THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 It 
 
 THE STfiUGGLE FOE LIFE : 
 
 OB, 
 
 BOARD COURT AND LANGDALE. 
 
 AJ 
 
 TORY OF TTOME 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS LUCRETIA P. HALE, 
 
 AUTHOB OF "SEVEN 8TOEMY SUNDAYS," "THE QUEEN Of THE BED CHESSMEN," ETC. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY REV. EDWARD E. HALE. 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 A. WILLIAMS AND COMPANY. 
 
 1868.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year i867, by 
 
 fc 
 
 A. WILLIAMS & CO., 
 la the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
 
 //// 
 
 PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 THIS book attempts to illustrate two familiar things, 
 which seem to the author and myself to require constant 
 illustration, and, though evident to all men, to be very 
 often forgotten. They are certainly matters of the first 
 importance in the daily life which we are leading. 
 
 The first is the contrast presented in the sad lines of 
 Miss Procter which follow this preface, and which were 
 themselves the only preface to the first editions. In the 
 charities of a large city especially, this contrast forces 
 itself upon the attention at every step. At the drawing- 
 school or social party or evening dance of some well- 
 regulated chapel, you meet forty or fifty fine young men 
 and women, cheerful, intelligent, prosperous, and with 
 fair prospects for useful and happy life. After the party, 
 you bid them good-evening, and, going to another section 
 of the town, put yourself under the protection of a police- 
 officer, who takes you through a sad round of public 
 dance-rooms, drinking-shops, and various other offices of 
 lust, where you see a hundred or two more young men and 
 
 iii 
 
 1125411
 
 IV PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 women, recruited from just the same ranks of society, 
 from just the same races of men, from just the same pe 
 cuniary circumstances, from which came the young ladies 
 and gentlemen from whom you parted an hour before. 
 Ten years ago, when they were all little children, those 
 of them who grew up in Boston sat on the same seats in 
 the primary schools. What has made the difference in 
 present fortune or in future destiny between one of these 
 groups and the other? 
 
 Grant all that any man dares claim about the trans 
 mission of vicious and virtuous propensities in the blood. 
 Grant all that is demonstrated so sadly about the low 
 type of life, and the weakness of the stock, from which 
 the pauper and criminal classes are bred. After every 
 such concession, the general truth remains but little af 
 fected, that, in such a contrast as that I have described, 
 the young persons who appear to be successful and pros 
 perous have had the watchful sympathy and oversight 
 of personal friends, who had heart enough to wish to take 
 care of them, and wit enough to know how. These two 
 requisites are more essential than is money, which is, 
 however, a convenient auxiliary. Those who are going 
 to ruin, on the other hand, have had no such friends : 
 they have grown up in the rooms, it will not do to say 
 in the houses, of parents who have not wanted to watch 
 over them, and have not known how if they wanted to ; 
 or, probably enough, there has not been even parental af-
 
 PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION. V 
 
 fection : they have been orphans or vagrants, attached 
 only to some distant relative. Of the poorest stock, so 
 far as inherited capacities go, they who needed the best 
 treatment and care get the worst, if they get any. Yet 
 in such experiments as that described in this book, and 
 as are possible wherever there is one person with con 
 stancy and faith enough to carry the trial fairly through, 
 the result shows, as Miss Procter's poem shows, what 
 might have been in a thousand experiments. Only the 
 thousand experiments cannot be tried by any great 
 society, or in the tumult of what people call a " moment." 
 To take the figure which Maffei uses when he speaks of 
 Xavier's mission in Japan : these fish cannot be swept 
 into a net, they must be caught by a hook one by one. 
 And you need about as many fishermen as you have fish. 
 To any person of either sex really doubting how to be 
 of use in the social problems of our time, this process 
 of saving from almost certain ruin a single child of God 
 is always open. The book takes its title of The Struggle 
 for Life from Dr. Darwin's celebrated chapter, which 
 bears the same name. That chapter shows what seems 
 sad enough when we think of u-ncouscious vegetables only, 
 how, of a thousand elm-seeds, all but one die, and only 
 that one struggles into the life of the full-grown elm. 
 The difference between elms and men is, that the souls of 
 men are immortal, and that men are conscious of suffer 
 ing in the failure of their struggles for a higher existence.
 
 VI PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 "We dare not turn away, therefore, from the struggle for 
 life of a human being, if it be a struggle in which we 
 can lend a hand. 
 
 The other point which this book tries to illustrate is 
 a simple encouragement to a large class of persons, who, 
 without knowing it, are doing an immense service in 
 this world ; and who ought to be reminded, were it only 
 by the simple machinery of a story, of the dignity and 
 amount of service which they render. In the last thirty 
 years, this country has received from Ireland several 
 million of emigrants. They were, generally speaking, the 
 most ignorant, inefficient, and hopeless representatives 
 of the most unsuccessful tribes of that great Celtic race 
 of which the general destiny has been, that it has steadily 
 been driven to the wall by the advances of stronger races. 
 These millions of emigrants arrived here, perfectly un 
 acquainted wLh the conditions of their new life, and 
 equally unfitted for it. Most of them were trained in the 
 humblest lines of life of a semi-barbarous agricultural 
 peasantry. Their destiny here, in general, was to live 
 and work in the higher lines of manufacturing, commer 
 cial, and domestic industry. Never was a more difficult 
 problem presented to any people than was the absorption 
 of this horde of untrained laborers. Never has any 
 social problem been wrought out with higher success. 
 The contrast is marvellous between the raw Irishman 
 or Irish girl on an emigrant-ship in New- York Harbor,
 
 PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION. vii 
 
 and the children of the same persons, thirty years after, 
 in their new home. 
 
 Of the transformation which works this marvel, the 
 credit is chiefly due to the courage and the long-suffering 
 of the Christian women of America, who have taken these 
 peasants into their houses, and trained them to the re 
 quisitions of a higher social grade. No process can be 
 conceived so admirably adapted for facilitating the trans 
 plantation of a race. The ignorant domestic has learned 
 something every day, in the home-school, of the methods 
 and the responsibilities of a new life. So soon as she 
 has learned enough to stand alone, she has left her mis 
 tress, who has to enter again on the same unending and 
 apparently thankless duty. But, by this constant process, 
 the great work is accomplished, which seems clearly to 
 have been intended in the providence of God, of the safe 
 absorption and regular uplifting of millions of an inferior 
 race into the duties and dignities of American citizens. 
 At this moment, when, without the same resource, we 
 have a like problem to solve, in elevating and assimilating 
 four millions of freedmen at the South, we may well 
 render tribute to the sacrifices, the trials, and the energy of 
 half a million homes, which, in thirty years past, have in 
 the Irish race wrought out such a remarkable victory. 
 
 In these homes, however, as that victory has been 
 wrought, there have silently lived, suffered, and died 
 thousands of patient and faithful women \vho have dis-
 
 V1H PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 tressed themselves daily with the thought that the agonies 
 of household care left them no opportunity to enter on the 
 higher service of their God. They have thought that 
 they were unprofitable servants. They have supposed 
 that the great Christian missions were for others, but not 
 for such as they. There has been no moment of vision 
 even, in which they have seen, that, by just this martyr 
 dom of their daily cares, God was educating a race, and, 
 in the transformation of an inferior race into a generation 
 of larger grasp and power, was working one of the great 
 miracles of history. Such women die and go to their 
 account, supposing that here they have been left on one 
 side in the arrangements of the Master's service. They 
 open their eyes upon the nobler spheres of another world 
 to find ten cities assigned to them in the calendar of its 
 service. 
 
 " Unconscious Genius, who shall try to tell 
 Its blush before the Lord who knows it well ! 
 How strange upon its ears, the great award, 
 This servant's pound has ten pounds gained, Lord ! " 
 
 My sister and I have hoped that the lesson of this book 
 might give some encouragement to those who are strug 
 gling on in the tedious details of such thankless duty. 
 
 The book has long been out of print, and a new edition 
 is now published in answer to a request from the Ladies 
 Commisssion on Sunday-school Libraries. 
 
 EDWARD E. HALE. 
 SOUTH CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH, 
 Boston, Nov. 11, 1867^
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE CORNER OP THE STREET 5 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 MARTHA AND MARGIE 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TWO INSTEAD OF ONE . .^7" ...'.' . . 20 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE EMIGRATION 27 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 SETTLING DOWN 35 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE NEIGHBORS 42 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CHILDREN 49 
 
 ix
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE PICNIC 59 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Miss ELSPETH'S TROUBLES 68 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE CIRCUS 75 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 ONE YEAR GONE 83 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 CHANGE AND NO CHANGE 93 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 DISAPPOINTMENT 102 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 THE RICH AND POOR 114 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 AN OLD FRIEND j. . . 122 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 MR. JASPER 130 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 THE SEWING-CIRCLE 139
 
 CONTENTS. Xi 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 BEGINNING OF SERVICE . 149 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 NEW DUTIES 158 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS 166 
 
 s . 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 A DAY AT THE CARLTONS 175 
 
 CHAPTER XXII.. 
 A WEEK ........... ~v* 184 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 THOSE BOYS 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 TWILIGHT 202 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 BERTHA'S ROOM - . . 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 CONTEST AND PEACE 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 WINTER TALKS . 232
 
 Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 A DEPARTURE 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 A RETURN 248 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 GOING AWAY 256 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 THE WHIRL OF WATERS 264 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 THE RIVER'S BANK 274 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 THE OLD HAUNTS 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 A MEETING . . . 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 HOME AT LAST . '. 300 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 AMY'S LANDSCAPE . 306
 
 " GOD gave a gift to earth: a child, 
 Weak, innocent, and undefiled, 
 Opened its ignorant eyes, and smiled. 
 
 " It lay so helpless, so forlorn, 
 Earth took it coldly, and in scorn, 
 Cursing the day when it was born. 
 
 ' She gave it first a tarnished name 
 For heritage, a tainted fame, 
 Then cradled it in want and shame. 
 
 " All influence of good or right, 
 All ray of God's most holy light, 
 She curtained closely from its sight; 
 
 % " Then turned her heart, her eyes away, 
 Beady to look again, the day 
 Its little feet began to stray. 
 
 " In dens of guilt the baby played, 
 Where sin, and sin alone, was made 
 The law that all around obeyed. 
 
 " With ready and obedient care, 
 He learnt the tasks they taught him there; 
 Black sin for lesson, oaths for prayer. 
 
 " Then Earth arose, and in her might 
 To vindicate her injured right, 
 Thrust him in deeper depths of night. 
 
 " Branding him with a deeper brand 
 Of shame, he could not understand, 
 The felon outcast of the land. 
 
 " GOD gave a gift to earth: a child, 
 Weak, innocent, and undefiled, 
 Opened its ignorant eyes, and smiled.
 
 And Earth received the gift, and cried 
 Her joy and triumph far and wide, 
 Till echo answered to her pride. 
 
 '* She blessed the hour when first he came 
 To take the crown of pride and fame, 
 Wreathed through long ages for his name. 
 
 M Then lent her utmost art and skill 
 To train the supple mind and will, 
 And guard it from a breath of ill 
 
 " She strowed bis morning path with flowers, 
 And love, in tender, dropping showers, 
 Nourished the blue and dawning hours. 
 
 " She shed, in rainbow hues of light, 
 A halo round the good and right, 
 To tempt and charm the baby's sight. 
 
 " And every step, of work or play, 
 Was lit by some such dazzling ray, 
 Till morning brightened into day. 
 
 " And then the world arose and said : 
 Let added honors now be shed 
 On such a noble heart and head ! 
 
 "O World! both gifts were pure and bright, 
 Holy and sacred in God's sight: 
 God will judge them and thee aright." 
 
 A. A. PBOCTOE, 
 
 From Legends and Lyric*.
 
 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE COENER OP THE STREET. 
 
 "PLEASE give me a few cents for to-night's 
 supper ! It's almost night now ; I have been out 
 all day, and it is just a few chips I have got now, 
 and how shall I go home ?" So pleaded a youthful 
 voice, and so it went on till it drew the attention 
 of one of the passers-by. 
 
 The voice came from a poorly, thinly clad girl. 
 She wore an old shawl and a short dress, which 
 displayed large feet, scarcely covered by the worn- 
 out shoes. The whole dress was faded in color, 
 and faded, too, was the thin face beneath the old 
 bonnet. There was no youth in the face ; no room 
 for a happy dimple in the cheeks. Its expression, 
 as well as the words which accompanied it, pleaded 
 sorely, and kindly Miss Elspeth ctfuld not help 
 stopping to answer it. 
 
 " It is a cold night for you to be out in the
 
 6 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 streets, child," she said, as she stopped ; " haven't 
 you a warmer shawl than that ? " 
 
 "And, indeed, I shouldn't have this, if it hadn't 
 been for the kind lady round the corner." 
 
 " Come" home with me to my house," said Miss 
 Elspeth, " I haven't any money to give you, but I 
 may find you something warmer to wear." 
 
 On the way, Miss Elspeth asked Hannah O'Con 
 nor what was her history, of her family, and where 
 she lived. Hannah told her how many children 
 there were, and how her mother was sick, and her 
 father couldn't get work. But Hannah was 
 not much of a talker, and Miss Elspeth did not 
 yet understand how it was they were all so poor 
 and must suffer so much, when they reached her 
 own door. 
 
