Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.
[Illustration: THE ORPHAN NIECES.
FRONTISPIECE.]
THE ORPHAN NIECES;
OR,
Duty and Inclination.
BY
LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY
AUTHOR OF "UPWARD AND ONWARD," "IRISH AMY," "SOPHIE KENNEDY,"
"COMFORT ALLISON," ETC.
NEW YORK:
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY
770 BROADWAY, COR. 9th ST.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by the
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
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CONTENTS.
——————
CHAPTER FIRST. LAYING OUT PLANS
CHAPTER SECOND.
CHAPTER THIRD.
CHAPTER FOURTH.
CHAPTER FIFTH.
CHAPTER SIXTH.
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
CHAPTER NINTH.
CHAPTER TENTH.
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
CHAPTER TWELFTH.
CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
CHAPTER NINETEENTH.
CHAPTER TWENTIETH.
DUTY AND INCLINATION;
OR,
The Orphan Nieces.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER FIRST.
LAYING OUT PLANS.
IT was the time of the noon recess in Mrs. Granger's school, and the
long upper school-room was pretty well filled with her pupils, who were
gathered as chance or inclination prompted, some walking up and down
in pairs, or singly, talking and reading, others actively engaged in
battledore graces, or the old and classic game of jack-stones, and a
few at their desks, endeavoring, amid the babel of noises, to fix their
attention upon their lessons. By far the largest group, however, was
assembled around the piano, sitting, standing, lounging, in all sorts
of attitudes, graceful and ungraceful, and engaged in discussing that
never-failing subject of interest, the approaching examination.
"After all, girls," remarked Olive McHenry, after the matter had been
reviewed in every aspect of which it seemed capable, "after all, there
is something very pleasant about examinations."
"I should be glad to know what it is," remarked her cousin Charlotte.
"I have never been able to see any thing agreeable about it, except
that it comes just before vacation."
"I suppose that is one pleasure," said Olive, with something of a
sigh, "but I think there are some others. It always causes a little
excitement, the rules are relaxed, and all the teachers are in their
best humor."
"To say nothing of the prizes," remarked Helen Monteith.
"Yes, the prizes are pleasant, too, but they are only for a few, so it
is hardly fair to rank them among the pleasures of examination."
"But don't you think vacations are pleasant, Olive?" asked one of the
little girls.
"Oh! Yes, of course," answered Olive, but somewhat indifferently.
"But it is so nice to think about going home," persisted little Anna,
who was only eleven years old. "Think of the journey, and the arrival,
and dear, dear mother!" Anna checked herself, and looked around,
blushing, as though she feared having exposed herself to ridicule.
"You forget I have no mother, Anna," remarked Olive, gravely but gently.
"To be sure that makes a great deal of difference," assented Anna, in a
sympathizing tone. "I should not care any thing about going home, if it
were not for seeing father and mother."
"Perhaps, if you had some one at home who had done every thing they
could for you, you might care something about seeing them, Annie,"
remarked Charlotte Merton, in the measured tone which was always a
sign of excitement with her, "instead of feeling that no gratitude or
affection was due them because they were 'only' uncle and aunt."
Olive colored extremely, and looked very much hurt. Several of the
girls exchanged glances, and Anna looked from one to the other in
surprise.
"I don't think Olive had any such meaning, Charlotte," said Helen
Monteith, while Olive stooped to pick up some scattered bits of paper.
"I am sure it is natural she should think of her parents, when we are
all talking of going home, and seeing our friends."
"It may be very natural, too, for Olive to be constantly insinuating
that she is not happy, or well-treated at home," returned Charlotte,
"but I must say, it does not seem to me to be just the thing for a
person in her situation."
"I did not mean or say any such thing, Charlotte," said Olive, looking
up suddenly; "you know very well I did not. You have been angry all
day, because I stood above you in history this morning, and you take
this way to revenge yourself."
Olive stopped suddenly. She caught Helen's eye of warning fixed upon
her, and biting her lip, she again attempted to busy herself with the
bits of paper but it was in vain. She burst into tears, and retreated
to her seat, while Charlotte looked after her with an expression of
triumph, and the girls exchanged glances, some of sympathy and others
of amusement.
"What is the matter with your sister, Abby?" asked one of the girls in
another part of the room.
Abby McHenry looked up from the book she was reading, and in which she
had contrived to be wholly absorbed, despite the noise and confusion
around her. "Is any thing the matter with Olive?" she asked, as if she
were only half-awakened.
"I presume so," said Maria Grey; "she seems to be crying, and she is
not apt to cry for nothing."
"I suppose she has had some trouble with Charlotte," said Abby, closing
her book, and preparing to go to her sister. "I do wish Charlotte would
leave off teasing her, or that she would leave off caring for it. I
think she might be used to her amiable cousin by this time. But I must
go and stop her crying, or she will make herself sick: She does not cry
as easily as I do."
Abby did not inquire of her sister what disturbed her, but she sat down
by her, and by caresses and persuasions, finally induced her first to
check her sobs, and then to retire to her room, and bathe her face and
eyes before school. This accomplished, she returned to the school-room,
and sought out Helen Monteith.
