AS soon as Celia had finished her evening's work, she dressed herself
and went up to Mrs. Huntley to ask her advice, in the matter of going
into the factory. The lady was very kind, and listened to her story
with attention and interest. When she had finished, she asked:
"Do you think, ma'am, that the factory will be a proper place for me?
Robert says I shall not go, unless you do."
"I think you may do very well there, Celia; but it will all depend
upon yourself. I know several girls who work in the factory and are
perfectly respectable, and I know others who are not so. If you are
steady and industrious, and keep yourself out of the way of undesirable
company; if you are careful not to associate with those of the girls
who dress too much, and run about the streets in the evening, I do not
see what harm can happen to you; but remember, my child, that evil
communications corrupt good manners very soon. I should much prefer to
have you find a place in some good family; but since that can not be
done at present, the factory is at least better than nothing. By and
by, perhaps, we may be able to arrange matters as we desire."
Thus assured by her kind friend, Celia consented to enter the
factory, and it was settled that she should go the next day. It was
with many misgivings that at the appointed time she found herself at
the factory-gates, and with a still greater sinking of heart that
she followed her employer into the large room, where she was to be
occupied. But the overseer was kind and considerate, and the girls too
much occupied to spend much time in staring at her, and though she
was dizzy with the motion and noise, and the apparent confusion, and
a little sickened by the smell of oil and dust, she became so much
accustomed to them by the end of the day, as to be able to tell Bob,
when he came home at night, that she thought she should like it very
well, when she got a little used to it.
For three or four weeks, things went on quietly, and with comparative
comfort. Robert remained in the Doctor's employ, carefully keeping
out of the way of his old acquaintances, and taking great pains to
give satisfaction. He was sometimes strongly tempted to help himself
to the fruit and vegetables which lay so profusely in his way, and
once, finding a large melon, the first ripe one of the season, already
detached from its stalk, he actually took it under his arm to carry it
home; but a second thought made him hastily lay it down again where he
found it. He felt that it would be the height of meanness to rob the
friend who had been so kind to him, and he had, moreover, begun to feel
a certain pride in being honest and trustworthy.
Robert supposed that this little transaction was entirely unknown to
any one but himself; but in this he was mistaken. Dr. Huntley had
watched the whole from his office-window, which looked into the garden;
and he rejoiced in spirit at this evident triumph of new principles
over old habits. It showed, he thought, that the boy had that in him,
which would well repay the care bestowed on him. At the same time,
he knew that some relapses into dissipation were to be expected as a
matter of course, and he meant to give him a pretty thorough trial,
before taking him into his family. So Robert came to his work every
morning, and returned home every night, waiting at the gates of the
factory till his sister was released from her labors that they might
walk together.
Celia was beginning to like her new employment very well. She was
naturally a painstaking, careful girl, and though it came rather hard
at first to work from morning till night, she became used to it by
degrees, and was soon noticed by the overlooker, as a steady workwoman,
who minded her own business, and always did her best, and she rose in
his favor accordingly.
Mr. Westall, the official in question, was a tall, stout man, without
an inch to spare about him, as they say. His neat dress and open
handsome face, with its bright blue eyes, and carefully trimmed
whiskers, prepossessed one in his favor at the first glance, and a
farther acquaintance did not bely its promise. He was a man who never
did any thing by halves; all that he knew was thoroughly mastered; all
that he did was well done. His clarion voice could be heard above all
the noises of the mill, and never failed to command attention; and
hardened indeed was that offender who did not tremble at its tones,
when raised in anger. Withal, he was a kind, conscientious man, and a
sincere Christian; and being so, he felt it his duty to take a kind of
fatherly oversight of all the young people under his charge. He knew
all their domestic circumstances, was their confidant in many little
and great embarrassments, and very often helped them out of scrapes
into which their own ignorance or imprudence had brought them. He was
well acquainted with the condition of Celia's family, and the vices of
her father; and he made up his mind that the girl should have, to some
extent, the benefit of her own earnings.
