Part 16 (2/2)

”Yes, that's about the size of it,” was the practical answer. ”But if you keep right on doing what you ought to, you'll get something better than the sugary stuff. Just keep Miss I Can for your friend, and then after a time you will find that you like to do the very things that at first seemed so hard. Experience, Mother says, brings knowledge, and knowledge puts you in the end where you want to be.”

”I wish it would,” exclaimed Nathalie, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng with sudden hope, ”for oh, Helen, I do so want to know things, that is the useful arts, for I am so eager to learn how to make money the way you are doing! You know I have told you all about d.i.c.k, Helen,” she lowered her voice, ”I think it is just that, seeing the poor fellow striving to earn a little money so he can be made well again, that makes me so down-hearted, for I feel that I am not doing a thing to help him.”

”But you are helping him, and your mother, too, Nathalie,” said Helen.

”By the very work you are doing you are helping your mother to save money, that ought to be something to comfort you.”

”Oh, but it's mean kind of work,” emphasized Nathalie, ”and then, too, it's only saving a mite; and it will take so much money for d.i.c.k's operation.”

”Now, see here, Nathalie,” exclaimed her friend, ”let's figure this thing out.” Taking a pencil and pad that always hung by the table with Nathalie's list of edibles to be served at each meal, she drew a chair up to the table and began to figure just how much Nathalie was saving her mother by doing the work herself.

Nathalie bent over her shoulder and watched eagerly as she saw the line of figures jotted down by Helen. Then she, too, put on her thinking-cap and in a few minutes the two girls had figured out quite a sum that Nathalie was actually saving in dollars and cents each week she did the work.

As Nathalie realized this fact, demonstrated so clearly by her friend, her eyes sparkled, and clapping her hands she cried, ”Oh, Helen, I'm going to get Mother to let me do the work all the time-of course, as you say, the was.h.i.+ng will have to be done out-but oh, I shall feel-”

”Now, Nathalie, don't go off at a tangent; stop and consider before you make this suggestion to your mother. You must think just what it will cost you, that is, count what it will mean to suffer aches in your back and feet, to have fire-scorched cheeks,-they say cooking ruins the complexion,-red, sloppy hands, and all the rest of the penalties imposed on one for doing housework. If you put your hand to the plow, you know, once started you can't look back.”

”Oh, yes, I know, Helen, it will be terrible to have to do these things, but if it will help me to earn money, even the teeniest bit, now that I know that it is to be done without the glory perhaps it won't be so hard. Oh, I know Miss I Can will help me!” Nathalie smiled through the mist that would blur her eyes, ”for I must help d.i.c.k.”

”Yes,” returned her friend, ”if you feel that way, determined to help d.i.c.k, go ahead; for that will serve as the glory, that is, the incentive will help you through lots of hard things.”

Nathalie looked up at her friend's grave face with wonder-lit eyes. ”Oh, Helen,” she said solemnly, ”do you know you are going to be a great woman? You are awfully wise for a girl of your age!”

Helen interrupted her with a merry laugh. ”Oh, no, I'm not going to be a great woman at all. I should love to be-that is my ambition,-but one's ambitions are not apt to materialize the way one expects them to, you know. But I'll tell you, Nathalie,” her face sobered, ”I have a very wise mother-she tells me these things. And then as I go about I find from experience that what she has said comes true.”

”Yes, Helen, you will be great,” nodded Nathalie sagely. ”Perhaps you will not go about blowing a trumpet to let people know you are one of the world's great ones, but you will be all the same, even if you never do a thing but live in this sleepy town and become a stenographer.”

”Well, it looks that way,” laughed Helen, ”from the pile of typing that awaits me. Yes, I am, as you say, in a fair way to become a stenographer, but Ye Stars! if I do not become an expert one, I'll-well I'll go hang myself, as the boys say, for I must succeed!”

”Oh, are you really going, friend comforter?” laughed Nathalie, as Helen rose to go. ”Yes, you are that, for you have given me lots of comfort this morning; you put new life in me when the cause was almost lost. On the strength of your calculations I'm going to lay my plans before Mother, and then I'm going to get some books and trinkets and go to see Rosy.”

”Oh, yes, how is she?” inquired Helen interestedly. ”I was thinking about her the other day.”

”She is getting along nicely, but it is awfully hard for the little thing to lie there most of the time alone. I was down to see her yesterday and told her some stories, and I promised to come again to-day.”

”I wish I could help you! But see here, Nathalie, speak to Grace and Lillie about the story-telling; perhaps they will help you at that.

Grace is a lady with plenty of leisure to waste, and Lillie Bell dotes on yarns.”

”I did ask Lillie, but she said she was no good telling stories to children, and Grace-why, she said she was busy getting her clothes ready for the summer.”

”There's Kitty. Ah, I expect to see her this afternoon. I'll ask her to lend you a hand, but I must go, so good-by and good luck to you, Story Lady!”

”Oh, Mother, you are just a dear!” cried Nathalie a little later, as she was about to set forth to see Rosy. Her mother had come down from the attic with a couple of old picture-books, and handed them to her to give to the little invalid.

”Gloriana! won't they make her eyes s.h.i.+ne!” exclaimed Nathalie as she tucked them under her arm, picked up the basket of goodies she had prepared, and hurried down the walk. As she knocked at the door of the gray shanty she heard Rosy whimpering softly. ”Poor kiddie,” she thought, with a wave of pity. Receiving no answer she pushed open the door, which was partly ajar, and entered. On the bed lay the little form with its head buried in a pillow, emitting a series of feeble whines.

”Good morning!” said the smiling visitor as she touched the half-buried shoulder.

At the sound of her voice the child's woolly head rolled over, and a smile of welcome radiated her tear-stained face.

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