“Hetty Goodenough, you’ll have to interfere, and set your foot down firmly too, or the child’s health will be ruined for life,” remarked that young lady to herself, stealing another and another furtive glance at the wan, thin cheeks of Floy Kemper. “Why, she’s but the ghost of the pretty girl the expressman brought here two months ago.”
The Christmas holidays were near at hand, and for weeks past orders for party-dresses, head-dresses, opera cloaks, etc., had poured in upon the establishment till, as Mrs. Sharp said, they were driven almost to distraction.
It was now near midnight following one of the hardest days of the season, and all the weary toilers save these two had left the work-room to seek the rest so sorely needed.
“Floy,” said Hetty aloud.
They had long since taken up the habit of calling each other by these familiar names.
“Well, Hetty?” and the girl, who was busily engaged in looping up the folds of rich silk and lace on an over-skirt, with delicate blossoms wonderfully real in their loveliness, looked up from her work with a faint smile.
“Do give that up for to-night; you’ve done too much to-day by a great deal.”
“But it can’t be helped while so many are hurrying us so for their dresses, and this will be done now in a few minutes.”
“The heartless creatures!” ejaculated Hetty. “There’s nothing hardens the heart like love of dress, Floy; I’d rather be—what I am—worked half to death—than a butterfly of fashion. Well, if you’re determined to finish that, I must come and help you.”
“Thank you,” said Floy. “What makes you so good to me, Hetty?”
“It’s odd, isn’t it? but somehow I took a fancy to you the first minute I set eyes on you.”
“And you’ve been the one bright spot in my life here ever since.”
Hetty looked both touched and gratified.
“There, it’s done at last!” she said presently, holding up their finished work, gazing at it admiringly for an instant as she shook out the rich folds; then carrying it to a closet, she hung it up carefully, shut and locked the door, putting the key in her pocket, and came back to Floy.
“What is it?” she asked almost tenderly, for Floy sat in a despondent attitude, her elbow on the table, her cheek on her hand, while her eyes, gazing into vacancy, had a deeply sad, far-away look.
“I was only thinking,” she answered with an effort to speak cheerfully; but her voice broke, and a sudden gush of tears followed the words.
“Don’t mind me! I—I didn’t mean to!” she faltered, dashing away the bright drops and vainly struggling to recover her composure, as Hetty dropped on one knee at her side and put her arms affectionately about her.
“You’re just worn out; that’s one trouble, but I’m afraid not the only one. I’m not curious, and don’t want to obtrude myself into your confidence, but if you want sympathy—I’d be ever so glad to give it. I—I’ve thought sometimes ’twould do you good to unburden your heart to some one. You’re homesick, I’m sure of that, for I know the symptoms. The home folks ought to write to you oftener than they do. I’ve noticed the postman has brought you only two or three letters since you came, and one of those was from an attorney at law.”
“Yes, and the others were from one who is a dear, kind friend, but has no drop of my blood in her veins. Hetty, I never had a sister or brother. Last year—oh! only four short months ago—I was a petted only child, the darling of the best, kindest, dearest of parents; now—I am alone—all alone! The grave closed over them both in one day.”
The last words were scarcely audible, but Hetty’s quick ear caught them, and her warm heart bled for the bereaved one. She clasped her more closely in her arms and wept with her.
“Poor dear, poor dear!” she said, “what a pleasant home you must have had with them! Wouldn’t it do you good to talk of it to me?”
Floy felt that it would, and in trembling, tearful tones drew a bright picture of the happy home of her childhood, the tender parental love and care that had made it such in no ordinary degree.
Hetty was just the deeply-interested, sympathizing listener the poor heart craved, and the outpouring relieved it of half its load.
“What a change for you—coming here!” was Hetty’s comment; “and how well you have borne it! so patient, so uncomplaining, so diligent, and faithful! I hardly know how you can have sufficient energy and ambition.”
“A strange remark coming from you,” returned Floy, smiling faintly as she wiped away the tears she had been shedding to the memory of the dear ones gone, “you who seem to me to be the very embodiment of energy and ambition.”
“Ah, I’m used to the life, and I have an object; poor mother has only me to relieve her of her heavy burdens; love of her lightens toil wonderfully!”
“Love of Another too, Hetty; isn’t it so? And I too can rejoice in the hope that He is pleased when I strive to do my work faithfully, because it is of His appointment, and be patient under trial, because He sends it.”
Hetty silently pressed the hand she held, a tender moisture gathering in her eyes.
“And—yes, I will tell you, for I am sure you are a true friend, one worthy of my confidence. I have another object in life besides the necessity of earning my own support.”
And in a few brief, eager sentences, alight shining in her eyes, a tender smile hovering around her full, red lips, Floy told of her hope that she had still a mother living, and should some day be able to search her out.
