When the hour of separation came, Clemence regretted that she must again
leave her friend's hospitable roof for that of strangers. She thought,
ruefully, of Mrs. Brier, and hoped that these new people might not be of
their order.
Her wish was destined to be fulfilled. The plain, simple little woman,
who came forward to welcome her, when she stopped at farmer Owen's,
certainly did not look very formidable or repulsive.
"Come in," she said, apparently not a little disconcerted, as Clemence's
figure appeared in the doorway. "You'll find everything at sixes and
sevens. I tried to get cleaned up a little before you got here, but the
baby was so cross, I had to sit down and hold him most of the afternoon.
He's just gone to sleep, and left me with all this work, and supper to
get for half a dozen hands, beside."
"Now, that is really unfortunate," said Clemence, kindly. "Can't I help
you in some way?"
"_You_," said Mrs. Owen, stepping backwards, and surveying the dainty
figure in the utmost consternation, "I guess not, why, what in earth
could you do in the housework line?"
"Oh, a good deal, I dare say, if I were to try," said Clemence laughing.
"You know, 'where there's a will there's a way,' and if you will tell me
how, I am sure I will gladly assist you."
"No," was the reply. "You just sit still and I'll fly round and kinder
hoe out some of this dirt. You don't look as if you had been accustomed
to this sort of thing. Why, of the two, now I suppose, if the truth
should be known, you are more tired with your work than I am with mine,
cross baby and all; just think of it, when I was a girl, a day's work
like this was nothing at all to do, and I was always ready to go to a
dance, or something of that sort, to pass away time. There's a great
difference in folks about that."
"I believe you," said Clemence, watching her with interest, as she moved
around, bringing literally 'order out of chaos.' "It seems to me, that
no amount of practice could fit me for such work as this. I suppose, of
course, I could learn in time, by giving strict attention to it, to be a
fair housekeeper; but my experience in boarding round has proved that I
do not belong to the class of persons whom they denominate here as
'handy.' I have seen women enter a neighbor's house in time of trouble,
and move about as if accustomed to everything, and always know the very
place to go and find an article when wanted, without asking tiresome
questions, or put an article in its appropriate receptacle when not
needed, without being told. But, for myself, though always willing, I am
generally apt, like to-day, to sit still and wish I could be of use to
somebody, instead of being always in the way."
"That's because you were born to be waited on, and not to serve," said
the little woman, good-naturedly.
"Then I am sadly out of place," replied Clemence, with a sigh. "I am
inclined to think, however, that you are more liberal in your views than
the rest of our sex. Most of them would tell me that the reason of my
lack of capacity, was because I did not cultivate my faculties properly,
or, in plain terms, that I was lazy."
"I don't see that either," responded the other. "A man works just so
many hours a day, and comes home feeling that his duty is done, and lies
down, if he feels inclined, or swears at the children for being noisy
and troublesome, and walks off to amuse himself, leaving his tired wife
at home, to go on with her work till midnight, if she can't get it done
before. Nobody thinks of calling _him_ anything but a poor hard working
body, slaving himself to death, for the good of his family. But a
woman--just mark the difference. I suppose, though, I need not follow
out that side of the picture?" she added shrewdly.
"Surely, no," said Clemence, "I know too well by sad experience. Why,
Mrs. Owen, I never feel the privilege of sitting down after the labors
of the day have wearied mind and body, without offering my services,
ignorant as I am of housekeeping, and awkward as I know I must be. What
would be said of me, if I did not assist in getting tea, or washing the
dishes, and even helping through with the Saturday's work, to say
nothing of the Sunday dinner, with its numberless guests to be waited
upon and entertained, upon the one day appointed for rest."
"Poor little thing! It's a hard life for such a delicate body as you.
I've heard you was rich once; was it true?" she asked inquisitively.
"Yes, madam," said Clemence, "this is a new experience for me."
"Well, it's hard," she said again. "I can't help but pity people that's
always been used to having everything they wanted, and suddenly find
themselves poor, and without anything to help themselves with. I know
some folks are glad when the proud are brought down to their own level,
and say that a little humiliation will do them good, but I ain't so.
"Amos and me started poor enough, I can tell you. All we had in the
world was a little outfit of beddin' and dishes that father gave me, and
Amos made the furniture himself. But we was both strong and active, and
what was better _willing_, and we soon got a start and have kept goin'
ahead ever since. There ain't anybody around here that's better off now.
There's only one drawback, I think my man's _too_ savin. He's had to
deny himself so long, that now, although we are in pretty easy
circumstances, he thinks he can't afford a good many things that other
people, poorer than we are, call the very necessaries of life. For
instance, I dress poorer than any woman in the place; Amos even limits
the number of calico dresses that I have; I get three a year, and one I
have to put away to sort o' slick up in. I hain't got a delaine one to
my name.