"Do take Olive out to walk after school, Helen, and keep her quiet,"
she said. "She gets into such a taking, and I can not manage her half
as well as you do."
"You don't get into takings, yourself, Abby," said Helen, laughing at
the oddity of the request.
"I don't allow Charlotte to disturb me, at any rate," returned Abby. "I
know her too well, and what is the use? But do pray comfort Olive, if
you can. I don't know what she will do when we go home for good," she
continued; "for it is worse there than it is here. I really dread the
close of the next half-year, not for myself, but for her."
"Come and walk in the grove with me, Olive," said Helen, accordingly,
as soon as school was out. "I have obtained permission of Mrs. Granger,
and the day is so cool that we shall have our favorite walks all to
ourselves."
Olive assented, and the two friends were now to be seen passing up and
down the long gravelled paths, which led through a thick grove of beech
and maple, down to the water's edge.
"How tired you look, Olive," said Helen, at last.
"I am not so much tired as I am fretted and worried," Olive replied. "I
do not see what it is to come to."
"What 'what' is to come to?" asked Helen.
"The times I have with Charlotte," replied Olive. "You saw how it was
at noon. Because I said something about having no mother, she took it
up, and made it appear that I was trying to insinuate that I was not
well-treated at home. There is hardly a day of our lives that she does
not get up some such scene, and she generally takes occasion, in the
course of it, to put me in mind of the fact that I am dependent upon
her father."
"But you are not entirely dependent, are you?" inquired Helen.
"Not entirely. We three girls, Abby, Laura, and myself, have almost
three hundred dollars a year between us. That is enough to provide as
with clothes, but it will not be quite as much when we finish going to
school. So Abby and I stay at uncle Merton's, and my aunt Dimsden has
adopted Laura, and educates her at home."
Olive paused a little, and then went on. "Uncle Merton is very kind,
and I always get on nicely with him. Aunt is kind too, at least in all
essentials, and I am very much attached to her. But she naturally sides
with Charlotte, and never imagines that she can do any thing wrong.
Then aunt is proud. She was very indignant at my mother, for marrying
beneath her, as she thought, and she thinks I am just like my father.
I hope I am," continued Olive, coloring with a justifiable pride; "I
should not wish to resemble a better man."
"But in spite of all this I should do very well, if it were not for
Charlotte. She renders my life miserable by her everlasting jealousy
and suspicion. Even that I could put up with, but this feeling
that I am only a dependent, and have no home of my own except upon
sufferance—that I may be looked upon as an intruder and a burden—it is
that which embitters every moment of my life."
"How does Abby bear it?" asked Helen.
"Why, Helen, you know how Abby is? Nothing ever disturbs her. I have
heard aunt scold her half an hour at a time, so that if it had been me,
I should have felt like drowning myself almost, and she would not care
any more for it than though the old cat had mewed at her. It is just so
when Mrs. Granger finds fault with her. I wish I had her temper, I am
sure."
Helen had her doubts whether Olive would be, upon the whole, improved
by having her sister's indifference, but she did not express them. "I
wonder, Olive," she said, after a few moments' silence, "that you do
not at once take measures to render yourself independent."
"How do you mean?" asked Olive. "How would I?"
"Very easily. You have had every advantage of education so far, and
you say you expect to be in school at least half a year longer. What
hinders you from preparing yourself thoroughly, and thus engaging in
teaching?"
Olive looked as though she had received a perfectly new idea. "I never
thought of that," said she; "I wonder if I could."
"Why not? A great many people undertake it, who are by no means equal
to you in capacity or advantages, and are successful."
"But it is a great drudgery, Helen."
"That depends upon circumstances, my dear. That teaching must always
be hard work, I allow, but it seems to me that it is very possible to
raise it above the character of drudgery."
"How?"
"By putting one's whole heart and soul into it, as many teachers do.
Witness Mrs. Granger and Miss Lee, and our good Professor De V. But,
even allowing that it is hard work, is it not better to work hard, and
be your own mistress, than to live in leisure and luxury, dependent
upon another, however kind and considerate that other may be?"
Olive looked very thoughtful. "Yes," said she, at length, "I would
rather work hard from year's end to year's end, if I could make enough
to support myself comfortably. But how should I go to work to procure a
situation?"
"Ask Mrs. Granger to find you one. You know she procured excellent
places for Ann Browning and Elizabeth Hayes. She likes nothing better
than to help the girls in this way, unless it is to see them married."
"What would uncle and aunt say, I wonder? I think it very doubtful
whether they would hear of such a thing. Aunt said the last time we
were at home that she hoped to have us settled in homes of our own
before we were twenty-five."
"There is another thing to be taken into the account, Olive," said
Helen. "Suppose your aunt undertakes to make up a match for you. If you
are at all what I take you to be, you are not the girl to marry for
a home or an establishment, whatever may be your circumstances. But
suppose, as I said, she undertakes in all kindness to provide you with
a husband. Your ideas and hers very probably would not agree. If you
refused, out and out, your situation at home would not be rendered in
the least degree more comfortable, while if you accepted, as you might
be greatly tempted to do, there would be an end of all self-respect and
happiness for the future."