"Well, Celia," he said, as at the end of the month, she made her
appearance with the rest of the hands, to receive her, wages; "you have
got quite a fortune beforehand, hey? I suppose you will have a deal of
shopping to do?"
"I don't know about that, sir! I should like very much to buy some new
clothes; but I suppose father will want all the money."
"He shall not have it, then, that's all! I'll tell you—you stop on your
way home, and buy what you want; and if your father finds fault with
you, just say to him, that I told you to get a decent Sunday suit, and
if that don't content him, tell him I won't have a girl in the mill
who does not dress decently on a Sunday. You need not color up so, my
girl," he added kindly; "I don't mean any thing against you; for I know
you do as well as you can: I only want you to tell your father so.
There is your money, and now go and purchase a nice dress—or stop! I
suppose you have not much experience in shopping! Miss Green!"
Miss Green, a rather prim, old-maidish looking person, with a kind good
face, immediately presented herself.
"Miss Green, I shall take it as a favor, if you will go with Celia
Merritt to the store, and help her to buy a frock and such other things
as she wants. I don't know much about women's trappings; but I want
her to be properly dressed to go to church and Bible-class, and I have
great confidence in your judgment."
Miss Green smiled, and assented; and she and Celia walked up to the
store together.
"What kind of a frock do you want, Miss Merritt?"
"I don't know ma'am; something that will do to wear to church: a de
laine or nice gingham, I suppose."
"Mr. Westall said something about Sunday-schools: I do not remember
that I have seen you there."
"I have never been yet," replied Celia. "I have sometimes thought I
should like to go; but I am so large, I feel almost ashamed."
"There is nothing to be ashamed of," said Miss Green; "a great many of
the girls are older than yourself. Betsey Brown, and Ruth Cummings, and
Anna Leavitt are all in our Sunday-school. Ruth is in my class, and a
very good girl she is."
"I should like to go, if I could be in your class," said Celia, after a
little reflection; "but I am afraid I could not get the lessons."
"I do not think you would have any difficulty. It is only to learn by
heart, ten verses of the New Testament, and I am sure you could do
that. I should like to have you in my class. Suppose you come next
Sunday, and see how you like it!"
Celia assented, and Miss Green, taking a little Testament from her
pocket, showed her the proper lesson. Her frock—a pretty muslin de
laine—was purchased and paid for, and then arose a new difficulty.
"How shall I get it made, Miss Green? I have no time, even if I knew
how; and I don't believe mother will do it, for it always tires her to
sew."
"Don't you think you could make it, if it were cut and fitted?"
"Yes, I think I could."
"Jane Haywood will cut and baste it for two shillings, and then you can
make it in the evenings. We will go there now, if you like, and get it
under way."
Thus was Celia provided with a decent suit of outer garments, in which
she was not ashamed to show herself at church and Sunday-school; and
accordingly she began to attend both regularly.
Her father grumbled at finding her wages three dollars short of what he
expected, and would probably have said a good deal more, but for Mr.
Westall's message, which was faithfully repeated to him.
Celia formed quite an intimacy with Ruth Cummings, who was, as Miss
Green said, a very nice good girl, sensible and religious, and this
friendship was decidedly beneficial to her. Robert was glad that his
sister had found a companion, though he sometimes felt a little bit
jealous, lest her affection for her new friend should diminish her
regard for himself. He still continued to call for her at night, and
to walk over to the factory with her in the morning; and many were the
confidential chats they had on these occasions over their prospects and
plans.
By and by, he began to study her Sunday-school lessons with her, and
to read the books that she brought home; and finally he was prevailed
upon by George Huntley to enter the school himself, and become a member
of Mr. Westall's class. He had now become, as it were, accustomed to
respectability, and thought it would be impossible for him to relapse
into his old habits. He had left off smoking and swearing, went
regularly to church and to Sunday-school, employed his leisure hours
in reading such books as he could procure, and seemed in a fair way of
attaining the height of his ambition, and becoming a respectable man.
He was yet to learn that self was a poor dependence in a struggle with
the bad habits of a life-time.
