Helen Grant's Schooldays

CHAPTER XVI

Mr. Warfield felt rather vexed at being disappointed, yet down in his heart he was glad she was fulfilling the sort of ideal he had of her, the girl she might become with proper training, he had often said, even to Mrs. Dayton. He thought he should know on just what lines to develop the best and highest in her. He held a very good opinion of a man's training for certain natures, and hers was one. Then he felt a little sore at not being able to keep a sort of supervision over her by letter.

But when she came and sat down by him in that unaffected manner and looked out of such frank eyes; smiled with an every-day cordiality, as if the smile was in constant use, he was a little nonplused.

"What have you been doing this whole year?" he asked with interest. "Could you pass an examination for the High School?"

"Oh, do you remember how frightened I was? But some of the questions would not cause me five minutes' thought now. I've had a magnificent time with history and literature, and a tough time with Latin. It is one of the things I have to delve at this summer. It seems to me most of my life is school life. I can't stop anywhere. Something is thrust at me all the time."

"You used to love to study," complainingly.

"I love it yet. Botany is delightful, it is so full of live wonders. I do not care so much for chemistry. And physics——"

"They require close attention. And what accomplishments?" in a dissatisfied tone.

"French that I am not in love with, but Mrs. Van Dorn insists upon it, and the piano, drawing, and painting."

"A waste of time most of them," he commented severely.

"Sketching is very fascinating."

"And a camera can give you the picture twice as well."

"Some of the Seniors do beautiful work. One of them goes abroad to study and perfect herself in art. Miss Gertrude Aldred will go after next year."

"That may be very well for pastime, or waste-time," with a touch of sarcasm, "but I don't suppose any of these girls could get their living at it?"

"I don't know as they will be compelled to."

"But everybody has to be put through the same mill, I suppose?"

"Not exactly. Some studies are elective. Three of the girls go to college. Of course many of them do not expect to turn their education to any account. I should like to know just what I am to do with mine," and she laughed softly.

"I thought you once looked up to teaching as a sort of glorified existence."

The touch of irony did not hurt her at all.

"I still think it one of the finest professions. Only—I should like to have a school of smart, eager children, and go on and on with them. I think it must be very hard to take up a new dull class every season."

"It is," he returned frankly. "It was one of the drawbacks, like going down to the foot of your own class."

"So I think I shall have a boarding school and keep the girls year after year."

"Well, are you deep in metaphysics or transcendentalism?" asked a cheerful voice, as Mrs. Dayton's ample figure emerged from the door-way. "You do not seem to be 'sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.' That is an old-fashioned quotation and was in the copy books at school in my day, when to be thin and pale was the mark of a student. And wasn't midnight oil another? You do not show marks of either, Helen."

"Oh, the lights are out and we have to be in bed at ten. We can rise as early as we like in the morning, however," laughed Helen.

"Numbers of the old ideas have been exploded. Still, we must admit they made some good scholars. The students were more in earnest, they were not so superficial."

"But it takes a long while to learn everything thoroughly. That is where teachers and professors have the advantage, they can spend their whole lives over it," exclaimed Helen. "Honestly," and a rather mischievous light flashed across her face, "I do not think the average girl is a born student. Perhaps the boy isn't either. But there seem to be so many things in a girl's life, so many sides to it"—and a thoughtful crease came in her forehead.

"You have found that out early. But the successes must be able to do several things well, and to bring knowledge into action, not have a lot of useless matter stored up in the brain waiting for the time to make it serviceable, and then it is not fresh, often not useful."

"Like the old clothes you pile up in the garret," interpolated Mrs. Dayton. "They are out of date and moth-eaten. There are many things it is not worth while to save up. I have a boarder here who has saved up all her troubles since she was ten years old, and lives them over, takes them out and puts them back. She is a well-informed woman, too. There is the bell, so come in to dinner."

There were only Mr. and Mrs. White, Mrs. Carson, the woman of many troubles, and Mr. Conway, who gave Helen a warm welcome, but was amazed at the change in her.

They talked a little over the last summer's guests. "Miss Lessing was married and the younger girl engaged. The Disbrowes had gone West. And truly I wouldn't mind having Mrs. Van Dorn again. She certainly is an uncommon woman and does enjoy life on all sides. And it is curious the way she picks up knowledge everywhere. I dare say she sometimes mentions facts about her own country to consuls and ministers abroad that they have scarcely heard of," declared Mrs. Dayton.

Mr. Warfield gave a little sniff and a curl of the lip that seemed to run all over his face in disapprobation, because he could find no trenchant sentence to apply to Mrs. Van Dorn. But Helen glanced at her hostess with a lovely grateful light more eloquent than words.

When they rose she lingered. "I ought to go out and dry the dishes for Joanna," the girl said laughingly.

"Indeed, you will do no such thing," was the quick reply. "And let me whisper a secret in your ear, though I don't know as it need be that. Mrs. Van Dorn wrote me a note, asking me to invite you here and keep you as much of the time as Aunt Jane would be willing to spare you. And she inclosed a check. I'd been ready enough to do it just for the pleasure."

"She is very generous," said Helen, much moved.

"And some people think her mean. She is unduly exact, but I guess the world would be better if more people paid their just debts instead of buying you a dollar gift when they owed you forty or fifty. But run out on the porch and talk to Mr. Warfield. He came purposely to see you. I'll be out and join the fray presently," her eyes overflowing with an amused light. "If you were older I should say—there, run along."

She checked herself just in time. It was on the tip of her tongue to add—"he is half in love with you." But the girl's face was so innocently frank that it would have been both ill-bred and cruel to suggest such a thing.

On the whole, it was a pleasant evening, though Helen was not a little puzzled by several things in Mr. Warfield's demeanor, and his resolutely keeping to his opinion that she would have been better off at the High School. Some way would have opened for her, he was confident.

Still, he gave her the most cordial good wishes. She had the making of a splendid girl and woman in her. He took great credit in the consciousness that he had seen this, and roused her from a commonplace existence, for now, whatever happened, she could not be commonplace; as if, indeed, the every-day lives were not often doing heroic and lovely deeds in their every-day sphere.

He was going for nine weeks to a summer college term, on the borders of a beautiful lake, where he would have refreshment of body as well as mind. So he might not see her again under a year.

