Helen Grant's Schooldays

CHAPTER VI

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."

"Oh, but I have," she replied eagerly. Then she gave a bright infectious laugh. "You can't think—why it seems now as if I had been at school all summer. I have learned so many new things about the world and the people in it. I have read books and papers, and found out about the places where you have been. Mrs. Van Dorn has been—well, nearly all over the world, I believe, and she has met musicians and artists, and people who write books and poems, and has seen kings and queens——"

"Then you haven't spent all the time reading novels? I was afraid you had. But your aunt—have you any idea of keeping on at school?"

"They do not want me to," she answered gravely. "But Mrs. Dayton thinks they have no real right to decide for me, if I can do anything for myself. And why isn't it just as good and honorable for a girl to work for her education when she is hungry for the knowledges in the world, as for a boy! And if I can do anything, don't you think they ought to consent?"

"Well! well! well!" his exclamation points were in full evidence. He studied her brave eager face, it had in it certain strong earnest lines, certain lines of prettiness, too. All before her was an unknown country. No one could truly map out another's life, and be sure of the making, but he knew he should not mar it as the Mulfords might in their ignorance of her desires and capabilities. He resolved to take a decisive hand in it.

"You don't want to go back to the Center?" He knew what her answer would be, but he desired to see the varying expressions of her face.

"No, I don't. Oh, I can't! I should be fighting with something within me all the time, and planning how to get out of it all. I want to learn. I want to teach, too. I want to see some of the great things in the world, some of the great people, and just live all through, every part of me, if you can understand."

How her face changed with every new thought.

"Really you have been making strides. Helen, you are not going to be satisfied with a holiday to see Belle Aurore. You are going to ask greater things."

"And Hervé Riel ought to have been given greater things when he had saved the ships for his country. Am I foolish to aim at the greater things?"

Her eyes were sparkling, and a brilliant color suffused her face, while the scarlet lips were quivering with emotion and resolve.

"I should like you to reach them. Have you any plans?" His interest was thoroughly awakened.

"Mrs. Dayton has been so kind, a real friend. I don't mean that Aunt Jane and Uncle Jason are not real friends. They have been very good to care for me since father died. Isn't it in not understanding just what satisfies you down in your soul. Jenny is very happy working in the factory. I should just hate it. And, oh, I think it would be dreadful for her to sit and read to Mrs. Van Dorn," laughing with a gay ripple. "We have talked, but not settled upon anything definite. Mrs. Dayton thinks she might find someone who would give me my board for what I could do nights and mornings and Saturdays, and she would help me out with clothes, for I know Aunt Jane would be very angry if I went against her wishes. And Mrs. Dayton wouldn't need me. She has Joanna, you know. Then, too, she goes away in the autumn——"

"Well, I must say you have gone pretty far along in plans. I felt quite discouraged last night, though I imagine I might have talked Uncle Jason into doing something for you. But your aunt thinks three years spent in learning to teach, and not being able to earn a dollar for yourself, is an awful waste of time. As if that was all there was to it!" disdainfully. "Helen, I could find it in my heart to wish you were my sister, then I could come to the rescue."

"Oh!" There was a world of exquisite delight in the tone that touched him to the very soul. "If I were! Why can't some people be in the places they would like? Some people are!" with an odd humorous laugh. "And it is the dissatisfaction that stirs you up; makes you ambitious. What is it that keeps up the dissatisfaction?" glancing at him with the smile still on her parted lips, yet full of perplexity.

"The knowledge that you are capable of doing something better, finer. If you were deficient in that, you could go to work cheerfully in the factory. You would enjoy associating with the girls."

"And then having a beau and marrying," she laughed. "Oh, I like books so much better, and knowing about the world."

"What of the examination papers. Have you found any time for them?"

"Oh, yes. There were some books in the library that helped. And such a splendid encyclopædia! I wrote them out once, and then I read a great deal more, and wrote them over again. I'll give them to you, and you must consider how good a chance I have of passing. Oh, if I should fail!"

"You could go in later on. I do not think you will. I have wondered about you so many times this summer, and I have always seen you under the disadvantages of the Center, and the few helps you would have. You might have written me a letter."

"Oh, did you mean that I should?"

She asked it in sweet, eager unconsciousness, which showed that it would have been a pleasure. He had not suggested it from a wonder as to whether Aunt Jane would approve.

"I should have enjoyed an answer about your new life," he replied with interest. "I am very glad this happened to you instead of an uneventful summer on the farm and retrograding, I am afraid. And you like this"—old lady, he was about to say, but checked himself—"this Mrs. Van Dorn."

"It's something more than like. I cannot describe it in any word, that I know, unless it is like something I was reading a few days ago, fascination. When she talks about the places and people she has seen it seems as if I could listen forever. And then, you may think this queer," and she colored vividly, "sometimes I like Mrs. Dayton the best. I wish I didn't change about so. It is the same with books. Am I very inconstant, fickle?"

