THE lessons which Celia had received at Mrs. Hewson's, as we remarked
in the last chapter, did her a great deal of good, inasmuch as they
made her very willing to take pains with her work, and to be directed
into the best way of doing it. She saw clearly the misery resulting
from careless and dilatory habits in the case of Mr. and Mrs. Hewson
who, with abundant means to make themselves comfortable and even rich,
were always poor and in trouble. Mrs. Dennison observed, with pleasure,
that Celia now seldom needed to be reproved for slighting her work; on
the contrary, she seemed to give her mind to what she had to do, and
performed it in the best manner she was able, asking for instructions
whenever she found herself at a loss.
Celia had naturally a strong will and a great deal of perseverance,
and having once made up her mind to learn to do every thing in the
very best manner, she adhered with great steadiness to her resolution.
Sometimes, indeed, she carried it rather too far, and spent so much
time in making a bed or washing the dishes, that Aunt Nancy complained,
"that it made her have the fidgets."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Dennison one day, after some such remark
made by the old lady. "It's always just so with beginners; the extra
particularity will wear off in time. She had better waste five minutes
in the pantry or over the beds than not learn to do them just right. I
am very glad to see it for my part, as it shows that she is in earnest
about learning."
So Celia went on, being as particular as she pleased, and becoming
every day more and more attached to the family and more useful about
the house. When the district-school opened for the winter, she attended
it, walking three quarters of a mile every night and morning, and
carrying her dinner. It was almost a new experience for her; for she
had been to school very little, and she felt rather unpleasantly
at being so much behind the other girls of her age and size in the
school. But Mr. Dennison was always ready to help her out with her
arithmetic, (her great trouble,) and having a good natural capacity,
and a retentive memory, she improved very fast. Soon she was able to
get all her lessons in school hours, and then the evenings were spent
in sewing, while Mr. Dennison read aloud some volume procured from the
district or parish library, or drawn from their own stores.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Dennison were very fond of books, and they were not,
like some farmers we wot of, too "stingy" to spend money in buying
them or time in reading them. A certain portion of the profits of the
poultry-yard was regularly set aside for this purpose every year,
and thus, in the course of time, they had accumulated quite a little
library. A good edition of Hume, another of Josephus, Bancroft, and
Rollins, occupied the lower shelves of the neat book-case, while Cook's
Voyages, Mungo Park's, and Lewis and Clarke's Travels, Bishop Heber's
and Henry Martyn's Journals, with a number of well-chosen volumes
adorned the upper part, besides a number of agricultural works, (for
Mr. Dennison was a good deal of a book farmer,) and some handsome
editions of standard poets.
Thus Celia's winter was passed quietly and pleasantly, with constant
improvement on her part, and a growing regard and affection on that of
her kind friends.
In the Doctor's family some changes occurred. George went away to
college and Maude to boarding-school, and a young gentleman came to
live in the family, and study medicine in the Doctor's office. This
youth was a cousin of Mrs. Vanderburgh's, and rejoiced in the romantic
name of Eugene Augustus Mandeville—a name, as Mr. Vanderburgh observed,
enough to ruin any boy; if he had been christened Peter, he might have
had some chance: He was a very handsome youth, with good manners, and
a great sufficiency of modest assurance, which last, added to very
exalted ideas of his own consequence, and a rather slender stock of
information, made him rather ridiculous at times.
Robert did not like him at all, and was several times on the point of
an out-and-out quarrel with him, which only his sense of obligation to
the family prevented. Robert had improved during the summer in health
and strength as well as in good manners and general knowledge; for
though he had not had a great deal of time to study, he had improved
all his spare minutes, and was really becoming a very good scholar.
Winter was now coming on, and he began to think very anxiously about
going to school, but he did not like to speak first about it, and
waited for the Doctor to introduce the subject, which he did one day
after the following conversation with his wife:
"I am thinking, my dear," said he at dinner, "of sending Robert to
school."
