much afflicted about trifles, for she had not a real trial in the world
except her own fidgety little self. As she sat on her trunk, with all
her possessions scattered about her, and one great tear on the end of
her nose (she couldn't squeeze out another to save her life), she was a
very pathetic object; and mamma felt so tender about losing her that
she could not make light of this grief, as she often did when Kitty
wept over some trifle.
All of a sudden a bright idea came into her head, for mothers' wits are
usually sharper than other people's where their children are concerned.
Up she got, and hurrying to her desk pulled out a box of many-colored
note-paper, with envelopes to match, saying, as she showed them, with a
smile,--
"I've thought of a nice plan, a sort of joke between us. Come here,
and I'll tell you about it."
So Kitty wiped away her one tear, and ran to hear the new plan, full of
curiosity and interest; for pretty papers are always attractive, and
mamma looked as if the joke was going to be a funny one.
"I will fill your little portfolio with these, and for each color we
will have a different meaning, which I shall understand. Let me see.
When you are well and happy, use this pink paper; when you are
home-sick, take the blue; if you want goodies, use the green; and if
you don't feel well, take the violet. How do you like the idea, Puss?"
"It's regularly splendid! I do love to have secrets, and this will be
such a nice one, all private between our two selves. Mamma, you are a
perfect dear, and I'll send you a letter every week. It will be such
fun to write it all prim and proper, and let madam see it, and then
have it tell you all about me by the color."
And Kitty danced about the room till the little blue bow on the top of
her head stood straight up as if with excitement.
So the portfolio was fitted out in great style, and Kitty felt as proud
as you please; for other girls didn't have colored note-papers, much
less private jokes with their mammas. The new arrangement made her
quite willing to go; and all that day she kept looking at her mother
with twinkling eyes, and the last thing she said, as the carriage drove
away, was,--
"Don't forget what pink, blue, green, and violet means, mamma."
The first week was a hard one, for every thing was new, and the rules
were rather strict. Kitty did her best for the honor of her family,
but sometimes her woes did seem heavier than she could bear, especially
French verbs, and getting up very early.
So when Saturday came, and the home letters were to be written, she
longed to pour out her full heart to dear mamma, but did not dare to do
it, for madam went about among the girls, suggesting, correcting, and
overseeing their productions as if they were nothing but compositions.
"Remember, my dears, these three rules when you are writing letters.
Always put in something about your heavenly Father, the progress of
your studies, and your duty to parents and teachers. None of these
important points have been touched upon in your epistle, Miss
Catherine; therefore, as it is much blotted, and badly spelled, I
desire you to rewrite it, making these additions. Here is an excellent
sample of the proper style;" and madam laid a model letter before poor
Kitty, who muttered to herself, as she read it,--
"I might as well write a sermon, and done with it. Papa will laugh,
and mamma won't get one bit of news from it. I'll let her know how
unhappy I am any way."
So Kitty took out her bluest paper (the homesick color, you know), and
produced the following letter, which madam approved and sent:--
MY DEAR MAMMA,--With every sentiment which affection can suggest, I
hasten to inform you that I am well, and trust you also and my honored
father are enjoying that best of blessings, robust health.
I am endeavoring to prove by diligence and good conduct my gratitude
for the advantages now offered me, and trust that my progress may be a
source of satisfaction to my parents and teachers, as well as
profitable to myself in years to come.
Madam is most kind to me, and my schoolmates are agreeable and friendly
young ladies. That I may merit their affection and respect is the
sincere wish of my heart, for friendship adds a charm to life, and
strengthens the most amiable sentiments of the youthful mind.
As Monday is your birthday, please accept this little picture as a
token of my love, with best wishes for many happy returns of the day.
May our heavenly Father, in his infinite goodness, long preserve you to
us, and, when this earthly pilgrimage is over, may your landing be on
that happy shore where naught but bliss can meet you, and where your
virtues will receive the recompense which they deserve.
I desire much to see you, but do not repine, since you deem it best to
send me from you for a time. Our meeting will be the more delightful
for this separation, and time soon flies when profitably employed.
Please give my love to all, especially my papa, and believe me, dear
mamma,
Your ever dutiful and affectionate daughter,
CATHERINE AUGUSTA MURRY.
