AN UNRULY SPIRIT.
We cannot give an account of half the disputes between Mrs. Merrill and
Ellen which were generally reported to Mr. Villars by both parties,
until he was ready to go anywhere from his hitherto quiet home, in
search of peace. And yet, when the difficulties in which he had become
involved through Mr. Leslie began first to be perceived, and Mr. Villars
to fear that he must leave his home, it seemed dearer to him than ever.
Besides, he would say to himself, as he sat thinking over the threatened
changes--What is to become of these poor children--and my old
servants--and Mrs. Merrill--good Mrs. Merrill--who, I am sure, never
expected to leave me, and is now too old to look out new friends?
Distressed by such thoughts, it is no wonder if Mr. Villars looked sad,
and sat silent for hours together, sometimes looking out of a window
sometimes turning his eyes upon a book which he generally held in his
hand, as an excuse for not talking; though it was easy to see that he
was not reading,--or if he was, it must be the same page, over and over
again, as he never turned a leaf. Mary had noticed all this, and it
grieved her greatly, for except Ellen, there was no one now in the world
whom she loved half so well as her Uncle Villars. She tried at first to
amuse him by talking to him; but finding that, though he always answered
her kindly, he would at such times soon leave the parlor where they were
seated, and go, either to his own room or to the library, she determined
not again to disturb him when he seemed so thoughtful. But though Mary
ceased to talk to her Uncle Villars, she could not cease to observe him
and to wish that she knew the cause of his sadness. This cause she at
last thought she had discovered in the differences of Ellen and Mrs.
Merrill. Vainly did poor Mary try to accommodate these differences, her
efforts generally ended in making both of the disputants displeased with
her. It must not be thought that Mrs. Merrill was cross and
ill-tempered. On the contrary, all her difficulties with Ellen arose
from her desire to do what was kind and right by an orphan girl placed
in her charge, for Mr. Villars before he brought his nieces home had
said, "There will of course, Mrs. Merrill, be many things in which these
girls will require the attention of a woman to their conduct and their
comforts. In these things I know I may trust to your goodness,"--and
Mrs. Merrill was determined his trust should not be disappointed.
Mary and Ellen had walked out together one afternoon, and when they
returned, laid their bonnets carelessly upon the table in the parlor.
There they remained, till Mrs. Merrill came in to see the table prepared
for tea. "Miss Mary, Miss Ellen, why, here are your new crape bonnets.
You should always put them away as soon as you come in; crape is very
expensive, my dears, and very easily injured."
Mary rose and removed the bonnets from the table. Ellen remained seated
with her head bent over a piece of paper, on which she seemed to be
drawing.
"Miss Ellen," said Mrs. Merrill, "did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, Mrs. Merrill, I heard you."
"I will put both bonnets away, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary; "I always put
Ellen's away for her."
"Well, my dear Miss Mary, that may be very kindly meant in you, but it
would be far better that your sister should learn to do without you."
Ellen did not even look up--Mary moved towards the door, with the hope
that if the bonnet was once out of sight all would be quiet, but Mrs.
Merrill saw the movement, and irritated by Ellen's disregard of what she
said, she exclaimed, "Stop, Miss Mary; I am sorry to find fault with
you, who are generally so good, but I do not think it right in you to
interfere, when I would have your sister learn to wait on herself. I am
sure it is for her own good. I am sure it is not for my sake I take the
trouble."
Mary looked earnestly at Ellen, but the head was perseveringly bent
down, and except that her face had become quite red and her pencil moved
very fast, any one might have supposed that she had not heard a word of
what was passing. There stood Mary, with a bonnet in each hand,
perfectly irresolute, afraid to speak to Ellen lest she should cause
her to say something saucy--afraid to oppose Mrs. Merrill, who it was
evident was now very determined. At length she ventured to say, "Ellen
is busy drawing, Mrs. Merrill--"
Before she could add another word, Ellen, who scorned to offer any
apology for her inattention to Mrs. Merrill's wishes, threw aside the
paper and pencil, saying, "I am not busy at all--I was only making marks
on the paper, Mary."
"I knew it--knew it," said Mrs. Merrill; "you were only making marks to
show me that you did not care for me.
"Give me that bonnet, Miss Mary," taking Ellen's from her as she spoke,
and laying it again on the table, on which in the mean time she had
arranged every thing for tea. "There--let it lie there till Mr. Villars
comes in. I will see if he thinks that a proper place for a young lady's
bonnet."
Ellen smiled scornfully.
"Oh, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary, with tears in her eyes, "do not plague
poor Uncle Villars about it."
"I assure you, Miss Mary Leslie, I am not the one to plague your Uncle
Villars. Many a year I have lived with him, and a quiet home we have
both had of it till now, and the same will he say, I will be bound!"
"Ellen, dear Ellen, I am sure you would not do any thing to worry our
good, kind Uncle Villars; come, dear Ellen, and take your bonnet up
stairs."
"Mary, I wish you would let me and my bonnet alone. I did not ask you to
take it up."
"Well--but, Ellen, poor Uncle Villars looks so sad already. Do not be
obstinate, dear Ellen."
"I am not going to say or do any thing to Uncle Villars, Mary, and I
think it's very hard if I am to be blamed for every thing--even for his
looking sad; but nobody ever finds fault with me that you do not take
their part."
"Oh, Ellen"--but Ellen turned away, and Mary with a heavy heart walked
off with her own bonnet as she saw her Uncle Villars entering. Now, any
one who has read this scene will perceive that Mrs. Merrill, although
she was right in the thing itself which she would have had Ellen do, was
very wrong in her manner of enforcing it. The only right way to govern
any one is by giving them confidence in your kindly feelings towards
them--by love. Now, Ellen was a spoiled child, and could not have
confidence in the kindly feelings of any one who thwarted her. Mr.