"Well," replied Mrs. Huntley, "the district-school opens this week."
"There would be no particular use in his going to the district-school,"
said the Doctor meditatively; "he went through the arithmetic and
grammar last winter with George, and he is pretty well drilled in
geography."
"Why does he want to go to school at all, then?" asked Eugene Augustus,
carelessly.
"There are several things in the world to be learned beside grammar and
arithmetic," returned the Doctor, "though these are no doubt essential."
"I do not see what else is needed by a boy in his station in life,"
persisted Eugene. "I don't imagine he would make better shoes or become
a more careful driver from learning the higher mathematics and the
ologies. Such information could only tend to make him dissatisfied with
his own proper position in life."
"What do you consider his proper position in life?" asked Dr. George.
While his wife looked annoyed, as she always did, when Eugene sported
aristocracy.
"Why, I don't know. Learning a trade or driving, as I said, or—what do
you say is his proper station?"
"The very highest he can attain to," replied the Doctor, emphatically,
"whatever that may be. If he chooses to learn a trade, well and good,
he will make none the worse shoemaker for understanding algebra and
geometry, nor the worse stone-mason for being acquainted with the
nature of the stones with which he has to do. It has long been a maxim
of mine, that no knowledge comes amiss to any body."
"And then he may not choose to learn a trade," added Mrs. Huntley;
"indeed, I think it doubtful if he does, for he has an excellent
capacity and is very fond of study. I should not be surprised, if we
live to see him a distinguished lawyer or physician."
"Maybe you will live to see him President," sneered the young exquisite.
"Maybe I shall! He is as likely to attain a distinguished position as
Warren Hastings was."
"Is that the Mr. Hastings who was member of Congress for B.?" asked
Eugene Augustus.
"No!" said the Doctor, briefly, while Mrs. Huntley hastily gave some
orders to the servant in waiting to conceal her amusement.
"I thought you might allude to him," returned the sapient youth. "I
knew his family were of very low origin."
"His father was an excellent and industrious man," replied Dr. George;
"and your father learned his trade in the same work-shop with him. But
as to this matter of Robert's," turning to his wife, "I think he is
well prepared to profit by an advanced school, and I shall advise him
to go to the academy."
"I shall be very glad to have him there," returned Mrs. Huntley; "it
will be good for him in more ways than one. Mr. Whitney is a sensible
and conscientious man, and will, I doubt not, do all in his power for
him. But what arrangement do you propose to make with Robert?"
"I shall offer to give him his board and clothes for what he can do out
of school. He can pay for his tuition himself with the money he has
earned during the summer, and still have something over for the savings
bank. He can not invest his earnings better, in my opinion, than in
acquiring a good education. I might pay for his schooling, I suppose—"
"Better not," interposed his wife; "it will do him twice as much good
if he pays his own way."
"I think so myself, and so I am sure will he."
"But what will people say, Doctor?" asked Eugene. "How will the genteel
and respectable families who patronize the academy, like to have such a
pupil introduced—a boy whose father is in the poor-house, and who works
for his board?"
"They will not object to any one I choose to send, I dare say," said
the Doctor quietly. "He may probably meet with some slights from
under-bred young persons, who show their own vulgarity by their horror
of people who work for a living; but he is pretty well able to hold his
own. I will speak to him about the matter this very afternoon, as I
shall take him out with me in the buggy."
"Have you begun to think what you are going to do this winter, Robert?"
asked the Doctor, accordingly, as they were riding together.
"Yes, sir, I have been thinking about it a little."
"Well, and what conclusion have you come to?"
"I should like to keep on living with you better than any thing else,
but then—" Robert paused.
"But then what?"
"I don't know what you will say to such an idea, but I can not help
feeling as though I should like to get an education. I have no one
dependent on me, now that Mark and Celia both have good homes. I have
learned a great deal since I came here, thanks to your kindness and
Master George's, and I can not help feeling as though I should like to
learn more. But I owe every thing to you, and I want to be guided by
you entirely." Robert colored, as he finished this speech, and seemed
to fear that he had been guilty of a great piece of presumption.