"If we couldn't change our minds, think what fossils we should soon be," and he laughed good-humoredly. "Yes, I should like to see her."

She started, then she came back a step. "I have not really talked over the plan of—of earning my way with her," and her voice fell a little. "Mrs. Dayton thought it best not to say anything until we had some certainty. She is going away soon. Her real companion comes next week."

He nodded that he understood the delicate charge. "And where is Mrs. Dayton?"

"She went to market, and to do various errands. I should like you to talk to her about it."

"Yes, I want to," he replied decisively.

Helen went upstairs and was gone quite a while. He was thinking of the bright, earnest, energetic girl, willing to work her way. He must plan it out with Mrs. Dayton. She was the one girl out of fifty who could rise above circumstances. Yet her aunt would be more than vexed, positively angry.

Mrs. Van Dorn experienced a curious pang, when the girl's face brilliant with a definite emotion, flashed upon her with ardor in every line. What had moved her so? The eyes were luminous, the voice freighted with a new depth.

"Yes," she answered stiffly. "I must see this young man—he is young, isn't he? It seems to me he has been making a long call."

"Oh, we had so much to talk about, my summer here and all its pleasures, and the knowledge. Why, I told him I felt as if I had been at school all the time, I had learned so many things from you, and that you——"

She paused and flushed, wondering if the talk had been just right in the more delicate sense.

"That I was cross and queer, and full of whims——"

"Oh, I couldn't say that. It was about your journeys, and the people you had met. And he was so interested."

Mrs. Van Dorn was mollified, and added a few touches to her toilet, picked up a fleecy scarf, came downstairs with her hand on Helen's shoulder, and was duly presented. The man was young.

But the lady was an agreeable surprise. He had been a little biased by Aunt Jane, he admitted to himself. She was like some of the fine old ladies he had met abroad, who carried their age with a serene unconsciousness.

Mrs. Dayton was coming up the path, and gave them a little nod.

"Perhaps she would like your service a while, Helen," exclaimed Mrs. Van Dorn. "I should enjoy having a little talk with your friend."

Helen rose reluctantly. She would much rather have stayed. But in five minutes she was in full flow of an interested confidence with Mrs. Dayton, and then they sat down on the north corner of the kitchen porch, and peeled peaches for the luncheon, as it was getting late.

Mr. Warfield meant to suggest several things to Mrs. Van Dorn that could tend to Helen's benefit presently. She resolved to learn what he thought of the child's capabilities for advancement. In a certain way, though, they both parried skillfully, each gained a point, yet it was not the point Mr. Warfield set out to make.

CHAPTER VII

"Perhaps you know, Helen, you cannot use these. Some were last year's questions, some I guessed at, though I believe I hit two rightly. You sit down in the room, at the table, and a list is given you, and you write out your answers from your own interior knowledge, with no helps from books or friends."

Helen glanced up in dismay, her rosy cheek paled, her lip had a suspicious quiver.

"But I thought——" and she looked at the discarded papers, over which she had taken so much pains.

"My dear child, I wanted you to put in practice what you had already learned. Vacation is a trying time to the memory, unless one resolves the subject in one's mind. It would have been better for you to come up at once for the examination, but I didn't see how it was to be managed. Indeed, last night I confess I did not see how the plan could be carried through, and I am surprised at your courage and energy."

"Then the papers are of no use," she commented in a tone of disappointment.

"They have been of a good deal of use in mental training. You will find it much easier to write on kindred subjects. And I must say you have had a fortunate summer; so much better than anything I had anticipated for you. You have shown commendable courage in taking a step many girls would have shrunk from. I am sure that you will succeed, and some way we must all make it possible for you to go through the High School. I feel confident that Providence will smile on our efforts."

She glanced up soberly.

"You would have gone without hesitation when school closed in the summer?"

"Oh, yes." Then she laughed. She was the wholesome sort of girl, who could laugh at herself. "That was because I knew so little. And since I have found how much knowledge of every kind there is in the world, mine seems so small. I am afraid I don't want to compare myself with the people who know less, and those who know more seem so far ahead of me," she subjoined frankly.

"That need not take away one's courage. At eight and twenty you will know a good deal more, at eight and forty if you use life rightly, you will have discarded a good deal of the youthful knowledge, and taken on maturer thoughts. Schooldays do not end with the close of a school for vacation. You observe that goes on after a little rest. And the real scholars go on. All life is a school. I did some hard studying the fortnight I was in London. I shall do some more this winter. There is always something ahead of the one who loves knowledge."

He had a very encouraging smile for those who deserved it. He could frown as well, she knew, and this particular smile was used with discrimination; it was not the every-day pleasant look.

"So you will go next Tuesday. Louise Searing did not pass. She will keep you company. I must leave for New York in the train at four, and cannot be back before Wednesday. But I shall be thinking of you, and for my sake you must not fail. You see, it helps or hinders my reputation. I want all my five candidates to pass. There have never more than three gone from the Center school before."

"I will try my best," she returned. The thought that she would do something for him inspired her as well.