"Sometimes I get my temper up, and tell him I will have something to
wear as well as other folks, but he says he goes without as well as I,
and there ain't no use of our laying out everything for finery.
"Don't you think its about time for me to strike for something that
people, that call themselves decent, have to wear?"
"Why," said Clemence, truthfully, seeing she was expected to make some
reply, "don't that seem a little like injustice? It can't be right to
deny yourself everything, and indulge in no relaxation after such
laborious employment. You owe something to yourself as well as others.
Of course it is wise in you to look forward to the future, and it is
perfectly natural and commendable to wish to lay up something for your
children, that their life may be easier than your own; but, have you
never thought that, after all, you may not be working for their best
interests. Supposing you should sink underneath the burden you have
assumed, and death should find you all unprepared, would you not regret
that you had spent your days thus? It does not seem as if any mother was
called upon for such sacrifices. No woman, or at least, no American
woman, can endure such severe, unremitting toil."
Her hearer looked startled.
"I had never taken this view of the case," she said, "but you are right.
My strength cannot always hold out, and if I should be taken away, what
would become of my little children?"
Here the baby awoke with a scream, and the mother had enough to keep
tongue and hands busy in the effort to pacify him, and finish her
labors. As it was, tea was delayed.
The group of tired, sun-burned men, who came up from the field, lingered
around the kitchen door, furtively watching the pretty young
schoolmistress, but not venturing to speak above a whisper, until supper
was announced, when they came in awkwardly, and took their seats.
Clemence was duly presented to them and her host, a quiet, good-natured
looking man, and during the conversation which followed, they made some
progress towards a further acquaintance. She was pleased, too, to
observe that she had made quite a favorable impression, having formed a
plan in her mind which she now thought might be easy of accomplishment.
Clemence Graystone was both young and enthusiastic, and she thought here
was an opportunity of benefiting one of her own sex in a quiet,
unassuming way. She took care to observe closely, much that she would
have otherwise passed unnoticed.
"Thank heaven!" said Farmer Owen, as he came in and seated himself
wearily, on Saturday evening, "that to-morrow is a day of rest. Miss,"
(turning abruptly to Clemence,) "you ought to be absolutely happy with
only a handful of young ones around you for six hours a day, and the
rest of the time to do nothing. I am beginning to think it pays to get
learning."
The girl regarded him with a mingled expression of surprise and
amusement struggling in her face, as she replied:
"Perhaps my life does seem an easy one to others. At least, I do not
complain."
"No," said the farmer, "but you've foolishly added to your burdens,
taking that young one of Lynn's. Whatever induced you to do it?"
"Nothing," she replied, quietly, "but the thought that it was my duty.
There was none other to assume the responsibility, so it rested upon
me."
"That's sheer nonsense," he said contemptuously. "What do you suppose
would become of you now, if you should fall sick, or the child either?
In that case, it would not be much of a kindness you have done her,
filling her head with grand ideas, as I hear, about being a lady, and
all that. She'd go to the poor house all the same, and you would have
nothing to help yourself with, unless," he added, curiously, "you are
independent of your position."
"Nothing of the kind," said Clemence. "I depend solely upon my own
efforts for support, as I have repeatedly declared in answer to similar
enquiries."
"Then you've done an unheard of thing, that's all that I can say, and if
you expect to be thought better for it, you are mistaken, for people
will only call you a fool for your pains, and I doubt if the girl
herself will ever repay one half your efforts, or feel any gratitude for
them."
"As to that," she said abstractedly, looking off into the gathering
twilight, "I have not expected payment and shall not be disappointed in
that case. However, I do not regret the step. On the contrary, I am
thankful for the privilege."
"Where's the young 'un now?" he asked. "To Swan's yet?"
Clemence nodded in the affirmative.
"How much do you pay a week for her board?"
"Two dollars," she said coolly.
"And you earn how much?"
"Five dollars per week and board."
"And have had to clothe her besides buying what books and other articles
a child needs? Well, you are green. They say, too, you dress pretty well
yourself. Can't see how you manage it on them wages," he added, eyeing
her with a shrewd, penetrating glance.
Clemence blushed under the close scrutiny.
"Do you call calico expensive?" she asked, calling his attention to her
own daintily fitting one.
"No," he answered, shifting uneasily in his seat, "of course it's the
cheapest and best thing a woman can wear, in my opinion."
"Of course," echoed Mrs. Owen, at his elbow, "but what does a man know
about such things? But I'll tell you one thing, Amos, if calico _is_ the
cheapest and best thing a woman can wear, I am going to have enough of
it after this."
