Helen Grant's Schooldays

CHAPTER XI

Two of the teachers had arrived on Saturday evening. Madame Meran, the French teacher, who also gave music lessons to the younger pupils, and Miss Lane, who taught Latin and German to the few who desired it, and had dreams of college life. Mrs. Aldred made no specialty of this, but some of the pupils insisted on remaining until that time. There were two divisions in the senior class, two in the junior. Helen was glad that Daisy Bell was in the B. division. She was not as gay as Roxy Mays, but there was a quality of tenderness in her that was very attractive.

She was not quite sure that she would desire to make a warm friend of Miss Mays though on Friday evening her whole heart had gone out to her. She could turn any subject into ridicule so easily, she could seize on small foibles and distort them with such a winsome grace that they were amusing at the time, but when one thought them over afterward one saw the little stings that were left behind.

It was so different from anything Helen had dreamed of. At first she thought she would have been happier going to the Hope High School and working her way through. There was a feeling that she did not truly and honestly belong in this circle of girls, many of whom had rich fathers and luxurious homes; and she wondered if some day she would come to have the careworn and unsatisfied look that Miss Lane had. Miss Lane had taught ten years, beginning when she was nineteen. So she was twenty-nine.

"And I do not believe she has ever had a lover," said Miss Mays. "She looks so."

"What kind of a look is that?" questioned someone.

"Why that discontented, hungry expression, that curious alertness, as if you were looking for something that had never come, and you were afraid never would. Girls, if I had to live until I was twenty-nine unmarried——"

"Well, what then?" queried three or four voices.

"I'd find some way of finishing it out at twenty-five."

"Oh, you couldn't," cried Daisy, shocked.

"Well, there are sisterhoods in churches and they are very respectable. My great-aunt Roxalana has been married twice, both times to rich men. She's eighty-six now and looks like a fright, though it is said she was a very pretty young woman. It's safe to say that when your compeers are all dead. Oh, I do hope I will never outlive my beauty."

They all laughed at that.

Days were divided up like clock-work. You were called at six while the mornings were light. Breakfast was at seven. At eight there was a study period. Quarter before nine they assembled in the small seated room called the chapel, by courtesy, and at nine went into the schoolroom. At eleven they had ten minutes' recreation, then study until twelve; an hour for luncheon, and two hours' study and recitation again. Two afternoons a week music lessons. Dinner from five to six; from seven to nine study period, unless one could get through sooner.

Helen thought this first day that she had never really studied in her life. She had a quick memory, at least, so it had always seemed, and an absolute genius for mathematics. History, as far as she had gone, was a delight. But the Latin! Was there any sense in it? Did the old Romans talk in that tongue? And what was the use of it now, when Rome itself was Italian.

"You will understand the use of it by and by," said Miss Lane. "I am afraid, so far, what you have acquired has come too easy, but a year hence you will be laughing over this when you hear some other girls moan."

If the Latin was a trial, the music was still more so. When slim fingers glided over the keys with chords of melody it penetrated her very soul, and she just drew in long breaths of delight. But hers were not slim fingers and running up and down the scale seemed as much beyond her as conversing in Latin.

"You are in too great a hurry. You go too hard, with too much force," said Madame Meran.

All that she had done thus far in life had been done in a hurry, except waiting on Mrs. Van Dorn, who took everything leisurely. She tried not to run upstairs, as she found only new girls did that, and not to walk heavily on the uncarpeted floor. And she was glad enough of the experience at Mrs. Dayton's. She was not an awkward girl, and she watched the others with keen eyes. A fortnight passed before the school was full. One day Mrs. Aldred summoned her.

"You said the first day you came that you liked people," that lady began smilingly. "As yours is a double room and the other part needed, I am going to give you a choice. You can have a small room to yourself or Miss Daisy Bell will share yours, and the new scholar take hers."

"Oh, I should like that," her eyes shining with pleasure. "But if she——"

"She is quite willing. This is a first year for both of you, since she only came last Easter, and you may be able to help each other. She is already a fair musician and has had a year's tuition in Latin; in several English branches you are much in advance. Then you have a study habit, and that she lacks."

"I am glad I have one good quality," and the eager face flushed with gratification.

"You have more than one," smiling. "You are too impatient about learning. Everything does not come by nature, and there may be many years to devote to it."

"I think of only two. I want to crowd in everything I can."

"Do not look so far ahead. It is better to live day by day; better to do to-day's duty."

"But I am falling behind all the time. I spent Saturday trying to catch up, instead of having a good time. And I do so want to walk in those haunts over the river, those woods and wilds, before the frost comes on."

"You were brave to give it up. They are beautiful even after frost, and there will be some time to spare. The first week, the first month, indeed, is generally the hardest. Then I'll send Miss Bell to you? I think you will make good comrades."

"Oh, I shall be delighted."

She almost ran into Daisy's arms in the hall.

"I was coming to tell you some news," exclaimed the girl eagerly, her eyes shining with pleasure.

"About——"

"Oh, I know Roxy Mays ferreted that out! I do believe it is as she says, a bird in the air tells her."

"No. Mrs. Aldred spoke to me."

The sweet face lighted up instantly.

"That is all right then. I like to have the telling of something first, don't you? I think we shall get along nicely. I should not like every girl——"

"Oh, thank you;" laughingly.

"That is true of us all, isn't it, or most of us? I would not like to room with anyone who was not neat, I'd like someone fond of study to spur me on. I'm dismal at algebra, and I can help you in the Latin. And then your room isn't crowded up with everything. I think so much makes you tired. And this is an awful heresy, but I am tired of Gibson girls, and nearly all having the same pictures and ornaments. It isn't restful. Think of Claudine Marr's room. I wonder if she ever draws a good, unimpeded breath? I'm not surprised that she has headaches."

