Helen Grant's Schooldays

Mrs. Van Dorn felt a little pricked in her conscience. She could have settled all this herself, and made things easy for them, but Clara had not suggested any money trouble. Mrs. Van Dorn paid her a generous salary. Down in her heart there had been a jealous feeling that her money could not buy everything, could not buy this girl from certain home obligations.

But the letter pleased her very much in its frankness and its acknowledgment of favors. Yet her old heart seemed strangely desolate. How could she obtain the love she really desired? For if you did favors there was gratitude, but was that love?

Did anybody care to love an old woman? She sometimes longed to have tender arms put about her neck, and fond kisses given. But her cheeks were made up with the semblance of youth, her lips had a tint that it was not well to disturb. Oh, to go back! To be fifty only, and have almost fifty more years to live. The money would last out all that time, even.

But here was a chance with this new girl. Clara might marry. She, Mrs. Van Dorn, had been rather captious about admirers. It wasn't given to every girl to make a good marriage at five and thirty. In three years Helen would be seventeen, and with a good education, very companionable. It would be best not to lead her to hope for anything beyond the education, she might grow vain and be puffed up with expectations of great things to come. Let the great things be a surprise.

There was a little tap at the door.

"Do you want me?" inquired the cheerful voice. "It is a full half hour."

"No, yes. I'll be made ready for bed if you please, little maid," and her tone was full of amusement. "Then I'll dismiss you and lie here by the window a while, as I have something to think about, until I get sleepy. Bring the jewel case."

Helen was quite fascinated with all the adornments. There were dainty partitions, velvet rooms, Helen called them, boxes in which rings were dropped, a mound to lay the bracelets, where a tiny ridge kept them from slipping, a hook for the pendants, and a case for the pins. The girl placed them in deftly, as only a person who really loved them could. To her their sparkle seemed the flame of a spirit.

Then the laces were laid in their boxes. Helen hung up the soft silk gown, the petticoats with their lace and ruffles, the night dress was donned and a pretty wrapper over it, the slippers exchanged for some soft knit ones. As for her hair – perhaps she slept in it, for that was never taken down until after the girl went away.

"Now are you comfortable?"

"Yes. Helen, how did you come by so many pretty ways? I do not believe they abound in your aunt's house."

"No, they do not." Helen laughed in soft apology. "I think because everything is nice and dainty here, and everybody is – " How could she explain it.

"No, you're not quite so much of a chameleon as that. It is something from the inside, that was born with you. And you must have the opportunity of developing it. There child, good-night."

Mrs. Van Dorn felt suddenly in a glow. She would do a good deed, help this girl to her true place, cast some bread upon the waters and have it return to her presently. Three years. She hoped Helen would grow tall and keep slim, her eyes were beautiful, her complexion clear and fine if a little sun-burned. She had nice hands, too, now that she was taking care of them. She was quick to see any improvement, she had adaptiveness and a pleasant temper. She would make an attractive young woman at seventeen, and she would owe it all to her. She must love her benefactress. Why, this was something to live for!

Helen sat on the far end of the stoop step. There were two rows of steps. This commanded the kitchen porch, as well as the dining room. Most of the boarders were up at the other end, where two hammocks were slung, but this was a favorite nook of hers when she wanted to think. Mrs. Dayton came out presently, having finished her talk with Joanna.

"Are you homesick or lonesome?" she inquired. "Was everybody glad to see you to-day."

"The children were. I think Aunt Jane was a little hurt because I didn't come and stay over Sunday."

"Do you want to go next Saturday? Though what we could do with Mrs. Van Dorn I don't know."

"I think I do not want to go," Helen made answer slowly. "Oh, Mrs. Dayton," and she stretched out her hand in entreaty, "can't you sit down here a few moments. I want to talk to someone. I want to know whether I am right, or wrong and ungrateful. And I have a half plan if – if – "

"What is it, child?" The girl's tone appealed to her strongly, and she sat down beside her.

"It seems to me as if I only roused up along in the winter, and began to study in earnest. Mr. Warfield took such an interest in me. And I began to love knowledge, to learn how much there was of it in the world. He thought I ought to go to the High School and study for a teacher, and then I just knew what I should like best of all things in the world. And since I've been here I've thought it over and over – "

"And do not know how to compass it?" There was a sound in her voice that expressed the smile on her face.

