she's getting low in her work, and it's a shame, too," said Biscuits.
"Would I make her higher?"
Sutton M. tried to be sarcastic, but she showed in her manner the
effect of the confidence.
"Yes, you would," said Biscuits. "Mary Winter's just spoiling her.
She's a perfect nonentity, and she studies like a grammar-school
girl--it just disgusts Martha. And Mary admires her so that Martha
just rides over her and gets to despise good regular studying because
Mary does it so childishly. If some one could be with her who was
bright and jolly and liked fun and had a sense of humor and did good
work, too, for you two do study well--I'll give you that credit--it
would be the making of her. And Mary's such an idiot. She shows that
Martha shocks her so much that Martha just keeps it up to horrify
her--"
"I know," said Sutton M., wisely, "like those cigarettes--Martha never
really liked them."
"Exactly," Biscuits agreed, though with an effort, for the Twins
certainly knew far too much. "The moment I told Martha that it wasn't
in the least a question of morals with us but entirely a matter of
good taste--that we didn't think she was wicked at all but that it was
very bad for the house, and that when we were all represented in the
_Police Gazette_ as trotting over the campus with cigarettes in our
mouths, the college would get all the credit and she wouldn't get
any--why, she stopped right away. And considering how it irritated her
I think she was very nice and sensible about it."
"But just because Kate and I studied, Martha wouldn't, would she?"
"Yes, I think she would. She'd feel that it was an example to you if
she didn't. And she's so bright. It's a shame she should flunk as she
does. She knows we all know she could get any marks she chose, so she
doesn't care."
Sutton M. looked thoughtful. "I think her stories are fine," she
remarked. "And I suppose I'd have to go with some spook, if I don't,"
she added gloomily.
"Mrs. Harrow feels bad enough about the change," Biscuits interposed,
"and she said she'd act very severely next time. I persuaded her that
you'd--that is, I didn't persuade her, I'm afraid. Of course, she
feels that if you _should_ by any chance drag Martha into your kiddish
nonsense, why--she doesn't like Martha any too well, you know, and--"
"Biscuits," interrupted Sutton M., hastily, "if I _should_ go in with
Martha, and I must say I should think _anybody'd_ be welcome to her
after that stick of a Mary Winter, I wouldn't drag her into a
thing--truly, I wouldn't. I'd be careful! Kate says that Patsy says
she's lots of fun and awfully jolly and nice when you know her," she
added.
Biscuits assented warmly. "And you understand, Suttie," she continued,
"that it's not everybody I'd speak to in this way or that Martha would
have. Martha's rather particular: she understands that Alberta May is
a little trying, good and kind as she is. But I realize what a good
thing it would be for Martha to be with somebody who wouldn't be so
shocked whenever she said anything to that skull."
"Oh, that skull!" said Sutton M., with a wave of her brown hand. She
looked up and caught Biscuits' eye with the sharp, uncompromisingly
literal Sutton twinkle. "Biscuits," she demanded, "did anybody ever
know of anything really _bad_ that Martha ever did--ever?"
"Never," said Biscuits, promptly.
Sutton M. chuckled: "That's what we always thought," she said, and
added: "Well, I'll try it, and," very solemnly, "you can trust me,
Biscuits--I promise you."
When Biscuits went back to Martha's room she missed the skull, and
beheld on the newly dusted bookshelves a decorous row of historical
works and an assortment of German classics. This gratified her, for it
was with the German department that Martha's erratic methods of study
most obviously clashed. Martha was detaching from the wall a pleasing
engraving representing a long white lady with her head hanging off
from a couch, on which she somewhat obtrusively reclined, an
unwholesome demon perching upon her chest and a ghastly white horse
peeping at her between gloomy curtains. This cheerful effect was
entitled "The Nightmare," and as it left the wall, Martha fell upon an
enlargement in colored chalk of one of Mr. Beardsley's most vivid
conceptions, and laid them away together.
"Why, Martha!" she exclaimed, "this is really too much--there's no
reason why you should take your things down!"
Martha smiled tolerantly. "Oh, it makes no matter to me," she said
indifferently. "I know the Loti by heart, anyhow, and though none of
these things affect me in the slightest way--I really can't see
anything in them one way or the other--still I frankly refuse to take
any responsibility. If the child should happen to feel that the skull,
for instance--"
Biscuits grinned. "It's one less thing to dust, anyway," she remarked,
and left Martha to her work of reconstruction.