"When I am tired I look out of the window at the most beautiful picture I have ever seen. And I think how it will change all the autumn."

"And be dreary in the winter."

"I do not believe I feel about leafless trees as most people do. You see all the fine little twigs and branches, some days in a gray-purple sort of haze, some days tipped with shimmering gold, then silvered with moonlight or sparkling with frost, and I am content that the leaves drop off so that you can see how really wonderful they are. And when the wind tosses them all about, nature seems rocking them with a lullaby, you feel as if they were in some degree human."

"Oh, Helen, you ought to be a poet," Daisy exclaimed enthusiastically.

They had walked to Helen's room. Her clothes were all in the closet, her books lay on the table, only her writing-desk was on the chair. She had added nothing to the room, but she did want a case of shelves. And oddly enough she had not encroached on the other side. Daisy wondered rather at that.

"Then I may move in at once."

"Oh, yes. I shall be delighted."

"Come and help me empty my closet."

Helen did this with pleasure. They had a gay time settling things and were all in order when Miss Mays came flying along the hall.

"So you have formed a partnership, have you? I had half a mind to suggest it last night when we heard that Miss Craven was coming. I've just been introduced to her, and she's a positive fright. Lean, long, and lanky, beautiful alliteration, is it not? Helen, she would have given you the nightmare."

"I am satisfied," and Helen nodded with a secret feeling of exultation as she met Daisy's eyes.

"What conspiracy are you hatching now?" glancing from one to the other.

The sound of the dinner bell was sufficient excuse for not answering. For once they had the innings.

The new scholar was at the next table to them. She was tall and looked, as Roxy said afterwards, of a very uncertain age. Her hair was a rather dull light brown, her eyes a sort of hazel with bluish lights, which made them dull, and a complexion that would never be fair, with quite a shadow under the eyes. The features were not bad, but something was needed to give them life.

After the study period the two girls went upstairs with their arms around each other.

"Let us run away to-morrow and have a walk and a splendid talk about trees," said Daisy. "I was thinking all dinner time that I needed to be introduced to them. I believe I am only acquainted with Mr. Evergreen and Mr. Horse-chestnut. It bothers me to tell an elm tree from a maple and a white-skinned beech from a white birch."

"Oh, dear! I've promised to devote the afternoon to scales. I've had a little Latin hammered into me, but I am almost afraid that, extravagantly as I love music I shall make small headway in the divine art. And Madame Meran was good enough to offer me an extra lesson."

"Then we will take it some other Saturday."

"How delightful it is to be together!"

Then they kissed, girl fashion, for the first time, and uttered a tender good-night.

Two rooms away Miss Craven was crying softly and wishing she had not come here. It seemed an out of the way place, it was a small school, and Mrs. Aldred's letter had been encouraging. There was all the fortune for her alone. If it had come earlier, while some of the others were alive to share it! She, too, longed for an education so that she might be more able to enjoy it.

"Have you written to Mrs. Van Dorn?" asked Mrs. Aldred on Saturday morning.

"I intend to this morning. And to my uncle."

Mrs. Aldred nodded approvingly.

Mrs. Van Dorn had said, "In a fortnight you may write me a letter. Then once a month."

So it had been a fortnight. She found a good deal to say. She liked the school very much and described her room-mate, her new studies, the little she had seen of the town. And there was an enthusiastic gratitude that satisfied the waiting and doubtful heart.

There was a good deal to say to Uncle Jason, and yet it was rather difficult not to write too rapturously. When she had finished that she bethought herself of Mr. Warfield. He had asked her to write.

She found no trouble here. Indeed the luncheon bell rang before she had quite finished.

"You can go down to the post-office," Daisy exclaimed. "I want some stamps and some sewing cotton. Roxy borrowed mine."

She hurried her letter in the envelope. Daisy had asked permission. She sent her letters on their way with a light heart, though as she came back it was rather heavy. Such a golden day as it was. And several of the pupils were going out botanizing with Miss Grace. They all liked Miss Grace very much. A girl less used to giving up would have considered it very hard. But she enjoyed every moment of this brief walk and came home with a great bunch of asters.

"If you only were going! I should take twice the pleasure. Helen Grant, I do believe I have fallen in love with you."

"I am very glad," returned Helen with shining eyes.

To think how she had run around the woods in Hope and never thought of the wonderful beauty God had scattered so lavishly everywhere. This delight was knowledge. Jenny never felt it as she walked in and out to the factory. And Aunt Jane called it nonsense!

Madame Meran had some needlework and sat by her counting time, fingers and thumbs. Helen was so in earnest she could not help being interested in her.

"Oh, do you suppose I ever shall learn?" she inquired with a discouraged sigh. "And I love music so."

"That is my hope about you. I have seen worse beginnings. You will never make a wonderful pianist, but you have a really fine voice, and it is nice to be able to play your own accompaniments."

"And someone I care for very much desires me to learn, someone to whom I owe a debt of gratitude. So I shall do my best."

Then she went on steadily and did master two or three points.

"Now you may go in the study and practice, as I have to take Miss Craven in hand, and I can trust you."

"Oh, thank you!" cried Helen delightedly. She was just as honest as if Madame's eyes were on her. She gave the full hour although her wrist ached, and her thumb seemed to lose its agility. But she had made a slight advance, she could see that. And there were ten months to be given to study.

She went out on the back porch presently, and then almost to the edge of the flat space. One could go down the hill, even that was school grounds, fenced in at the sides, and up here where there was a gate, kept locked for the most part. The sun was going down behind the next hill, and across in the other State, almost as if there were two suns. What gorgeous coloring, changing, melting into new and indescribable tints and burnishing here, making scarlet shades there as if the tree-tops were on fire, and the rocks molten silver. How could it take on or give out so many colors?