So they said good-by, and she went out to the kitchen. Two baskets of tempting Bartlett pears had come, and Mrs. Dayton, with a big kitchen apron on, and her sleeves rolled up, was beginning to pare them. As soon as Joanna had done the dishes she would can.

"If you wouldn't mind helping, Helen. Put that big kitchen sacque over your dress, and button the sleeves around your wrists. Pear juice stains dreadfully. And then we will talk about the plans. Mr. Warfield is a delightful gentleman to meet, and he is very much interested in you."

If Helen was two or three years older, she might repeat her mother's destiny, the lady thought, and Mr. Warfield was a much more attractive man than Addison Grant.

They discussed the examination, and Mrs. Dayton endeavored to inspire her with hope, and she was confident a place could be found for Helen.

"But how to get the folks at home to consent to any such step will be the puzzle. As soon as we know about the examination I will have a talk with your uncle. I think I can persuade him to look upon the plan in the best light for you, and you can stay here all September."

"But there will be Jenny's wedding about the middle of the month, Aunt said."

"And on the tenth the High School opens."

"Oh, dear! My schooldays seem a great perplexity," and Helen gave a vague smile. "Some girls' lives run on so smoothly, but mine appears full of upsets."

"Take courage and go on. I think it will come out right. But I shall not make a single plan until you have passed the examination."

Then Mrs. Van Dorn's bell rang.

Helen slipped off her sacque, washed her hands, and suddenly bent down and kissed Mrs. Dayton's forehead. "Oh," she cried with deep tenderness, "I wish I had a mother! I wish you were my mother."

Mrs. Dayton looked after her, as she flashed through the dining room. All her motions were light and rapid, yet she never ran over chairs, or bumped up against doors or corners. It was a grace born in her, and Mrs. Dayton wondered that it had not all been wrenched out of her by the crude bustling life at the Mulfords'. And she wondered how it would seem to have a daughter growing up who would love her and care for her. Helen was overflowing with gratitude, and one of the best features of it was that it abounded in deeds rather than words. She always wanted to do something in return, she often did it without stopping to inquire, daily little things that evinced thoughtfulness. After all, her three years' board would hardly be felt, there would be the summer vacation. Only, if she should be sent away somewhere to teach afterward. But there would be three pleasant years. She could afford to do it now, she had gone past the pinches, and was putting by a little every year.

Mrs. Van Dorn, upstairs on her couch in the comfort of a dressing sacque, was amusing herself with plans as well. She did like to enjoy outgeneraling people. And this young Mr. Warfield's confidence rather piqued her. The same thought had entered her mind that this enthusiastic girl might repeat her mother's story, and she had a fancy that it had been one of disappointment.

Years ago the daughter of a cousin, the only relative who had ever befriended her, after a prosperous married life of a dozen years' duration, was thrown on her own endeavors for a livelihood, with two little girls. She had a beautiful house in a pretty, refined town, but there was a considerable mortgage on it. Mrs. Van Dorn had come to her assistance; she was not all selfishness. With a little aid, Mrs. Aldred had established herself in a day and boarding school, had added to her house, and become the pride of the pretty town of Westchester. One act of Mrs. Aldred had gone to her old cousin's heart. She had paid the whole sum loaned, interest and principal, and sent the most heartfelt thanks. She was a prosperous and happy woman, and her girls were growing up into usefulness, one was teaching, the other would be an artist. There was no hint or suggestion that she should like to be remembered in anyone's will, or would be grateful for any gift. The principle of the incident really touched Mrs. Van Dorn, who paid Mrs. Aldred a visit, and on her departure left her what she called a little gift in token of her courage and business ability, a check for a thousand dollars.

"I'm going to take the good of what I have," she announced with a rather grim smile, "so I shall have the less to leave behind when I die."

That had been five years ago. Now Mrs. Van Dorn had written to know if the school was still prosperous, and what the terms were, and if she would take the supervision of an orphan girl who was ambitious, eager, capable of many things, a girl full of bright promise, amiable in temper, who was to be trained to get her own living if that came to her, but accomplished for society, if that should be her lot.

After her talk with Mr. Warfield she had made up her mind. He should not have his way in this matter. She would try her hand, or her money with this girl. She was going abroad again for the next year or two, and she would give Helen two years of education under Mrs. Aldred's supervision. Then she would decide if she wanted her, and in what capacity.

Fourteen only. Twenty would be young enough to marry. She would have six years of interest. If the girl came to love her very much——

The poor old heart had a hungering for ardent love, as well as admiration. And Helen Grant was grateful. To rescue her from a distasteful life like that at her uncle's, or a life of drudgery working her way through school would appeal to her, for Mrs. Van Dorn had discerned that the girl had a great hungry heart for all the accessories of finer living, though she did not know what the vague restless stirring within meant.

The carriage paused at the gate. "Help me into my waist," she said to Helen. "I've dawdled my time away finely. What have you been doing?"

