Helen Grant's Schooldays

"And, oh, Uncle Jason, don't ever feel afraid that I shall forget you, and all your goodness."

Helen flung her arms around his neck and kissed his rough cheek tenderly.

"No, my girl, no. I should hope not. We'll hear soon, I suppose. And you will come over."

"Yes." Helen felt a little conscience smitten. She could go over and spend Sunday, but he did not ask it, and she did not proffer. She could imagine the time there would be, and oh, she would so much rather be out of it.

Mrs. Van Dorn said he was much more amenable to reason than she had feared. She explained about the agreement, and her plans to go the last of next week. Helen was transfixed with amazement.

Monday afternoon Mr. Warfield made his appearance. Miss Gage had gone out with Mrs. Van Dorn. Helen was very glad to have Mrs. Dayton explain the proposal, and point out its advantages.

"I don't like it," he exclaimed brusquely. "And you didn't take the examination?"

"Oh, yes, I did, and it was splendid! I'll show you the papers. But why don't you like it?" apprehensively.

"If you are going to teach in a public school, the discipline and advantages of the public school education are immeasurably the best. I don't like boarding schools except for the high up people who care most for accomplishments. And I have been thinking it over, and had a plan to propose to Mrs. Dayton."

"My schooldays seem a great perplexity all around," said Helen with a dubious sort of laugh.

"I do suppose Helen could have worked her way through. I had decided to give her a home, or her other expenses if a pleasant home offered. I would much rather not have her put on the level of a domestic. We may have some very fine theories on this subject, but Helen would have many snubs to endure. And if she resolves to learn what is useful, she will learn it as well there."

"But the experience will be so different. And two years will fit her for just nothing at all. Every year more real education is demanded. I am studying up for a college degree myself."

"Oh, dear!" Helen sighed lugubriously.

"Then, here, I should have had an oversight of your studies, and kept you up to the mark."

"I am resolved I won't fall below anywhere," she replied resolutely; yet there were tears in her eyes.

"But you don't know what the standard will be."

"Don't be discouraging, Mr. Warfield. Helen, go and get your papers," interposed Mrs. Dayton.

"Is that old body going to have Helen trained for a lady's maid?" Mr. Warfield asked in an imperious manner; his lips touched with a bit of scorn.

"You don't do her justice. At the end of two years Helen will be free to choose her future course. She will be only sixteen then."

"And spoiled utterly. Full of airs and graces. She is too fine a girl to be made a sort of puppet. There wasn't a girl in my class equal to her, and some had had much better advantages. I should not want her to go on living with the Mulfords."

Helen returned bright and eager, proud of her success as she handed him her examination papers. But Mr. Warfield would not be reconciled to the boarding school plan, and when he saw Mrs. Van Dorn step out of the carriage in her fine attire, he felt that he hated her; that she was an officious old body.

CHAPTER IX

She would hate the shop dreadfully. And after all the three dollars a week she would earn the first year, would not more than pay for her board and clothes. Jenny had gone at it with a vim. But she hated books. The only thing that interested her was arithmetic. Uncle Jason could not put it in words, but he could feel it.

The supper passed off without any squabbles. Sam and Jenny walked down to the house, the children were tired and went to bed, and Aunt Jane came out on the porch to take a turn in her rocking chair and fan herself cool. But the wind blew up, and she did not even have to fan.

"Did you ask whether Helen would come home next week? Polly Samson comes two days to make Jen's wedding gown, and she'll be married on the sixteenth. We've got along wonderfully the last fortnight, and I begin to see my way clear. Dear, how I shall miss Jen, but I'm glad she'll be so near by. And she bid 'em good-by at the shop to-day. Reely's getting to be quite a help. I don't know but it was better for her to have Helen away in vacation."

Uncle Jason felt this was the golden opportunity. The lovers would not be home until about ten. It took some courage. He cleared his throat, listened a moment to the crickets, and then plunged into the subject; blurting it all out before Aunt Jane could recover her breath. In fact there was such an awful silence he wondered.

Then the storm descended. He smoked his pipe and listened, though he heard the crickets with one ear, he would have said. And when he did not make an immediate answer, she said angrily:

"You never consented to any such tomfoolery!"

"In the first place," he began slowly, "we couldn't keep Helen against her will. Her father didn't make us guardians. At fourteen she can choose. She isn't bound to us, and we haven't any real claim on her——"

"Except common gratitude," Aunt Jane flung out.

"We've taken care of her a few years. I dare say there'd be people in North Hope who would take a smart girl like Helen and pay her three dollars a week. Mrs. Dayton thought she might stay there and go to the High School before that other offer come along. And Warfield thinks it would be dreadful not to give her a chance at school when she could earn it for herself. She doesn't want to go in the shop——"

"As if a girl of fourteen knew what she wanted!"

"Jenny did, and you agreed with her. I was awfully took by surprise when old lady Van Dorn first snapped this onto me, but Helen and Mrs. Dayton were so much in earnest, and then drivin' home I kept thinking it over. If someone offered to take Sam and teach him store business, and he had his heart set upon going, and it was a good chance, I don't believe it would be right to oppose him. It's just the same with Helen."

"And have her stick up above us and despise us! She's had pride enough, and I've tried to break her of it. I just wish I hadn't let her go at all. She'll be unthankful and full of conceit, and she never shall go with my consent."

Uncle Jason kept silence, which was very irritating. Aunt Jane went over the ground again, growing more dogmatic at every step. Then the young people returned.

"Goodness sakes, mother, what are you scolding about?" cried Jenny. "They can hear you half a mile away."

Then the story had to be gone over again.