 She went in, and leaving Hannah in the entry, 
 she entered a room that opened upon the first 
 floor. " Sister," she said, a little timidly, as she 
 went in, " I have brought home a poor little Irish 
 girl I have found in the street. She is half shiver 
 ing, and poorly enough dressed for so cold a night; 
 she is a pleasant-spoken child, and her mother is 
 sick and all. Eleven years old, she says, but she 
 looks worn and anxious enough to be twice that. 
 I have been thinking what we could give her. 
 There is that old brown shawl of yours, there is 
 some warmth in it still, but I don't think you'll 
 ever wear it again. It is not fit for you to go out 
 in, and eyen on a sick day "
 
 THE CORNER OF THE STREET. 7 
 
 " You've given away all your own clothes, Els 
 peth, and you must come to me now," was the 
 answer. " A poor child in the street ! You can't 
 turn the corner but what there's a poor child ; 
 and if you were to bring them all home, where in 
 the world are we going to put them all?" 
 
 " While you are thinking of that, I'll go up and 
 get the shawl," answered Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " It's in the right-hand drawer of my closet," 
 said Miss Dora, "the second from the top. There's 
 a cloth with camphor lying over it, and my best 
 shawl on top of it. But you may as well ask that 
 child in. There's no need of her freezing out in 
 the entry when there's a good fire here." 
 
 Miss Elspeth opened the door for Hannah to 
 enter, and placed a chair for her by the fire. 
 
 As soon as Miss Dora set her eyes upon the 
 child, she exclaimed, 
 
 " You've been here before ? I thought as 
 much. Give once, and you are sure to have to 
 give again ! It's that same child I gave the petti 
 coat to last Monday ! Didn't I tell you not to 
 come again for a week, at least? And here you 
 are " 
 
 " But I asked her to come now," said Miss 
 Elspeth, " and I did not see her here the other 
 day, you know ; and how could I tell it was the 
 same one? Poor child ! how can you speak to her 
 that way ? She looks forlorn enough ! " 
 
 "Well, go and get the shawl; there's no need
 
 8 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 of waiting any longer," said Miss Dora, "only I 
 advise you to keep my best one for next time she 
 comes. I should like a Sunday's wear out of it 
 myself." 
 
 The girl had meanwhile looked from one to the 
 other, a little defiantly at Miss Dora, imploringly 
 at Miss Elspeth. She took the seat towards which 
 Miss Elspeth motioned her, and turned towards 
 the warm, cheerful fire. Miss Elspeth left the 
 room. 
 
 Miss Dora softened a little towards the child, as 
 she sat silently looking at her. There was some 
 thing to her touching in the contrast between the 
 disorded, tattered, unneat dress, and want of dress 
 in the poor girl, and her own carefully arranged 
 garments, and the clean, prim order of everything 
 in the room. Only the blaze of the fire lighted up 
 the room, and this was cheerfully reflected from 
 the highly polished furniture, from the shining 
 brass knobs on the doors, and closed window- 
 shutters. Into her complaisance, at her own com 
 fort and ease, there stole a feeling of pity for the 
 poor, destitute child, who must be looking at all 
 this unwonted luxury with wonder and envy. 
 
 So when Miss Elspeth came down with the 
 shawl, she herself got up and went to the closet, 
 and in a few moments brought out a little packet. 
 
 "Here's 'some tea for your mother; Elspeth 
 said she was sick." 
 
 Hannah looked pleased. * <
 
 THE CORNER OP THE STREET. 9 
 
 "Where is it you told me you lived?" asked 
 Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " In Board Court, going out of Barter Street. 
 It used to be No. 45, but they've changed the 
 numbers now." 
 
 "Perhaps the neighbors will show me the house," 
 said Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " There's three O'Connors live in Board Court," 
 said Hannah, " and there's two Dennis O'Connors. 
 But you'll tell the house, because the gate's off 
 the hinges, and there's a barrel by the door, and 
 it's on the right-hand side, half way down the 
 court." 
 
 As Hannah left, Miss Elspeth slipped a piece of 
 money into her hand. She was hardly sure if it 
 was right, and did not venture to tell Miss Dora of 
 it ; indeed, she hardly ventured to think of it her 
 self. She did not think it a good practice to give 
 money to poor people when she did not know them 
 enough to be able to guess how it would be used ; 
 but this poor girl looked very destitute, and the 
 night was very cold. 
 
 Directly came in Miss Dora's neat maid, for 
 Miss Dora took all the charge of the housekeep 
 ing, and she set the little table with its clean 
 cloth, and she put on the little old-fashioned cups 
 and saucers, and the steaming teapot. About this 
 time, waked up Ralph, the cat, who had been fast 
 asleep till now, curled up in an easy-chair, not far 
 from the fire. In his dreams the flavor of the tea
 
 10 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 had reached him, and he stretched himself, and 
 prepared to beg for his wonted saucer of milk, 
 rousing himself to the duties of life. 
 
 Tea-time passed along silently, for neither Miss 
 Dora nor Miss Elspeth were in the habit of talking 
 at the hours of meals. After the tea-equipage 
 was taken away, Miss Dora drew up to the fire 
 with her knitting, and Miss Elspeth seated herself 
 by her basket of stockings. 
 
 u Mr. Coke called this afternoon," began Miss 
 Dora. 
 
 " Does he continue in the same mind about the 
 house ? " asked Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " They are going to pull the house down, and 
 Mr. Badger's too, and the whole row. He says he 
 told us he'd give us till spring to think about it; 
 and now it wants a month to spring, and they are 
 in a hurry to go to work. For my part, I'm sick 
 of Boston. If they are going to pull down all the 
 old houses, I don't care how soon I leave it. The 
 old trees and gardens went first, and now the 
 houses must go. Ours is the last wooden house in 
 the street. Mr. Allen's brick stores fill up our 
 little dooryard, and now the house must go. too ! " 
 
 " How pretty the dooryard used to be," said 
 Miss Elspeth, " and the strip of border that led up 
 from the gate. About this time the earliest cro 
 cuses would be out. I remember one spring 
 they were up quite as early as tins. Don't you 
 remember that spring "
 
 THE CORNER OP THE STREET. 11 
 
 " I told Mr. Coke," interrupted Miss Dora, " that 
 I didn't care how soon we moved ; if the old 
 house was to go, we might as well leave it sooner 
 as later. He told me of a quiet house in Town- 
 send Place. But I told him that they would build 
 us up wherever we went, and I would quite as 
 soon go out of town " 
 
 " I'm glad you've come round to that," said 
 Miss Elspeth. " There's that pretty little house 
 at Langdale, near the Rothsays and Amy. Amy 
 Rothsay settled we should go there long ago, you 
 know." 
 
 " I don't much care where we go now," said 
 Miss Dora. 
 
 " Then the rent is much lower than we pay 
 here," suggested Miss Elspeth. 
 
 "Well, what does that matter?" answered Miss 
 Dora ; " we have enough to live upon comfortably 
 as it is. There's no necessity of scrimping." 
 
 "But then, sister, there's our little plan: we 
 could afford to have Martha and Margie live with 
 us out there." 
 
 "It's easy to say we'll have Martha and Margie," 
 said Miss Dora, "but it means something more 
 than to have them live with us through the sum 
 mer or winter. It means that we shall take care 
 of them, and provide for them till they can support 
 themselves ; and who knows if that will ever be?" 
 
 " But if we decide not to keep a girl," inter 
 rupted Miss Elspeth, " but do the work ourselves, 
 we can provide easily for more than ourselves."
 
 12 STEUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " And what's to become of Nancy ? " asked Miss 
 Dora. 
 
 " Why, Nancy would never go out of town, you 
 know," answered Miss Elspeth, " especially if she 
 marries Aaron, as she hinted ; and I was thinking 
 at tea-time, since perhaps we couldn't do without 
 some help, why couldn't we take this Hannah 
 O'Connor ? She is older than Martha and Margie, 
 and for a year or two till they are old enough to 
 help us " 
 
 " That comes of thinking at tea-time, Elspeth. 
 You always are inventing some plan while you are 
 eating. It is not healthly to eat and think at 
 once. One thing at a time is enough for me, 
 and you, too. And pray don't say any more of 
 Hannah O'Connor to-night ; she makes me think of 
 my poor brown shawl. How handsome it was 
 when it was new ! I wore it to church the first 
 day, and Mrs. Brigham noticed it." 
 
 " It has worn well," said Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " Yes, I've had it about for a sick shawl many a 
 day, and there's warmth in it yet. Well, I shan't 
 lose sight of it, if your Hannah O'Connor should go 
 out with us to Langdale. Not that I can think 
 seriously of that. How will you ever get our 
 furniture into such little rooms ? And how are you 
 going to take Ralph into the country ? The cat is 
 fond of me, but more fond of the house, I'm afraid. 
 If you had a procession of Irish girls to take Ralph 
 away, he would be back the next week. You know 
 we couldn't leav^Boston, on Ralph's account."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MARTHA AND MARGIE. 
 
 Miss DORA was decidedly conservative. She 
 loved Boston with an inflexible love. Yet it was the 
 Boston of her younger years to which she had al 
 ways clung. She loved the old parts of the town. Its 
 narrow streets, with here and there an old wooden 
 house, among its newer and statelier rows of brick 
 buildings. She loved even the sidewalks, and the 
 rattle of wheels upon the pavements. She did not 
 often venture into the country ; when she did, she 
 complained of its stillness that rung in her ears. 
 Frank Rothsay had often said, Miss Dora would 
 rather have a brick tree than an elm or oak oppo 
 site her window, any day. To move Miss Dora 
 out of Boston would seem like moving the State 
 House itself. 
 
 But many things had been a long time at work 
 upon these old prejudices. In spite of Miss Dora's 
 remonstrances, Boston had gone on enlarging, in 
 her mind, not improving. The old wooden houses 
 were fast disappearing, the quieter streets were 
 becoming noisy thoroughfares, Miss Dora was
 
 14 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 jostled and elbowed at every corner, and almost 
 run over in Washington Street, and there was a 
 threat of making a railroad even there. A large, 
 fashionable shop was opened in their own door 
 yard, and there was a row of carriages every day 
 in front of her quiet windows. 
 
 Miss Dora's expressions, too, were always 
 stronger than her feelings. In spite of Miss Dora's 
 strong words, Miss Elspeth, small and meek as she 
 looked, had the rule in the end. The two Misses 
 Elton had lived long undisturbed in the little house 
 which seemed so exactly fitted for them. But an 
 inroad had been made, a few years ago, upon their 
 peace when the dooryard had been built upon. 
 Their own front door had been opened upon the 
 street, and their already little parlor had been cut 
 smaller. Miss Dora had declared then she would 
 leave Boston, and never set foot in it again ; and 
 when, this spring, the landlord began to talk about 
 pulling down the house, both Miss Dora and Miss 
 Elspeth listened more willingly to what their friends, 
 the Rothsays, had to urge about going out to Lang- 
 dale, to live near them. 
 
 " As well move there as anywhere," said Miss 
 Dora, at last ; " there won't be but one more 
 move ! " 
 
 Miss Elspeth inclined to the plan of moving out 
 of town, since it might include her favorite wish of 
 taking Martha and Margie home to live with them. 
 
 Many years before, Barbara, a favorite cook, had
 
 MARTHA AND MARGIE. 15 
 
 left the Misses Elton's service, with the injudicious 
 purpose of being married. This was one of the 
 unpardonable sins with Miss Dora ; and that Bar 
 bara should have the folly to give up a comfortable 
 home for the uncertainties of married life, shook 
 her faith in women. Barbara had married a car 
 penter who was apparently getting on in the 
 world ; but he and his wife again sinned in Miss 
 Dora's eyes, by leaving Boston and going to live 
 in New York. Years passed on ; and after the 
 sickness of her husband, and other troubles, Bar 
 bara returned to Boston, but did not venture to 
 intrude her poverty upon Miss Dora and Miss 
 Elspeth. 
 
 By accident Miss Elspeth had fallen upon her. 
 One of her neighbors had begged her to go and see 
 a poor woman who was struggling along with three 
 children and a sick husband. Miss Elspeth went to 
 the place she was directed to, an out-of-the-way 
 court, 'Tip some shackly wooden steps. She 
 opened the door, and in a poor-looking room, she 
 found Barbara. She had not expected to find her 
 in the Mrs. Smith who had been recommended to 
 her charitable cares. 
 
 Poor Barbara ! She, who had been married from 
 Miss Elspeth's house with some pomp and cere 
 mony, and had bn used to cooking dainties and 
 luxuries, if she did not share them, was sitting now 
 in a forlorn, unfurnished room. She held her 
 youngest child in her arms, and sat close by a small
 
 16 STEUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 stove, scarcely larger, Miss Elspeth thought, than 
 her bread-pan. 
 
