To-days and yesterdays
Cooke, Carrie Adelaide
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A * w\° $• y 0 C* ^y \*°- >.., V*’-’ ^ v . v. t- * « ^ ^ 1 y« • «•■* ^ c0> , cr ° ^/Ll* >■ ^ V 1 » /( ^ yyj < o V ^ r •■:v"< vV ^ ^ &({!?//*?-, f +x- V6 ^ V; % 4 - • - ^ '■- ■ : # + ; * * * , •> .<b 5 “. ‘ «n»- ** ^ O • y n _ v ^ . o 3 * # Girlish forecastings. TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS BY CARRIE ADELAIDE COOKE Author of “From June to June” Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build. H. W. Longfellow. t/J.R 111882 ^ of wAShinG^0: D. LOTHROP & COMPANY FRANKLIN STREET Copyright, 1882. D. Lothrop & Company. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. GIRLISH FORECASTINGS 7 CHAPTER II. HOMEWARD 30 CHAPTER III. SCHOOL-TEACHING 42 CHAPTER IV. TWO PICTURES 68 CHAPTER V. THE QUIET CHAMBER 87 CHAPTER VI. LONGINGS * 104 iii IV CONTENTS. CHAPTER VII. TOGETHER AGAIN 115 CHAPTER VIII. THE ANNIVERSARY 138 CHAPTER IX. WHEAT, OR TARES ? 152 CHAPTER X. I WILL NOT 170 CHAPTER XI. HOPES AND FEARS 188 CHAPTER XII. AT LAST 199 CHAPTER XIII. GOING TO BATTLE 214 CHAPTER XIV. THE PARTING 222 CHAPTER XV. COMING INTO THE CHURCH 234 CHAPTER XVI. WHAT THE FLOWERS SAID 240 CONTENTS. V CHAPTER XVII. HELPED 253 CHAPTER XVIII. THE WINTER 267 CHAPTER XIX. THE BEAUTIFUL FACE 286 CHAPTER XX. THE PROPHECY DEFEATED 292 CHAPTER XXI. THE REUNION 304 CHAPTER XXII. LAST GLIMPSES 820 / TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. CHAPTER* I. GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. ES, Louise, let’s go up into Margaret’s Ji room. It is the coziest one of all, and we want to enjoy ourselves this last evening. The very last, Bertie child! — can you realize it — that we shall not see the sun set behind dear old Merrivale hills again? Just look out now, and make the most of it ! ” The last strong rays stole into the room, hold- ing its occupants in a transient flood of radi- ance. Bertie Arnold and Louise Carroll, arm in arm, stood looking out, taking in, with wist- ful earnestness, every detail of the quiet, familiar picture — the summer fields, with their 8 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. waving corn, the fruit-laden orchards, the mur- muring brook, that seemed, to-night, to be bluer and clearer than ever, and beyond these, the slow-rising hills that reached at last to grim old Mt. Ascutney. Bertie’s looking ended in a sigh. “ Let’s go up-stairs,” she said; and her voice had a very quiet sound, as if some quick, strong feeling might have trembled through it, but for the strong will that repressed it. Louise was twining one of her friend’s golden curls around her fingers. Her regrets caqie to the surface. She didn’t comprehend the un uttered pain that made Bertie’s blue eyes, for the moment, dreamy and shadowed. “ Yes, I’m ready ; only — do you suppose Miss Precision has finished her packing ? She would look us quite out of the room if we intruded during that ordeal.” The merry good humor of her voice showed the words to be kindly and half-jesting. “Yes, she is at leisure. I know she wants GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 9 to see us.” Then with a little impatient shrug of her shoulders, “Why, what a stupid I am to-night! She ashed us to come, when I was up there a while ago. What made me forget to tell you that, I wonder.” “I guess you looked your thoughts all away just now. Well, then, we’ll go, and, if she is in the mood, have one more nice, gay even- ing in Margaret’s room. Bertie, I’m glad walls can’t speak. I wouldn’t want a lot of ‘ new girls’ to get any echoes of all our treasured talks.” Bertie didn’t reply. She was brushing her hair at the little mirror, and just then seemed intent upon drawing a blue ribbon daintily through its rippling waves. “Primping, are you? ‘ Prettifying,’ as Gracie says. Well, I need it, too.” She whisked oft her quiet net and velvet. “ Seeing as Margaret has never beheld us, it will pay to fix up, though my beauty is of a positive order, and doesn’t need any help. 10 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. “ Look here, Bertie, quick ! There ! I’ve got just the right focus of light on my nose. Can’t you read ‘ Excelsior ’ on it ? ” She shook her head with a defiant little laugh. Louise’s nose was a constant trial to her, and her frequent allusions to the unfortunate feature made it almost impossible for the girls to forget what otherwise they would hardly have thought of — that it was slightly retrouss^ ; indeed, inclined to be a pug nose. She, however, enjoyed the monopoly of abusing it. If any one else ventured to allude to the offending member, Louise’s tone changed. “ Poor nose ! ” she would apostrophize ; “I’ll stand up for you since you, stand up so bravely for yourself.” And the critic — who- ever she might be — generally changed the sub- ject at the first of Louise’s seemingly random thrusts at herself. To-night, the same light that revealed the figurative “ Excelsior,” showed, too, pink dimpled cheeks, smiling mouth — not in the least like a “rose-bud,” but very sweet withal — alow white GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 11 forehead, shaded by thick brown hair, and light- ing up her face with changeful brilliancy, a pair of clear brown eyes that emphasized and strength- ened their owner’s right to be considered one of the belles of the school. As she finished her slight preparations and turned toward Bertie, she presented a