Mildred's New Daughter

“The poor little things!” she exclaimed. “Uncle, do have them brought here at once, even if we must take the whole four.”

“We’ll not let you do that. We’ll do our share,” said Mrs. Augusta. “I should never have been in favor of sending them to the Cootes if I had dreamed they could be guilty of treating the poor little creatures with such barbarous cruelty.”

“No, nor would any of us,” said Arabella. “Has papa gone for them, Uncle George?”

“Yes, and will probably have them here in a few hours. I did not want you or my wife taken by surprise, Augusta, so came up to forewarn you of their expected arrival. And now I must hurry back to my business; so good-morning to you all,” and with the last word he bowed himself out of the room.

“Dear me, what a shame it is!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I’d just enjoy having that cruel wretch of a Coote thrashed within an inch of his life.”

“I, too,” said Olive. “How I wish papa and Uncle George had found him out long ago; still more that they had never given him a chance to abuse those poor children.”

“I’m afraid we were none of us quite so kind to them as we might have been,” said Arabella, “but now we are going to have a chance to make it up to them.”

“Yes, remember that, all of you,” said their mother. “Minnie, go and tell Miss Norris I wish to see her at once if she is at leisure.” Minnie hastened to do the errand, the housekeeper came, listened with evident interest to the story of the little orphan nephew and nieces expected to arrive that afternoon, received Mrs. Eldon’s directions in regard to the necessary preparations, and at once set to work to carry them out.

So the little party, arriving in due time, received a hearty welcome in both families and were made very comfortable, very happy; for though domiciled in the two houses, they were together a great deal through the day. Also they enjoyed their studies under the tuition of the kindest and most patient of governesses.

Mrs. Wood too was very kind to Blanche and Harry; so were their uncles, Cousins George and William, and Dorothy Dean. They seldom saw their Aunt Sarah, but when they did, found her far kinder than she had been when they were with her before. So were the relatives in the other house also, and to the four young orphans life was far more enjoyable than it had been since the death of their parents.

Yet there were days when things went wrong with them and they longed for a home of their own where they could all be together. Ethel in especial looked forward to such a time, and tried to learn all she could that would enable her to earn money to make a home and support herself and the others; and when any one of them was in trouble, she tried to cheer and comfort that one with the hope that some day the bright dream would become a reality.

She still indulged a faint hope that some day they would find, or be found by their maternal grandparents; but lest they should not, she was careful not to slacken her exertions to prepare for self-support. She was obliging and helpful by nature, and her older cousins soon fell into the habit of calling upon her to do their errands about the house, then occasionally at the stores, and to assist them in dressing for parties and calls, at length making quite a Cinderella of her. Her dress was simple and inexpensive, while they wore silks and rich laces and diamonds. She bore it all without murmur or complaint, making herself as useful as she could, never confiding her plans and wishes to them, but using her spare moments for the beautiful needlework taught her by Mrs. Coote, hoping that at some future time she would be able to dispose of it for money which would help in the carrying out of her plans for the future of herself and dear brother and sisters.

Thus two years passed, bringing no remarkable event. Then one October day – it was in the year 1859 – Ethel, who had continued to feel a great interest in the history of the country she now esteemed her own, was much excited by the conversation she heard going on among her older relatives, who were discussing the exciting topic of the raid of John Brown into Virginia, and his seizure of the United States arsenal at Harper’s Ferry.

She was only a listener to the talk, but afterward she searched the newspapers for information on the subject, and felt very sorry for John Brown because he lost his life in trying to set men free, which she thought was a noble thing to do – for to be a slave must be very dreadful, and surely God had given everyone a right to freedom, unless he had forfeited that right by some dreadful crime.

It was a time of great excitement among the Eldons as well as others; the sons, who had been born in America, feeling it even more than their fathers, who were but naturalized citizens. But they, as well as their boys, were opposed to slavery and anxious for the preservation of the Union.