"I do hope they will not have you spoiled," he said with his good-by. And as he walked down the street he muttered under his breath:

"That old woman will make a waiting maid of her in the end." He was jealous that the old woman should be able to dictate the girl's life just because she was rich.

She had such a happy morning with Mrs. Dayton, talking over last summer; Joanna studied her with admiring eyes and declared that she was not changed a bit, only had grown taller, and the mysterious alteration that comes to a girl on the boundary line, for which she had no words.

Uncle Jason came in quite early and was delighted with his warm welcome, more frank than Joanna's.

"My, you're growed every way!" he said, "and you're pretty as a pink, and fine as a lady! I declare I don't know what Aunt Jane will do with you. And the children are just crazy to see you. My! My!"

He studied her from head to foot and turned her round. His eyes twinkled, he screwed up his face until it was a bed of wrinkles. His hair was faded and grayer, the fringe of beard ragged. But there was such a gladness, such an utter satisfaction that she felt doubly assured of his love.

When she had gone to pick up a few articles Mrs. Dayton made a little explanation that she felt would ease Helen's course. She would have a good deal of studying to do, and Mrs. Van Dorn had made arrangements for her to stay here part of the time, as it would be quiet, with no interruptions to break in upon her time.

"Why, I thought it was vacation!" looking puzzled. "Mother's planned a lot of things. And she's mortal afraid Helen will forget all about housekeeping."

"She belongs to Mrs. Van Dorn for the two years, you know, since that lady is taking care of her. You see now that is only fair. Helen's time is planned out."

"Sho, now!" and he bit at the end of a wheat stem he found hanging to his clothes.

"Helen knows a good deal about housework and if she should ever have it to do, it will come back to her. But her heart is set upon teaching, and I think that is about as easy a way of earning money as any, if you are fitted for it."

Mr. Mulford said no more, but he felt there would be a clash between Aunt Jane and Helen.

The rosy, bright-eyed girl said good-by to her dear friend, with the promise of returning soon, and stepped into the rickety old wagon.

It seemed curious to her, but everything about looked so much smaller. The houses appeared to have shrunk, fences were dilapidated, gates hung by one hinge, the paths at the roadside were overgrown with weeds. Every street and plot of ground at Westchester was so pretty and tidy, the hills were so high and grand, and there was the beautiful river. To be sure the great Creator of all had placed it there, had raised the mountains to their height, but the residents had added the thriftiness and beauty. Oh, she could never live here! She wondered how her father had taken to it, and how Mr. Warfield endured it.

Uncle Jason was a better farmer than most of his neighbors. Aunt Jane took the credit of that; perhaps she did deserve most of it. People and towns seldom remain stationary; if they do not improve they retrograde. The railroad was building up North Hope at the expense of the Center.

The house and the front fence needed painting sadly. The flower-beds looked rather ragged, the grass wanted cutting. Sam had gone in the spring to learn a mason's trade and only came home for over Sunday. So Uncle Jason was short-handed.

The children made a rush, then paused. Helen sprang down with a dignity that checked them, but she kissed them all round, and Aunt Jane, who was wiping her arms and hands on her apron.

"I thought I'd get trigged up before anyone came," she exclaimed, "but there's so much to do on Saturday. You might have opened the front door, 'Reely, but never mind," and they all trailed around through the kitchen. Off the end of the dining room was a small room that Jenny had used for sewing and odds and ends, and they went thither.

"Now take off your hat. My, didn't you bring anything but that satchel! And here's a fan—it's hot in here, and as for flies, they eat you up! 'Reely, you and Fan set the table. How you've changed, Helen, you're most grown up. But land! When I was fourteen I was grown up and did a woman's work. And you're fifteen! Well, I suppose you've had a grand good time, and forgot all the useful things you ever knew."

Aunt Jane's tone was good-humored, but it had a certain air of authority, indicating that Helen could never outgrow her right or proprietorship.

"No, I do not think I have forgotten much, and certainly have learned a great deal more," she replied quietly.

"Well, book-learnin' isn't everything. I'd like to know how houses and farms would go on if everybody kept to books."

"There's Jenny," and Helen was delighted with the break. Jenny was sunburned but looked well, quite like a country farmer's wife, and was gayly cordial, laughed because her mother's supper was late; they always had theirs early on Saturday afternoon.

"You wait until you get a house full of children," said her mother with a touch of annoyance.

The girls sat out on the old bench that had gone a little more to splinters. Uncle Jason came in; he had not quite worked Nathan up to the point of Sam's usefulness. Aunt Jane didn't mean to lead off with any fuss for Helen, so supper was in the kitchen, but the tablecloth was clean—the other had met with a big accident at noon.

Nothing was much changed except the children were a year older and larger. Two or three of them still talked at once. Jenny sat by and had a cup of tea. Aurelia and Fanny were a little awed by Helen's fine ways, and began to eye her furtively. Jenny kept most of the talk and when the meal was through took Helen out on the front stoop. What was the school like and were there many rich girls in it? And what did Mrs. Van Dorn mean to do with her when she was through with school?

Helen was relieved when she branched off on her own affairs. How much the egg and butter money had amounted to, and another scheme she had struck. She helped mother out with her sewing, but she found in the winter she had a good deal of time on her hands, so she began to sew for the neighbors. "You know I always did like running the machine," she declared. "And you'd be surprised at the money I've earned. I don't see how women can dawdle away their time so, when they've small families. I think working in a shop is a grand good training. You must be there at a certain hour, you must put in every moment if you are going to be a success, and you get brisk ways if there's anything at all to you."

Joe came over presently, and the two farmers smoked and talked. Then Jenny said she would take Helen home with her, she had such a nice spare room, and she and Aunt Jane had some words over it, but Jenny carried her point. It was lovely and quiet, and Helen was thankful.

Yes, she had grown away from them; while she loved them just as well, she thought she loved Uncle Jason better. The life was so different. It need not be so hard and,—yes, it was coarse, really untender. Aunt Jane would have suffered anything for her children's sake, but it must be in her way. After all these years of married life, children, and a certain degree of hard-won prosperity, she knew better than anyone else how the world could be managed.

