_CONFIDENTIAL._
John Harris promised to "do" the fair, and kept his word handsomely; for
he was there every day for a week, lunching in the old-fashioned
kitchen, and then, in his official capacity, sketching every relic he
could lay his eyes on. Such punctuality caused the pretty waiters to
smile affably upon this faithful devourer of primitive viands, and the
matrons to predict great things from the young artist's application to
his work.
Little guessed the girls and the gossips that love was ravaging their
generous patron's heart more persistently than he did their tables, and
that nature not art caused his devotion to modern beauty rather than
ancient ugliness. For all John saw in the crowd that filled the place
was Dolly, tripping to and fro tray in hand, spinning at her wheel, or
resting beside Aunt Maria, twin sister of Mrs. Hill, in an imposing cap
instead of the pumpkin hood. Pretty Dolly was the belle of the kitchen;
for she alone of all the dozen damsels on duty looked her part, and was
in truth a country girl, rich in the old-fashioned gifts and graces of
health, modesty, housewifely skill, and the sweet maidenliness which
girls who come out at sixteen soon lose for ever. Her dress, too, was
wonderfully complete and becoming, though only a pink and white chintz,
a mob-cap, and an uncompromising apron, with the pin-ball, scissors,
keys, and linen pocket hanging at the side. The others looked like stage
soubrettes, and acted like coquettish young ladies who knew nothing
about their work. But Dolly was genuine throughout, so she proved a
great success; and Aunt Maria took all the credit of it to herself, felt
that she had done a good thing in bringing so much youth, energy, and
loveliness to market, and expressed her satisfaction by talking a great
deal about "our family," which, as she was a Smith, was certainly large
enough to furnish endless gossip.
Another person watched, admired, and hovered about the girl like a
blue-bottle fly about a rose; and that was Mr. Aaron Parker, a dapper
little man of fifty, who, having made a snug fortune, was now anxious to
marry and settle. Aunt Maria was evidently his confidant and friend; and
it was soon apparent that Aunt Maria intended to make a match between
her niece and this amiable gentleman, who set about his wooing with
old-fashioned formality and deliberation.
All this John saw, heard, or divined with the keenness of a lover, while
he watched the events of that week; for he very soon made up his mind
that he adored "Miss Dolly," as he always called her to himself. The
short time which had elapsed between the car episode and the opening of
the fair seemed endless to him; and, when he came beaming into the
kitchen the very first day, his heart sang for joy at sight of that
bonny face once more. She welcomed him so kindly, served him so
prettily, and showed such frank and friendly pleasure at meeting him
again, that the lonely fellow felt as if he had suddenly found a large
and attached family, and yielded to the charm without a struggle. She
seemed to belong to him somehow, as if he had discovered her, and had
the first right to admire, help, and love her; for he alone of all the
men there had seen her at home, had looked deepest into the shy, bright
eyes, and heard her call him "friend."
This delightful state of things lasted for a few days, during which he
felt as if quaffing nectar and tasting ambrosia, while he drank the
promised cider and ate the spicy "sweethearts" which Dolly always
brought him with a smile that went directly to his head, and produced a
delicious sort of intoxication. He never could have but a word or two,
she was so busy; but, as he sat apart, pretending to sketch, he was
living over those brief, blissful moments, and concocting wonderfully
witty, wise, or tender speeches for the morrow.
Well for him that no one looked over his shoulder at such times, for his
portfolio would have betrayed him, since it was a wild jumble of
andirons and mob-caps, antique pepper-pots and pretty profiles,
spinning-wheels, and large eyes with a profusion of lash; while a dainty
pair of feet in high-heeled slippers seemed to dance from page after
page, as if the artist vainly sought to exorcise some persistent fancy
by booking it over and over again.
Suddenly a change appeared both in the man and in his work; for Parker
had arrived, and clouds began to gather on the horizon which was rosy
with the dawn of love. Now John discovered that the cider was sour and
the cake stale, for the calls of a voracious rival cruelly abbreviated
his moments of bliss. Now he glared and brooded in corners where once he
had revelled in dreams of a dim but delightful future. Now the pages of
his sketch-book bore grotesque likenesses of a round, snub-nosed
countenance in all sorts of queer places, such as a clock-face, under a
famous cocked hat, or peeping out of a memorable warming-pan; while a
dapper figure was seen in various trying attitudes, the most frequent
being prone before the dancing feet, one of which was usually spurning a
fat money-bag, with contempt in every line of the pretty slipper.
