piano, after her husband died," said Mrs. Felton, in her sighing voice,
"but she hardly sold any of her things. It looks rather singular to see
the minister's parlor the handsomest furnished of any in town."
"I don't know why she should sell her things, mother," said Ruth. "They
can not be in debt, and she had enough to support herself, though not
as much as people generally thought she would have."
"Ruth never will allow that Mrs. Tower can do any thing wrong," said
Mrs. Felton, appealing to Olive. "Even when, the third Sunday after her
child died, she played the organ just as usual, Ruth defended that."
"We should not have had any music at all, if she had not, mother, and
you know the Bishop was here. Augusta did not think she ought to give
up all her duties because she was in affliction. I know she was blamed
for going into Sunday-school so soon too, but I must say, I think she
did right."
"But she is always doing such queer things," persisted Mrs. Felton. "Do
you know, Miss McHenry, she was married on Tuesday morning, and she
went to church the Sunday before, though the invitations were all out."
"I do not see any thing wrong in that," remarked Olive. "It seems to me
that would be the very time I should want to go."
"Especially as it was the Communion," added Ruth.
"Well, my dear, very likely you are right and I am wrong. I always am,
you know," said Mrs. Felton, in deeply resigned tones. "I only know,
it would have been thought very strange when I was young, but people
have improved since then, no doubt. I don't think I am quite a fool,
however." And with these words, Mrs. Felton returned to the dining-room.
Ruth suppressed a sigh and asked Olive to play something.
"Mother thinks Augusta is very odd," she said, after a while, "but I
hope you will like her. She goes out very little, but I think she will
come and see you."
"Did I understand you that she was a widow?" asked Olive.
"Yes, her husband died five years ago—just two years after they were
married. He was a cultivated, agreeable man, and was supposed to be
very rich. But after his death, it was found that there was only
about a thousand a year, for Augusta and her child. They lived rather
expensively, I suppose, but they had no debts, and so Augusta kept most
of their furniture and all her books and pictures. She furnished the
Parsonage, which needed it very much, and she has lived at home ever
since. Her child, a most lovely little creature, died last summer very
suddenly. I was always fond of Augusta, when we were school-girls. But
since her widowhood, I have loved her more dearly than ever."
"Is she an only child?" asked Olive.
Something passed across Ruth's face, like a sudden gust of wind across
a still piece of water, but almost before it could be noticed, it was
gone.
"She had one brother, but he is dead," she said quietly.
At this moment, the door-bell rang, and a Mrs. Dennison entered. She
was a pretty, matronly woman, one of those "mothers in Israel," a
certain proportion of whom are to be found in almost every church,
efficient helps to the minister, faithful in their own families, and
ready to lend a helping hand to every good work, but so quiet and
undemonstrative that they are hardly appreciated till they are dead
and gone. And then every one says on every occasion when assistance is
needed: "How we do miss Mrs. Dennison!" She had come to call upon Miss
McHenry, and invite her to the sewing society next day, at her house.
Ruth advised Olive to go.
"You will find yourself a little stared at, perhaps, but the meetings
are very pleasant, and it is a good way to become acquainted with the
people."
"I never attended a society in my life," said Olive. "There was none
connected with our church, and I believe aunt Rebecca had a prejudice
against them. She thought they promoted scandal."
"If scandal-loving people meet together, they will be likely enough to
talk scandal," replied Ruth, "whether it be at a society or a party.
But it has never been my fate to hear very much of it at society. I
suppose they may be different in different places. Mrs. Dennison and
Mrs. Gregory have been at the head of ours for a good many years,
till the latter resigned in favor of Augusta, and they are neither of
them people likely to encourage gossip. But I leave you to judge for
yourself."
Other callers came in, and Olive was introduced to several ladies and
gentlemen, all well-bred, pleasant people. And when at rather an early
hour, she laid her head on her pillow, it was with a very pleasant
feeling of encouragement and thankfulness that the lines had fallen
to her in such pleasant places. If she could have forgotten her great
anxiety about Abby, she would have been quite happy.
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
IT was an old custom for school to be out on Friday afternoons at
half-past three. Olive dressed for the society before she went to
school, and Ruth was to call for her on her way. The two days since
Wednesday had passed without any thing particular to mark them, except
that one or two new scholars had entered.