"Peeling pears for canning," she replied merrily. "Mrs. Dayton picked out a dish of lovely ones for you, and put them in a cool place. They are luscious. I wonder if you would like to have one now?"

"Oh, no. That will be something to think of when I come back. The wind has blown up a little cooler, and I am glad. Get my bonnet, and the blue wrap."

They went downstairs together, and were helped into the coupé. "To the Postoffice first," she said. "We will wait on ourselves this time."

Mr. Conway always brought the mail up at six, though it reached Hope at three.

"Your friend, Mr. Warfield, is going to the city? He is very earnest that you shall take the examination. How do you expect to arrange about the High School? You will have to live here at North Hope."

Helen colored vividly, and a half-humorous smile parted her lips, and made dimples in the corners.

"I shall have to earn my own living someway," she answered courageously. "Aunt Mulford will be much opposed to it, but I think Uncle will see before long that it will be best. Mrs. Dayton will be a very good friend to me. It all turns on my passing the examinations successfully."

"And if you should not?"

"Then I must go back to the Center. But I would have another chance by the first of January. And I have quite resolved that if I do not accomplish it this year I will try next summer."

There was a charm in her courage and perseverance. Mrs. Van Dorn thought she had never looked prettier. She could not have taken so cordially to a plain girl.

They reached the Postoffice. Helen sprang out, and came back with an eager smile and three letters. Then they turned into an old shady street, and drove slowly.

One was from her lawyer in the city. The matter she had written of could be easily adjusted.

The next was in Miss Gage's fine, almost old-fashioned hand. Everything had gone on well, and she would come on Wednesday, prepared to go abroad, or anywhere at Mrs. Van Dorn's behest. A very suitable letter, but there was no suggestion of that wider living outside of her own home relations. She was an admirable companion, an excellent nurse for small ailments; she gave good value for what she received, but there was no refreshment of enthusiasm that had warmed her old heart toward this girl who seemed to rouse and stir one's thoughts, and give a breath of sweetness.

The third was from Mrs. Aldred, who would be glad to do anything for her relative. She was fond of girls, especially those who were bright and capable of advancement. She would insure her a home and training for the next two years, and fit her for either position, look after her clothing, and make her as happy as possible. Hers was in reality a home school. Her circle was complete with thirty boarders, all of whom were of unexceptional character, and Mrs. Van Dorn need not be afraid to trust her protégée at Aldred House, nor fear that any confidence would be misplaced.

She had meant to lay the matter before Helen this very afternoon, then she suddenly changed her mind. If the examination went against her, she would be the more grateful, if in her favor, it would be a card at Mrs. Aldred's. She would let the others plan, and amuse herself with upsetting their confident arrangements.

So they talked, instead, about places. Helen never tired of listening. Her vivid imagination pictured the scenes, while here she smiled a little, there her straight brows drew together in a little frown of condemnation, then the heroic appealed to her. It was so pretty to note the changes. Two years from this time would she be anxious about gowns and trinkets and frivolity of all kinds? Girls were risky creatures before their characters were really formed. Yes, it would be wise not to commit one's self too far to draw back, or substitute other plans.

"When is your old lady going away?" asked Uncle Jason, when he came in on Saturday. "Mother thinks she can't spare you more than next week. There's the house to clean, and the weddin' cake to make, and the children have to have new clothes, and goodness only knows all."

"But I was to have her a week in September," said Mrs. Dayton. "If Jenny is to be home——"

"Well, she'll be over to her house gettin' ready. We didn't make any such fuss when we were married. We got spliced and looked after things afterward. Well, Helen—how is it? I'm afraid you're 'most spoiled for living among common folks any more."

Helen's face was scarlet, as she glanced into this roughened sun-burned one.

"You've come to be such a lady," he went on admiringly. "Mebbe it wasn't for the best. You really ought to be somewhere else and grow up into the kind of women there is in stories. And your hands are so soft, there isn't a freckle in your face. There's mighty little Mulford about you!"

"Oh, Uncle Jason!" She flung her soft arms about his neck, immeasurably touched by the tone of his voice. Her eyes shone with the tenderness of tears. She laid her fond lips to his rough cheek with a delicate caress.

"Whatever comes," she began, after a pause, "remember that I do sincerely love you, and that I believe you would be willing to do the best for me if it was in your power."

"Your head's level there, child," with a tremble in his voice, and he kissed her fondly, a rare thing with him.

She watched him as he went down the path and climbed into the old wagon.

"I feel mean, and underhand, and deceitful," she cried passionately, turning to Mrs. Dayton. "I like to live along just on the square, and how the thing will ever get told, and whether Aunt Jane will let me stay, and whether it is all right, and why you should want things that seem out of your reach, and why someone should rise up and forbid you mounting the ladder that stands just at hand—oh dear!" and Helen burst into a flood of tears.

"You can tell it all next week. There's been nothing especially underhand. People don't usually get out on the housetops and proclaim the things they think of doing. And Mr. Warfield will be back. We shall all be ranged on your side."

