Six Girls Part 15

"She makes me think of a chestnut burr," said Kittie resorting to figurative comparisons. "There's lots of good in her, but she won't let any one get at it. If we try, she shuts up and gets p.r.i.c.kly. I never thought much about it, until here lately, and then she was so splendid, and knew how to do everything; and, I begin to think that there is ever so much more to her than we think, even if she is queer, and don't seem to like us much."

"Well, I wouldn't worry so about her," interposed Ernestine, as though the subject wearied her. "She evidently don't like us excessively, or care about being with us, so leave her alone. Bea, come let's try our duet."

Olive had sat perfectly still, and heard all this, quite unconscious that her feet were getting chilly in the cold oven, or that, perhaps, she should have notified them of her presence. She had a vague feeling, as of one trying hard to solve a problem, and pausing suddenly in her vain efforts, to listen to some one solving it for her. But surely they could not be right! Olive left her seat noiselessly, and went up the back stairs to her room. It was bitterly cold there, but she wrapped her shawl about her, and sat down by the window, where the fast falling snow was almost hidden in a heavy wrap of early twilight. Olive did not often pray. To be sure she said her prayers every night, as properly and methodical as clockwork, and was very particular about always kneeling down, as though position could atone for any lacking earnestness; for she was just as apt to be thinking of her account-book, or Mr. Dane's last order, as of anything, in the hurried words that slid over her lips. Yes, she prayed in this way once in every twenty-four hours, but there never came to her any of those sudden, pa.s.sionate appeals for help or strength, when the whole heart leaps to the lips, or pleads dumbly, in its great need. Notwithstanding all teachings to the point, it never really occurred to her that G.o.d had as quick and sympathetic an ear for a little prayer of few words over some trivial worry, given silently in the busy kitchen, or on the crowded street, as He had for those when she knelt down at night, and absently asked for her daily bread, and to forgive as she was forgiven, and then get properly into bed and refrained from speaking again, lest she spoilt the effect. At any rate, the first prayer that had ever sprung to her lips, with the suddenness of utter helplessness, came from them now, as she sat there, trying to think and battle with hasty conclusions that would spring up:

"Oh G.o.d, please don't let me try to think it out alone, because I will get it all wrong if I do. If it is my fault, make me feel it and know how to act, and don't let me be so odd, or whatever it is that makes me feel as I do."

With the earnestness of the request, came a quiet feeling that she felt to be her answer, and all the time she sat there, which was until the supper-bell rang, she felt more contented than ever before with her thoughts. Not that G.o.d immediately took away her faults, and left her placid and quiet, with nothing to battle against, because He does not do that way; it can never be said to us: "Well done, good and faithful servant," if we've done nothing; and the battling with our faults and worries is just as much our work, as the successful doing of some great deed that may bring both G.o.d's pleasure and an earthly halo.

When Mrs. Dering came home on Friday evening, she was quick to note a change of some kind, not but what every one seemed the same at a quick observation, but, there was a something. Now don't think that any thing so unnatural and improbable had happened, as Olive being bereft of all faults, and suddenly clothed in the guise of a household angel, because there hadn't, there never does; but she had thought much, and Olive had a mind capable of more deep reasoning thought than most girls of fifteen; she stopped fighting herself with weapons solely of her own make, but sent many a little wordless prayer for a different feeling, and then she found that it came more easily, and more completely triumphed over its enemy. To-night she had a little ribbon tied in her hair, only a small thing, but something unusual for Olive, and Mrs.

Dering noticed that the bow at her throat was just of the same shade, also something unusual. Now over just this little thing, Olive had stood in silence, while two feelings within her held an argument:

"What's the use," said one; "you're as ugly as fate, and the girls will laugh; besides if you go in the sitting-room after supper, they will say you just did it to make them say something."

"No such thing," retorted the other, "You've no right to think such things, when they've given you no reason. Go on right down stairs, you know they want you, they said they did." And so she had gone down immediately,--perhaps she took a little pleasure in defying herself,--and though the girls saw the ribbons the moment she came in, no one said anything, for there came a feeling to each, that she would not want them spoken of.

Mrs. Dering noticed also that when they were gathered in the sitting-room after supper, that instead of sitting off in the far corner of the lounge as usual, she had joined the circle about the table, and was busy on some worsted work.

Ernestine was rocking idly with her pretty feet displayed on the fender, and her prettier hands clasped above her head, in an att.i.tude both graceful and becoming. She was surveying the group about the table, where all hands were busy, and all tongues going merrily, and more than once her eyes went from Olive's ribbon's to Olive's face, so changed under the effect of a smile. They were talking of father now, with their voices lowered a little, and looking up frequently to the large portrait, as if expecting him to answer, and she wondered a little, what could be the matter with Olive, that she talked so much more than usual.

"A penny for your thoughts Ernestine," said Bea, in a pause that came presently.

"I was just thinking how hard it was to be disappointed," answered Ernestine, as pathetically as though the whole world had grieved her in some way.

"What's your disappointment! tell us," cried Kittie with interest; and everybody looked up expectant at the young lady who "had a disappointment."