"Well, have enough," he said impatiently, "though you will never look
pretty nor lady-like in anything. So don't flatter yourself, nor aspire
to imitate others who can. I suppose now, Miss Graystone," turning to
Clemence, "you think I don't want my wife to dress as well as others on
account of the expense; but, although I commenced poor, and have been
obliged to save pretty close, yet I never saw the time when I have not
done for my family to the extent my means afforded. Times are getting a
little easier with me now, though I ain't rich, far from it. Besides
there's another point to be considered. Now if _you_ get an article of
dress, you have some taste in making and wearing it," and he looked
admiringly at the trim figure before him; "but Susan here, completely
spoils everything she undertakes."
"There, Amos Owen," put in the aforementioned Susan, "don't try to lay
your stinginess on my shoulders, for, goodness knows, they have burden
enough already. And that ain't so, either, you know as well as I do that
you're only saying it to be contrary."
"Well, have it so," he said, crossly, and Clemence, to turn the subject,
asked if they were going to attend morning service on the coming
Sabbath.
"Not I," said Mr. Owen, "it's asking altogether too much of a hard
working man like me to get up and start off as regular as the Sunday
comes, without any rest whatever. I don't feel called upon to do it, for
one. Wife, here, can answer for herself."
"Why don't you say at once that she has not a decent dress to go in, and
you prefer to have her stay home and look after the children, while you
sleep away your time. I've no patience with you, Amos."
"So you are boarding at Owen's?" said Mrs. Swan, when Clemence stopped
for little Ruth, on her way to meeting.
"Yes," said Clemence, "they are an odd couple."
"They are all of that, and more," she replied with a smile. "I should
not think you would fancy staying there much, she has the name of being
a miserable housekeeper, and a shiftless sort of body at the best."
"Why," said the young teacher, generously, "I have not found her so. I
think she is one of the most industrious women in the place."
"Then," said Mrs. Swan, looking with an air of pride around her own neat
little dwelling, "how is it she always has such a dirty looking house,
that you can't bear to eat a mouthful in it, and those ill-kempt, noisy
children, to say nothing of her own slovenly appearance?"
"Because," returned Clemence, in her defence, "she has more work put
upon her than two women ought to do, and with so much expected of her,
it is not to be wondered at that she sometimes fails to achieve
everything."
"But what a figure the woman does make of herself," said Mrs. Swan,
smoothing her own satin hair. "She spoils everything in the making up. I
never saw her in a well made garment, nor her children, either."
"I grant," conceded Clemence, "that she has no taste, but she has little
time for its indulgence, so, perhaps, she is as well off without it. The
poor woman is a perfect drudge. She never has a pitying word, or a
sympathetic look, even from her husband. He seems to think that she is
only filling her appropriate sphere. Yet, I do not think he means to be
cruel. He, works hard himself, and expects every one around him to do
the same."
"I'll tell you what I think about it," said Mrs. Swan, energetically,
"she never was the wife for him. With a woman who had the least
ambition, their home would present a far different aspect. As it is, you
know, Miss Graystone, it _does_ look enough to disgust a neat man like
him. No one can say, either, but what he furnishes liberally everything
necessary for the household, and she is as close and saving as he is,
for all she denies it."
"That is all very true," responded Clemence, "but for all that, I can't
help but pity her. It seems as if their home might be rendered
pleasanter. There is enough material there to bring out, and it only
wants somebody to give them a friendly hint."
"And you think you are just the one to do it, and that it is your
obvious duty, and all that?" said Mrs. Swan. "Now, just take my advice,
and don't burn your fingers meddling with other people's affairs, nor do
any such foolish thing for conscience sake."
"But if I think I ought, 'to do unto others,' you know," said Clemence,
doubtingly.
"But you had _not_ ought. Just leave matters as they are, and they will
come right of themselves, and if they don't, why, it's no fault of
yours."
"That strikes me as a selfish policy," she said. "I can't reconcile it
with my ideas of what is right."
"It's a safe one, for all that," was the reply. "Take heed to my words,
and let the Owen's affairs alone. You don't expect to revolutionize the
family by one effort."
"Still, I can't help but feel sorry for this overworked woman," said
Clemence, "and what is more, I think as one of my own sex, I may be able
to do her some kindness without injury to any one. She has neither grace
nor refinement, such as most women have in common with each other,
whatever may be their position in life. I don't think that she is
naturally lazy, as you say. At the foundation, her house is always
clean. It needs somebody to keep it in order, and have a place for
everything and everything in its place,' for the lack of which it
presents this disordered appearance. I believe I can be of some use to
her, and shall try faithfully to do my whole duty in that respect."
"You dear child," said Mrs. Swan, kindly, "you shame me by your
disinterestedness. Remember, though, if you get into any difficulty, I
have warned you solemnly, as I thought _my_ duty."
"I will remember," said Clemence, laughing, "and in that event I shall
expect, and doubtless receive your warmest sympathy."