The girls, for the most part, were quiet, orderly, and studious, and
very ready to attend to her hints with regard to sitting, speaking,
and standing. Julia, especially, was quiet and meek to a degree that
astonished all her companions, and seemed particularly to delight her
sister, a meek, gentle, little thing, over whom she was rather given to
tyrannizing. She took so much pains with her ruled lines that she was
advanced to the next step in Chapman without delay, and Olive promised
her that after three or four more lessons, she should have something
really pretty to do.
As Olive entered the dressing-room, she found one of the girls,
named Melissa Tucker, waiting to speak to her. She was a pale-faced,
pale-haired girl, with eyes of no particular color, and a disagreeable
drawl to her speech.
"What is it, Melissa?" asked Olive.
"I think it my duty, Miss McHenry," said Melissa, solemnly, "to tell
you that I saw Jane Ramsdell and Phebe Jones whispering twice this
morning, and once yesterday."
"Indeed," said Olive, proceeding to take off her bonnet, without
manifesting any vital interest in the intelligence.
"Miss Brown used to call them up and reprove them before the whole
school, when they did so," persisted Miss Tucker, after waiting in vain
for the commendation which she expected. Olive took no notice.
"They whisper a great deal. I often see them, and I shall think it
my duty to tell you, Miss McHenry, every time the girls do any thing
wrong. Miss Brown used to say she was very much obliged to me for doing
so."
"I am not of Miss Brown's opinion," said Olive. "I do not want any one
coming to me with stories of what the girls do. Any mischief which I
can not see, I am willing to pass over. You would not have been very
well pleased, I venture to say, Melissa, if Phebe had told me, this
morning, when you were reading that story in school-time, though you
knew very well that it was contrary to rules."
Melissa looked confounded.
"I saw you at the time," Olive continued, "but I did not see fit
to notice it then. I beg, however, that you will remember the
circumstance, when you give in your report to-night; and please to
remember, also, that I will have no tale-bearers about me. You may have
thought it your duty, as you say, to come and tell me, but as you see I
do not wish you to do so again, it will be your duty in future to avoid
it."
Melissa followed her teacher into the school-room with as much anger in
her heart as could well dwell there, and she mentally resolved to be
revenged before many hours. The consternation was great, when before
the calling of the merit-roll, Olive rose and said:
"I have been told that one or two of the girls whispered this morning.
I was sorry to hear it, and I hope, if it is true, that they will
answer accordingly, and be careful not to offend again. I suppose you
would all like to know who informed me." She paused, and a murmur of
mingled expectation and indignation ran round the room. "I shall not
tell you," she resumed, "nor in any way point out the offender. I
presume she did what she thought was right. But once for all, I wish
to say that I do not want any one coming to me with stories. I am
tolerably clear-sighted myself, and moreover I trust to your honor not
to try to deceive me. I hope I am safe in so doing," she said, looking
round the room.
Every hand was raised in token of assent. "If you know of any large
girl, tyrannizing over and tormenting a little one, and can not stop
her yourselves, or if you find out that any one in the school is
plotting to set the house or the river on fire, you may come and tell
me, but I do not wish to hear of any thing else. Now we will let the
matter drop."
She began to call the roll, and when she came to the name of Phebe
Jones, Phebe answered with spirit:
"Yes, Miss McHenry, and I should have answered so, if you had not been
told. I wanted very much to know where the lesson was, and you were
busy with the new scholars, so I asked Jane Ramsdell. She did not hear
the first time, and I asked her again."
"If that was all, Phebe, and I presume it was if you say so, I will
excuse it this time," replied Olive. "But remember hereafter, I would
rather you should wait a little than break a rule."
Ruth now entered—basket in hand, and the girls all rose—another ancient
usage at the entrance of a stranger, which pleased Olive very much.
"Don't you think that a very pretty custom?" she said to Ruth, as,
school being dismissed, they walked towards Mrs. Dennison's.
"Very," replied Ruth, "and it has the sanction of antiquity with us.
One of the teachers not long ago, tried to abolish it on the ground
that it looked old-fashioned, but the boys and girls stood out so
stoutly for it that she was forced to give it up. I do not think myself
that there is any great danger, at the present time, of young people's
being too deferential to their elders."