'Reely and Fan were fascinated with Helen, and Jenny said she had a good deal of common sense, and she supposed all the airish ways were just right at school, but they seemed queer among common folks. It was inevitable that Helen and Aunt Jane should clash, and Helen felt even at the risk of being misunderstood and wrongfully accused, she must establish her own standing. She had not come home to help with housework.

"I wish I'd never let you gone over there to wait on that old woman, and have your head filled with airs and graces that you think sets you up above your family. I knew that day I should be sorry for it. And this is all the thanks I get for what I've done for you, while you'll crawl on the ground after her."

"No, I shouldn't; I do not," replied Helen with dignity. "I shall always feel thankful to you and Uncle Jason for what you have done, and, Aunt Jane, when I get to where I can earn money I want to pay you back for my keep after father died——"

Helen's face was scarlet and the hot blood was racing up and down in her pulses.

"Yes," she continued, controlling her voice by a strong effort, "I have made that one of my duties. I can't take your way of life, Aunt Jane, but I shall always feel grateful for the care."

"Helen Grant, do you suppose your uncle would take one penny from you, his own sister's child! It isn't that, it's the—the——"

"Oh, Aunt Jane, I am grateful. Do not let us quarrel because our paths lie in different directions. I must work in the way I am best fitted for, the way I shall like above all things——"

"Oh, yes, you'll go off with that woman, and she'll get tired of you and ship you off. You mark my words."

"Then I can take up teaching, which will be my delight. She has offered me these two years of training and I mean to make the best of them, to crowd in all I can, to fit myself to earn my living in the way I like best of all. I do suppose we all have some choice."

Aunt Jane flounced out of the room. There was something burning on the stove, and she was glad of the excuse. And all she said when Helen was going over to North Hope, was:

"Well, come whenever you like. The house is always open to you."

Uncle Jason was very tender to her.

"Mother's a bit cranky," he said. "Even Jenny plagues her about it. I think she's jealous of that Mrs. Van Dorn, and she has an idea of her own about bringing up girls. But they're not all alike and some are fit for one thing, some for another. Jenny's got the right of it. It's best for everyone to do what he's best fitted for, or she," smiling a little. "And it stands to reason that you might take after your own father. You're not all Mulford."

It was very delightful to be back with Mrs. Dayton. One new couple had come, but they were very quiet people. And the girls about began to call on her. Ella Graham had enough of the High School.

"I just went for the name of it," she explained. "I should never teach, and what is the use of wasting all that time and bothering your brains for nothing? I shall get married the first good chance I have."

Lu Searing bewailed the hard work as well and wasn't sure she would keep on. She wanted to go somewhere to boarding school, she had heard girls had such fun getting in scrapes and out of them again. Marty Pendleton was sick of it too, and was going to learn dressmaking. Dan Erlick had gone to be clerk in the drug store.

"And to think how hard Mr. Warfield worked over them all!" Helen exclaimed, indignantly. "It doesn't do him a bit of credit."

"He had four new ones this summer. Well, there does seem a good deal of work in this world without much result," said Jenny.

Helen studied her Latin with a will, and one day to make some knotty point clearer went to the reference department of the library. Miss Westerly, the librarian, had seen her the summer before and been interested in what had befallen her, and now they took up quite a friendship. The library was open only two evenings in the week, after eight o'clock, and Miss Westerly found it very pleasant to visit on Mrs. Dayton's porch and talk to a girl as bright and ambitious as Helen. She was a college graduate and a thorough student, not considering her education finished.

"I should like so to go to college," Helen said. "But I don't know—I should have to earn some money first."

"I have a friend who entered college at twenty-seven. She was a clerk in a store and then an old uncle left her some money. She was born for a student, and she graduated with honors. She is thirty-five now, vice-principal in a large seminary at the West, and a very successful teacher. Then I know of a girl who spent two years at college, taught three years and then went back and finished. Some women, as well as some men, love knowledge."

"I have half a mind to say I will go, no matter what stands in the way," and Helen smiled vaguely. If one could see into the future.

"Perhaps your friend may send you."

Helen wondered whether she would dare propose it.

Once a week she went out to the farm. Aunt Jane had "cooled down" a little, for Uncle Jason had said, "If you can't get along, mother, I'll hire someone through the heat of the summer. Nancy Bird would come in a minute. As for thinking to put Helen to housework, washing and ironing and all that, when someone else is taking care of her, I don't see as it would be just the thing, no more than to call Sam home when Mr. Bartow has given him a good lay."

"I don't see as Helen is any better than my girls, and they are going to be brought up to work. Her father didn't make out much for all his education."

Helen did have some nice visits with Jenny, who was rather more modern and broader minded than her mother. She kept her house with some system, of course, there was no one to disarrange her methods. She was blithe and cheerful and eager to get along, but she and Joe went off driving now and then, and she listened with slow-growing interest when he read aloud to her.

But altogether, Helen was not sorry when she found herself on the way back to school. She had a warmer feeling than ever for Mrs. Van Dorn and had written her two charming letters from Mrs. Dayton's porch.

What a trouble her education seemed to some of those who had no hand in it.

CHAPTER XVII

"No, but a fortune. And her oldest sister was married to a designer or something who goes abroad to illustrate Russia. The old great-aunt died suddenly, and left a good deal of money to Mr. Mays, and ten thousand dollars to Roxy. So her mother and the other sister and she sailed the last week in August. Of course Roxy is in high feather. And Miss Reid and Miss Gertrude Aldred have gone to Rome under the care of a friend of Mrs. Aldred's. Two of the girls have gone to Leipsic. Oh, dear, I wonder if we will ever go abroad?"

"It is a lovely dream. I do hope to compass it some time," and a longing light filled Helen's eyes.

"And there is so much to see here. We had a cousin of father's visiting us who had spent seven years in Mexico, and knew President Diaz quite well. He tells such interesting stories about the wonders there, the discoveries and the traces of people who must have lived a thousand or perhaps more years ago. Then my brother has a friend who is deep in those marvelous exhumations in Arizona. Presently we shall be a famous country, if we haven't castles and cathedrals."

Helen's trunk came up and she began to unpack. There were some new gowns.

"Are you going in long skirts?" inquired Daisy.