She had an impression someone was near and turned. It was the new scholar. There was a wistful expression in her eyes that touched Helen. No one had taken any special notice of her. Helen remembered her own warm welcome. Of course, now everyone was busy with lessons and had settled upon her friends and chums.

What could she say? To ask her if she felt at home would be a platitude, and Helen knew she did not come any nearer, as if she might be intruding. What a slim figure she had, and her frock was of fine, soft material that clung like the draperies in some of the "studies." She wore a very handsome chain and the watch edge just showed above her belt. Her hands were long and thin and she had a nervous manner of using them. She wore two beautiful rings.

Helen took a step towards her. "I wonder if you had such a battle with music as I did," she began, with girlish gayety. "It seemed as if I must have tried Madame's patience until there was nothing left for you. I am beginning to wonder how an excellent player who has an ear attuned to harmony can endure such stupidity."

Miss Craven stared with a sort of uncertainty.

"I should not think you were stupid. You look so bright and vivacious."

"I am afraid I wasn't born with the art of music along with the love for it."

"I have studied a little, alone mostly, and find I have some bad habits. And I like it beyond everything."

If she only wouldn't be so stiff and distant!

"I never touched a piano until I came here. And one can't expect to be an expert in four lessons," Helen said in a half-humorous tone.

Miss Craven flushed and it was not a pretty color.

"You like it here? Were you a new scholar this year? You look very young."

"I was fourteen in the summer. Yes, I am a new scholar. But I have grown very much at home."

Then there was a pause. Helen bethought herself of the other question.

"Yes, I like it extremely. It is such a beautiful place. I've been studying the sunset and wishing I could paint a picture of it. I've come to wish so many things of late," laughing at herself. "And I like the teachers. I don't know many of the seniors, and I am in junior B."

"I am taking some private lessons," hesitatingly.

Poor girl! She could not even have passed a junior B examination.

"There's such a pretty girl at your table. Her hair is the color one sometimes gets in a sunset, a bright gold, and yet it isn't the color so much as the curious waviness and stir all about it. It seems alive. And her complexion is beautiful, her eyes fairly laugh."

"That is Miss Mays. She isn't really in our class. She's an 'A' scholar. Every month someone new is elected for hostess. You are at the head of the table. You see that everything is served, that no one is—well, not exactly rude or awkward, but not up to the mark. And you keep a certain order."

"I spilled my coffee this morning. My spoon was in my cup and I just touched it with my cuff. I wish I could have gone through the floor or run away. But one has to learn all these nice things if one means to—to be anybody."

"I learned some of them in the summer. I was with a friend," and Helen flushed without quite knowing why. "I was a regular country girl—on a farm."

"I was too. I begin to think I ought not have come here, but I did not want to go where there were one or two hundred girls, and I did want to learn nice ways," hesitatingly.

"Then this is the very place to come."

"Only I did not imagine they were all rich girls; that is, society people," awkwardly.

"Oh, they are not. Two of the seniors mean to teach next year, so they cannot be rich. And one girl is going to an art school and means to work her way through. Of course most of them have fathers to care for them."

"I have never had anyone to care in that way. And it is curious, but on my father's side I have not a single near relative, perhaps none at all. And my mother was an only child."

"I have neither father or mother," returned Helen. "But I have some very kind relatives on my mother's side."

"It is dreadful to be all alone, and to think——"

Miss Craven paused and compressed her lips, looked indeed as if she would cry, but winked very hard. And then Helen noticed that she had lovely long lashes, much darker than her hair and that her upper eyelids were thin, almost transparent. It was queer how she was beginning to see these little points of comeliness.

"Oh, there are the girls!" she said.

They were winding round into Elm Avenue, with great bunches of wild flowers and bright leaves, and one girl with an armful of golden-rod.

"I am much obliged for the talk," and with a sudden abruptness Miss Craven disappeared.

Helen looked after her a moment. She was lonely and unhappy. She would like very much to know her story. The girls speculated upon her and decided that she was a nobody come into a fortune. Private lessons, of necessity, cost more, so she must have money. Then her clothes, though not showy, were expensive and had a true modiste air. There was evidently something she did not want the world to know; she had not been used to society, and she was hopelessly plain. Miss Mays made rhymes about her on the Lear nonsense pattern. You really couldn't help laughing at a great deal of bright criticism she indulged in if her comments were rather sarcastic.

Helen ran down the steps out to the sidewalk, looking happy and merry.

"You poor child, you are not yet resolved into a demi-semi-quaver or any other shaky thing. But you should have been with us! I was awfully afraid of snakes, and one had to sit down and help to pick out the beggar ticks, though I long to give them the old-fashioned, appropriate country name. Why such things were allowed to grow I can't see. We discovered a new rivulet meandering down the mountain side, and a royal bed of ferns, and one of two new specimens of bloom. As for you—I observe the jabberwock has not slain you, so I suppose you conquered him!"

Helen laughed as she took Roxy's outstretched hand, which she could not very well help, and said, "I have the answer of a good conscience."

"And we have the answer of sights and sounds and a wonderful sunset."

"Yes, I saw that."

The girls were talking across each other and showing flowers. Becky, the general factotum, brought a jardiniere and put in all but the golden-rod, which was reserved for a tall Japanese vase, and they were set on each side of the hall door. Then the crowd went to fix up a little for dinner.

Helen stole a furtive glance over at Miss Craven. She was simply stolid, indifferent, and went to her room while the others paced up and down the piazza in twos and threes, exchanging confidences, or someone sang a song in the long parlor. Miss Lane, down in one corner of the veranda, was telling Greek legends to half a dozen girls. It was a picture of friendly content and enjoyment.