strong contrast to the face opposite. Looking at Bertie Arnold carelessly, you might have pronounced her sweet, but childish ; a com- prehending scrutiny would make you change the verdict. I always thought of her quiet face and earnest nature as intense. These two girls were room-mates — “ chums,” “ inseparables ” — at the boarding-school of Merri- vale. Coming there at the same time — four years before my story opens — they had main- tained a close friendship ever since. Their class had just graduated two days before this time, and they were no longer “ school-girls.” “ What can they do without us ? ” Louise would exclaim as she met one and another 12 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. of their number wandering disconsolately through the half-dismantled rooms. “We’ve been the pillars of this institution for so long, that it will totter to its very foundation. I’m glad enough to be emancipated, but oh ! I pity the few who remain.” In spite of which merry talk, a few tears would fall sometimes upon her books and papers, as she packed them in her trunk. The two girls locked their doors and went up the winding staircase to Margaret’s “sanc- tum,” as they called it. It was a flight above them, and by so much the more valuable for sight-seeing. “ Point Lookout,” Louise called the dormer window that gave them so many varying pictures, and helped them to forget all the weary stair-climbing by which they had reached it. Long before this, when Margaret Carring- ton, a shy, proud girl, suffering from an acute attack of home-sickness during her first week at school, sat down in this same little GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 13 room to have a “ good cry ” — which she had fought against for days — a bright, merrj^ face had peeped in at the door, and a queer little rippling voice said : “ May I come in ? ” “ Certainly,” rather curtly. “You see I was somewhat afraid to try to call, since you are so aristocratic. You wouldn’t stay down below, where there were plenty of vacant rooms, but must come up here among the clouds ! I don’t like it, but I think I like you . So I’ve ventured upon the ascent, both literal and figurative ” — with an odd little bow. “I think I don’t recall your name,” Margaret said, rather chillingly. “ I ? Oh ! I’m Louise Carroll. Not Miss , please remember. And you are Margaret Carrington. Now guess how I found it out ! It was awfully rude, I know, but I got your book this morning in chapel, and read the name while you were listening to Professor Lindsay’s lecture, and looking, oh, so sober ! ” 14 TO-DAYS AND YESTEEDAYS. Margaret smiled, quite forgetting that this strange girl had interrupted her crying. “I want to tell you as a friend, Margaret, not to begin in this way. It’s an obsolete custom, this listening to his lectures. They’re like the laws of the Medes and Persians, which haven’t varied any since the memory of the oldest inhabitant.” “Which, by the way, Tam not, ’’was the answer. “ I know. But it looks so unsophisticated to pay attention ; as if you expected to hear anything new. Prithee, don’t do it ! ” “I think I just — shall.” They both laughed. It was diamond cut diamond, evidently. Louise’s jesting covered, in reality, kind de- signs. She had noticed the pale, unquiet face, and knew by the sad eyes and tightly-closed lips that the new-comer was unhappy, and so sought her acquaintance in her own peculiar fashion, and helped to make her feel at home among them. GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 15 Memories of those “first days” had been in Margaret’s mind to-night, and it was with a softened expression she turned towards the girls as they paused at the half-open door. Her voice was unwontedly gentle as she greeted them. “ Come in, dear ones, both. I’ve been wait- ing for you. Just now I had got to dreaming a little.” She laughed a low, pleasant laugh, as she spoke. Glancing at her, we see a tall, somewhat stately girl, womanly, and more mature in ap- pearance than the others. Just now one hand rested caressingly upon Bertie’s shoulder; the other, in a restless, unconscious fashion of her own, was toying with the tiny cross attached to her watch-chain. Scarcely pretty, certainly not handsome, was Margaret Carrington, yet possessed of a rarely attractive countenance. Looking into her earnest black eyes, and noticing the broad, intellectual forehead, one would hardly care that her face lacked a little 16 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. in bloom and animation, or that the dignity of her manners verged upon stiffness. Oddly enough, this tall girl, who seemed like an elder sister to her youthful-looking compan- ions, was, in reality, the youngest of the trio. Bertie was just two weeks beyond her eight- eenth birthday, Louise but six weeks younger, while stately Margaret must wait the Christmas- tide before she could call herself eighteen. They nestled down together upon the big lounge, hands clasped, and faces leaning close, loving each other consciously more on this good-by evening than ever before. Louise spoke first, as usual : “ Barter for hard cash, ma belle ? Just a single penny for your thoughts.” “ Which of us ? ” from Bertie. “Not you. I should descend to fractional currency with you ; and then, I’m sure of yours if I wait a while, anyway.” Bertie tried to frown. “Don’t, darling. It’s all my nonsense, you GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. IT know. But Margaret is looking such unutter- able meanings straight at that unwieldy old trunk of hers! It’s too bad, for it never will appreciate them.” Margaret started, and laughed a little, half nervously. “ Unutterable ! That’s just it, Louise. I couldn’t put them into words if I would, and — ” “Wouldn’t if you could? Then you must. I always find the imperative mood works best .with you.” Margaret thought a moment, and then spoke abruptly : “You see, girls, we are done here at school. Never shall belong here again.” “Well, aren’t you glad of it?” “Yes, I’m glad, and sorry. I suppose there is no pleasure without its twinge of regret. Certainly I find none.” “Upon my word, Bertie, she is going to talk to us about 4 wasted opportunities ’ and ‘ mis- spent hours.’ I see it in her face.” 18 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. “Indeed, no, girls. If there have been such, I am not going to bring them up to-night. I guess, after all, we have done as well as most girls. I’m not thinking about anything of that sort. But this pleasant, care-free life of ours, this drifting along together, ends to-morrow. I don’t know about the rest of you, but the thought holds a heartache for me .” A tear fell upon the hand that was holding Bertie’s. “I know it, Margaret, dear;” Louise spoke unsteadily. “But I always try not to think much of painful things. We have been very happy through these school years together, now we must be happy under different circumstances ; true to each other, and sure to meet occasionally, if we really wish to.” “ I like your cheerful philosophy, Louise. But somehow it just touches the surface with me to-night. The shadowy sadness and pain I feel are beyond it. Bertie spoke then, dreamily. GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 19 “ It’s such a great hurrying world. We chanced to come here together ; now we .go so far asunder ! Perhaps never again in all our lives can we reunite the cords of interest and familiar friendship that we must sunder to-morrow.” She paused a moment. It was not quite easy to say what came next. “ If we never do, dear friends — if never on earth I should see your faces again, I should still thank God for the four happy years he has given me with you.” The words meant something, coming from Bertie. An only child, and motherless, she clung with strong tenderness to the friends who suited her sensitive, fastidious nature. Only a few — in a larger, broader sense she loved the world generally ; but very few reached the inner- most. Louise answered after a little silence. “It’s no use. I’ve tried and tried to avert the crisis, but ’tis sure to come. Now, if you have me here weeping like a languishing Niobe, you must blame yourselves. I didn’t want to cry.” 20 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. She sobbed in good earnest for a moment. “It’s downright mean” — in smothered tones from beneath her handkerchief — ^ u when we wanted to have such a nice time to-night.” “ Well, we will yet. This just happened. Cheer up, and we’ll talk sensibly.* I’ll tell your fortunes as we used to years ago,” said Bertie. That roused Louise from her despondency. “Let me be sibyl. I’m just in the mood. And then Margaret may tell mine.” It was an old, gossipy game that had amused them often with its varying disclosures. Perhaps all three felt a little more interest in it than usual to-night, but, nevertheless, it was simply a diversion. Louise opened her book, let Margaret choose her lines, and from them improvised the mystic revelations. “ Going a journey, certainly,” with a grave air of knowledge that made them laugh mer- rily, looking at the newly-packed trunk. “The oracles are right thus far.” GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 21 “ How could she have divined it ? ” whispered Bertie. “A long journey, I should judge, and toward the south. It will bring you much good luck. I foresee two or three adventures on the way. Pay particular heed to them, as they may change your destiny. For a year you will remain in the place whither you are now going. Then your path turns in another direc- tion. But I think you are to go alone . I don’t see any one beside you. It doesn’t seem a very pleasant way, and you keep putting your hands up before your eyes as if you couldn’t see clearly. By and by you get out into the light again. Now I see some one else. He’s tall, and dark, and handsome. He jonly looks at you, but — why! he goes right away again. You don’t walk quite as firmly for a little while. Then you come to a place where you find very many books, and your fingers seem always ink-stained. You get a few wrinkles, and crows’-feet even, I notice, and 22 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. acquire a habit of stooping. But the world seems just to have found out the fact of your existence. And when you are making moan a little to yourself for your vanished youth, and your approaching thirtieth birthday, others will speak of Margaret Carrington, the gifted authoress. So goes the world, fair maiden ! ” “ Is that all ? And are your words gratui- tous? So I am to belong to the book-making craft. Louise, do go on and tell Bertie’s for- tune while you are so happily inspired.” “ It’s growing too dark to read anything. Let hers be a twilight fancy. I ' see this little white face, ever gentle, often smiling, in a stately home, lighting it up with a radiance it has sadly missed of late. I hear this sweet voice making music through the lofty rooms. I see a father’s care-worn face grow young again from watching her. I see all around her books, flowers, pictures — all the bright and pleasant things of life thronging her pathway; lovers and friends in plenty. But she wears GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 23 the same kindly smile for all. At last, a long time from now I see her. I grieve to say she seems always in this last picture to wear a calico apron, cutting slices of bread and butter for charity children that surround her. Looking over her shoulder, I see what she called the 4 study door ’ standing ajar, and I hear a ragged urchin asking if 4 the minister is ter hum.’ From which circumstances I infer that all her gifts and graces have gone to adorn a country parsonage.” “ What a destiny !” Bertie clapped her hands gleefully. “ Quick, Maggie ! let’s retaliate. I see a cross, gouty old gentleman sitting in an arm-chair, and a timid woman who bears a faint resemblance to Louise Carrol attending to his wants. And I hear him mutter, as she leaves the room, 4 Married me for my money, did you ? Not a dime of it shall you have.’ That’s my picture.” Margaret smiled as she said : 44 And mine is scarcely better. The most important figure in 24 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. the foreground is an enormous black-and-white cat, who seems to be playing with a ball of yarn on the carpet — floor I mean; it’s only washed and sanded — in the sunshine. There is a strong odor of green tea, and the prim spinster who sits sipping it, her knitting-work for the moment fallen into her lap, would tell you upon inquiry that her name is 4 Lou-i-sy Carrol. Age forty- five. I opened my eyes, and that's what I saw — eh, Louise ? ” “ I cry quits.” “We must all feel joyous at our prospects. Certainly every one gets her ambition grati- fied. Maggie gets fame, you, Louise, money — less than a dime — and I the privilege of giv- ing bread and butter to ragged children. What more could we ask? Say, girls, can’t we remember these fortunes till our class reunion ? That will be three years from to- morrow. We shall have lived out some of our destiny before then, and can compare facts and fancies.” GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 25 “No fear but that Bertie will remember, especially if Allan Grantley studies for the ministry .” A shade of haughtiness crept into Bertie’s manner. Then she spoke, half lingeringly : “In three years, Margaret, I shall be twenty-one — changed a good deal, probably, from the girl of to-day.” “You’ll keep the same warm heart for us, though, won’t you, childie ? Don’t let that change.” “No, I know I can promise that. But now the thought of this reunion, and the meeting all our school friends again, even at so distant a date, seems of great importance to us. Will it then, I wonder? You heard cousin Mabel say that less than one-half of her class met at Orten- ville, and they only waited two years.” “ If any don’t want to come, we can do just as well without them. If any want to come, but cannot, we will love and remember just the same.” 26 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. “ Yes,” Louise made answer directly. “ And one thing you have forgotten, Margaret. If any of us — you, or I, or Bertie here, just as likely as any of the others — should go away from it all before then, would the reunion be any the less tenderly complete because we looked down upon it from our new, brighter home ? ” “ I think not.” “ Nor I ; ” from both the listeners. Bertie followed out the thought. “ St. Paul speaks of love that cannot be lost. That is heavenly love. Now I think the stronger our human loves become, the nearer they come to this ideal. I wish we were so firmly friends as never to forget or lose the friendship.” “I think I see what you mean, Bertie,” said Margaret. “ 4 Life nor death.’ Darling, if life cannot separate us I am sure that death is neither so cruel nor so powerful as to do it. If you were in this world, and* I in another, I would love you still. Were you to go first, I should never fancy you had forgotten.” GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 27 “ Oh ! I have faith enough for that. It’s the living true in our friendships that we must think of.” Thus their talk drifted into solemn realities. The underlying consciousness that it was the last in that dear old room, pervaded each heart. Often and often had those walls echoed to their joyous laughter and merry chat. To-night they would leave, as their last legacy to the place and its associations, flashes of their deep- est feelings. They had been walking only in pleasant paths. To neither of them had come, during all that school-time, any shaded blessings. The angels of sorrow had not stirred either heart to its depths ; the surface of their lives had been sun- lighted and breeze-rippled. But glimpses of what might be came to each of them in this tender twilight hour. They were to say good-by to some of the dearest friends life had given them, and this knowledge affected each powerfully. Instinct- 28 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. ively, Bertie’s thoughts clothed themselves in Bible language. Just as naturally Margaret trusted more in death than life. Yet to neither of them had come the heaventy illumining which would make the uncertain way their feet were to walk, bright beyond doubt or fear- ing. Neither of the three whose lives during a few of the slow-coming years we are to follow, had sought and found the Saviour’s guiding, over-shadowing love. Such as they were, gen- erous in impulse, true-hearted, and loving, we find them. Their development toward good or evil, rests with the coming years. Quietly talking, the darkness had gathered around them unnoticed, until their faces were hidden from each other. Bertie’s tender voice sounded sweeter than ever to her listeners as she talked of her home — the home where no mother’s nor sister’s voice would brighten her days. It was but natural she should think of the difference between her home and the others’. GIRLISH FORECASTINGS. 