BELLE AND MILDRED
The cosmopolitan bachelor living in apartments knows far more of
Sanscrit than of a domestic woman's feelings as she explores the
place she must call her home. It may be a palace or it may be but
two rooms in a decaying tenement, but the same wistful, intent
look will reveal one of the deepest needs of her nature. Eve wept
not so much for the loss of Eden as for the loss of home--the familiar
place whose homeliest objects had become dear from association. The
restless woman who has no home-hunger, no strong instinct to make
a place which shall be a refuge for herself and those she loves,
is not the woman God created. She is the product of a sinister
evolution; she is akin to the birds that will not build nests, but
take possession of those already constructed, ousting the rightful
occupants.
Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred were unperverted; they were womanly in
every fibre, and the interest with which they planned, consulted,
and dwelt upon each detail of their small household economy is
beyond my power to interpret. They could have made the stateliest
mansion in the city homelike; they did impart to their two poor
rooms the essential elements of a home. It was a place which no one
could enter without involuntary respect for the occupants, although
aware of nothing concerning them except their poverty.
"Mrs. Atwood and Susan actually cried when we came to go," Mrs.
Jocelyn remarked as they were all busy together, "and even old Mr.
Atwood was wonderfully good for him. He and Roger put a great many
harvest apples and vegetables in a large box, and Mrs. Atwood added
a jar of her nice butter, some eggs, and a pair of chickens. I
told them that we must begin life again in a very humble way, and
they just overflowed with sympathy and kindness, and I could scarcely
induce them to take any money for the last week we were there. It
was funny to see old Mr. Atwood: he wanted the money dreadfully--any
one could see that, for a dollar is dear to his heart--but he
also wanted to be generous like his wife, and to show his strong
good-will. They sent heaps of love to you, Millie, and cordially
invited us to visit them next summer; they also offered to board
us again for just as little as they could afford. Even Jotham
appeared to have something on his mind, for he was as helpful as
an elephant, and stood around, and stood around, but at last went
off muttering to himself."
"Millie," said Belle indignantly, "I think you treated Roger
shamefully. After we returned from seeing you off, mamma and I went
mooning up to that hill of yours looking toward the south, because
you and papa were in that direction. Suddenly we came upon Roger
sitting there with his face buried in his hands. 'Are you ill?'
mamma asked, as if his trouble might have been a stomach-ache.
He started up and looked white in the moonlight. 'She was cruel,'
he said passionately; 'I only asked for friendship. I would have
given my life for her, but she treated Jotham better than she did
me, and she thinks I'm no better than he is--that I'm one of the
farm animals.' 'Mr. Atwood,' mamma began, 'she did not mean to be
cruel'--he interrupted her with an impatient gesture. 'The end
hasn't come yet,' he muttered and stalked away."
Mildred sat down with a little perplexed frown upon her face.
"I'm sure I meant him only kindness," she said; "why will he be so
absurd?"
"You had a queer way of showing your kindness," snapped Belle.
"What would you have me to do? Encourage him to leave home, and
all sorts of folly?"
"You can't prevent his leaving home. Mark my words, he'll soon be
in this city, and he'll make his way too. He's a good deal more
of a man than your lily-fingered Mr. Arnold, and if he wants to be
friendly to me and take me out sometimes, I won't have him snubbed.
Of course all my old friends will cut me dead."
"Oh, if he will transfer his devotion to you, Belle, I'll be as
friendly as you wish.
"No, you've spoiled him for me or any one else. He's fool enough to
think there's not another girl in the world but Mildred Jocelyn, and
he'll get you if you don't look out, for he has the most resolute
look that I ever saw in any one's eyes. The day before we came
away something happened that took away my breath. A man brought a
young horse which he said no one could manage. Roger went out and
looked into the beast's eyes, and the vicious thing bit at him and
struck at him with his forefoot. Then as he tried to stroke his
back he kicked up with both hind feet. Oh, he was a very Satan of
a horse, and they had a rope around his head that would have held
a ship. Roger went and got what he called a curb-bit, and almost in
a twinkling he had slipped it on the horse, and without a moment's
hesitation he sprang upon his bare back. The horse then reared
so that I thought he'd fall over backward on Roger. Mamma fairly
looked faint--it was right after dinner--Susan and the children
were crying, his father and mother, and even the owner of the
horse, were calling to him to get off, but he merely pulled one rein
sharply, and down the horse came on his four feet again. Instead of
looking frightened he was coolly fastening the rope so as to have
it out of the way. After letting the ugly beast rear and plunge
and kick around in the road a few minutes, Roger turned his head
toward a stone wall that separated the road from a large pasture
field that was full of cows, and he went over the fence with a
flying leap, at which we all screamed and shouted again. Then away
they went round and round that field, the cows, with their tails
in the air, careering about also, as much excited as we were. At
last, when the horse found he couldn't throw him, he lay down and
rolled. Roger was off in a second, and then sat on the beast's
head for a while so he couldn't get up when he wanted to. At last
he let the brute get up again, but he was no sooner on his feet
than Roger was on his back, and away they went again till the horse
was all in a foam, and Roger could guide him easily with one hand.