At this stage, the fair ended, and Aunt Maria bore the charmer away,
leaving John to comfort himself with the memory of a parting look of
regret from behind Governor Hancock's punch-bowl, which Dolly embraced
with one arm, while the other guarded Madam's best china tea-pot.
Maddening was it to haunt the street before Aunt Maria's door, and hear
a gay voice singing inside fit to melt a paving stone, to say nothing of
a young man's heart. More maddening still to catch occasional glimpses
of the girl shut up in a carriage with the dragon, or at concerts and
theatres under the escort of Mr. Parker. But most maddening of all was
the frequent spectacle of this enamoured gentleman trotting up the
street, simpering to himself as he went, and freely entering at the door
which shut the younger lover out of Paradise.
At such trying periods, John (now very far gone indeed, for love feeds
on air) would feel a wild desire to knock the little man down, storm
Aunt Maria's mansion, and carry his Dolly away from what he felt assured
was an irksome bondage to the girl. But, alas! where could he carry the
dear creature when he had got her? For all the home he possessed was one
room in a dull boarding-house, and his only fortune the salary his
pencil earned him. Then, as he groaned over these sad facts, a great
temptation would assail him; for he remembered that with a word he could
work the miracle which would give him half a million, and make all
things possible but the keeping of his own self-respect.
Hard times just then for John Harris; and for some weeks he went about
his daily duties with such a divided mind and troubled spirit that the
stoniest heart might have pitied him. But comfort came when least
expected, and in trying to help another he got help himself and hope
beside.
One gusty March morning he arrayed himself in his best, put a posy in
his button-hole, and went gallantly away to Aunt Maria's door, bound to
make a call in spite of her frowns at the fair, and evident desire to
ignore his existence since. Boldly ringing the forbidden bell, he
inquired for the ladies. Both were engaged; and, as if nothing should be
wanting to his chagrin, as he went down the steps Mr. Parker, bearing a
suggestive bouquet, went up and was instantly admitted.
It was too much for poor John, who rushed away into the park, and
pulling his hat over his eyes tramped wrathfully down the mall,
muttering to himself,--
"It's no use; I _must_ give in; for with a fortune in my pocket I could
carry all before me,--bribe Aunt Maria, outbid Aaron, and win my Dolly,
if I'm not much mistaken."
Just then a sharp yelp roused him from his excited reverie, and looking
up he found that he had kicked a fat poodle, who was waddling slowly
along, while some way before him went a little figure in a gray hat, at
sight of which John's heart gave a leap. Here was bliss! Dolly alone at
last, and he could defy the dragon and all her machinations. Parker and
his fine bouquet were nowhere; Harris and his button-hole posy had the
best of it now; and, leaving the fat poodle to whine and waddle at its
own sweet will, the happy man hurried forward to make the most of this
propitious moment.
As he drew near, he observed that a handkerchief went more than once to
the face which drooped in a thoughtful way as the feet paced slowly on.
"Bless her heart! she is catching cold, and dreaming dreams, here all
alone," thought John, as, stepping to her side, he said gently, that he
might not startle her, "Good-morning, Miss Dolly."
He did startle her, nevertheless, and himself as well; for, as she
turned quickly, he saw that her face was bathed in tears. Instantly all
his own troubles took wing; and, with no thought but how to comfort her,
he said impetuously,--
"I beg pardon, but do tell me what is the matter?" He came upon her so
suddenly that there was no time to hide the tell-tale tears. He looked
so eager, kind, and helpful, she could not be offended at his words; and
just then she needed a friend so much, it was hard to resist confiding
in him. Yet, womanlike, she tried to hide her little worries, to make
light of her girlish grief, and turn a brave face to the world. So she
brushed the drops from her eyes, put on a smile, and answered stoutly,--
"It was very foolish of me to cry, but it is so dull and lonely here I
think I was a little homesick."
