to the window she looked out as eagerly as if a new idea had come
into her head. It was a dull November day, and the prospect of
sheds, ash-barrels, and old brooms was a gloomy one; but the whole
back of the house glowed with the red tendrils of the hardy vine
that clung to and covered the dingy bricks with a royal mantle, as
if eager to cheer the eyes and hearts of all who looked. It preached
a little sermon of courage, aspiration, and content to those who had
the skill to read it, and bade them see how, springing from the
scanty soil of that back yard full of the commonest objects, the
humblest work, it set its little creepers in the crannies of the
stone, and struggled up to find the sun and air, till it grew strong
and beautiful,--making the blank wall green in summer, glorious in
autumn, and a refuge in winter, when it welcomed the sparrows to the
shelter of its branches where the sun lay warmest.
Jessie loved this beautiful neighbor, and had enjoyed it all that
summer,--the first she ever spent in the hot city. She felt the
grace its greenness gave to all it touched, and half unconsciously
imitated it in trying to be brave and bright, as she also climbed up
from the dismal place where she seemed shut away from everything
lovely, till she was beginning to discover that the blue sky was
over all, the sun still shone for her, and heaven's fresh air kissed
her cheeks as kindly as ever. Many a night she had leaned from the
high window when Laura was asleep, dreaming innocent dreams, living
over her short past, or trying to look into the future bravely and
trustfully. The little vine had felt warmer drops than rain or dew
fall on it when things went badly, had heard whispered prayers when
the lonely child asked the Father of the fatherless for help and
comfort, had peeped in to see her sleeping peacefully when the hard
hour was over, and been the first to greet her with a tap on the
window-pane as she woke full of new hope in the morning. It seemed
to know all her moods and troubles, to be her friend and confidante,
and now came with help like a fairy godmother when our Cinderella
wanted to be fine for the little ball.
“Just the thing! Why didn't I think of it? So bright and delicate
and becoming? It will last better than flowers; and no one can think
I'm extravagant, since it costs nothing.”
As she spoke, Jessie was gathering long sprays of the rosy vine,
with its glossy leaves so beautifully shaded that it was evident
Jack Frost had done his best for it. Going to her glass, she
fastened a wreath of the smallest leaves about her head, set a
cluster of larger ones in her bosom, and then surveyed herself with
girlish pleasure, as well she might; for the effect of the simple
decoration was charming. Quite satisfied now, she tied on her cloud
and slipped away without waking Laura, little dreaming what good
fortune the ivy spray was to bring them both.
She found the children prancing with impatience to begin their
ballet, much excited by the music, gaslight, and gay dresses, which
made it seem like “a truly ball.” All welcomed Jessie, and she soon
forgot the cheap slippers, mended gloves, and old dress, as she
gayly led her troop through the pretty dance with so much grace and
skill that the admiring mammas who lined the walls declared it was
the sweetest thing they ever saw.
“Who is that little person?” asked one of the few gentlemen who
hovered about the doorways.
His hostess told Jessie's story in a few words, and was surprised to
hear him say in a satisfied tone,--
“I'm glad she is poor. I want her head, and now there is some chance
of getting it.”
“My dear Mr. Vane, what DO you mean?” asked the lady, laughing.
“I came to study young faces; I want one for a picture, and that
little girl with the red leaves is charming. Please present me.”
“No use; you may ask for her hand by-and-by, if you like, but not
for her head. She is very proud, and never would consent to sit as a
model, I'm sure.”
“I think I can manage it, if you will kindly give me a start.”
“Very well. The children are just going down to supper, and Miss
Delano will rest. You can make your bold proposal now, if you dare.”
A moment later, as she stood watching the little ones troop away,
Jessie found herself bowing to the tall gentleman, who begged to
know what he could bring her with as much interest as if she had
been the finest lady in the room. Of course she chose ice-cream, and
slipped into a corner to rest her tired feet, preferring the
deserted parlor to the noisy dining-room,--not being quite sure
where she belonged now.