At home, things went on much as usual, except that the house was
rather dirtier and more comfortless than ever, now that Celia had no
time to put things to rights. Mrs. Merritt, never a very energetic or
systematic woman, had become completely disheartened by the trials
of her married life, and no longer made any effort to improve her
condition. She now sat all day in her rocking-chair, except when it
became absolutely necessary to make an exertion in order to have
something to eat. With no ideas of economy or management, she made the
least of the little she had, and there was some truth in her husband's
complaint that he never had a comfortable meal in his own house. She
fancied that her health was very delicate, and she really did suffer a
good deal from the combined effects of indolence, dirt, and unwholesome
food. Her husband seldom spoke to her, except to taunt her with her
inefficiency, or to reproach her for some mistake; her own children,
as might be expected, were saucy and disobedient, and though her
step-children treated her with more kindness than any one else, they
showed her very little respect. Thus she led a miserable life.
Mark and Ben, the two younger boys, came and went pretty much as
they pleased, sometime gathering chips and coopers' shavings for the
fire, but more frequently playing in the streets, and on the borders
of the canal, with other urchins of the same sort as themselves,
of which the village afforded a plentiful supply. Robert had tried
by bribes, threats, and entreaties to prevail on them to go to the
district-school, but in vain; and they seemed likely enough to follow
in the footsteps of their father. The baby was a miserable, sickly
creature; always crying, when it was not under the influence of the
paregoric which its mother administered with a liberal hand, there
seemed very little probability of its living to grow up.
"Robert," said Dr. Huntley one day, going out to the field where Bob
was busily engaged in digging some new potatoes, "I have a plan in my
head which I wish to propose to you."
Robert suspended his operations, and prepared to hear with due
attention what the Doctor had to say.
"I have concluded not to keep my horses at the livery-stable any
longer," continued the Doctor; "it is expensive, and I do not think
they are very well looked after. I think that henceforth I shall keep
them in my own barn; but in that case I shall want a man to take care
of them; it will be necessary for me to have some one who can stay here
all the time, as I sometimes want the horses at night."
"Well, sir!" said Robert, his heart beating at the thought of what was
to follow.
"Well, what I have to propose is this: I will take you in that
capacity, and give you eight dollars a month and your board. Your work
will be pretty much what it is now, with the addition of taking care of
the horses, doing errands, and bringing in wood, and I may sometimes
want you to go out with me in the carriage. I believe you know how to
drive?"
Robert assented.
"You shall have your evenings, either to attend the night-school or to
study at home, with what assistance we can give you; and thus in course
of time, you will be prepared to learn a trade, or to do any thing else
that seems desirable. I shall make the same conditions with you that I
did when you first came to work for me, with this addition, that you
shall always be at home in the evening, unless by special permission,
and in that case I must know where you are."
"I should like nothing better than to work for you, sir. You are the
first person, so far as I know, that ever spoke a kind word to me, or
thought I could be good for any thing, and I should never have had the
courage to try but for you. But I hope you will not think me ungrateful
if I say that I should like to talk to Celia about it first. We always
consult about every thing. I think I know what she will say, but still
I should like to ask her. I hope you won't think me unthankful," he
repeated, looking anxiously at the Doctor.
"Certainly not, Robert; you are quite right in wishing to consult your
sister, who seems to me a very nice girl, and I will give you till
Monday to decide. But you need say nothing to your father about the
matter. I will settle it with him."
"Celia!" said Robert, as she joined him as usual at the factory-gates.
"I wish, if you are not too tired, you would walk down by the river
with me. I want to consult you about something."
Celia declared that the walk would refresh her, after being shut up
in the close factory all day; and accordingly the brother and sister
might soon be seen, arm in arm, pacing up and down in one of the green
pastures on the bank of the river.
Robert explained the Doctor's plan for his benefit, expatiating on the
advantages it offered, and concluded by saying: "There is only one
thing against it, Sis; it would take us very much apart. I should not
be at home evenings, except now and then, and I could not go with you
to and from the factory, as I do now. I might spend an evening at home
once in a while, and you could come up to Dr. Huntley's sometimes; but
after all, it would be very different from what it is now."