"Then perhaps you won't mind if I walk on a bit with you and apologize
for kicking your little dog?" said John, artfully availing himself of
this excuse.
"No, indeed. He is Aunt Maria's dog; but how came you to do it?" asked
the girl, plainly showing that a human companion was very welcome.
"I was in a brown study, and did it by accident. He's so fat it didn't
hurt him much," answered the young man, assuming his gayest manner for
her sake. Then he added, with an excuse which did not deceive her a
bit,--
"The fact is, I'd ventured to call on you to see if I could get a sketch
of the punch-bowl; but you were engaged, the girl said, and I was rather
disappointed."
"What a fib! I'm sorry I was out; but the house was gloomy and Aunt
rather cross, so I ran away under pretence of giving old Tip an airing."
"Ah, you don't know what you lost! Mr. Parker went in as I came out,
with such a nosegay!--for Aunt Maria, I suppose?" and John tried to look
quite easy and gay as he spoke.
Dolly's face darkened ominously, and a worried look came into her eyes
as she glanced behind her, then quickened her steps, saying, with a
little groan that was both comic and pathetic,--
"It does seem as if it was my doom to be tormented by old gentlemen! I
wish you'd get rid of this one as you did of the other."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," answered John, with such
heartiness that a sudden color dried Dolly's wet cheeks, as she
remembered that he had got rid of tormentor number one by taking his
place.
Cheered by the knowledge that a champion was ready to defend her, she
ventured to show him a safer way in which to serve her, saying very
soberly,--
"I think I may be glad of the recommendation you once promised me.
Should you mind giving it?"
"Are you tired of 'playing lady' so soon?" he asked anxiously.
"So tired that I felt to-day as if I'd like to run away and take service
with the first person who would engage me."
"Don't!" exclaimed John, with such energy that the fat poodle barked
shrilly and made a feeble charge at his boots, feeling that something
was wrong somewhere. "Run away home, if you must run, but pray don't get
discouraged and do any thing rash," he went on with great earnestness;
for he saw by her face that she was in some real trouble.
"I haven't even a home to run to; for Mrs. Hill agrees with Aunt that
it's time I ceased to be a burden. It's very hard, when I only ask a
safe corner in the world, and am willing to work for it," cried the
girl, with an irrepressible sob; for the trials of many weeks had grown
unbearable, and a kind word made the full heart overflow.
Neither spoke for a minute, then John said with a respectful earnestness
which touched her very much,--
"Miss Dolly, you once called me a friend, and I was very proud to be so
honored. Forget that I am any thing else, and, if you have no one wiser
and older to consult, trust me, and let me help you. I've knocked about
the world enough to know how hard it is for a man to get an honest
living, doubly hard for a woman, especially one as young and beautiful
as you are. There are safe corners, I am sure; but it takes time to find
them, so pray be patient and do nothing without care."
"I called you a friend in need, and so you are; for, strange as it may
seem, there is no one to whom I can go for disinterested advice. I know
so little of the world that I'm afraid to trust my own judgment, yet I
am driven to decide between dependence of a sort I despise, or to stand
alone and take care of myself. _Will_ you advise me?" and she looked up
with an appealing glance, which read such a reassuring answer in the
honest eyes full of sincerest sympathy that she was comforted before he
spoke.
"Indeed I will! for what are we all here for, if not to help one
another? Do you know I think there is a sort of fate about these things,
and it's no use to struggle against it. We seem to be two 'lone, lorn'
creatures thrown together in queer ways, so let's agree to be old
friends and stand by each other. Come, is it a bargain?"
He seemed so firmly convinced of the inevitability of this fate that the
girl felt relieved from farther scruples, and agreed in all good faith.
"Now about the troubles?" began John, trying to look old, reliable, and
wise; for he guessed the one she was most reluctant to tell.
"I suppose marrying for an establishment or earning their bread is a
question most poor girls have to settle sooner or later," observed
Dolly, in a general sort of way, as an opening; for, in spite of his
praiseworthy efforts, her young counsellor did not succeed in looking
like a sage.
"If pretty, yes; if plain, no. We needn't discuss the latter class, but
go on to the question," returned John, keeping to the subject in hand
with masculine pertinacity.