"Do you look forward to a profession, Robert?" asked Dr. George with
one of his benevolent smiles, which did not look at all as if he were
offended.
"Well, sir, I am afraid you will think it very ridiculous, but I have
thought of it sometimes."
"Why, as long as I am a professional man myself, I really don't see why
I should think so, Robert."
"Yes, sir, but then your family and all your circumstances are very
different from mine."
"I do not exactly see what that has to do with the matter," said the
Doctor. "However, if you are to be a lawyer or doctor, you must have
an education, you know. Now, I have a plan to propose to you. I don't
want to part with you at all, because we are all attached to you, and
it would be long before I should find any one else who would suit me as
well. Neither do I think that there is any need of it. I will get you
entered at Mr. Whitney's academy, which you are well prepared to profit
by. You can continue to live here, and I will give you your board and
clothes for what you can do before and after school. You have money
enough beforehand to pay your school bills and purchase your books, and
still have something left at the end of the winter. What do you think
of this plan?"
"I am sure I should be the most ungrateful wretch that ever lived, if
I did not like it," said Robert, in a faltering tone. "It is just what
I have wanted to mention to you this long time, but I was afraid you
would think me very bold to think of such a thing. I was afraid, too,
that I could not work enough out of school to pay for my board. But I
assure you I will do my very best. II it had not been for you and Mr.
Ellison, I should have been beyond hope by this time—perhaps in the
State's prison, like Joe Adams, or like poor Charley."
"Well, well, Robert, we won't talk about that at present. You have
pretty well repaid me for all that I have done for you thus far. I must
warn you before you enter school, that you may perhaps meet with some
disagreeable things. You know there are always weak-minded and vulgar
people in the world who endeavor to demonstrate their own elevated
position by looking down upon others. These are almost invariably
under-bred persons who have something in their own origin of which
they are ashamed. You may perhaps meet some of them in school, and be
a little annoyed by their airs. I advise you not to mind them in the
least, but keep on your own way without regarding them. Be careful to
give no offense, and do not be ready to take it."
"I will try not to, sir. But it is hard work not to let people know
what you think of them, when they give themselves such airs." And
Robert let out his whip-lash and took off the top of a tall thistle,
which might or might not have represented Eugene Augustus in his mind.
"There is no use in letting them know, my dear boy. The knowledge does
them no good. You may tell the greatest fool in the world that he is
a consummate blockhead, and he will never believe you, while you will
make him your enemy for life. The best way is, to go on your own course
and let other people take theirs. You may be sure that your teacher
will take at your true value, and he is the person you are to strive
to please. Keep all the rules of the school rigidly, so long as you
are a member of it, no matter whether you consider them reasonable or
not. Endeavor not to lose a single moment or a single recitation, for
you will find it very hard to overtake. Leave nothing behind you that
you do not conquer, for if you do, it will always annoy and hinder you.
Do not be deterred from asking for explanations when you need them,
for fear that people will think you stupid. Take it good-humoredly if
they laugh at you, and laugh in return. Above all, remember that in
every thing you are dependent upon God for success and for strength
against temptation, and never begin or end a day without asking for
his blessing. I will go with you this evening to see Mr. Whitney, and
arrange your studies."
The visit was made accordingly, and the next Monday, Robert entered the
school, feeling strangely awkward and ashamed in his new circumstances.
He could not help wishing that none of the boys knew any thing about
his former way of life; but as this was a vain wish, he thought the
next best thing was to make them forget it. So he went to work very
hard, and very soon showed that he was inferior to no one in natural
capacity, though he was, of course, very much behind-hand in many
acquirements. He had, however the very great advantage of being
well-grounded in the rudiments of education, an advantage not always
possessed by those who have been to school all their lives. Many a
scholar suffers all through his school-course from not having acquired
clear ideas of the first four rules of arithmetic.