"It's perfectly awful," said Kitty to herself, as she read it over; and
so it was, but madam was an old fashioned lady, and had been brought up
to honor her parents in the old-fashioned way. Letters like that were
written in her youth, and she saw no occasion to change the style for
what she called the modern slipshod mixture of gossip and slang.
The good lady never thought there might be a middle course, and that it
was a better way to teach composition to let the children write their
own natural little letters, with hints as to spelling, grammar, and
other necessary matters, than to make them copy the Grandisonian style
of her own youth.
Poor Kitty rebelled sadly, but submitted, and found her only comfort in
the thought that mamma would find something in the letter besides what
this disrespectful little person called "madam's old rubbish."
Mamma did find it, and sent back such a tender reply that Kitty's heart
reproached her for causing so much anxiety, when things were not very
bad after one got used to them.
So the next letter was a cheerful pink one, and though the contents
were not a bit more interesting than the first one it gave great
satisfaction.
A green one went next, for as Kitty's spirits improved she felt the
need of a few home goodies to sweeten her studies and enliven her play
hours. As only sensible dainties came, and madam was propitiated by a
particularly delicate cake, presented with all due respect, she made no
objection to an occasional box from home.
Kitty therefore found herself a great favorite, and all the girls were
very fond of her, especially when the "sweeties" arrived.
"I think your mother is perfectly splendid to send such nice things
without your saying a word. I have to tease mine when I go home on a
visit, and she always forgets, and I can't remind her because the
griffin sees my letters, and cuts out all requests for food, 'as if you
were not properly supplied with the best in the market.'"
Fanny said that,--the wag and romp of the school,--and as she imitated
the "griffin," as she had naughtily named madam, there was a general
giggle, in which Kitty was glad to join, for she did get goodies
without "saying a word," and the idea tickled her immensely.
But she told her secret to no one, and, finding that the pink notes
made mamma very happy, she tried not to think of her "woes" when she
sat down to write. This little bit of self-denial was its own reward;
for, as the woes only existed in her own imagination, when she
resolutely stopped thinking of them they vanished.
Plenty of work and play, young society, and the affectionate desire to
please her mother did for Kitty just what mamma had hoped. At home she
was too much petted and pitied, as the youngest is apt to be; and so
she had the "fidgets," which are to little people what "nerves" are to
the elders. Now she had no time to dawdle and bemoan herself: if she
did, other girls went to the head of the class, led the games, and got
the best marks.
So Kitty bestirred herself, and in three months was quite another
child. Madam praised her, the girls loved her, mamma was both pleased
and proud, and papa quite decided that Puss should have a little gold
watch on her next birthday.
The pink paper was soon used up, since there was no call for any of the
other colors, except an occasional green sheet; and a new stock was
gladly sent by mamma, who was quite satisfied with the success of her
little plot.
But mamma had been rather troubled about one thing, and that was the
breaking of the rule. It had seemed a foolish one to her, and she had
taught Kitty how to escape it. That was a bad example, and so she
wrote to madam and "'fessed," like an honest mamma as she was.
She did it so prettily and penitently that old madam was not angry;
indeed, when the matter was sensibly and respectfully put before her,
she saw the justice of it, forgave the little plot, and amazed her
pupils by gradually omitting to watch over them as they wrote.
When saucy Fanny spoke of it, she answered that she trusted them to
write only what was true and modest, and, finding that the times had
changed a little since her young days, she meant to relax some of her
rules.
That pleased the girls, and they proved their gratitude by honorably
forbearing to put into their letters any thing disrespectful toward the
dear old griffin. Some of the most affectionate freely took their
letters to her for correction; and when she had read a few, and laughed
over them till her spectacles were dim, she quite depended on seeing
them, and found what used to be a dull task now changed to a very
pleasant amusement.
As a contrast to the model letter already inserted (and which I beg
leave to state was really written from school by a little girl of
twelve), I will only add one which Kitty wrote after the old rule was
set aside:--
MY DEAR LITTLE MAMMA,--Now that I can tell you every thing, I will
answer the questions you asked in your last, and please, please don't
think I am a vain thing because I seem to praise myself. It is truly
what people say and do, and I never should have told if you had not
asked me.