"Not this winter. I should like to be 'only a girl' ever so long," and Helen smiled dreamily. "It seems as if I had been only a very little girl thirteen years or so, and now I want to be just a big girl. Womanhood looks so strange and mysterious to me. There are so many things to be decided then, and now you can hover about the edge, just slip into the surf of that river called the future and then draw back. You don't have to cross it. But some day you must, and shoulder its responsibilities."

"How queer and solemn that sounds. And I am a whole year older, and I ought to be ever so much ahead of you."

"You are in Latin and French. I studied up some. I met a delightful woman,—well I saw her last summer, and oddly enough she remembered me from the books I read,—that I never should have known about but for Mrs. Van Dorn. She is the librarian. And we have had such a nice time. She is a college graduate, and she has inspired me with a longing to go. But then I want everything. Travel and music and churches and ruins and histories of nations that have been swept away, and to climb the pyramids, and to ask the Sphinx her mighty question——"

"Your mighty question as to what secret is in her ponderous brain?"

Both girls laughed heartily, merrily.

"Well, I must say, Helen Grant, your wishes comprise enough for a lifetime! And you have left out Paris, and that quaint, delightful, clean, watery Holland, and Moscow, and India."

"There is too much for one lifetime. I wonder if we do come back and take some of the pleasures in the life afterward? But then we don't remember what has gone before, so where is the benefit?"

"There are ever so many new girls," said Daisy presently.

"I wonder if we haven't a small share of duty towards them," remarked Helen, considering. "I thought it lovely of you girls to come and welcome me when I was a stranger."

"Roxy was splendid at that. I am not sure but there was some curiosity in it. She liked to get down to the bottom of a girl's soul and life and know all that had happened to her. And she was very amusing with her bright comments and comparisons. I was desperately in love with her at first," and Daisy colored warmly. "Then she said little things about other girls that I didn't like. And you were so upright, so generous in your criticisms, so ready to make allowance. And after all that mistake about Miss Craven she was very unwilling to own she had been wrong. Wasn't I fearfully jealous? Didn't I act like a fiend?"

There were tears in Daisy's eyes.

Helen gave a vague smile.

"I can see now that it was somewhat due to Roxy's influence. She kept saying you were so bewitched about her, and that you were on the lookout for new sensations, that you tried on friendships and then cast them off. I think that was what she did. What a foolishly miserable girl I was, but I did love you. And I do, I shall."

Helen kissed her fondly.

"And mamma thought it was very kind in you to take up Miss Craven. She is curiously interested in her, wondering how she will develop. Papa says the Craven mines are remarkable, the new one with all that hematite is a fortune by itself. I hope she comes back."

That evening they made acquaintance with a few of the new girls. And the next day came a crowd, new and old, Miss Craven among them.

Juliet Craven had changed wonderfully under the influence of a woman who had always longed for a daughter and had three sons instead. There was a brightness about her, a kind of new interest that shone in her eyes and brought a tint to her cheeks. A little contrast would have made her quite a pretty girl, for her features were fairly good, but she was too much of a nondescript.

For the first time she had known personal interest and affection from a woman who might have been her mother, and who certainly had no ulterior object. She had outgrown some of her timidity, she stood up straighter, as if she was more conscious of her own power, and she dared to meet the eyes of the other girls, to answer their smiles. She was to go in most of the classes this year, though the girls would be much younger, but Mrs. Aldred judged that the companionship would prove beneficial.

There were several changes in the teaching corps. A Mrs. Wiley, middle-aged and experienced, who had been employed in a girls' college in the West, shared with Miss Grace the duties of the senior classes. Her daughter, Miss Esther, taught in the younger day-school classes and was a pupil in several studies. After a month matters ran along smoothly.

Not that the girls fell into the traces without any friction. Some were pert and self-sufficient, others consequential, and several not remarkable for anything, taking mental culture along objective lines, and a few ambitious, intellectual, loving study for the sake of the sweet kernel knowledge when you had cracked the rough outer shell. There were the bright and sweet, who had no aims above the average, and who would get trained into nice, wholesome girls and make good wives and mothers.

Helen enjoyed her studies immensely. The botany rambles were one of her great pleasures, and when she went at the wonders of astronomy she was enraptured.

"Such a student is worth having; she inspires the rest," Mrs. Wiley said to Mrs. Aldred. "There is a girl who should go to college."

"Yes, she ought," but in her secret soul Mrs. Aldred feared that was not Mrs. Van Dorn's design.

She was beginning to understand and love Latin, and doing very well at French. She did not display much aptitude for drawing, though she had a certain artistic taste in arrangement.

"But I really do not see any use of hammering away at music," she protested. "I never shall make a fine player."

"You will make a fine singer and you want some thorough knowledge for that," said Madame Meran.

"It was one of the branches Mrs. Van Dorn is very particular about," Mrs. Aldred added, in a tone that left no room for demur.

There was the usual fun and perhaps a little sly flirting among the newer students with the young men in the law offices. Autumn was quite a lively time, since court was in session. The girls were allowed to visit the fairs and entertainments of their respective churches, and occasionally spend Saturday afternoon with an outside acquaintance.

During the holidays Mrs. Dayton wrote that one of the High-School teachers had resigned and Mr. Warfield had gained the appointment, being much delighted with it, and would board with her. From home she heard that Jenny had a little son and they were all very joyous. Fan was going to spend the winter with her. Aurelia had been taken out of school as she didn't learn anything worth while, and Aunt Jane believed in making her girls useful.

"I don't wonder teachers get discouraged in a small country place," she thought, "when the parents care so little for education." She was glad Mr. Warfield had gone to the High School, where he could have a more congenial atmosphere.

Helen often wondered in these days what her father had been like, and how he came to drift to such a dull place as Hope Center. Twenty years before it had been a center of several things. The Church was flourishing. In the winter the large boys and girls came to school and the old-fashioned alligation, mensuration, and surveying were taught and made useful, the history of the country, parsing out of Milton's Paradise Lost, learning as much about the older English essayists and writers as was taught in the High School.

Now, the children, before they were fairly grown, went into shops or learned a trade. There had been a fine debating society in the Center, and people drove in from miles around to listen to the arguments, which were generally on stirring questions of the day, psychological fads being unknown, or the highest truth in them called by some other name.

