four walls enclosing countless eyes which were fixed upon her critically, was the impression which ellen received on monday morning when she entered the schoolroom. miss hawley, her prospective teacher, was one of those who had called during the week. ellen wondered if she would seem less awesome upon further acquaintance, for she was dignified, tall, handsome, and unapproachable. next to ellen on one side sat carolyn rowe, a nice wholesome-looking girl with wide-open blue eyes and a winning smile. on the other side sat florence ives, who was constantly fluffing up her bobbed hair, which stood out like a bush around her rather large head. florence had a simpering expression, an affected lisp, and a way of drooping and half closing her eyes to make them appear dreamy. she was much made up, and was continually but furtively powdering her nose or looking at herself in the small mirror she kept within her desk.
in glancing around the room ellen decided that she would like carolyn better than any of the other girls, and she hoped the girl would take a fancy to her. so at recess she was glad to meet carolyn’s advances with more graciousness than she exhibited toward the others, though most of these appeared disposed to be friendly.
ellen soon discovered that carolyn was not possessed of much imagination, but was a conscientious, plodding student with great respect for the attainments of others.
“i’ll never be brilliant,” she confided to ellen, “though i do hope i won’t turn out to be an utter idiot. what are your favorite studies, ellen?”
“music and french,” ellen answered promptly.
“oh!” carolyn looked surprised. “i must say that i’ve never aspired to be a musician. i hate to practise. i began lessons on the piano, but i was so unhappy over them that father said it was foolish for me to keep on. i might like french if there were a chance to study it, but who in the world would teach me? it isn’t taught in this school. i’m afraid you’ll have to give it up, ellen.”
“i don’t believe i need to. i have quite a number of french books, and i can keep on reading those, even if i have no one to talk to. it isn’t a bad plan to read aloud so as not to lose the accent.”
“can you really read it?”
“why, yes, not so very fluently, but i manage pretty well with a dictionary.”
“how smart you are. you could read aloud to me, couldn’t you?”
“but you wouldn’t understand it.”
“that wouldn’t matter. i’d like the sound.”
ellen laughed. “you are very good to want to listen to my halting accents.”
“bring one of your books to school to-morrow and read to me at recess, or, better still, come over to my house. oh, no; i must call on you first, because you are the stranger here; then when you return the call you can bring the book and read to me. we can go into dad’s office; he’s a doctor, you know, and when he is out making his visits we can have the office all to ourselves. i almost always study in there for it is nice and quiet and nobody disturbs me. what are you going to do about your music? miss rindy hasn’t a piano, has she?”
“i am going to take lessons from mr. todd on the organ. i can practise at the church, he says.”
“really? can you play at all?”
“not on the organ, but on the piano. i used to play duets with my mother. we loved the old masters, beethoven and mozart and those. we studied some of their symphonies.”
“that highbrow stuff? oh, dear, i’d never fall for that. jazz is about all i can appreciate.”
“what do you like best to study?”
“i don’t like to study at all, not really, but if i’ve got to, i want to do my best and get somewhere. i wouldn’t disappoint father and mother for the world, particularly father. he takes such pride in my reports when they’re good.” she did not explain that they were seldom anything else.
here florence ives came up with her most insinuating lisp. “i wath jutht wondering what you two were talking about,” she began.
“we were talking about studying,” carolyn told her. “just think, flo, ellen can read french. this is ellen north, you know.”
“yes, i know.” florence gave ellen a nod of recognition. “how pairfectly wonderful that she readth french. i wish i could. thome day maybe i’ll learn. mamma wanth me to go to parith to finish. they thay one can learn a language better where they thpeak it all the time; ith much the eathietht way. i never mean to thudy any harder than i can help. jutht enough to let me thlip through. can’t you take a walk with me thith afternoon, caro? we might meet thome boys who’d join uth. thereth a real handthome new boy at fuller’th.”
“well, let him stay there,” retorted caro. “i don’t want to see him. i’ve got my algebra to tackle anyway, so count me out.”
“you old greathy grind! what do you want to do that for? what ith an algebra problem more or leth? have all the fun you can get and let the old algebra go, i thay.”
