Helen Grant's Schooldays Part 36

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 a.s.sured 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 gra.s.s 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 ap.r.o.n.

"I thought I'd get trigged up before anyone came," she exclaimed, "but there's so much to do on Sat.u.r.day. 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 proprietors.h.i.+p.

"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 Sat.u.r.day 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 f.a.n.n.y 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 b.u.t.ter 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 coa.r.s.e, 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----"