29 “ But papa,” she said brightly, “ will be just happy to have even poor little me at home. And you girls, particularly Louise, must come to me by winter. Maggie will find it hard to get away from her friends, I suppose, but Lu, you’ll find me as pleasant discipline as a dis- trict school, I rather think.” “ That’s your way of putting it. You know whether I shall want to come or not.” Margaret commenced speaking, but was inter-. rupted by the clock’s striking ten. The coach was to leave early in the morning, and they knew it was time to be asieep. “ Not now,” as Louise urged her to go on. “ I’ll say it all to-morrow. Now good-night ! ” kissing each affectionately ; “ don’t talk any more, but go right to sleep, both of you.” CHAPTER II. HOMEWARD, 30D-BY, Mattie, Ella, Susie ! Remember to write often, girls ! Charlie, I shall appreciate your sweet farewell present,” Louise said, laughingly, as she held up a package suspiciously fragrant of caramels and cocoa. “Don’t miss us too much, any of you.” “ Girls, here’s the coach,” came warningly, in Mrs. Howard’s pleasant tones from her station by the gate. She looked affectionately into the faces that turned to kiss her good-by — the young faces that had flashed their fresh brightness into her more quiet way during their happy school years. She would miss them from heart as well as home. 30 HOMEWAKD. 31 Margaret drew down her veil, and sprang hastily into the coach. She had taken her real farewell an hour before, in a long talk with Mrs. Howard, full of grateful thanks on the one hand, and tender counsels and good wishes on the other. Now, she had no fancy for a scene, and hastened to hide the tears which she knew would come. “Don’t forget us, quite, ‘mother’! But then, I know you will. Every bird sings in his season. We’ve had ours. Now you’ll fill up the house with new warblers.’ “ None that will sing more to my liking” — the good woman was looking hastily for her handkerchief. “You’ve been good girls, all of you. Remember the reunion, Bertie dear.” She stooped and kissed her again. “ There ! Mr. Rawley looks impatient. Good-by all ! ” The coach started, the driver smiling a little satirically, it may be, as he drove off. He .had witnessed a great many similar leave- takings, and imagined that he knew just 32 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. about what they were worth. He thought of his passengers as so many students who liked school well enough, but home and gayety more. “It’ll wear off fast enough,” he muttered to himself, as he caught sight of the quick-com- ing tears. Wise man! Just as wise as we, any of us, are when we think to measure accurately another’s experience. We might see tears or smiles, as it should chance, but the deep feelings whence they sprang, the countless influences that must work henceforth and always in those young hearts, the fruits both of good and evil of the school- life just closed, are beyond our ken. As in a picture you can give to the beholder but a single gleam as the translation of some vision, but the thought which suggested it, the many brood- ing fancies that enriched it as you saw it in your tender dreamings, can never be transcribed upon the canvas. HOMEWARD. 83 In the changeful kaleidoscopic vision of our life, we can show to each other only fragmentary glimpses that come to the surface for their see- ing. The colors may seem dingy, the sketching oft at fault, but the eyes that saw the olden beauty of the lilies, the tender comprehending gaze that read the memorial meaning in the alabaster box from which Mary, unknowing, anointed Him unto his burial, will surely find, in all these pictures, not the dim, imperfect failures they seem, but what our best wishes, our truest prayers desired them to be. As Bertie and Louise looked from the carriage window down the hill toward the old Academy, there came to each a quick, flashing memory of the joys they had known there; a tender con- sciousness of what had been given them day after day in that quiet, oft-satirized, yet always loved Merrivale that they were leaving. The sun shone full upon the brick walls and the guardian trees that for so many years had rustled their leafy branches against the windows. 34 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. How many summers had they kept their silent watch ! How many classes had come and gone, aye, how many bright faces of those who in years agone had spent their happy seasons here were silent underneath the valley sods ! Yet the old brick building and whispering trees remained the same. The road wound round toward the south. The hills shut out that last picture, and their way lay onward . The moment and its lesson had come and gone, but its mem- ory would remain with both. Margaret raised her veil, and secemed pre- pared to talk. Gracie Rogers closed her book, and, yawning a little, said merrily: “Are you going to be mute all the way, good people? I, for one, want a little fun.” “Ditto,” from Harold Lawton. Louise drew her face into a queer little smile. “Waiting for me? I’m a sine qua wow when you want to be silly. Don’t deny it! Don’t I know you are all right among yourselves for good common-sense, but when it comes to HOMEWARD. 