She wandered in, one evening, two or three weeks later, to get a
German dictionary, and beheld with a pardonable pride the Twins
gabbling their irregular verbs in whispers by the lamp, while Martha,
stretched on the couch beneath the gas, communed with Schiller and the
dictionary. The Twins gave her one swift ineffable glance, kicked each
other under the table, and bent their eyes upon their grammars:
Martha nodded to her, indicated the Twins with one of her three-volume
smiles, and drawled as she handed her the dictionary, "In the words of
Mr. Dooley and the Cubans, 'Pa-pa has lost his job, and all is now
happiness and a cottage-organ'!"
THE FIFTH STORY
_THE EDUCATION OF ELIZABETH_
V
THE EDUCATION OF ELIZABETH
I
FROM MISS ELIZABETH STOCKTON TO MISS CAROLYN SAWYER
_Lowell, Mass., Sept. 10, 189-._
MY DEAREST CAROL: The thing we have both wished so much has happened!
Papa has finally consented to let me go to college! It has taken a
long time and a _great deal_ of persuasion, and Mamma never cared
_anything_ about it, you know, herself. But I laid it before her in a
way that I really am ashamed of! I never thought I'd do anything like
it! But I _had_ to, it seemed to me. I told her that she had often
spoken of what a mistake Mrs. Hall made in letting Marjory come out so
soon, and that I should _certainly_ be unwilling to stay at Mrs.
Meade's another year. I'm doing advanced work now, and I'm _terribly_
bored. The girls all seem so very young, somehow! And I said that I
couldn't come out till I was twenty-two, if I went to college. I
teased so that she gave way, but we had a _terrible_ siege with Papa.
He is the _dearest_ man in the world, but just a little _tiny_ bit
prejudiced, you know. He wants me to finish at Mrs. Meade's and then
go abroad for a year or two. He wants me to do something with my
music. But I told him of the _fine_ Music School there was at Smith,
and how much _harder_ I should work there, _naturally_. He talked a
good deal about the art advantages and travel and French--you know
what I think about the _terrible narrowness_ of a boarding-school
education! It is _shameful_, that an intellectual girl of this century
should be tied down to _French_ and _Music_! And how can the scrappy
little bit of gallery sight-seeing that I should do _possibly_ equal
four years of earnest, intelligent, _regular_ college work? He said
something about marriage--oh, dear! It is _horrible_ that one should
have to think of that! I told him, with a great deal of dignity and
rather coldly, I'm afraid, that _my_ life would be, I hoped,
_something more_ than the mere _evanescent glitter_ of a _social
butterfly_! I think it really impressed him. He said, "Oh, very
well--very well!" So I'm coming, dearest, and you must write me all
about what books I'd better get and just what I'd better know of the
college customs. I'm _so_ glad you're on the campus. You know Uncle
Wendell knows the President very well indeed--he was in college with
him--and, somehow or other, I've got a room in the Lawrence, though
we didn't expect it so soon! I feel inspired already when I think of
the chapel and the big Science Building and that _beautiful_ library!
I've laid out a course of work that Miss Beverly--that's the
literature teacher--thinks very ambitious, but I am afraid she doesn't
realize the intention of a _college_, which is a little different, I
suppose, from a _boarding-school_(!) I have planned to take sixteen
hours for the four years. I must say I think it's rather absurd to
limit a girl to that who _really_ is _perfectly_ able to do more.
Perhaps you could see the Register--if that's what it is--and tell him
I could just as well take eighteen, and then I could do that other
Literature. I must go to try on something--really, it's very hard to
convince Mamma that Smith isn't a _summer resort_! Good-by, dearest,
we shall have such _beautiful_ times together--I'm sure you'll be as
excited as I am. We shall _for once_ see as much of each other as we
want to--I wish I could study with you! I'm coming up on the 8.20
Wednesday morning.
Devotedly yours,
ELIZABETH.
II
FROM MISS CAROLYN SAWYER TO MISS ELIZABETH STOCKTON
_Lake Forest, Ill., Sept. 17, 189-._
DEAR BESS: I'm very glad you're coming up--it's the only place in the
world. I'm not going to be able to meet you--I'm coming back late this
year--Mrs. Harte is going to give our crowd a house-party at Lakemere.