"Poor Uncle Jason! And I haven't finished grating the corn for the fritters. The cold tongue looks splendid. And the cold chicken. Then we give people scalding hot fritters."

She was merry and arch again in a moment.

Sunday was soft and rainy, the sort of day one lounged about. Monday Mrs. Griggs came to wash, and as there were pears to pickle Helen helped with the ironing. Tuesday she trudged off to school with a beating heart. Louise Searing was there, one girl and two boys from the North Hope school who had been conditioned.

"I don't see what you can do if you do get in, Helen Grant," said Louise. "I'm going to stay with Betty all the week"—this was her married sister. "Or has Mrs. Dayton promised to keep you? That rich old lady is going away, isn't she? How did you like living out this summer? I went up in the mountains with ma. There were some young fellows and we had lots of fun."

"Hush!" said a teacher entering. Papers and pencils were distributed, the children placed far enough apart to prevent collusion. The lady took a seat at the desk.

Helen looked over her questions. Two were from the last year's list, she saw with joy, and she jotted down the answers carefully. The two problems she solved. The analysis rather puzzled her. One of the great seaports of the country, and of Europe. The notable travelers in Africa. Hannibal's journey across the Alps, his conquests and his stay at Brutium. Just a week ago they had been reading Hannibal's wonderful story, and his fifteen years' menace of Rome. How glad she was!

A rather stern looking man came in and took his seat by the lady. As the slips were finished they were signed and passed up. By noon Helen had answered five, when they were dismissed until two o'clock. As Helen passed across the room the lady signaled to her, and handed her three of the slips. She fairly clutched them in her hand and hurried away lest Louise should speak to her.

She did not dare open them. When she reached home, Mrs. Dayton was sugaring blackberries and placing the dishes on the waiter.

"Oh, Helen! You look roasted!"

"I walked so fast. Oh, will you look at these? I have not had the courage. I have done five, there are four more," she cried breathlessly.

"You poor child! Why, Helen, these are all right. It is splendid."

Helen dropped on a chair and wanted to cry from the sudden relief.

"You foolish girl, to prolong your anxiety. Here, take a fan and get some of the redness out of your face."

"I can't go in to lunch. Afterward I will go up and tell Mrs. Van Dorn. Please do not say a word about me," she entreated.

Joanna brought her a glass of iced lemonade, and she thanked her with overflowing eyes. Then she looked at the slips of paper and smiled. That was only three out of nine. What if the others should be adverse!

She had a little lunch in the far end of the kitchen by the open window, and quite recovered her spirits. It seemed as if the ladies would never get done talking over the table. Their loitering never fretted Mrs. Dayton, and Joanna had her lunch in the between time.

When the coast was clear she tripped upstairs smiling and steady of nerve, now.

"And it was so fortunate that we read about Hannibal," she exclaimed, joyously. "I knew, of course, that he crossed the Alps and menaced Rome, but if we hadn't read the history I should have been at a great loss to know just what to say. And one question about the Italian poets. It seems to me I have been learning all summer from you. I was a real ignoramus, wasn't I, except in mathematics. I owe you so much!"

She squeezed the soft wrinkled hands in hers, so plump and warm. Her heartsome cheery voice penetrated deeper into the poor old soul than anything had done in a long while.

She would owe her a good deal more in time. And she wondered about taking her abroad now. They could find teachers in plenty.

"Now I must go back to my four other questions. Just pray that I shall not fail anywhere."

"I have a feeling that you will succeed."

Two of the girls did not get through at four, but begged to stay, and it seemed hardly worth while to break another day, unless there were some new applicants. Helen remained. She saw her answers piled up by themselves. Then Miss Dowling beckoned her.

"You are an excellent student," she exclaimed, "and you have had a very fine teacher in Mr. Warfield. I think we must get him over here. You have missed only one question, and you go in with flying colors. I wish you were to be in my class, but I shall have to wait for you until next year. You live at the Center? You will have to come up to us."

The girl's eyes sparkled with delight at the commendation, and she expressed her gratification in a very pretty manner. Miss Dowling was exceedingly interested in her.

"I like those ambitious girls who are not puffed-up with vanity," she said to Mr. Steele. "Helen Grant. Do you know any Grants at the Center?"

"No. And the Center is the dullest of all the Hopes. We must find out about this bright and shining light. I'll take these papers home and look them over, and call around about nine."

Miss Dowling nodded.

"It's just too mean for anything!" declared Louise Searing. "I'm not sure that I shall even squeeze in, I've lost so many marks. I always did think Mr. Warfield was partial to you, and it isn't fair."

"I've been studying all summer," returned Helen.

"And working at Mrs. Dayton's. For goodness sake what did you do? And I can tell you it will make a difference with the real High School girls. Some here at North Hope are very stylish. So it is true you were out carriage riding half the time?"

The tone was unpleasant, half envious.

"I went out with Mrs. Van Dorn, and read to her, and did little errands. Her real companion comes to-morrow. And about the middle of September they are going to Europe."