Mr. Vane brought her a salver full of the dainties girls best love,
and drawing up a table began to eat and talk in such a simple,
comfortable way that Jessie could not feel shy, but was soon quite
at her ease. She knew that he was a famous artist, and longed to
tell him about poor Laura, who admired his pictures so much and
would have enjoyed every moment of this chance interview. He was not
a very young man, nor a handsome one, but he had a genial face, and
the friendly manners which are so charming; and in ten minutes
Jessie was chatting freely, quite unconscious that the artist was
studying her in a mirror all the while. They naturally talked of the
children, and after praising the pretty dance Mr. Vane quietly
added,--
“I've been trying--to find a face among them for a picture I'm
doing; but the little dears are all too young, and I must look
elsewhere for a model for my wood-nymph.”
“Are models hard to find?” asked Jessie, eating her ice with the
relish of a girl who does not often taste it.
“What I want is very hard to find. I can get plenty of beggar-girls,
but this must be a refined face, young and blooming, but with poetry
in it; and that does not come without a different training from any
my usual models get. It will be difficult to suit me, for I'm in a
hurry and don't know where to look,”--which last sentence was not
quite true, for the long glass showed him exactly what he wanted.
“I help Mademoiselle with her classes, and she has pupils of all
ages; perhaps you could find some one there.”
Jessie looked so interested that the artist felt that he had begun
well, and ventured a step further as he passed the cake-basket for
the third time.
“You are very kind; but the trouble there is, that I fear none of
the young ladies would consent to sit to me if I dared to ask them.
I will confide to you that I HAVE seen a head which quite suits me;
but I fear I cannot get it. Give me your advice, please. Should you
think this pretty creature would be offended, if I made the request
most respectfully?”
“No, indeed; I should think she would be proud to help with one of
your pictures, sir. My sister thinks they are very lovely; and we
kept one of them when we had to sell all the rest,” said Jessie, in
her eager, frank way.
“That was a beautiful compliment, and I am proud of it. Please tell
her so, with my thanks. Which was it?”
“The woman's head,--the sad, sweet one people call a Madonna. We
call it Mother, and love it very much, for Laura says it is like our
mother. I never saw her, but my sister remembers the dear face very
well.”
Jessie's eyes dropped, as if tears were near; and Mr. Vane said, in
a voice which showed he understood and shared her feeling,--
“I am very glad that anything of mine has been a comfort to you. I
thought of my own mother when I painted that picture years ago; so
you see you read it truly, and gave it the right name. Now, about
the other head; you think I may venture to propose the idea to its
owner, do you?”
“Why not, sir? She would be very silly to refuse, I think.”
“Then YOU wouldn't be offended if asked to sit in this way?”
“Oh, no. I've sat for Laura many a time, and she says I make a very
good model. But then, she only paints simple little things that I am
fit for.”
“That is just what I want to do. Would you mind asking the young
lady for me? She is just behind you.”
Jessie turned with a start, wondering who had come in; but all she
saw was her own curious face in the mirror, and Mr. Vane's smiling
one above it.
“Do you mean me?” she cried, so surprised and pleased and half
ashamed that she could only blush and laugh and look prettier than
ever.
“Indeed I do. Mrs. Murray thought the request would annoy you; but I
fancied you would grant it, you wore such a graceful little garland,
and seemed so interested in the pictures here.”
“It is only a bit of ivy, but so pretty I wanted to wear it, as I
had nothing else,” said the girl, glad that her simple ornament
found favor in such eyes.
“It is most artistic, and caught my eye at once. I said to myself,'
That is the head I want, and I MUST secure it if possible.' Can I?”
asked Mr. Vane, smiling persuasively as he saw what a frank and
artless young person he had to deal with.
“With pleasure, if Laura doesn't mind. I'll ask her, and if she is
willing I shall be very proud to have even my wreath in a famous
picture,” answered Jessie, so full of innocent delight at being thus
honored that it was a pretty sight to see.
“A thousand thanks! Now I can exult over Mrs. Murray, and get my
palette ready. When can we begin? As your sister is an invalid and
cannot come to my studio with you, perhaps you will allow me to make
my sketch at your own house,” said Mr. Vane, as pleased with his
success as only a perplexed artist could be.
“Did Mrs. Murray tell you about us?” asked Jessie quickly, as her
smiles faded away and the proud look came into her face; for she was
sure their misfortunes were known, since he spoke of poor Laura's
health.