Isn't that gay? I met Arnold Ritch this summer. He knows you, he said.
I never heard you speak of him. He's perfectly _smooth_--his tennis is
all right, too. For heaven's sake, don't try to take sixteen hours--on
the campus, too! It will break you all up. You'll get on the Glee
Club, probably--bring up your songs, by the way--and you'll want to be
on the Team. Have you got that blue organdie? You'll want something
about like that, pretty soon. If you can help it, don't get one of
those Bagdad things for your couch. I'm deadly sick of mine. Get that
portière thing you used to have on the big chair at home. It's more
individual. We're getting up a little dance for the 26th. If you know
any man you could have up, you can come--it will be a good chance to
meet some of the upper-class girls. We may not be able to have it,
though. Don't tell Kate Saunders about this, please. She'd ask
Lockwood over from Amherst, and I've promised Jessie Holden to ask him
for her. We shall probably have Sue for class president this year--I'm
glad of it, too. There will be a decent set of ushers. I suppose
you'll want me for your senior for the sophomore-senior thing. I'll
keep that if you wish. I shall get up by the 24th. I'm in the Morris.
Don't forget your songs.
Yours in haste,
C. P. S.
III
FROM MRS. HENRY STOCKTON TO MRS. JOHN SAWYER
_Lowell, Mass., Sept. 23, 189-._
DEAR ELLA: In spite of great uncertainty on my part and actual
unwillingness on her father's, Lizzie has started for Smith. It seems
a large undertaking, for four years, and I must say I would rather
have left her at Mrs. Meade's. But her heart is set on it, and it is
very hard to deny her. She argues so, too; really, the child has great
ability, I think. She fairly convinced me. It has always seemed to me
that a girl with good social surroundings, a good home library, and
an intellectual home atmosphere does very well with four years at so
good a school as Mrs. Meade's, and a little travel afterwards. Lizzie
has quite a little musical talent, too, and I should have liked her to
devote more attention to that. Very frankly, I cannot say that I have
been able to see any improvement in Carrie since she went away. I
suppose it will wear off, but when I saw her this summer she had a
manner that I did not like so well as her very pleasant air three--no,
two--years ago. It seemed a curious mixture of youth and decision,
that had, however, no maturity in it. Katharine Saunders, too, seems
to me so utterly irresponsible for a young woman of twenty-one, and
yet so almost arrogant. I expected she would know a great deal, as she
studied Greek before she went, but she told me that she always skipped
the Latin and Greek quotations in books! She seems to be studying
nothing but French and Literature and History; her father could
perfectly well have taught her all that, and was anxious to, but she
would hear nothing of it. She wanted the college life, she said. Ah,
well, I suppose the world has moved on since we read Livy at Miss
Hopkins'! I picked up a Virgil of Lizzie's yesterday and was
astonished to find how it all came back. We felt very learned, then,
but now it is nothing.
I hope Carrie will be good to my little girl and help her perhaps with
her lessons--not that I fear Lizzie will need very much help! Miss
Beverly assures me that she has never trained a finer mind. Her essay
on Jane Austen was highly praised by Dr. Strong, the rector of St.
Mary's. Of course, dear Ella, you won't resent my criticism of
Carrie--I should never dream of it with any one but an old and valued
friend, and I shall gladly receive the same from you. But Lizzie has
always been all that I could wish her.
Yours with love,
SARAH B. STOCKTON.
IV
FROM MR. WILLIAM B. STOCKTON TO MISS ELIZABETH STOCKTON
_Boston, Mass., Oct. 16, 189-._
MY DEAR NIECE: Your mother advises me of your having just entered
Smith Academy. I had imagined that your previous schooling would have
been sufficient, but doubtless your parents know best. Your mother
seems a little alarmed as to your success, but I have reassured her.
I trust the Stockton blood. Whatever your surroundings may be, you can
never, I am sure, set yourself a higher model than your mother. I have
never known her to lack the right word or action under any
circumstances, and if you can learn that in your schooling, your
friends and relatives will be more than satisfied.
I enclose my cheque for fifty dollars ($50), in case you should have
any special demand on your purse not met by your regular allowance. I
remember many such in my own schooldays. Wishing you success in your
new life, I remain,
Your affectionate uncle,
WILLIAM B. STOCKTON.