“no, sir, duty first and pleasure after. if you must go boy hunting, find some better companion. there are plenty of others. me for the unknown quantities.”
“ithn’t she an old thoberthideth?” exclaimed florence. “you come, ellen.”
“no, i have my practising to do and then my lessons.”
“what a pair of old thtick-in-the-mudth,” declared florence walking away in disgust, leaving ellen more drawn to caro than ever.
“she’s such a silly child,” commented caro. “now i like fun just as well as anybody, but i never did see any in running after boys. lots of the girls do it, i know, but i think they make themselves perfectly ridiculous giggling and making eyes at every boy they meet.”
“don’t you like boys?”
“yes, well enough, but not in that silly way, certainly not enough to run after them. do you like them, ellen?”
“why, yes, i think so. i’ve never known very many. living in a studio as we did, there wasn’t much chance of meeting them. father and mother entertained only the grown-up artists and musicians, and they were always such fun that i didn’t miss younger company. if i had gone to an art school i suppose i might have met dozens.”
“think of you living in a studio. how wonderful!” caro looked at her companion as if she were a being from another world, which in a certain sense she was.
from this hour carolyn was ellen’s devoted admirer. ellen’s past experiences fascinated her. she was a creature of romance, one quite outside the usual humdrum person of every day, who had lived in a mysterious world of her own, who had gone through tragic experiences, and was, as caro declared, “just like a heroine in a book.” every now and then some new chapter was opened over which caro gloated, and this sympathy and interest meant much to ellen, although caro was not a congenial companion in all directions.
very often the two studied together in dr. rowe’s office, ellen’s brighter mind getting at results more quickly than caro’s duller one; yet caro’s knowledge stuck by her, and many a time she was able to supply a reference or rule which ellen had forgotten. once in a while she would insist that ellen read french to her, which ellen, amused, would do, wondering how caro could enjoy it when not one word did she understand. she insisted, however, that she liked the sound. the fact of the matter was that she so adored ellen it was enough for her to hear her voice. moreover, it gave her an excuse to keep her adored one longer with her.
so the days went on. to the dingy old schoolhouse, set back in a bare yard, ellen took her way each morning. it was situated midway between the two ends of the quiet little town. about it clustered such buildings as perry’s store, another small one kept by miss malvina sparks, a bakery and ice-cream saloon, the two churches, and the one hotel, dignified by the name of the mansion house. along the front of this almost any hour of the day was seen a row of men in tipped back chairs, drummers waiting for their train, idlers passing away the time in political gossip, or tourists obliged to stop over while their cars were being repaired. beyond the hotel were the blacksmith’s shop and a garage, and beyond these the houses began again, stretching as far north as the big factory of sylvester ives, and, after a vacant space, houses again, continuing as far north at this end of the town as they did south on the other, and gradually standing farther and farther apart till their surroundings became farm lands.
carolyn’s devotion to ellen soon became a live topic with the schoolgirls. “caro hath an awful cruth on that red-headed ellen north,” florence was wont to say jealously. “there ithn’t a day that she doethn’t bring her thomething. to-day it wath fudge, and yethterday it wath caketh.”
“perhaps she thinks she doesn’t get enough to eat at miss rindy’s,” suggested marcia sloane maliciously.
“oh, march, i don’t think it is nice for you to say that,” objected sally cooper. “every one knows that miss rindy isn’t rich, but she belongs to one of the best families.”
“well, no one would guess it from the way she dresses that airish ellen,” retorted marcia.
“i don’t think she is a bit airish,” protested sally; “she is just artistic. i know plenty of persons who admire her.”
“i’d like to know who they are,” said florence scornfully.
“one of them you would be very pleased to have admire you,” sally answered back, now having taken up the cudgels in good earnest.
“will you pleathe to tell me who you mean,” returned florence in a haughty tone.
