly women do indulge in some
make-believes," smiling a little sadly.
It was evident from the sound of voices in the adjoining room that Mr.
Fenton was not having an agreeable time. He insisted the heirs had been
grievously wronged by this annuity business.
"As if the money was not hers to do what she chose with it," said Miss
Gage. "And it seems as if the Van Dorn relatives would be the ones to
object since the money came that way. I am glad she had her own
satisfactory life, and she has made others happy as well, even if there
is not much left."
Mr. Fenton found that he could not take the matter in hand himself, and
that he must wait for the due process of law before he could get even
the small sum that would come to him. Mrs. Aldred had to say good-by and
go to the steamer. Helen was to write to her and she still strongly
advised her going back to Aldred House. Would it be possible?
Mr. Castles brought out the pretty box of treasures and delivered it to
Helen. The clerk would put her on the train and see her started on her
journey; Miss Gage had to remain with the lawyer, but her good-by was
very sympathetic and tender, and she, too, begged Helen to write, as she
should always take a deep interest in her.
Helen settled herself for the long journey and the endeavor to
disentangle the events that had so crowded upon her these few days.
Whether she should go back to Aldred House did not altogether depend
upon herself. True, one perplexing question was settled--she took out
her envelope and examined its contents. Five fifty-dollar bills, a ten,
and a five beside. Two hundred and sixty-five dollars. She could go
through another year successfully, and though she would still be young,
she could no doubt find a place to teach.
But what if this should be the end of school life? Her whole being rose
up in revolt. She had mentally protested against giving it up for
pleasure, she remembered, but that would have been going on in knowledge
of all kinds, climbing up and up, drinking in the juices of the fruit
ripened and preserved long ago, that would never lose its flavor. And to
take was not all, to give presently, to rouse some unthinking girl as
she had been roused, to reach out a helping hand--yes, she had helped
Juliet Craven over the thorny way, through the dense forest where
learning was well-nigh smothered with parasitic growths that could be
cleared away and let in sunshine. Ah, there were many lives needing it.
And now, when one unlooked-for event had cleared the way, this new one
must arise.
What was her father like? she wondered. She really had no definite or
trustworthy impression of him. As a little child she had stood in great
awe of him, though she could not remember that he had ever been severe
with her. Her mother had complained a good deal, and she always said,
"Your father," as if the child was in some way answerable for the
infelicities. Aunt Jane had given cruel flings sometimes, and generally
scoffed at him as being impractical and a complete failure.
But what hurt Helen the most was that all these years he should not have
cared enough to write even to Uncle Jason. She, Helen, might have died,
or misfortune might have attended Uncle Jason and the house been broken
up, she cast on the charities of the world. He could not know.
How had she come by this fine sense of justice, this clear sight in so
many things, this comprehension of honor and the right of every human
soul? She was suddenly a puzzle to herself. Was this the outgrowth of
the wild, laughing, merry child, ready for any fun or frolic or
mischief, who ran races with boys, and could play ball, climb trees,
jump higher fence-rails than any girl, and be proud of it? Yet, were
not these things modified in the gymnasium? So she need not blush over
it, or be ashamed of the riotous childhood.
And why had she protested so strenuously against going in the shoeshop?
Where did these curious qualities and contradictions come from? Did she
really owe her awakening to Mr. Warfield? Would she have been content in
the Mulford groove but for him? Yet all these feelings and desires must
have been in her brain, inherited from somewhere.
What might not her father demand of her? Perhaps he was an invalid, and
even now she, with aims and purposes settled on a higher plane, might be
compelled to spend years of waiting in which there would be no pleasure,
no satisfaction. Could she do it? Had he the right to ask it?
She was coming nearer and nearer to the momentous decision. Oh, _was_
she leaving the dear, bright, fascinating schooldays behind her, the
friends of girlhood, the ambitious climbing where it seemed almost as if
one had winged feet, the delightful life with its discussions, its
shaping of tastes, its comparison of heroes, when they almost quarreled,
each being so eager and confident of her own, the lovely walks,
unearthing the secrets of nature growths, the pretty, touching
confidences so much to girls, the expansion everywhere; two splendid,
joyous years of improvement, draining the real secrets of knowledge to
help explain the mysteries of life,--was it all over?