Villars saw all this, and therefore he had great patience with Ellen,
and generally soothed her into some concession to Mrs. Merrill; very
little would satisfy her kind spirit; and so the storm would for the
time pass over. But these storms so frequently returned, that Mr.
Villars felt, unless something could be done to arouse Ellen's own mind
to a conviction of the evil of her temper and a determined effort to
subdue it, she must always be unhappy herself, and the cause of
unhappiness to others. As Mr. Villars became more interested in Ellen,
as it was natural he should do from feeling that she was now wholly
dependent on him, his anxiety on this subject increased, and he often
found himself imagining different methods for correcting her faults.
One of Ellen's bad habits, and that which perhaps most materially
interfered with Mrs. Merrill's comfort, was late sleeping, or rather
lying in bed, for Ellen was in reality not asleep for an hour before
Mary could induce her to rise,--but Ellen said if she was not asleep,
neither was she wide awake. You may wonder that this practice should
have interfered with Mrs. Merrill's comfort, as by keeping Ellen out of
the way it would seem rather to promote her quiet; but Mrs. Merrill
prided herself on her orderly housekeeping, and while she was too kind
to let Ellen go without her breakfast, she was greatly annoyed at having
to keep the table waiting for her. Mary would have taken some breakfast
to her sister in their room, and so have obviated the difficulty; but
this Mrs. Merrill would on no account permit, lest the carpet or the
bedclothes should be slopped with tea or greased with butter. A few
mornings after the scene with the bonnet, Mary having risen as usual and
dressed herself, began her efforts to arouse Ellen.
"Ellen--wake, Ellen--I hear Uncle Villars moving about in his room."
Ellen, without speaking or opening her eyes, turned over and covered
herself up more closely.
Mary spoke again, "Ellen--Uncle Villars has gone down stairs--he will
ring the bell for breakfast presently."
Ellen did not stir.
Mary touched her,--put her arm around her and tried to raise her; Ellen
flounced off to the other side of the bed, exclaiming, "Mary, let me
alone."
"Oh, Ellen, jump up--there's the breakfast bell--you know nothing puts
Mrs. Merrill so much out of sorts as our being too late to breakfast
with Uncle Villars."
"I do not care for Mrs. Merrill's being out of sorts--cross old woman;
she might just as well let me have my breakfast up here as not. I will
lie half an hour longer just to spite her."
"But, Ellen, Uncle Villars--"
"Uncle Villars does not care a pin about my getting up, if he only has
you to sit by him; you know that as well as I do."
"Well, I care, Ellen--"
"Oh do, Mary--go, and eat your breakfast, and let me alone."
Another ring of the breakfast bell hurried Mary off, exclaiming, "Make
haste, Ellen, and you may get down yet before we are done--I will eat
very slowly."
The affectionate kiss with which Mr. Villars saluted Mary was followed
by the question, "Where is Ellen?"
"Miss Ellen is not awake yet, I suppose, Miss Mary."
Mary at that moment heard Ellen's step on the floor above, and answered
quickly, "Oh, yes, Mrs. Merrill, she is awake and up."
"Well," said Mr. Villars with a good-humored smile, "if she is up, we
may hope she will soon be down."
Mary did hope so, and she seated herself cheerfully by her Uncle
Villars, while Mrs. Merrill poured out coffee. The nice hot cakes and
Uncle Villars' pleasant chat made Mary quite forget her promise to eat
slowly, until just as she was concluding her breakfast, Mrs. Merrill,
approaching the door, said, "Your sister stays so long, Miss Mary, I
will go and see if she wants any thing."
"I will go, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary, starting up; but it was too late,
and she seated herself again, exclaiming, "Oh! I am so sorry."
"Poor child," said Mr. Villars, "you look as much frightened as if you
were afraid that Ellen would be beaten. Mrs. Merrill may scold a little,
but cheer up, I am sure she would not hurt Ellen for the world."
"Oh no, Uncle Villars, I know she would not; it was not that which made
me feel sorry."
"What was it then, child?"
Mary looked down and colored as she said, "Ellen is not used to being
crossed at all, you know, Uncle Villars, and Mrs. Merrill is not used to
Ellen's ways, and so they do not understand each other; and--and--I am
sure when they come to you, Uncle Villars, it must worry you who always
lived so quietly before we came."
Mr. Villars did not see exactly what Mary was coming to, but he
answered, "It has disturbed me, my dear, very much, I acknowledge, but
more for Ellen's sake than my own."
"I have seen, Uncle Villars, how very badly you felt about it; and I
have been thinking--perhaps--you had better send us away."
Mary gave this advice slowly and hesitatingly, and as she looked up upon
concluding it, her eyes were full of tears; for Mary loved her Uncle
Villars dearly, and she was old enough to know something of her own and
Ellen's situation, and to feel how sad it would be for them to be sent
away from the house of their best friend to live among strangers. Mr.
Villars saw the tears in Mary's eyes, and he understood all her tender
and generous thoughts, and drawing her to him he laid her head on his
shoulder, and putting her hair aside, kissed her forehead, calling her,
"Dear child--dear child." He was silent a moment, and any one who had
looked closely at him would have seen that his own eyes glistened; then
he added, "It is one of my chief sorrows, Mary, that we shall be obliged
to part; but not for the reason you think--not on poor Ellen's
account--though I sometimes hope it may be the cause of good to her."
At this moment the parlor door was thrown open, and Ellen entered
hastily. She was followed by Mrs. Merrill, neither of them wearing very
placid faces. Mr. Villars, not desiring to hear the complaints on either
side, rose from table, and still holding Mary's hand, said, as he gave
Ellen his morning kiss, "Eat your breakfast, my dear, and then come to
the library; you will find Mary there, and I have something to tell
you."