He then leaped the tamed creature back into the road, and came
trotting quietly to the kitchen door. Springing lightly down, and
with one arm over the panting horse's neck, he said quietly, 'Sue,
bring me two or three lumps of sugar.' The horse ate them out of
his hand, and then followed him around like a spaniel. His owner
was perfectly carried away; 'Jerusalem!' he exclaimed, 'I've never
seen the beat of that. I offered you twenty-five dollars if you
would break him, and I'll make it thirty if at the end of a month
you'll train him to saddle and harness. He wasn't worth a rap till
you took him in hand.' 'It's a bargain,' said Roger coolly, and
then he whispered to me, 'That will buy me a pile of books.' That's
the kind of a man that I believe in," concluded Belle, nodding her
head emphatically, "and I want you to understand that Roger Atwood
and I are very good friends."
Mildred meditatively bit her lip, and her cheeks had flushed with
excitement at Belle's story, but she would make no comment upon it
in words. "What does he want with so many books?" she asked, after
a moment.
"You'll see before you are gray."
"Indeed! has he taken you into his confidence, also?"
"That's my affair. I believe in him, and so will you some day. He
already knows more Latin than you do."
"That's not saying a great deal," replied Mildred, with a short,
vexed laugh. "How came he to know Latin?"
"He studied it at school as you did. The fact is, you are so
prejudiced you know nothing about him. He's strong and brave, and
he'll do what he attempts."
"He'll find that I am strong, too, in my way," said Mildred coldly.
"He said something that hurt me more than I hurt him, and all I ask
of him is to leave me alone. I wish him well, and all that, but we
are not congenial. Complete success in his wild ambition wouldn't
make any difference. He ought to remain at home and take care of
his own people."
"Well, I'm glad he's coming to New York, and I hope for my sake
you'll treat him politely."
"Oh, certainly for YOUR sake, Belle. Let us all stick to that."
"Belle's a mere child," said Mrs. Jocelyn, with her low laugh.
"I'm sixteen years old, I thank you; that is, I shall be soon; and
I know a real man from the ghost of one."
"Belle," cried Mildred, in a tone she rarely used, "I will neither
permit nor pardon any such allusions."
"Come, girls," expostulated their mother, "our nest is too small
for any disagreements, and we have a great deal too much to do for
such useless discussions. I'm sorry with Millie that Roger is bent
on leaving home, for I think his parents need him, and he could do
well in the country. The city is too crowded already."
"He'll make his way through the crowd," persisted Belle.
"Does his father or mother know of his plans?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I don't know very much about his plans.
He talks little concerning himself, but when he took me out to
drive the day after Millie left, he said he had decided to come to
New York and get an education, and that if I'd let him know where
we lived he'd come and see me occasionally. I said, 'What will they
do at home without you?' and he replied, 'I can do more for them
away from home by and by than here.' Now, mamma, you'll let him
come to see me, won't you?"
"Certainly, Belle. I'll be reasonable in this respect. I know young
people need company and recreation. My only aim has ever been to
secure you and Millie good company, and I hope your love for me,
Belle, will lead you to shun any other. As we are now situated you
must be very, very cautious in making new acquaintances. Young Mr.
Atwood is a good, honest-hearted fellow, and I think Millie is a
little prejudiced against him."
"Very well, mamma, I'll be all smiles so long as he devotes himself
to Belle; but he must stop there most emphatically."
Thus with busy tongues and busier hands they talked of the past
and the future while they unpacked and stowed away their belongings
with almost the same economy of space that is practiced on shipboard.
Mrs. Wheaton was introduced, and she at once became a fast ally of
Mrs. Jocelyn as well as of Mildred.