"I wonder if Miss Craven is crying in her room?" and Helen really longed to go to her. She was so overflowing with happiness.

CHAPTER XII

"Oh, no. That is from Mr. Warfield. I could tell that hand among a hundred. Isn't it strong and quite as if he knew his own mind?"

She was positively eager with delight as she reached out her hand.

"He is no relative?"

"Oh, the Principal of the school where I went. You know I told you of the interest he took in me."

"Of course you have read the school regulations in your room?"

Helen's bright face was suddenly shadowed.

"Oh, I do believe—I did forget all about it. I wrote to Mrs. Van Dorn and then to my uncle, and there seemed so many things I wanted to say to him, and I just hurried them down. You see he asked me to write to him——"

Helen paused embarrassed. She knew just where the little card was tacked beside the door. Various rules and regulations and hours and a notice that no correspondence would be allowed without permission, to any gentleman except father and brothers or guardians. And she had never thought of it at that moment.

"It must have been because he seemed to me like a guardian," she explained. "That does not excuse my inattention, but please believe me, Mrs. Aldred, that I didn't willfully break the rule. And you may read the letter."

"You have the right of the first reading of it. Sit here, will you?"

Helen cut the end of the envelope, and was soon lost in it. Smiles passed over her face, then she drew her brows in a little crease and the lips were pressed together with a touch of annoyance. Then the smiles again.

Mrs. Van Dorn had asked that Helen Grant should not be allowed to correspond with Mr. Warfield. She did not approve of his influence over Helen. It was too purely masculine. And Helen was too young to have a man friend. It might divide her school interest, and she had selected Aldred House because she wanted Helen to have the best feminine training.

Mrs. Aldred had smiled over this when she read Mrs. Van Dorn's letter. Strange that the fear should so soon have materialized.

"Will you please read it," asked Helen in a low tone. "I think he doesn't quite like a girls' school. And he is all for study. He would push anyone right straight along, and he believes my music would be wasted time. I dare say I confessed I was not very bright at it."

The letter was certainly unobjectionable, a little severe perhaps, betraying the school principal, but still showing the high esteem in which he held Helen's capabilities. Such a correspondence would not be likely to do any student harm.

"You see, Helen," she began in a tone of sweet friendliness, "I am answerable for the girls committed to my charge. Some of the older ones have young men friends who would be very glad to keep up a correspondence, and no doubt two or three years hence the girls would feel mortified at knowing letters of theirs were in the man's possession. I have known young lads to read letters aloud to their college or club friends. It is a demoralizing and indiscreet thing, and no high-minded mother would consent to her daughter doing it without her knowledge or inspection. One rule, therefore, must apply to all such correspondences without the mother's consent. A letter like this would do a girl no harm, indeed, I think your Mr. Warfield rather severe."

"I don't quite understand how I could have done it so carelessly," Helen said in her frank, honest way. "And I am very, very sorry. But I should like to write and explain to him why it is"—she cast about for a word—"inadmissable."

"Of course it is best to do that."

Helen glanced up in such a straightforward fashion. There was nothing concealed. And to make her renunciation still more earnest and the obedience more cheerful, she said:

"I don't mean that I shouldn't care for the letters, for I understand what Mr. Warfield means by every line, and sometimes it would be a pleasure to write to so good a friend, for after all I owe him the best fortune of my life. I am doing it without any demur because it is one of the rules of the school and I do honestly and truly wish to keep them."

"Thank you for your ready acquiescence," and Mrs. Aldred's smile told Helen the thoughtlessness had been condoned.

"I will bring it to you to decide upon——"

"No," the lady replied, "I can trust you to say just what is right and proper."

Helen's eyes were in a soft mist as she raised them, and picking up her letter she made a graceful obeisance as she left the room.

Yes, there was the notice. How could she have let it slip from her mind. She had a vague idea that it really couldn't apply to a man like Mr. Warfield, but it was the rule and it must be kept. It did take a certain something out of her life that she could not have described, but she felt it. He was so interested in her progress. For had he not roused her and made a scholar out of her? She might never have known what the hunger meant but for him, and accepted the husks even if under protest. How much richer and finer all her life would be. She said frankly that she was sorry, and that she had counted on the letters.

He was annoyed at the foolishness as he termed it. If she were sixteen instead of fourteen it would have been different.

The days were so full and passed so rapidly to Helen. The autumn came on in all its glory and splendor. The hills, they were almost mountains, about Westchester were wonderful in their changing colors, but she thought nothing could describe those over the river until she began to read Ruskin, and that brought her nearer Mrs. Van Dorn again.

She and Daisy Bell slipped into a pleasant girl friendship. Helen was the stronger, more energetic, more ambitious. But then Daisy had only to be educated, to go home to her parents and take a place in society and marry. The girls did talk of the kind of husbands they would like and the wedding journeys they would take. Two of the seniors were really engaged.

"And you can't tell how many have lovers," Miss Mays said one evening when several were sitting, curled up on one bed. "Of course you can't write to him unless you are regularly engaged and your mother consents. But if I wanted to correspond with anyone, I'd find a way."

"And disobey the rule," declared Helen.

"Oh, a chit like you doesn't know anything about such matters. All is fair in love and war. And there are times when strategy is commendable. You find it a great resource in war as you read history."

"But you wouldn't, really, Roxy! Girls are sometimes sent home in disgrace."

"I didn't say I would. I said I could find a way if I wanted to," and she laughed with a sort of light amusement. "I often think up scenes that would do for a novel; difficulties and how to get out of them."

"I don't want any more difficulties than the lessons," declared another. "I shall be glad when school days are through with. The happiest time of life is youth! Not much!"

"What period do you think will be the happiest?" asked Daisy, thoughtfully.