Mr. Whitney and his assistants were much pleased with Robert's
diligence and good behavior, and gave him all the assistance he needed,
and he soon began to take a high place in his classes, often getting
above those who had been in school much longer than himself. This made
him enemies among the dunces, of whom there are always some in every
school; and one boy in particular, named Henry Hyde, was very angry at
being outstripped by a boy who worked for his board, and determined to
revenge himself on the first opportunity.
"How is your father, Bob?" he asked one day, after he had, as he
thought, received fresh provocations from Robert in school.
"He is well, I believe," said Robert, rather absently, and hardly
looking up from his book.
"Has he returned from his country-seat yet?" continued Henry,
determined to provoke a quarrel.
Bob's face flushed, but he returned no answer.
"I hope he enjoys his retirement, and pray, have you heard lately from
Mr. Joe Adams? I remember he used to be a particular friend of yours. I
understand he is finishing his education in a public institution; pray
do you intend to graduate in the same school?"
"No!" replied Bob. "That is too aristocratic for me. I leave it to your
cousin, John Carford, and his friends."
"Do you mean to insult me, you blackguard?" asked Henry, bristling up.
"No!" replied Bob. "I have no desire to do any thing of the kind. I
only want to show you that two can play at your game. I do not think
the less of you because your cousin is in State's prison, nor any more
of you because your father is a rich man. I know you are angry because
I got above you; but your chance is as good as mine, and you may do the
same to-morrow. I have no desire to quarrel with you, or with any one
else." So saying, he returned to his book.
"Well said, Bob!" exclaimed Philip Myers, who was standing near with
several of the other boys. "You hold your own, and we will stand by
you. Come, Hal, don't make a fool of yourself!"
"You mind your business, Phil. Myers," said Henry, "and I'll attend to
mine. As for you, Mr. Robert Merritt, I'll teach you to put yourself on
a level with gentlemen. Just please to march off this play-ground, and
not show your face here again. If we have to put up with your company
in school hours, we won't do it here! March, I say!"
Robert closed his book, and rising, looked his opponent straight in the
face. "Henry Hyde," said he, "be pleased to let me alone; I have as
much right here as yourself; and here I will stay. I know my faults and
misfortunes a great deal better than you can tell them to me. I know
very well that I might have been in State's prison myself by this time,
if I had not had kind friends to help me when I tried to help myself.
I hope I shall never forget what I was, at the time you speak of;
never, as long as I live; but it is no affair of yours. I shall remain
here when and how I please, and if you do not like my company, you are
welcome to keep out of it."
With these words, he was about to resume his seat and his book, when
Henry, almost beside himself with rage, struck him a severe blow in
the face. Robert had acquired a wonderful command over his naturally
impetuous temper. He did not, happily for his antagonist, return the
blow, but he caught him by both his arms and held him as in a vice.
Writhe and kick as he would, he could not free himself.
"Well done, Bob!" shouted the boys, as they gathered round to see the
fray. "Give it to him, old fellow; he deserves it! 'Cuff him well, for
a puppy as he is."
"I have no desire to hurt him," said Bob, still holding his prisoner
fast. "I never fight if I can help it, and then only with those of
my own size. Come, Hal, don't be in such a passion! Own that you are
sorry, and I will let you go."
"I won't," sobbed Hal; "I'll die first!"
"Then I shall have to hold you till the bell rings," said Robert, "and
that won't be pleasant to either of us. I can not have you striking me,
you know."
But Henry would not give up, and Robert accordingly held him fast,
despite his struggles, till the bell rung, when he released him. And
quietly settling his own dress, walked into school and took his seat,
as though nothing had happened.
That evening, as Dr. Huntley's family were sitting round the lamp,
engaged in their usual avocations, a ring was heard at the door, and in
a moment Mr. Hyde entered in a state of great excitement.
"I have come, Dr. Huntley," said he, almost without returning the
polite salutations of the Doctor and his wife, "to request you to
remove your hired boy from the academy, where he never ought to have
been allowed to set his foot. I request that it may be done at once—at
once, sir."
