Two serious questions concerning Beth's rearing presented themselves to
Eliza. After her experience with Rose, she knew that her foster-child
would be forced to bear the insults and unkind remarks of every ill-bred
person who chose to express themselves.
As for Rose, Eliza felt that she had quieted her only for such time as
she was a visitor at the Wells home. The child was a sort of leader
after a fashion of her own, and what she did the half dozen children
near her age would do.
It meant simply this. Beth would be the subject of the caprice,
ill-temper or ill-breeding of the children. The best thing was to put
her with those who had kindness in their heart. She would be able to
teach her for a year more. Then she would enter her in the schools at
Farwell.
So far the matter was settled. The next question was one of finance.
There were several dollars monthly tuition for pupils who did not reside
in the borough. Eliza had so little to go on. She determined that she
would be ready for the expense when it came. She would not deny Beth,
but she could and would make sacrifices for herself. All winter, not a
cent was spent needlessly. She sold her butter close, and studied her
chicken manual and fed her hens so scientifically and kept the coops so
warm and comfortable that the fowls were under the impression that
spring had come and took to laying at once; this when eggs were forty
cents a dozen.
When Beth was ten years old, she entered the B grammar grade at Farwell.
So far Eliza had kept in touch with her work and had taught her all she
knew. She had a tug at her heart strings that first morning in September
when she walked into town with Beth. It seemed to her that there had
come a parting of the ways when each must walk a little more alone.
Beth was radiant with new tan shoes and stockings. Her white dress was
fresh from the iron. Eliza felt not a little conscience-stricken
whenever she bade her little girl wear this particular dress. It had
been made from the linen sheets which Eliza's grandmother had woven and
bleached. Eliza loved family traditions. She had thought a long time
before she put her shears into these heirlooms. But she concluded at
last that the welfare and advancement of the living were to be
considered before the traditions of the past.
It was a beautiful morning when they started forth on the road to
knowledge. The way from the Wells homestead led down a gradual slope.
Here one could go by way of the public road, or take a little foot-path
which wound in and out through the woods and at length came in just at
the edge of Farwell.
Eliza and Beth had given themselves plenty of time. The foot-path was
enticing. They took it. Eliza walked slowly, pausing now and then to
look at the scene about her, or to pluck a bit of golden-rod or wild
aster. Beth was flitting from flower to flower like a butterfly. Yet in
the midst of her excitement and haste, she stepped carefully on the tips
of her shoes so that she would not scuff them. Tan shoes were not to be
had for the asking.
The slope of the hill stretched to a ravine through which ran a little
stream. In spring, it was something worth while; but the heat of summer
had dried it up, so that now there was barely enough of it to make a
gurgling sound. Once there had been fields along the stream. An apple
orchard had stretched over the hillside. The trees were still there, to
be sure, but they had degenerated until the fruit was hard, small and
bitter.
Portions of an old rail fence were to be seen, and close under the one
solitary forest-oak which some generous hand had left standing, was a
small house built of square timbers. Wild ampelopsis were clambering
over it everywhere. A broad stone chimney built for an outlet to the
grate within was standing as intact as the day its rough stones were
laid.
No one had ever lived here since Eliza could remember. The windows and
doors had been boarded up for years. Nature had softened the colors and
vines and bending branches of oak had made it a beautiful place. The
Oliver place, people called it; but nothing remained of the Oliver
family but the name of this place. They had come and gone, and that was
all the Shintown folk could tell of them.
Eliza stopped and looked at the place, as she did every time she passed
it. It had always been attractive to her, even when she was a child. It
was mellowed in color; it stood aloof from all life, and suggested
sentiment and romance.
Beth had run on ahead. Seeing that Eliza was not following, she ran back
and stood beside her. There was a moment's silence, until her mind
grasped what was holding her companion's attention.
"Isn't it simply lovely?" she exclaimed. "It would be simply 'kertish'
for a play-house. When Helen brings her cousin over to spend Saturday,
I'll bring them down here to make a play-house."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," said Eliza. "The place may be full of
snakes. Old houses like that are often dens of rattlers."
"We could kill them, couldn't we?" asked Beth.
"We'll not risk it," said Eliza. "Just stay away. Then I'll feel sure
that you are on the safe side."
It was barely eight o'clock when Eliza and her charge entered the school
building. Miss Harmon had charge of the B grammar grade. Providence was
being good to Beth when she put her in this woman's charge. She was a
fine teacher. Her school-room held more than books. Children were built
up, strengthened and made happy. She believed firmly that one can be
happy only by being of some use in the world. She considered it sinful
to be depressed and blue; for such an attitude of mind showed lack of
faith in God. She had a part in every good work in town. She knew every
one and had a kindly word of greeting for each one, from drunken,
worthless Jerry Hennesey to the Judge who stood as a beacon light of
morality and high thinking.
"And Beth is to be with me this year?" she said after greeting her
visitors. "I am glad of that. We'll have a lovely time."
"I shall miss her," said Eliza. "I've been teaching her up to this time.