"Why, I want to study with great masters and be a splendid wonderful singer, with the whole world at my feet, and sending me elegant presents," said Ernestine, who always liked to tell her little grievances or wants, and receive condolence or help.

"What a modest desire," laughed Kat. "Hasn't some one else got a disappointment, because they can't sit on a gold throne and eat sauce made of pearls with a gold spoon?"

"I've got one," said Bea, with her head over her sewing. "I'd like to have mama stay home and be easy, and I'd like to have lots of pretty clothes and some real lace."

"Well, I've got one," announced Kat briskly. "I don't like being poor. I hate pots and kettles worse than mad dogs. I would like a wheel-barrow full of b.u.t.ter-scotch every day and a pair of slippers with blue tops and French heels. I haven't got any talent, so I needn't worry about never being able to bring it out; it would scare me to death if I had one, because talented people are always expected to do something big.

That's all, and I don't know really where the disappointment is, but I guess it's the b.u.t.ter-scotch and slippers. What's yours Kittie?"

"I don't know," answered Kittie, with a sigh and a glance at her hands.

"I guess mine's having to wash dishes, and not having black eyes, and not being able to travel all over the world."

"Well, I've got one too," said Olive, to every one's intense surprise, as they did not suppose that she was paying any attention to what they were saying, much less to join them. "I'd like to be as beautiful as the loveliest portrait ever seen, and be able to paint the grandest pictures in the world."

Everyone was silent with astonishment. For Olive to express two wishes, and such exaggerated ones, before them all, was something no one could fully appreciate who had not heard her repeatedly ridicule the same when uttered by the others.

Mrs. Dering had been sewing and listening with a smile, but now she glanced up, met Olive's eyes, and the smile brightened warmly, and there was something in it that made Olive's heart feel happy and glad that she had made her little speech, though she had hesitated before doing so.

"I don't suppose anybody cares to hear about my disappointments," said Mrs. Dering, not looking as if she had any.

"Yes, we do; I was just going to ask," exclaimed Kittie, moving closer.

"I know you've got heaps, and they're not about clothes and b.u.t.ter-scotch, and eyes, and doing great things either. Now tell us all."

"I don't see why I should have heaps," began Mrs. Dering, with a laugh.

"Is it because I am so old, or do I look as though I had been weighted down with them?"

"Why, no indeed; but didn't you ever have any, really?"

"Yes, indeed, my dear girls, many; that at the time, perhaps seemed very hard and bitter; but I came through them, and have seen some happy, happy days where their shadow never fell. I tell you what would be a very bitter disappointment to me now, and that would be to have my girls grow to womanhood, and each be discontented with her lot. I would feel as though all my love and labor had been in vain. It is my constant regret that I cannot give you each a complete and finished education, and supply home with all the comforts we love; but when I look at you now, all working so bravely, and receiving with so little complaint your rigid discipline, it makes me happy indeed, because I see in you, a womanly strength and character, that a life of ease, comfort, and few self-denials, could never have brought out clearly, and I know that G.o.d has chosen this way to make our girls the dear n.o.ble women we want them.

I would that He had seen best to leave father with us, but He did not, so we must just feel that He still loves, and is interested in us, and have just as much thought for His approval as when _he_ was with us.

Now, about your disappointments;" and there she paused to glance around, but each young face was warm with interest, so she went on with her cheery smile:

"Here Ernestine, to begin with, wants to conquer the world with song, and receive elegant presents. Dearie, to conquer the world, the great, many-faced world, one's head and heart must be capable and willing to a.s.sume any and every guise; to stoop to every form of policy that secures the fickle smile; to bend to all its freaks, until it is subject to yours; and after you had done this, after you had spent your life's sweetest and purest years in studying the art of deceit and triumph, and had brought the beautiful wicked world to your feet, would you be quite happy? Could you ever be again the fresh, untouched, pure hearted creature that you are now? I'm afraid not, dear; and your warmest, greatest longing, would come back to home and girlhood, when you only knew the world's wickedness by hearsay, when you owed it nothing, and never heard its grasping cry for pay for its homage.

"Bea wants pretty clothes, and regrets that mother must work. Quite natural, dear, we all love pretty clothes, and I hope some time we can have all we want, providing it does not become a chief and selfish desire. Mother loves to work for her girls, and only regrets that it must take her from them so much of the time, for the dearest light to a mother's life, the brightest cloud that receives that life's setting sun, is found in the circle of her children's faces. To go back to Bea, she wants some real lace; I hope she may have it some time; it is a beautiful and valuable addition to a lady's wardrobe. But I am quite sure that the face of my Beatrice could never look lovelier over a garb of rarest and most exquisite workmans.h.i.+p than it does to-night, over a pretty linen band, with its womanly thoughtfulness and care."

Bea flushed joyfully, and bent lower over her sewing, while mother went on, with a glance at Kat's expectant face:

"Next comes one of papa's 'boys' with such a hodgepodge of a disappointment, that I can hardly make out which part of it grieves her, or if any does. She don't like pots and kettles, but they often teach us unromantic but necessary lessons that fans and perfumery never could. A wheel-barrow per day of b.u.t.ter-scotch would soon leave her more than she could manage or desire, and slippers with satin tops and high heels, would only prove themselves useless and injurious. She also says she has no talent, but she has a rare and valuable one, that of making the best of all her little trials and grievances, of keeping her daily suns.h.i.+ne free from clouds, and making home happy with her cheerful, happy heart."