George and William, the sons of the older Mr. Eldon, were frequently in at their Uncle Albert’s, talking over the subject with him and his oldest son Albert; and George at length noticed the deep interest taken by Ethel in all they were saying.

“Well, little coz,” he said at length, “what do you think of it all?”

“Oh,” she returned excitedly, “I do hope this great, grand big Union won’t be broken up! Do you think it will, Cousin George?”

“Oh, no,” he said with a reassuring smile. “The Southerners are only talking, I think; they would hardly be so foolish as to begin a war when the far greater part of the Union would be opposed to them.”

“Oh, I am glad to hear that!” she said with a sigh of relief, “for war must be a dreadful thing.”

“Yes; especially a civil war.”

“Civil?” she returned in a tone of surprise. “I thought civil – was – was – I understood that it was right and good manners to be civil to people.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, smiling and patting the small hand she had laid on his knee, while gazing earnestly and enquiringly into his face; “it sometimes means to be courteous, polite, well-bred, but when applied to war it means a fight between people of the same race and country.”

“And a dreadful kind of war it is when brother fights against brother,” sighed his father, sitting near. “But I can hardly think it will come to that in this case. I think there are few besides the leaders in the South, who would be willing to imbrue their hands in the blood of their brethren.”

“And they are not oppressed, uncle?”

“No, not by any means; they have been having only too much, of their own way and domineering over the rest of the nation. Slavery has had by no means a good effect upon them; it has made them proud, haughty, heartless, selfish, and cruel.”

“No,” said her Uncle Albert, “they have been the oppressors rather than the oppressed; caring only for getting and keeping wealth and power for themselves, and treating their fellow-citizens of the North as beneath them; ‘the mud-sills of the North,’ they are calling us.”

“It is easy to call names,” remarked William; “that sort of warfare requires neither courage nor talent; and so long as they content themselves with that the North will, I think, let them alone severely; but let them secede and attempt to set up a separate government and it is at least doubtful if the loyal North will continue to let them alone.”

Ethel listened eagerly and her fears were relieved for a time. But the very next day came the news that South Carolina had seceded, and it seemed no one could tell what would follow. The daily papers were read with eager interest. The Southern leaders seemed to be crazed, and whirled their States out of the Union one after another without pausing to learn the wishes of the rest of the people; many of whom were strongly opposed to their action and certainly had as indisputable a right to remain in the Union as those leaders to go out.

Ethel hardly understood what was going on, but continued to read the papers and listen to the talk of her elders with a dazed and confused feeling that a great danger was drawing near.

But one Saturday evening, April 13, 1861, news came flashing over the wires that almost struck the hearers dumb with astonishment and dismay. This was the despatch: “Fort Sumter has fallen after a terrific bombardment of thirty-six hours.”

People heard it with sinking of hearts. Was the Union to be destroyed? Was it, could it be possible, that those who should have loved and honored the dear old flag – the beautiful, starry emblem of our liberties – had so insulted it? It was a bitter thought, and men wept as at the loss of a dear and honored friend.

The Sunday that followed was a sad one; but by Monday morning a reaction had come; at whatever cost the nation should live was the verdict of the people; the President had written with his own hand a proclamation, and the telegraph was flashing it east and west to every city and town:

“I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, in virtue of the power in me vested by the Constitution and the laws, have thought fit to call forth, and do call forth, the militia of the several States of the Union to the aggregate number of seventy-five thousand, in order to suppress this combination against the laws, and to cause the laws to be duly executed.”

At the call patriotism awoke and showed itself in a furor of love to the Union and the flag as the emblem of its power and glory, and rapid voluntary enlistments for its defence followed, soon furnishing more troops than the President had called for.

The young men in the Eldon families were as full of patriotic excitement as any others, George and Albert being among the first volunteers in their State, their fathers giving a ready consent, mothers and sisters also, though many and bitter tears were shed over the parting, by Ethel as well as the nearer relatives, for she had grown to love them both, especially her cousin George.