 Barbara was filled with wonder at seeing Miss 
 Elspeth again, and was soon willing to tell over her 
 troubles. Her husband had just gone out to find 
 work again, after an attack of rheumatic fever. 
 Her two girls were at school, for she still could 
 keep them decent enough for school. But, though 
 she had gradually parted with all the little treas 
 ures of housekeeping she had possessed when she 
 had married ; though the poor destitute room 
 showed only a barren neatness; yet Barbara 
 seemed to think she had quite a jewel left in her 
 baby. With pride, she opened a drawer in a little 
 chest of drawers, that served many purposes, to 
 show the little wardrobe she had managed to pre 
 pare for it. Miss Elspeth was deeply moved when 
 she compared it with one she had seen a few days 
 before, prepared for a little child no more tender 
 and helpless than this one, its countless cambric 
 dresses, flannels, and blankets, with embroideries 
 and displays of knitting, all that was rich, and 
 fine, and luxurious, presents from those who 
 could give with little personal sacrifice. Mrs. 
 Smith showed the one little white dress she had 
 made of the cambric of her own wedding dress, and 
 the blanket of coarse flannel, in a corner of which 
 she had found time to embroider one little sprig. 
 
 This was in the autumn. All through the wintei 
 Miss Elspeth went to see Barbara, and care for
 
 MARTHA AND MARGIE. 17 
 
 her. One or two visits had shown her that Bar 
 bara's strength was failing, and she was dying from 
 the over-work and cares of the few last years. 
 
 Before the spring she died, and the baby soon 
 followed her. The little baby went before it was 
 old enough to bear the long name its father had 
 given it. But Mr. Smith married again, before the 
 year was out, a widow with three children. Here 
 was a double enormity in Miss Dora's eyes ; and 
 the greater was her pity for the two little girls, 
 Martha and Margie. Their stepmother had little 
 time to devote to them if she had the will, and Miss 
 Elspeth often brought them to spend days with 
 her, when Miss Dora was gradually won by their 
 quietness and gentleness. 
 
 So all through the last winter, it had been the 
 subject of Miss Elspeth's thoughts, how best she 
 could provide for Martha and Margie, and whether 
 it were possible for her to take them into her own 
 household. Whenever the subject had been brought 
 up, Miss Dora had always said that they could not 
 afford to take care of two children, especially since 
 Mr. Coke had increased the rent the last two years, 
 in spite of his having cut the house up smaller. 
 But now the house itself was to be left ; and, with 
 the great inroad of change this event must throw 
 open, Miss Dora was willing to let other innova 
 tions pour in. 
 
 Amy Rothsay came from Langdale with glowing 
 accounts of the little house to let just next to them. 
 2
 
 18 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 All its charms she brought out rapidly and vividly 
 to Miss Dora's listening ears. It was not at all a 
 desolate country place, with the nearest neighbors 
 half a mile off. There were pleasant people all 
 round, cosy old Mrs. Bunce, the Lees, the 
 Paxtons, who had a son who. came home from India 
 every year or two, and brought home pretty things, 
 so that their house was all filled up with fascin 
 ating Canton furniture and boxes and tables, and 
 all such, and the Fays, and the Carltons, and 
 then the Rothsays 
 
 " And then the Rothsays," Amy went on ; " dear 
 Miss Dora, you don't know what treasures the 
 Rothsays are for neighbors. Plere I come in and 
 see you once a week, mamma not oftener than 
 once a month, and papa, I'm sure he does not 
 come more than once a quarter, to tell you how 
 stocks are, and what has risen, and what has 
 fallen " 
 
 " Nothing has risen, that I know of, lately," in 
 terrupted Miss Dora. 
 
 " Wait till you get to Langdale," said Amy ; 
 ''papa will stop and see you every night on his way 
 up from the cars, and give you the papers, and tell 
 you the news." 
 
 " Where are we going to find the time to read 
 the papers? " asked Miss Dora. " Elspeth is going 
 to set up an orphan asylum, as far as I can see. 
 You don't know that we are to be overrun with a 1 ! 
 the poor children of her acquaintance."
 
 MARTHA AXD MARGIE. 19 
 
 But Amy did know all Miss Elspeth's plans, and 
 was deeply interested in them. 
 
 " Oh. dear little Martha and Margie," she said ; 
 " I shall be so glad to have them near us ! Such a 
 notable little person as little Martha is ! And what 
 large, grave black eyes Margie has ! I remember 
 seeing Martha, one day when I was dining here, 
 help Nancy set the table, and the little thing was 
 very useful, putting on the forks and spoons, though 
 her eyes came up no higher than the table. She's 
 a little born housekeeper !" 
 
 " She's just like Barbara in some of her ways," 
 said Miss Dora. " She moves round just as quietly. 
 She was the last person, Barbara was, that you 
 would ever have thought of being romantic ; get 
 ting married and going off, and having a family of 
 children and dying ." 
 
 " Everybody dies," suggested Amy. 
 
 " Everybody does not die of hard work," said 
 Miss Dora ; " and Barbara, if she'd stayed here, 
 might be here now. There's our Nancy ; I don't 
 so much wonder at her. She always had a flirty 
 air. I knew she was fond of being looked at. I 
 concluded from the first she would marry some 
 time or other. And now she's going! Everything 
 comes upon us all at once ! The house is pulled 
 down, and Nancy must needs marry ; and we're 
 going to leave Boston and all." 
 
 Miss Dora admitted that she was going to leave 
 Boston. This was a great point gained.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TWO INSTEAD OF ONE. 
 
 WITH this encouragement, the house in Langdale 
 was visited, and preparations made for leaving the 
 Boston home ; in the midst of which, and during 
 the frequent discussions before the final determina 
 tion, Miss Elspeth did not neglect to inquire about 
 Hannah O'Connor. She found that she was well 
 known among her acquaintance. Mrs. Badger, the 
 president of the sewing circle, knew that she spent 
 her days going about begging for anything and 
 everything ; that she had a never-do-wcll mother, 
 and that the father was now in the House of Cor 
 rection ; that they lived in the lowest degradation, 
 while it seemed hopeless to give them anything, 
 for money and food and clothing were squandered 
 in the most reckless manner. Miss Elspeth was 
 not dismayed or discouraged by these represen 
 tations. Hannah O'Connor's moving face had made 
 an appeal to her heart, and she was not one who 
 would forget it. The child had made its claim upon 
 her, which she could not throw off with words 
 that others would use. She could not say to her-
 
 TWO INSTEAD OP ONE. 21 
 
 self, these people are not worthy to be helped, it 
 is no use doing anything for them, what is given 
 them is worse than thrown away ! Hannah O'Con 
 nor stood before the eyes of her memory, and 
 would not be moved away. Even if she should go 
 hundreds of miles off," she would know still that 
 Hannah O'Connor was in the world. She was put 
 there to grow up in it. And she was growing up 
 in worse than poverty, in worse than destitution. 
 Miss Elspeth directly felt that she was responsible 
 for her, the more so, perhaps, that no one else was 
 sensible of the same feeling. 
 
 So one morning Miss Elspeth and Amy Rothsay 
 set forth for Board Court. They stopped at Mrs. 
 Badger's for more particular directions than Han 
 nah had given. Miss Elspeth confided to her 
 in part her plans with regard to Hannah, if she 
 could persuade her to leave her mother. 
 
 " It will be a real charity," said Mrs. Badger, 
 " though when you've seen the other children, 
 you'll want to take Bessie rather than Hannah. I 
 never could see much to like in Hannah ; but Bes 
 sie is a pretty little child. She is younger than 
 Hannah." 
 
 " Then it would be more important," said Miss 
 Elspeth, " for me to have Hannah. She is too old 
 to stay in such a home longer. By-and-by it would 
 be too late to do her any good." 
 
 " Well, you have not seen Bessie," said Mrs. 
 Badger. " Perhaps you'll decide to take them
 
 22 STEUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 both. I know you won't have the heart to leave 
 Bessie behind." 
 
 "What would Miss Dora say to that?" asked 
 Amy, as they walked on. 
 
 Miss Elspeth was looking very thoughtful. 
 
 " I know I wish our house were a little larger, 
 and things were a little different," continued Amy. 
 
 "I am more able for such things than you," said 
 Miss Elspeth. 
 
 They reached Board Court. It was fortunate 
 they had Mrs. Badger's direction besides Hannah's, 
 for the landmarks she gave were not decisive ; 
 almost every gate in the court was off its hinges, 
 and barrels were plenty. It was perhaps in the 
 forlornest of all the houses that they found Mrs. 
 O'Connor was living. A troop of noisy children 
 were playing in the unpaved dooryard, across 
 which some clothes were swung to dry. Miss El 
 speth and Amy made their way up stairs, through 
 dirt, close air, among noisy women and children, 
 into a room that seemed at first quite filled. 
 
 Mrs. O'Connor lay upon the bed ill, and three or 
 four of the neighbors had come in to visit her and 
 entertain her. Hannah was in the room, holding 
 one of the twins in her arms, the other was lying 
 upon the bed. There were two boys in a .corner 
 quarrelling over some marbles. These were " Steo- 
 vie," an older brother of Hannah's, and a friend of 
 his. Then there was a smaller boy playing on the 
 floor, who was " sister's son " to Mrs. O'Connor.
 
 TWO INSTEAD OF ONE. 23 
 
 Miss Elspeth and Amy seated themselves in two 
 chairs that were left vacant by two of the neigh 
 bors, who then took their leave. Hannah recog 
 nized Miss Elspeth. and came forward to speak to 
 her, and from behind Hannah's dress peeped out 
 the little face of Bessie. 
 
 Mrs. O'Connor began a long detail of her sorrows 
 and grievances, of the mischances that had befallen 
 Dennis, and of her distress at what she should do, 
 now that he was shut up, and cut off from helping 
 the family. Miss Elspeth was discouraged by her 
 tone and manner. She could see in her whole 
 appearance the source of all the wretchedness of 
 the family. There was a recklessness and a shift- 
 lessness that showed no desire for a better position 
 in life, especially if it required to be worked for. 
 
 Amy, meanwhile, was making the acquaintance 
 of the baby, and presently of Bessie. Bessie had 
 been very shy, but ventured at last to come near 
 Amy, and to ask : 
 
 " May I smell of one posy ? " 
 
 Amy held in her hand two or three English vio 
 lets, that had been given her as she came into 
 town in the morning. 
 
 Amy drew Bessie near to her, and gave her one of 
 the violets. Bessie's eyes glistened with pleasure. 
 She was a pretty child, when her face could be dis 
 tinguished through the dusky veil that concealed 
 it. She had thick brown hair, and clear, trusting 
 blue eyes. Her cheeks glowed, and looked more
 
 24 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 healthy than Hannah's. Amy longed to wash her 
 and make her clean, and discover the clear com 
 plexion beneath. Bessie was the little pet of the 
 family, the little favorite in Board Court. Her 
 timid ways made her shrink from playing with the 
 noisy, rude boys who seemed to people the place, 
 yet not one of them would have wished or have 
 ventured to hurt Bessie.* 
 
 Amy saw why it was that Mrs. Badger was sure she 
 should want to take Bessie out from such a home. 
 It seemed impossible to leave her to struggle with 
 such wretched and hopeless poverty. Hannah, 
 too, was the useful member of the family evidently. 
 No doubt she brought home every day, from her 
 wanderings, enough, or more than enough, to sup 
 port the family for the day. Amy found herself 
 really hoping Miss Elspeth might be moved to take 
 Bessie, even if she left Hannah behind. Hannah 
 was already used to the discomforts and the hard 
 ships around her, while it would be a great pleasure 
 to take the little Bessie out into a better home, 
 that seemed more fitted to cherish so attractive 
 and tender a child. 
 
 They walked away from the house a little while 
 in silence, when Amy exclaimed, " That dear little 
 Bessie, her pretty face haunts me ! " 
 
 " I have been thinking of it. I have been won 
 dering if I should be justified in taking her away 
 from her mother," said Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " But her mother," said Amy, " could hardly
 
 TWO INSTEAD OF ONE. 25 
 
 object so much as to have Hannah go away. Han 
 nah must be her dependence." 
 
 u Oh, I cannot let Hannah stay ! " said Miss 
 Elspeth, " it would be worse for her in the midst 
 of such influences than for Bessie. Those lovely 
 ways and charms of Bessie are just what might 
 protect her in such a place. I am only wondering 
 whether I am not wrong in taking away such an 
 influence as hers is, from the rest of her family. It 
 is what makes even those rude boys more gentle." 
 
 " I know it," said Amy. " The boys in the corner 
 stopped quarelling when Bessie went near them. 
 Bat it makes me shudder to think of her living 
 always in such a home." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Miss Elspeth ; " if I could 
 make sure it were right, I don't know why we 
 should not have them both ; it might be good for 
 Hannah." 
 
 Amy almost embraced Miss Elspeth at the corner 
 of Hanover Street. 
 
 " Oh, do take them both !" she exclaimed; "and 
 we will help you, mamma and I. I will take care of 
 all of Bessie's clothes. I cannot bear to think the 
 little thing should grow up in such a place. Will 
 you do it ? Only Miss Dora ! " 
 
 " Only make sure it is right," said Miss Elspeth, 
 " and Dora will see that it is right, too." 
 
 " It's a responsibility," said Amy, fearing that 
 her eagerness might be bringing too much care 
 upon good Miss Elspeth.
 
 26 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " There's more responsibility with a few duties 
 than a great many," said Miss Elspeth. " One can 
 not do more than one can ; and it is very easy to 
 do less." 
 