"Well, I declare! I don't see that it's anything to get mad about," said Jenny sensibly. "Why, it's—it's just splendid! Pop, don't you think she ought to go? And if she likes teaching better than anything else, for goodness sake, let her teach! I'd rather go out washing. And a girl who don't like it in the shop won't get along. Helen hasn't quite the right way with her. She's on the Grant side of the fence. My! The idea! That old lady must have taken a smashin' fancy to her. And she has sights of money, folks say. Maybe she'll leave her something in the end, and she's quite old."

"I'm fairly stumped!" declared Sam. "Mother, what's the reason you don't want her to go?"

"Mother's afraid she'll put on airs, and crow over us. Goodness! Let her, if she wants to. I'm going to have a good home, and a good husband," squeezing Joe's hand, "and she may crow over me as much as she likes. It won't hurt me a bit. And if you undertake to keep her home she'll be cranky, and you'll wish you hadn't."

They were all on Helen's side. Mrs. Mulford could not make any headway and went off to bed in high dudgeon. All day Sunday she carried about an injured look, and said she had reached the time of life when her opinions were of no account, after all she had done, and where would anyone have been without her thrift and judgment?

On Monday Jenny helped wash and iron, and sang about the house. She told her mother the matter wasn't worth minding. Tuesday, Polly Samson came with three new patterns of wedding gowns, and fairly alive with the wonderful news that a rich old woman boarding at Mrs. Dayton's was going to adopt Helen, and send her away to school.

The next afternoon the carriage came over with Mrs. Van Dorn, Mrs. Dayton, and Helen, and the agreement. Certainly Mrs. Van Dorn's part sounded very generous. For the next two years she would provide wholly for Helen, and keep her at school, but she would be free in the summer vacation. After that Helen must decide her course. Mr. Castles, the lawyer, vouched for Mrs. Van Dorn. The Mulfords were to visit her whenever they chose.

"I don't agree to any of this," said Mrs. Mulford, in her most severe tone. "I don't believe in girls being brought up above their station. We're just plain farmer people, and Helen's our kin, though if she was on the Cummings' side, I'd have some voice in the matter. Mr. Mulford's willing, and if it turns out bad, and she grows up proud and lazy, and ashamed of honest labor, 'taint my fault. I wash my hands of it all," and she fairly wrung them out.

Helen's face was scarlet.

Mrs. Van Dorn said in a very dignified manner, "Will you sign this, Mr. Mulford? You will see the money is in Mr. Castles' hands, and must be used for that alone. You can compel me to keep my word," smiling.

"I don't doubt you at all," said Mr. Mulford. "I'd trust you without the scratch of a pen."

"But that wouldn't be business."

Jenny brought in some cake, and some very nice root beer. If the ladies chose they could have a cup of tea.

Mrs. Van Dorn thought she would.

Then they talked about Jenny's wedding. Helen was to go to New York on Saturday, and on Friday of next week was due at Aldred House.

"I'm awful sorry you can't come to the wedding," said Jenny. "We're going away for a week, then we shall have a house-warming at my house. I'm going to be married at noon, so the relatives can get home before night. And I'm sure I wish you loads of good luck. It is just wonderful. Mother'll get over it, and be just as proud as anybody. Father thinks it just right, and Joe says it's like something out of a story book. He's fond of stories, and used to read them to his mother. I shan't mind his reading to me, for I'll sew and crochet."

"And I know you'll be happy, Jenny. I wish you all the good things. And I could—stay all night," hesitatingly.

"No, I wouldn't. Come over and spend Friday, then mother'll be in a better humor," laughing. "But father'll miss you dreadfully. He'd lotted on your taking my place. Well, we'll all miss you, but it's such a splendid chance. You'll let her come over on Friday?" to Mrs. Van Dorn. "Then my wedding gown will be done. It's white lansdowne. I thought I wouldn't splurge in silk or satin. Lansdowne will dye when it's soiled."

Mrs. Van Dorn promised for Friday, and they said their good-bys. Helen ran out to the kitchen porch, and kissed Uncle Jason.

"There were two votes against it," said Mrs. Van Dorn dryly. "I think I can understand your aunt, but I don't see the force of Mr. Warfield's reasoning. Your cousin seems a nice, sensible girl."

How the days flew! One of the neighbors took her over Friday morning. Joe and Jenny would bring her back. And she had a really happy time. Jenny took her down to the house, and it was attractively nice and comfortable, even if Jenny had tacked up some advertising pictures in her chamber, and the dining-room. There was an old-time door-yard with its long rows of flowers. Joe was a master hand for flowers. The vegetable garden was in excellent order, and did not look ragged, as gardens were wont to do in early autumn. There had been a second crop of several things, which betokened thrift on Joe's part. Yes; Jenny would be very happy. People were different, and the same pursuits and pleasures could not satisfy all alike.

"I'm glad you are going to that school, Helen. You would never have liked working in the shop. It's suited me well enough, because I've been thinking of the money. I have two hundred dollars in the bank in my own name, and Joe is going to let me have the butter and egg money. But I don't know how I'll keep busy all the time, though I can help mother with the sewing. She'd counted so much on you. And she thinks now——" Jenny looked at Helen, and laughed merrily, "that if Mrs. Van Dorn would put the money out at interest that she's going to spend on you the next two years, it would be ever so much better for you."

"No, it wouldn't," returned Helen decisively. "Beside, what good reason would she have for doing such a thing? She knows I am just wild for an education. There are so many splendid knowledges in the world," and the girl's face was brilliant with eagerness.

"You've changed some way, Helen. I guess you always were a little different, though." Jenny seemed studying her from head to foot. "You're taller. My, if you had on long skirts, you'd be a young lady."

"I just want to be a girl for ever so long. Mrs. Van Dorn doesn't want me grown up."