“A little,” began the new friend, with a sympathetic glance.
“I know models are paid for sitting; did you wish to do it with me
because I'm poor?” asked Jessie, with an irrepressible frown and a
glance at the thrice-cleaned dress and the neatly mended gloves.
Mr. Vane knew what thorn pricked the sensitive little girl, and
answered in his friendliest tone,--
“I never thought of such a thing. I wanted YOU to help ME, because I
am poor in what artists so much need,--real grace and beauty. I
hoped you would allow me to give your sister a copy of the sketch as
a token of my gratitude for your great kindness.”
The frown vanished and the smile returned as the soft answer turned
away Jessie's wrath and made her hasten to say penitently,--
“I was very rude; but I haven't learned to be humble yet, and often
forget that I am poor. Please come to us any time. Laura will enjoy
seeing you work, and be delighted with anything you give her. So
shall I, though I don't deserve it.”
“I won't punish you by painting the frown that quite frightened me
just now, but do my best to keep the happy face, and so heap coals
of fire on your head. They won't burn any more than the pretty red
leaves that brought me this good fortune,” answered the artist,
seeing that his peace was made.
“I'm SO glad I wore them!” and as if trying to make amends for her
little flash of temper, Jessie told him about the ivy, and how she
loved it,--unconsciously betraying more of her pathetic little story
than she knew, and increasing her hearer's interest in his new
model.
The children came back in riotous spirits, and Jessie was called to
lead the revels again. But now her heart was as light as her heels;
for she had something pleasant to think of,--a hope of help for
Laura, and the memory of kind words to make hard duties easier. Mr.
Vane soon slipped away, promising to come the next day; and at eight
o'clock Jessie ran home to tell her sister the good news, and to
press the little wreath which had served her so well.
With the sanguine spirit of girlhood, she felt sure that something
delightful would happen, and built fine castles in the air for her
sister, with a small corner for herself, where she could watch Laura
bloom into a healthy woman and a great artist. The desire of
Jessie's heart was to earn eneugh money to enable them to spend a
month or two at the seashore when summer came, as that was the
surest cure for Laura's weak nerves and muscles. She had cherished
the wild idea of being a ballet-girl, as dancing was her delight;
but every one frowned upon that plan, and her own refined nature
told her that it was not the life for a young girl. Mr. Vane's
request for her head suggested a splendid hope; and after getting
angry with him for hinting at her being a model, she suddenly
decided to try it,--with the charming inconsistency of her sex. The
more she thought of it, the better she liked the idea, and resolved
to ask her new friend all about it, fondly hoping that much money
could be made in this way.
She said nothing to her sister, but while she sat patiently to Mr.
Vane when he came next day, she asked many questions; and though
somewhat discouraged by his replies, confided to him her hopes and
begged his advice. Being a wise man as well as a good and kindly
one, he saw at once that this life would not be safe for the pretty,
impulsive, and tenderly reared girl, left so unprotected in a world
full of trials and temptations. So he told her it would not do,
except so far as she would allow him to make several studies of her
head in various characters and pay for them.
She consented, and though much disappointed found some consolation
in hoarding a part of the handsome sum so earned for the desire of
her heart.
The artist seemed in no haste to finish his work, and for some weeks
came often to the sittings in that quiet room; for it grew more and
more attractive to him, and while he painted the younger sister's
changeful face he studied the beautiful nature of the elder and
learned to love it. But no one guessed that secret for a long time;
and Jessie was so busy racking her brain for a way to earn more
money that she was as blind and deaf to much that went on before her
as if she had been a wooden dummy.
Suddenly, when she least expected it, help came, and in such a
delightful way that she long remembered the little episode with
girlish satisfaction. One day as she sat wearily waiting till the
dressing-room was cleared of maids and children after the
dancing-class was over, a former friend came sauntering up to her,
saying In the tone which always nettled Jessie,--
“You poor thing! aren't you tired to death trying to teach these
stupid babies?”
“No; I love to dance, and we had new figures to-day. See! isn't this
pretty?” and Jessie, who knew her own skill and loved to display it,
twirled away as lightly as if her feet were not aching with two
hours of hard work.
“Lovely! I do wish I ever could learn to keep time and not jerk and
bounce. Being plump is a dreadful trial,” sighed Fanny Fletcher, as
Jessie came back beaming and breathless.