"My happiest period will be going abroad on a wedding tour, and all the money I can spend on the other side."

"And mine will be the intervening years," declared Roxy. "Through school, lots of society, gayety, and admirers and a few flirtations before I settle down. I'd like to go abroad quite free, and leave the aching hearts behind."

"And you will make hearts ache, Roxy Mays."

Helen wondered at times how much she liked her, and others quite went down to her. She was piquant and could be very charming, then she said sharp and doubtful things, and had a way of twisting axioms around that was amusing and rather dangerous, too. She stood fairly well in her classes, but she was not an ambitious girl. How few of them considered what they were going to do with their education.

After a month or so, Helen began to have what Daisy called an insight into Latin. But, oh, dear, when she was fairly grounded there she would have to take up French. And when it came time to sit at the French table and ask for everything in a foreign tongue, how could she do it?

"I shall simply starve," announced Roxy. "And after Christmas that will be my fate. I shall keep crackers and cheese under my pillow and nibble on them in the long and sleepless hours of the night."

There was a good deal of fun when she came to know girls quite well, and the arguing almost to quarreling. Some girls did and then would not speak for days. Helen and Daisy agreed very well; Helen was robustly conscientious, and Daisy gently so. They were of much assistance to each other.

Besides the boarders there were the day scholars who lived in the town, and some visiting was permitted. Helen was too busy to indulge in much outside pleasure except just for exercise. She asked permission one day to go down the hill for the sake of climbing up. "And I can say over the Latin exercises, no one will think me crazy, because no one will be there to hear."

Miss Grace laughed and gave permission, and so it became quite a favorite excursion ground. If she made blunders there was no one to laugh but herself.

Cold weather came on. The crimsons turned to russet and brown, the hickories grew paler and paler until their gold had degenerated and their leaves shriveled up. There was a soft, light snow the middle of November that hung about on everything for a day or two and then winter seemed to set in. But it was so cheerful with the crowd of girls and the interested teachers that one didn't mind it.

Miss Craven was still very self-contained and reserved. She took her place in some classes, however. In music she improved rapidly, leaving Helen far behind. She spoke to Helen now and then of her own accord, but waited for the others to speak to her. Mrs. Aldred took special pains to make her feel at home.

"There's something queer about that girl," said Miss Mays one evening. "And Craven is not an attractive name, though it seems to suit her. I hope her father hasn't been a bank defaulter, nor a forger, nor a swindler! You notice that she seldom looks up at anyone. That suggests concealment."

"Is that a fair judgment?"

"Well, I like a person to look you straight in the eye."

"Roxy Mays, you could stare anyone out of countenance in two minutes, no matter how straight they looked at you. And hasn't someone written a verse or two about down-dropping lids and shy eyes, and eyes that seem to listen rather than look."

"As if eyes could listen!"

"Isn't every sense assisted by every other sense? And doesn't a deaf person listen with the eyes?"

"Well—I don't like her. She doesn't take hold anywhere. You must meet people half-way. Now here is Helen frank to a fault, and looking up at you like a saucy robin. One would know she has nothing to conceal."

Helen flushed and laughed. She often recurred to Mrs. Aldred's suggested caution. She occasionally heard girls tell incidents about their families that were neither amusing nor commendable, and that others turned into ridicule. Some of these, girls would laugh at Uncle Jason, and oh, what would they say about Aunt Jane! She had simply mentioned them with the utmost respect. And that a relative of Mrs. Aldred's was educating her was sufficient.

"Well, there seems to be plenty of money in the Craven exchequer. Her toilette articles are exquisite. I don't believe she had the taste to choose them, nor her clothes either."

"Oh, girls, let her alone. Isn't Miss Reid just as distant and self-contained? She never joins any of the little crowds, nor mingles in the fun."

"Well, she's of the severe order and is going to college. I'm glad I don't have to go; if I did it would be purely for fun. I'm in for all the good times I can possibly get."

How odd it was that so few girls really cared for knowledge! Of course, the fun was exhilarating, the sharpening of wits made one bright. Roxy Mays was an expert at twisting and turning and repartee, and making the worse seem the better reason. Some of it was amusing. But to magnify any trifling thing into a part of one's character, to give hard judgment on the shape of one's features or the expression of one's eyes and mouth, seemed hardly fair to Helen.

She wondered sometimes if one could grow beautiful on high and noble thoughts? One felt broader and better at heart by giving a more generous allowance. She soon found that Roxy had a bad fault, and all the girls in her set condoned it easily, while several of them grumbled about it to each other. She was always borrowing little articles and seldom returned them. "I'll take your pencil a moment," she would say. "I'll just run over this book," and you had to go after your book. It was thread and needles, buttons of various kinds, even to a shirtwaist set, and if one button or pin came up missing she was very sorry and would be sure to replace it when she went down town. Borrowing money was against the rules. There had once been a disagreeable trouble in the school about this matter, and now Mrs. Aldred kept a bank for any girl that had run ahead of her allowance, from which she was at liberty to borrow. Running up an account in the town was also forbidden.

How soon Christmas came! It fell on Saturday. Some of the girls were going home, several to visit friends or relatives, and those who remained were given a holiday. Miss Lane was to go; Madame Meran on Monday; Miss Gertrude was to have the week in New York. None of the other teachers resided in the house.

Thursday night there fell a real snow. The others had been beautiful attempts that had melted away in the next sunshine. Friday morning was dull and gray, without a breath of air. The roofs wore white hoods or blankets, the trees absolutely stood still, ermined to their finger ends, someone said. But at ten the somber clouds began to give way, growing thinner and thinner, and one spot rather to the south suddenly became glorified with silvery touches, then golden and azure, and the world was in a flood of sunshine. Helen thought she had never seen anything so glorious before.