"Oh!" Louise opened her eyes wide, rather nonplussed. Hope people did not often go to Europe. And if companions were taken, then it wasn't so bad to be a companion. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to begin to snub Helen Grant just now.

CHAPTER VIII

"I am very glad." Helen's voice was full of emotion, and she gave the wrinkled hands a soft caress. "It has been a delightful time to me. I am so glad Mrs. Dayton thought of me when there were so many nice girls in the world. It seems to me as if I was brimming over with happiness."

She could feel the thrill in the young hands. Ah, if she had found Helen just as she was now, ten years ago. But she was good for many years yet, and she would have her sweet young life, her charming womanhood.

"Would you feel very much disappointed if you didn't go to the High School?"

"Oh, I think now, it would break my heart."

"But if something better offered?"

"Oh, could there be anything better?"

"Can't you think of anything better?"

The girl was silent. In her narrow life there had not been much room for dreams of real betterment.

"Think, all around the world."

"Well," with a half laugh and a sound like a sigh not going very deep, "there would be travel all round the world. I hope some day to earn money enough to go—well I'll take London first. Then Paris, but I do not believe I shall want to stay there long, for you see I shall not have a great deal of money. And then Rome, dear delightful Rome, with all its old haunts, where its poets have lived and died. And that isn't half, is it? Is any life long enough to see it all?"

Her face was in a glow of enthusiasm, her eyes deep and luminous.

The woman had not begun very early in life and she had seen a good deal of it. She had heard hundreds of people wish for things, but very few who were willing to earn them, like this girl who had so little envy in her composition.

"Suppose someone would say to you, here is a school where you can be taught all the higher branches as well, music, drawing, painting, literature and all the pretty society ways that make one feel at home in any company. Would you go?"

"Oh, that is like a fairy dream," and she laughed with charming softness. "Why, I am afraid to look at it lest I should want it."

"That isn't answering my question."

She raised her face and studied the one above her. It was wrinkled and the eyes were a faded blue-gray. She did not guess the eyebrows were penciled, the lips tinted, that the hair just a little sprinkled with white had come from the hair-dresser's. The curious asking expression transfixed her.

She drew a long breath. "Why, that would be wonderful to happen to a poor girl who is thinking how she can work her way along. It would be like a glimpse of heaven. I should be crazy to refuse it."

Mrs. Van Dorn took both of the warm, throbbing hands in hers. "Listen," she exclaimed. "I like you very much. When you first came, I thought only of a little maid to wait upon me, and run up and down and stay with Joanna when I wanted to be alone. I was rather curious to know whether you understood what you were about when you recited 'Hervé Riel.' You have a great deal of natural or inherited intelligence—your father was a scholar. If you were two or three years older, I should take you abroad with me and finish you on the Continent, that is, if you had not too much self-assurance that growing girls arrogate to themselves so easily. But that is not to be thought of at present—it must be some dream of the future. You need real education and you are capable of assimilating the higher part of it. I should like to send you to a school I know of where you will get the best of training. And if you develop into the girl I think you will, there may be a future before you better than any of your vague dreams."

"Oh! oh!" and Helen Grant buried her face in Mrs. Van Dorn's lap and cried, overcome by a new and strange emotion. If the elder had followed her impulse she would have lifted the face and kissed it with the passionate tenderness that was smoldering in her soul, and had never been satisfied. But her experience in people had been wide and varied, she was suspicious, she could not trust easily, and here were at least two years that would go to the shaping of this girl's character. Might she not care largely for what the money would give her?

"My dear! my dear!" she began in a muffled sort of tone from contradictory emotions.

Helen raised her face of her own accord, and her eyes were like the sun shining through a shower.

"Oh, what must you think," and her voice had a broken tremulous sound, yet was very sweet. "I didn't see how anyone could cry for joy—but I am learning something new all the time. Are you in very earnest? Would you take me with you if I were older and knew more? And would you like to have me trained and made into the kind of girl that suited you?"

"A girl proud and honorable and truthful, sincere and grateful——"

"Oh, I would try to be all that. It seems almost as if I had been deceitful to Uncle Jason, not to tell him about the High School, but I was not sure of passing, and not sure that I could work my way through. And sometimes I don't tell Aunt Jane things because I know she would make such a fuss, and they are not bad in themselves, and often don't come to pass. But I hate falsehoods. It makes me angry when they are told to me."

Mrs. Van Dorn smiled at the impetuosity.

"But you would give up the High School for this other plan? You would be willing to go away among strangers, and trust me for the future? I will provide everything for you, you will not have a care, only to study and do your very best, and take care of yourself. Even if you should decide to teach rather than travel about with me, you would be at liberty to choose."

"I should choose you," she said frankly. "Oh, how can I thank you for anything so splendid! There are no words good enough."

She kissed the wrinkled hands fervently.