“Perhaps I can teach you. I think of making this my profession since
I must do something. Mademoiselle earns heaps of money by it,” she
said, sitting down to rest, resolved not to be ashamed of her work
or to let Fanny pity her.
“I wish you COULD teach me, for I know I shall disgrace myself at
the Kirmess. You've heard about it, of course? So sorry you can't
take a part, for it's going to be great fun and very splendid. I am
in the Hungarian dance, and it's one of the hardest; but the dress
is lovely, and I would be in it. Mamma is the matron of it; so I had
my way, though I know the girls don't want me, and the boys make fun
of me. Just see if this isn't the queerest step you ever beheld!”
Fanny started bravely across the wide smooth floor, with a stamp, a
slide, and a twirl which was certainly odd, but might have been
lively and graceful if she had not unfortunately been a very plump,
awkward girl, with no more elasticity than a feather-bed. Jessie
found it impossible not to laugh when Fanny ended her display with a
sprawl upon the floor, and sat rubbing her elbows in an attitude of
despair.
“I know that dance! It is the tzardas, and I can show you how it
should be done. Jump up and try it with me!” she said good-naturedly,
running to help her friend up, glad to have a partner of her own
size for once.
Away they went, but soon stopped; for Fanny could not keep step, and
Jessie pulled and stamped and hummed in vain.
“Do it alone; then I can see how it goes, and manage better next
time,” panted the poor girl, dropping down upon the velvet seat
which ran round the hall.
Mademoiselle had come in and watched them for a moment. She saw at
once what was needed, and as Mrs. Fletcher was one of her best
patrons, she was glad to oblige the oldest daughter; so she went to
the piano and struck up the proper air just as Jessie, with one arm
on her hip, the other on the shoulder of an invisible partner, went
down the hall with a martial stamp, a quick slide, and a graceful
turn, in perfect time to the stirring music that made her nerves
tingle and her feet fly. To and fro, round and round, with all
manner of graceful gestures, intricate steps, and active bounds went
the happy girl, quite carried away by the music and motion of the
pastime she loved so much.
Fanny clapped her hands with admiration, and Mademoiselle cried,
“Bien, tres bien, charmante, ma cherie!” as she paused at last, rosy
and smiling, with one hand on her heart and the other at her temple
with the salute that closed the dance.
“I MUST learn it! Do come and give me lessons at our house. I called
for Maud and must go now. Will you come, Jessie? I'll be glad to pay
you if you don't mind. I hate to be laughed at; and I know if some
one would just help me alone I should do as well as the rest, for
Professor Ludwig raves at us all.”
Fanny seemed in such a sad strait, and Jessie sympathized so
heartily with her, that she could not refuse a request which
flattered her vanity and tempted her with a prospect of some
addition to the “Sister-fund,” as she called her little savings. So
she graciously consented, and after a few laborious lessons
prospered so well that her grateful pupil proposed to several other
unsuccessful dancers in the set to invite Jessie to the private
rehearsals held in various parlors as the festival drew near.
Some of these young people knew Jessie Delano, had missed the bright
girl, and gladly welcomed her back when, after much persuasion, she
agreed to go and help them with the difficult figures of the
tzardas. Once among them she felt in her element, and trained the
awkward squad so well that Professor Ludwig complimented them on
their improvement at the public rehearsals, and raved no more, to
the great delight of the timid damsels, who lost their wits when the
fiery little man shouted and wrung his hands over their mistakes.
The young gentlemen needed help also, as several of them looked very
much like galvanized grasshoppers in their efforts to manage long
legs or awkward elbows. Jessie willingly danced with them, and
showed them how to move with grace and spirit, and handle their
partners less like dolls and more like peasant maidens with whom the
martial Hungarians were supposed to be disporting themselves at the
fair. Merry meetings were these; and all enjoyed them, as young
people do whatever is lively, dramatic, and social. Every one was
full of the brilliant Kirmess, which was the talk of the city, and
to which every one intended to go as actor or spectator. Jessie was
sadly tempted to spend three of her cherished dollars for a ticket,
and perhaps would have done so if there had been any one to take
care of her. Laura could not go, and Mr. Vane was away; no other
friend appeared, and no one remembered to invite her, so she bravely
hid her girlish longing, and got all the pleasure out of the
rehearsals that she could.