"I have even planned for that. If you did not go away all the fall I should ask you to let me stay and do some work, and try to even it up next summer when the boarders come. But I've thought maybe there would be someone else who would be satisfied with what I could do nights and mornings and Saturdays for my board – "

The tone was breathless and had to stop. She was amazed that she could say all this.

"My dear child! Have you been studying all this out? Well, you certainly have a right to education when you are willing to work for it that way. And I believe it can be compassed."

Helen squeezed the hand nearest her with a joyful eagerness.

"But there's another side to it. I didn't think of that until this afternoon. I fancied I could go away and study and work until I came to the place where I could earn money, like Miss Remington, and no one would have any right to interfere. Aunt Jane thinks I know quite enough, and has planned for me to go in the shop, Jenny has spoken for the chance. I should just hate it! I think I should run away. I don't know why I am different, but I am. I feel it now more than ever. Aunt Jane doesn't want me to be like my father, and she lays the blame on education. Oh, Mrs. Dayton, you do not think he ever did anything absolutely wrong, that one had need to be ashamed of?"

Helen's face was in a blaze of scarlet. How many times she had longed to ask the question.

"Why no. He had the name of being queer, and holding queer beliefs. But he was honest as the day, and temperate, and not given to brawling as the Bible has it. And he paid Aunt Jane for a while. I feel sure he must be dead."

"And since then they have taken care of me. Aunt Jane thinks I ought to be very grateful, and I do want to be. I suppose they could have sent me to the poor-house."

"Oh, no, Uncle Jason wouldn't."

"I don't believe Aunt Jane would. But does that give them the right to say what I shall do or be, or put me in the shop against my will, when maybe I could earn my own way somewhere else?"

"Why no, I do not think it does. You were not even given to them. You certainly have the right to decide some things. And if friends should be willing to help you – "

"I don't want to be ungrateful. I don't want to be snobbish. But I like the nice aspects of life so much better than the common things. And I wonder now why people do not take naturally to the refinements of life. Yet the other people are very happy in their way, too. I think Aunt Jane wouldn't enjoy the manner in which you do things here. She would call it putting on airs."

"Yes, I understand. The world goes on improving, advancing, making life more kindly and gracious, weeding out the roughnesses. It is just as honest and true, it calls for more self-control, it is as helpful. Of course, there are selfish people with a good deal of polish, and there are ignorant people very obstinate and disagreeable. Education does not do everything, but it helps. And if there is an easier or better, or more enjoyable manner of earning one's living, I do not see why one should not aim at it, and strive to reach it."

"Oh, thank you a thousand times." Helen's voice broke from very joy. "I kept wondering if I had the right to do what I liked."

"It will take some courage. But you might try it one year. And I am sure there will be friends to help such an ambitious girl. At present we will not say anything about it, but don't feel troubled. I believe it will come out right."

"Oh, how good you are!" Helen pressed the hand she held to her warm, soft cheek with a mute caress.

It seemed to her as if she might be walking on air, her heart was so light. And still there was a secret sympathy with her aunt for the disappointment. Yet, what real difference could it make to Aunt Jane, whether she taught school, or worked in a shop. She should not feel better or grander, only more thoroughly satisfied with her lot in life. And before she took any journeys, she would pay Uncle Jason for these years of care since her father died. That would be her duty for taking her own way.

"We are going to take up something solid," said Mrs. Van Dorn, the next morning. "I am tired of frivolous novels. We will have a little history, and learn about places and people, and what has been done in the world, and improve our minds."

Helen looked up with a new and rather surprised interest. "There is so much in your mind already," she returned with the admiration in her voice that was so grateful to the elder woman. "Oh, I do wonder if I shall ever know so many things."

"There are years for you to study in. I did not know all these things at fourteen."

She would never have confessed how little she knew at that period.