Then the mothers and older girls joined the aid societies and busied themselves with work for the soldiers – making shirts, knitting stockings, scraping lint – and Ethel, full of interest for the cause and of pity for those who must do the fighting for the Union, spent as much time as could be spared from lessons and waiting upon her aunt and cousins, in sharing in those labors; doing so gladly and without any urging or solicitation; she only wished herself old enough to be a nurse, since, being neither boy nor man, she could not enlist as a soldier.

The younger children, too, were anxious to help and took such part in the work as their tender years permitted. It was hoped the war would not last very long; almost everybody thought it would be over in a few months; yet no one could be certain that his or her dear ones might not be killed or sorely wounded in the meantime, or that the struggle might not be prolonged far beyond the time for which enlistments were made at the start.

Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Keith had not forgotten the Eldon children or ceased to feel an interest in them, and occasionally Ethel had a letter from one or the other, which she answered with great painstaking, telling frankly such news of herself, brother, and sisters as she thought they would care to hear.

A letter from Mrs. Weston came for her about the time that her cousins left with the other Philadelphia troops in response to the President’s call, and from it she learned that Mr. Keith, too, had enlisted; also some of his brothers living in Indiana.

“And now,” continued Mrs. Weston, “we women who cannot do the fighting, are banding together to do all in our power to add to the comfort of our soldiers engaged in the struggle to save our dear country from being rent in pieces. We expect to be very busy, but not too busy to be glad to see you and your brother and sisters if you are allowed to pay us a visit this summer. Mrs. Rupert Keith will probably be with us for a time, perhaps all summer, but that need not interfere with a visit from you little folks.”

That invitation Ethel and the others were allowed to accept in the summer vacation. How much had happened meantime! the attack on the Massachusetts troops as they passed through Baltimore in response to the President’s call; the seizure of Harper’s Ferry and Norfolk Navy Yard, besides several battles, some in the East and some in the West.

And the very day of their arrival at Mr. Keith’s came the sad news of the battle of Bull Run, speedily followed by the President’s call for three hundred thousand more men to suppress the rebellion.

It was a time full of excitement, of almost heart-breaking distress, over the disaster, followed by the determination that the rebellion must and should be crushed, cost what it might.

Mrs. Rupert Keith was in sore anxiety and distress till the welcome news arrived that her husband, though in the battle, had been neither wounded nor taken prisoner. The other ladies, though in deep distress for the land they loved, were suffering less keenly than she, as they knew that Mr. Donald Keith was too far West to have been in the battle.

Ethel and Blanche wept bitterly, fearing that their cousins George and Albert had been in the fight and were killed or wounded. But in a day or two a letter from Dorothy brought the welcome news that though among the troops engaged, they had escaped unharmed.

CHAPTER XIV

As the war went on and Ethel heard frequent allusions among the older people to its great expense and the rapid rise in the price of all the necessaries of life, she felt an increasing desire to be able to support herself, and her brother and sisters. Except to them she said nothing to any one of her relatives of that ardent wish, though constantly revolving plans in her mind and asking help of God to carry out some one of them.

She was so young, however, that for several years praying, thinking, and trying to learn every useful art that those about her could teach, was all she could do.

Every summer she, Blanche, Harry, and Nannette had the great pleasure of a visit to Mr. Donald Keith’s; and to the ladies there Ethel opened her heart, earnestly asking advice as to her future course.

Both replied, “You are too young yet to go into any kind of business, and are doing the right thing in trying to learn all you can.” That gave her great encouragement, though she felt it hard to wait, and often wished she could grow up faster.

The Cootes had moved away in less than a year after the children were taken from them, and another and very different man, with a lovely wife and several children, had taken charge of the church and possession of the parsonage; all of which added very much to Ethel’s enjoyment of her visit to that neighborhood.

Both there and at home the war was ever the principal and most absorbing topic of conversation; each victory for the National arms brought joy – alas! not unmingled with poignant regret, often almost heart-breaking sorrow for the slain – to each family. George and Albert Eldon were in many engagements, both were wounded at different times, yet they escaped without loss of life or limb. First one and then the other came home on a short furlough – for they had re-enlisted for the war – were made much of by friends and relatives, their parents and sisters in particular, and wept over anew when at the expiration of their time of leave they went back to rejoin their regiment; for they belonged to the same one.