"I'd rather be an old man's housekeeper than his wife; but people won't
believe it, and laugh at me for being what they call so foolish," said
the girl, petulantly; for she did not seem to be getting on well with
her confidences.
"I thought from what I saw at the fair that Parker seemed ready to offer
both situations for your acceptance."
John could not help saying that, for a jealous pang assailed him at the
mere idea. He feared that he had spoilt the _role_ he was trying to
play; but it happened to be the best thing he could have done, for the
introduction of that name made things much easier for Dolly, as she
proved by kindling up as suddenly as if the word had been a match to
fire a long train of grievances.
"He did; and Aunt scolds me from morning till night, because I won't
accept the fine establishment he offers me. That's what I was sent here
for! My step-mother wants me out of the way, Aunt Maria hands me over to
Mr. Parker, and he takes me because I know how to cook and nurse. I
might as well be put up at auction and sold to the highest bidder!" she
cried, with eyes flashing through indignant tears.
"It's abominable!" echoed John, with equal indignation, though the words
"highest bidder" rung in his ears, as he thought of the fortune waiting
for him, and the youth which would tell so strongly in the race against
"old Parker," as he irreverently called the little man; for fifty seems
a patriarchal age to four-and-twenty.
"I know that sort of thing is done every day, and thought quite right;
but I am so old-fashioned it seems terrible to marry merely for a home.
Yet I'm very tired of being poor, and I _should_ like a taste of ease
and pleasure while I can enjoy them," added Dolly, with a very natural
longing for the bright and happy side of life.
"And I could give her all she wants," thought John, with the temptation
getting stronger every minute. But he only said a little bitterly,
"You'd better give in, if you want ease and pleasure, for money can buy
any thing."
"No, it can't buy love, and that is better than all the splendor in the
world," answered the girl, in a tone that thrilled her hearer to the
heart. "What _I_ call love seems to have gone out of fashion; and that
is what troubles me; because, if there _isn't_ any such thing, I may as
well take the next best, and try to be contented. No one seems to value
love for itself alone, to feel the need of it as much as light and air,
to miss it when it goes, or try to earn and keep it as the most precious
thing in the world. Money and position are every thing, and men work and
women marry for these, as if they had no other hope or end; and I'm
frightened at the things I see and hear in what is called society."
"Poor child, I don't wonder; but I assure you there _is_ an ocean of
love in the world, only it gets put out of sight in the rush, wasted on
those who don't deserve it, or dammed up by adverse circumstances. It
exists though, the real genuine article, waiting for a market. _Do_
believe it, and wait for it, and I'm sure it will come in time."
John was so divided between a rash impulse to prove his point by a
declaration then and there, and the conviction that it would be
altogether premature, his metaphors got rather mixed, and he had to pull
himself up abruptly. But Dolly thought it a beautiful speech, was glad
to believe every word of it, and accepted this piece of advice with
admirable docility.
"I'll wait, and meantime be looking about for the safe corner to run to
when Aunt Maria gets tired of me, because I don't mean to go home again
to be a burden." Then, as if anxious to slip away from a too interesting
topic, she asked with a very winning expression of interest and
good-will,--
"Now what can I do for you? I'm sure you have worries as well as I, and,
though not very wise, perhaps I might advise in my turn."
"You are very good, but I couldn't think of troubling you;" and the
young man looked both pleased and flurried by the girl's offer.
"We agreed to help one another, you remember; and I must do my part, or
the bargain won't be a fair one. Tell me what the brown study was about,
and I'll forgive the kick poor Tip got," persisted Dolly; for her
feminine instinct told her that a heavy cloud of some sort had been
lifted to let sunshine through for her.
John did long to know her opinion on a certain matter, but a man's pride
would not let him speak as freely as the girl had done, so he took
refuge in a mild subterfuge, and got advice on false pretences.
"It was only a quandary I was in about a friend of mine. He wants my
judgment in a case something like yours, and perhaps you _could_ help me
with an opinion; for women are very wise in such matters sometimes."
"Please tell me, if you may. I should so love to pay my debts by being
of some use;" and Dolly was all attention, as she pushed back her vail
as if to get a clear and impartial view of the case about to be
submitted.