35 foolishness, why, there’s nobody like ‘ Louise.’ ” “ You said that, Miss Carrol,” in Allan Grantley’s laughing tones. “ We never should have ventured. But we won’t dispute your veracity.” “ Et ter Brute ! ” She sighed, in comic despair. Margaret spoke a little abruptly, for the first time since they started. “ Who was it that said the use of language was to conceal one’s thoughts? A wise man, or woman, I think. You’re keeping up this merry talk to disguise what you are really thinking.” “The way we go through the world, Miss Carrington,” answered young Grantley. “ It’s all well enough, if only there are no evil thoughts to conceal.” “ Perhaps so!” “ She doesn’t think that you’re right. Maggie believes that we should make mirrors of our words, and let everybody see what we are 36 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. thinking. Mercy! I wouldn’t want to know what you are all thinking about — myself, for instance. Where would be the good ? ” “But what if we were mentally admiring you?” “Then I’d be vain. And a country school- mistress must keep humble. I don’t want to rise above my station.” “Then that is your destiny, Miss Louise?” Allan asked with quiet interest. “ Yes. Didn’t you know it ? Haven’t you noticed my steadily increasing dignity of manner ever since the last term began ? I’ve been fitting myself for my vocation.” “ Ah, yes ; I understand. If, from any defect of vision, I have failed to perceive it, please forgive me.” “ ‘ None so blind as those — ’ ” Just here Bertie laughed, looking out of the open window by which she sat. Nothing very remarkable about that you would think. Yet it attracted everybody’s attention to herself, HOMEWARD. 37 and caused Louise to leave her sentence unfin- ished. It was a spontaneous, merry little laugh, and the face she turned toward them, with an eager “ Oh, look ! ” seemed, with its comical smile fresh upon the tear-stains, like a rain-washed flower on which the sun was shining. “What is it?” questioned Gracie. “ A travelling menagerie, I guess,” laughing again. Right beside them in the road, keeping just abreast and ludicrously imitating the driver, was a little boy, magnificent in a mimic four- wheeled cart drawn by a remarkably meek- looking donkey. For passengers, he had a sleepy- appearing dog, three little kittens snugly cuddled up in an old cap in the corner, and a couple of hens who avenged themselves for the insult of being tied and putt in a basket, by clucking and squalling vociferously. The juvenile owner of this singular array was whistling with an air of sturdy independ- 38 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. ence, and the scrutiny he received from the occupants of the rival stage-coach seemed in no degree to diminish his comfortable assur- ance. “ Do you suppose there’s any history ap- pended to that” questioned Louise. “ Let’s talk to him a little when we stop at the corner.” Five minutes later they reached the country tavern, not ambitious enough to claim for itself the title of hotel, where the driver changed horses and waited for the mail. Thus they had half an hour at their disposal. The young “ knight of the nondescripts,” as Louise denominated him, drove up in a leisurely manner a few moments after they had entered the house, and proceeded to give his patient donkey oats and water, with praise- worthy attention to his work and apparent unconsciousness of their being in sight. The girls stood looking at him through the open window as he busied himself in this fashion. HOMEWARD. 39 “ Allan ! ” Bertie spoke to him in an aside. “ Can’t you go out and 4 make friends ’ with him? The little fellow has a nice face. I’d like to know something about him.” A moment later Allan Grantley was strolling through the yard in the vicinity of the boy, but not near enough to seem intrusive. He was careful, even in small things, to conform to the rules of good-breeding and kindliness, and the quiet self-reliance of the boy’s man- ner made him hesitate about speaking to him as to most children. An opportunity presented itself, however. It appeared that something about the harness had given way, and the boy looked with some perplexity at the ill he didn’t quite know how to remedy. “ Can’t I help you ? ” Little Henry Davis — as he afterward gave his name — looked up at the young man eagerly. “I don’t quite see how I’m to get home with my load unless this can be fixed. And 40 TO-DAYS AND YESTEEDAYS. mother will worry so if I’m late,” he added in a disturbed tone, trying to fasten a refrac- tory buckle as he spoke. Allan soon assured himself that ten minutes’ work would set all right, and, despatching the little fellow to the house for the proper implements, fell to work most energetically. Henry’s eyes sparkled as he watched the young man deftly splicing the worn ends of leather, and tying them securely with a rope found in the basket with the ill-used hens. In thanking Allan, he spoke again of “moth- er’s being worried,” which led to a slight ex- planation of his home-life. And Allan often thought, in later days, of the sturdy courage of this little fellow, who, like him of old, “ was the only son of his mother, and she a widow.” It was a simple story enough. Poverty, sickness, and unpaid bills that must be met by the patient labor of this scarcely more than child. HOMEWARD. 