"The thanks will be your improvement. Westchester is a beautiful place, with mostly educated people. Mrs. Aldred, who is a connection, is a lady in the truest sense of the word. You will learn what the higher class girls are like—some are fine, some under a charming and well-bred exterior you will find full of petty meanness. I should hate to have you mean, grudging. I want you to keep broad, unselfish; though sometimes you will get the worst and the smallest measure in return. And you will be quite content to leave your people?"

A serious sweetness overspread Helen's countenance.

"If I had a mother who loved me, such a mother as Mrs. Dayton would make, I am afraid I would not want to leave her. Oh, I know I wouldn't," decisively. "But Aunt Jane never liked my father, and I think she didn't care much for my mother. Their desires and ideas are so different from mine, and they care very little for education, yet they are all good and kindly, and Uncle Jason is really fond of me, I think. But it seems as if when one had neither father or mother to be disappointed, one might choose what one liked best, if there was nothing wrong in it."

How did the girl come by so much good sense and uprightness?

"Then you will accept my proffer?"

"Oh, I can hardly believe anything so good can come to me. I feel as if I were dreaming." She looked up uncertain, yet her eyes were dewy sweet, her lips quivering.

"We will make it better than a dream. But we will have to disappoint your Mr. Warfield."

That gave Mrs. Van Dorn a secret gratification. She was jealous of two people who had come into Helen Grant's life, this man and Mrs. Dayton.

"Yes; he will be sorry, I know. But then he could not be my teacher, as he was last year. And, oh, how proud he will be that I passed so splendidly."

"And I shall be glad when you attain to other heights. I really think you will not need any urging. But don't go too deep in the abstruse subjects, and don't let anyone spoil your fashion of reading, for I may want you to read to me in the years to come."

"I shall be glad to do anything for you," the girl replied with deep feeling. "I wish I might spend years and years with you to repay all this generosity and kindliness. Oh, why do you go away?"

She flushed with an eagerness, a glow of excitement that gave her a frank, bewitching sweetness.

Why did she go? Mrs. Van Dorn had gone over the ground by herself. She had been tempted to settle herself for life, but did she want to help tone down the crudeness of the untrained nature, to prune the enthusiasms, to find little faults here and there? She would rather someone else would do the gardening, and she have the bloom in its first sweetness. While she was away Helen would idealize her still more, and be prepared to give her just the same girl-worship, but with more discrimination. She would think of nothing but the benefits. She would see none of the whims and queernesses that Clara Gage had grown accustomed to. She would not note her growing old every day. And then she had a longing for a change.

"Well, I had planned to spend the winter in the south of France. It is supposed to be better to have an entire change every few years. I spent one winter there. I had not been quite up to the mark, and it improved me wonderfully. Then, I have made most of my arrangements."

"But you will come back?" beseechingly. "I may not stay the whole two years. You think you will feel quite satisfied to go to Aldred House? You will be among strangers, but girls soon get acquainted. Of course, I could board you here, and have you go to the High School, but it would not be as well, and it would not make the sort of girl out of you that I should like as well, for two excellent reasons," smiling a little. "What is it?" as a grave expression touched Helen's face.

"You have the right to decide. I know I should like best to go away, but perhaps it will make some trouble for you. I think my aunt——"

"I shall have a talk with Mr. Mulford when he comes in on Saturday. A man is generally master of his house. And I will see how the plan appears to Mrs. Dayton. She is a very sensible person."

She had a talk with Mrs. Dayton that very evening. She would give Helen her two years' schooling, and then she would be old enough and capable of deciding what she would like to do for the future. If she should prefer to take up teaching, that kind of training would be necessary afterward. She had some fine capabilities, and it would be a pity not to make the best of them.

So Mrs. Van Dorn very clearly defined her own position in the matter, without betraying her full intentions.

"If she doesn't get spoiled," commented the listener with an odd smile. "It is a very generous proffer, and I believe Helen is capable of appreciating it to the full. It would be a hard thing for her to remain here and work her way through school, though I had a plan for easing it up somewhat. She is above the ordinary run of girls, though I didn't think of that so much when I asked her to come here. The qualities that decided me then were her cheerfulness and her readiness. I do not believe her aunt half appreciates her."

"She is of a little different kind," returned Mrs. Van Dorn. That lady possessed much cynical enlightenment as to the kinds. "There is a deal of talk about goodness in this world, and even an east wind may be good for something, but it isn't pleasant. You find an immense deal of narrowness in these old country places. Saturday when Mr. Mulford comes I want to have a talk with him."

Mrs. Dayton was really glad that the first explanation was not to come from her.

Miss Gage arrived the next day at noon. She was a quiet, sensible-looking girl, who might have posed for a very attractive one, if she had known how to make the best of herself. She had a fine clear complexion, quite regular features, an abundance of soft, light brown hair, and a slim, graceful figure. But she had begun life weighting herself up with care, and made many little things a matter of conscience that were merely matters of choice. She was honest to a fault, obliging, and with that rare gift of being serviceable. At first Mrs. Van Dorn had been much pleased with her, but she was too proud to accept many favors, and her heart was centered in her own family; perhaps selfishly so.