 " Everybody does not think so," said Amy. 
 " Dear Miss Elspeth, it won't do to tell Miss Dora 
 where we saw the brown shawl." 
 
 " Wrapped round one of the twins," said Miss 
 Elspeth, smiling. 
 
 They stopped again at Mrs. Badger's. 
 
 She was rejoiced to hear that Miss Elspeth 
 thought of taking home the two children. " I am 
 very glad," she said. " I have been thinking, while 
 you were gone, if I could not help you. Some 
 ladies, some of my friends, would agree with me, I 
 have no doubt, to clothe Bessie ; and Hannah, too, 
 perhaps. You ought not to have the charge of all 
 that, when you have so much care besides." 
 
 " There'll be a contest," said Amy, " I have no 
 doubt, as to who shall do the most to help you. We 
 will try not to stop in mere professions."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE EMIGRATION. 
 
 Miss ELSPETH found no obstacles to her benevolent 
 endeavors. She sent for Hannah one day, and 
 broke to her the plans that were formed for her. 
 The matter was easily decided, when Mrs. O'Con 
 nor willingly gave up both Hannah and Bessie. 
 For Miss Elspeth had already decided that it would 
 be no charity to Hannah to take her away from her 
 home, while she left Bessie behind ; and that it 
 would not break off all Hannah's home ties if she 
 had the child still with her. Hannah listened to 
 her silently. She expressed no pleasure or sorrow 
 at the proposal. 
 
 Hannah was eleven years old now, but she looked 
 far older. Miss Elspeth told her she wanted her to 
 stay with her five years. At the end of that time, 
 she would have learned a great many things; and 
 Miss Elspeth promised, then, to put her in as good 
 a condition as she knew how. And she told Han 
 nah that she might then have her own choice as to 
 where she would go. Hannah decided she would 
 follow Miss Elspeth now. Five years was an
 
 28 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 unknown period of time to her ; the home that Miss 
 Elspeth offered her was unknown, too; and the 
 unknown was attractive to her. It had always 
 been her pleasure to wander in distant parts of the 
 town, in search of something different and new ; 
 and now it seemed as if the world were opening 
 before her. There was a secret reservation in her 
 own heart, all the time, that no one could bind her 
 anywhere ; and that whatever she promised Miss 
 Elspeth, or whatever allurements were offered her, 
 she could come back again, any day, to Board Court. 
 Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth little thought, the one 
 so satisfied with her own position, the other filled 
 with pity of Hannah's, that Hannah was looking 
 forward to a home with them, only as a variety to 
 her former life, as a part of its vagrancy. Yet 
 Hannah was not entirely ungrateful. She was 
 moved by Miss Elspeth's benevolence, but she 
 could not appreciate it. Young as she was, she 
 had become defiant of the world, and did not trust 
 to any one's impulses. 
 
 Miss Dora, in the midst of the whirl of so great 
 a revolution, was unable to make any protest against 
 her sister's benevolence. In the midst of such 
 change, in the leaving her old home forever, all 
 other changes were lost. And now that her deci 
 sion was made, she was only eager to carry it out. 
 She scarcely lent her ear to plans for the children. 
 She was already absorbed in calculations whether 
 the old carpets would fit the new rooms ; in terror
 
 THE EMIGRATION. 29 
 
 lest the dear old-fashioned furniture should be in 
 jured in its passage out. She did not go out 
 herself to the new house, to superintend these 
 arrangements ; she would not go till the very last 
 day. Miss Elspeth did all. She made measure 
 ments of the rooms of the little house ; and Miss 
 Dora, at home, gave directions for the disposition 
 of everything. 
 
 It was agreed that Amy should, every day, have 
 a little school for the children, and teach them in 
 the house for an hour or two, until they should be 
 old enough to go to some of the schools in the 
 neighborhood. Mrs. Badger and her friends had 
 collected a complete little wardrobe for Hannah and 
 Bessie ; so it was hoped that Miss Elspeth might be 
 relieved from some of the ca-res her benevolence 
 had brought upon her. 
 
 It was a fine day, the day of the emigration, as 
 Frank Rothsay called it. Miss Elspeth and Mar 
 tha and Margie went out by the railroad in the 
 morning. Miss Dora had never consented to ride 
 ,on a railroad, and refused on this occasion. The 
 Rothsays were to send their carryall and take in 
 it, Miss Dora and Hannah and Bessie. Early in 
 the afternoon, Frank Rothsay appeared at Miss 
 Dora's door, with the horse and carryall, to drive 
 her away. Hannah and Bessie stood upon the steps 
 of the house. Many were the bundles and baskets 
 that Miss Dora tucked into the corners of the car 
 riage. Grimly she told Hannah to get in upon the
 
 30 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 back seat. In the midst of her preoccupation and 
 busy thoughts, she fancied she detected in Han 
 nah's face an intention of running away at the last 
 moment. Miss Dora looked in again upon the little 
 parlor. The last of its household gods had gone ; 
 but still there clung round it some of its old asso 
 ciations. The figures in the landscape papering 
 seemed to move in a last farewell. Miss Dora 
 looked round once more before she closed the last 
 half of the shutter. Her eyes fell at last on a cor 
 ner of the room where was a mutilated palm-tree, 
 beneath which sat a dismembered Arab, over whose 
 head waved the trunk of a bodiless elephant. It 
 was where the little parlor had been cut in upon to 
 make the new entrance to the house. Everything 
 was changed even there ; the old paper that used 
 to seem so grand and fine in her eyes, had been 
 dishonored, and nearly destroyed. She closed the 
 shutter and the door, and was ready to go. Frank 
 had lifted little Bessie up to the front seat, and was 
 encouraging and amusing her with some lively talk. 
 Miss Dora sent the key of the house into the shop 
 at the corner, and the carryall rolled out of 
 the street. 
 
 Little Bessie was in a state of wonderment and 
 delight. She had ridden once half Avay down a 
 long street, in a baker's cart, and it had been one 
 of the eras of her life ; and now she looked with a 
 sort of terror upon the wild steed that Frank was 
 governing. It was a slow old family horse, and
 
 THE EMIGRATION. 31 
 
 plodded along at a respectable pace. As she went 
 on, Miss Dora grew eloquent upon the inroads and 
 changes she saw in every street they passed through. 
 As they passed the Common, Bessie almost hoped 
 some of her young companions would see the state 
 to which she had arrived ; while she almost feared 
 some of the great boys would snatch her out from 
 the carryall, if they saw her. If they did, she 
 thought Frank would whip up that splendid large 
 horse, and they would fly like the wind. 
 
 Frank began to tell her what she would see out 
 of town. He asked her if she had ever seen a pig, 
 and excited her curiosity greatly when he found 
 she never had. 
 
 Hannah was a little perturbed. The horse went 
 on so slowly, the journey seemed so long to her 
 impatient mind, that she began to fear she should 
 never find her way back if she should ever want to 
 go home, and looked on either side frequently, as 
 if ready to jump out. Miss Dora, who was in con. 
 stant dread lest something should be lost from the 
 carriage, judiciously gave her the molasses jug to 
 hold, and presently her cap-box. This gave Han 
 nah some occupation ; while she herself held Ralph, 
 the cat. Frank Rothsay, meanwhile, exerted all his 
 powers of entertainment in various ways. He must 
 keep little Bessie from crying, if she should think 
 of home and the baby, and she showed herself a 
 little inclined that way, and must prevent Hannah 
 from running away, and Miss Dora from turning
 
 32 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 back to her beloved Boston, when they crossed 
 the Boston line. He looked round now and then 
 uneasily to the back seat, in terror lest Miss Dora, 
 Hannah, and the cat, should all have made their 
 escape while his head was turned; but no, the 
 journey was safely accomplished, and the carryall 
 drew up before the little gate, from which a path 
 led to the front door. On the doorstep stood Miss 
 Elspeth and Mrs. Rothsay, and Arny, with Martha 
 and Margie, came running out to meet them. They 
 were received with triumph. Miss Dora was helped 
 out, Bessie was lifted from the carriage, and this 
 was gradually unpacked. Hannah, after she had 
 descended, walked towards the horse, looked upon 
 it contemptuously, and said, " I could have walked 
 sooner." But she applied herself directly to assist 
 the unpacking, and went with the others to the 
 house. 
 
 Amy made Miss Dora linger a moment on the 
 step, to look down into the little garden. She 
 pointed out the crocuses under the window, the 
 violet roots, and the border, with its edge of pinks. 
 Miss Dora admired but little of these, and then 
 hastened into the house. Before the fireplace her 
 own armchair was drawn up, and Miss Elspeth's 
 rocking-chair. On the tall mantel-piece stood the 
 old China vases, and at either end, the large sea- 
 shells. In the window, upon the road, stood the 
 little round table, with its clawed legs. The old 
 sideboard stood as though it had grown into its
 
 THE EMIGRATION. 33 
 
 niche ; and the antique mirror hung between the 
 windows. On the table, beneath it, were placed 
 the large Bible, Young's Night Thoughts, and Tay 
 lor's Holy Living. 
 
 From the fireplace gleamed a welcome blaze. 
 Even the knitting was laid invitingly on the stool 
 by the side of the armchair. Miss Dora seated 
 herself, and folded her hands in her lap. " The 
 Lord be praised," she said, " we are safely here." 
 She would not be moved from her place that night. 
 Her head was mazed by the confusions of the day, 
 and its changes. Amy brought her a cup of tea ; 
 and in the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kothsay came to 
 talk with her. She read the Transcript, and old 
 Mrs. Berry had died in Newburyport, and Juliana 
 Grant was married, and the Gobbleby stocks were 
 realizing. All of which was talked over as it would 
 have been in the old Boston home ; so that Miss 
 Dora herself was fairly surprised, at the evening's 
 close, to find she was really in Langdale, that the 
 great step had been taken, that she, Miss Dora 
 Elton, had moved from Boston. 
 
 Meanwhile, the children had taken possession of 
 the rest of the house and the garden. They en 
 tered into the spirit of change with the delight of 
 children. Bessie and Margie explored every cor 
 ner of the house, and admired the different doors 
 that led out from it. They could scarcely be torn 
 away from the corner of the garden from which 
 they could watch Mrs. Bunce's pigs. But Frank 
 3
 
 34 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 promised them he would put a bench there for them 
 some time, where they might take observations any 
 time of day. And early in the evening, Amy and 
 Miss Elspeth succeeded in putting the little colony 
 to rest. 
 
 It was one of the first of the spring days, one 
 of the days that seem to be promise and fulfilment 
 in one. They are only of promise ; for the east 
 wind shuts them in, behind and before. But be 
 hind the east wind is hidden the summer, and in 
 these early spring days we feel a little of its breath, 
 its warmth, and its languor, the invitation it gives 
 to come out from winter activities, and winter con 
 finements, into its soft lassitude, and all its offers of 
 freedom. 
 >J
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SETTLING DOWN. 
 
 EVERYBODY said Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth 
 did not know what it was to have a family of chil 
 dren' in the house, and that before the first week 
 would be over, Miss Dora's patience would be 
 worn out. Everybody thought she would find 
 living in the country a different thing from her 
 house in town, where she could buy what she 
 pleased for dinner at the provision store at the 
 corner of the street, where she had neighbors to 
 drop in at any hour of the day, and a brick side 
 walk to walk to church upon. The living without 
 any "help," the depending upon an inconstant 
 butcher once or twice a week, and the having 
 the care of half a dozen poor children, for the 
 world's wife exaggerated the size of their fam 
 ily, all these discomforts united, it was thought, 
 would be more than Miss Dora or Miss Elspeth 
 could bear. 
 
 But these fears were without foundation. As 
 Miss Dora's immovable mind was unable to grasp 
 the extent of the shock that had come upon her
 
 36 STEUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 old habits, she settled down into the change as 
 quietly as she would have done to the coming of 
 the new day in her old home. There her princi 
 pal occupation had been to provide for the three 
 meals of the day, and to keep her house in order. 
 And these events were still the most important to 
 her. 
 
 Ralph, the cat, had been shut up the night 
 before, in a room by himself. Frank had insisted 
 in bringing him out, that he should be put in a 
 basket, his head tied in a bag, and his paws 
 greased, according to old tradition ; and the first 
 evening of his arrival, whenever he was visited by 
 the children, he was found busily cleaning himself. 
 This occupation, it was supposed, would employ 
 him till he became wonted to his new position, and 
 he would be less likely to take the first oppor 
 tunity to make his way to his old home. 
 
 It was perhaps the same enthralment of occupa 
 tion that held Miss Dora. The zeal and ambition 
 of a careful housekeeper inspired her, so that she 
 forgot for a little while the changes round her, and 
 set herself to duties that drove away all thought. 
 
 So, on the first morning after her arrival, she 
 woke to the demands of breakfast, and a house in 
 disorder. She hastened to wake Hannah and her 
 corps dramatique, and set them in action. Miss 
 Elspeth was roused to find Hannah nailing down a 
 carpet, Martha sweeping the stairs, and Margie 
 and Bessie busy with fetching and carrying.
 