Mrs. Keith or her mother occasionally wrote to Ethel. In March of 1865 a letter came, telling the young girl they would be in the city the next day to get a sight of Mr. Rupert Keith – who had been at home for a time, a paroled prisoner, but was now returning to his regiment, having been exchanged – and of his nephews, Percy Landreth and Stuart Ormsby, lads of seventeen, who had just enlisted and were with their uncle on their way to the seat of war – and inviting her to meet them at the station, as they would like to see her and felt sure she would like to see the soldiers, who were ready to give their lives for the salvation of their country.

Ethel was delighted and easily obtained permission to go.

The troops dined in Philadelphia, and the Keith party had time for a brief interview with their relatives and friends with whom Ethel was. She was introduced to and shook hands with them. She was pleased with the looks of both uncle and nephews, and their evident ardent devotion to the cause of the Union for whose defence they had enlisted.

She and others watched with tear-dimmed eyes as again the troops took up their line of march for the South, keeping step to the music of the band. Would they ever tread those streets again? or were they doomed to die on some battlefield, or starve and freeze in those filthy prison-pens of Andersonville, Belle Isle, and Libby? Ah, who could say? And when would this dreadful war be over?

The last soldier had disappeared from sight, and with a sigh Mrs. Keith turned to Ethel.

“We have a little shopping to do, my dear,” she said; “so will have to bid you good-by unless you may go with us and care to do so.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I think I must go home now, when I have done an errand or two for Aunt Augusta and Cousin Adelaide,” replied the young girl. “But aunt told me to invite you ladies to go home with me to dinner. Won’t you?”

“No, my dear; we must finish our shopping and hurry home to our little folks, who are sure to be wanting mother and grandma. Take our thanks to your aunt, and tell her we hope to see her at our house one of these days.”

So the good-bys were said, and the two ladies walked away in one direction and Ethel in another.

She visited several of the larger stores, making small purchases with which she had been entrusted, then turned into a side street and was pursuing her homeward way, when passing a drygoods retail store some little fancy articles in the window attracted her attention, and she went in to look at them more closely and price them.

She was waited on by a middle-aged woman of very pleasing countenance, with whom she presently fell into conversation. There were ready-made articles of women’s and children’s wear on the counter and in the show case, and in the back part of the store was a sewing machine with a partly finished garment upon it.

“I see you have some very pretty aprons and other ready-made things for children,” remarked Ethel, “and you make them yourself, I suppose?” glancing toward the machine as she spoke.

“Yes, miss, but I don’t get much time for sewing since I have no one but myself to tend the store; except when mother finds time now and then to wait on a customer. That’s not often, though, for the house-work and the children keep her busy pretty much all the time from daylight to dark.”

“Then I should think it might pay you to have a young girl to wait on customers.”

“Yes, miss, if I could get the right sort; but most young things are giddy and thoughtless, some inclined to be saucy to customers, and others not perfectly honest. I’ve had several that tried me in those ways; then I had a really good, honest, and capable one; but she had to leave because her father and brothers went off to the war, the only sister left at home took sick, and she – Susy, the one that was with me – had to go and help the poor mother to do the work and take care of the invalid.”

A thought – a hope that here might be an opening for her – had struck Ethel, and timidly she put a few questions in regard to the work required, the time that must be given to it, and the wages paid.

The woman answered her queries pleasantly and patiently, then asked her if she knew of someone who wanted such a situation and would be at all likely to suit.

“No, I – I am not certain, but I think perhaps she might if – if her friends won’t object,” stammered Ethel confusedly and with a vivid blush.

“Is it yourself, miss?” asked Mrs. Baker, the storekeeper, smiling kindly into the sweet, childish face. “I feel right sure we could get along nicely together if you’re willing to make the trial, though to be sure you’re rather young.”