"I 'ope yer'll halways remember yer 'ave a neighbor that's 'andy
and villing," she said, as she courtesied herself out. "Hit's too
bad," she muttered, on her way back to her room, "that she's 'ad
to come down to this, for she's a born lady; she's has much a lady
as hany 'oo howned this 'ouse a 'undred years hago."
Thus their life began in the old mansion, and from its humble
shelter they looked abroad to see what they could obtain from the
great indifferent world without.
"Belle and I must not be idle an hour longer than we can help,"
said Mildred resolutely, on the following day; "and the only thing
is to find what it would be best to do. I am going out to try to
sell the work I did in the country, and see if I cannot get orders
for more of the same kind. My great hope is that I can work at
home. I wish I knew enough to be a teacher, but like all the rest
I know a little of everything, and not much of anything. Fancy work
will be my forte, if I can only sell it. I do hope I shan't meet
any one I know," and heavily veiled she took her way with her dainty
fabrics toward the region of fashionable shops. Those, however, who
were willing to buy offered her so little that she was discouraged,
and she finally left the articles at a store whose proprietor was
willing to receive them on commission.
"You must not calculate on speedy sale," the lady in charge remarked.
"People are very generally out of town yet, and will be for some
time. Your work is pretty, however, and will sell, I think, later
on, although in these hard times useful articles are chiefly in
demand."
"Please do your best for me," said Mildred appealingly, "and please
let me know what you think will sell. I'm willing to do any kind
of work I can that will bring the money we need." After receiving
some suggestions she bought more material, and then sat down to
work in the hope that the returning citizens would purchase her
articles so liberally that she could do her share toward the family's
support.
She did not shrink from labor, but with the false pride so general
she did shrink morbidly from meeting those who knew her in the past,
and from their learning where and how she lived. She was wholly
bent on seclusion until their fortunes were greatly mended, fondly
hoping that her father would rally such a constituency from his
Southern acquaintance that he would soon command a fine salary.
And the expectation was not an unreasonable one, had Mr. Jocelyn
been able to work with persistent energy for a few years. The South
was impoverished, and while a remunerative trade might be built up
from it, patient and exceedingly aggressive labor would be required
to secure such a result. It is the curse of opium, however, to
paralyze energy, and to render all effort fitful and uncertain. He
should have written scores of letters daily, and attended to each
commission with the utmost promptness and care, but there were times
when the writing of a single letter was a burden, and too often
it was vague and pointless like the condition of his mind when it
was written. Mildred did not dream of this, and his employers felt
that they must give him time before expecting very much return for
his effort. Since he attended to routine duties fairly well there
was no cause for complaint, although something in his manner
often puzzled them a little. It was Mildred's belief that renewed
prosperity would soon enable them to live in a way entitling them
to recognition in the society to which Arnold belonged. If thus
much could be accomplished she felt that he own and her lover's
faithfulness would accomplish the rest. They were both young, and
could afford to wait.
"The world brings changes for the better sometimes," she thought,
as she plied her needle, "as well as for the worse; and no matter
what his proud mother thinks, I'm sure I could take better care of
him than she can. Whether they know it or not, the course of his
family toward him is one of cold-blooded cruelty and repression. If
he could live in a genial, sunny atmosphere of freedom, affection,
and respect, his manhood would assert itself, he would grow stronger,
and might do as much in his way as Roger Atwood ever can in his.
He has a fine mind and a brilliant imagination; but he is chilled,
imbittered, and fettered by being constantly reminded of his
weakness and dependence; and now positive unhappiness is added to
his other misfortunes, although I think my little note will do him
no harm"--she dreamed that it might be carried next to his heart
instead of mouldering where the faithless Jotham had dropped it.
"I shall not punish him for his family's harsh pride, from which he
suffers even more than I do. Turn, turn, fortune's wheel! We are
down now, but that only proves that we must soon come up again. Being
poor and living in a tenement isn't so dreadful as I feared, and
we can stand it for a while. As stout Mrs. Wheaton says, 'There's
vorse troubles hin the vorld.' Now that we know and have faced the
worst we can turn our hopes and thoughts toward the best."
Poor child! It was well the future was veiled.
The mode of Belle's activity was a problem, but that incipient
young woman practically decided it herself. She was outspoken in
her preference.
"I don't want to work cooped up at home," she said. "I'd go wild
if I had to sit and stitch all day. School half killed me, although
there was always some excitement to be had in breaking the rules."