 SETTLING DOWN. 37 
 
 " There, now," said Miss Dora, ' I meant you 
 should have slept an hour yet, you worked hard 
 enough yesterday. I thought I would set Hannah 
 to tacking down that carpet; I saw it wasn't 
 finished yesterday. I sent the child in with the 
 hammer and nails, and it took her half an hour to 
 find out she didn't know what I meant. There's 
 enough to do, to be sure, but it is a pity you 
 couldn't sleep longer." 
 
 Sleep ! Miss Elspeth might as easily have slept 
 in a cotton mill ; there was the clatter of tongues 
 and the clatter of footsteps. Miss Dora's voice 
 sounded above all, and Miss Elspeth's noiseless 
 will was needed. For, though Miss Dora was 
 wont to give the loud word of command and the 
 song of victory at the end, it was Miss Elspeth 
 who led on the silent attack upon the enemy. 
 
 There was china to set up in the very position 
 it- used to stand in the old house ; there were 
 stores to be put away in inaccessible closets ; old 
 furniture, that had just strength enough to stand, 
 to be settled into new places. The children had 
 to be taught the names of everything. For a long 
 time Hannah was sure to bring the wrong thing 
 when she was told. Miss Dora found it very 
 difficult to teach her precisely the centre of the 
 room, where the table was to stand, and how she 
 must always place it in a straight line, and how 
 the chairs had each its particular position to 
 which each one must return whenever it had been 
 displaced.
 
 38 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 The younger children enjoyed this highly. Bes 
 sie brandished high with delight the candlestick 
 she was to carry into the parlor. Martha, more 
 slowly, and with due reverence, bore along Miss 
 Dora's old workbox, to set it on the spider-legged 
 table. Little Margie wanted to be useful, and was 
 laden with one of the old books that Miss Elspeth 
 treasured ; but she was found, some time after, 
 sitting on the lower stair, gazing at one of the old 
 pictures it contained, and spelling out its black 
 letters. Bessie was charmed with the tall peacock- 
 feather dustbrush, and waved it about, to the great 
 danger of the china ornaments on the dining-room 
 mantel-piece, which caused her dusting zeal to be 
 speedily checked. Presently, she was heard cry 
 ing out for help. She had tumbled into a high, 
 India clothes-basket, whose contents she had been 
 investigating. 
 
 " Lucky it wasn't the flour barrel," said Martha. 
 
 Bessie, indeed, was everywhere. Under Miss 
 Elspeth's feet as she carried along a high pile of 
 valuable china cups she had been washing; upset 
 ting poor Hannah's tacks, as she was nailing down 
 the last carpet ; knocking over a little stand in the 
 kitchen, where a pan of milk had been incautiously 
 placed ; pulling the andirons out from under the 
 little wood fire that had been built in the parlor, 
 to see if the back legs had claws like the front 
 ones; and at last was found even examining Miss 
 Dora's knitting that lay within her reach. She
 
 SETTLING DOWN. 39 
 
 had an inquiring mind, and everything was new to 
 her; she could not resist touching all that she saw, 
 and tasting all that looked good to eat v But every 
 body was too busy to scold her, except Miss Dora, 
 and she scolded everybody. Bessie, too, kept 
 wisely out of Miss Dora's way. At last, Miss 
 Elspeth seated her by Margie's side, and bade 
 Margie tell her all about the pictures. 
 
 All day Hannah was kept busy. She was will 
 ing to work, and did not object to an occupation 
 new to her, especially an occupation that sent her 
 from one duty to another. It entertained her. 
 She was interested in finding out why there were 
 so many teapots, and so many pitchers, and such 
 different utensils for cooking. Poor Hannah's din 
 ner had always been cooked in one pot ; and that 
 the cooking-stove should need so many iron things, 
 was a mystery that was long in being solved. 
 Miss Dora was a valuable teacher for her in this 
 way, for Miss Dora was fond of laying down the 
 law, and liked to repeat her directions. She fol 
 lowed Hannah round to see if she did what she 
 told her, and to reproach her if she failed. Han 
 nah was not dismayed by such an inexorable task- 
 mistress. She had fancied she was going into 
 bondage when she promised herself to Miss Els 
 peth for five years, and she did not think enough 
 to consider whether it was harder than she ex 
 pected. She faithfully performed all that Miss 
 Dora demanded of her, more faithfully than Miss
 
 40 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. * 
 
 Elspeth had dared to hope. Miss Elspeth's kind 
 ness, indeed, surprised Hannah far more than Miss 
 Dora's inflexibility. 
 
 Hannah was happy in Bessie's joy. Sometimes 
 Bessie wondered what Steevie was doing, and what 
 game " the boys " were playing without her, but 
 her thoughts were so occupied with the excite 
 ments of her new home, that she had little time to 
 recall what she had left behind. " Meat for din 
 ner," she whispered with wonder to Hannah at 
 dinner-time. Then there were all the joys of the 
 garden, and untold pleasure there she might look 
 forward to. She went to sleep that night tired 
 out with excitement, her cheek flushing, and her 
 veins throbbing. 
 
 Hannah left her and went down to the garden. 
 It was the first pause of the day, and she stood 
 leaning over the garden gate, looking up and 
 down the quiet country road. The first day of 
 her bondage had passed away, and she was free to 
 leave it behind already. " She had only to open the 
 gate and walk down the winding road. She would 
 not be missed for awhile ; she could hide herself 
 easily. But Hannah was already, in some degree, 
 fenced in. For there arc different kinds of fences, 
 those we read of in the tropical regions, where 
 prickly cactuses grow up rankly, and present an 
 armed hedge against enemies, and there are bars 
 and bolts that shut in prisoners, and little rustic- 
 fences that arc strong enough to keep us civilized
 
 SETTLING ~DOWN. 41 
 
 people out from our neighbor's garden. But none 
 of these would have restrained Hannah if she had 
 felt determined to .go back to her old home and 
 haunts. The bolts and bars might have held her 
 in a little while, but she would have only cher 
 ished more warmly behind them the love of liberty 
 that they kept her from. Just now she was 
 bounded by the thought of the five years for 
 which she had promised herself to Miss Elspeth. 
 Nobody had commanded her to make that promise. 
 It was her own act, so it was by her own free will 
 she stayed there a night longer. Without acknowl 
 edging to herself its nature, somehow she was 
 unconsciously bound by that promise. After those 
 five years she would do what she pleased. She 
 fancied before that time she could " run away," 
 and she almost began to plan how she could 
 accomplish this. She was eager to show herself 
 that it might be done any time, and so she looked 
 wistfully down the road she had come. They had 
 driven out so slowly from Boston, everything was 
 so different here from there, she began to think it 
 would be quite a long journey back. Still, she 
 knew she must remember the way. So, instead of 
 thinking of the soft evening air, just lifting the 
 fresh leaves budding on the trees, or listening to 
 the low twitter of the early birds, she brought 
 back the remembrance of every stone upon the 
 way. Miss Dora summoned her in. " Some kin 
 dlings for the kitchen fire to-morrow, Hannah."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " 
 
 THE NEIGHBOES. 
 
 i 
 
 LANGDALE, though its name sounded suspiciously 
 new, was not one of the modern-made railroad 
 towns. The station lay at a little distance from its 
 centre ; and, though the tide of business was 
 sweeping into its quiet street, its houses still stood 
 with broad gardens all around them, and old treqs 
 shading their dooryards. It was a pretty view, up 
 and down the village street, from Miss Dora's gate- 
 In the summer, the drooping branches of the trees 
 shaded more closely the bend of the street cither 
 way. One or two houses stood directly on the 
 street, a little way down ; but clambering honey 
 suckles and trumpet-flowers hid their deep porches 
 and gave them a secluded air. In one of them was 
 a milliner's shop, where Mrs. Paxton's and Mrs. 
 Bunco's caps were made, and where ribbons might 
 be bought. Farther down the street, out of sight, 
 was the post-office, and the old tavern, that used to 
 be so much frequented before the days of railroads, 
 when there was a stage road directly through 
 Langdalc. There was a grocery store here, too.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS. 43 
 
 that had many attractions. Crockery of various 
 patterns, tumblers, pewter toys, disputed their 
 place in the window, with tobacco pipes and 
 lemons. 
 
 But, up the quiet street, in the neighborhood of 
 Miss Dora's house, there were no such tokens of 
 trade. Mrs. Paxton's house stood far back from 
 the street, just below, and close shrubbery shaded 
 it from the public view. It was pleasant to Miss 
 Dora to visit so respectable a family. Tall borders 
 of box along the flower-beds showed how many 
 years the flower-garden had been laid out. The 
 old trees looked down protectingly upon the house 
 that was young when they were. The gravelled 
 walks were always carefully rolled, and the plaster 
 figures of Flora, and the gardener's boy, were 
 kept thoroughly clean, and frequently repainted. 
 
 Within the house, everything wore a very ele 
 gant air. Every spring, whenEleonor Paxton came 
 home from New York, the drawing-rooms were re 
 opened and rearranged ; and through the summer 
 she presided there, dressed for callers that seldom 
 came, among the fine furniture, or looked at herself 
 in the long mirrors, or sat as quietly in one of the 
 deep chairs. 
 
 On one side of Miss Dora lived Mrs. Bunco ; on 
 the other, the Rothsays. Mrs. Bunce's house was 
 small and low ; and the little green in front of it 
 was not separated from the street by any fence or 
 paling. The green moss covered its sloping roof,
 
 44 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 V 
 
 and woodbine hid one side of the house ; and it 
 seemed itself like the natural growth of the street 
 under the high elms. But no moss grew in the 
 steps of its owner. She was busy always, but 
 mostly iii her neighbors' concerns. To this Miss 
 Dora did not object. She liked to listen to Mrs. 
 Bunce, to get a little peep into her neighbors' 
 affairs, if she could get it without trouble ; and she 
 had that agreeable complacency of respectable 
 people, that led her to think that no one could find 
 anything ill to say about her. To be sure, Mrs. 
 Bunce troubled her with some close question 
 ings about her affairs, with regard to the chil 
 dren, for instance. " How long did they expect to 
 keep them ? Did Martha and Margie's father do 
 anything for them, etc.?" Miss Dora referred them 
 all to Miss Elspeth's inscrutability. " It's Elspeth's 
 business," she answered, " and I have nothing to 
 do with it. She will have to see, at the end of the 
 year, if the two ends meet." 
 
 " They generally do," said Mrs. Bunce, encour 
 agingly, and went on with her remarks upon the 
 neighbors. 
 
 She did not approve of Mr. Jasper's going away. 
 He had been preaching for them three years, and 
 she had hoped he was settled for life. But that 
 was a thing quite out of fashion now-a-days. The 
 ministers, too, were all out of health in these times ; 
 she believed they enjoyed ill-health. Everybody 
 said that Mr. Jasper needed the change, and that
 
 THE NETGHBOHS. 45 
 
 he was wanted in the West, where he was going. 
 She did not believe he was needed more than he 
 was in Langdale. " I am sure they have solemni 
 ties and casualties enough, out West, to preach for 
 them ! With a steamer bursting up before my 
 windows every day, I'm sure I shouldn't need a 
 sermon ! " 
 
 The affairs of the Rothsays came closely under 
 her notice. Theirs was a changing household. 
 They were so hospitable in their ways, that their 
 house was open to everybody, and always full. 
 The country aunts and cousins came there, because 
 it was so convenient to go to town from there on 
 shopping expeditions. And the city relations came 
 for the country air. There was such a nice garden 
 and lawn for the children to pla} r in, and plenty of 
 fruit in the orchard, pears, peaches, and apples. 
 The invalid friends came there, because Amy cared 
 for them so kindly, forestalled all their wants, and 
 made the days go by so quickly for them ; and Mrs. 
 Rothsay knew so well how to prepare little nice 
 things for an invalid's taste. Then the healthy 
 friends liked to go to the Rothsays because the 
 atmosphere was always bright and clear. Frank 
 was always full of fun, and Amy always cheerful. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Rothsay liked to have the children do 
 what they pleased ; and it was a household that did 
 not oppress with its rules and forms. One of Mrs. 
 Rothsay's nieces, last autumn, had been married 
 from there. Mrs. Rothsay had been willing to turn
 
 40 STRUGGLE FOR LITE. 
 
 the house topsy-turvy for a wedding. And she had 
 even allowed the same rooms to serve for a funeral 
 ceremony, because an old aunt, in her last requests, 
 had begged to be laid in the burying-place of the 
 town where she was born. 
 
 'Now and then, some one asked what Amy Roth- 
 say did ? what her talents were ? why it was 
 she was so generally attractive ? But Amy Roth- 
 say had never had the time to cultivate what talents 
 she might have possessed. Her time was broken up 
 in the cause of other people. She was the centre 
 spring in the working of the house ; she filled up 
 all its missing links. She was at hand whenever 
 she was called for, not only in the house, but in the 
 village. In short, her work was what comes under 
 the head of " woman's work," so indescribable, so 
 undefinable. She did what the others shrunk from 
 doing, the things that nobody else wanted to do. 
 She filled the gap made by those who refuse to 
 work, and who are insufficient for their position. 
 And if she had talents for a higher vocation, she 
 sacrificed them silently, perhaps unknowingly, to 
 perform lower duties that others should have done, 
 doing them so quickly and graciously that they 
 became grand. 
 