Then the railroad had really cut it off. North Hope had grown at its expense.

She thought, too, not a little about her own future. What would happen at the close of the school year. At the first of January she and Daisy Bell and a Miss Gardiner went into Senior B. In another year she would graduate.

There was something in Mrs. Van Dorn's letters that appealed to her deeply at times, an interest that gave her a curious thrill. She wrote more earnestly herself, she realized what a great thing this had been to her, lifting her out of the common groove and giving her a decided standing among Hope people. And, oh! it had afforded her such splendid experiences with cultured people, some friends who might go a long way through life with her and enrich her path with their life.

"If you were going to college, I should want to go too," Daisy Bell said one day. "Papa would be delighted, I am sure. And though you are younger, I do not know so very much more," laughingly. "You always study in such desperate earnest. We should keep step together. Oh, don't you wish we could see into the future?"

Yes, she really did.

Her friendship with Juliet Craven touched another side of her nature. Miss Craven had a vein of peculiar romance. She improvised in music, she could imitate bird-songs in rare melody, she could go to depths of feeling in a few chords that stirred one's very soul. It was absolute genius.

"These are the things I used to sing to myself in the old home," she would say. "Sometimes I would put words to them."

"Why, that would be poetry. Why don't you try to write them down?" Helen inquired with newborn interest.

"There are so many things to study, to learn, to do. I am not pretty enough to attract people, but of course, I know the money would. Sometimes I wish I had only just enough for my own wants. Another year I shall come into actual possession of a large sum, and three years later, if the mines should be sold, there will be—well, I haven't any idea how much more. Mrs. Davis' plan is to take me abroad and find someone with a title to marry me. What could I do in that kind of life? I want something quiet, far-reaching. I should like to make unfortunate people happy. I wonder if there are any young girls in the world as lonely and as unfortunate as I was! I shudder when I think I might have gone on with grandfather until all the best years of my life were spent. Mrs. Howard advises me to stay here and get a thorough education, and I think that is best."

Helen was very decided in her opinion that it was by far the best. How queer that money should be so unequally divided, Miss Craven having so much more than she could use, Mrs. Van Dorn having so much, and some of the girls with such rich fathers, then others just squeezing through, she really having none at all.

Mrs. Van Dorn was doing just what Miss Craven longed to do. No, not just. If Helen had been unpromising she realized keenly that she might have gone back to Uncle Jason, or worked her way through the High School as she best might. She knew now, most girls of sixteen do, that an attractive face and manner was an excellent capital. She sometimes gave herself a little mental hug at the thought of having just the right share of good looks, enough to please, and not enough to be vain of, and not the sort of fascination Roxy Mays had possessed. There were several beautiful girls in school. Daisy Bell had many charms, a lovely, subtle, easily-flushing complexion that was like pink and pearl, beautiful even teeth, tender and loving eyes.

"My face is just like me," she comforted herself, looking in the glass. "It is strong, earnest, and capable. And I do mean to do something with life before I die. I hope God will put me in the way of it."

Toward spring there was an episode that now and then happens in a girls' school in spite of the closest supervision. Mrs. Aldred tried to train the girls to a high sense of honor, and allowed them a certain liberty, though no one girl ever went out alone. Among the new scholars was a pretty, saucy little thing, bright with her lessons and full of fun, seemingly innocent enough. But she had adroitly managed a flirtation with the brother of one of the day scholars. Letters had passed between them, and she had eluded supervision and taken several strolls with him by climbing over the fence at the back of the grounds, with the assistance of her admirer. The daring went a little too far, and one evening Miss Wiley saw the return of the culprit, who begged and pleaded a little at first, and then became defiant.

"I don't care," she said angrily. "We are engaged. I knew I wouldn't be allowed to see him alone if he called, and I had a right to his visits."

Mrs. Aldred was surprised and had a rather stormy time with the girl, who was sent home at once.

"Now that Roxy Mays will never come back," said Daisy gravely, "I will say to you that she did go as far as the letters once. It was with the clerk in Adams' drug store. He gave a note to me and said it was a prescription, and she laughed about it, saying she only did it to prove how easily a girl could write letters and get answers, but that she was not going to follow it up, and she knew I would not betray her. It was the very week before school closed, and though it wasn't just right I let it pass. She still corresponds with him, but now her mother must know it. It doesn't seem real fun to me to break rules that way. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if she had returned to school!"

Helen smiled, thinking of her innocent letter to Mr. Warfield. And now Mrs. Dayton quoted him so often she wondered if that was quite right.

But she did enjoy writing to Mrs. Van Dorn. Often there was only a few lines from her, the rest finished by Miss Gage, who had a very methodical manner of going over their doings.

In April an announcement was made that surprised and troubled many of the scholars. Mrs. Aldred had decided to go to Europe, taking her daughter Grace and chaperoning several other young ladies. Gertrude, who had been studying hard in Paris, would join them, and they would spend the ensuing winter in Rome. Mrs. Wiley and her daughter would take the school, keeping it on the same lines.

"I wish you could remain another year and graduate," she said to Helen. "I shall write to Mrs. Van Dorn about it. Then you would be fitted for whatever might happen afterward."

"Oh, thank you!" Helen replied earnestly. "I have been troubled about it, and thought I ought to inquire. I should be so sorry to have my schooldays end. I have been so happy here."

No one could doubt it to look at her radiant face. Mrs. Aldred was much gratified.

Yes, she should hate to part with Daisy now that they were growing so dear to each other. And she felt as if she wanted a life interest in Miss Craven, to know the sort of woman she would make and what she would do with her fortune.

It was May when the reply came, a reply that so astounded Helen, even after reading the letter over two or three times, that she was still bewildered. She took it to Mrs. Aldred.

"Yes," that lady rejoined, "you may read mine. Mrs. Van Dorn keeps her mind as fresh as a person of half her age, and she is past eighty. She has made all the arrangements."

And the arrangements were that Mrs. Aldred should bring Helen to Paris with the other young ladies. She was going there and would be ready to receive her. She was very grateful for the care bestowed upon Helen, she had been very much gratified with the girl's letters, and this must answer until she could express the rest in person.