You want to know if I am liked. Why, mamma, I'm a leading girl.
Others fight to walk with me, and bribe me with their nice things to
sit by them. I'm at the head most of the time, and try not to be grand
about it; so I help the others, and am as kind and generous as I know
how to be.
Madam is just as dear and clever as she can be, and I'm actually fond
of her. Don't tell, but I fancy I'm her favorite, for she lets me do
ever so many things that she once forbid, and isn't half so strict as
she was.
I'm truly glad I came, for I do get on, and haven't had a woe this ever
so long. Isn't that nice? I'm homesick sometimes, and look at my blue
paper, but I won't use it; so I go and have a good run, or chatter
French with madam, and get cheered up before I write.
I miss you most at night, mamma dear, for then I have no one to tell my
goods and bads to, and so get right. But not having you, I remember
what you told me, that I always have God, and to him I open my heart as
I never did before Prayers mean something to me now, and I say them so
earnestly that sometimes I cry, and that makes me feel so fresh and
strong and ready to go on again.
I do try to be good, and don't ask for any reward but to see you look
proud and pleased when I come home. I'd give any thing if I could hug
you now and then, because you don't mind if I tumble your collar: madam
does, and that spoils the fun of it. Kissing is a kind of inspiration,
you know; and one doesn't stop to think of clothes when one is so full
of love, it must spill over in kisses.
That sounds sentimental, but I'm not going to take it out, because
you'll understand what I mean, and won't laugh. That's the comfort of
private letters, isn't it?
Now, good-by, my dearest mother. Lots of love to papa, and do both
write soon to your own little PUSS.
Just as Kitty was folding it up, madam came by, and quite mechanically
held out her hand for it, as she used to do.
Kitty caught it back, and then blushed and looked distressed; for madam
said gravely, as she remembered the new rule,--
"I beg your pardon, I forgot. Seal it up, my dear; I won't ask to read
your secrets any more."
Kitty saw that she was hurt, and with an impulsive gesture thrust the
letter into madam's hand, saying bravely, though she quaked a little at
some of the things she had written,--
"Please read it. There are no secrets in it, only foolish things that
mamma likes to know because they are about me. You'll think I'm a vain
goose, but I'd rather you did that than think I told tales, or did any
thing sly."
Thus urged, madam read the letter; and Kitty stood by, with cheeks much
pinker than the paper, expecting a lecture when the last word came.
But, to her great amazement, the old lady kissed her as she gave it
back, and said, in a voice as gentle as if speaking to one of her own
little daughters, lost long ago,--
"It is a good letter, my dear, and a true one. Give my regards to your
mamma, and tell her that your suspicion about my favorite is quite
correct."
VII.
KATE'S CHOICE.
"Well, what do you think of her?"
"I think she's a perfect dear, and not a bit stuck up with all her
money."
"A real little lady, and ever so pretty."
"She kissed me lots, and don't tell me to run away, so I love her."
The group of brothers and sisters standing round the fire laughed as
little May finished the chorus of praise with these crowning virtues.
Tall Alf asked the question, and seemed satisfied with the general
approval of the new cousin just come from England to live with them.
They had often heard of Kate, and rather prided themselves on the fact
that she lived in a fine house, was very rich, and sent them charming
presents. Now pity was added to the pride, for Kate was an orphan, and
all her money could not buy back the parents she had lost. They had
watched impatiently for her arrival, had welcomed her cordially, and
after a day spent in trying to make her feel at home they were
comparing notes in the twilight, while Kate was having a quiet talk
with mamma.
"I hope she will choose to live with us. You know she can go to any of
the uncles she likes best," said Alf.
"We are nearer her age than any of the other cousins, and papa is the
oldest uncle, so I guess she will," added Milly, the fourteen-year-old
daughter of the house.
"She said she liked America," said quiet Frank.
"Wonder if she will give us a lot of her money?" put in practical Fred,
who was always in debt.
"Stop that!" commanded Alf. "Mind now, if you ever ask her for a penny
I'll shake you out of your jacket."
"Hush! she's coming," cried Milly, and a dead silence followed the
lively chatter.
