How Ethel Hollister Became a Campfire Girl Part 6

"Well, Alice has always hidden the family skeleton, but I will tell you all about it.

"When I was about thirty-six years of age I married Robert Carpenter. I was alone and wealthy. I loved him and tried to make his life happy, but he drank. He had inherited that habit from his father, and drinking led to gambling. He grew worse and worse. One night under the influence of drink he came home and seemed determined to pick a quarrel. Seeing that he was irresponsible I made no reply to his very insulting remarks.

That angered him beyond endurance. He struck and threw me across the room. Then he left the house.

"Over on the hill by the Asylum is the grave of my little son who was born and died that night."

Ethel started.

"Yes, my dear, I have been a wife and mother. Of course, I knew nothing until the next day. I recovered consciousness but Robert had gone. He had taken all of my money that he could find in the house and he had not gone alone. His companion was a disreputable woman from the town."

Aunt Susan paused and looked over toward the little grave on the hillside.

"It seemed," she continued, "as though G.o.d, who knew my sorrow at losing my little one, sent me my two dear boys--Tom and Fred. They came into my life when I most needed them and were my greatest comfort, for I was a lonely woman, my dear. One day I received a letter written in a strange hand saying that my husband was ill and not likely to live--that he wished for me, to ask my forgiveness, and he begged me for G.o.d's sake to go to him. I went. He was in Detroit in a squalid boarding house. I was shocked at the change. I had not realized that a man could so lose his good looks as he had done. I took him to a clean place kept by a woman who had been highly recommended. Upon my arrival he wept bitterly and begged my pardon. Then I was glad that I had never divorced him as my friends had advised, for the poor man had been deserted by his companion when the money had gone. He had kept on sinking lower and lower, ashamed to appeal to me until when what he thought to be his last illness came upon him he sent for me to ask my forgiveness."

"Did you give it?" asked the girl.

"Yes, Ethel, I did, and I gave it freely, because for the year past he had been stone blind. I was so glad that I could cheer him up and make the few remaining days of his life liveable."

"Did you ask him of his companion?" asked Ethel.

"No, he never spoke of her, nor did I. Had he wished to have told me he would have done so. Robert had many loveable traits--yes, many n.o.ble traits--but it was drink that ruined him. He was not mercenary. I had money, but until he began to drink he was too proud to take it from me.

He was truly fond of me and would have married me had I been poor, but of course after he had started the downward course he lost his pride.

"Well, I joined him in Detroit and stayed until after he died. His sight never returned, but I read to him and cheered him up, and I had the satisfaction of knowing that I made the last part of his life happier.

That's all, my dear. It is almost too sad to tell to a young girl."

Ethel sat and gazed upon her,--the woman who had shown such mercy to a brute,--a wife deserted by her husband,--a mother never able to feel the hand of her little child upon her cheek,--a woman whose life had been spent in helping others, with no thought of self. The tears came into the girl's eyes. She seemed to behold a bright halo about Aunt Susan's head, and it filled her with awe. Suddenly she saw herself as she really was,--the daughter of a selfish, mercenary mother, whose sole ambition was for her future position in life. And this was her mission--to visit this n.o.ble woman with a view to ingratiating herself and becoming her heiress,--to make her think she loved her,--to make herself indispensable to her. Yes, those were her mother's words. She had destroyed the letter lest it should be seen, but she knew it by heart.

The young girl saw it all. Her lips quivered and she felt so utterly unworthy that she fell on her knees and buried her face in Aunt Susan's lap, sobbing bitterly.

CHAPTER XV

A NEW ETHEL

"Oh! Aunt Susan, you don't understand and I am afraid to tell you, but I am such a wicked girl--such a hypocrite, and so unworthy of your relations.h.i.+p and love. I am a cheater and a waster. My life is all lies and sham. It always has been lies and sham. I wish to tell you everything so that you may see me as I am.

"I came here to get into your good graces--to win your love that thereby I might gain your fortune and marry into one of our old families--a man of great social prominence--and I've been trying to make you like me and make myself necessary to you. I've tried to give you the impression that I was clever so that in case you wished to make me your heiress you would not hesitate for fear that I might be extravagant and a spendthrift. I can't tell you how bad I am. I've been ashamed of being seen with you on account of the queer way you dressed. I'm not fit to put my head in your lap--no, I'm not fit to stay under your roof any longer," and Ethel's sobs were pitiful to hear. She became hysterical.

Then Aunt Susan took her in her arms.

"Child," she began, "don't cry. You have told me nothing new. I understood from the first why you came home with me. You have many n.o.ble traits of character. Your grandmother and I thought that under different influences you might become a splendid woman. It was she who suggested my inviting you. You are a good girl, Ethel, and above all you have a kind and tender heart. You are a Carpenter in spite of your mother, and anyone bearing my father's name can not go far from right. You have shown that this morning. Now, my dear, in this world environments have much to do with one's character, and you have never had a chance, my poor little girl," and Aunt Susan kissed and soothed her as a mother might have done. "Now forget it all, my dear child, just as I shall forget. Let us begin anew from this morning."

"But, Aunt Susan," sobbed the girl, "I feel so unworthy, and you are so sweet to forgive me. I should think you'd hate me and want me to leave your house. But, believe me, I do love you--I love you as dearly as I love Grandmamma and Papa. Excepting in books I never knew that any one woman could be so good and self-sacrificing as you are. Oh, will you believe that I don't want your money, and that I only care for your respect and forgiveness, and your love, if you can give it?"