"And I went in the shop when I was only half-past fourteen," laughing. "I made mother let me wear long skirts, and when I was fifteen Joe began to come round and bring me home from cottage meeting and singing school, but his mother didn't like it a bit. She wouldn't have let him marry if she had lived, but I was willing to wait and that maddened her. Now if she'd been nice, I'd a' been real glad to have her round. And I say to mother, don't you be getting cranky and snappy so as no one will want to live with you when you get old. Isn't that Mrs. Van Dorn rather queer?"

"She is so bright and intelligent, and has traveled about so much and read almost everything. Why I've learned about countries and their government, and what they do at Washington, and about Congress and our own capital, and the cities and towns that have mayors, and boroughs, and villages."

"Oh dear, all that would set me crazy!" interrupted Jenny, holding up her hand in entreaty. "I guess you do take after your father. Well my life suits me best. Just imagine me marrying a man like Mr. Warfield! Why I shouldn't know what to do—I'd rather work in the shop and have fun with the girls. But if all these things suit you, you ought to have them, when they are offered out and out to you."

"I am glad you think so;" and she gave Jenny's arm a caressing little squeeze.

"And I do hope you won't get so big feeling that you will be too grand to notice us. I'd like you to come next summer in vacation and make me a nice long visit. I think I'll be able to stand book learning for a while;" with her rather boisterous laugh. "And oh, you won't forget to write to father."

"No indeed," with tender warmth. "I never loved Uncle Jason so much as this last summer, though he's always been good to me."

"And he thinks a mighty sight of you, I can tell you," returned Jenny.

Then they walked homeward. There was a great ado bidding Helen good-by. Aunt Jane gave her some severely good advice, which was quite superfluous, seeing that she would not recognize the change in the girl's life.

Uncle Jason put both arms around her and kissed her tenderly.

"Be a good, honest, truthful girl," he said in a rather broken voice, "and then all the learning in the world won't hurt you."

The next morning there were some more good-bys. Joanna's was really touching.

"There's a good deal of knowledge it's nice to have," she said, "but I think your pretty ways must have come natural. And you do beat all at drying dishes."

Mrs. Dayton felt almost as if she was giving up a child. Would it have been better for her to have remained at Hope?

She was really astonished at the commotion the event created. Wasn't it a great risk to have Helen Grant go off with a strange woman? Just as if schools in Hope were not good enough!

"I never saw anything wonderful in Helen Grant," said Mrs. Graham. "Mr. Warfield pushed her ahead when he should have been taking pains with others, and I'll venture to say he helped her out with that examination. She couldn't have gone to the High School anyhow. And Jason Mulford is as stuck up as a telegraph post over her luck. We'd all laugh if it fell through in a year!"

As for Helen there were several days of living in absolute fairyland. The Hotel was a veritable palace to her, the ladies, queens and princesses. As for the stores they were beyond any description, only she thought they had been rehearsed in "Walks about Paris," but she was sometime to see the difference.

Mrs. Van Dorn displayed excellent taste in selecting Helen's wardrobe. It was simply pretty, fit for a girl in the ordinary walks of life. Her measurements were left with madame, who, from time to time would send her what was suitable and necessary.

She had been such a charming companion that Mrs. Van Dorn really hated to give her up. If she were only two or three years older! Her enthusiasms were so fresh and infectious, her health was so perfect, her readiness, her pleasant temper, the pretty manner in which she took any check or counsel, appealed curiously to the worn old heart still hankering after something all its own, that should exhilarate and bring her back to some of the freshness of youth. Two years. Well, there were women who lived to ninety-six, or even a hundred. She would take good care of herself and have this enjoyment in her later years.

Miss Gage took Helen to Westchester. It was a beautiful town with old trees and old substantially-built houses. It was the county town also, and twice a year presented quite a stirring aspect. The inhabitants were refined and intelligent. Four different denominations had churches. A lovely winding river ran on one side, full of suggestive nooks, dividing it from a neighboring State. A smaller one ran nearly through the center, crossed by several rustic bridges. Toward the east there was a rather high bluff going up, a woody sort of crest, and on this stood Aldred House, though it fronted on Elm Avenue. There were two terraces, and two short flights of steps to reach it, and a great wide veranda where a Virginia creeper and honeysuckle were burnishing their leaves in the sun.

"Oh," sighed Helen with a long indrawn breath and luminous eyes, "tell Mrs. Van Dorn that I shall be perfectly happy here, I know I shall."

And Mrs. Van Dorn wondered when the message was repeated. Youth was easily caught by newness. What if Helen should be weaned away by other friends? And there were girls born students who could not be satisfied unless with some profession or business. What if she should be one of these? The jealous old heart wanted all of her, all of the Babylon she meant to build with its pleasant gardens and fascinating nooks of variety. Well, Helen had cared for her old uncle, and she, Mrs. Van Dorn would be a hundred times better to her.

The reception room was cozy, with one open bookcase, some pictures, a great oriental jar full of trailing clematis and blazing sumac branches. Mrs. Aldred came in, a rather tall, sweet-faced woman with a voice that won at once, and a manner that had a welcome in it.

"I am very glad to have you come, and glad that I could oblige Mrs. Van Dorn in any way. I hope you will soon feel at home," she exclaimed.

"Oh, it is so lovely everywhere! And the journey for the last mile or two where you caught glimpses of the river, and in one place a great pile of rocks big enough to shelter some of the old Norse gods was enchanting. We have only one poor little river at home and there is but one really beautiful place in it. And I am sure I shall like to live here."

An enthusiastic girl, thought Mrs. Aldred. A fine, intelligent face also, perhaps too romantic.

