Mr. W---- was rather surprised to receive quite an early call at his
bindery from the son of his wealthy patron--the younger Legare. He had
met Frank at his club, and on “the road,” for both drove fast horses;
but the young man had never before visited the bindery, though his
father often did.
Mr. W----, however, received his visitor with great cordiality, and
asked what he could do for him.
“I would like to see you in your private office a moment,” said young
Legare, who had, when he entered the large room, cast a keen and
searching glance at all the hands--men, boys, and girls--whom his eye
could reach.
“Certainly. Step this way,” said Mr. W----, leading the way to a room
partitioned off at the upper end of the main bindery. “Take a seat,
Mr. Legare,” he said, pointing to a luxurious arm-chair, cushioned and
backed with morocco.
“Thank you. I will detain you but a moment,” said Frank. “My father was
here yesterday?”
“Yes; he left some work, which will be finished by to-morrow. He is one
of my best patrons,” replied W----.
“He discovered a prodigy here yesterday,” said young Legare.
“A prodigy?”
“Yes, sir; at least he seems to think so, for he talked like a crazy
man about her--a girl beautiful as a houri, and as learned as she is
beautiful, the mistress, he said, of no less than five languages.”
“Ah, yes! You allude to Hattie Butler. She is rather pretty, and
certainly quite gifted as a linguist.”
“What will you take to send her away where he will never see her again?”
“Mr. Legare! I hardly understand you.”
“I think I spoke quite plainly. I asked you what you would take to send
her away where he would never see her again. Do you understand that?”
“I think I do,” said Mr. W----, flushing up. “But you must understand I
never discharge a good and willing hand without a fault, when there is
work to do for that hand. This young woman has worked for us over two
years without committing an error.”
“Is it no error to snare an old man like my father, because he happens
to be rich, with a display of her beauty and learning?”
“Snare! Mr. Legare, have you been drinking, or what is the matter with
you?”
“I have not been drinking, Mr. W----, and I am in very sober earnest in
what I say. My father, though old, is very impressible, and perhaps you
know it. He came home to lunch yesterday, and could talk of nothing but
the beauty and talent of this girl.”
“Why, he was not in here over ten or fifteen minutes altogether, and
his conversation with her may have occupied three or four minutes of
that time.”
“Well, it was long enough to do us--my sister and myself--perhaps an
irreparable injury. In short, from the old gentleman’s enthusiasm, we
feared he would court and marry this girl before we could take a step
to prevent it, and we made up our minds to prevent such a folly if we
could.”
“I doubt very much, Mr. Legare, whether such a folly, as you rightly
term it, has originated in any brain but your own. I was present at the
only interview your father has ever had with this young woman, and only
the books, and how to bind them, was the subject of conversation. It
was brief and business-like, nothing more.”
“Can I see the young woman?”
“We are not in the habit of exhibiting our employees, Mr. Legare,” said
W----, with considerable hauteur. “But if you choose to walk about the
bindery with me, you can see every person in it, while examining my
work, machinery, and so forth; but I will not permit any remarks made
that can hurt the feelings of an employee.”
“I would be the last to do it, sir; and you need not point out this
prodigy--if she is so very beautiful, and so superior in her grace and
manners, I am sure I shall be able to discover her without aid.”
“Very well, Mr. Legare. We will pass through the various departments,
as visitors frequently do.”
The young man assented, and with Mr. W---- moved through the large
hall, looking at folders, sewers, gilders, and pasters, all busy at
their various tasks, and examined with rather a careless eye all the
newly-patented machinery for cutting and pressing, though Mr. W----
strove to point out the great improvements of the age as well as he
could.
They had passed through a greater part of the bindery, and young Legare
had looked with a surprised eye on many a pretty form and interesting
face, for he, like too many of the upper or non-laboring class, had
imbued the idea that beauty and labor, grace and toil, intellect and
worth, could not go hand in hand, or indeed have any connection.
They now came to where a young girl, with her braided hair, dark as
night, wound around a finely poised head, sat with her face toward
a window--a screen on either side partially shutting her in from
general observation. She was bent over some scattered pages, evidently
arranging them, and young Legare, glancing at the pages, saw that they
were old, in a foreign language, and had belonged to a pile of torn and
faded magazines that lay on the table to her left.
One glance at that form, at the shapely head, and graceful neck and
shoulders, and a start of surprise, a flush in his face, told that
Legare had found the wonderful girl of whom his father had spoken.
Hearing steps close to her table, the beautiful girl turned to see who
was there, and, seeing Mr. W---- with a stranger by his side, turned
again to her work. But that one glance revealed to young Legare such a
face as he had never seen before--a face wonderfully beautiful and full
of expression.
The two passed on until beyond her hearing, and Legare said, in a low
tone:
“I thank you, Mr. W----, and need look no farther. I do not wonder that
such beauty, combined with education and talent, struck my father with
surprise. Who can she be? She was not born to labor; her hands are
small, her fingers tapering and delicate--every feature that of a lady.
I had but a single glance, but if I was only an artist I could paint
her portrait from memory.”
Mr. W---- smiled.
“You also are enthusiastic as well as your father. But I assure
you that neither you nor he need feel any fear, or dream of any
snares being laid for either of you. It is true, the young girl
is beautiful--but she is poor, and dependent on the labor of her
hands for her living. She has evidently no ambitions beyond it, for
here at her bench for over two years she has been a silent, quiet,
unobtrusive worker, making no complaints, asking no favors, shunning
all acquaintances--noted only for her modesty and retiring, quiet way.”
“She is a wonder,” said Mr. Legare, with a sigh. “I thank you for your
kindness, Mr. W----.”
Then he left the bindery without another word.