They stopped now and then to discuss some point, but Mrs. Van Dorn was going over several other considerations. An ordinary country girl with the sweetest temper in the world would not have given her more than a passing pleasure. This girl was quite out of the ordinary with her intelligence and her quick understanding. She would love all the finer arts of life. Her enthusiasm was really infectious. That was what one needed when one was going down the other side of the great divide. And she didn't really belong to anybody. Clara would never forget her mother and sisters, and if they were ill she would want to fly to them. This girl was not comfortable in her home, she would not sigh for it. And she might adore her, for there was a kind of worship in her nature. To be adored by a young girl who might have been her grandchild, the child of the daughter she had longed for and never had.

Helen glanced up hesitatingly.

"Oh, I'm not asleep," laughingly. "I was thinking. You have a fine voice, so strong and clear, and not aggressive. Don't you sing?"

"Oh, yes. When I am out in the fields I sing with the birds."

"But you have never had lessons in elocution?"

"Mr. Warfield taught me that the best reading was entering into the spirit of the writer, imagining yourself in the scenes that are described, or taking part in any conversation. And he said when I recited that last day of school, I must be the Captains and Hervé Riel, just as if I was leading in the ships."

Her face was in a glow, her eyes luminous.

"How old is Mr. Warfield?"

Helen Grant's father had married one of his young pupils, Mrs. Van Dorn remembered.

"Oh, I don't know, a real young man. He has only been at the Center a year."

Mrs. Van Dorn nodded with her chin, a way she had.

"He is quite in earnest about your going to the High School?" she continued.

"He thinks I could teach, and I should like that so much."

She flushed daintily recalling the other half secret she had touched upon with Mrs. Dayton.

"The girl is capable of love and all that nonsense," thought Mrs. Van Dorn. Why should she not come to love her?

CHAPTER VI

HOW THEY ALL PLANNED

"Helen," began Mrs. Dayton, "I was thinking if you would like to go home on Saturday and make your visit it might be a good thing. We have made no real plans about the winter as yet, but we might like to presently."

There was a half mirthful, half meaning light in her eyes.

"Oh!" Helen said. She was not longing for the visit. Her cool reception by her aunt had really hurt her.

"Time is going so fast. Why, here it is only two weeks and a half to September."

"If you think I had better," very soberly.

"Yes, I do. It would look rather underhand if you went home and said nothing when we had settled upon certain intentions."

"Yes, I understand."

Mrs. Van Dorn objected, but when she found it was a matter of duty, rather than delight, she gave in with a few little grumbles. Uncle Jason was so full of satisfaction he hugged Helen to his heart and kissed her.

So she said good-by and had a pleasant drive over, heard all the small on dits of the farm; that two hens had stolen nests and brought off twenty-three chickens between them; and old Bose, the dog, had died suddenly, and they had a mastiff pup eight months old; that they were building a new fence on the back of the barn lot, and that there would be no end of apples this fall. He really didn't know what they would do when Jenny went away, and he wished girls didn't want to get married. But she, Helen, would come home and that would liven up things a bit.

They turned into the lane and when they were by the kitchen she sprang out. One child carried the news to another, and they huddled about her so that she could hardly walk.

"Here's Helen, mother!"

"Well, I declare! How do you do, child! You never could come in a better time! I had a good mind to tell Uncle Jason to bring you home, and I guess he just scented it. Children, don't eat Helen up, this hot night," exclaimed their mother.

"She isn't cooked," said Tom.

"But she'll be stewed or steamed, and there's plenty for supper. We're going to have a houseful to-morrow. Aunt Sarah and Uncle John and the girls, and Martha's beau. She's been long enough about it, twenty-five, if she's a day, and I'd been married six years before I was as old as that. But she's going to do real well, though he's a widower with two children. And Joe as usual. Though we all went down there to supper last Sunday. Jenny's going to have things nice, I tell you! Did you bring another frock, Helen? I've been making 'Reely wear out your old clothes. And gracious me! how you have grown! You won't have a thing to wear in the fall."

"I left my bundle in the wagon," as Aunt Jane made a little halt in her talk.

"Nat, you run and get it. 'Reely, do begin settin' that table. 'Reely isn't worth a rye straw about housework. She's Mulford all over, and you've got to keep pushing the Mulfords along or they'd fall asleep in their tracks. Here she's past eleven. My, the work I did when I was eleven! Now Helen, you just put on something commoner and help round a bit and we'll have supper."

