Jessie

“Mother,” said Ronald, one evening, as the family were sitting together in the twilight, “I wish we had a sugar-orchard. Only think—Charlie Doane and his little brother Tom have made three hundred and ten pounds of sugar, this year, without anybody’s help, and they’re going to have all the money for it. All their father did was to cut a part of the wood. Charlie isn’t fourteen years old, yet, and he’s got lots of money laid up. Why, he says they’ll get all of twenty-five dollars for their maple sugar, this year.”

“What does he intend to do with his money?” inquired Mrs. Page.

“Oh, he saves it up,” replied Ronald; “he doesn’t spend a cent of it; and when he gets a lot together, he puts it in the bank. He’s earning money all the time—I never see such a fellow. Why, he’s round by day-break, every morning, now, after greens—he sells them over to the village, and picks up lots of change, that way. There, I never thought of it before—I mean to pick some greens, and see if I can’t sell them, and get some money to pay my note. Will you buy them, mother?”

“I’ll buy as many as we can use,” replied Mrs. Page; “but if you are as industrious as Charlie is, I can’t promise to take all you bring.”

“Oh, I never shall be as industrious as he is,” said Ronald; “or at any rate, I never shall pick up money as fast as he does.”

“I shouldn’t like to have you do just as Charlie Doane is doing, if you could,” added Mrs. Page. “I like to see children industrious, and it is well enough for them to earn a little money for themselves, occasionally; but when I see them very eager to get money to hoard up, and never spending a cent, if they can help it, I’m afraid they are training themselves to be selfish, close-fisted worshippers of money. I should tremble for Charlie, if he were my boy.”

“His father praises him up to a great rate, for earning so much money, and saving it up so close,” said Otis. “I was in Mr. Todd’s store, the other day, when he was telling about it. He said Charlie would be a rich man, yet.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Doane, himself, thinks too much of his money,” continued Mrs. Page.

“Mr. Doane?” said Marcus, apparently awakening from a reverie; “he’s a complete miser. When old Mrs. Lane lost her cow, and the people were making up a subscription to buy her another, everybody thought that as Mr. Doane sold the cow to her only a little while before, and made a good profit on it, he would put his name down for five dollars, at least; but he refused to give a single cent towards it. And yet he’s worth fifteen thousand dollars, at the least calculation. He’s an old miser, and it’s my opinion Charlie will be another, if he lives.”

“You’re rather free in your remarks,” said Mrs. Page, smiling. “Do you remember the article in the ‘Wreath,’ a month or two ago, about speaking evil of our neighbors?”

“Yes, ma’am, I remember it,” replied Marcus, “and I believe I’ve only carried out its doctrine. If I recollect right, it took the ground that we ought not to speak of the faults of another, except for a good object. Now I had a good object in saying what I did about Mr. Doane. Charlie’s miserly example had evidently made quite an impression on Ronald, and it was necessary to hold up Mr. Doane’s character in its true light, to counteract that impression. That’s all I did.”

“Well, mother,” said Ronald, “you buy my greens, and I wont hoard up my money. I’ll pay my note, first, and then I’ll buy one of those new-fashioned caps that Ed Baldwin has got. I wish I could have one of those caps, before examination day.”

“There, Ronald,” said Oscar, “don’t begin to talk a fortnight beforehand about what you will wear to the examination—that sounds a little too much like the girls. I overheard some of the girls, to-day, talking about the exhibition; and they didn’t have a word to say about the lessons, or performances, or anything of that sort—it was all dress, dress, dress. One was going to wear white muslin, and another pink, and one was going to do her hair up in this way, and another in that way, and so on to the end of the chapter. I wonder if the girls ever talk about anything besides dress, and looks, and such things.”

“I think they do,” replied Jessie. “I suppose I’ve been among the girls at least as much as you have, to-day, and I don’t remember hearing a word about dress or personal looks.”

“Then you were very fortunate,” said Oscar. “I heard enough about those subjects, at any rate. One girl said she’d give anything in the world, if her hair would only curl; another had got some beautiful new lace to trim her dress; and another didn’t intend to wear any jewelry, at the examination, but was going to trim herself up with buds and flowers, instead. One might have supposed, from the way they talked, that we were to have a grand examination of dresses, and nothing else.”

“And Mr. Paul Pry was sneaking around, listening to it all, was he?” inquired Kate.