"And you think—I can't make it seem true," faltered Helen,—"that such a thing should happen to me?"

"It does not altogether surprise me," Mrs. Aldred answered in a reassuring tone. "I surmised this from the beginning. Mrs. Van Dorn took an unusual fancy to you, and knowing you these two years I must give her penetration great credit. For certain reasons, I regret you cannot go on with your education. But you will learn a great deal abroad."

"I feel as if all of life is a school, and you are learning right along to do what comes next. I have worked hard at the French, and now I see the use of it. I dare say it will be so with other things. I wish I were a better musician."

"Mrs. Van Dorn will care more for your voice. You can take excellent singing lessons abroad. Helen, I do congratulate you from the bottom of my heart. And whatever happens I shall always want to be considered your sincere friend. I have been very much interested in your development, and shall continue so to be."

She bent over and kissed Helen, who returned the caress with much warmth.

"You will answer your letter to go by noon to-morrow."

Helen bowed, too much moved to speak.

It was still strange to her. One might dream of an event coming in the future, but to have it here, to put your hand on it, as one might say, dazed her. Daisy was at a music practice, though she did not think she could talk it over with anyone just now.

Miss Craven stood hesitatingly in the half open doorway, with beseeching eyes.

"If you are not too very busy—I'm in trouble about the Latin. Oh, if I could be quick to see into things!" in a passion of regret that emphasized every line of her face where last year it would have been unmoved.

"I had an awful time about it, too, so we can sympathize," smiling cheerfully. "I just wanted something to start up my energies."

"Oh, what should I do without you? Shall I ever be able to go on alone?"

"Think what you have accomplished in the two years," was the reassuring answer.

There was a saunter around the grounds afterwards, meeting several groups of girls and flinging bright jests at each other. Then dinner, the study period, some conversation and it was bedtime. But Helen could not sleep. She smiled to herself as she wondered what Mr. Warfield would say and there was a consciousness that he would think her only half educated. Well, could one ever be wholly educated at sixteen?—even at sixty, professors are learning new things. And, oh, what a stir it would make all through the Hopes!

She was up early the next morning. Daisy was asleep in her little white bed with a smile on her face. Yes, she would hate to leave her and Miss Craven, and several others. She slipped on her lovely Japanese silk morning gown, she reveled in pretty garments nowadays, though they were all befitting a girl of sixteen, and picking up her portfolio she glided softly down to the study room.

Oh, what a morning it was! The sun was throwing out long shining rays in the east and they glistened on the tree-tops, on the distant hills, on the wide slopes, leaving the nooks and haunts in suggestive darkness. Just a dainty little mist fit for dryad robes lingered about. And here at the back, down to the small stream, dogwoods and late red maples and horse-chestnuts were in bloom. Could there be a lovelier picture? Had Europe anything better? And the fragrance might have come from Araby the blest. It was all youth and freshness, and it took her back to the summer of two years ago when everything wonderful had just dawned upon her.

In this mood she wrote her letter. All her life long she was glad she had not come to second thoughts, about the matter, but kept the first thoughts of joyous youth and gladness and gratefulness. The rising bell rang and she hurried along, wrote her last word at the next summons and sealed her letter.

"Where have you been?" cried Daisy at the apparition in trailing gown, as she opened her eyes.

"Writing a letter in the study." Then she hurried into skirt and waist and joined the group going downstairs, giving bright good-mornings to one and another.

"I can't think what ails you," cried Daisy in astonishment. "You look—enchanted and—frightened."

"I will tell you—the first of anybody. It is so strange I hardly believe it myself."

They were all striving their utmost, this group of girls. Examinations were so near, pictures were to be finished, little gifts made to be exchanged, remembrances of one's handiwork. An excursion across the river to add pages to their lore on wild flowers which were to be pressed and put in books. A lecture on Browning that evening down at the town-hall, and Mrs. Wiley was to take a host of girls.

"If he only would read 'Hervé Riel'!" said Helen. And to think she might see the very place where the ships came in safely. It would be worth much to her.

There is always a reaction from an exalted state, and this came to Helen Grant. By degrees she remembered what she might be giving up, what she might be called upon to do. If Miss Gage was coming home, she would take her place, and be companion, have the whims, the impatience, and the restlessness to contend with. She had experienced some of it already. Past eighty—why, that was old age, decrepitude presently, loss of memory—some old people had to be told things over and over again. She had never thought of real old age in connection with Mrs. Van Dorn. And she would spend all her bright young years—there would be no further delightful school, no graduation, no college, and she did love study so.

Mrs. Van Dorn had given her these two splendid years, but if she asked back ten, and she was so confident of living to ninety—oh, could she grant it cheerfully? There would have to be some greater grace than her own. And if God gave her this to do—if the friends of girlhood were denied her, if Mrs. Van Dorn claimed all, would she have to submit?

It was a hard question for sixteen who had only enjoyed two years of freedom about the things she loved best, the thing she wanted most, education.

She told Daisy Bell, who didn't know whether to rejoice or not. It was splendid, of course, but if she should be away for years and all their lovely friendship come to an end!

"For I am sure I shall never find a girl I love so thoroughly, that I depend on, that is a strong tower to me. Mamma said my letters had been her treasures this year, I was taking so much more serious and sacred views of life. And they will be dismal enough next winter."

"Then I am afraid I haven't done you much good," Helen smiled through tears.

"Yes, you have. And I will try to remember all the nice talks we have had and keep strong on them. We will appoint one hour in the day when we shall always think of each other."

"And pray that God may give us grace to remember for years if there is need," Helen returned solemnly.

Miss Craven was glad for her. "It must be wonderful to have a person care that much for you," she said, "to want to keep you near her. Why, it is almost as mothers feel, I suppose. I couldn't bear the thought of you being away alone—if you were alone I should ask you to come and be a sister to me. I don't know how I can get along without you, but I must try and comfort myself with the thought of what you have been to me. And, oh, if you should be absent years, I will come over. Why, I should like to see the dear old lady who loves you so."

Helen felt almost convicted of ingratitude.