Miss Gage gave her few charges and said good-by, as she was to catch a return train. It was early afternoon. Several of the scholars had arrived and were settling their rooms. Then Helen's trunk came up. Mrs. Aldred had been taking her through the long parlor on the opposite side of the hall, and the dining room, where instead of one long table, several small ones were cozily arranged. Back of this, toward the bluff, was the schoolroom, and the study room, with several small ones for recitations.

"I wonder if you would like best to be alone in a room or have a companion?" questioned Mrs. Aldred. "I sometimes give girls a choice."

"I like folks," returned Helen, frankly. "That is——" pausing rather confusedly.

"If they are agreeable?"

"Yes," said Helen, smiling.

"I will give you a room where you may have a companion if you like. Some girls get homesick at first if they are alone."

"Oh, I shall not be homesick," she exclaimed with gay assurance.

Up the broad staircase they trooped, though there were two smaller ones convenient to many of the rooms. There was a long corridor with small rooms opening on the one side, and a cross hall leading to those in front. In the double rooms were screens arranged to insure as much privacy as one cared for. A white bed, a sort of closet with book-shelves above, a bureau and dressing table, a wardrobe built in the wall, a wicker arm chair and a rocking chair, with a large hassock and a small one.

"Now," said Mrs. Aldred, "when your trunk comes you will empty it and put your clothes away, and the servant will take it to the trunk room."

It came up in a few moments. Then Mrs. Aldred left her with some kindly wishes.

Helen went to the window. It overlooked the southwest. There were tops of trees, then a depression that was the river, and over beyond fields golden in the sunshine,—that was the stubble of grain, others a dull brown with here and there a bit of green weed pushing up sturdily since the hay had been cut, young winter wheat over beyond, houses, farms, rising ground again and woodlands. Far over to the westward were the grand hills of another State. It was so much more beautiful than all the Hopes with their levels.

This wonderful thing had happened to her. Hardly a year, indeed it was at the beginning of the present year that Mr. Warfield had gone at her rather fiercely, she thought, and told her there was no use of dawdling and that she must pass for the High School.

"But I can't go to the High School," she had protested. That looked impossible.

"No matter, you can pass," he had said so sternly that she wondered why people must be cross when they were so much nicer in a pleasant mood.

Then Aunt Jane began to talk of next year when she should be through school. She roused suddenly, she "took hold" as people say and found that life meant something. Perhaps it was the growth out of childhood, the development of mind; country children were not analytical. She began to wonder about things, to ask questions that pleased Mr. Warfield and tormented Aunt Jane, and all these events, more than had come in the thirteen and a half years before, had happened in this little space of time. Eight months only.

"Oh dear, I wonder if things, incidents, come this way to all girls. I wonder if there is a time when you wake up," and she looked steadily at the sky with its drifts of gray white clouds as if it could answer.

"Well, I do suppose Jenny woke up, too. She wanted to go in the shop and earn money. Sam doesn't seem very wide awake, though he means to learn a trade. Yes, I think there must be diverse gifts. Oh, it's just glorious here! I wish Mrs. Van Dorn could know."

She did know one day before she sailed and her heart thrilled with a warmth it had not known in a long while. Clara was serene, useful, patient, but she did lack enthusiasm.

There were steps and voices, gay laughs, some new girls had come, some old ones rushed out to welcome them. Helen turned and saw her trunks and began to devote herself to unpacking. There was a best hat in a compartment. She opened the wardrobe door and on the shelf were two hat boxes. That was settled. The small articles she laid on the rug, and lifted out the tray. Then came the gowns and skirts, the shirtwaists and all the paraphernalia. She found places for them. But here were two very precious belongings, the Madonna she had once coveted, and a tall vase of roses with a few fallen leaves so natural that one felt inclined to brush them off. There was also an extremely fine photograph of Mrs. Van Dorn. Of course the artist had done his best and turned back the hand of time; she was not over fifty that day.

Helen was much interested in "settling." There were hooks for her pictures, so she stood up on a chair and hung them. There were several pretty table ornaments, her writing desk with its outfit.

Some one tapped at the partly-opened door. She found a bright rosy-cheeked girl with a fluff of golden red hair, and a laughing face.

"You are one of the new girls," exclaimed a merry voice. "I'm Roxy Mays, not half as hard as my name sounds. In full its Roxalana. I've tried several other ways of shortening it, but they are delusions and snares. I was named after a rich old great-aunt, she was my sponsor and consented to promise I should renounce everything desirable. Why is it that rich people have such ugly names and are always wanting to perpetuate them, or do you get rich on an ugly name? There ought to be some compensation. Now—have you any objection to stating yours before supper time?"

"Mine is Helen Grant."

"Oh, that is splendid and strong and easy to call. There was Helen Mar, and Helen of Troy, and several other famous Helens. Well, I like your name to begin with. Are you going to be a doctor?"

"A doctor!" Helen gave a little shudder.

"Oh, that settles it. You haven't the courage for all you look so brave. Two of our last year's graduates have chosen that walk in life. One goes to New York bound to work her way through, the other to Wellesley. Seven years of study, think of it and weep!"

"But if she loves to study?"

"Depravity of taste. Spider, ask in this timid fly hovering about your gates," and as Helen stepped back with a gesture of the hand Miss Mays entered and glanced around, though she kept on talking. "Do you like getting settled, and are you not bothered about the right places?—oh," with almost a shriek—"you have that lovely Bodenhausen Madonna! I have the Sichel and I never can decide which I like best. And then Gabriel Marx, and Dangerfield! We're not hopelessly modern, for I have the Sistine. Nearly every girl has it. And oh, who is this handsome woman? A Duchess at the very least!"

"That is—a dear friend," Helen flushed. "That must have been taken when she was younger. She is quite old now."