"I have often thought of that, among the other discomforts of my
condition," replied Olive, "though I never saw my way out of it before.
I do not think that aunt Rebecca would ever intentionally do any thing
ungenerous, though she does not like to be contradicted. But it will
not do to decide hastily," she continued. "I must take the matter into
consideration. I believe I will say that I will not try to come to any
conclusion till after next Sunday."
"Why next Sunday?" asked Helen.
"Because it is Communion-Sunday," replied Olive. "I do not know but
I am superstitious about it, Helen, but it does seem to me as though
prayers upon communion-days were worth more than at other times."
"I do not see why they should not be," Helen said; "one would naturally
pray with more faith and earnestness in presence of the memorials of
the love of our Master and only Saviour, and it is said, 'According to
your faith be it unto you.'"
"I have often thought it was wrong in me to be so discontented,"
continued Olive, after they had taken two or three turns in silence,
"and I have struggled hard against the feeling, but it will come back."
"I think it would be wrong to be discontented, if you could help
yourself," returned Helen, "but if we can better our condition by
proper and lawful means, it appears to me that we have a right to do
so. If I were you, I should make a great effort to be free, and not be
discouraged by a good many hindrances. But if it should be shown to be
clearly impossible, I should try to be contented, and make the best of
it."
"I wonder what Charlotte will say?"
"Never mind what Charlotte says," returned Helen, with some little
impatience in her tone. "I do wonder, Olive, that when you know her
so well, you should constantly disturb and fetter yourself with a
reference to her. You never appear to advantage where she is, because
you always seem under such a constraint, and you hardly ever express an
opinion before her, without looking as if you wondered how she would
take it."
"It is foolish I know," said Olive, coloring, "but one reason is that
she always seems upon the watch to turn me into ridicule, and if I say
an unguarded word, she is sure to take advantage of it. Then if I show
any signs of resentment, comes out something about my being dependent."
"Another reason for rendering yourself independent."
"Yes, and a very great one. If it were not for her, I should not care
so much. For really aunt means to be very kind, though she does not
always show it in the most agreeable way. And uncle is every thing that
is good. I think if I decide upon this course, I will write to him
before we go home. I can always speak my mind better in a letter than
in any other way, and if I have his consent, I shall have little to
fear; for he is most emphatically head of the house. Even Charlotte is
afraid of him."
"You will have a strong motive for making the most of your time while
you remain in school," said Helen. "If I were you, Olive, I would
devote more time to Latin and mathematics. You are a good French and
Italian scholar, and your standing in the other classes is excellent.
But if you will allow me to say so, you are rather behindhand in these
two branches, especially in algebra."
"I know I am," replied Olive; "I like them so much less than the
others, and they are so much more difficult for me, that I have always
felt a temptation to neglect them."
"But they are very necessary for a teacher," remarked Helen.
"I will begin to work at them this very night. I shall dislike to give
up the French prize, too," she continued, with something like a sigh,
"but it can not be helped. I must risk a less for a greater, as Mr.
De V. says. Charlotte will think I am trying to take the mathematical
prize from her. She regards it as hers already, you know, and I fear
there is no chance of my coming up to it so late in the term."
"Charlotte again! Why should you wish to take it from her? Let her have
that, and the French prize too, if she wants them. I should rather
give them both up, than have any new cause of jealousy arise. You are
working for a larger prize than a writing-desk, are you not?"
"She might have every one in the school if it would make her any
better-natured," returned Olive. "Suppose I tell her that I will not
try for any of them?"
"That would hardly answer the purpose. Just devote yourself to making
up your own deficiencies and let things take their course. If you gain
a prize, well and good; if not, you can afford to lose it. But there is
the half-hour bell for tea; I had no idea we had been out so long."
When the bell rung for study at seven, Olive prepared to push her
resolution into practice. Yet it was not without a sigh that she
cleared her end of the table of dictionaries and grammars, and took
down her slate and geometry. This was soon dispatched, and it was with
a still deeper sigh that she turned to her algebra.
Abby intimated her surprise in humorous dumb-show, but did not speak;
for both the sisters were very particular in observing the rules, Olive
from principle, and Abby because she very well knew that there was no
use in talking, to her sister, since she only lost her credit-marks,
without getting any answers.
The lesson appeared uncommonly puzzling, and at first it seemed
hopeless to try to understand it. Yesterday she would have contented
herself with bestowing only just as much labor upon it as would save
her from disgrace in the class, but she had a new and powerful motive
for exertion. With a strong effort, she brought all her powers of mind
to bear upon the task before her, and before nine o'clock she was able
to lay down her slate with a sigh at once of fatigue and relief, and
turn to her French lesson. She had hardly set about it, however, before
the bell rang, which proclaimed that study was over for the night, and
set free the hundred and twenty tongues that inhabited the building,
Abby's among the number.
"How you have been fagging at that algebra!" she exclaimed, as the
first stroke sounded. "Are you going to try to get Charlotte's prize
away from her?"
"No," replied Olive, as she threw herself back in her chair; "I have no
expectation of any such thing. She is too far before me for that. But I
want to make up my deficiencies in mathematics if I can."