CHAPTER XVIII

The second week in June, when examinations had just begun, Mr. Castles came up one evening. They were almost through dinner and Mrs. Aldred closed the door of the reception room and desired that no one should disturb her. Mr. Castles said he was the bearer of melancholy news. Mrs. Van Dorn had died very suddenly in Paris. Miss Gage had cabled for full instructions. Mrs. Van Dorn's body would be brought home and buried beside her husband. Miss Gage was to have all personal belongings inventoried and packed to come with her and the body.

"Do you know a Mr. James Fenton?" he asked.

"James Fenton. He is about as near a relation as I am. He is on the father's side, I am on her mother's; about third cousins, I think."

"It appears this Mr. Fenton annoyed her some at Florence in the spring. Then he called on her at Paris and had a long talk with her in the afternoon, which Miss Gage said upset her very much. They went to a reception in the evening at the Embassy, she seeming in her usual health, but not quite placid. It was very warm and she fainted, it was supposed, but the physician who was called pronounced her dead. This Mr. Fenton insisted upon taking charge of everything, so I cabled my instructions at once. The body will be here in a fortnight."

Mrs. Aldred was shocked beyond measure. It hardly seemed credible.

"Do you know anything about her affairs?"

"Not especially," replied Mrs. Aldred. "I once heard her say she would not have much to leave behind. The money was from her husband, and if she chose to live extravagantly it was no one's affairs."

"I am glad you take it philosophically," and he gave a faint smile. "When she was about sixty-five she put nearly all her money in an annuity so she would have no further care. She told me that she had no near relatives."

"That was true enough."

"So she lived very handsomely at times, at others quite plainly. She placed in my hands a sum amply sufficient for her burial, which has never been disturbed. I collected and paid over her annuity. There may be a few thousands beside. The income, you know, stopped with her death. So there will be nothing for the heirs."

"I for one shall not complain. She paid generously for her protégé, six months in advance. She sent for her and I was to take her over with me; calling on you in all business matters."

"Yes, she notified me. It was Mrs. Van Dorn's intention to keep this young girl with her the rest of her life. Her last letter to me was as buoyant as that of any young person. She was certainly wonderful—eighty-six in March. It seemed to me as if she might have lived to be a hundred. I am afraid the talk of that man Fenton did not do her any good."

"It is a great shock. I can hardly believe it."

"What friends has this girl, if any?"

"Oh, some relatives at a small town in a neighboring State, an uncle who has cared for her. She is a bright, ambitious girl, and I do regret the death for her sake. I am glad there is someone she can turn to, but I think she has the courage to work her way up, with a helping hand now and then."

"And you do not know about this Mr. Fenton?"

"Nothing much. I once heard her say that after Mr. Van Dorn's death he applied to her for some money for business purposes and she refused. I think she was not favorably impressed with him."

"Well, there will not be much for anyone to have. I think this annuity was by her husband's advice, and it has saved her a good deal of care. I thought it best for you to know at once and I did want to learn how the girl was situated. Do you suppose she will be bitterly disappointed?"

"She will be very much shocked and grieved."

"It would have been the same if she had adopted her. She could have made no provision for her future."

"No," thoughtfully.

"And now I must take a night train back, as I am very busy. I will keep you informed as to matters."

"We sail on the 3d of July."

"The body will be here before that."

She walked down to the street with him; then took a rustic seat and considered Helen Grant's future in so far as she could, but every moment she felt more regret that her bright hopes should be so suddenly quenched. She resolved to say nothing at present until she had evolved a plan floating through her mind.

It was true Mrs. Van Dorn had not reached the period appointed by herself. She had felt sure of ninety years. There were times when she feared that nature was on the wane, but she still took excellent care of herself.

This Mr. Fenton had besieged her for some money in the spring and a liberal allowance in her will. As far as she could trace the relationship there were but two families who had any claim on her, and his was one. She had put him off with a sarcastic promise of taking her will into consideration, then her quick wit intervened.

"If I should die without a will you would share equally. I think I will let it go that way."

That was all the satisfaction he could get. She hoped never to see him again. But he had found her in Paris, and again importuned her. She had so much she could surely spare him a little now. She allowed herself the gratification then of explaining the annuity to him and that she meant to spend her income in each year. He flew into a passion and called her some harsh names, when she had left him alone with a very curt dismissal. She had been more provoked than excited. There were some special reasons why she wished to attend this reception and she went. Whether it might have been different or whether she had reached her allotted span, only God knew.

The next few days Mrs. Aldred took especial pains with Helen. She must be able to enter the graduating class. Helen was delighted with the attention, and repaid it with earnest endeavor.

Mr. Castles sent word that Miss Gage had started with the body.

Helen had passed most of her examinations when Mrs. Aldred very tenderly informed her of the sad news, and how almost incredulous she had been at first.

"Of course, this changes all the plans," she said, when she had given Helen time for her first anguish. "But I have been talking with Mrs. Wiley, who is quite willing to take you for some of the younger classes, a year or two years, and in that time you can graduate. It is best that you should have a diploma. You are very young yet, and will be more capable of facing the world at eighteen. I really have no fear for you, and am confident you will succeed."

"I cannot thank you sufficiently now," Helen answered. "I am bewildered. May I be excused from dinner?"

"Yes, and anything you desire to-morrow. You have my warmest sympathy, and I feel that I do not want to lose sight of you in the years to come."

It was a sad night for Helen, a sad day following; indeed, it took all the joy out of the graduation exercises for her. Mrs. Wiley made her proffer and Helen accepted it.

"So you see we shall not be separated after all," she said to both Daisy and Miss Craven, and the latter began to weave some plans for the future that she would keep to herself until the time came. Ah, if she could repay Helen's kindnesses!

Miss Gage reached New York the first day of July. Most of the girls had dispersed from the school. Helen was to go to the city with Mrs. Aldred's party.

The day before a telegram from Mrs. Dayton reached her, containing this astounding news:

"Your father has returned. You will find him staying with me."

Could it be true—after all these years?

Helen seemed to herself as one in a dream. Her sorrow for Mrs. Van Dorn had grown with every hour and she almost abhorred herself that she should ever have hesitated a moment about devoting her whole life to her benefactress, who had only asked for a few years. But this new claim! She could not ignore it. How many times she had wished for his return! But all these years he had made no sign, expressed no desire to know whether she were living or dead. The neglect stung her cruelly.