"Oh, you beautiful, beautiful world!" she cried as she stood out on the porch, having said good-by to a group of girls. "It's a splendid thing just to live! But isn't it knowledge that enables one to understand and appreciate it all!"

She went through the hall. Miss Craven had just come downstairs.

"Oh, let us go out and look at the snow on our own small ravine. I am a country girl, and I think I have never really seen a snowstorm before," laughing. "I lived in a rather flat country."

Miss Craven's face slowly lighted up and an expression went over it like a smile that had not the courage to come out, but she followed readily.

There was the smooth expanse over to the iron fence, then the tops of trees and shrubbery, set with thousands of gems of all colors, depending on the rays of the sun. The black hollow, that was the little stream they could not see from the porch, the elevation on the other side, the houses and grounds, the men shoveling paths, children snow-balling, active life already and here the extreme of silence.

"What a picture!"

"And I lived among hills and mountains," remarked Miss Craven. "I used to get so tired of the solitude. But you can be alone——" pausing abruptly, and adding: "You are not going away?"

"No. But you shiver. Are you cold? Let us go upstairs to my room and have a talk. I shall be alone until next Saturday night. Daisy Bell has gone off to have a lovely time. There was no one who wanted me enough to petition for me, though I believe I was not to go home until next summer."

"Oh, you have a home?"

"Yes; and relatives. Come in," as they had reached the room. "We who remain have a holiday, and just now I do not feel in the humor for any serious thing. Let us compare our work. You are doing very well in music, Madame said. I ask about you;" and there was an expression of real interest in Helen's face that called a pleased flush to that of Miss Craven.

"Yes, but I do love it so;" and there was an intensity in her tone that aroused Helen. "If I were not so ignorant of other things I would devote my whole time to it. And if I could sing! You have such a fine voice."

"It is strong enough to lead a forlorn hope. I'd like it to be a contralto. There is so much depth and feeling and pathos in a contralto voice. Did you hear Miss Morgan sing 'Mary o' the Dee' a few evenings ago? Madame thinks she ought to settle upon music as a profession."

Helen had placed Daisy's rocking chair for her guest. There was a slant ray of sunshine coming in the window, and the room had a habitable air that some people always give. Daisy Bell possessed this in an eminent degree.

"I sometimes wish I were not alone," began Miss Craven. "Only I feel that girls are not attracted to me. I suppose I am too old for girls, and I don't know enough for the young ladies. I almost made up my mind that I wouldn't stay, but Mrs. Aldred has been so kind. And perhaps it would not be better anywhere else. I am nineteen."

The girls had speculated about her age. Miss Mays said she was at least twenty-five.

"And I'm not fifteen yet," laughing brightly.

"I wish I could be fifteen, but I would not like to go back and live the four years over again. My life has been a very dreary one."

"You are so reserved. Don't you really like girls?"

"I like you. I have ever since that day you first talked to me. But you have so many friends, and I do not want to intrude. I do not know how to make friends," hesitatingly, while the tears flooded her eyes.

"Were you compelled to live alone?" Helen did not want to seem over curious. She had visions of some queer old aunt who had shut her doors to everybody.

"Yes. I'd like to tell you some things I could not tell Mrs. Aldred; at least, my guardian's wife advised me not to be too frank about my life, since it probably would not interest anybody, or if it did they would pretend to admire me and care for the money's sake and what they could get out of me. Grandfather always said so. I don't know as he meant me to have it all, but he left no will, and as there was no one else it had to come to me."

"I'd like to hear about it if you did not mind. And—if you would like to be friends——"

"Oh, you don't know how dreary it is to be so much alone. Mrs. Davis thought the school such a foolish plan. But I was so ignorant. I didn't feel that I could go into society without knowing something. And I have learned a good deal by watching the girls. Many of them have such lovely manners. But if I had just one friend to talk things over with——"

There was such a longing in her tone that it seemed fairly to sweep through Helen.

"I don't know whether I should be a very judicious friend." Oh, if Mrs. Van Dorn could only set this girl straight, she thought, for that lady's wisdom had come to be nearly the whole book of the world for Helen. "But if you liked to try me. I should be true, I can answer for that," and the trustiness rang in her voice.

"I've really had no one but Mrs. Davis, and I haven't been drawn to her, although she has been very kind. Yet she is so different from Mrs. Aldred, and I can't tell which is nearer right. Only I do enjoy it better here. It is more like the harmony in music. Then I am confused in a big city, and I really couldn't go into society."

"How did you come to live so much alone?" inquired Helen, feeling as if she was unraveling a story.

"Father died when Arthur and I were very little, and mother went home to his father's. It's a queer, curious place with great mountainous ridges on one side, and on the other, to the south, stretches of land, good for nothing much, being iron fields, a sort of dreary waste, not considered good enough in ore to be worked much. Grandfather had bought it twenty or thirty years before in a great speculating time, then it had dropped down. I suppose the misfortunes soured him. He had a small farm beside, kept a cow, and an old nag, and pigs and chickens. Mother was his daughter-in-law. The house up in the mountainside was old and forlorn, but as grandfather said, 'It didn't leak and it couldn't blow over.' The little town was more than a mile away. I used to go in to school when the weather wasn't too bad. Arthur died soon after we went there. He was older than I. Grandfather had not really cared for me, he was queer and morose, and that disappointed him. Girls were of very little account except to keep house and mend old clothes. I did love school and study.

"When I was about thirteen there was a very hard winter, and mother took a cold. I suppose it was consumption. She just grew weaker and thinner, and really didn't give up until a few weeks before she died. She was a good deal troubled about me. I've seen that plainer since than I did then. And she kept saying, 'If any good ever comes to you, any money or any time, get an education. And don't marry any man until you have acquired that.'