A fresh-faced bright-eyed girl of fifteen came quietly in, glanced at
the group on the rug, and paused as if doubtful whether she was wanted.
"Come on!" said Fred, encouragingly.
"Shall I be in the way?"
"Oh! dear, no, we were only talking," answered Milly, drawing her
cousin nearer with an arm about her waist.
"It sounded like something pleasant," said Kate, not exactly knowing
what to say.
"We were talking about you," began little May, when a poke from Frank
made her stop to ask, "What's that for? We were talking about Kate,
and we all said we liked her, so it's no matter if I do tell."
"You are very kind," and Kate looked so pleased that the children
forgave May's awkward frankness.
"Yes, and we hoped you'd like us and stay with us," said Alf, in the
lofty and polite manner which he thought became the young lord of the
house.
"I am going to try all the uncles in turn, and then decide; papa wished
it," answered Kate, with a sudden tremble of the lips, for her father
was the only parent she could remember, and had been unusually dear for
that reason.
"Can you play billiards?" asked Fred, who had a horror of seeing girls
cry.
"Yes, and I'll teach you."
"You had a pony-carriage at your house, didn't you?" added Frank, eager
to help on the good work.
"At grandma's,--I had no other home, you know," answered Kate.
"What shall you buy first with your money?" asked May, who _would_ ask
improper questions.
"I'd buy a grandma if I could," and Kate both smiled and sighed.
"How funny! We've got one somewhere, but we don't care much about
her," continued May, with the inconvenient candor of a child.
"Have you? Where is she?" and Kate turned quickly, looking full of
interest.
"Papa's mother is very old, and lives ever so far away in the country,
so of course we don't see much of her," explained Alf.
"But papa writes sometimes, and mamma sends her things every Christmas.
We don't remember her much, because we never saw her but once, ever so
long ago; but we do care for her, and May mustn't say such rude
things," said Milly.
"I shall go and see her. I can't get on without a grandmother," and
Kate smiled so brightly that the lads thought her prettier than ever.
"Tell me more about her. Is she a dear old lady?"
"Don't know. She is lame, and lives in the old house, and has a maid
named Dolly, and--that's all I can tell you about her," and Milly
looked a little vexed that she could say no more on the subject that
seemed to interest her cousin so much.
Kate looked surprised, but said nothing, and stood looking at the fire
as if turning the matter over in her mind, and trying to answer the
question she was too polite to ask,--how could they live without a
grandmother? Here the tea-bell rang, and the flock ran laughing
downstairs; but, though she said no more, Kate remembered that
conversation, and laid a plan in her resolute little mind which she
carried out when the time came.
According to her father's wish she lived for a while in the family of
each of the four uncles before she decided with which she would make
her home. All were anxious to have her, one because of her money,
another because her great-grandfather had been a lord, a third hoped to
secure her for his son, while the fourth and best family loved her for
herself alone. They were worthy people, as the world goes,--busy,
ambitious, and prosperous; and every one, old and young, was fond of
bright, pretty, generous Kate. Each family was anxious to keep her, a
little jealous of the rest, and very eager to know which she would
choose.
But Kate surprised them all by saying decidedly when the time came,--
"I must see grandma before I choose. Perhaps I ought to have visited
her first, as she is the oldest. I think papa would wish me to do it.
At any rate, I want to pay my duty to her before I settle anywhere, so
please let me go."
Some of the young cousins laughed at the idea, and her old-fashioned,
respectful way of putting it, which contrasted strongly with their
free-and-easy American speech. The uncles were surprised, but agreed
to humor her whim, and Uncle George, the eldest, said softly,--
"I ought to have remembered that poor Anna was mother's only daughter,
and the old lady would naturally love to see the girl. But, my dear,
it will be desperately dull. Only two old women and a quiet country
town. No fun, no company, you won't stay long."
"I shall not mind the dulness if grandma likes to have me there. I
lived very quietly in England, and was never tired of it. Nursey can
take care of me, and I think the sight of me will do the dear old lady
good, because they tell me I am like mamma."
Something in the earnest young face reminded Uncle George of the sister
he had almost forgotten, and recalled his own youth so pleasantly that
he said, with a caress of the curly head beside him,--
"So it would, I'm sure of it, and I've a great mind to go with you and
'pay my duty' to mother, as you prettily express it."