At the last of these, which was a full-dress affair at Fanny's
house, something happened which not only tried Jessie's temper
sorely, but brought her a reward for many small sacrifices. So much
dancing was very hard upon her slippers, the new pair were worn out
long ago, and a second pair were in a dangerous condition; but
Jessie hoped that they would last that evening, and then she would
indulge in better ones with what Fanny would pay her. She hated to
take it, but her salary at Mademoiselle's was needed at home; all
she could spare from other sources was sacredly kept for Laura's
jaunt, and only now and then did the good little girl buy some very
necessary article for herself. She was learning to be humble, to
love work, and be grateful for her small wages for her sister's
sake; and while she hid her trials, withstood her temptations, and
bravely tugged away at her hard tasks, the kind Providence, who
teaches us the sweetness of adversity, was preparing a more
beautiful and helpful surprise than any she could plan or execute.
That night all were much excited, and great was the energy displayed
as the scarlet, blue, and silver couples went through the rapid
figures with unusual spirit and success. The brass-heeled boots
stamped in perfect time, the furred caps waved, and the braided
jackets glittered as the gay troop swung to and fro or marched to
the barbaric music of an impromptu band. Jessie looked on with such
longing in her eyes that Fanny, who was ill with a bad cold, kindly
begged her to take her place, as motion made her cough, and putting
on the red and silver cap sent her joyfully away to lead them all.
The fun grew rather fast and furious toward the end, and when the
dance broke up there lay in the middle of the floor a shabby little
slipper, burst at the side, trodden down at the heel, and utterly
demoralized as to the bow with a broken buckle in it. Such a
disreputable little shoe was it that no one claimed it when one of
the young men held it up on the point of his sword, exclaiming
gayly,--
“Where is Cinderella? Here's her shoe, and it's quite time she had a
new pair. Glass evidently doesn't wear well now-a-days.”
They all laughed and looked about to find the shoeless foot. The
girls with small feet displayed them readily; those less blessed hid
them at once, and no Cinderella appeared to claim the old slipper.
Jessie turned as red as her cap, and glanced imploringly at Fanny as
she slipped through a convenient door and flew up-stairs, knowing
that in a moment all would see that it must be hers, since the other
girls wore red boots as a part of their costume.
Fanny understood; and though awkward and slow with her feet, she was
kind-hearted and quick to spare her friend the mortification which a
poor and proud girl could not help feeling at such a moment. The
unfortunate slipper was flying from hand to hand as the youths
indulged in a boyish game of ball to tease the laughing girls, who
hastened to disclaim all knowledge of “the horrid thing.”
“Please give it to me!” cried Fanny, trying to catch it, and glad
Jessie was safe.
“No; Cinderella must come and put it on. Here's the Prince all ready
to help her,” said the finder of the shoe, holding it up.
“And here are lots of proud sisters ready to cut off their toes and
heels if they could only get on such a small slipper,” added another
young Mygar, enjoying the fun immensely.
“Listen, and let me tell you something. It's Jessie Delano's, and
she has run away because she lost it. Don't laugh and make fun of
it, because it was worn out in helping us. You all know what a hard
time she has had, but you don't know how good and brave and patient
she is, trying to help poor Laura and to earn her living. I asked
her to teach me, and I shall pay her well for it, because I couldn't
have gone on if she hadn't. If any of you feel as grateful as I do,
and as sorry for her, you can show it in any kind way you please,
for it must be dreadful to be so poor.”
Fanny had spoken quickly, and at the last words hid the tremble in
her voice with a cough, being rather scared at what she had done on
the impulse of the moment. But it was a true impulse, and the
generous young hearts were quick to answer it. The old slipper was
respectfully handed to her with many apologies and various penitent
suggestions. None were adopted just then, however, for Fanny ran off
to find Jessie with her things on waiting for a chance to slip away
unseen. No persuasions would keep her to supper; and at last, with
many thanks, she was allowed to go, while Fanny returned to lay
plans with her guests as they disturbed their digestions with
lobster salad, ice-cream, and strong coffee.