"I know it," said Celia, brushing away a tear, which rose at the
prospect of separation; "but still, Robert, I think you ought to go.
You may never have such another opportunity, for there are few such men
as the Doctor."
"I should not think twice about it if it were not for you."
"Never mind me. I shall miss you, to be sure, but I shall not mind it
so much as long as I know you are in a good place. And beside, it will
be very different from what it would have been three months ago. You
know Ruth lives so near that we can always go and come together, and
she is so much older, that I always feel as though I could depend upon
her to advise me about things. Then there is Miss Green too; you know
we are in the same room at the mill now, and she is always good to me."
"She seems to be a real good woman," remarked Robert; "I did not like
her at first, her manners are so prim and stiff. Well, Sis, if you
think you can do without me, I believe I will tell the Doctor that I
will come."
"That is right," said Celia. "O Bob! Who would have thought two months
ago, when we were sitting there on the garden-rails, talking about what
we should do, that it would have turned out so?"
"I know!" said Bob. "It seems like a fairy story."
"I told Miss Green so," continued Celia, "and she said it made her
think of a verse in the Bible: 'He leadeth the blind by a way that they
know not of.' She always finds something in the Bible to suit every
thing that happens."
"She is a good soul," said Robert. "I wonder why she never got married."
"Perhaps she did not want to. She looks as though she must have been
pretty when she was young. I am so glad I have got acquainted with her."
"Yes, it is a good thing for you. I hope, Sis, you will be very careful
whom you associate with. Don't have any thing to say to any of the men
about the factory."
"No danger!" said Celia. "And that reminds me: Have you seen Adams or
any of that set lately?"
"No, I have kept out of their way as much as I could. Why?"'
"Because Adams was talking to Mark last night, and trying to find out
something about you. Mark said he asked him where you lived, and what
wages you had. He said, Adams laughed like every thing, when he heard
you went to Sunday-school."
"He had better leave off talking about me," said Bob, coloring, "or I
will teach him a lesson."
"I would not have any thing to do with him," replied Celia, alarmed for
the consequences of what she had said; "what signifies the talk of an
idle loafer like Adams? But keep out of their way altogether, or they
may get hold of you again."
"I hope you don't think I am such a fool as that. Depend upon it, now
I am out of the scrape, I shall keep out. I shall never have any thing
more to do with them."
"Don't be too confident, Robert. Miss Green says, having confidence in
ourselves is the sure way to get into trouble. She says, if we have no
help but our own, we shall never accomplish much; and I think she is
right, too," she added, in a lower tone.
"What are we to depend on, then?" asked Bob.
"Miss Green says, we must ask God for his grace to assist us," replied
Celia, blushing; and in a still lower tone, "and she says we can't
expect to prosper if we don't."
Robert made no reply. Not long before, he would have been very
much vexed at discovering in his darling sister any tendency to
sanctimoniousness, as he would have called it; and would probably have
tried to laugh her out of it. But he was learning to feel a respect for
religion and religious people, and though his own heart was as yet very
slightly affected by its power, he was not sorry to find that Celia was
thinking on the subject. The dew was now beginning to fall heavily, and
they retraced their steps to the village; but before they reached home,
it was fully determined that Robert should accept the Doctor's proposal.
It was true, as Celia had said, that Adams had been making inquiries
of the little boys concerning their brother. This he had done at the
instigation of Childs, who was determined not to lose his power over
his former associate without at least a struggle to retain it. He at
first thought it would not be long before Robert would tire of his
steady habits, and be very willing to return to his old companions
and his former haunts; but as day after day went by without his even
succeeding in getting speech or even sight of him, he grew angry, and
determined to do his best to regain one who was a useful tool and
companion. With this view, he caused Adams, who was completely his
slave, to gather all the information he could from the children. As
soon as he learned that Robert was to live entirely at the Doctor's,
he set his wits at work to devise some means of bringing him into
irreparable disgrace with his new friends, hoping by that means to make
him once more dependent on himself. The result of his cogitations will
be seen in the next chapter.