"Oh, no, please don't, sir; I want to surprise her, and have her all to
myself for a little while. Would you mind if I went quite alone with
Nursey? You can come later."
"Not a bit; you shall do as you like, and make sunshine for the old
lady as you have for us. I haven't seen her for a year, but I know she
is well and comfortable, and Dolly guards her like a dragon. Give her
my love, Kitty, and tell her I send her something she will value a
hundred times more than the very best tea, the finest cap, or the
handsomest tabby that ever purred."
So, in spite of the lamentations of her cousins, Kate went gayly away
to find the grandma whom no one else seemed to value as she did.
You see, grandpa had been a farmer, and lived contentedly on the old
place until he died; but his four sons wanted to be something better,
so they went away one after the other to make their way in the world.
All worked hard, got rich, lived splendidly, and forgot as far as
possible the old life and the dull old place they came from. They were
good sons in their way, and had each offered his mother a home with him
if she cared to come. But grandma clung to the old home, the simple
ways, and quiet life, and, thanking them gratefully, she had remained
in the big farm-house, empty, lonely, and plain though it was, compared
to the fine homes of her sons.
Little by little the busy men forgot the quiet, uncomplaining old
mother, who spent her years thinking of them, longing to see and know
their children, hoping they would one day remember how she loved them
all, and how solitary her life must be.
Now and then they wrote or paid her a hasty visit, and all sent gifts
of far less value to her than one loving look, one hour of dutiful,
affectionate companionship.
"If you ever want me, send and I'll come. Or, if you ever need a home,
remember the old place is here always open, and you are always
welcome," the good old lady said. But they never seemed to need her,
and so seldom came that the old place evidently had no charm for them.
It was hard, but the sweet old woman bore it patiently, and lived her
lonely life quietly and usefully, with her faithful maid Dolly to serve
and love and support her.
Kate's mother, her one daughter, had married young, gone to England,
and, dying early, had left the child to its father and his family.
Among them little Kate had grown up, knowing scarcely any thing of her
American relations until she was left an orphan and went back to her
mother's people. She had been the pet of her English grandmother, and,
finding all the aunts busy, fashionable women, had longed for the
tender fostering she had known, and now felt as if only grandmothers
could give.
With a flutter of hope and expectation, she approached the old house
after the long journey was over. Leaving the luggage at the inn, and
accompanied by faithful Nurse, Kate went up the village street, and,
pausing at the gate, looked at the home where her mother had been born.
A large, old-fashioned farm-house, with a hospitable porch and tall
trees in front, an orchard behind, and a capital hill for blackberries
in summer, and coasting in winter, close by. All the upper windows
were curtained, and made the house look as if it was half-asleep. At
one of the lower windows sat a portly puss, blinking in the sun, and at
the other appeared a cap, a regular grandmotherly old cap, with a
little black bow perked up behind. Something in the lonely look of the
house and the pensive droop of that cap made Katy hurry up the walk and
tap eagerly at the antique knocker. A brisk little old woman peered
out, as if startled at the sound, and Kate asked, smiling, "Does Madam
Coverley live here?"
"She does, dear. Walk right in," and throwing wide the door, the maid
trotted down a long, wide hall, and announced in a low tone to her
mistress,--
"A nice, pretty little girl wants to see you, mum."
"I shall love to see a young face. Who is it, Dolly?" asked a pleasant
voice.
"Don't know, mum."
"Grandma must guess," and Kate went straight up to the old lady with
both hands out, for the first sight of that sweet old face won her
heart.
Lifting her spectacles, grandma looked silently a minute, then opened
her arms without a word, and in the long embrace that followed Kate
felt assured that she was welcome to the home she wanted.
"So like my Anna! And this is her little girl? God bless you, my
darling! So good to come and see me!" said the old lady when she could
speak.
"Why, grandma, I couldn't get on without you, and as soon as I knew
where to find you I was in a fidget to be off; but had to do my other
visits first, because the uncles had planned it so. This is Dolly, I
am sure, and that is my good nurse. Go and get my things, please,
Nursey. I shall stay here until grandma sends me away."