Helen ran upstairs and changed her dress. She was glad of the cordial welcome. But as she looked around she wondered if she had been really content here. Did children suddenly come to some mental growth and understanding? Whom did she take after? It was queer, but when Aunt Jane said of one child "she was all Cummings, or all Mulford," it was the same heredity that they discussed at Mrs. Dayton's.

Where did she get her finer instincts from? For she had them long ago, only she was afraid to bring them out and have them laughed at. Her little white covered cot at Mrs. Dayton's looked so sweet and wholesome, everything was put in a closet, the table held a few books, a work-basket, often a bowl of flowers. This was all littered up, the candlestick decorated with piles of grease, the faded and worn bed quilt put on awry, shoes here and there, garments hung anywhere, and Fan's dolls and stuff of all kinds in the corner. Of course Jenny's room was more orderly, but it lacked something, the suggestion of refinement.

Uncle Jason and Sam had come in, and it seemed as if the kitchen was full. They scrambled round the table, pushing and crowding.

"Do keep still, children!" begged their father.

"'Reely, you haven't put on a bit of salt. I think every time you forget it I ought to make you eat a spoonful," said her mother.

"I haven't any fork!" declared Nathan.

"And if we made her eat a fork, it might disagree with her, and we'd have one fork less," commented Sam.

"Can't I have a piece of bread and butter? Why can't we have some butter down here?" cried Tom.

"I'll spread it for you. Sam, will you please pass me the butter?" said Helen in a quiet tone.

"Me too, Helen," entreated Fanny, holding up her piece of bread.

"It's so nice to have you again," and 'Reely squeezed Helen's arm.

Uncle Jason helped to the meat and potatoes. There was a great clatter of passing plates, and the confusion of several voices at a time. Aunt Jane scolded, then she gave Tom a slap.

"There comes Joe and Jen," announced Sam.

Jenny left work at four on Saturday and went to the house. Joe was keeping himself, and they had a cup of tea, some bread and butter, cold meat and blackberries together.

"How do, Helen. You're a big stranger. Let's sit out on the porch, Joe. I'll bring some sewing."

"That's the most industrious girl in the country," said Joe with a laugh. "I shall have to buy goods by the bale to keep her in work."

Some way they did get through with the meal, Uncle Jason and Sam first, then one by one straggling out. Helen helped put away the food and said she would wash the dishes, and Aurelia and Fan might dry them. Why couldn't Aunt Jane go out on the porch and take a rest?

"I'm tired as a dog. I've gone since half past four this morning. There was so much to do. I declare, Helen, your coming over was just a special providence. When I get hold of you again, I'll see that no one coaxes you away. I was a fool to consent to it. But you'll soon be home now."

"Yes, go out and get cooled off and rested."

Aunt Jane was really glad to. Helen kept the two girls busy until the things were put away and the kitchen tidied up. The fire was out and the room getting cooler. The girls clung so to Helen, that she felt as if she would be torn in two. And sitting on the steps they wanted to know about the queer old woman, and didn't Mrs. Dayton make a pile of money? 'Reely thought when she was grown up she would keep boarders and have a servant. Did Joanna do everything?

"Oh, no. Mrs. Dayton helps, and I do a good many things when Mrs. Van Dorn does not want me."

"Is she very cross?"

"Oh, no," with a laugh of amusement.

"Not as cross as mother?" with childish frankness.

"You all annoy Aunt Jane so," returned Helen. "If you would go at once and do as she tells you, and try to remember."

"But I forget so easily," moaned Aurelia. "And I just hate to work."

"What would you like to do?"

"Play, and go out in the woods, and nutting. Oh, when will it be nut time? And then there's school."

"One can't play forever unless one wants to be a dunce."

"I like dolls," interposed Fanny. "And I'm making clothes for them. Oh, have you any pretty pieces?"

"It's time you youngsters went to bed," declared their mother.

"Where's Helen going to sleep?"

"Don't you worry about Helen."