They were coming nearer to all the Hopes. A hard little smile settled
about her lips. How queer they should have called it Hope, this dead and
alive place, where hope could be so easily crushed? Would she abandon
hope when she entered?
They steamed into the station, backed a little for some cause, then came
forward again. She was on the off-side so she need not look out of the
window. She waited for the small procession to pass out of the aisle,
then she picked up her satchel and her precious box. Mr. Warfield stood
watching, and her heart beat more freely. He took her satchel when the
conductor had helped her down, and studied her face eagerly.
"I began to wonder if you were on the train. Are you tired? It is a long
journey."
The friendly voice seemed to restore her.
"Not especially tired," she answered slowly.
They walked on in silence, but a question trembled about her lips.
"Were you tremendously surprised? Of course, one couldn't give
particulars in a telegram."
"Why--yes, after believing him dead all these years. Is he--is he well?"
That was not what she wanted to ask.
"Yes, I think so. Mrs. Dayton said he had not changed very much. He is
fifty-four and looks seventy. But, oh, the learning! He certainly has
'ransacked the ages.'"
"And I suppose it will seem strange to him to have a big girl?" There
was a little falter in Helen's voice, and she flushed and paled.
"Well--he almost expected you had gone through college," and Mr.
Warfield gave his shoulders a shrug. "I can tell you he has no faith in
modern education. And I do believe he would rather have you forty than
sixteen."
"I am glad to be only sixteen," Helen returned with decision. "Life is a
splendid thing and youth is its garden of growth, and I am more than
satisfied to be still in the lovely garden."
She held her head up very straight, and the poise of her shoulders was
fine and vigorous. She would not be made old for anybody. She would not
hurry through any sweet year of her life.
"There will be some clashing," thought Mr. Warfield. "And I do believe
she will win."
"When did he come?" she asked presently. "And where has he been all
these years?"
"The last year in the British Museum. Before that buried in the ruins of
the lost cities of the Bible, read now by cylinders and tablet plates
and inscriptions on stone. Well, it _is_ wonderful to know so much, to
be able to reconstruct dead and gone ages. He reached here four or five
days ago and surprised the Mulfords; came over here and engaged board
when he heard you were on the eve of return; went up to New York and
reached here last night."
Of course, he might have written her a few words.
"And that wonderful old lady of yours is dead! Wouldn't it have been
queer if you had started for Europe? Oh, here we are!" and he opened the
gate.
Helen walked straight up the path, and the man pacing the porch paused
at the steps. He was tall and thin, with a bend in the shoulders, and
his clothes hung loosely on him. His face had a sort of shrunken look
and was much wrinkled, his beard was sparse and snowy white, and his
white hair was rather long with curling ends. He looked like an old
picture, but he was a gentleman every inch of him.
"Oh!" Helen exclaimed with a gasp.
He took both hands, looked her over from head to foot, then touched his
lips to her forehead.
[Illustration: He looked like an old picture, but he was a gentleman
every inch of him.--_Page 390._]
"You're not a bit like your mother," and Helen detected a sense of
relief in his tone.
Could he remember all these years? Almost a sob came up in her throat.
Yes, girl life had ended. "I am glad and thankful that I have you to
recall, happy, happy schooldays," she said to herself. "No one can take
that from me. Oh, Mrs. Van Dorn! I hope you know what all this has been
to me, what it will be in the years to come."
They were parent and child, but they had to begin life over, a new life
to her. His way was settled. Would hers have to yield?
The future seemed to hold problems no less serious than those which had
confronted her in the past. But there had been some way provided for
each difficulty thus far, as we have seen, and how the brave girl made
good use of what her schooldays had done for her can at some time in the
future be learned by reading "Helen Grant's Friends."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Helen Grant's Schooldays, by Amanda M. Douglas