Fixing his eyes on the sparrows who were disporting themselves among the
budding elm-boughs, John plunged abruptly into his story, never once
looking at his hearer and speaking so rapidly that he was rather red and
breathless when he got through.
"You see, Jack was plodding along after a fashion all by himself, his
people being dead, when an old friend of his father's took it into his
head to say, 'Come and be a son to me, and I'll leave you a handsome
fortune when I die.' A capital thing it seemed, and Jack accepted, of
course. But he soon found that he had given up his liberty, and was a
slave to a very tyrannical master, who claimed him soul and body, heart
and mind. That didn't suit Jack, and he would have broken away; but, as
you say, he was 'tired of being poor, and wanted a little ease and
pleasure in his life.' The old man was failing, and the money would soon
be his, so he held on, till he suddenly discovered that this fortune for
which he was waiting was not honest money, but, like many another great
fortune, had been ground out of the poor, swindled out of honest men, or
stolen from trusting friends, and hoarded up for a long lifetime, to be
left to Jack with the curse of dishonesty upon it. Would you advise him
to take it?"
"No," answered the girl, without a moment's hesitation.
"Well, he didn't, but turned his back on the ill-gotten money, and went
to work again with clean but empty hands," added John, still looking
away, though his face wore a curiously excited expression under its
enforced composure.
"I'm glad, very glad he did! Wasn't it noble of him?" asked Dolly, full
of admiring interest in this unknown Jack.
"It was very hard; for you see he loved somebody, and stood a poor
chance of winning her without a penny in his pocket."
"All the nobler in him then; and, if she was worth winning, she'd love
him the more for the sacrifice," said Dolly, warmly; for the romance of
the story took her fancy, though it was poorly told.
"Think so? I'll mention that to Jack: it will cheer him up immensely,
for he's afraid to try his fate with nothing to offer but his earnings."
"What's his business?" asked Dolly suddenly.
"Connected with newspapers,--fair salary, good prospects,--not ashamed
to work," answered John, staring hard at the sparrows, and wiping his
forehead, as if he found the bleak day getting too warm for him.
"Is the girl pretty?"
"The most captivating little creature I ever beheld!" cried John,
rapturously.
"Oh, indeed," and Dolly glanced at him sharply, while a shadow passed
over her face, as she asked with redoubled interest, "Is she rich?"
"Has nothing but her sweet face and good name I believe."
"Isn't that enough?"
"Indeed it is! but Jack wants to make life beautiful and easy for her,
and he can by saying a word. He is awfully tempted to say it; for the
old man is dying, has sent for him to come back, and there is yet time
to secure a part of the fortune. He won't take it all, but has a fancy
that, if he leaves half to charity, it would be a sort of purification
to the other half; and he might enjoy it with his love. Don't you think
so?"
"No, it would spoil the whole thing. Why cannot they be contented to
begin with nothing but love, and work up together, earning every clean
and honest penny they spend. It would be a comfort to see such a pair in
this mercenary world, and I do hope they will do it," said the girl,
heartily, though a slightly pensive tone had come into her voice, and
she stifled a small sigh, as she put down her vail as if there was
nothing worth seeing in the landscape.
"I think they _will_ try it!" answered John, with decision, as he smiled
sympathetically at a pair of sparrows chirping together at the door of
one of the desirable family mansions provided for their use.
Here Tip ended the dangerous dialogue by sitting down before Dolly with
a howl of despair, which recalled her to her duty.
"The poor old thing is tired, and must go in. Good-morning, and many
thanks," she said, turning toward the steps, which they would have
passed unseen but for the prudent poodle's hint.
"Good-by, and a thousand pardons for boring you with my affairs," began
John, with a penitent, yet very grateful glance.
"By the way, I've been so interested in Jack's affairs that I've
forgotten exactly what your advice was to me," she added, pausing on the
upper step for a last word.
With his hat in his hand and his heart in his eyes, John looked up and
answered in a tone that made few words necessary,--
"Don't sell yourself for a home."
And Dolly answered back with a sweet, shrewd smile that made him flush
guiltily,--
"Don't smother your conscience with a fortune."