"What a pity you did not begin before! It is so near examination that
every credit counts, and you will not have time to get any extras in
French, if you give so much to algebra. I should not like to have you
lose the French prize, after taking it so often."
"I own I should be sorry to lose it," said Olive, "but after all, Abby,
the prize is not the principal thing."
"Perhaps not, but you must own it is a great help. Much as I
love music, I don't believe I should have applied for an extra
practice-hour, but for the hope of winning that beautiful copy of
Dante."
"I am working for a prize, too," said Olive, "but it is not a school
prize."
Abby looked at her in surprise. "Oh! Yes, of course," she said at last,
"you always want to do just right, I know." Abby spoke in entire good
faith. Perhaps the strongest feelings she ever had were admiration and
love for her sister. She would for Olive's sake sacrifice even her
dearly beloved laziness, which was the strongest proof of affection it
was possible for her to give.
"That is not it, exactly, either," said Olive. "I have a plan in my
head."
"Don't tell me, Olive, if you don't want Charlotte to know,"
interrupted Abby. "You know she always questions every thing out of me
sooner or later. However, don't look so disappointed," she added; "if
you want me to know very much, I will make an extra effort to keep my
own counsel for once."
"I do want you to know very much," replied Olive, "and I do not want
you to mention it to Charlotte, at least not till after I write to
uncle." And she proceeded to unfold her plans.
Abby listened with a mingled expression of perplexity and astonishment.
When Olive had finished:
"If you were the least bit like me, Olive, I should say it was the
most absurd thing in the world. But being as you are, I don't so much
wonder at it. I don't see why you can not be contented to go on as we
have done, and as I always mean to do, enjoying the good and letting
the evil go by. But if you can not, and I really suppose you can't, you
would no doubt be more comfortable in a state of independence. But O
Olive! Only think of the work! Think of having to teach all sorts of
children six hours a day, from year's end to year's end all your life
long."
"And think of having to put up with Charlotte's impertinence, and aunt
Dimsden's matchmaking, and aunt Rebecca's lectures all one's life long,
never being able to spend a cent of money without having to account
for it to some one, whose tastes are entirely different from your own.
Think of—"
"Yes, I know all that," interrupted Abby, "but after all, we always
have as much money as we want to spend, or nearly as much; for I
don't believe any body had really ever as much as they wanted," she
added laughing. "As for aunt's lectures, they need not worry you, if
you would only take them in the right way. Charlotte is a nuisance
sometimes, I allow, but then she has a right in her father's house, and
we are there only upon sufferance; so we must not wonder if she sets
herself up."
"Being there upon sufferance is the very thing I complain of," said
Olive. "I would rather work ever so hard and feel that I had a right to
be somewhere, than to live with the kindest persons in the world upon
sufferance."
"So would not I," replied Abby. "But Olive, if you are really set upon
this scheme, I would write to uncle about it before we go home, and
get his consent: then you will know exactly what to expect and can act
accordingly. I shall be sorry to have you go away from me," she added
with a sigh, "but if you think you will be happier—and perhaps," she
said with her birdlike laugh, which Olive could never resist, "I shall
make a grand marriage by that time, and then you can come and live with
me." And she forthwith began to place the prospective arrangements of
Olive's bedroom.
Olive sighed and smiled. She knew her sister had almost no capacity for
seriousness, and while she often felt painfully the want of sympathy
which existed between them, she was thankful for her affection—an
affection greater than Abby bestowed upon any other living creature.
CHAPTER SECOND.
BY the end of the week which Olive had set for consideration, her
determination was firmly fixed upon the plan which Helen had proposed
to her. The letter to her uncle was written and sent, and she composed
herself to wait for an answer with what patience she might, applying
herself meanwhile with all diligence to perfect herself in those
studies wherein she felt herself most deficient.
Charlotte found, to her great surprise, that Olive was gaining upon her
in mathematics, while they were more nearly upon an equality in French
than they had ever been before; for Olive found it entirely impossible
to keep up her ordinary standing in the latter class. She could not
help feeling mortified the first two or three times she came to the
recitation with only her regular lesson and a short translation. But
the feeling passed off by degrees, and she was able to hear Charlotte
commended with all due complacency.
Not so Charlotte. Every honor gained by Olive in algebra and geometry
seemed an annoyance to her, and she actually turned pale when the
credits were read at the end of the week, and Olive's name stood within
one of her own.
Several of the girls smiled, and Abby laughed outright, despite her
sister's reproving looks, all of which did not tend to make Charlotte
feel any more amiably. Almost as soon as school was out for the
afternoon, she came up to where Olive and Abby were standing, with
several of the other girls.
"I wish to know, Olive," she said, in her measured tones, "whether you
intend to dispute the mathematical prize with me?"
"I do not intend to dispute it with you, or any one, Charlotte,"
replied Olive, gently; "I should stand very little chance of success
if I did. You know I have always been very deficient in mathematics,
and I want to make it up while I have time. As for the prize, that is
as it may happen. I shall be very much surprised if I do get it, and
certainly your chance is much better than mine."
"I am to understand, then, that you mean to contend for the prize?"