“oh, you needn’t look so scornful. it was clyde fawcett. i heard him say to your own brother, frank, that he thought ellen north was going to be a stunner, and frank said: ‘i think she is now. she can have me.’ so there, miss.”
florence’s eyes no longer looked dreamy, but flashed anger. “i think you’re perfectly horrid,” she exclaimed. “come on, march.”
sally, nothing abashed, walked across the school yard to where ellen and caro were sitting. she had made ellen’s cause hers, and meant to so assert it. hereafter florence’s clique would no more name her as one of them.
it was quite true that caro was assiduous in her attentions, for scarce a day passed that she did not offer up something upon the altar of her friendship,—a particularly big red apple, a package of fudge, a little basket of persimmons, one of chinquapins, or of nuts. ellen accepted all these gratefully, and though she rather wearied of caro’s caresses and words of endearment, often they comforted the lonely girl, who no longer received such marks of affection, miss rindy not being given to demonstration. however, she gave a sturdy sort of love to her young cousin, while her keen sense of humor saved situations which might have become difficult, or even tragic.
“we’re none of us paragons of perfection; you are not any more than the rest of the world,” she said one day when ellen was repeating some of caro’s remarks. “compliments and appreciation are all very well in their way; they are the ice-cream and cake of life, but if you are going to depend upon them for a steady diet, you will have spiritual indigestion as sure as you’re born. we need to be bucked up by good honest criticism; that’s the roast beef.”
“and what is the bread and butter?” ellen asked laughing.
“work, like bread, is the staff of life; and butter, well, butter is the consciousness of having done our work as well as we could; the more you slight it the thinner it spreads.”
“i suppose that’s true,” returned ellen thoughtfully. “but don’t you like compliments, cousin rindy?”
“i suppose, like other fools, i do, but i shouldn’t; they’re weakening to the character, they breed self-conceit, develop an inflated ego. of all insufferable people, conceited ones are the worst. i’ve known some, a good many, too, who always set the highest value upon their own performances, but never valued what others did for them; placed their own affairs in the limelight, and never in the least appreciated what others did, in fact underrated the good deeds of others and vaunted their own.”
“one does like to be encouraged. i’m afraid i do need encouragement.”
“ah, but encouragement is a different thing from vain compliments.”
“didn’t your mother compliment you and commend you for things when you did them well?”
miss rindy was silent a moment and a grim look passed over her face. “no, i can’t say that she did. my brother was always the favorite. she expected everything of me, but i can’t say that i was fed up on compliments.”
“i didn’t know you had a brother. is he living?”
“yes, married and living in seattle.”
“oh.” ellen wondered why she had never heard of him.
“my mother was an invalid for many years,” miss rindy went on. “she doted on albert from the time he was a baby, for he was a very pretty child, and i wasn’t. he was gentle and good-natured, which i was not. poor mother adored beauty. she was romantic and sentimental. her eldest child, my sister cora, was a beauty and mother was very proud of her, but she died when she was sixteen, and then plain little rindy was the one that was left. i don’t think my mother ever got over the fact that the beauty was taken and the plain one left, so she poured out all her affection and pride upon albert, spoiled him utterly.”
she paused, but ellen saw a look upon her face which made her go over to her cousin and put her arms around her. “you dear, you dear,” she murmured. “you are perfectly beautiful to me, and i know you were to all those boys overseas that you did so much for.”
miss rindy turned her head away. “don’t,” she said; but ellen saw that there were tears in her eyes when again she took up her work.
this conversation not only made ellen more appreciative of what her cousin was doing for her, but it made her eager to have more light thrown upon her history, and who could tell her better than jeremy todd, who had known rindy crump all his life. so to jeremy did ellen go for information.
it was one afternoon when the light was streaming in through the stained-glass windows of the little church. the organ lesson was over, and jeremy had finished playing one of ellen’s favorite sonatas. he never failed to do this after the lesson; then they would talk for a while and walk home together.
ellen waited till the last chords died away before she said: “you knew cousin rindy’s brother, didn’t you, mr. todd? what sort of person was he?”
“know al crump? oh, yes, of course i knew him; a mighty agreeable person he was, everybody liked him, but he had no sort of stability about him, visionary, into any sort of scheme that came up, good looking and good tempered, but selfish.”
“i never knew till the other day that cousin rindy had a brother; she never mentions him.”
“that is not surprising, considering that she has not heard from him for years.”
“but she knows where he is; she told me he lived in seattle.”