Of course I had to do some studying, but I enjoyed it. I'm sorry to give
it up."
"Why give it up? Why not continue as you have begun?"
"It would be useless. Two years more and she'll take up Latin and
Algebra. I've never had them. I know nothing of Botany. I know the wild
flowers here about, but nothing about the science."
"You know the finest part if you know the flowers," was the reply. "What
matters it if Beth begins Latin! If you keep side by side with her,
could you not begin too?"
"I'm too old. Why, Miss Harmon, I'm thirty--"
"Don't, please. I don't wish to know. Years are not counted any more.
Why, you and I are babies yet with a lot of glorious things to learn.
Mind is not subject to years. It can keep working as long as there is a
body to hold it."
This was a new idea to Eliza. Somewhere hidden in her brain had been
this same thought; but she had pushed it back from the light. It had
been so different from what every one else thought, that she had
believed it must be wrong. She listened to Miss Harmon talk along this
same line. She had little to say; but she did a great deal of thinking.
"Youth can always dwell in the heart and the mind. We can find joy in
living, spontaneity in action, and delight in study as long as we live."
She paused and then laughed softly while a flush stole over her cheeks.
"I am going to be personal, Miss Wells, just to prove to you that I know
what I'm talking about. I'm ten years older than you--you have been
thinking all the while that I'm much younger. Do you know why? I have
never let myself think I was too old to learn anything. I've kept my
mind and muscles flexible and they cannot get stiff."
"I know you are right," said Eliza at last. "I used to think a good deal
on that line, but I never could talk of it to any one. It seemed as
though no one thought as I did. They always acted as though I was just a
little peculiar."
"They called Galileo crazy; Plato was sneered at because he taught the
immortality of the soul when every one else believed something else. We
can't depend upon our friends for some things. Each one of us must be a
Columbus and discover for himself the unfathomed country of his own
soul. There is no knowing how big and glorious a possession we may
have."
The gong sounded here and the children came trooping in. Miss Eliza
arose to leave. The teacher came with her to the door.
"You will come again and see how Beth is getting along? Don't give up
your studies. You'll regret it if you do. Some time when I have leisure
I would like to talk with you about our Club. I know you would be
interested and would like to join."
Eliza went her way. Already the horizon had broadened. A Columbus to her
own soul! She grasped what that might mean. No one could tell her own
possibilities, her own capabilities, until she cast aside prejudice,
servitude to customs which were accepted only because they had been in
existence for centuries, and started forth to express the sweetness and
strength of her own life.
Eliza hurried along with buoyant step. Her feet were light and her hopes
high. Her white dress had been mended, but it was the perfection of
daintiness. She was good to look at as she went her way, a graceful,
gracious, smiling woman.
"Slow up, or there'll be a head-on collision," cried a merry voice. "I
declare I'm always 'flagging' people to prevent a wreck."
Eliza brought herself to a sudden stop. Doctor Dullmer, smiling and
gracious, stood before her.
"I beg your pardon, I didn't see you. I was preoccupied," she stammered.
"I believe you. Thoughts in the clouds and heels on the pavements. But
I'm not surprised. That's the way I'm being treated these days.
Handsome, attractive young women don't care to notice a fat, seedy old
doctor."
Eliza laughed at his jest. "It doesn't matter though how I'm treated.
I'll not forsake my friends. To prove it, I'll walk down to the
crossroads with you. It is unseemly that a young girl like you should be
roaming the streets alone at this hour." His expression was quite grave
and his voice as serious as though he were diagnosing a case.
Doctor Dullmer had a thousand subjects to talk upon. He flitted like a
bee from one to another, taking out a bit of honey everywhere. When they
came to the corner of Champlain Avenue and Sixth Street, which was the
beginning of the State Road, Doctor Dullmer pointed across the river to
where the base of the mountains spread out into a broad level plain,
fully a hundred yards higher than the valley in which Farwell lay. The
view from this elevation must have been magnificent, for it extended so
that the river swept about it and one could see for miles east and west.
Every little village was in sight, and beyond lay the magnificent
heights of the Alleghanies.
"Notice those workmen over there. That means something. That means that
we are going to be society. Next summer we take to swallow-tailed coats
and low-cut vests. We are getting on. We will have a summer hotel there,
and the fashionables will come and tell us what beautiful mountains we
have. As though we didn't know that the instant we were able to peep
from beneath our perambulator blankets to look at them."
He turned to gaze quizzically at Eliza.
"You'll have to do like the rest of them. You'll be cutting off the
collar of your frock and putting a tail to your skirt. That's the
fashionable caper for women, they tell me--. Here's my turning-off
place." He was gone before Eliza could speak.
She stood a moment looking at the swarm of workmen excavating. She had
heard rumors of a summer hotel being built. It was really true then!
She smiled as she recalled the doctor's words about evening gowns and
trains. How ridiculous!
Very strange things happen. Before many years had passed, Eliza was
really trailing after her a robe of--. But this is anticipating. Why
speak of it now, when she herself never suspected all the strange
occurrences which would follow from the hotel's bringing its influx of
guests.