"No," replied Olive, a little impatiently; "I do not. I only mean to
learn my lessons as well as I can, and let the prize take its chance."
"If that is all you want, I think it would be just as well to learn
your lessons without the key," said Charlotte, with a significant sneer.
Olive colored, while Abby exclaimed: "How perfectly absurd you are,
Charlotte. I don't believe Olive ever looked at the key, and I am sure
I should know it if she had."
"I do not believe there is any key," said Maria Grey. "Miss Lincoln,"
she asked of one of the teachers who was passing, "is there any key to
the higher algebra?"
"Not that ever I heard of," answered Miss Lincoln; "why?"
"Nothing, only Charlotte thought she had seen one," said Maria, and
Miss Lincoln passed on. "You see you are wrong, Charlotte," she
continued; "I really think you owe Olive an apology for your uncivil
insinuation."
"Perhaps I was wrong in 'this' instance," returned Charlotte, with
peculiar emphasis. "I confess I am not so well acquainted with keys and
counted exercises as some of you."
She turned round to mark the effect of this speech upon Olive, but
Olive had left the room.
Olive learned to attach much less importance to her cousin's jealousy,
since she seemed to have a prospect of escaping from it at some time
or other. But she had a new source of uneasiness. It was two weeks
since she had written to her uncle, and she had yet received no answer.
She began to think that he was ill, or else that he was seriously
displeased, and either idea was sufficiently unpleasant. About Mrs.
Merton's opinion she felt less anxiety; for she felt that, however
annoyed her aunt might be in the outset, she was sure to come round to
her husband's side in the end.
The next morning, however, brought the much-desired answer, and it was
with no little agitation that Olive retired to her room and broke the
seal. A hasty glance told her that she had nothing to fear from her
uncle's anger, and, that apprehension removed, she was able to read the
letter more calmly from beginning to end.
Mr. Merton was not in the least displeased with his niece's desire
for independence; on the contrary, he sympathized with her entirely,
but he feared that she had not thoroughly counted the cost. Teaching,
pursued as a means of support, was a laborious, and oftentimes a
harassing occupation. It would probably be some time before she
would be able to earn a high salary, or occupy any but a subordinate
position, and she would find herself obliged to put up with a good many
trials, of which she had very little conception. He did not, however,
mean to discourage her from her undertaking, which he thought very
praiseworthy, but he wished her to take the time which remained of the
term for consideration. And if, when she came home, she continued of
the same mind, he would cheerfully aid her by every means in his power.
He mentioned at the end that aunt Rebecca sent her love, but he did not
say whether she knew any thing of the matter in hand.
Olive's feelings had been wrought up to a pitch higher than she herself
was aware of. While the matter was uncertain, she had made up her mind
to be disappointed, but no sooner did she learn that there was every
prospect of success, than she became aware of what a failure would have
cost her, and, while she laughed at herself for the weakness, she could
not help crying.
Abby surprised her before she had quite dried her tears. She snatched
the letter from her sister's hands, and read it through.
"Why, what are you crying for?" she very naturally asked. "I do not
see but uncle says every thing you could wish. You certainly can not
think it unreasonable that he wants you to wait till vacation before
deciding! Even I should not object to that."
"I don't know what I am crying for, that is the truth," said Olive,
drying her tears and laughing, "only that I had made up my mind to
be disappointed, and uncle's kind letter came upon me with a sort of
surprise. I do not at all complain of his wanting me to take a longer
time for consideration, you may be sure."
"I wonder what aunt Rebecca will say!"
"I rather think he has not mentioned the affair to her at all. I wish
you would join me, Abby."
"Oh! No; it is entirely out of the question. To begin with, I don't
know any thing well enough to teach it, but music, and I never should
have the patience to teach that. Think of being obliged, day after
day, to listen to all sorts of compositions, good and bad, drummed
and thrummed, and thumped and pounded, out of all sorts of pianos,
by all sorts of hands, with a running accompaniment of 'one,' two,
three—'one,' two, three—mind the rests—one, two, three—take care of
that accidental—and so on, to the end of the chapter."
"But you might learn other things, Abby."
"It is far too late for that, my dear, even if I had the capacity,
which I have not. And besides, I am very well contented as I am. I
shall be sorry to have you away, but if you think you will be happier,
I shall not mind it so much. And perhaps, as I said, I shall be married
to some rich man before you come back from your first term, and then
you can come and live with me."
"You would not marry for an establishment, would you, dear?"
"Oh! Not really, you know! That would be worse than teaching, because
it would be mean, us well as inconvenient. But then, I may take a fancy
to a rich man as well as a poor one, may I not?"
"You may, to be sure," said Olive, smiling, "but I do not think it is
very profitable to speculate upon such things."
"Well, then, if you won't be interested in my matrimonial projects,
come and play battledore with me in the hall. That good-natured little
Anna has lent me hers, and I am dying for some one to play with me.
Come, you are getting as old as your great-grandmother, over those
stupid figures. Who do you think will want a teacher looking like a
Sphynx?"
Olive laughed, but suffered herself to be drawn away from her books,
and at the end of an hour's active exercise, she certainly felt better,
and inclined to take a brighter view of life. She gave Charlotte her
father's message, without, however, showing her the letter, at which
Charlotte was very angry, and at once concluded that Olive had been
writing something to her disadvantage.