"Elderly. There may be old men and old peasant women in pictures, but the living women are simply elderly. Well, one wouldn't mind growing old if one could look like that. Have you ever been away at school before?"

"No," returned Helen.

"North, South, East or West? Brevity is the soul of wit. I sometimes set up for a wit when I can do it on a small capital."

"Rather southerly from here," laughed Helen. "A little country place called Hope Center."

"Hope Center. Helen Grant. Well that has a sound! You will do. What else are you going to put up?"

"I haven't anything else."

"That's delightful. Most girls bring so much from home, to cry over. You don't really look like the crying kind. And school girl treasures accumulate fearfully. It's nice to have a place to put the new ones."

She had a small photograph of Mrs. Dayton in her writing desk. There had not been any keepsakes to bring.

"Won't you come and be introduced to some of the girls? They are in Daisy Bell's room."

"Wouldn't I——" she hesitated.

"Be an intruder? Oh dear no. The sooner you get over these things the better. Come!"

She took Helen's hand and led her to a room two or three doors down. The screens had been pushed aside. On one bed sat two girls, two others were hanging pictures and spreading bric-a-brac on brackets and shelves. One of the girls was still in short skirts, and Helen felt secretly glad. This was Daisy Bell.

"Oh, thank goodness you're not grown up," cried Daisy, eyeing her from head to toe. "I wept, I prayed, I entreated for long skirts, and I couldn't move my mother, any more than the rock of Gibraltar."

"Well, you're not a senior. Why should you care?"

"How old are you, Miss Grant?"

"Past fourteen the last of June."

"Oh, how tall for that! I'm fifteen. But I have two older sisters, and they are always saying 'That child, Daisy,' as if I was about seven. How many sisters have you?"

"None. And no father or mother."

"You poor wretched orphan!"

"She doesn't look a bit wretched, Roxy Mays," said a girl who had been surveying her. "The juniors are all down there," nodding toward the lower end of the hall, "so you might have known she wasn't 'sweet and twenty.'"

"At what age do you begin to grow sweet so as to get ready for the twenty?"

"Oh, girls, don't let's hurry into the twenty. I'd like to stay sixteen three years, and seventeen four years."

"I wish they'd made the years longer. There could have been another month or two put in vacation time."

"What is Hope Center like?" asked one of the girls. "It doesn't sound like a city."

"It's the country, farms mostly. North Hope is the real town part, and quite pretty, with stores, and churches, and a library, and a small but nice park."

"There's a lovely old park here. Everything is old. There are the oldest women you ever saw. One of them shook hands with Lafayette."

"And I've shaken hands with ever so many people and not a Lafayette or a Washington among them," declared Roxy most lugubriously.

"Now look, girls, would you hang this picture here?"

"I think it's rather dark. Bring it over here."

"Yes, that's better. No one asks Miss Grant to sit down."

"'No stars were shining in the sky—
There were no stars to shine.'
No chairs were idly standing round,
In schools they never do abound,"

laughed Daisy Bell. "Miss Grant, sit on the bed. It won't break down."

"Oh, I don't mind," returned Helen.

"What I am to do with all these things!" moaned Daisy, glancing helplessly about.

"Miss Grant has begun sensibly. She did not cart a lot of truck away from home."

Helen had a mind to say humorously "There was no truck to cart," but two others began to talk at once, and she wondered how they could say such bright merry things. It seemed as if she had never seen real girls before.

Then Daisy finished up and they went down on the big back porch where chairs were plenty and hammocks were swung. Helen was introduced to another bevy of girls, some quite young ladies it seemed. They all went in to supper presently, and Helen found herself next to Daisy Bell. The six girls at this table were all young. Afterwards they went out of doors again and Miss Aldred joined them, welcoming several of the new arrivals personally. She had a very sweet face without being really pretty. She came over to Helen after a few moments and said in a low tone. "You are Mrs. Van Dorn's protégée. I hope you will be very happy among us."

"Oh, I am sure I shall," returned Helen.

At nine there was a hymn sung and a brief prayer. Then the girls dispersed, and at ten everybody was in bed.

CHAPTER X

There was such a sweetness and newness and beauty about it all, such a glow in her heart, speeding through every nerve at the wonderful happening. This lovely home, these pretty, merry girls, music, books, and a kind of living that filled and satisfied. Six months ago she was Helen Grant, was she really someone else now? She felt so, as if there had been some strange metamorphosis.

And that delightful, enchanting week in New York. Oh, how full of pleasure and happiness the world must be if a few little spaces could contain so much! And that she could have a share in the real blessedness of it!

Was that the big clock striking the half hour? One was to stop reading or studying at that warning and prepare for bed. Dreaming too, tempting as the picture was.

Helen had always "said her prayers." A wonder as to the real virtue of this had occasionally crossed her mind. So far she had only known a religion of habit; like the other habits of life. To-night a new thought possessed her. Did she owe this simply to Mrs. Van Dorn? If all good and perfect things came from God then this that was so supremely delightful, so almost marvelous of its kind must have been put in the kindly heart by some higher power.

She was curiously awed. Uncle Jason and Aunt Jane were church members, but religion had very little power in their lives. Yet Aunt Jane brought up her children to be strictly honest, and any bald falsehood she truly believed she despised. But injustice or the refusal to see the other side of the question was not connected in her mind with truthfulness. Like many other people the things she believed in and wanted, were right, not only for her, but others must be fitted to the measure. So Helen knew very little of the higher meaning of the word.