“No, I didn’t have to listen, for I couldn’t help hearing,” replied Oscar. “But I didn’t say who they were, and if you wont expose them, Kate, I wont.”

“Oh, I care nothing about your exposing us,” retorted Kate; “I was only thinking how you had exposed yourself. I suppose I was one of the party he refers to. Abby Leonard happened to come along, and you know she’s always talking about dress, and she began to tell what she was going to wear exhibition day. So the others joined in for a few minutes, and that was the origin of all this fuss about ‘dress, dress, dress.’”

This retort, which was uttered in a somewhat bitter tone, surprised Oscar very much, for Kate was one of the best-natured of girls, and he had never before heard her speak in this way. He had evidently touched her in a tender spot, and he began to think he had committed a serious offence. So he stammered out the best apology he could think of, saying that he only spoke of the matter good-naturedly, and meant no offence to any one. Ronald and Otis, seeing how the battle was going, now came gallantly to the rescue of Oscar, and volunteered their testimony to his side of the case. The girls, they said, were all the time talking about dress—they noticed it every day.

“Well, supposing we do talk rather more about dress than we ought to,” said Kate, “I think you are a pretty set of folks to rebuke us for it. There’s Oscar—there isn’t a boy or young man in the academy that is so particular about dress as he is; and Otis can never go within forty feet of a looking-glass, without stopping to smooth his hair; and as to Ronald, if he hadn’t just showed what’s running in his head, nobody would have thought of talking about dress.”

Ronald and Otis both attempted to reply to this speech at once, but Mrs. Page stopped them, and then said:

“This debate is getting to be a little too spicy, and I think it had better be brought to a close. In my opinion, both sides are partly right, and both are partly wrong. I have no doubt that many of the girls think and talk a great deal too much of what they shall wear, and how they shall look. It is a great fault, look at it in what light you will. There is nothing so becoming in woman or girl as simplicity and neatness in dress. It is a barbarous taste that is fond of extravagant and gaudy apparel, or showy jewelry. And then, this taste is not only bad in itself, but it leads to a great many evils. A woman who has it soon becomes frivolous and vain; she overlooks honest merit, in plain attire; she is jealous and envious of those who make more show than she does; she becomes extravagant and reckless, and perhaps drives her father or husband into bankruptcy, that she may have the means to gratify her selfish taste. It is all wrong, from beginning to end. But then it was hardly fair in Oscar to intimate that all the girls are given to this folly. I believe there are some who think and talk of other things besides dress.”

“I suppose I was a little too sweeping in saying that,” said Oscar. “But I do think it is a great fault in many girls, that they think and say so much about dress. I’ve thought of it a great many times.”

“Now you’re talking sensibly,” said Aunt Fanny. “I think we all, ladies as well as gentlemen, will agree with you there. We are all acquainted with women and girls who seem to think more of dressing well and looking pretty than of anything else. I have known women whose whole souls seemed to be bound up in dress; but their souls were very small, you may depend upon that.”

“I think there is something very belittling and dwarfing to the mind, in a love of dress and finery,” said Mrs. Page. “I knew a woman who was a great lover of dress, who, at the age of forty, had no more judgment, or stability, or strength of mind, than a child ten years old; and yet she was naturally a person of good capacities. She devoted her mind to such petty trifles, that instead of expanding as she grew older, it shrivelled up.”

“I have heard,” said Oscar, “that intelligent foreigners are astonished by the parade of silks, and satins, and jewelry, which American ladies make in the streets, and in the hotels and watering places. They say our merchants’ and mechanics’ wives and daughters often dress more extravagantly than the nobility of Europe.”

“Mother used to say,” said Jessie, “that the best rule is, to dress so that people will not notice what you have on. I think if I had ever so much money, I should not want to dress so as to attract attention, and occasion remark; neither do I want to dress so poorly, or be so far out of fashion, that people cannot help noticing me.”

“That is a safe and excellent rule,” said Mrs. Page, “to dress so that people will not recollect what you had on. There is a command in the Bible, particularly addressed to women, which we should do well to remember: ‘Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.’”

“What is the name of the firm that Abby’s father is the head of?” inquired Marcus, who had brought in a lamp, and was reading the morning newspaper.

“Leonard, Vandenberg & Co.,” replied Ronald; “I thought everybody in town knew that by heart, she’s told of it so many times.”