Examination-time came, and, to the wonder of every one, Olive took
but one premium, and that was for the higher mathematics—considered
the highest prize in the school. No one stood any where near her but
Charlotte, and she was twenty behind, though she took the second honor
in French, and the first in history.
Olive was as much astonished as any one else: she had not kept the run
of her own credits, and could hardly believe her ears when the account
was read. It was with any thing but a feeling of unmixed pleasure that
she went forward to receive the prize—a beautifully-fitted writing-desk.
As soon after school as she could get an opportunity, she went up to
Mrs. Granger's private room, where she found Charlotte, apparently in a
state of much excitement, and she caught her own name as she entered.
"Mrs. Granger," said Olive, "are you sure there is no mistake about the
prize?"
"What mistake could there be, Olive?"
"I did not think—I had no idea of gaining the prize in mathematics,"
replied Olive. "I supposed Charlotte would like it of course."
"I presume Charlotte thought so too, and that may be the way she has
lost it," said Mrs. Granger. "She has taken it so many times that she
felt herself perfectly secure, and relaxed her efforts, while you have
improved very much. Charlotte has taken two prizes, and that ought to
content her."
"I should hive taken this too, if I had had a fair chance," burst forth
Charlotte, the violence of her feelings causing her to forget the
respect due to Mrs. Granger's presence. "If the trial had been half
fair, I should have had nothing to fear."
"What am I to understand by that, Miss Merton?" asked Mrs. Granger,
with stately dignity.
"That Olive has been helped and favored in every way, while I have
been left to depend upon my own efforts," returned Charlotte, far too
angry to consider what she said. "Miss Lincoln has always been ready to
assist her, and so has Miss Smith. As long as the partiality extended
only to French, I was willing to put up with it, but to be cheated out
of my just dues by a poor relation—a dependent upon my father's bounty."
"Charlotte Merton, hold your peace!" said Mrs. Granger, in her very
sternest tone of authority, before which the boldest rebel quailed.
"Your conduct is disgraceful in the extreme. In charging Miss Lincoln
with favoritism, you at once insult me, and make an accusation which
you can not sustain, for I venture to say that there is not another
girl in the class, beside yourself and Olive, who is the least
surprised at the result. As for your saying that Olive has cheated you,
the very fact of her coming here at once to ascertain whether there was
not a mistake—to say nothing of her established character for purity
and honor—gives the lie to that assertion.
"For shame, young lady! Have you so little magnanimity that though
you have taken two premiums yourself, you grudge your cousin another,
besides taunting her with her misfortunes? I am very much disappointed
in you, Charlotte! I knew your temper was in many respects faulty, but
I never saw any littleness in you before. No, Olive, my dear, there
is no mistake about the prize. You have fairly earned it, and we all
rejoice that your efforts have been crowned with success. Yet I venture
to say that the honor has not been your object in these efforts—is it
not so?"
"Yes ma'am," replied Olive, whose first indignation against Charlotte
had subsided into something like pity. "I hardly thought at all of
taking the prize. I had another object in view."
"I think I partly guess what that object is," said Mrs. Granger, "and
if you choose, you shall tell me this evening, when I shall be at
leisure. Come, Charlotte, I am sure you must regret your hasty words
and unjust suspicions. Let me see you give your cousin your hand, and
say so."
"If you think Olive has been perfectly fair, and she says so, Mrs.
Granger, I am willing to believe it," replied Charlotte, who began, in
truth, to see that she was not appearing to advantage. "I confess I was
hasty, Olive," she added, offering her hand. "I hope you will forget
what I said. No doubt you are perfectly entitled to the prize."
Olive took the hand, and offered a kiss in return, which was accepted,
and the two cousins went down-stairs, and entered the school-room
together, with an appearance of more cordiality than was usual with
them.
Some of the girls were glad to see it, others wondered, and many
prophesied that it would not last long. In this they were so far
mistaken, that it lasted all next day, and through the journey home;
for Charlotte had become more and more sensible that her anger at
losing the prize would very naturally be attributed to envy at her
cousin's success, and she had at the bottom of her heart a great
respect for Olive's good opinion.
Before they left school, Olive had laid open all her plans and desires
to Mrs. Granger, and received that lady's cordial approval. Mrs.
Granger furnished her all the assistance in her power towards obtaining
a situation whenever she should desire it, but strenuously advised her
to spend another half-year in school, more, she was pleased to say, to
acquire the routine of school business, than to add to her accomplished
merits.
Owing to a slight accident, the girls did not arrive at home until
so late an hour of the night that they could think of nothing except
taking a hearty supper and going directly to bed. The next morning,
however, the whole subject was brought up by the usual inquiry about
prizes.
"Olive and I have changed this time," remarked Charlotte, with
tolerable good humor. "She has carried off the mathematical honors, and
left the French to me."
"Olive taken the mathematical prizes!" said aunt Rebecca, with evident
astonishment. "I thought you always reckoned upon that with certainty,
Charlotte, and I see your French is only second. How does it happen,
Olive, you have taken such a sudden start?"