Mrs. Van Dorn paid a general outward respect to religion when she was with a certain kind of people, but she was of a sort of heathen who make gods for themselves. Her life was to be enjoyment now, since the early part of it had been hard and comfortless. If it had not been right, a form of reward for those dreary early years it would not have come to her. She thought it bad taste to array herself against beliefs that pervaded the world so largely. All sorts of disbelief coarsened women. She had listened to one great woman speaker who afterward became an Anarchist, and who even then denounced nearly all the moral precepts and attacked modern marriage, and was really shocked. She liked to keep what she called reverence for sacred things. And it pleased her to play Providence to people now and then, and impress it delicately on the recipients that they need look no farther than herself for the giver of their good.

But to-night Helen felt there was some power beyond, and she gave thanks sincerely to it. It was God who had made the world so full of beauty, it must be God who had put these noble and lovely desires in anyone's soul, so she went quite past Mrs. Van Dorn.

There were sweet and merry voices the next morning, but Helen had been up an hour or more looking over some poems in a choice selection. Someone tapped at her door, and she opened it. Miss Mays stood there smiling.

"I suppose you feel a little queer, like the traditional cat in a strange garret. Come down with us."

"To-day is a kind of lawless, irresponsible time. I dote on it. We had lots of fun last year because we came on Friday. It was Daisy Bell's first year, too. You learn to-day what the rules are, but you don't have to keep them. It's a grace day when you are not forced to get your accounts straight."

Helen turned and wished her mates goodmorning, and thought within herself that it was a very pretty thing to say, since the morning was so good. Yet she had a curious feeling within her, as if she was here under some kind of false pretense. She was so utterly honest she would have enjoyed explaining her exact situation, that she was here on the bounty of a friend, and not as these other girls who came from delightful homes, and had fathers to care for them.

Mrs. Aldred summoned Helen to her room. Occasionally this was not a pleasant call to make, but this morning it had no such signification.

All new pupils underwent this examination. Where she had been trained, what she had studied, and what her aims were, if she had any.

Mrs. Van Dorn had explained pretty clearly, and she had also said, "Don't spoil a very nice, honest girl by setting her up too high."

"What I would like to do most of all?" and Helen's eyes lighted with enthusiasm. "I think it would be to teach, because then you always go on learning. There are some things that girls and women do that seem to make you stop off short, turn you into another channel entirely," and she thought of the shoe factory and how narrowly she had escaped that.

Mrs. Van Dorn had been quite as non-commital with her protégée then, or had no real plans for her.

"Now let me hear what you have studied."

Helen went over the list and told of her High School examination and how she had passed. There was a girlish pride in it, of course, but no undue elation. Mrs. Aldred was much pleased with the absence of self-consciousness, the real delight in knowledge.

"You are very well grounded. Mrs. Van Dorn wished you to take up French; of course you will begin with Latin. And music."

"Oh!" Helen's face was radiant then. "Music! I never dreamed of that!"

"You will not enjoy the drudgery, but that has to come first. It is an excellent thing to be interested in what you are doing, to love it, but all studies are not equally pleasant. There are courage and perseverance needed."

"I shall try to do my very best for Mrs. Van Dorn's sake. It was so generous of her to send me here though I do think I should have managed to work my way through the High School."

What a frank, honest girl she was! How little she knew about the world! An astute person could turn her inside out and laugh at her innocence. It was a pity to spoil it, yet it would be worse to leave her at the mercy of a crowd of girls.

"This will be an entirely new experience for you," Mrs. Aldred began gently. "You have had very little acquaintance with the real world, and very little need to be on your guard. As one's sphere grows wider and more people come into it, there is occasion for"—how should she put it—judgment; no, that was not quite it; at this stage of a girl's life she was not likely to have a very correct judgment; "a little caution and reserve. Girls so often exchange confidences about their lives and their friends, and do not always look at things just as they are. Afterward they regret their unreserve."

Helen had been taking in every word, only she could not get the meaning of it, except that it seemed to her confused sense akin to her thoughts of an hour ago. She really studied the face before her, and Mrs. Aldred felt the scrutiny. How could she make the girl understand just what she meant? If Mrs. Van Dorn had been a little more explicit. If she were having the girl educated solely for herself the explanation would be easy enough.

Helen's directness solved the difficulty. There was so much ingrained honesty about her, and yet half the time lately, it seemed to her she had been on the very verge of deceitfulness.

"Mrs. Aldred," she began, with some hesitation, "I was thinking, this morning, when I heard the girls talk, that my life had been so different from theirs, and whether I had the right—" her face went scarlet then—"I don't know as I can just explain it," in some confusion, "but whether I was on an equality with them."

She said it out bravely. Mrs. Aldred admired her courage and her honesty.

"You certainly are on an equality with them here. If Mrs. Van Dorn had asked me to take you as a return for some past favors, you would still have been put on an equality, and I should not have considered it sailing under false colors. But she pays the usual terms for you, and the favor is between yourself and her. So you can dismiss all thoughts of that from your mind. I think she desires to have you trained in society ways, which you can do by watching the best examples and following them. You will like some girls very much, and girls are largely given to think that a true friendship must begin by telling each other all the little happenings of their lives. It is a good rule to consider in these matters whether you would like the girl to tell this over to someone who did not admire you so much, and who repeated it with little embellishments to the next eager listener."

"But she could not if it was a confidence," said Helen decisively.

"Girls' consciences are elastic," smiling a little. "I think they do not mean to make mischief, but I have known more than one regret caused by an incautious confidence. Girls have many things to learn before they are women, but a light and happy heart is the birthright of a girl and she need not hurry to outgrow it. Still one can study wisdom as well as other lessons, and like most of them, it is a lifelong study."

Helen was considering and wondered if she understood. She had never been counseled in this spirit. "I want you to know that you are in no sense a charity scholar, as the phrase goes, though I have had several who worked their way through school, gave for whatever they obtained, which is far from charity, I take it. I will only add, choose your friends, which implies some discrimination on your part. Did you like the girls at the table? They are all in the French class and they talk French during the five school days. That is not demanded of the new scholars. Monday we will begin in regular order and I will have your classes arranged."