“Oh, I should like to,” returned Ethel in eager delight. “I – I’m an orphan, and have a dear little brother and two little sisters, and I want to earn something to make a home for us all, so that we can be together and be independent.”

“That’s right; independence is a grand thing. But if it’s not an impertinent question, where and how do you live now?” asked Mrs. Baker, with a look of keen interest.

“We have two very kind uncles who give us homes – two of us in one house and two in the other. We see each other every day, but that’s not just the same as living together.”

“Well, but, dear child, you couldn’t support four – yourself and two others.”

“Not now, but maybe after a while, if – if I learn how to make money and work very hard and don’t spend any more than is really necessary.”

“Your wish to do all that does you a deal of credit, but I’m afraid you can hardly accomplish so much. My husband is gone to the war, and it’s almost more than I can do to make a living for mother and the children and myself. So you see I couldn’t pay a big salary to a young thing like you or to anybody; especially till you, or whoever it was, had learned something of the business.”

“Oh, no, certainly not! But I’d willingly work for a little till I learn enough to be really worth more,” returned Ethel half breathlessly; for she seemed to see some hope – some prospect of an opportunity to begin her long-desired effort to attain to the little home she and Blanche, Harry and Nannette, had been talking of for years.

“Well, I like your looks, and – perhaps we might try it,” Mrs. Baker said after a moment’s cogitation, “though I’m afraid maybe your folks may not be quite willing.”

Ethel colored at that. “I think I’ll try it, if you are willing,” she said. “I think I could sell goods – wait on customers, I mean, make change, and all that; and I know how to use the sewing machine – we have one at my uncle’s where I live, and I’ve learned on it. So I could help with that, if you want me to. Indeed, I’d try to make myself so useful that you wouldn’t want to get rid of me,” she added with a smile.

“I don’t believe I should,” returned Mrs. Baker pleasantly. “Well, you may come and try it, if you like.”

“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed Ethel, her eyes shining. “When shall I begin?”

“To-morrow, if you like; but if you’re really decided to come we’d better settle about the terms. You’d expect to board and sleep here, I suppose?”

“I suppose so, if you want me to,” returned Ethel with a sigh, thinking of Nannette’s distress on learning that she was to be left alone at Uncle Albert’s.

“Yes, I’d rather you would,” said Mrs. Baker. “I’ve a right nice little bedroom for you opening into mine. Shall I show it to you?”

“Yes, if you please.”

They went into the back part of the house, leaving the store in the care of Mrs. Ray, the mother of Mrs. Baker, up a narrow winding stairway and into a small room opening on one side into the hall, on another into a larger bedroom. Everything looked neat and clean, but the furniture was scant and plain, by no means an agreeable contrast to the room Ethel now occupied at her uncle’s, or indeed with any room in his large and commodious dwelling.

Ethel was conscious of some sinking of the heart at the thought of the not pleasant exchange, but independence was sweet; still sweeter the thought of getting even one step nearer the realization of her dream of the little home of their own for herself, brother, and sisters.

And it was quite as good a room – as well furnished at least – as the one they had occupied at Mr. Coote’s.

Mrs. Baker could almost read the young girl’s thoughts in her speaking countenance.

“I dare say your room at your uncle’s must be far better furnished and larger than this,” she remarked. “I wish for your sake I had a nicer one to offer you.”

“But one can’t have everything in this world,” returned Ethel, forcing a smile, “and I had rather be independent even in a small and poorly furnished ten by ten room than living on somebody else in a palace.”

“That’s a right feeling, I think,” said Mrs. Baker. “I don’t have any great amount of respect for folks that are willing to live at other people’s expense when they might take care of themselves.”

With that she led the way down the stairs and into the store again, where they continued their talk till they came to a definite arrangement. It was that Ethel should come in a day or two and try how she liked the business, and how well she could suit her employer. She told of the needlework she had been doing at odd moments for the past years since her return to the city, and of which she had now accumulated a large supply, and asked if Mrs. Baker would like to buy them of her for sale in the store.