After that, she went to work with a will, and was so far successful in
her praiseworthy labors, that the home of the Owen's began to wear a
look hitherto a stranger to it. With her own hands, Clemence assisted in
establishing a new order of things, and when praised by the smiling Mr.
Owen, would triumphantly bring forward some work of his wife's, which
had been executed under her own supervision, as a proof that she had
been kept down, and was not so totally deficient in taste as had been
affirmed.
These little subterfuges, however, did not always have the desired
effect, and more than once Clemence was annoyed by an unmistakable
glance of admiration and a remark to the effect that after she left,
things would resume their former dilapidated appearance.
"What coarse manners this person has," she would think on these
occasions, "and how much his poor wife must suffer in his boorish
society."
She was pleased, though, and somewhat astonished, to see how readily
Farmer Owen's purse opened at her demands.
"Amos never was so liberal to me before," said his wife, and the whole
village echoed it.
"Mrs. Owen ought to pay you for staying there with her life-long
gratitude," said Mrs. Swan. "Let me congratulate you on your
unparalleled success in that quarter."
"Oh," said Clemence, ingenuously, "as to that, I claim no merit for
myself. I told you it was more from a lack of knowledge upon the subject
than from intentional wrong, that this poor woman was made to suffer. It
only needed some one to point out the error."
"You are a good girl, any way," said Mrs. Swan, by way of conclusion.
"Who but you would ever have thought of it, I should like to know?"
It very soon became the fashion to patronize and "bring out" little Mrs.
Owen in Waveland. People awoke to a knowledge of their duty, and
regularly now, every Sabbath, she came to meeting under the care of two
or more of the prim-looking matrons.
Clemence was pleased that they had, as she thought, at last begun to
appreciate her many excellent qualities, but she could not understand
exactly _why_ these kind people should be at such pains to flaunt their
good deeds. After much bewilderment, she came to the conclusion that
they must have thought her presuming, and considered that she ought to
be put in her place, instead of aspiring to teach them their duty.
"As if," she thought sadly, "I could be guilty of harboring such a
thought. I am afraid I shall never make many friends in Waveland."
She was glad when Monday morning came again, and she could resume her
school duties. At least, here was a legitimate object of interest to
occupy her mind. When the lessons were over for the day, she went back
with little Sammy Owen pattering along beside her. She seated herself,
and went to work industriously, on some sewing of Mrs. Owen's, and
applied herself so closely, that she completed the garment just as she
was called to supper.
"Well, I have finished your dress," she said, as she came to the table.
"And you are nearly tired to death," said Mr. Owen. "Susan, you ought
not to have allowed Miss Graystone to overwork herself."
Clemence protested it was nothing, and that a cup of their good tea
would rest her, and the worthy couple immediately set about loading her
plate with food enough to have satisfied the appetite of a plough-boy.
And as soon as she could slip away, she left the table.
Her hostess soon followed her, to try on the new dress. It was a pretty,
soft-tinted muslin, and made the round, plump figure look more nearly
approaching to attractiveness than it had ever done before.
"Well, I declare," said the farmer, surveying her with satisfaction,
"that does look nice and tidy. Now, if we could always have you, Miss
Graystone, to select my wife's dresses, and cut and fit them, and
afterwards tell her how to put them on, she would look, positively,
respectable."
"Here is a collar that I brought for you," said Clemence, pretending not
to have heard this doubtful compliment, and the delighted little woman
forthwith burst forth into a profusion of exaggerated acknowledgements
of her kindness and generosity.
"There, Amos Owen," she exclaimed, blushing with pleasure, "what do you
think of your wife, now? You can see by this time that she ain't the one
to be kept down forever, and drudge her life away. She was born for
better things." And stepping backwards, with a self-complacent smile and
toss of her head, the little creature, unfortunately unused to fineries
of any kind, planted her foot, which was by no means a small one, upon
the delicate fabric and made an awkward rent.
Clemence was ready to cry with vexation. Plainly, here was, at least,
another half hour's work for her tired fingers.
Mr. Owen gave a long, low whistle, and then a shout of derisive
laughter, as he turned and went out of the house. Clemence feared that
her cause was being irreparably ruined, instead of helped along, as she
so ardently desired, by this untoward event.
"Deary me!" said Mrs. Owen, "what _shall_ I do? I wish I'd never tried
to dress up at all. Just think how much that cost, and it's only a
stringy thing after all, and a great big rent in it before its ever worn
at all. I wish now, I'd got that calico that I wanted to. I should, if
_you_ hadn't persuaded me not to."
If a few tears fell among the pale, pink rosebuds, with which the
condemned article was dotted as plentifully as May blossoms, it is
hardly to be wondered at. Tired, overworked, and a good deal
discouraged, the pale young teacher might be pardoned for any signs of
weakness, though she needed to gather up all her sinking courage for the
future, that lay before her lost in shadow.