Helen was not long in making the acquaintance of Ellen and Frank Gregory,
the children of her employer, over whom she was expected thenceforth to
have oversight.
Those who have always lived in the country, or to whom frequent visits
have made it familiar, can hardly appreciate the depth of enjoyment which
it brought to a child, who, like Helen, had been confined for years in
the most noisome portion of a great city. To her, the most common objects
seemed invested with an interest altogether new; and she plucked with as
much eagerness the dandelions and buttercups which covered the greensward
in profusion as if they had been the rarest exotics. There is a
freemasonry in children which does away with formal introductions and the
barriers of etiquette. When, two hours after her companion’s departure,
Helen and the children came bounding in, flushed with exercise, Mrs.
Gregory had an opportunity to observe—what before had escaped her
notice—that Helen was more than ordinarily pretty. Something there was
in her expression that seemed to strike the chords of memory; but Mrs.
Gregory dismissed it as only a chance resemblance.
“Helen,” said she, calling the child to her side, “have you always lived
in the city?”
“For a long time, madam. I cannot remember ever to have lived anywhere
else.”
“And do you like it as well as the country?”
“I do not like it at all,—it is so dark and dirty and close. The sun does
not shine there as it does here; and I could not run out into the fields,
but all day long I had to sit alone.”
“Alone? Wasn’t your grandfather with you?”
“Yes,” said Helen, casting down her eyes. “He would come home to meals;
but he had to attend to his business.”
“He seems too old and infirm to be able to do much,” said Mrs. Gregory,
compassionately.
Helen was about to disclaim the age and infirmity, when the thought of
the near relation in which Armstrong stood to her came over her mind in
time, and she only answered, “Yes, ma’am.”
“How long since your grandmother died?”
This, too, was an embarrassing question for Helen; but the necessity of
saying something prompted her to reply, “A good while.”
Perceiving, though she could not conjecture why, that her questions
confused Helen, Mrs. Gregory desisted.
It was about four o’clock on the succeeding afternoon that Mrs. Gregory,
who was sitting at the window, detected the bent form of the assumed old
man slowly making his way up the hill.
“Your grandfather is coming,” said she to Helen, who sat beside her.
Helen tried to look as joyful as the approach of her only relative might
be expected to make her; but the thought of the deception which she
was even then practising towards a family who were showing her great
kindness, and the still greater wrong which she was required to do them,
made it a difficult task for one no better versed in dissimulation.
Mrs. Gregory noticed it no further than to form the opinion that she was
a little odd in her manners.
As Helen expected, Armstrong requested her to walk a little apart
with him; and then, dropping at once the whining tone he had assumed,
inquired, quickly and peremptorily,—
“Well, what have you discovered?”
“Nothing,” said Helen, timidly, and as if deprecating his anger.
“Nothing?” he echoed, his eyes lighting with indignation. “What am I to
understand by that?
“Come, child,” said he, softening his tone, as he saw that she was
terrified by his roughness, “I don’t mean you any harm; but the fact is,
I have placed you here to help me, and help me you must, otherwise I
shall be compelled to carry you back to live with me in New York. Perhaps
you would like to go?”
“Oh, no, no!” said Helen. “Don’t carry me back! Let me stay here!”
“Well, so I will, if you behave well. Now, tell me truly, have you no
idea where they keep the silver? I know they have a large quantity of it.”
Helen reluctantly admitted, that, although she did not know, she could
form an idea.
“Where?” asked Armstrong, eagerly.
“In the pantry, at the west corner of the house.”
“Humph! And do they lock the door at night?”
“Yes; but the key remains in the lock.”
“So far, so good. Does any one sleep in the lower part of the house?”
“No one.”
“Better still.”