Hetty listened to the tale in almost breathless surprise and delight.
“You’ll find her!” she cried, “you’ll find each other—I’m sure of it.”
“And so am I at times, but I seem to make no progress of late. I so seldom get out even into the street, or go anywhere that I am likely to meet strangers.”
“You ought to be in the store,” said Hetty musingly; “perhaps that can be managed by and by, and in the meanwhile I’ll be on the lookout for you. You resemble her?”
“Yes, allowing for the difference in age. Oh, it seems to me I should know the face if I saw it!”
It was past midnight now, and as the girls must be up by five o’clock in the morning, it behooved them to retire at once.
They bade each other good-night and stole softly upstairs, Hetty stopping on the third floor while Floy went on up to the attic.
It was indeed a change from her old home in Cranley to this that hardly deserved the name, and not more the change in the accommodations and surroundings than in the life she led—leisure, petting indulgence, tender, watchful care in the one; in the other incessant toil, seldom rewarded by so much as a word or smile of approval, very plain fare, her happiness evidently a matter of indifference to all about her except warm-hearted, sympathizing Hetty.
But Floy had borne it well; silent and abstracted she often was, scarce hearing the idle chatter of the others, but always diligent and faithful in the performance of the tasks assigned her; no eye-service was hers, and though often very weary and heart-sick, no complaint passed her lips or could be read in her countenance; what her hand found to do she did with her might, and having, as Mrs. Sharp discovered ere she had been in the house a week, a decided genius for cutting, fitting, and trimming, she had been worked very hard, and was already secretly esteemed an invaluable acquisition to the establishment.
She was breaking down under the unaccustomed strain; she needed the generous, varied, and nutritious diet, the abundance of fresh air and exercise, and somewhat of the rest and freedom from care of the olden time.
Mrs. Sharp was slow to perceive this, but Hetty had suspected it for days past, and to-night had become fully convinced.
She did not lie awake thinking of it, for, like Floy, she was weary enough to fall asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, but it was her last thought on lying down, her first on awaking, and she sprang up, saying half aloud:
“It shall be attended to, and this very day, sure as you’re born, Hetty Goodenough!”
“What, Hetty?” asked her mother drowsily.
“Can’t wait to explain now, mothery; the clock’s striking five; will another time. Just turn over and take another nap while Patsy and I get breakfast.”
“It’s a shame! I ought to get up and let you nap it a little longer. What is it Shakespeare says?” muttered Mrs. Goodenough sleepily, turning over as she was bidden to do.
Hetty laughed low and musically as she threw on a wrapper, caught up a shawl, and hurried from the room. She was a power in that house, and knew it too. Mr. Sharp was a penniless dependent upon his wife, who, starting in business with a very small capital, had managed by dint of great exertions to add something to it, and at the same time to support the family and educate their children.
No easy life was hers, as Hetty said; she had shown herself neither prudent nor sharp when she consented to take such a Thorne to her bosom as the lazy, supercilious, self-indulgent husband who, while looking down with contempt upon her from the lofty heights of his intellectual superiority, whether real or fancied, was yet none too proud to live upon her hard earnings; and instead of showing any gratitude for the favors heaped upon him, was perpetually grumbling and finding fault.
His wife bore with and excused him on the plea of ill-health; but Hetty’s opinion, not always kept entirely private, was that he was quite as capable of exertion as the rest of them if he would only think so, and that if by any possibility he could be forced to leave his bed at the early hour set for the rest of the family, and then to go to work with a will at something useful and remunerative, it would have an excellent effect upon him both mentally and physically.
But alas! she had not the power to enforce her cure, and he went on from day to day dozing away the precious morning hours, often the afternoon also, then sitting up far into the night at some literary work that never paid. Sometimes it was an English grammar that was never finished, at others an essay on some subject in which the public could not be brought to take an interest.
He was soured by disappointment, considering himself a very ill-used man, and could not be made to see that the trouble lay in his selfish determination to do only what he liked, whether it would or would not pay and enable him to support himself and family.
Mrs. Goodenough, nominally at the head of the housekeeping department, lacked her sister’s native energy, and was really out of health, and the greater part of that burden was assumed by Hetty, who was a perfect embodiment of vigor and efficiency.
Hetty had charge of the millinery part of the concern also, including a store in which she had invested a few hundreds inherited from her father, bringing to the business also a thorough knowledge of the trade.
She kept the accounts too, and was in fact quite as much the mainspring of the whole establishment as Mrs. Sharp herself, if not more so.
And this was well for the employees, since it was by Hetty’s oversight of marketing and cooking that the table was supplied with a sufficiency of wholesome, well-prepared food, and meals were served with the regularity so necessary to health.
She could not wholly save them from being overworked, or indeed herself either, but the hours of labor were sometimes abridged by her thoughtful kindness in exerting her influence to that end.