 In Langdale, the question was, how Amy Roth- 
 say could accomplish so much. And Mrs. Bunce 
 wondered where she could find time to teach Miss 
 Elspeth's children. For this became a settled 
 arrangement. Amy agreed to have a little school
 
 THE NEIGHBORS. 47 
 
 for them for two or three hours every morning. 
 She declared she should make time in this way ; 
 because if she had a settled occupation every morn 
 ing, she should learn to divide her time more 
 punctually, and know whether she had any time in 
 the day or not. 
 
 It was an inexpressible comfort to Miss Elspeth 
 to have the ready help of Amy. Miss Dora was so 
 unsympathizing, so discouraging towards every 
 new effort, that quiet Miss Elspeth, timid in her 
 ways, might often have shrunk from carrying out 
 what she knew to be her duty, if it had not been 
 for the ready help of her younger friend. Miss 
 Dora was fond of an institution only after it had 
 become old and established ; she did not love it in 
 its original sense of a beginning. Her life was 
 already settling down into its old habits. But one 
 of her old habits had been that of complaining, 
 an indulgence that formed part of her happiness. 
 She fairly liked to complain, and threw out the 
 worst part of her nature in her complaints. She 
 was one of that class of people who never think of 
 putting cheerfulness and gratitude in their list of 
 virtues. In summer, they dislike the heat, because 
 it is oppressive ; the cold, because it is unseason 
 able. Autumn always seems gloomy to them ; and 
 spring suggests nothing but a cutting east wind ; 
 and the winter is always long and dreary. Ill- 
 humor is a happy expression for this disposition of 
 mind, for it is the outward appearance of disease
 
 48 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 within. It must be a diseased eye that conveys 
 only sad and distasteful scenes ; a- diseased ear, 
 that listens only to discords ; and still more, a dis 
 eased heart that dwells upon them, that doubles 
 and repeats them in complaint. If it were true that 
 such evils predominate in the world over the good, 
 then it were surely the duty of every one to avert, 
 or rather silently to crush them, rather than to 
 reproduce them with their own restless and uneasy 
 complainings. But the truth is, it requires some 
 little genius to find fault with the year's changes, 
 with the wonderful way it passes through its winter 
 and spring, and summer and autumn, to criticise 
 day and night, sun, moon, and stars ; so the idle 
 ones of the earth like to take upon themselves this 
 duty, and will probably carry this propensity into a 
 " new heavens " and a " new earth."
 
 CHAPTER Vii. 
 
 THE CHILDEEN. 
 
 HANNAH learned very slowly to read, but Miss 
 Dora found her in time a valuable acquisition to 
 her housework. Bessie was everybody's favorite. 
 It was hard to keep her still enough to teach 
 her anything, but it was easy to influence her by 
 example. Martha, who was so sedate and quiet, 
 and who was a little older than Bessie, could take 
 better care of her than any one else. Little 
 Margie was a dreamy child. Her large eyes were 
 moved round in wonderment upon everything, but 
 Bhe was easily pleased and easily cared for. 
 
 The garden was their playground, and each of 
 the children had a bit of the border for her own 
 private garden. Martha furnished radishes from 
 hers before any of the neighbors had raised them, 
 and flowers grew wonderfully in Bessie's, in spite 
 of a deal of digging and the row of sticks that she 
 had put down to show what she had planted. 
 Margie had a great melon in her garden. Frank 
 had brought her some melon-seeds which she had 
 put into the earth with a variety of flower and 
 4
 
 50 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 vegetable seeds, and the melon had gained the 
 mastery. She was quite satisfied with this, and 
 spent her spare tim 3 sitting on a stone by its side, 
 hoping some day to see it grow. 
 
 Frank worked, too, in Miss Elspeth's garden. 
 His mother's garden at home, he eaid, had been 
 established so long that it grew of itself, and there 
 was not any work left for him. He was fond of 
 playing with the children, and made rustic seats 
 for them under the apple-tree, and in secluded 
 corners of the garden. He often brought George 
 Arnold, too, who went every day into town with 
 him to school. George was never so active as 
 Frank, and he was not a student, either ; but Amy 
 and Frank considered him a born artist. The 
 margins of all his school-books were filled with 
 sketches, caricatures of the schoolmaster, and the 
 " digs " among the boys. He often sketched 
 groups of the children, even stiff Miss Elspeth 
 came into his pictures, and picked up a curve or a 
 grace there. Bessie never enjoyed anything so 
 much as to sit and watch George while he was 
 drawing, while Frank told them a story. They 
 would sit on the doorsteps, Frank whittling, Amy 
 and Martha sewing, and Margie, with her doll in 
 her lap, looking earnestly into Frank's face, as he 
 told some wonderful tale. 
 
 Miss Elspeth sometimes persuaded Miss Dora to 
 let Hannah sit upon the doorstep with her work, 
 but more often Hannah would prefer to go on with
 
 THE CHILDREN. 51 
 
 her dusting and sweeping of the parlor or dining- 
 room, stopping now and then with her brush at 
 tbe window, to listen to the climax of the story. 
 George and Frank were fond of playing with and 
 amusing the children ; but every day, almost, they 
 went oif on some long expedition of their own, and 
 then came Bessie's time of trouble. She did not 
 like the regular school-hours; she did not like 
 anything regular, and was every day tempted out 
 after the butterflies. Miss Dora was shocked at 
 her very thinking of going off with the boys. 
 Amy took the children almost every day to walk, 
 and soon they learned their way to a pretty grove 
 not far away, where they were allowed to play at 
 times. 
 
 Miss Elspeth had promised Hannah that she 
 should have frequent intelligence of her family, 
 and Mrs. Badger agreed to go often to see Mrs. 
 O'Connor. The first news served to diminish 
 Hannah's interest in home affairs. Steevie had 
 disappeared. The very day after Hannah went 
 away, he had left home with the vague words 
 about never being seen again. The next intelli 
 gence was that Mrs. O'Connor herself was in the 
 House of Correction. One of the poor twins had 
 died, and Mrs. Badger had found some one to 
 adopt the other, and Mrs. O'Connor's " sister's 
 son " had been sent to a farmer in the country. 
 Hannah received quietly all tins account of the 
 family and the breaking up of the establishment at
 
 52 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 Board Court. She made some exclamations when 
 she heard of Steevie's departure, and again to 
 Miss Elspeth, when she heard that nothing more 
 was known of him. In the evening, when Amy 
 went to see her and asked her some questions 
 about it, she burst into tears. It was the first 
 time she had been moved about anything. " Oh ! 
 Miss Amy," she said, presently, " I loved Steevie 
 better than anybody. How could he ever go 
 away without coming to let me know, without 
 coming to see me and Bessie ! Will I never know 
 where he has gone ? Oh ! Miss Amy, isn't there a 
 hope if I followed him out into the wide world I 
 could find him ? " 
 
 " He knows where you are, Hannah ; he will 
 come to find you, perhaps," said Amy, comfortingly. 
 
 " Oh I Miss Amy, if he could only be taught 
 well, he might learn to be a good boy. I had been 
 thinking, that when I got old enough, I would 
 teach him something. Such bad ways as he has 
 been living in ! I know it now, I didn't know it 
 before. And perhaps he is going on to worse. 
 Oh ! I would rather be back on the cold stones in 
 Boston than lose Steevie. I can't bear to stay 
 here the night through, and think of him away." 
 
 " But you could not find him," said Arny, " if you 
 went out to look for him ; " and Hannah, you can't 
 leave Bessie behind. Think how she needs you, 
 and how much you do for her ! " 
 
 " There's plenty to love Bessie," said Hannah ;
 
 THE CHILDEEN. 53 
 
 "I think it was because Steevie loved Bessie so, 
 that he must go away from home when she was 
 not there. What with me gone, and I used to 
 bring something home every day for them to eat, 
 and Bessie gone, too, who used to make them 
 laugh, no wonder that Steevie couldn't stay. Miss 
 Amy, is it doing good, what Miss Elspeth has done, 
 to send him away from his own home ? " 
 
 " Miss Elspeth has done you good and Bessie," 
 said Amy, " and you could none of you have stayed 
 at home when your mother was taken away. Per 
 haps, sometime, you'll be able to do Steevie a 
 great good if you take care of yourself and Bessie 
 too." 
 
 " The world is very large out there, isn't it ? " 
 said Hannah, pointing up the street. 
 
 " Don't think of going into it," said Amy, anx 
 iously ; " we will all do our best to find Steevie, 
 and you could never find him alone by your 
 self." 
 
 Hannah stood awhile thoughtfully, and then 
 broke off the conversation, saying, " Miss Dora'll 
 be calling me in to fill the water pitchers, and it's 
 late." : 
 
 It was by no means a smooth stream in Miss 
 Dora's household. Hannah's and Bessie's ignor 
 ance of right and wrong frequently upset the tenor 
 of its ways. Martha was perhaps over-conscien 
 tious for so young a girl. Margie led such a 
 dreamy life, she was willing its outer actions
 
 54 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 should be ordered by others, but often she was 
 shocked, as well as Martha, by Bessie's quick 
 impulses. From the beginning there had been 
 great trouble in checking Bessie's fondness for 
 helping herself to anything she fancied. With all 
 Miss Dora's watchfulness, there were wonderful 
 disappearances from her stores. Bessie was the 
 suspected one at first, but it was found that 
 Hannah must share the blame with her. Miss 
 Elspeth was sorely troubled at this discovery: 
 There was some excuse for these two children, 
 for, coming into what appeared to them a land of 
 plenty and liberality, they could not understand 
 why they should be checked in this way. So, at 
 least, Bessie pleaded ; " Miss Elspeth let her eat as 
 much bread and milk as she pleased at meal times, 
 and what harm was there in eating a little more 
 when she chose?" Miss Elspeth told her she 
 gave her as much as was best for her when she 
 ate her meals, and tried to teach her the laws of 
 " mine and thine." She had help from Martha in 
 teaching Bessie what it was to tell a lie, or to take 
 what did not belong to her. 
 
 Martha was ver$ much shocked at the discovery 
 of these derelictions of Bessie. One day, after 
 school, while the children were playing in their 
 favorite corner of the garden, Bessie went into the 
 house. She came back with a very mysterious 
 air, with something hid in her apron. 
 "I've brought something for a feast," she ex-
 
 THE CHILDREN. 55 
 
 claimed ; " it's some of Miss Dora's fresh sponge 
 cake." 
 
 " Oh ! how good of Miss Dora," cried Martha ; 
 " did she give it to you ? " 
 
 " See how nice it looks," said Bessie, as she 
 unfolded her apron. 
 
 " But did Miss Dora give it to you ? " asked 
 Martha, anxiously ; " Oh ! she never would have 
 given us so much of her nice cake. Bessie, I'm 
 afraid you took it." 
 
 " "Well, I did," said Bessie, " only Miss Dora will 
 never find out. It was all done up in a basket for 
 Hannah to take to Mrs. Fay, when she goes down 
 street. I got a knife and cut this off, and Mrs. 
 Fay won't know how big the piece was." 
 
 " Bessie, you would not want to steal, and 
 from Miss Dora, too ! " exclaimed Martha, taking 
 the cake out of Bessie's hands 5 " I'll take it back 
 to Miss Elspeth, and she will put it into the basket 
 again." 
 
 " I thought you'd like to have the cake," said 
 Bessie, beginning to cry. 
 
 " Bessie, I'd rather never eat any cake, or 
 anything, than steal," said Martha. 
 
 " Miss Dora read in the paper," said Margie, 
 " about a boy that was put in prison because he 
 stole." 
 
 " Oh, but he stole a whole houseful of things," 
 said Bessie, " and this is nothing but a piece of 
 cake."
 
 56 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " That does not make the difference," said Mar 
 tha ; " I think if anybody stole your pink, your 
 pretty pink, you would think it was a very 
 naughty thing, and it's only a flower, and did not 
 cost you so much trouble as it did Miss Dora to 
 make this cake." 
 
 " I guess if anybody stole my melon," said Mar 
 gie, " if I had one, and it came ripe, I'd like to 
 have him put in the State's Prison." 
 
 " Well, then," said Bessie, angrily, " take it back 
 to Miss Dora, and tell her all about it, and have 
 me scolded and punished. At home, if I had got 
 it for Steevie, he'd have been glad, and have taken 
 it and have eaten it." 
 
 Martha stopped, doubtfully. "I wish yon would 
 take it back yourself, Bessie," she said. 
 
 "You won't persuade me, " began Bessie, 
 but she was interrupted by the appearance of 
 Hannah. She had been weeding the peas at a 
 little distance, and had heard the whole conver 
 sation. 
 
 " Give me the cake," she said, " and I'll put it 
 back without telling anybody, and nobody will 
 ever know." 
 
 Martha gave it up reluctantly. It was wrong 
 not to tell Miss Dora, or at least, Miss Elspeth, she 
 thought, but she could not bear to have Bessie 
 scolded, so she let it go. 
 
 That evening Hannah was leaning in her favor 
 ite place over the gateway. Amy stopped to talk
 
 THE CHILDREN. 57 
 
 with her, as she liked to do at such times. She 
 wanted Hannah to talk more, Hannah was so 
 quiet always. She had often a sulky air, but at 
 this hour she seemed more approachable. This 
 evening, Hannah told her directly the talk of the 
 children, which she had overheard in the garden. 
 