"Naughty Belle!" cried her mother.
"Never naughty when you coax, mamma. I'd have been a saint if they'd
only taken your tactics with me, but they didn't know enough, thank
fortune, so I had my fun. If they had only looked at me as you do,
and put me on my honor, and appealed to my better feelings and all
that, and laughed with me and at me now and then, I'd been fool
enough to have kept every rule. You always knew, mamma, just how
to get me right under your thumb, in spite of myself."
"I hope I may always keep you there, my darling, in spite of this
great evil world, out into which you wish to go. It is not under
my thumb, Belle, but under my protecting wing that I wish to keep
you."
"Dear little mother," faltered the warm-hearted girl, her eyes filling
with tears, "don't you see I've grown to be too big a chicken to
be kept under your wing? I must go out and pick for myself, and
bring home a nice morsel now and then for the little mother, too.
Yes, I admit that I want to go out into the world. I want to be
where everything is bright and moving. It's my nature, and what's
the use of fighting nature? You and Millie can sit here like two
doves billing and cooing all day. I must use my wings. I'd die in
a cage, even though the cage was home. But never fear, I'll come
back to it every night, and love it in my way just as much as you
do in yours. You must put me in a store, mamma, where there are
crowds of people going and coming. They won't do me any more harm
than when I used to meet them in the streets, but they'll amuse me.
My eyes and hands will be busy, and I won't die from moping. I've
no more education than a kitten, but shop-girls are not expected
to know the dead languages, and I can talk my own fast enough."
"Indeed you can!" cried Mildred.
"But, Belle," said her mother, who was strongly inclined toward
Mildred's idea of seclusion until fortune's wheel HAD turned,
"how will you like to have it known in after years that you were
a shopgirl?"
"Yes," added Mildred, "you may have to wait on some whom you
invited to your little company last spring. I wish you could find
something to do that would be quiet and secluded."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Belle impatiently. "We can't hide like bears
that go into hollow trees and suck their paws for half a dozen years,
more or less"--Belle's zoological ideas were startling rather than
accurate--"I don't want to hide and cower. Why should we? We've
done nothing we need be ashamed of. Father's been unfortunate; so
have hundreds and thousands of other men in these hard times. Roger
showed me an estimate, cut from a newspaper, of how many had failed
during the last two or three years--why, it was an army of men.
We ain't alone in our troubles, and Roger said that those who cut
old acquaintances because they had been unfortunate were contemptible
snobs, and the sooner they were found out the better; and I want
to find out my score or two of very dear friends who have eaten
ice-cream at our house. I hope I may have a chance to wait on 'em.
I'll do it with the air of a princess," she concluded, assuming
a preternatural dignity, "and if they put on airs I'll raise
the price of the goods, and tell them that since they are so much
above other people they ought to pay double price for everything.
I don't believe they'll all turn up their noses at me," she added,
after a moment, her face becoming wistful and gentle in its expression
as she recalled some favorites whose whispered confidences and vows
of eternal friendship seemed too recent to be meaningless and empty.
The poor child would soon learn that, although school-girls' vows
are rarely false, they are usually as fragile and transient as
harebells. She had dropped into a different world, and the old one
would fade like a receding star. She would soon find her that her
only choice must be to make new associations and friendships and
find new pleasures; and this her mercurial, frank, and fearless
nature would incline her to do very promptly.
With Mildred it was different. The old life was almost essential
to her, and it contained everything that her heart most craved.
Her courage was not Belle's natural and uncalculating intrepidity.
She would go wherever duty required her presence, she would sacrifice
herself for those she loved, and she was capable of martyrdom for
a faith about as free from doctrinal abstractions as the simple
allegiance of the sisters of Bethany to the Christ who "loved"
them. Notwithstanding the truth of all this, it has already been
shown that she was a very human girl. Brave and resolute she could
be, but she would tremble and escape if possible. Especially would
she shrink from anything tending to wound her womanly delicacy and
a certain trace of sensitive Southern pride. Above all things she
shrank from that which threatened her love. This was now her life,
and its absorbing power colored all her thoughts and plans. Both
conscience and reason, however, convinced her that Belle was right,
and that the only chance for the vigorous, growing girl was some
phase of active life. With her very limited attainments, standing
behind a counter seemed the only opening that the family would
consider, and it was eventually agreed upon, after a very reluctant
consent from her father.