Helen seemed released from almost every duty, and was glad to devote her time to Mrs. Dayton.

"I should like to know what Mr. Warfield will think of the plan," commented the lady.

"Oh, he will hold up both hands for me to go," laughed Helen. "Everybody will, but Aunt Jane."

The boarders were all out Saturday afternoon; a party had gone picnicking to a pretty, shady nook on the Piqua River, where a little decline and a bed of rock made a dainty waterfall. So Mrs. Van Dorn and Mr. Mulford had the end of the porch to themselves.

She stated her plan in a very straightforward manner. For two years she would send Helen to school, assuming all the expense. After that the girl might take her choice as to what she would like to follow, and she would be willing to assist her in any pursuit for which she was best fitted.

Mr. Mulford gave a long whistle, and stared at Mrs. Van Dorn. There was something so amusing in his surprise that she could hardly refrain from smiling.

"Well, I swow! You must think a mighty sight of her, ma'am, to be willing to spend that money out and out, when she could get her schoolin' right here for nothin'."

"I think of her capabilities. She is ambitious, and can fill an excellent place in the world."

"She's a smart girl in everything, but the book learnin' she takes from her father. Mother's missed her quick handy ways about the house, and I'm afraid she won't agree to givin' her up. And back there, ma'am, I used a word not strictly orthodox, and I'm a deacon of the church. But I was so took aback."

Mrs. Van Dorn nodded her pardon. "You see," she said quietly, "that it isn't quite as if she had been given to you. Her father might have returned and taken her. Then, when a child is fourteen she is allowed to choose her guardians. I shall stand in that capacity for the next two years. I shall arrange matters with my legal man in New York, so that, even if anything should happen to me she would have her two years at school. People lose their wits, sometimes."

"I don't believe you will lose yours. You're wonderfully well kept," he said with blunt admiration. "Well, I d'know as we could do anything if we wanted to. Mother's had other plans for her, but the child didn't fall in with them. She was mighty glad to come over here. There isn't much Mulford about her," with an abrupt sort of laugh. "We never just got along with her father, but he was a good enough sort of man. We've tried to do by Helen as one of our own, and Mother would now. But I can't think it would be quite right to stand in the child's way."

"No, it would not," decisively. "She has her life to live, and you can't do that for her. She has some fine natural gifts which it would be a sin to traverse. I will have my lawyer draw up an agreement that you will not interfere during the next two years——"

"But are we not to see her?" he interrupted, quite aghast at the prospect.

"Yes; you may visit her, and she can spend her vacations at home, and write as often as she has time. I should change my opinion of her if she was glad to go away, and forget you altogether. I am sure, then, I could not trust her gratitude to me," she said decisively.

"No, ma'am, that you couldn't," he subjoined earnestly. "Helen isn't that kind, I'm sure. And we wouldn't like to have her go out of our lives altogether."

"I should not desire her to."

"But, ma'am, after she's had all this fine living and everything, I'm afraid we'll seem very common. You don't think she'd better go to school here, and keep nearer her own folks?"

"Well, the other plan seems best to me. But after she has tried it a year, if she doesn't like it she shall be at liberty to come back to Hope."

"That's fair, I'm sure. Thank you, ma'am. And I don't just know what to say, only that I think it's mighty generous of you, though she's welcome to my home and all I have. I've never grudged her a penny."

"I am sure of that. Will you explain the matter to your wife? The agreement will come next week. And at the last I shall take her to New York to be fitted out with clothes. If there is any point you do not quite understand I shall be very willing to explain."

He rose in a dazed kind of fashion, and made an awkward bow, then went round to the kitchen end, where Helen had been sorting over blackberries.

"Oh, my child," he cried with a new tenderness. "I can't bear to think of your going away!"

Helen gave a long, sighing breath, then smiled.

"Miss Gage is to be taken to Europe, and her folks are willing," she subjoined.

"And this place isn't so far away. You can write and come home in vacation."

Then he would consent. She felt relieved that there was to be no argument.

"What do you think Aunt Jane will say?" she inquired, clasping his arm.

"Well, she'll be mighty set against it. I'll have a hard row to hoe when I go home. There'll be weeds of last year and year before," laughing brusquely. "I wish the old lady had to tackle her."

"But I don't. Aunt Jane says a good many things at first that she doesn't mean. It's the wrong side of something full of seams and knots, but when you get it turned out it is ever so much smoother."

"You're right. You're just right. You've quick sight in a good many things, Helen, and I should hate awfully to have you spoiled, and get so grand you'd look down on us. Mother aint much for book learnin', and Jen's as smart as a steel trap, if she is ours. Oh, and there's the wedding. Why I don't see how we can do without you," and he looked really alarmed.

"Perhaps I won't have to go so soon." Somehow she was almost afraid she wouldn't go at all. It was one of the happenings that seemed too good to be true, too wonderful for her.

"Well, I must get along. Mother'll wonder what kept me."