41 A simple story, and not wholly a sad one, when one could comprehend the promised fruitage in the boy’s character, whose blossoms were so good to look upon, even now. When Allan repeated the brief history to Bertie, her only answer was a quiet smile and word of thanks. She felt sure of much that he did not tell her; of words of sympathy and encouragement that had sent the boy on his way with new faith in himself and hope for the future. So easily can helping hand and kindly word comfort and strengthen ! The remainder of their journey passed pleas- antly, but uneventfully, as the succeeding days also passed, until we see them again in their several homes. CHAPTER III. SCHOOL-TEACHING. OUISE CARROL, after a pleasant rest at home, began casting about in her mind concerning the coming winter. This young girl who wore such a smiling face through experiences that saddened others, had now from her friends the reputation of being a little flighty. Talented and industrious certainly. Every one conceded that. But many, who knew her super- ficially, felt that she didn’t take life enough in earnest. That was the impression she made upon strangers. Those who understood her best, the parents and sisters who were familiar with all her history, knew to the contrary. It had been no play with her, this four years 42 SCHOOL-TEACHING. 43 of school-life at Merrivale. At times it had seemed almost impossible — so little money came to them from her father’s business, and so numer- ous the home demands upon it — for her to remain there during the course. Especially had this been the case during the second year. A long, sympathizing letter from her mother had conveyed the unwelcome tidings that she might have to give up her school plans. It did not make our happy-hearted girl dis- couraged. It only set her thinking. She had a tolerably good musical education, and now hoped by means of this to complete her school-course. “I can’t do much,” she said half doubtfully to Bertie, “ but I think I am thorough in what I do know about music, and I could succeed, perhaps, with beginners. I mean to speak to Mr. Lawrence about it. He can help me to get scholars.” Bertie always had the utmost faith in Louise’s ability to do what she chose, and her hearty encouragement hastened the experiment. Mr. 44 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. Lawrence gladly assisted in procuring scholars, and Louise soon found herself assured of suf- ficient means to complete that year, at least. Afterward, she was always ready to hear classes when needed, and in many ways added to her school fund. So, during these last years she had bravely and perse veringly helped herself, at what cost of pleasant leisure and oft-time needed rest school-girls can understand. Few of the school save her intimate friends comprehended the need of such effort, or realized how much care it gave her. And in spite of it, and her almost unfailingly class- rank, she always seemed the blithest of them all. Now that she was out of school, she found herself really eager to try, in her turn, to teach others. Naturally fond of books, and always interested in the studies and sports of children, the idea of taking charge of a school seemed, full of fascination. Just a SCHOOL-TEACHING. 45 small school, at first. By and by, when she was older, and could rely on experience as well as education, she will look for something higher ; but she didn’t care for a pretentious beginning. Her home was upon the eastern shore of Massachusetts. Bertie lived in the western part of the same State, and they often laughed about it, calling themselves boundary marks, and wishing they had both been located to the eastward ; for Bertie was enthusiastic about the ocean, and every mile that could bring her nearer it she would have counted a gain. “But Massachusetts is only a little State after all,” Louise wrote to Bertie in Septem- ber. “ I shall come to you, you may be sure, when I weary of my discipline.” She obtained a school without much diffi- culty. The knowledge of her fine education impressed the sturdy farmer who occupied the position of prudential committee in the dis- 46 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. trict where she made applications. He fancied it something to be proud of that he had dis- cussed Miss Carrol’s good qualities, and secured her for his children. Whether she was more glad or sorry at her ready acceptance, the young girl could scarcely have told. She rather wanted to teach in the country, but it did seem a little more quiet than she had expected. She had hired a horse and driven out to Longley one pleasant day, through a perfect flush of autumnal brightness. The road was unfamiliar to her, and in all the beauty of the crimsoning trees and hazy sky, she had scarcely noticed how few the houses were, and what an air of utter quiet pervaded the place. But when she alighted at the door of Mr. Merton’s house, and glanced about her, she felt a queer sense of loneliness. She almost hesi- tated to go on with what she had under- taken. However, this was no time for timid SCHOOL-TEACHING. 