"I don't know, aunt, unless it is because I have studied harder than
usual," replied Olive, coloring a little under her aunt's scrutinising
glance.
"I suppose you have taken the first French, too," continued Mrs.
Merton. "Really you have come home covered with honors."
"Maria Grey took the first French," said Abby, who had heretofore been
occupied in slyly feeding the cat under the table. "Olive has given
more time to algebra and Latin than to any thing else this term."
"Why was that, Olive?" asked Mrs. Merton, rather sharply.
"Olive has been quite mysterious about the matter," Charlotte remarked,
unable to resist the temptation to tease her cousin a little. "She
has assured us that she had another object in view besides the mere
writing-desk. I believe Mrs. Granger is in the secret, but Abby and
myself are shut out."
"Speak for yourself," interrupted Abby, gayly. "You think I never can
know any thing without telling or it, but you are mistaken for once; I
have known it all along."
"I do not approve of secrets," said Mrs. Merton, looking a good deal
displeased. "I can not conceive of any good motive Olive could have for
concealment in this case, I am sure."
"I believe I am in this mighty secret, eh, Olive?" said Mr. Merton,
smilingly.
"Yes, uncle," replied Olive, glad of her uncle's protection. "You know
more about it than any one."
Mrs. Merton waited in dignified silence. Mr. Merton helped himself to
another piece of toast, buttered it, took a hot egg, and breaking it,
said, quietly:
"The reasons that Olive has been so earnestly devoting herself to
mathematics this term are, first, that she felt she had neglected
them before; and secondly, because she has, as I understand, made up
her mind to engage in teaching, as soon as she leaves school, and she
justly thinks that this branch is a very important one to her success."
"In teaching!" exclaimed Charlotte.
And then there was an awful silence. Olive dared not look up. She felt
her aunt's glance of offended majesty fastened upon her. She knew if
she met it, she should certainly either laugh or cry, and she did not
want to do either.
Abby's head was down under the table to look after the cat; and if it
was Minny that mewed, her voice sounded uncommonly like a giggle.
At last Mrs. Merton spoke:
"May I ask, Miss McHenry, what are the motives which have led to
this extraordinary decision? Do you not consider that you have been
well-treated in this house?"
"No, aunt," replied Olive, meekly.
"Then, permit me to ask, once more, why you wish to quit us, and
engage in the occupation of 'teaching?'" with an emphasis upon the
word, as though Olive had proposed to engage in the occupation of
street-cleaning.
"Because I do not wish to be dependent any longer, aunt Rebecca,"
replied Olive at last, in a voice which trembled at first, but which
gathered firmness as she proceeded. "You have been very kind to me, and
I have never felt otherwise than grateful for it, but I would, rather
earn my own living if I can."
"And how long has this precious project been in agitation?"
"I first thought of it at the beginning of last term," replied Olive.
"I wrote to uncle upon the subject immediately, and as he did not
disapprove, I considered myself at liberty to entertain the idea."
Mrs. Merton turned to her husband: "Do you mean to say, Mr. Merton,
that this young lady is aided and abetted by you in this matter?"
"Why, yes; I must say that I thought the idea a good one," replied Mr.
Merton deliberately. "Olive has talents, and a good education, and if
she is willing, for the sake of independence, to undergo the labor of
teaching, she has my full consent to try the experiment, at the same
time that she knows she is as welcome as possible to stay here, and
make our house her home for life, or until she gets a home of her own."
"Thank you, uncle," replied Olive warmly.
Mrs. Merton leaned back in her chair. "I have no more to say," she
remarked in a resigned tone of voice; "I really can say no more. I
have always feared, from Olive's extreme resemblance to her father,
that some of his peculiarities might appear in her. But I hoped a good
education might overcome the advantages of a low origin. I see it was
in vain."
"Aunt," said Olive, with some indignation in her tone, "you have no
right to speak so of my father. Whatever may have been his birth, he
was an honest and honorable man, and deserve nothing but good of any
one. His losses of property might have come from error in judgment,
but no one ever accused him of one speck of dishonesty or selfishness.
My dear mother always spoke of him as the kindest of men; and my own
recollections of him tell me the same thing. You are welcome to say
what you please to me, but spare my father's memory."
"You are right, Olive," said her uncle, gravely. "Your father was one
of the most honorable of men; and if his birth was not high, it was
honest, and such as no republican need be ashamed of. But we will drop
this subject for the present. And you, 'my little dunce,'" he added,
turning round to Abby, "what are you going to do?"
"Stay at home and play for you, uncle," replied Abby, returning her
uncle's pull of the hair by a most impish pinch. "You don't know how
much new music I have learned since I was at home last. I took the
first prize."
"I hope that you, Abby, are going to appreciate the advantages of
your position sufficiently to remain at home," said aunt Rebecca with
dignity. "I hope you will display more sense than to go running away
after some Quixotic idea of independence."
"I am quite ready to stay here as long as you want to keep me, aunt,"
returned Abby lightly. "It would be nice to be independent, I dare say,
but it would be quite too much trouble for me."