“so he does, but she doesn’t know it from him. some of his old friends keep her informed. he is doing pretty well, i believe, has found his niche at last, and, having been thrown on his own resources, has worked out a better career than he could have done here. probably it took a long time for his judgment to mature; it is that way sometimes.”
“did they quarrel?”
“he and rindy? well, yes, i suppose you may say they did. you see he had absorbed everything his mother had, she never denied him anything he asked, so when she died all there was left was the house, which belongs to rindy, left her by an aunt who had good sense enough to look out for her. i believe there was a little money left with it, besides. albert was simply furious because rindy refused to mortgage the house and let him invest her money in some wildcat scheme, but she set her foot down, wouldn’t budge an inch, and told him that a big husky man had absolutely no right to ask a woman to strip herself of her living that he might sink it in some worthless investment. he already had defrauded her of her share of her father’s property, which her mother had let him have to invest from time to time, and now that it was gone she meant to hold on to what was hers in her own right.”
“good! i am glad she had the courage to say that.”
“it was exactly the best thing to say, although it sent albert off in a rage. he never had been talked to like that, consequently he had been slow in developing. petted and indulged, admired and flattered, he couldn’t see how any one should think he was anything but perfect. there must have been good stuff in him, for now he is making good, has waked up to a realization of the fact that if one expects to get anywhere he must use his own feet and not expect always to be carried.”
“does cousin rindy know he is making good?”
“oh, yes, and i think it is a satisfaction to her, although it must be bitter to think that after all her sacrifices for him and her mother he is so indifferent to her. nobody has ever done anything for rindy, but all her life she has done for others. she never had any youth, for she had to bear all the burdens, had to see her brother strut off dressed up in handsome clothes while she sat at home and drudged for him and her invalid mother, scarcely knowing what it was to have a decent new dress.”
“how horrid! how mean!” cried ellen, starting up. “and now she is drudging for me. i’ll make it up to her some day, see if i don’t; and if i see any chance now to give her a good time, i’ll do it. you’ll tell me, won’t you, mr. todd, if you hear of any way she can have some fun?”
“i’ll tell you,” he replied, smiling at her excitement.
“i’m so glad you told me all this, for now i shall try to be as useful to her as i possibly can. just think what she is doing for me, keeping me out of an orphanage, very likely. i’d be a perfect pig not to appreciate it.”
mr. todd nodded, with the thought in his mind that miss rindy might truly be said to have cast her bread upon the waters, but that he was convinced of its return to her.
they passed out of the dim and shadowy old church into the bright sunlight, and walked slowly toward home. on their way they encountered their small neighbor, billy hale, running madly after two small dogs who were trotting side by side down the middle of the street. billy had a tin cup of water in his hand, and just as ellen and her companion came up the youngster had succeeded in dashing the last of the water over the two dogs.
“what in the world are you doing, billy?” asked ellen, stopping short.
he came prancing up, glee written on his rosy face. “now they’re married,” he exclaimed joyfully; “they’ve had a wetting.”
ellen turned with a puzzled look to mr. todd, who threw back his head and shouted with laughter. “don’t you understand?” he said. “dovey means a wedding.”
“yes,” billy nodded cheerfully; “they’ve had a wetting, so they’re married.” he slipped his small hand into ellen’s and looked smilingly up at her. “my mamma is going to a wetting next week; she said so; it is going to be in the church. i wish she’d take me. do you think they’ll sing about sara phim?”
“ask mr. todd; he can tell all about the music, you know.”
“will they sing about sara phim?” asked billy, turning his attention to the organist.
“not this time,” was the response.
by now they had reached mr. todd’s gate. hearing lucilena’s terrifying threat that if he didn’t come home a-bilin’ she’d skin him alive, billy dashed on while ellen lingered a moment by the gate. “such a fanciful little monkey as he is,” she said. “i must tell cousin rindy about the wetting; she loves billy’s funny little sayings. you won’t forget, will you, mr. todd, to think up some way that i can earn some money or do something for cousin rindy? i am in dead earnest.”
“i won’t forget.”
ellen nodded, waved her hand, and passed on. mr. todd opened the gate and went in. half-way up the walk he stopped short. “i believe i have it,” he exclaimed. “to be sure. why not? i’ll find out to-morrow.” then he went on.