47 shrinking, and she walked into the house with a quiet air of determination. The business completed, she took her home- ward way, a little oblivious of amber clouds and changeful tintings. She was thinking, with an odd mixture of feeling that sometimes brought a merry smile, and anon drew a momentary line across her forehead, of farmer Merton’s words: “We think it a very forrud school. Calkerlate there ain’t many round here that can beat it.” He had also said, in answer to her question about a boarding-place, that there wouldn’t be any particular one. “ Folks seem to be anxious to have the schoolmarm board round this term. And ’twill be the best way. It’ll save money, and lengthen out your school.” Louise didn’t venture any remonstrance ; but the idea of changing her abode so often among those strange, probably uncultivated people, was not very charming to her. “ That’s the only unpleasant thing about it, 48 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. mother,” she said, at the close of a long talk that evening. “ I dread going into so many families.” “ But, Lu,” said her younger sister Bessie, “I expect you’ll be happy at least once a week; when it comes time for you to leave. You’ll keep hoping the next place will be a little better.” “ Yes, daughter. A week isn’t such a very long time. Only so many days. You can keep counting them less and less, and doubtless in many of the families you will be really happy.” She repressed a sigh. It did seem hard to her tender heart that her child must go away so soon to make her way by such a wearily slow path to self-support and independence. But she said not a word to discourage her. She knew full well that “good cheer is half the battle.” “ Margaret said : ‘ Here our ways separate,’ that day I came home,” Louise thought to herself in the quiet of her own room that night. “ Her words were prophetic. There must be a wide SCHOOL-TEACHING. 49 contrast between the life she will lead this winter and mine. Oh, it must be so good to be rich ! ” That she could say just to herself. She never hinted such thoughts to others. We all grumble a little sometimes to ourselves, when we would be tempted to deny it to others, even our best friends. November came. Thanksgiving Day came and went, and her school was to commence on the Monday following that time-honored festival. This was one of the traditional customs most strictly observed in the neighborhood. Had this holiday been appointed weeks later, they would have waited school with unwavering patience. On that eventful Monday morning Louise was carried to her first boarding-place at Captain Smith’s. They wanted to begin as grandly as possible, so she was first introduced into the leading family of the place. Her trunk was carried to the room which was to be hers during her brief sojourn among them, while she was detained below stairs a few moments for a formal 50 TO-DAYS AND YESTERDAYS. presentation to Mrs. Smith and her two daughters, Estella and Matilda. Escaping from their voluble efforts to make her “ feel at home ” as quickly as possible, she sought her room to spend a few moments in collecting her wayward thoughts for the coming ordeal. A little before nine o’clock farmer Merton appeared to accompany her to her new scene of labor. She would willingly have dis- pensed with his services, but not venturing to say so, followed him half-reluctantly to the little brick schoolhouse, where she was to enjoy — or endure — her first experience in teaching. Some of her bright fancies were rather rudely dashed that morning. In the first place, the remarks with which Mr. Merton saw fit to open school were almost too much for her risibles. She wondered whether the scholars were accustomed to such harangues. Then, too, she was much surprised at the appearance of the school. She had expected to find a class of bright-faced children to be petted and loved, SCHOOL-TEACHING. 51 encouraged and praised. But at sight of the tall, womanly-looking girls, several of them evi- dently her seniors, and the “big boys” — were any of them voters ? — who were looking at her so curiously, her courage began to fail. Could she control and instruct such singularly forward and mature youth ? When the august member of the committee vanished, she knew it was time for her duties to commence, and that she mustn’t allow her- self to feel disheartened. So, keeping face and voice as calm as she could, in spite of a little nervous tremor, she went through with the pre- liminary exercises. Names were taken, books examined, and the work of classification pro- gressed as rapidly as, under the circumstances, it could. She studied all the new faces intently. Before noon she felt quite sure in her own mind who were to be her helpers and who her trials. The bright-eyed girl with curls so like Bertie’s, she should love her a little the best, she felt quite sure, and the sparkling little brunette 52 . TO-DAYS AND YESTEBDAYS. beside her, who already began to show signs of mischief, could be governed by steady kind- ness, unless her face-reading was at fault. One or two wee child-faces in the seats nearest her desk gave her a sudden wish to kiss their smiles and dimples, while others, stolid and unsmiling, impressed her with a half-defined feeling of dislike. The tall, fine-looking boy who answered all her inquiries so promptly and respectfully, would prove a good reliable friend among the scholars, ^she had no doubt. Another at the same desk, with heavy forehead, and bushy black hair, looked obstinate and sullen. 