 " I think," said Amy, when she had done, " that 
 you had better have talked with Bessie a little 
 about it, and told her how wrong it was to take 
 even a little thing that is not her own, and asked 
 her to tell Miss Dora about it." 
 
 " Martha wanted her to tell about it," said 
 Hannah. 
 
 " And you said nothing of it," said Amy. " I 
 wish you would tell Bessie to speak of it; it would 
 be a lesson for her. You might do her a great 
 deal of good." 
 
 " I ! Miss Amy," exclaimed Hannah, " how could 
 I tell her, when I am often doing just the same ? " 
 
 Amy saw the confession was a difficult one for 
 Hannah to make. " The best wa} 7 ," she said, 
 " would be to tell Bessie that you see that it is 
 wrong, and that you do not mean to do such things 
 any more, a'nd that you want to teach her the 
 right." 
 
 " It's a little thing, it's such a very little 
 thing," said Hannah. 
 
 " Then it must be a little thing to keep from 
 doing ; but by and by, if you have taught yourself 
 to take little things that don't belong to you, you
 
 58 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 won't know when to stop. If here, where you 
 have plenty to eat, yon are in the way of taking 
 what does not belong to you, what would happen 
 if you ever really needed it ? That poor boy that 
 was taken up for stealing was very destitute. 
 He stole all that silver, very likely, just to got 
 something to eat." 
 
 " Oh ! don't speak of that boy, said Hannah, 
 seizing Amy's arm, " for I thought of Steevie. I 
 know it isn't he ; but then, where is he ? " 
 
 She looked anxiously up the road, and after a 
 moment, she said, " It's hard to live, Miss Amy, 
 isn't it? I did not think it would be so. I 
 thought, if I only grew up, it would be easy 
 enough. There are so many rules and laws. Miss 
 Dora talks so much about speaking the truth, and 
 Martha about stealing. In Board Court we didn't 
 trouble ourselves much, any way. We did not 
 live very happily. They used to quarrel some 
 times, and then the boys would fight ; but we did 
 not have to think what would come the next day. 
 That's what troubles me, Miss Amy. I don't like 
 to sweep and wash and work, but I'm willing to 
 do it all day long, rather than think what we'll all 
 do, and what we'll all come to." 
 
 " Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth are taking care of 
 you now," said Amy; "you have only to think 
 how you'll please them best." 
 
 Hannah assented, and gloomily promised to 
 speak to Bessie before she went to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE PICNIC. 
 
 THERE came a lovely day in the course of the 
 summer. There had been heavy rains for a few 
 days, and all the grass and trees were refreshed, 
 and the air was soft and delicious. Before Miss 
 Dora's gate stood a carryall and an open wagon ; 
 and on the doorsteps were baskets covered with 
 napkins. And the younger children were jumping 
 up and down the steps, and dancing through the 
 alleys with delight. There was so much excite 
 ment going on, that Mrs. Bunco could not resist 
 putting her cape bonnet on, and going over to 
 see what was happening. 
 
 u "\y e ' re a u going on a picnic," said Amy, who 
 stood by the gate. 
 
 " We're going to pick whortleberries," exclaimed 
 Bessie. " And we're going to take our dinner," 
 said Margie, quite moved. " And Miss Dora and 
 Miss Elspeth are going, too," said Amy. 
 
 " Miss Dora going to a picnic ! I should as soon 
 think of the steeple's going ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Bunce.
 
 60 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " And we children are going in the open wagon, 
 with Amy and Frank, and George, if we' can only 
 stow in," said Martha. 
 
 Frank and Amy had planned the picnic for the 
 children. When Amy proposed it to Hannah, she 
 demurred ; she did not think Miss Dora would 
 want her to leave, and she could not go unless Miss 
 Dora did. " We will make Miss Dora go," said 
 Amy, suddenly ; and she ran home and persuaded 
 her father to give up one day of business and town, 
 and go to the picnic. She came back triumphantly 
 with him, and Mr. Rothsay went into the house to 
 invite Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth to go too. 
 
 " I never like picnics," said Miss Dora, discour- 
 agingly. " I don't like sitting on stumps and rocks ; 
 and as for sitting on the ground, it reminds me 
 always of when I shall lie under it." 
 
 "Oh, that's dreadful!" exclaimed Amy; "but 
 we will take you a chair. We will carry one of our 
 straw armchairs in the back of the wagon. Frank 
 and George can fix that, if that's all." 
 
 There were a great many other objections ; but 
 Amy had smoothed them off, and Miss Elspeth 
 helped to remove them too. " You don't mind sit. 
 ting on a rock, Miss Elspeth, do you ? " said Amy ; 
 " and we can take out the carriage cushions, too, for 
 you to sit on. And you will admire the glen." 
 
 " Oh, a glen ! " exclaimed Miss Dora. " I don't 
 like glens ; I shall be sure to tumble in, and you all 
 will. How can you take the children there ? "
 
 THE PICNIC. 61 
 
 " But this is a very mild glen," answered Amy. 
 " It's none of your White Mountain ones. We don't 
 have such in these civilized regions. It's the 
 easiest place to get at you can imagined 
 
 So the whole household were to go. Miss Dora 
 packed up plates, knives, and forks. She said she 
 did not like eating with her fingers, nor using green 
 leaves for plates. If the rest wanted to be so 
 romantic, they might ; but, at any rate, they should 
 have the choice of a china plate. Hannah chopped 
 ham with vigor ; and Martha spread the bread for 
 sandwiches. Bessie tried to pack up Ralph in a 
 basket, to take too, but Miss Dora would not allow 
 that. "Ralph wouldn't enjoy a picnic!" Mrs. 
 Bunco was astonished. " What would Eleonora 
 Paxton say ? The Irish girls are going to the pic- 
 nic, too! " 
 
 " I'm glad if it will amuse her," laughed Amy. 
 " Poor Nora does not have much to entertain her." 
 
 Mr. Rothsay drove off in the carryall with Mar 
 gie, who was a little afraid of the wagon ; and the 
 rest of the children, with Amy, Frank, and George, 
 and Amy's friend, Bertha Carlton, were packed into 
 its seats. Frank sat behind in the straw chair 
 .. devoted to Miss Dora, and George drove the two 
 horses. Bertha Carlton's seat was made as com 
 fortable as possible, for she was fragile and deli 
 cate, and Amy was anxious not to tire her. She 
 was older than Amy, and an early school friend of 
 hers. She had a clear, transparent complexion,
 
 62 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 and blue eyes full of thought, with soft, gentle 
 manners, and a low voice. 
 
 The party were very merry in the wagon. 
 Martha and Bessie were wild with delight at the 
 cows in the meadows, the haymakers in the fields, 
 at the busy farmhouses, and the birds in the trees. 
 Frank pointed out to them every creeping and 
 flying thing they passed, and told all sorts of 
 strange stories about all they saw. They came to 
 an opening in the fringe of trees that skirted one 
 side of the road. 
 
 " Oh, what a view ! " exclaimed George, as he 
 drew up the horses. A broad slope led down to 
 where a little river wound through the meadows. 
 Graceful elms stood scattered through the fields, 
 and a row of low hills rose up the other side, show 
 ing a waving line against the blue sky. 
 
 " Now, girls," said Frank, " we are to stop here 
 all day. George has fallen in love with the view, 
 and we must wait till he has put it into his sketch 
 book. Bertha will have to scramble out of the 
 wagon and sit under that elm, and we must needs 
 all look as pastoral as possible. The finest trout I 
 ever caught I lost again, because George insisted 
 on my holding it so long over the stream while he 
 made a picture of me." 
 
 " It was but right to immortalize Frank's only 
 trout," said George. 
 
 It was not long before they reached the ap 
 pointed spot. Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth were
 
 THE PICNIC. 63 
 
 carefully Landed down the path that led to a 
 pretty stream dashing among the rocks. Then 
 the girls were taken out of the wagon with the 
 rest of its contents, 'all Miss Dora's store closet, 
 Frank declared, was there. 
 
 It was a beautiful spot they rested in, on the 
 bank of a quiet basin that lay at the foot of a 
 sparkling waterfall. It was so shaded below, that 
 green moss covered the rocks and stones, and the 
 trunks of the old fallen trees. Above, the sun 
 gleamed in through the tall pines and the shining- 
 leaved oaks and waving birches, and glistened on 
 the spray of the waterfall, and lay in streaks over 
 its paths. Miss Elspeth stood before it in silent 
 pleasure awhile, then she said to Amy, 
 
 " This makes me all young again. It seems to 
 wash out as many as twenty years of town life and 
 dry, droning existence." 
 
 " 0, dear Miss Elspeth, you are beginning all 
 over again. You are starting all fresh with us 
 and the children," said Amy. 
 
 Frank, meanwhile, was arranging Miss Dora's 
 chair. There were few even spots in the ground, 
 but at last he placed it under a spreading hemlock, 
 where there was a pretty view of the waterfall. 
 Miss Dora tried this seat, but she thought the 
 moss was a little clamp for her feet, so she moved 
 it. At last she was seated with her back to the 
 flowing stream, a bare rock shutting out all view, 
 but she was more comfortable, and professed her-
 
 64 STRUGGLE FOR LTFE. 
 
 self pleased with her position. Hannah busied 
 herself in putting the baskets and packets in 
 shady nooks, and then came to stand by the edge 
 of the water. The children were charmed. Bes 
 sie pleaded to be allowed to take off her shoes and 
 stockings, and walk in. Martha actually shouted 
 with pleasure at the way the spray danced in the 
 sunlight, and Margie found directly one gay colum 
 bine, nodding over the edge of the rocks. 
 
 " Oh ! this is better than my garden," she ex- 
 exclaimed to Amy. Then the children scrambled 
 round among the rocks with the help of the elder 
 ones, and presently left the little glen for a field 
 on the hillside, where they were to find their 
 berries. Miss Dora took out her knitting under 
 the hemlock, and one of the party, who happened 
 back for a moment, found her fast asleep, with a 
 yellow butterfly perched on her knitting-needles, 
 and a bird singing away just over her head. Mr. 
 Rothsay was reading his book, stretched on the 
 ground, w r ith a rock for his pillow. 
 
 Frank, by and by, left the berry-gatherers, to 
 find a place for their dinner. He came back to 
 consult Amy. " Here is a rock on the very 
 water's edge, if we can only get Miss Dora there. 
 It would make such a charming table, and T think 
 she would rather eat from a table than the ground." 
 
 Amy went to look at it, and was pleased with 
 the place. There were rocks for seats all round, 
 and room was found, too, for Miss Dora's chair.
 
 THE PICNIC. 65 
 
 "Where's Hannah, then?" said Frank: "we'll 
 hurry up dinner. We'll have a tablecloth thrown 
 over the rock in grand style." 
 
 A merry dinner it was. There was a dish of 
 the berries, and Amy insisted it must be lined 
 with the -leaves of the wild grape that hung so 
 near. There was cream, which Frank declared he 
 had just milked from the cow in the pasture close 
 by, but Martha was very sure Amy had taken 
 it out from the tin can that came in the wagon. 
 Then there never were such sandwiches, nor such 
 light buns ; and Amy's cake, that Amy made her 
 self, was perfection. Even Miss Dora was anxious 
 to have the receipt for it. Bessie liked nothing 
 better than bringing the fresh water in the silver 
 mugs. The waterfall made such a nice pump she 
 thought, and pumped itself, too. 
 
 Mr. Rothsay declared he had never eaten such a 
 meal. He told, too, what he had for dinner when 
 he dined with Queen Victoria, and what the Shah 
 of Persia treated him to, nothing, he declared, 
 equalled this. Martha whispered to Margie she 
 was sure he had never been out of America. Miss 
 Dora looked a little uncertainly round upon the 
 repast. It was not till her seat was squarely 
 placed, and a plate set before her, with her knife 
 and fork and napkin duly arranged, that she could 
 eat with any comfort, and allow that she enjoyed 
 the entertainment. A gleam of delight at length 
 came over Miss Dora's face, as she exclaimed, 
 5
 
 66 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 "This does seem like dinner!" The salt was not 
 forgotten, nor the mustard, for those who did not 
 find spice enough in the entertainment itself. 
 There was great talking and laughing. The cllil- 
 dren could hardly sit still with laughter, nor Amy, 
 nor Bertha, Mr. Rothsay was so funny. Bertha 
 sat leaning against a tree, her brown hair falling 
 each side of her face, and an unwonted color in 
 her cheeks. Hannah whispered to Amy, 
 
 " It would be pleasant to live so without any 
 houses." 
 
 " That is the way the gypsies live," said Amy, 
 and she sung a gypsy song. 
 
 "If we lived that way," said Frank, "after every 
 meal, to save clearing up, we'd take the corners 
 of the cloth, just so, and toss all the things into 
 the stream." 
 
 As he suited action to the word?, Miss Dora 
 started up to prevent him from precipitating her 
 choice household treasures into the waterfall. 
 
 " My tankard ! my silver tumblers ! " she ex 
 claimed. 
 