When they arrived at Mrs. Dennison's, they found the room quite full,
and all eyes were turned towards the new-comers. Olive felt her color
rise a little, but she bore the battery of glances very well, and after
speaking to Mrs. Dennison, who came forward to meet her, she followed
her companion towards the centre-table, where sat the principal
officers of the society, cutting out and arranging work, and marking
patterns.
They seemed to have their hands very full indeed. One of them was Mrs.
Dennison herself, and the other a lady in the deepest mourning, whom
Olive knew at once must be Ruth's friend, Mrs. Augusta Tower. Olive
thought she had seldom seen a more lovely woman.
Mrs. Tower was small and somewhat slight, with an exquisitely fair
complexion, and a bloom as delicate as an infant's. Her eyes were
large and well shaped, but their color was not so easily decided.
Olive thought them like deep rills. All the features were clearly cut,
and the eyebrows, especially, though not heavy, were remarkably well
defined, not arched, but level, and turning a little down at the outer
corner. Her soft brown hair was plainly dressed, under a widow's tucked
crape cap of the simplest form. A chain and cross of beautiful brown
hair were her only ornaments.
"Some work?" she said, in answer to Ruth's inquiries. "Oh! Yes, as soon
as I finish this pattern: but we are really overburdened to-day, so
much has been ordered."
"Can not I do that?" asked Olive. "I have a good deal of experience in
drawing patterns."
Mrs. Tower gladly accepted the offer, and made a vacant space at the
overloaded table, where Olive found herself employed most of the
time till dark, in tracing scollops, wheels, eyelets, etc. Ruth sat
near her, engaged on a child's cambric apron. There was a buzz of
conversation in the room, now and then enlivened by a hearty laugh from
some of the younger ladies.
It was really a very pretty sight. The parlors were large and neatly
furnished, though in rather old-fashioned style, and opened together
by folding doors. The back-room where there was a fire, seemed to have
been taken possession of by the elderly ladies, half a dozen of whom
were congregated around the windows, knitting and netting, and talking
in subdued tones. Their conversation was not, perhaps, very deep or
learned, but it was wholly kindly and good, and many times there
dropped from the lips of these mothers in Israel, sentiments of wisdom
and experience which many a learned man might lay to heart, and be the
better for—yes, even that deeply-learned gentleman who lately declared
in a lecture that no woman had ever added any thing to the sum of human
intelligence.
Several of these ladies were mothers and grandmothers of some of
Olive's pupils, and came forward to speak to her, and she felt
herself strengthened and encouraged by their kindly greetings. In
the front-room were the younger part of the company, young married
ladies with their sisters and cousins, numbering, like all assemblies
of American women, a large proportion of pretty faces, clear,
straightforward, intelligent eyes, and thoughtful brows.
The murmur of talk, which had stopped for a little at Olive's entrance,
soon began again, and Olive could not help fancying that she herself
was sometimes the subject of conversation. She felt that if so, it was
no more than natural, and strove not to feel any embarrassment. Two
ladies near her, were talking about the Sunday-school. She listened
with interest, and at last ventured to ask a question.
"Are you interested in Sunday-schools?" asked the elder of the ladies,
after replying to the interrogatory.
"Very much theoretically, but practically, I know little about them. I
have never taught at all."
"We shall be very glad of your assistance in our school," continued
Mrs. Sands; "for teachers are not too numerous among us. But perhaps
you are sufficiently burdened already."
"I have hardly tried it long enough to know," was Olive's rather
embarrassed reply. "I shall be able to tell better after a few weeks."
"I hope you feel the importance of the trust committed to you, Miss
McHenry," said the other lady, whom she now thought must be Melissa
Tucker's mother. "It is a solemn responsibility."
"It is, indeed," said Olive, hardly knowing what to say.
"You must be sometimes quite weighed down with the awful account you
will have to give of your labors."
"I try not to be weighed down," said Olive. "Do you not think it is
possible to take too much responsibility upon one's self? After all, in
this, as in many other things, we can only do our best, with all the
light we can get, and leave the event to God." Olive spoke with some
effort, and a slight blush.