Then she touched a pretty bell that stood on the table and Miss Aldred answered the summons.

"Grace, will you take Miss Grant through the schoolrooms?" she asked, and Miss Aldred smiled as she gave a gesture of assent.

Helen followed her guide. This was the general assembly room, here the different recitation rooms, here the drawing classes met and there were casts and busts and figures in plaster, and several very well executed paintings and drawings embellished the walls. Then the music room, and the study room had a piano in it also.

Helen was a trifle appalled. Education had seemed a rather simple thing at Hope. She sighed as she glanced up at Miss Grace.

"Oh, where is there time to learn it all?" she asked with a sinking at the heart.

"You do not have to learn it in one day or one week," was the smiling answer. "And every day it grows easier."

"But—music! I've never even touched a piano."

"Do you sing?"

"Yes, a few little songs and Sunday hymns. And sometimes out of doors I try to catch the bird notes. They are no special tunes, you know, but I always have to stop at the warble," and she laughed brightly.

Miss Grace nodded, rather amused.

"And I have never studied Latin or French."

"Everyone has to begin, though the babies in France talk French, which I believe once surprised a woman who was traveling in France."

"Oh!" Then Helen laughed gayly.

"And this is our drawing room. Once a month we have sociables, given by one of the seniors who has to arrange everything just as she would if she were in society. And the other girls are the guests."

It was a beautiful long room, with a bay window at the side which made a very pretty break in it. At both ends were double windows. The floor was matted, with rugs here and there. The furniture was simple and tasteful; two cabinets were filled with handsome china and bric-a-brac, and there was one case of elegant books. The real reading and study books, histories, and so on, were in the reception room and the study room.

Then they walked out on the porch where a bevy of girls had congregated.

"I have been introducing Miss Grant to the house," Miss Aldred said in her soft, pleasant tone, "and now you girls may tell her what we do and how we do it, and anything else that will not make her feel homesick."

Helen was sure she should never have one yearning for Hope Center.

"Oh, Miss Aldred, don't you think we might go down town this afternoon and introduce her to the town where she will have to find her social nutriment for the next ten months?"

"Social, indeed," laughed Miss Mays.

"Well, what is it? Our intellectual nutriment is here, and though we sometimes study wood and wilds you cannot exactly describe it as natural pabulum, and though we do a little shopping you can't designate it as financial forage. But we will not bother about exact definition until next week, so that we can go, Miss Aldred?" imploringly.

"I see no objection at present."

The stage had come up with some scholars, and Miss Aldred went to receive them.

"I am really going to take Miss Grant in charge. First, let us have a walk about our own domain."

The front and one side were devoted to pleasure and beauty. Some lovely old trees, a willow touching the ground with its long arms, two splendid Norway spruces, a great catalpa, maples, and one fine old elm. Two hammocks were swung in the shade, there were several rustic seats about, and a table that seemed to invite one to a picnic meal. At the back the decline was a tangle of wildness until it reached the little stream. Various wood asters were beginning to bloom, golden-rod, balsams, and several fine, white blossoms. Yet, it was rather shady and they all had a delicate appearance.

"And there is a path. You can go down," exclaimed Helen, rather wistfully.

"And get yourself torn by briers. We won't go down this morning, for there are pleasanter ways, and you will have enough of it when you go out botanizing."

"It is so beautiful. And over there is another hill." Her eyes were alight with enthusiasm.

"And the end of the town lies down in the valley. Now around here is the useful and a bit of orchard. The old branching apple tree gives us oceans of bloom in the spring, and we are allowed to despoil it as it seldom fruits. That's the useful—not exactly the garden of sweet herbs, but there are some in it. And here is the lovely grape arbor, if you are not afraid some fierce caterpillar or savage green worm an inch or two long may swing down upon you."

There was a long bench at one side, and the air was fragrant with ripening grapes. They seated themselves, and Miss Mays extended a cordial invitation to the merry group.

"Are we really allowed to?" asked someone, hesitatingly, a stranger to the privileges.

"In reason, yes. It would be most unkind and ill-bred to strip the vines and offer them for sale in the public market. I hope none of you have been seized with that intention. There are some more prisoners of hope," as another stage stopped.

"Why prisoners? Do they not come of their own accord," asked Helen.

"Oh, Miss Grant, they generally come of their fathers' and mothers' accord the first time. Did you really sigh to come?"

"I wanted to, yes;" in an eager tone.

"Depraved taste."

Helen looked surprised. That everyone of any intelligence should not long for an education amazed her. And these bright, pretty girls who must have congenial surroundings seemed the very ones to appreciate it.

They were still jesting when the luncheon bell rang. One new table was filled and some vacant spaces in several others. It was beginning to look like quite a family. But Helen had the feeling of being a guest at a hotel, just as she had been all the week. They dispersed to their rooms, and Helen tried to read a little, but the words were mixed up with French and music. She would like the music she knew. She listened to the sound of the piano on the floor below, and her whole soul responded to the melody. Had anyone ever been so blest before? It was like a fairy story.

"Well," exclaimed Miss Mays an hour or so later, looking in at the door, "have you a mind ready for a walk, to see the town. For I doubt if otherwise you can be introduced to it before next Saturday."

"Oh, yes," springing up with energy. "I begin to think strange places are—" she cast about for a word—"fascinating."

"How many strange places have you seen?" laughingly.

"Not many. A week in New York and the pretty places and wonders thereabout."