"It was very lonely when she was gone, and I had the house to keep. Oxford village wasn't very much, three or four hundred people, and mostly farms, just one little spot with a church, schoolhouse, country store and post-office. I couldn't go to school any more, grandfather always went to town with butter and eggs and the produce he could spare. I lost track of folks as one may say. Grandfather didn't believe in church-going, and I seldom had anything nice to wear. We were real hermits. You see I was kept pretty busy. But I used to study the old books over. There were two or three music books, and I learned to read music just for a pastime. Then I made a sort of keyboard and used to practise. I meant to have a piano if I was fifty years old.

"A year ago in August, a man who had a new way of separating iron ore, and was concerned with a railroad surveying a new route, struck Oxford, and was surprised that it had lain unimproved so long. A company was formed that pushed things, and they wanted to buy out grandfather. There was a great deal of wrangling and they were at the house nearly every day. The rails were laid and a big smelting furnace begun. In six months no one would have known the place. One stretch of land they were quite in doubt about buying when it was discovered to have a vein of very valuable iron in it, hematite, and then he would not sell it, but leased it to the company for five years and he was to have a percentage on every ton of iron taken out of it. He still had the farm and we went on as usual, but it seemed as if he was more and more difficult to get along with and grew more sordid in his views. Of course there was always plenty to eat, but I did long for some of the other enjoyments. To spend half of my life in that wild spot seemed unendurable.

"One blustering March day he had been out on the ridge all the afternoon, but though he ate a hearty supper he complained of feeling cold. I made him a hot drink and put a brick steaming with herbs to his feet. The next morning he had fever and was flighty, but he wouldn't consent to have a doctor. And when he was wild with delirium and I sent, it was too late. In five days he was dead with pneumonia. It seemed dreadful that he should die on the eve of prosperity, but I wonder if he would have done anything worth while with his wealth.

"There was no will. I was the only heir, though a cousin did come from parts unknown and was easily bought off as he had no real claim. This Mr. Davis had been doing some of the business for grandfather, and was a director I believe. There had to be an administrator and a guardian appointed for me, and then I found I was a rich young woman, with a prospect of being richer still. Mrs. Davis took me in her house and was very kind to me. But I had a feeling that I wanted the education I had so hungered for and missed. She proposed a year in a convent to be trained in ladylike ways. I had a longing to know what real girls were like; I wanted to go to some nice quiet school and have that training before I went out in the world. I was afraid of society women, and I did not want to be married out of hand.

"There was a Mrs. Howard who came to stay at the summer home of Mrs. Davis. She was not so full of pleasure as some of the ladies, and once when they were all out on the golf links we had a walk and a talk, and she thought my desire to go to some small quiet school a very good one. She had a niece educated here and admired her training very much. She wrote for me and forwarded me the answer, and then I wrote, and this is the result. Mrs. Aldred is kindness itself, and agreed that private lessons would be best until I could begin to compete with other girls. What I have gathered is such desultory knowledge, and I'm like a child in some things. Oh, can't you see that? And I am afraid of being laughed at.

"You all seem so bright, so ready with your talk, you know so much that I envy you. And if I am going to be a rich woman I want to know and to do some of the best things. I don't believe I could be satisfied with buying gowns and going to parties. There, it is a long story, and it is odd to tell it to you, only there is such a look in your eyes at times that it seemed to me you would understand and not laugh or hold me up to ridicule."

There was an almost breathless intensity in the face, a half fear as well, but the telling of her sad story had roused her from her ordinary apathy.

"I certainly should not ridicule you," Helen began decisively. "Why, I think it is very brave of you to want to be educated when you could lead a life of ease and pleasure. And I am beginning to suspect that a love of knowledge is not universal, but I like it myself. There is so much in the world that I wonder women do not keep going on as some of the men do. Only then, I suppose, they wouldn't marry. And you would have to be quite rich to do it."

CHAPTER XIII

"I wish I could help you," Helen began presently. All her sympathy went out to the girl of nineteen who was very little older than herself, who had lost four or five of the choicest years out of her life. If it had been because her mother was an invalid all that time, one could see the use of it. Or if her grandfather had been poorly and needed care.

"Oh, you have helped me by understanding as you do," returned Miss Craven. "And now when I catch a glance of your eye it will give me courage."

"I am sure you are right. And if some of the girls knew your story——"

"Oh, no, no!" with quick, pained apprehension, "I shouldn't want them to. I hope you——"

Juliet Craven felt she could trust this girl without a word, that it would be almost an insult to doubt her integrity. Why, she did not know. She was not sufficiently versed in human nature to explain its intricacies.

"If you mean that I could not betray a confidence, you are just right there," with a heightened color. "But Miss Grace is wise and judicious and understands girls."

"Only—I don't know as I can make it clear, but I am afraid of almost everybody. I have lived alone so much, I think I am like someone who has been blind for years and whose eyes are suddenly opened, and he cannot judge accurately of anything. I hear the girls at times mapping out characters with such a degree of certainty that I envy them. I do not seem to know how to judge anyone."

"And their judgment isn't right half the time," laughed Helen. "It takes a great deal of wisdom and experience to do this, and I do not believe any young schoolgirl has enough. I haven't. I've changed my mind ever so many times about some of the girls until I almost began to think I hadn't any mind at all."

Juliet Craven smiled at that. If this bright girl could not judge correctly—but then she was not fifteen, and she, Juliet, more than four years older.

"I am glad someone knows it all. I have only told half to Mrs. Aldred, though I suppose Mrs. Howard explained why I was so backward. Oh, do you think I shall ever catch up?" and there was a piteous anxiety in her voice.

"Why, you have done a great deal in music in this brief time."