But looking up, she met Mrs. Tower's deep eyes raised to hers, with a
sudden flash as it were, of approbation, and Mrs. Dennison too smiled
an assent. Mrs. Tucker, however, looked doubtful, and a little annoyed.
"That doctrine gives great encouragement to carelessness," she said.
"I do not see how," Mrs. Tower replied. "Because, if we take ever so
much responsibility, we can really do nothing without the will of God,
you know."
"I think there is great comfort in the idea, too, that all the
responsibility does not rest with us," remarked Mrs. Dennison, in her
subdued voice. "I know, after my little Sammy died, I used to go over
and over all his sickness, and say to myself, if this had been done, or
if that had been tried, perhaps he might have lived, though I really
knew, all the time, that every thing had been done that could be. But
by and by it came to me, as it were, that after all, as you say, Miss
McHenry, the event was in the hands of One that could not do wrong, or
make a mistake, and then I felt quite reconciled."
Mrs. Tower bent over her work, and Olive heard a suppressed sigh.
"Then you think, I suppose," said Mrs. Tucker, sharply, "that you may
be just as giddy and careless as you please, and let every thing go,
because God can bring it out right in the end."
"That is hardly a fair construction, Mrs. Tucker," said Ruth, who had
hitherto sat silent. "Miss McHenry said we were to do our best, and
leave the event to God. That is, surely, a very different thing from
being careless and giddy."
Mrs. Tucker said something about hair-splitting which Olive did not
exactly catch, and she was not sorry when the entrance of half a dozen
of the school-girls occasioned something of a move and interrupted the
conversation.
Julia Goodrich, the leader in every thing, came up and asked for
work—something easy, of course, for never was young girl at sewing
society known to ask for any thing else. The rest soon gathered round,
and at last came Melissa Tucker, with a countenance of melancholy,
and rather an elaborate appearance of having been crying. Mrs. Tucker
charged her with it at once, and with a faint smile, Melissa owned the
soft impeachment.
"You are so quick-sighted, dear aunt," she said, in her drawling tones.
Olive was surprised, for the remarkable similarity in looks and tones
had led her to think that they were mother and daughter.
"What has been the matter with you? I insist upon knowing," said Mrs.
Tucker, with emphasis, and looking daggers at all the other girls.
"Nothing of much consequence," replied Melissa, mournfully, threading
her needle.
"Have your feelings been hurt, Melissa?" with still more emphasis.
"I confess they have been deeply wounded, dear aunt, but I must submit.
I know submission is our duty under trials. We must take it meekly when
we are misunderstood and cruelly treated." And again she sighed deeply,
with a significant glance at Olive.
But Olive was earnestly engaged in comparing the pattern she was
drawing with one which a lady was working, and this speech was lost
upon her.
Mrs. Tucker, however, followed the glance, and saw where it rested. She
liked a scene, especially when she was able to take a prominent part,
and she determined to get one up.
"Melissa," she said, solemnly, and in tones which drew upon her the
attention of all in her neighborhood, "I will know what you have been
crying about, and who has injured your feelings. I know very well how
forgiving you are, and I won't have you trampled upon by any one.
No one, whether teacher or any one else, need think she is going to
tyrannize over you, because you are timid and retiring. Tell me at
once."
Olive could not help hearing and understanding this, and she was
beginning to feel painfully embarrassed as to what she ought to do,
when she was unexpectedly relieved.
"Yes, Melissa, out with it," said a rich, manly, and somewhat jovial
voice behind her. "Let us hear who it is that has sent you to the
society, like a Niobe on private exhibition, with your eyes and nose as
red as a beet. Let us hear the doleful tale."
Olive looked round with a feeling of inexpressible relief, to recognize
her friend, Mr. Jones, who had come in with Mr. Gregory, in time to
hear Mrs. Tucker's speech.
The young lady darted a wrathful glance at the unsentimental
interlocutor and said, in soft tones, which, however, trembled with
rage:
"You always will have your joke, dear uncle, but I don't mind it."
"I don't know why you should; you are used to it by this time, one
would think. But you look at Miss McHenry as though you wanted to bite
her. What has she done to you—shut you up in a closet or put a fool's
cap on you, eh?"
"Not quite so bad as that," said Olive, laughing. "I never resort to
extreme measures, except in extreme cases, and should hardly venture to
proceed so far without a warrant from the trustees."