"New York is a marvel by itself. And I've never been there," sighing. "I suppose I may be classed as a Westerner. The western part of the State. I know several of those cities and Niagara Falls and the Canada side; we were there two months ago. I did manage to squeeze in, but the girls didn't want me a bit. Papa managed that," exultingly.

Helen had been studying Miss Mays' attire. Her gray frock and coat were just the thing, and her gray felt hat trimmed with scarlet and a bright wing. So she put it on and was ready.

"You can learn a good deal by watching other people," Mrs. Van Dorn had said. "And it is bad taste to make yourself conspicuous."

As they stepped out in the hall several others joined them. Mrs. Aldred nodded to them as they passed out.

"Did you see those two girls on the veranda? They look like twins and might almost as well be. They are fifteen, birthdays only a week apart. Mothers are sisters, and the fathers cousins. Alice and Annie Otis. They both have light hair, but one has darker eyes than the other. And the blue-eyed one is a little stouter. They are to room together."

"Roxy Mays, I don't see how you find out so much about everybody," said one of the group.

"By using my eyes and ears. One of them told part of this to Miss Grace, and the mother of Annie explained the rest to Mrs. Aldred, but I don't know which Annie is. I'll guess it is the plump one with a dimple in her chin. They have never been away at school before. You can tell that by their half-frightened look."

"Did I look half frightened?" inquired Helen, mirthfully, glancing around.

"I must say you did not. And we descended upon you so unceremoniously. It might be admissible to ask what you thought of us."

"That it was very kind of you to call on me. I should have felt much more strange if I had speculated all the evening and seen you first this morning."

"Now you see the benefit of rushing in where angels fear to tread. You were placed in our neighborhood, and we have been neighborly."

"I thank you very much," Helen returned gravely.

Elm Avenue ran straight down in the town, down to the river, indeed. But the beauty of Westchester was its main street that intersected this and ran parallel with the river about a quarter of a mile below the school, and was called Center Street. It had all that was of the most account in the town, the Court House, a fine building, a public hall with offices on the lower floor, two very pretty churches with their parsonages, several stores, post-office, and bank, and at both ends handsome residences with well-kept grounds. Being the county town, at autumn and spring it displayed a rather busy aspect; the rest of the time was given over to very delightful, refined social living. There had been some doubts at first as to whether a girls' boarding-school would not disturb the serene aspect, but it was not large enough, and kept very well in hand.

From Center Street, streets and avenues branched out both ways. These were substantially built up with large grounds and handsome gardens on the east side, stretching out finally to farms, and on the west running down to the river, that being broken by rifts and rather dangerous places, was hardly navigable for general business, though small sloops ventured up when the river was not too low. A mile further down was a bed of clay and a brick-yard, and two or three factories with a sort of hamlet. Three miles below were large iron-works. The railroad ran along the river, and left the town to its beauty and comparative quiet.

It was, in its surroundings, much handsomer than North Hope, and the style of homes betokened both wealth and culture, a town whose ways were settled, a town of the better class who had not to consider the ordinary chances of making money. Several of the houses were shut up in the winter, while their occupants went to the city for the season. Those who remained at home entertained themselves with various amateur diversions. There was a fine musical club that gave two or three concerts through the winter; another that had a course of lectures, and the churches gave fairs and sociables. The four denominations were represented, but the Presbyterians were the largest, oldest and most influential.

The small river was spanned by a number of pretty rustic bridges, and emptied into the greater one that divided it from the neighboring State, whose wooded heights and rocky bluffs were most picturesque. There were only occasional houses, though down at the brick-yard a small settlement was begun. And already the sun was throwing long shadows from the densest woods, where firs, cedars, and hemlock were almost black against the beeches and hickories, even now turning yellow at the point of the long leaves; chestnuts with the brown fringes of bloom that bore no fruit still hanging to them. Here and there a pile of rocks, gray and brown and dotted with glistening gems, it would seem, there were points that sparkled so. There a hollow that might be a dryad's cave, bunches of sumac in autumnal gorgeousness, tangles of wild growth, blackberry with its deep red leaves, cat-briar still green and glossy, and the confusion of wild woodland growth.

"Oh, how beautiful it is!" Helen exclaimed involuntarily.

"Where are you viewing the universe?"

"Over beyond the river. Do you ever go there?"

"Oh, yes, we row across. The school owns a boat. It is supposed to be good exercise, but it does blister your hands. There is a bridge farther up there, now you can see it."

The church spire had hidden it from view, but it was just a plain, partly-covered structure.

"We went over for our picnic. There are swamps of rhododendrons, and mountain laurel. That is beautiful even in the winter if you are fond of such things. Never mind them to-day. There will be some rambles over there presently. Let us look nearer home. What are you, religiously?"

Helen flushed. Was she really religious at all?

"I mean what denomination claims your family? We generally follow in their footsteps."

"Presbyterian," with a hesitating sound in her voice.

"Then this will be your church. Mrs. Aldred is a member here, and Miss Grace, but curiously enough Miss Gertrude leans toward Episcopacy, and she plays some of the old masses in a way that almost sweeps you along in her current. She is to be an artist. Last winter she was in New York taking lessons, and she teaches painting, but we haven't a very artistic lot of girls I think. Mr. Danforth is the clergyman here. You will like him I guess. My people are Methodists. That is my church 'way down below, but I often go there."

"Oh, let us get on to the stores," said one of the group. "Let me see—there are five of us. I'll treat to-day, that will make us five weeks going round. Only on Saturdays, mind."

They passed the bank, a very modest building with law offices on the second floor. Then the Court House, which was quite imposing, and a row of stores, larger and finer than those in Hope. An inviting ice-cream parlor with a rustic garden at the side, divided into vine-covered booths, claimed their attention, and they sauntered in, seating themselves nonchalantly.