Part 20 (1/2)

”And who is Mary Howard?” asked Lizzie Upton.

Rose glanced at Ella, who said, ”Why, she's the girl you met going out of the yard.”

”Oh, yes.--I know,--your sister,” returned Lizzie. ”Isn't she to be here? I have noticed her in church, and should like to get acquainted with her. She has a fine eye and forehead.”

Ella dared not tell Lizzie, that Mary was neither polished nor refined, so she answered, that ”she could not stay this afternoon, as Mrs. Mason, the lady with whom she lived, was in a hurry to go home.”

Miss Porter looked up quickly from her embroidery, and winked slyly at Ella in commendation of her falsehood. Jenny now came bounding in, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes sparkling like diamonds.

”I'm late, I know,” said she, ”but I met Mary in the store, and I never know when to leave her. I tried to make her come with me, telling her that as you were her sister 'twas no matter if she weren't invited; but she said that Mrs. Mason had accepted an invitation to take tea with Mrs. Johnson, and she was going there too.”

Instantly Lizzie Upton's eyes were fixed upon Ella, who colored scarlet; and quickly changing the conversation, she commenced talking about her adventure of the evening before, and again the ”magnificent-looking stranger, with his perfectly splendid eyes,” was duly described.

”Oh, yes,” said Jenny, who generally managed to talk all the time, whether she was heard or not. ”Yes, Mary told me about him. He was in her school yesterday, and if I were going to describe George Moreland, I could not do it more accurately than she did, in describing Mr.

Stuart. You never saw George, did you?”

”No,” said Ella pettishly, ”but seems to me Mary is dreadful anxious to have folks know that Mr. Stuart visited her school.”

”No, she isn't,” answered Jenny. ”I told her that I rode past her school-house yesterday, and should have called, had I not seen a big man's head protruding above the window sill. Of course, I asked who he was, and she told me about him, and how he saved you from a broken neck.”

Ella's temper, never the best, was fast giving way, and by the time the company were all gone, she was fairly in a fit of the pouts.

Running up stairs, and throwing herself upon the bed, she burst into tears, wis.h.i.+ng herself dead, and saying she knew no one would care if she were, for every body liked Mary better than they did her.

Miss Porter, who stood by, terribly distressed of course, rightly guessed that the every body, on this occasion, referred merely to Mr.

Stuart and Lizzie Upton. Ella was always jealous of any commendation bestowed upon Mary seeming to consider it as so much taken from herself, and consequently, could not bear that Lizzie should even think well of her. The fact, too, that Mr. Stuart had not only visited her school, but also walked home with her, was a sufficient reason why she should he thoroughly angry. Miss Porter knew that the surest method of coaxing her out of her pouting fit, was to flatter her, and accordingly she repeated at least a dozen complimentary speeches, some of which she had really heard, while others were manufactured for the occasion. In this way the cloud was gradually lifted from her face, and erelong she was laughing merrily at the idea, that a girl ”so wholly unattractive as Mary, should ever have made her jealous!”

CHAPTER XVIII.

A NEW PLAN.

The summer was drawing to a close, and with it Mary's school. She had succeeded in giving satisfaction to the entire district with the exception of Mrs. Bradley, who ”didn't know why Tim should be licked and thrashed round just because his folks wasn't wuth quite so much as some others,” this being, in her estimation, the only reason why the notorious Timothy was never much beloved by his teachers. Mr Knight, with whom Mary was a great favorite, offered her the school for the coming winter, but she had decided upon attending school herself, and after modestly declining his offer, told him of her intention.

”But where's the money coming from?” said he.

Mary laughingly asked him how many bags of shoes he supposed she had st.i.tched during the last two years.

”More'n two hundred, I'll bet,” said he.

”Not quite as many as that,” answered Mary; ”but still I have managed to earn my clothes, and thirty dollars besides; and this, together with my school wages, will pay for one term, and part of another.”

”Well, go ahead,” returned Mr. Knight. ”I'd help you if I could. Go ahead, and who knows but you'll one day be the President's wife.”

Like the majority of New England farmers, Mr Knight was far from being wealthy. From sunrise until sundown he worked upon the old homestead where his father had dwelt. Spring after spring, he ploughed and planted the sandy soil. Autumn after autumn he gathered in the slender harvest, and still said he would not exchange his home among the hills for all the broad acres of his brother, who at the far West, counted his dollars by the thousands. He would gladly have helped Mary, but around his fireside were six children dependent upon him for food, clothing, and education, and he could only wish his young friend success in whatever she undertook.

When Widow Perkins heard that Mary was going away to school, she forgot to put any yeast in the bread which she was making, and bidding Sally Ann ”watch it until it riz,” she posted off to Mrs. Mason's to inquire the particulars, reckoning up as she went along how much fourteen weeks' wages would come to at nine s.h.i.+llings (a dollar and a half New England currency) per week.

”'Tain't no great,” said she, as simultaneously with her arrival at Mrs. Mason's door, she arrived at the sum of twenty-one dollars.

”'Tain't no great, and I wouldn't wonder if Miss Mason fixed over some of her old gowns for her.”