V
FROM MISS ELIZABETH CRAIGIE TO MISS ELIZABETH STOCKTON
_New Haven, Conn., Oct. 21, 189-._
MY DEAR ELIZABETH: Sarah tells me that you are going to college. I am
sure I don't see why, but if you do, I suppose that is enough.
Children are not what they used to be. It seems to me that four years
at Mrs. Meade's should have been enough; neither your Aunt Hannah nor
I ever went to college, though to be sure Hannah wanted to go to Mt.
Holyoke Seminary once. I have never heard any one intimate that either
of us was not sufficiently educated: I wonder that you could for one
instant imagine such a thing! Not that I have any reason to suppose
you ever did. However, that is neither here nor there. Your Aunt
Hannah and I were intending to give you Mother's high shell-comb and
her garnet set for Christmas. If you would prefer them now for any
reason, you may have them. The comb is being polished and looks
magnificent. An absurd thing to give a girl of your age, from my point
of view. However, your Aunt Hannah thinks it best. I trust you will be
very careful of your diet. It seemed to me that your complexion was
not what it should have been when you came on this summer. I am
convinced that it is nothing but the miscellaneous eating of cake and
other sweets and over-education. There has been a young girl here from
some college--I think it is Wellesley--and her complexion is
disgraceful. Your Aunt Hannah and I never set up for beauties, but we
had complexions of milk and roses, if I do say it. Hannah thinks that
the garnets are unsuitable for you, but that is absurd. Mother was no
older than you when she wore them, and looked very well, too, I have
no doubt. I send you by express a box of Katy's doughnuts, the kind
you like, very rich, and a chocolate cake. Also some salad and a loaf
cake, Mrs. Harding's rule. I trust you will take sufficient exercise,
and don't let your hands grow rough this winter. Nothing shows a lady
so much as her hands. Would you like the garnets reset, or as Mother
wore them? They are quite the style now, I understand. Hoping you will
do well in your studies and keep well, I am,
Yours lovingly,
AUNT LIZZIE.
VI
FROM MISS ELIZABETH STOCKTON TO MR. ARNOLD RITCH, JR.
_Lawrence House, Northampton, Mass.,
Nov. 1, 189-._
MY DEAR ARNOLD: It is only fair to you to tell you that it can never
be. No, never! When I--if I did (which I can hardly believe)--allowed
you to think anything else, I was a mere child. Life looks very
different to me, now. It is quite useless to ask me--I must say that I
am surprised that you have spoken to Papa. Nor do I feel called upon
to give my reasons. I shall always be a very, very good friend to you,
however, and very, very much interested in you.
In the first place, I am, or at least you are, far too young. The
American woman of to-day is younger than her grandmother. I mean, of
course, younger than her grandmother is now. That is, than she was
then. Also I doubt if I could ever love you as you think you do. Love
me, I mean. I am not a man's woman. I much prefer women. Really,
Arnold, it is very strange how men bore me now that I have known
certain women. Women are so much more interesting, so much more
fascinating, so much more exciting! This will probably seem strange to
you, but the modern woman I am sure is rapidly getting not to need men
at all! I have never seen so many beautiful red-haired girls before.
One sits in front of me in chapel, and the light makes an aureole of
glory about her head. I wrote a theme about it that is going to be in
the _Monthly_ for November.
I hope that you won't feel that our dear old friendship of so many
years is in any way changed. I shall never forget certain things--
I am enjoying my work very much, though it is easier than I had
thought it would be, and the life is different in many ways. If I did
not think that Miss Sawyer had probably invited you, I should be very
glad to have you come up for the Christmas concert, but I suppose it
is useless to ask you. I had no idea you were so fond of tennis!
Your friend always,
ELIZABETH WOLFE STOCKTON.
VII
FROM MR. HENRY STOCKTON TO MISS ELIZABETH STOCKTON
_Lowell, Mass., Nov. 1, 189-._
MY DEAR ELIZABETH: Yours received and read with my usual attention and
interest. I am glad that your college life continues to be pleasant,
and that you have found so many friends. I was much interested, too,
in the photograph of Miss Hunter. I find the blue prints are more
common than I had supposed, for I had imagined that they were
something quite new. It is certainly very accommodating in your
teachers to allow themselves to be so generally photographed. Your
mother seemed much pleased with Miss Hunter, and glad that you were in
the house with her and liked her so much. I was surprised to see her
so young in appearance. I had very foolishly imagined the typical old
style "school-marm," I suppose. But it seems that she was graduated
only a few years ago, herself.