"Oh! Don't think to shift the responsibility upon us," replied Mr.
Jones. "The only use of trustees in a school is to pay salaries and
keep the building in repair."
"If you want any one locked up, you must put a lock upon the closet,"
said Julia Goodrich. "The lock has been broken ever since I can
remember."
Mr. Jones promised to have the matter attended to at once, and
professed his intention to provide a fool's cap at his own expense.
Mrs. Tucker and Melissa seemed to give up all idea of a scene as soon
as he appeared, but they were silent and sulky.
And Olive was glad when a call to tea gave her an opportunity of
changing her position. The tea-table, as usual upon such occasions, was
bountifully spread, and to Olive's city eyes looked overloaded with its
pyramids of hot biscuits and cold bread, and its baskets and plates of
cake, cookies, crullers, etc. But she was very hungry, and she was glad
to see every one make a business of eating. Three or four of the young
ladies waited on the company, and every thing was accomplished with
ease, and with no more confusion than served to provoke the smiles and
laughter of the girls themselves, and the good humored raillery of Mr.
Jones and Mr. Gregory.
As they left the supper-room, Mrs. Dennison managed to say to Olive:
"You must not mind Mrs. Tucker: we all know she is queer, but I think
she is rather a well-meaning woman. As for Melissa, she is an affected
little humbug, and always was, from the time she could talk. I dare say
you served her right."
"I did nothing to her except to let her alone," said Olive.
"I presume not, and you need not fear that any one will blame you.
She is pretty well-known by every one but her aunt, who thinks her a
suffering angel."
Olive's mind was quite relieved, but she could not quite get over the
unpleasant impression she had received.
Mr. Jones came up to her, as she was standing a little apart, and said
the same thing as Mrs. Dennison, adding: "I suppose Melissa came to you
with some of her stories, and you told her to hold her tongue. I am
glad, if you did, for she bids fair to become the pest of the village,
if she is not broken of this love of tale-bearing. The last teacher,
Miss Brown, encouraged her in it, and more than half her trouble grew
out of that very thing. Don't let it disturb you any more."
Olive did not mean to let it disturb her, but she could not help
thinking of it a good many times afterwards.
A number of gentlemen, married and single, dropped in, in the course
of the evening, and she was introduced to more people than she had
any hope of remembering. For the most part, they were well-mannered,
sensible men, and Olive liked them very well, except two or three of
the younger ones, who, in trying to make fine gentlemen of themselves,
had quite spoiled the original material, without succeeding in
manufacturing any thing like a presentable article. They all appeared
to be rather shy of her, and from some whispers which she overheard,
she fancied that she was considered a very learned lady.
A Mr. Landon, to whom she was introduced by Mrs. Tower, and with whom
she had some conversation, struck her as being a very intelligent
person. He seemed quite young, not more than three or four and
twenty, Olive judged. But he had very manly, serious manners, and
showed no lack of cultivation. He was tall and stout, but not
particularly handsome, though he had fine eyes, and an exceedingly
firm, well-cut mouth, and his face, usually grave and somewhat stern
in its expression, flashed now and then with a smile which was quite
remarkable for its suddenness and brilliancy. He was evidently a great
favorite with Mr. and Mrs. Gregory, with whom he had a long talk in the
course of the evening.
"How do you like our society?" asked Mrs. Tower of Olive, as they were
walking homeward under the convoy of Mr. Landon.
"That is hardly a fair question, Mrs. Tower," said Mr. Landon,
anticipating Olive's reply, "since even if Miss McHenry does not like
it, she can hardly in politeness say so to the president of the said
society."
"Please to let Miss McHenry answer for herself: How do you like our
society?"
"Very much, I can sincerely say," replied Olive, warmly. "If this is a
specimen, I think they must be a public benefit."
"My father will tell you that he finds a great advantage in seeing
his flock together once a fortnight in a sociable way," said Augusta.
"And they offer another in another in affording a common ground upon
which all the members of the church can meet each other; for even in
a village like this, distinctions are apt to grow up. There are two
or three families here, who will never come, and who have even tried
to break up the meetings, but they do not exactly like to set their
influence openly against my father's wishes. I am sorry they do so, for
they are really pleasant people."