She had no time to consider this phase of affairs. She had about decided to accept Mrs. Wiley's offer. There would be home and training for another year, and she felt confident now that she could graduate. On the other hand, there would be clothes and small current expenses even with the strictest economy. She would be a young lady, and she shrank in dismay from all that implied; but now she was quite at sea. There was no one to "give the word," and pilot her through the windings.

She went to the city with Mrs. Aldred and Grace. The other voyagers were already there. The first business on hand was a visit to the lawyer's, where Miss Gage would meet them.

The story was substantially what the companion had written. Mrs. Van Dorn had gone out of life in that moment of time when she had felt confident of some years before her. She had been spared suffering and dread.

"When all expenses are met there may be a thousand or two thousand dollars," explained Mr. Castles. "Mr. Fenton insists upon calling for the strictest accounting, which he has a right to do, of course, and this means the small residue will be divided between you," bowing to Mrs. Aldred, "and himself. I suppose she thought she would have so little to divide it was not worth making a will. He insists the valuable jewels shall be sold. But here is one point in which I think you will bear me out in believing the law has no right over. Mrs. Van Dorn gave me each year a sum to be spent on Miss Grant. It was her desire, and a most excellent idea, I think," smiling vaguely, "that Miss Grant should not fall into extravagant habits. There was a small amount left over when she made the new allowance. This, I take it, belongs to Miss Helen Grant, and I propose to pay it over to her at once. It is a private matter."

"I agree with you perfectly," returned Mrs. Aldred, in an approving tone; glad, indeed, that it could be so. "I wish I dared double or quadruple it, but I have no right. This will be precious to you, Miss Grant, as the gift of your benefactress. I know it was in her heart to treat you as if you were a near relative, a granddaughter, as she said in a late letter."

Helen's eyes overflowed, but she could not trust her voice.

"It is a lovely remembrance," added Mrs. Aldred with much feeling. "And Helen is worthy of it."

The lawyer handed her the envelope, but she was too much moved to inspect its contents.

"Now, you and Miss Gage may take the ante-room, as I am certain that step prefigures Mr. Fenton," the lawyer announced.

Miss Gage had much to say to the young girl.

"I am so glad you wrote just that letter of gratitude," she began. "I cannot describe Mrs. Van Dorn's delight to you. She was almost childish over it and read it again and again, and though she was not sentimental about keeping letters, I found this in a box of trinkets and have brought it back to you. She was not an effusive woman, but I think she counted a great deal on having your entire love. You see I was one of a family who have always been very dear to each other, and who clung together as few families do. In the autumn I was to go home, as she had found a most excellent maid, who was also quite a practised nurse. Mrs. Van Dorn liked society and style and had many fashionable friends who did admire her, and then she would have a few months of simplicity, and quiet living, which she believed preserved one's health and mental faculties. No one would have supposed she was eighty-six—I did not know it until Mr. Castles told me. I do very much regret she could not have lived a few years longer; you would have had a charming time, and there would have been no relatives to interfere."

Helen winced, but said nothing.

"She has purchased various articles the last year for you, boxes of trinkets marked with your name and put in my hands for safe keeping. Hardly a week before that sad day she came home one morning with the eager interest of a young person. She had bought a beautiful inlaid box with fine brass handles, and some new things, and bade me look up all the others and put them in, and said laughingly it was a treasure trove and when she was especially pleased she should bring you a gift out of it. Mr. Castles has it, and will hand it over to you. I cannot tell you how sorry I am you will not have this delightful time abroad. She was counting on your enthusiasm to inspire her, to make her over, she used to say. She had many admirable qualities. Of course, there were ways and whims and times of depression when she looked to her companion to cheer her. I think now they were the little advances of age that she resolutely refused to yield to. She was very just, she abhorred plain falsehood, though I suppose most elderly women do indulge in some make-believes," smiling a little sadly.

It was evident from the sound of voices in the adjoining room that Mr. Fenton was not having an agreeable time. He insisted the heirs had been grievously wronged by this annuity business.

"As if the money was not hers to do what she chose with it," said Miss Gage. "And it seems as if the Van Dorn relatives would be the ones to object since the money came that way. I am glad she had her own satisfactory life, and she has made others happy as well, even if there is not much left."

Mr. Fenton found that he could not take the matter in hand himself, and that he must wait for the due process of law before he could get even the small sum that would come to him. Mrs. Aldred had to say good-by and go to the steamer. Helen was to write to her and she still strongly advised her going back to Aldred House. Would it be possible?

Mr. Castles brought out the pretty box of treasures and delivered it to Helen. The clerk would put her on the train and see her started on her journey; Miss Gage had to remain with the lawyer, but her good-by was very sympathetic and tender, and she, too, begged Helen to write, as she should always take a deep interest in her.

Helen settled herself for the long journey and the endeavor to disentangle the events that had so crowded upon her these few days. Whether she should go back to Aldred House did not altogether depend upon herself. True, one perplexing question was settled—she took out her envelope and examined its contents. Five fifty-dollar bills, a ten, and a five beside. Two hundred and sixty-five dollars. She could go through another year successfully, and though she would still be young, she could no doubt find a place to teach.

But what if this should be the end of school life? Her whole being rose up in revolt. She had mentally protested against giving it up for pleasure, she remembered, but that would have been going on in knowledge of all kinds, climbing up and up, drinking in the juices of the fruit ripened and preserved long ago, that would never lose its flavor. And to take was not all, to give presently, to rouse some unthinking girl as she had been roused, to reach out a helping hand—yes, she had helped Juliet Craven over the thorny way, through the dense forest where learning was well-nigh smothered with parasitic growths that could be cleared away and let in sunshine. Ah, there were many lives needing it.

And now, when one unlooked-for event had cleared the way, this new one must arise.

What was her father like? she wondered. She really had no definite or trustworthy impression of him. As a little child she had stood in great awe of him, though she could not remember that he had ever been severe with her. Her mother had complained a good deal, and she always said, "Your father," as if the child was in some way answerable for the infelicities. Aunt Jane had given cruel flings sometimes, and generally scoffed at him as being impractical and a complete failure.