Kittie gave her mother's hand a grateful squeeze, for praise given to either of the twins was dear to the other; and Kat sank out of her sight in her chair, quite overcome, and resolved heartily to cultivate her talent to the uttermost.

"Now, our other 'boy,'" continued Mrs. Dering, smiling down into Kittie's upturned face, "wants black eyes, don't like dish-was.h.i.+ng, and would like to travel. I wonder if she thinks I would give up these brave, true, trusty blue eyes, for all the black ones in the universe.

They show what a warm, faithful heart lies within, a heart that shares its twin's talent for making suns.h.i.+ne out of shadows, and home happy with its laughter. A life without a dish-pan misses a good disciplinarian, and, sometimes, a teacher of patience; it's like pots and kettles--unpleasant but necessary, so the sooner we take hold, when we have it to handle, and the better the grace with which we handle it, just so much have we brought our rebellious likes and dislikes under control, and made the best of our duty. While you are getting ready to travel, dear, read the works of those who have travelled, have your mind fresh and ready to more heartily enjoy what others have seen and made immortal through the power of their pen, and if it is best that that pleasure should be given you, it will come at the right time.

"Our Olive next. I wonder if she thinks that though her face was as exquisitely beautiful as the rarest picture ever painted, that it could be any more precious to our sight, than it is now; or if beauty of the loveliest type would be taken in exchange for the strong, earnest character and brave, true heart that is stamped in it. The most beautiful face may sometimes, by nature's indelible portrayer, reveal itself soulless in heart and mind; and the plainest face possess an irresistible charm, if it is allowed to interpret the emotions of a truly n.o.ble heart. I have no ambition that my little girl should paint the grandest pictures in the world, but I hope before long to give her instructions in the art that she loves, and then I want her to use to the uttermost, the beautiful talent G.o.d has given her, and though it should fall far short of being the grandest picture, I should be very happy, and quite content."

Mrs. Dering began folding up her sewing as she finished, and the girls did likewise, looking as though they had taken the little talk to heart and were thinking over it. Olive went out for her account-books and her face wore a happier look, than any one could remember seeing there lately. Before they got through examining and comparing accounts, the other girls said good-night and went up stairs, and when the last book was pushed aside, Mrs. Dering put her arm around Olive, who sat on the stool at her feet, and looked down at her with a smile.

"I like this, dear," she said, touching the ribbons. "And you have made me so much happier to-night, by looking more happy, what is it dear?"

"Nothing, mama," answered Olive. "Only I came home early one day, when the girls didn't know it, and I heard them talking about me. They said how queer and odd I was, and how they felt hurt, because I always stayed away from them, and some more things, and mama, I was so amazed. I always thought they didn't want me, and I didn't know which way to believe and I,--I just asked G.o.d to help me; and I guess He did. It's terrible hard work, though I've only tried it a few days. I'm so ugly, and I've got such a dreadful temper, and always want to think the wrong way, but I notice that I really have been happier these few days; and mama, to-night, you--" Olive paused and looked up shyly, she did not often say such things and it cost something of a little effort to begin--"you looked so happy and I couldn't help but feel that it was because you were glad, and I really am going to try all the harder now."

CHAPTER X.

THE LITTLE BLACK TRUNK.

When Spring came, spirits and strength began to flag. Everything without was so alluring, that indoors and duties grew dreadfully monotonous and tiresome. Bea found that her sweeping and dusting fell terribly behind, because she spent so much time sitting in the window-sills, and standing in the doors, where the suns.h.i.+ne was so temptingly clear and warm, and from where the yard and trees, so rapidly budding out, could be enjoyed.

Olive dreaded her close dark counting-room, but said little about it, in the belief that complaining wouldn't help. Ernestine's four scholars lessened to two, and as the days grew warmer she spent much of the time on the lounge, looking listless, and betraying little interest in anything.

Kittie and Kat, found that s.n.a.t.c.hing moments from work, to take a race down the yard, or gather some particular cl.u.s.ter of fresh young blossoms, gave dish-water a chance to cool; or dust, left ready for taking up, to blow back to all corners of the room. Meals began to fall behind, but everybody was too warm and listless to eat much, or mind the tardiness. In short, everybody had the spring fever, but such ordinary complaint was not noticed, until, as the heat grew more debilitating, Bea said to her mother one evening, as they stood in the door, looking out into the soft still moonlight that lay so purely over the fresh early gra.s.s and blossoms:--"Mama, seems to me Ernestine is not well."

Bea could not understand why her mother should start so, at such a slight intimation, or why her face should look so anxious as she turned it.

"Why, dear?"

"She lies down so much; it may be because the weather has turned warm so suddenly, but seems to me, she is so pale and quiet, and it is something so unusual, that I couldn't help but notice it; but then, may be, it's nothing after all."