"Yes, my dear, I believe every word that you say. I believe in you from now on," and Ethel threw her arms around Aunt Susan's neck and wept for joy.

CHAPTER XVI

AUNT SUSAN'S TRIALS

"And now sit down, my dear, and I will tell you something. First you can never be my heiress, for I have no money to give away or leave to anyone. Tom supports me entirely. You look surprised and I don't wonder.

I never told your grandmother. She is old and, owning the house in New York as she does, would probably insist upon my living with her; and until a year ago I had hopes of recovering some of my property that I had been cheated out of, but I have given it up. I love pretty gowns and pretty things as well as anyone, but I am saving the money that Tom insists upon giving me to spend on myself for him. I wish to leave him something at my death. Now I will tell you about it and how I lost my fortune.

"At the time I adopted the boys I was a very wealthy woman. Previous to that year I had given away a great deal for charity, but I had a hobby and that hobby was to establish a humane Insane Asylum. I had seen so much cruelty practiced in different inst.i.tutions where I happened to know some of the inmates, and I had heard of such shocking treatment received by patients, that I resolved to establish a reform. I gave my handsome home for the Asylum. I spent large sums in fitting it up, so that it might seem like a beautiful resort to the poor souls, and as Tom told you, I succeeded in what I undertook. The boys went through school and college,--or Tom did, and poor Fred would have graduated had he lived a year longer. It was sad that he had to die, and so young, too."

Aunt Susan wept as she told of his death.

"Perhaps, you remember, Ethel, of reading or of hearing your father speak of the failure of the Great Western Cereal Company four years ago.

No? I was under the impression that your father owned a few shares of stock. Well, all I possessed in the world was invested in that Company.

It produced the greatest excitement known in years; in fact, throughout the entire West there were panics. Everyone who had a little money saved up bought stock. The dividends were enormous, but they were bogus; that is, they were paid to each one from his or her own money. It was one of those unprincipled concerns. They had been after me for a long while.

They knew that I was honest, wealthy, and respected, and that my name would attract. At first, I put in only a few thousand; then, as it prospered, I put in more, and finally I put in all that I possessed, for I wished to make another fortune that I might build more 'Homes' and do greater good to suffering humanity. The week before its failure what do you think? Three of the princ.i.p.als sailed for Europe. Two were caught, tried and are now serving a long term in prison. Two others committed suicide. Being one of its directors, when the bubble burst I gave up everything I possessed to help pay some of its poorer creditors, but it only went a little way; and I, too, was a victim with the rest. Had I confided my business to Tom he would have advised me not to invest in it, for Tom has a wonderful way of advising people for the best, but I kept it a secret so that when he should come of age I could surprise him, for then I intended to give him full charge of all my affairs. So you see, Ethel, I may have appeared close and penurious, but now you understand why. Tom, although getting on finely, works very hard for every penny, and at times he is almost too generous."

"Oh, Aunt Susan," said the girl drying her eyes, "I feel happy now that you know all and don't despise me. I'm glad that you're poor and that I shan't get any of your money. I only wish that I might go to college.

Yes, I'd work my way through to get a good education so that I could be able to earn my living and not take everything from poor Papa, who works so hard," and Ethel kissed the old lady many times.

CHAPTER XVII

COUSIN KATE ARRIVES

Ethel was too loyal to read her mother's letters to Aunt Susan who always smiled when she received one, but Mrs. Hollister wrote often asking her how she was progressing.

"Aunt Susan writes Grandmother that she has grown to love you very dearly, Ethel, and I see that you have followed my advice like my own daughter. It is now the sixth of June; probably, you will go with Cousin Kate to camp soon. I wish it was all over. I don't like the idea at all.

It will throw you in with a common set of girls, I'm sure. We have saved quite a little this summer by staying home. The girls come in when they are in town and Grandmother enjoys their visits. Mrs. Bigelow and I met on the Avenue. She inquired all about you and I told her that upon Aunt Susan's death you would probably be a very wealthy girl. She admires you immensely and she told me in confidence that Harvey says when you are a few years older and 'come out' you will take Society by storm."

Everyone in the younger set of Akron liked Ethel. She acted in private theatricals; she sang and played, attended teas, and was sought after for bridge. She gave card parties, and the young people raved over the quaintness of the old-fas.h.i.+oned house. She took long walks with Tom. She inveigled him into high collars and discarding shoestring ties or wearing cravats in a bow with loose ends. She even persuaded him to give up slouch hats and dress more up-to-date. He and Aunt Susan dubbed her the "Rejuvenator and Reformer," and she was contented and happy.

Cousin Kate arrived and Ethel was overjoyed upon seeing her, she looked so fine and strong. Her father came with her just to see 'Archie's girl,' and Ethel loved him instantly. He was so like her father that the tears came into her pretty eyes when at the depot she kissed him goodbye.

CHAPTER XVIII

SELECTING THE COSTUME

"You like Father, don't you?" asked Kate of Ethel, as they briskly walked toward the shopping district.

"Like him!" replied the girl, "why, Kate, I just love him. He reminds me of Grandmamma and Papa, but he's more like Grandmamma."