If the look Charlotte turned upon her cousin was one of contempt,
it was quite lost upon Abby, who, having fed the cat with all that
remained upon her own plate, was slyly abstracting morsels from her
uncle's, when her aunt put a stop to the process by rising from the
table.
All day long, Mrs. Merton showed her displeasure, by treating Olive
with marked coldness, and bestowing an extra amount of petting upon
Abby and Charlotte.
Abby took it very quietly, as she was accustomed to do all her
aunt's moods, but Charlotte rather withdrew from it. She felt very
uncomfortably. She could not help being aware, now that there was a
prospect of losing it, how much she valued Olive's society, and many
of the expressions which she had been in the habit of using towards
her cousin came back to her mind with unpleasant force. She respected
Olive's decision, and felt that, in similar circumstances, she herself
would have done the same. And yet, this very respect made her feel
annoyed with herself for according, and with Olive for deserving it.
At last, as they were sitting together in the twilight, Charlotte broke
out abruptly: "Olive, I am glad you are going away, and yet I am sorry."
"How can you be both?" asked Olive, rousing herself from a reverie.
"I am sorry we are going to lose your society," replied Charlotte. "And
I am glad you are going to be more pleasantly situated, and that you
prefer working for yourself to being supported by others."
"I should always have preferred it, if I could have seen my way clear,"
said Olive, coloring little. "I only hope I may be able at some time to
repay uncle for what he has spent on my education."
"You need not think of that. I am sure he considers himself more than
repaid for any thing he has done for you. But we shall all miss you
very much. I am sure I shall for one."
"I never imagined that," said Olive. "I really supposed you would be
glad to have me out of the way."
"That is a great mistake," replied Charlotte. "I have always been
attached to you."
"You have taken a strange way of showing it, I must say," remarked
Olive, not without some bitterness. "I never could have guessed that
you had any other feeling for me than dislike and jealousy."
Charlotte colored in her turn. "I can not blame you for thinking so,"
she said, "and yet it is not true. Jealous I confess I always have
been, ever since you came here. I was prejudiced against you before,
and I wanted something to justify me in it; so I tried to believe that
you were ungrateful, and that you wanted to injure me in my father's
esteem. But I could not really dislike you, though I tried very hard,
and though I gave you just cause for disliking me. Come, shall we let
by-gones be by-gones, and try to have fair play for the future?"
As she spoke, she sat down by Olive, and laid her hand on her shoulder,
a wonderfully near approach to a caress for her.
"Very willingly, I am sure," replied Olive, returning the movement by
a much warmer one. "I can not bear to think that any one dislikes me,
and I have often wished that we could agree better. It will be much
pleasanter being in school as friends than as foes."
"But I am not to return to school," said Charlotte. "Have you not
heard? Mother means that Abby and I should stay at home this winter.
She says we can have music and Italian masters here, and she wants to
have us go out a little. So if you go back, it will be alone."
"But why Abby?" asked Olive in surprise. "I do not wonder that she
wants you at home, but certainly Abby would bear a good deal of
education still, though I fear the poor child will never be a wonderful
scholar in any thing but music. You must allow, Charlotte, that she
plays and sings splendidly."
"Better than any one else I ever heard, of her age," replied Charlotte;
"and that is one reason why mother wants her at home. She says her
musical talents and graceful manners will make such a sensation that
it's a shame they should be lost to the world any longer, and besides,"
she added, laughing, "I suspect she thinks it will be very becoming for
a fair belle and a dark belle to come out together."
Abby, be it remarked, was brilliantly fair, with an immense profusion
of wavy hair, of a peculiar paly-gold tint. Charlotte, on the contrary,
was dark, with a good deal of color, and with hair, eyes, and eyelashes
all of an intense blackness. Olive was rather pale, inclining to be
sallow, and her hair, though excellent in quality and quantity, was of
a dull, unreflecting brown. Her only really beautiful features were
her eyes, which were of a dark-gray, with long black lashes, and even,
level eyebrows—a trifle too heavy for the rest of her face. Olive could
not be called pretty, which might be one reason that she did not stand
as high in her aunt's favor, as her eminently beautiful sister.
"Does Abby know of this arrangement?" asked Olive.
"I don't know that she does," said Charlotte; "I rather think mother
has said nothing to her yet; and if I were you, Olive, I would not tell
her. You know mother likes to have the first notice of her plans come
from herself; and Abby will never be able to help saying, 'Oh! Yes, I
knew!'"
"Poor Abby is such a child," said Olive, with something of a sigh. "I
sometimes feel as though it were wrong to leave her to herself."
"Oh! She will do well enough. You know how fond mother is of her, and
I suppose you do not doubt that she will take the best care of her."
Charlotte said this with a little of the old jealousy in her tone.
"Of course I know that," Olive hastened to say, "but I am afraid Abby
will stand too much in awe of her to confide in her as she does in me.
But she will not hear of my giving up my plan upon her account, and so
I can only hope all will be for the best. So it is settled that you are
not to go back with me. I am afraid I shall be rather lonely, but I
suppose I may as well get used to it," she added, with something of a
sigh.
Charlotte pressed her hand, and sighed too. She began to feel that in
losing Olive, she should lose much more than she had been aware of.