"But I love music so. And literature enchants me. But analysis of language, and higher mathematics—I never shall master them I know. I think no one could trip me up on spelling, however. When I found a difficult word in a book I spelled it over for days," and the faint impression of a smile crossed her lips. "But the meanings puzzle me. It is hard oftentimes to think of the correct word, and that makes me afraid to talk."

"I have always had a good many to talk to, and that must make a difference," and the thought of living almost alone on a mountain, out of the reach of people, crossed Helen's mind and gave her a shudder. "Oh, I don't see how you lived so alone!" she cried vehemently.

"It was dreadful after mother was gone. If I could have gone down in town once in awhile, but there was so much to do, and grandfather always said he didn't want women folks bothering round when he went anywhere. Then it was so far to church, though I did go once in a great while when I had anything to wear. But the girls I had known in school forgot me, and were married, or busy about other things. And I somehow grew used to talking to the dumb creatures and the denizens of the woods. I always kept thinking that something would happen and I'd have a chance. And I resolved that I would go to school and get an education as mother wished. But I never thought how hard it would be to begin back like a child a dozen or so years old. You see grandfather was seventy-six when mother died, and my vague plan was when he had gone, to sell everything and go away. I couldn't ever have dreamed of so much money. And now I don't know what to do with it. Mrs. Davis said it would all come right when I married some nice man, who would take care of it and manage it for me, but Mrs. Howard said get some education first, and I would be better able to know what I wanted. Though I am sure I don't want to be married."

"The education will certainly be best," Helen returned with the gravity of twenty. "And I think you ought not be discouraged so soon."

"There is so much more to learn than I had any idea of. And when I look ahead——"

"Oh, don't look ahead," cried Helen laughingly. "Just live day by day, 'Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof,' and I wonder if the good will not be sufficient also! It is only about a year ago that I cared anything for education, I was just a country girl too, and suddenly roused, I didn't know how I could compass it when a way was opened. I can have two splendid years, and I mean to crowd them full. I don't know what will happen after that, and I am not going to worry about it. You can have all the years you are minded to take, and you will succeed, I know."

The tone was buoyant, inspiriting. To Helen the prospect was enchanting. Already she had learned what a factor money was, what a blessing to have enough of it that one need not feel anxious about the future. She would settle her plans at once. Stay three years here at Aldred House, then go to college. During the four years there would be plenty of time to arrange the rest. In her case it would be teaching.

"How comforting you are!" and there was both depth and sincerity in the tone.

"Doesn't Mrs. Aldred advise you to go on?" Helen asked.

"Oh, yes. And Miss Grace has been very encouraging. But when I look at the rest of you girls and hear your bright talk, I feel so out of place."

"I have a belief that school is the help to enable us to find our right places in the world if we take it up earnestly. I meant it shall help me to find mine," confidently. "And I do think, yes, I am sure it will help you."

"I was so discouraged. I wrote to Mrs. Howard and she said stay by all means. Indeed, I have no place to go to. Mrs. Davis is in Florida now. Oh, I should like to travel!" and her face was roused almost to enthusiasm.

"But you wouldn't want to be an ignorant traveler, either." And she thought how Mrs. Van Dorn enjoyed and understood. She would have felt still more encouraged for her compeer, had she known what Mrs. Van Dorn was at nineteen.

They talked until it was dusk, when the bell rang and arm in arm they went to the dining room. Miss Grace was placing girls together in a more sociable fashion.

"Suppose you and Miss Beck come over here," she said with a little wave of the hand to Miss Craven, and giving a nod to Miss Beck. "And Miss Grant, I think you are put down for the hostess next month. Suppose you begin now?"

Helen smiled and went to the head of the table. Miss Craven took her seat next. "Oh," she murmured, deprecatingly, "I hope it will never come my turn."

"Why, it is not much to do, only to see that everything comes right."

The girls talked of to-morrow. Miss Beck was an Episcopalian, and described how prettily the little church was trimmed, how beautiful the morning service had been, and that most of it would be repeated. In the evening some anthems were to be sung and Phillips Brooks' beautiful hymn, "Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem." And on Monday at four a Christmas tree for the children. Perhaps they would like to go?

Miss Craven's eyes kindled a little and she looked at Helen, as if she might answer for her.

"We shall be very glad to," was Helen's ready reply.

The eyes thanked her timidly.

Afterward they assembled in the drawing room and sang Christmas hymns to the accompaniment of the grand piano. Two of the young ladies recited.

"I don't believe I've ever had such a nice time in my life," Juliet Craven said with her good-night. "You don't know how sincerely I thank you."

To be thanked for a little courtesy like that! Helen stood before the glass, thinking.

"I wonder," she said to the reflection, "if you could have had that much courage with the rest of the girls about? It was very easy to-day, and it is what ought to be done oftener. I wonder why they all took me up so cordially, and why they should have surmised so many wrong things about her. I dare say her father and mother were ordinarily nice people, and I am glad there is nothing disgraceful about them. There are quite a good many queer old people in the world—I'm sure Roxy tells things about her old great-aunt and laughs over them, that do not sound kindly, if they are amusing. I wish old people always were agreeable," and she sighed. "But young people are not either," and she smiled with a revulsion of mood. "I am glad, too, that she isn't any older. Nineteen. There are not more than a half dozen girls in the school as old as that. What a pity one can't be turned back!"

Helen thought she had never enjoyed a Sunday more. Most of the girls went with Mrs. Aldred in the morning, and Mr. Danforth was certainly in a Christmas frame of mind. They had luncheon around the large table across the end of the dining room, and afterward a talk of the Jews and Romans at the time of the coming of Christ. Helen had never thought much of sacred and serious subjects, but her heart seemed to expand and glow with a fervor she had hitherto known nothing about. If education widened one's view, should not religion do something for it also?