"But why, Mr. Hyde? What has Robert done to excite such violent
indignation?"
"Done, sir! He has insulted my son—my son, sir, and has gone so far
as to leave the marks of his hands on his person. He has insulted him
brutally, sir; and Henry shall never be allowed to enter the school
again unless this boy is removed. You have affronted the community by
placing him there at all—a common vagabond about the streets! It is
shameful, sir—scandalous!"
"Mr. Hyde," said the Doctor, in a voice which seemed to bring the angry
little man to his senses a little, "you will please to be a little
more select in your language when speaking to me. I will inquire into
the affair, and then I shall be able to form some idea how far my boy
has been to blame." He rang the bell as he spoke. "Send Robert here
directly, Chloe! Well, Robert, what is this story? Have you had any
quarrel with Henry Hyde?"
"No, sir; Henry quarreled with me!"
"Don't be insolent, young man!" interposed Eugene Augustus in a lofty
tone.
"Leave the matter to me, if you please, Mr. Mandeville," said the
Doctor; "I am able to manage my own family without any assistance. Let
me hear the whole story, Robert."
"If you please, sir," said Robert, turning a look of calm disdain upon
Mr. Mandeville, "I would rather some one else should tell it. Perhaps
you will let me go for John Vanderburgh, who saw the whole affair."
"A very good suggestion," returned the Doctor; "you may go over and
call him. We will suspend our judgment a few moments, Mr. Hyde."
Robert soon returned, accompanied by John Vanderburgh.
"Come, John," said his uncle, "let us hear the whole story of the fight
between Robert and Henry."
"There was no fight at all, uncle," replied John. "Robert got above
Henry in the class, and that made him angry; so when we came out at
recess, he went up to Robert, who was reading, and began to twit
him about his father's being in the poor-house; and asked him when
he was going to see his friend, Mr. Adams, in State's prison. Then
Robert said, there were other people besides himself that had friends
in State's prison, or something like that; and Hal called him a
blackguard, and asked him if he meant to insult him. Robert said no,
but he wanted to be let alone; that he did not think any the worse nor
the better of Henry for things that he could not help, and that Henry
would have a chance to get back his place to-morrow. Henry called him
names, and ordered him to leave the play-ground, and Bob said he would
stay as long as he pleased. Then Henry struck him in the face with his
fist, and Robert took hold of him and held him fast till school began.
He said he would not fight a boy not as strong as himself, and he never
struck Henry at all, sir, only held him."
"Is that the whole story, Robert?" asked the Doctor.
"That is all, I believe, sir," said Robert, modestly.
"You see, Mr. Hyde," pursued the Doctor, turning to that gentleman, who
had listened in silence to John's account of the fray, "that your boy
gave the first provocation."
"It would seem so, indeed," returned Mr. Hyde thoughtfully. "But Henry
seems to think that Robert took an unfair advantage of him in the
class."
"He didn't, sir!" replied John eagerly. "It was all fair and honorable,
and so Mr. Whitney will tell you. Robert studies very hard, and gets up
almost every day."
"You may go, Robert," said Dr. Huntley. "I am sure, Mr. Hyde," he
continued, when Robert had closed the door, "you would not have this
poor boy deprived of the advantages of a good school for such a
trifling affair, especially when it appears clearly that he is not
the one most to blame. As to his former history, it appears to me to
furnish an excellent reason for keeping him where he is, and giving
him every inducement to maintain a good reputation. He has now been
with me more than a year, and saving on one occasion, when he was led
away by bad company, I have found him every thing I could wish. He is
very desirous to educate himself, and pays his own way, and it really
appears to me that he is as well entitled to the advantages of the
institution as your son or mine."
Mr. Hyde's anger had now had time to cool. Though a passionate, he was
also a kind-hearted man, and he now readily admitted the truth of Dr.
Huntley's remarks.