The girls came and kissed her. Then she sat in the fragrant dusk and heard a whippoor-will; and Uncle Jason and Joe Northrup comparing crops, and telling yields of certain years. Aunt Jane fell asleep in the quiet. Jenny came down to her step and asked about styles, and what was in the stores, and if prices had gone down. Joe went home presently, and Jenny said, "Now come. You're going to sleep with me. This'll be your room when I'm gone. Oh, dear! I suppose some day you'll be married, too. Don't you take a fellow unless he has a house to put you in."

Helen felt in a strange whirl, but after awhile she slept. And Sunday morning was all confusion again. Joe and Jenny and Sam went to church; the company came, and Helen helped with the dinner, making the table look so pretty and tidy, that the dining-room was very pleasant. The four younger children were out in the kitchen, and once Aunt Jane had to go out and administer slaps all round to quell a riot.

Martha and her lover were very staid and sedate. Jane, the younger sister, was rather flighty, and plied Helen with innumerable questions about North Hope. She had heard the young girls went out every day to see the stores and catch the beaus as they came home from work. And did the people in her house have dancing parties every Saturday night? She had read in some magazine that it was the fashion to do so.

The two mothers were much engrossed with the coming marriages. The young people walked down to see Jenny's house; there was a light supper, and then they said good-by to each other.

It seemed to Helen she had never been so happy in her life as when she was once more settled in her round at Mrs. Dayton's. The order and quietness, the nice adjustment that she was beginning to understand and appreciate; the bright talk that went to outside subjects and did not revolve in one small personal round, was so much more interesting. True, Mrs. Lessing and her daughter discussed clothes, and the other ladies joined in, but it was on the æsthetic and artistic side. They talked of so many other things – daily events outside of North Hope. That was not all their world. It was the larger world that so interested Helen.

She and Mrs. Dayton discussed some possibilities. When Mrs. Dayton went away, Mr. Conway slept in the house, and took his meals elsewhere, but even if Helen could attend to the house it would not be possible to leave her alone in it. Then there would be clothes and various expenses. It was not as easy a matter to settle as it looked. Of course there was a sort of adoption of Helen, but Mrs. Dayton was not quite sure she wanted the responsibility. She had worked through a good deal of pressure herself, and was now where she could enjoy some of the pleasures of life as a compensation. There might be found a neighbor who would be glad of Helen's assistance – she would offer to provide her clothes.

Helen had settled herself at her reading one morning, when Mrs. Disbrowe just paused at the door with her baby in her arms, and nodded to Mrs. Van Dorn.

"Excuse me for interrupting, but there is a young man down on the porch who wishes to see Helen. He would not come in."

Helen glanced up in amaze, then smiled, as she raised her eyes to Mrs. Van Dorn.

"I think it is the young man from the library. Perhaps he found the book you wanted."

"Ah – that is quite likely. Run down and see."

Helen put her marker in, and laid down her book. But when she reached the porch and the caller rose from the wicker rocker, she stretched out both her hands with a glad cry of surprise:

"Oh, Mr. Warfield!"

He glanced at her, held her off and studied her again.

"Why, you have grown or changed or something," he exclaimed in surprise. "And it has only been such a little while! You look as if you were really glad to see me," and the smile gave him such a cordial expression.

"Oh, I am. You can't think how glad. And it is so unexpected – "

Her voice was fairly alive with delight.

"I crossed ten days sooner than I had planned. A friend wanted some papers which were in my possession, and I had to come out here for them. So I reached the Center just in time for supper, and went over to your uncle's in the evening."

There was an odd expression in his face – amusement and annoyance it seemed, and as if he was quite at sea. Then he said almost abruptly, "Let us sit down. There is a good deal of talking to do – or very little, as the case may turn," in a rather dry tone.

"Excuse me, while I go up and explain to Mrs. Van Dorn. Oh, I have so much to say, too. So many things have happened to me."

She was off like a flash, but he noted the grace of her movement; the air that showed she had capabilities beyond the usual untrained country girl. Would she have to be wasted on a second or third rate life?

"I suppose you have done nothing with the papers I gave you," he began, when she returned. "I have heard of your driving around, and your dissipation."