Part 16 (2/2)

”Come, girls,” expostulated their mother, ”our nest is too small for any disagreements, and we have a great deal too much to do for such useless discussions. I'm sorry with Millie that Roger is bent on leaving home, for I think his parents need him, and he could do well in the country. The city is too crowded already.”

”He'll make his way through the crowd,” persisted Belle.

”Does his father or mother know of his plans?”

”Well, to tell the truth, I don't know very much about his plans.

He talks little concerning himself, but when he took me out to drive the day after Millie left, he said he had decided to come to New York and get an education, and that if I'd let him know where we lived he'd come and see me occasionally. I said, 'What will they do at home without you?' and he replied, 'I can do more for them away from home by and by than here.' Now, mamma, you'll let him come to see me, won't you?”

”Certainly, Belle. I'll be reasonable in this respect. I know young people need company and recreation. My only aim has ever been to secure you and Millie good company, and I hope your love for me, Belle, will lead you to shun any other. As we are now situated you must be very, very cautious in making new acquaintances. Young Mr.

Atwood is a good, honest-hearted fellow, and I think Millie is a little prejudiced against him.”

”Very well, mamma, I'll be all smiles so long as he devotes himself to Belle; but he must stop there most emphatically.”

Thus with busy tongues and busier hands they talked of the past and the future while they unpacked and stowed away their belongings with almost the same economy of s.p.a.ce that is practiced on s.h.i.+pboard.

Mrs. Wheaton was introduced, and she at once became a fast ally of Mrs. Jocelyn as well as of Mildred.

”I 'ope yer'll halways remember yer 'ave a neighbor that's 'andy and villing,” she said, as she courtesied herself out. ”Hit's too bad,” she muttered, on her way back to her room, ”that she's 'ad to come down to this, for she's a born lady; she's has much a lady as hany 'oo howned this 'ouse a 'undred years hago.”

Thus their life began in the old mansion, and from its humble shelter they looked abroad to see what they could obtain from the great indifferent world without.

”Belle and I must not be idle an hour longer than we can help,”

said Mildred resolutely, on the following day; ”and the only thing is to find what it would be best to do. I am going out to try to sell the work I did in the country, and see if I cannot get orders for more of the same kind. My great hope is that I can work at home. I wish I knew enough to be a teacher, but like all the rest I know a little of everything, and not much of anything. Fancy work will be my forte, if I can only sell it. I do hope I shan't meet any one I know,” and heavily veiled she took her way with her dainty fabrics toward the region of fas.h.i.+onable shops. Those, however, who were willing to buy offered her so little that she was discouraged, and she finally left the articles at a store whose proprietor was willing to receive them on commission.

”You must not calculate on speedy sale,” the lady in charge remarked.

”People are very generally out of town yet, and will be for some time. Your work is pretty, however, and will sell, I think, later on, although in these hard times useful articles are chiefly in demand.”

”Please do your best for me,” said Mildred appealingly, ”and please let me know what you think will sell. I'm willing to do any kind of work I can that will bring the money we need.” After receiving some suggestions she bought more material, and then sat down to work in the hope that the returning citizens would purchase her articles so liberally that she could do her share toward the family's support.

She did not shrink from labor, but with the false pride so general she did shrink morbidly from meeting those who knew her in the past, and from their learning where and how she lived. She was wholly bent on seclusion until their fortunes were greatly mended, fondly hoping that her father would rally such a const.i.tuency from his Southern acquaintance that he would soon command a fine salary.

And the expectation was not an unreasonable one, had Mr. Jocelyn been able to work with persistent energy for a few years. The South was impoverished, and while a remunerative trade might be built up from it, patient and exceedingly aggressive labor would be required to secure such a result. It is the curse of opium, however, to paralyze energy, and to render all effort fitful and uncertain. He should have written scores of letters daily, and attended to each commission with the utmost promptness and care, but there were times when the writing of a single letter was a burden, and too often it was vague and pointless like the condition of his mind when it was written. Mildred did not dream of this, and his employers felt that they must give him time before expecting very much return for his effort. Since he attended to routine duties fairly well there was no cause for complaint, although something in his manner often puzzled them a little. It was Mildred's belief that renewed prosperity would soon enable them to live in a way ent.i.tling them to recognition in the society to which Arnold belonged. If thus much could be accomplished she felt that he own and her lover's faithfulness would accomplish the rest. They were both young, and could afford to wait.

”The world brings changes for the better sometimes,” she thought, as she plied her needle, ”as well as for the worse; and no matter what his proud mother thinks, I'm sure I could take better care of him than she can. Whether they know it or not, the course of his family toward him is one of cold-blooded cruelty and repression. If he could live in a genial, sunny atmosphere of freedom, affection, and respect, his manhood would a.s.sert itself, he would grow stronger, and might do as much in his way as Roger Atwood ever can in his.

He has a fine mind and a brilliant imagination; but he is chilled, imbittered, and fettered by being constantly reminded of his weakness and dependence; and now positive unhappiness is added to his other misfortunes, although I think my little note will do him no harm”--she dreamed that it might be carried next to his heart instead of mouldering where the faithless Jotham had dropped it.

”I shall not punish him for his family's harsh pride, from which he suffers even more than I do. Turn, turn, fortune's wheel! We are down now, but that only proves that we must soon come up again. Being poor and living in a tenement isn't so dreadful as I feared, and we can stand it for a while. As stout Mrs. Wheaton says, 'There's vorse troubles hin the vorld.' Now that we know and have faced the worst we can turn our hopes and thoughts toward the best.”

Poor child! It was well the future was veiled.

The mode of Belle's activity was a problem, but that incipient young woman practically decided it herself. She was outspoken in her preference.

”I don't want to work cooped up at home,” she said. ”I'd go wild if I had to sit and st.i.tch all day. School half killed me, although there was always some excitement to be had in breaking the rules.”

”Naughty Belle!” cried her mother.

”Never naughty when you coax, mamma. I'd have been a saint if they'd only taken your tactics with me, but they didn't know enough, thank fortune, so I had my fun. If they had only looked at me as you do, and put me on my honor, and appealed to my better feelings and all that, and laughed with me and at me now and then, I'd been fool enough to have kept every rule. You always knew, mamma, just how to get me right under your thumb, in spite of myself.”

”I hope I may always keep you there, my darling, in spite of this great evil world, out into which you wish to go. It is not under my thumb, Belle, but under my protecting wing that I wish to keep you.”

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