"Certainly! You are right, Doctor, quite right; and I beg your pardon,
as well as Mrs. Huntley's, for being so warm. Henry is a hot-headed
lad—a little like his father in that, eh?—and I presume he was
provoking. It vexed me, I own, to think that a boy who, two years ago,
was a common vagabond in the street, should lay hands on my son; but I
see I was wrong; I must say, young Merritt appears very well; does you
great credit, in fact, and I should be sorry to injure him. But may I
ask you, sir, when Robert has acquired an education, what will you do
with him then?"
"Take him into the office, perhaps, as my father did Bowen, you
remember. Jack is none the worse surgeon, that he studied medicine in
the stable, as it were."
"No, certainly not; though some people cast it up to him, I understand,
and call him a horse-doctor."
And again apologising for his warmth, the little gentleman bade the
Doctor good evening, and retreated.
Henry was very much amazed, and a good deal disappointed, when his
father returned, to find that he was not at all disposed to fight his
battles for him, and still more on being told next morning to go to
school and behave himself like a gentleman in future, his ill-temper
being considerably augmented by knowing that Robert had all the boys on
his side. He went to school in a very bad humor, and when Robert bade
him good morning, as usual, he turned away without making any answer.
"Come, Hal," said Robert, following him, "don't let us keep up this
foolish business any longer; I was wrong to speak of your cousin,
perhaps; but then you begun it, and you know I told you I did not
think, the worse of you on that account."
"You need not have held my arms so," returned Hal, half-relenting, "and
made all the boys laugh at me."
"What would you have me do?" asked Bob, smiling. "I did not want to
fight you, and I would not have you strike me, you know. You almost
gave me a black eye as it was. Come, now, shake hands and be friends."
Henry was not naturally a sullen boy, and his anger yielded almost in
spite of himself, to Robert's determined good nature; he accepted the
offered hand, and they entered the school-room together. Mr. Whitney
was glad to see that the affair was settled without his interference,
and the boys admired Robert's readiness to forgive and forget, and
Hal's ready acknowledgment of having been in the wrong.
After this, Robert had very little more trouble in school. He was
obliged to work hard to accomplish his tasks without neglecting his
home duties, but he was strong and hardy; he did his best, and both
teacher and employer were too reasonable to expect impossibilities. His
only discomfort now arose from the conduct of Mr. Mandeville, who was
always supercilious, and often very provoking, being determined, as he
said, to make Robert "keep his place," a phrase very much in use among
people who are not very well assured of their own position. The Doctor
was obliged sometimes to interfere and keep the peace between them, and
nothing but Robert's respect and regard for his employer, kept him from
expressing his opinion of Eugene Augustus in very plain terms.
Little Mark also went regularly to school this winter, and improved
very fast in all respects, under the good feeding and good management
of his new home. His master and mistress were kind and considerate
people, who made all due allowances for his faults, and did not give
him up as a hopeless case because he now and then told a story, or
helped himself to a bit of sugar. They strove to correct his faults as
fast as they appeared, taught him as much as they could, and prevented
instead of punishing, whenever it was possible. Thus Mark was very
happy, and seemed likely to become in time a very good boy.
Celia continued to like her home more and more, and to improve in every
respect. She came home to Mrs. Huntley's to spend Thanksgiving, and
Robert and Mark took their Christmas dinner at Mrs. Dennison's. Celia
was delighted to have Bob going to such a good school, and learning
so much, and they built a good many pleasant castles in the air, when
talking over their plans and prospects. Celia herself, though she
did very well at school, was fonder of work than of study; she began
already to distinguish herself as a seamstress, and showed a degree of
taste in making dresses and caps, which indicated a promising talent
for millinery. She was very "smart about house," as Aunt Nancy said,
and did all sorts of work very well, but her chief pleasure was in
sewing. And Mrs. Huntley began seriously to think of advising her to
learn the business of dressmaking after she should have remained long
enough at Auntie Dennison's to become a thorough housekeeper.