“They have failed,” said Marcus, his eye still upon the paper; and then he read the telegraph despatch which announced the fact. It was as follows:

“Leonard, Vandenberg & Co., one of our largest commission houses, suspended to-day. Mr. Vandenberg mysteriously disappeared last week, and it is rumored that he has embezzled a large portion of the firm’s assets. The other partners have surrendered everything, but the failure is believed to be a very bad one.”

“What will poor Abby do, now?” exclaimed Jessie, with unaffected sympathy.

“I don’t pity her one mite—she’d no business to be stuck up so,” said Kate, who had not yet fully recovered her usual good nature.

“Her pride will have a fall now, wont it?” added Otis.

“I shouldn’t wonder if it proved the best thing that ever happened to her,” said Oscar.

“I wonder if she has heard of it, yet,” said Ronald. “I’ve a good mind to go and tell her—would you?”

“She’s heard of it, before this time—bad news travels fast,” said Mrs. Page.

“Well, I’m sorry for the poor girl—it must be a terrible blow to her,” said Marcus.

And so one and another commented on the news, most of the little company expressing sympathy for Abby, though she was by no means a favorite with any of them. Even Kate so far relented, before the matter was dropped, as to express the hope that none of the scholars would “twit” Abby about the sudden change in her position.

Abby appeared at school, the next morning, holding her head as high as ever, and apparently as calm and happy as though nothing out of the usual course had occurred. She must have been conscious, it would seem, that she was the centre of many sidelong glances, and that there was an unusual amount of whispering going on among the girls; but she did not appear to notice these significant signs. So it began to be believed that she had not heard of her father’s failure. After a while, however, one miss who had had many a sharp encounter with Abby, unable to stand the painful suspense any longer, bluntly put the question to her old enemy, in the presence of several of her school-mates—

“Did you see the Boston papers, yesterday?”

“It’s nothing to you whether I did or not,” instantly replied Abby, her face white with passion, and her frame trembling with excitement.

“Well, you needn’t be so touchy about it,” replied the other girl. “I only asked, because I thought it would be doing you a favor to tell you your father had failed, if you didn’t know it.”

“I wish folks would mind their own business, and let me alone,” said Abby in the same angry tone, and she turned away from the group, who had listened to this conversation.

“I declare, she has a queer way of expressing her sorrow,” said the other girl, before Abby had got out of hearing.

Abby heard of her father’s failure, almost as soon as she reached her boarding-place, after school, the previous day. The intelligence fell upon her like a thunderbolt. She retired to her room, and cried for several hours, and finally, nature becoming exhausted, she sobbed herself to sleep. The next morning, the question arose in her mind, whether she should stay at home, and thus avoid meeting her school-mates, whose taunts she was perhaps conscious she had reason to expect; or whether she should go boldly and mingle with them, exhibiting before them a total unconcern in regard to the failure. She finally adopted the latter course, and we have seen how far she succeeded. There were some among her associates who longed to whisper a word of sympathy or encouragement in her ear; but the bravado air she assumed forbade, and the poor girl found she had doomed herself to hug the crushing burden secretly to her heart, without a loving word of pity from any of her young associates.

The academy was dismissed in the afternoon, and Abby was hurrying away from her school-mates, when an arm was softly laid upon her shoulder, and, turning, she found Jessie by her side. In the kindest and most delicate way, Jessie alluded to the misfortune that had overtaken Abby, and expressed her sympathy for her. And then she went on to tell her how this very loss might prove, in the end, a great blessing to her family, and especially to herself. It might lead her to depend upon herself, instead of others; to think less of fashion, and show, and position, and wealth, and more of a well-cultivated mind, an amiable spirit, and a useful life. It might, in fact, be the making of her, if, instead of sitting down and repining, she would now begin to live for some good purpose. And then Jessie argued that the misfortune was not half so bad as it might have been. Mr. Leonard was not an embezzler, like his partner, but had honorably surrendered his property. The loss of money, she said, was nothing compared with the loss of integrity and character.

Abby at first received Jessie’s condolence rather cavalierly. She said her family always had lived in style, and she did not believe they would come down now. Her father was a great merchant, she said, and if he had lost some of his money, he knew how to make plenty more. In fact, she didn’t consider it any great thing if he had failed. But this assumed indifference to her trouble soon melted away under the kind and sympathizing words of Jessie, and Abby at length fully opened her heart, and found some degree of relief in pouring out her griefs in the ear of her friend.