Now, my dear Elizabeth, I am going to speak to you very seriously. I
trust that you will take it in good part and remember that nothing can
be more to my interest than the real happiness and well-being of my
daughter. The tone of your letters to both your mother and me has
seemed for some weeks unsatisfactory. I mean that we have found in
them a nervous, strained tone that troubles me exceedingly. I cannot
see why you should close with such expressions as this (I copy
verbatim): "Too tired to write more;" "All used up--lots of Latin to
do--can only find time for a note;" "Tired to death because I'm not
sleeping quite as well as usual, just now;" et cetera, et cetera.
I have been to see Mrs. Meade, and she assures me that your
preparation was more than adequate: that your first year should prove
very easy for you, _in Latin especially_. Now what does this mean? You
left us well and strong, considering that you have always been a
delicate girl. It was for that reason, as you know, that I
particularly opposed your going to college.
But there is more. Mrs. Allen's daughter, Harriet, has been at home
for some days to attend her sister's wedding. Your mother and I
naturally seized the opportunity of inquiring after you, and after
some questioning from us she admitted that you were not looking very
well. She said that you seemed tired and were "going it a little too
hard, perhaps." That seemed to me a remarkable expression to apply to
a young girl! My endeavors to find out exactly what it meant resulted
in nothing more explicit than that "Bess was trying to do too much."
Now, my dear girl, while we are naturally only too pleased that you
should be striving to stand well in your classes, do not, I beg of
you, imagine for one moment that any intellectual advancement you may
win can compensate us or you for the loss of your health. You remember
Cousin Will, who carried off six honors at Harvard and came home a
nervous invalid. I fear that the Stockton temperament cannot stand the
strain of too continued mental application.
I must stop now, to attend to some business matters, and I will add
only this. Do not fail to remember my definite conditions, which have
not altered since September. If you are not perfectly well at the
Christmas holidays, you must remain with us. This may seem severe, but
I am convinced, your mother also, that we shall be acting entirely for
your good.
Yours aff.,
FATHER.
VIII
FROM MR. ARNOLD RITCH, SR., TO MISS MARION HUNTER
_New York, N. Y., Nov. 4, 189-._
MY DEAR MISS HUNTER: You may remember meeting, five years ago, in
Paris, in the Louvre, an old American, who had the great pleasure of
rendering you a trifling assistance in a somewhat embarrassing
situation, and who had the further pleasure of crossing on the
_Etruria_ with you a month later. I was that man, and I remember that
you said that if ever there should happen to be an occasion for it,
you would be only too happy to return your imaginary debt.
If you really meant it, the occasion, strangely enough, has come. I
know well enough from my lifelong friend, Richard Benton, whose family
you have so often visited, that you are an extremely busy young woman,
and I will state my case briefly. I never make half-confidences, and
I rely implicitly on your discretion in the following clear statement.
My only nephew and namesake, incidentally heir, has been for some time
practically engaged to Miss Elizabeth Stockton, the daughter of an old
friend. The engagement has been entirely satisfactory to all parties
concerned, and was actually on the eve of announcement, when the young
lady abruptly departed for Smith College.
My nephew is, though only twenty-four, unusually mature and thoroughly
settled: he was deeply in love with the young lady and assures me that
his sentiments were returned. She now quietly refuses him, and greatly
to her parents' dissatisfaction announces that she intends remaining
the four years and "graduating with her class," which seems a strong
point with her.
Her father and I would gladly leave the affair to work itself out
quietly, were it not for an unfortunate occurrence. Ritch, Jr. has
been offered an extremely good opening in a Paris banking-house, which
he must accept, if at all, immediately, and for six years. He is
extremely broken up over the whole affair, and says that unless
Elizabeth returns to her old relations with him, he will go. This will
be in three weeks.
I am not so young as I was, and I cannot leave America again. I can
only say that if the boy goes, my interest in life goes, to a great
extent, with him. He does not mean to be selfish, but young people,
you know, are harder than they think, and feel deeply and, for the
moment, irrevocably. He says that he is certain that this is merely a
fad on Miss Stockton's part, and that if he could see her for two
weeks he would prove it. I should like to have him try.