 'The afternoon passed away quietly and quickly. 
 Miss Dora took her seat again, and her knitting, 
 under the hemlock, and George drew a sketch of 
 her. Mr. Rothsay busied himself with Bessie in 
 building a dam of stones in the water of the pool. 
 Frank tried to make a swing for Martha and 
 Margie in the branch of a tree. Bertha and Amy 
 seated themselves with Miss Elspeth, and talked
 
 THE PICNIC. 67 
 
 quietly with her by the murmuring sound of the 
 waterfall. 
 
 Miss Dora made the first move to go. Every 
 body exclaimed that it was so early, and there 
 would be a beautiful sunset, and why should they 
 hurry away. But Miss Dora was immovable. 
 
 " There's Ralph/'' at last she said, " I only left 
 milk enough for his dinner, and he'll be getting 
 uneasy." 
 
 " Does Miss Dora keep a boy ? " asked Bertha. 
 
 "No," laughed Amy, "it's her cat. We all 
 wondered she could come without him, but I don't 
 suppose Ralph would enjoy a picnic." 
 
 So the pretty place was left behind, all the 
 baskets were carefully filled again, the silver 
 counted and packed, and a supply of berries was 
 borne away, too. 
 
 "If Mr. Jasper had been here, he could have 
 come with us," said Amy. 
 
 "We do miss him; it's a shame he's gone away," 
 said Frank, " but it's just like ministers to be sick 
 all the time." 
 
 " Oh ! don't say so," said Bertha, " it is so hard 
 not to be well." 
 
 " Well, you are sick, working so much and 
 taking care of all those boys," replied Frank ; " it 
 has done you good already to be away from them 
 a whole day."
 
 CHAPTER IX. . 
 
 k. 
 
 MISS ELSPETH'S TEOUBLES. 
 
 THERE was still more or less talk in the village 
 about Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth and the children. 
 Mrs. Bunce kept up so constant a surveillance of her 
 neighbors' affairs, that no one was left entirely in 
 ignorance of the little commotions that took place, 
 or what tempests rose and fell in the little teapot. 
 
 " I wish people wouldn't ask me so many ques 
 tions," said Miss Elspeth one day to Amy, " for they 
 are questions I do not like to put to myself. What 
 am I going to do with the children when they grow 
 up? Shall I always keep them with me ? I have 
 not answered these questions satisfactorily to my 
 self, and I don't care to at present. It is easy 
 enough to put people off with the answer that I 
 have not decided, which is true. But the constant 
 questioning is all the time renewing the subject 
 with me, when I would rather let it rest awhile." 
 
 " What a pity it is when people don't have busi 
 ness enough of their own to occupy them," said 
 Amy, " instead of going off to their neighbors. Do 
 you have trouble with anybody but Mrs. Bunce ? "
 
 MISS ELSPETH'S TROUBLES. 69 
 
 " Oh yes, only the other day Mrs. and Miss Pax- 
 ton called. Both Margie and Martha were sitting 
 in the room, and Mrs. Paxton expressed her fear 
 that I should find trouble since the children all grew 
 up together so, in keeping them in their places 
 when they should be older." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Amy, " Eleonora Paxton always 
 looks to me as if she were afraid of tumbling out 
 of her ' place.' I don't think I should like to live 
 so high, on so narrow a point, that I can't move my 
 chair back without tipping over 1 " 
 
 " I have always felt," said Miss Elspeth, " as if 
 Martha and Margie were my own children. When 
 their mother died she left them to me, and I meant 
 from that moment, whenever I could make an oppor 
 tunity, to take them home for my own. And I hope 
 to live long enough to bring them up as my own, 
 to treat them as my children, and if they will stay 
 with me, never part with them. Then when I saw 
 Hannah, I wanted to take her from her sad position. 
 I thought I might teach her to be a good servant, 
 that I would teach her to be useful, so that she 
 might one day be" independent. But if this position 
 proved too low for her, I would never think of 
 keeping her down in it. I must do by them as I best 
 can. God giveth the increase ! " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Elspeth," said Amy with tears in her 
 eyes, " I am sure you will have help." 
 
 " Bessie is my greatest care," continued Miss 
 Elspeth, "I fear for her more than the others ; she
 
 70 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 is so pretty, I am afraid her beauty may lift her up 
 from whatever position she stands in, even if she 
 is fitted for no other." 
 
 " Oh, Bessie is such a flower," said Amy, " now 
 she has light and air enough, surely she must grow 
 up pure and healthful." 
 
 In the evenings of autumn, Hannah often begged 
 leave to go out to walk. Miss Elspeth was pleased 
 to have her suggest going beyond the bounds of 
 the garden sometimes, she had usually been so close 
 to her duties. After awhile Hannah picked up a 
 new friend with whom she walked up and down the 
 street till quite late in the evening. This was 
 Janet, a girl who lived at Mrs. Paxton's. Miss 
 Elspeth was disturbed at the discovery of this new 
 friendship. She did not like Janet's appearance. 
 She had a bold look, and was very forward in her 
 manners, yet she hesitated to check Hannah, who 
 had never been in the habit of displaying an at 
 tachment to any one. 
 
 One cold evening late in the autumn, Miss Dora 
 came to Miss Elspeth. " Has anybody put away 
 my bonnet and mantle ? I left them in the dining- 
 room till after tea, because I am going to walk in 
 and see ho'w old Mr. Rothsay is to-night ; my gloves 
 are there, but my velvet mantle and my scarf and 
 bonnet are gono." Now nobody ever ventured to 
 put away anything of Miss Dora's, for she was the 
 one who cleared away what other people left about. 
 She never liked to see any clutter, as she called it,
 
 MISS ELSPETIl's TROUBLES. 71 
 
 on the tables and chairs. She would not have her 
 parlor look like the Paxtons' drawing-rooms for the 
 world. At the Paxtons there was the centre-table 
 in the corner of the room, and so many tables she 
 couldn't find the middle of the room ; the chairs 
 where anybody would run against them who came 
 in, and the room so dark, she couldn't see whether 
 she was walking over a footstool or the piano which 
 took up half one side of the room. Then, when she 
 did see the tables, they were all covered up with 
 crockery and gimcracks. The first day she went 
 there she supposed they had just been having the 
 house cleaned, and had laid out on the tables what 
 ever belonged on the closet shelves. 
 
 No such display of bijouterie was found on Miss 
 Dora's tables. No luckless cape-bonnet found a 
 resting-place in any hall chair. She not only gave 
 out her law that everything should have its place, 
 and should be kept in its place, but she was on the 
 spot herself to execute her own law if it should be 
 neglected. So baskets, and books, and dolls, all 
 that the children played with, returned to their 
 stated shelves or cupboards, when their time was 
 over. The dolls went in and out so often, they 
 might almost know their own way. Three books 
 only kept their places on Miss Dora's table ; the 
 rest could be found in the dining-room bookcase 
 unless they "were actually in the hands of some 
 reader. 
 
 But Miss Dora seldom went out, and the making
 
 72 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 a visit was so unusual an event that it required an 
 hour or two's preparation. The velvet mantle was 
 neatly folded and laid on a chair, the bonnet placed 
 upon that, with the camel's-hair scarf, and the gloves 
 rested on the crown of the bonnet, all ready for 
 Miss Dora when the time came for her to go. So 
 her dismay was great and not unfounded, when she 
 discovered these were all missing. " Is it possible 
 Hannah can have taken them? " she asked whisper- 
 ingly of Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " No indeed," exclaimed Miss Elspeth, " perhaps 
 
 you did not take them out, perhaps " all Miss 
 
 Elspeth's conjectures were unnatural, and Miss 
 Dora's room and every known place was searched 
 in vain for her missing property. At last Bessie, who 
 was putting herself to bed with the other children, 
 was questioned on the subject, and confessed that 
 she had seen Hannah walking away with Miss 
 Dora-'s things on, but that Hannah had told her she 
 must not say anything about it, because she should 
 be home before Miss Dora would want them. Miss 
 Dora's indignation for awhile was beyond words. 
 She walked down stairs again, opened all the doors 
 and windows, leaning out her head to search for the 
 missing Hannah. She walked down to the garden 
 gate and returned, then went into the kitchen and 
 put out the fire there. There was a biscuit left 
 upon the stove, that Hannah had not eaten for 
 rter tea, but had apparently saved for a later meal. 
 This Miss Dora put back into the closet, and the
 
 MISS ELSFETH'S TROUBLES. 73 
 
 lamp left burning in the kitchen she extinguished and 
 set aside. " I'm not going to keep a fire for her to 
 sit up by," she said as she came back, " she may 
 find her way to bed in the dark. I hope it will 
 teach her something this bitter cold night." Then 
 she began to pour out her words in anger. She 
 detailed all the faults Hannah had committed from 
 that very first day she saw her in Boston. She 
 went over the unwearied pains she had taken to 
 reform her. "My camel's-hair scarf!" she ex 
 claimed. " Mrs. Paxton was right when she said 
 these emigrants did not know any bounds to their 
 insolent ways. And to be seen in them, going up 
 and down the street with that Janet ! She had 
 better not see me to-night ! " The garden gate was 
 heard to close just as the storm had reached its 
 climax. Miss Elspeth retired from the contest. 
 She believed it was hopeless to quell it, and Hannah 
 had indeed done very wrongly. But she need not 
 have feared. There was a sudden calm after this 
 great tempest. Miss Dora met Hannah at the 
 door. " You may lay those things in the dining- 
 room," she said ; " it's awful cold to-night, and 
 there's no fire in the kitchen. Go into the parlor and 
 warm your feet. And if you want anything to eat, 
 take the candle there, and look in the closet ; the 
 kitchen lamp is out." And Miss Dora said no more 
 upon the subject. This was often her way. Her 
 auger expended itself upon the bystanders who 
 were at hand at the. moment of the offence, and 
 there was nothing left to pour out upon the offend-
 
 74 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 er. But Miss Elspeth was grieved at this and 
 with other many disobediences of Hannah, and 
 she was the more pained because she believed she 
 could trace the evil influence of Janet on many 
 occasions. Whenever Miss Elspeth reproved her, 
 Hannah looked very stubborn. She listened as if 
 she were not hearing. Miss Elspeth told her at 
 last she did not wish her to walk with Janet any 
 more ; that she could not consider her a good 
 friend to her. Hannah spoke then with an indiffer 
 ent tone and manner, " You have taken me away 
 from the rest, and now you may as well take me 
 away from her. I'll be shut up in your house 
 with all of you, and not speak to any of them. But 
 I don't do it to please you, but because I choose. 
 And I will go away if I choose. -No one can pre 
 vent me." " Somebody else has taught you such 
 language," said Miss Elspeth ; " you have not been 
 so happy since you have made new friends. When 
 you remember last summer, you will think so too." 
 Hannah did think about it, and perhaps agreed 
 with Miss Elspeth. She kept for awhile at home 
 more closely, going only where she was sent, and 
 never stopping to talk with Janet. But she did 
 not do this willingly. She showed ill-temper 
 towards the children, and went through her duties 
 stubbornly. Miss Elspeth was discouraged about 
 her, and hoped for some change in the winter, 
 when she meant to send her to school, where she 
 thought Hannah might find companions with whom 
 she could be trusted.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE CIRCUS. 
 
 FEANK and Amy came one day to take the 
 children to a circus there was in town. 
 
 "Shall we really go into the big tent?" asked 
 Margie ; " I was a little afraid of it the other day ; 
 I thought there must be soldiers in it." 
 
 " Pooh ! soldiers," said Bessie ; " no, there are 
 nothing but horses. Steevie went to one once, 
 oh ! a great many times, and he told me all about 
 it. The horses know as much as the men." 
 
 " Oh ! they could not know as much as men/' 
 said Martha ; " a horse never talks." 
 
 " Well, I don't know about his talking, but one 
 of the horses ate bread and butter, and Steevie 
 said there was a little girl about as big as me, 
 dressed all in silver." 
 
 11 Come, come," interrupted Miss Dora, " what's 
 ajl this talking? The dinner things must all be 
 put away. Hannah's going to the circus, and you 
 don't mean she shall do all the work. I see your 
 heads are half turned now, and I am sure they 
 will be wholly after you come home."
 
 76 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 Margie slowly put her chair against the side of 
 the room, and then came to Amy to whisper, 
 
 " I don't want to go to the circus if it will turn 
 my head round, I'm afraid of it." 
 
 Amy laughed, and encouraged Margie. " Oh, 
 we are only going to see the horses ride. You 
 will like to see how prettily they look, and we 
 shall sit on benches to look at them, and they will 
 not come near us." 
 
 " And shall we see the horse eat bread and 
 butter ? " asked Margie. 
 
 " We shall see something very funny, that will 
 make you laugh," said Amy, " and you shall sit 
 between me and Frank. We will take good care 
 of you." 
 
 " We shall see the clown," said Hannah, who 
 looked more radiant than she had done for a long 
 time. 
 
 On the way, she walked by Amy, and said, " I 
 am very glad we are going to the circus. Janet 
 told me she had looked in between the curtains of 
 the tents. She stood there all the afternoon. I 
 had much rather go inside." 
 
 " How came you to see Janet ? I thought you 
 did not talk to her now," asked Amy. 
 
 " She comes sometimes to see me at the garden 
 gate, and then I can't help talking to her ; and I 
 don't want to help it now. She told me she had 
 seen a boy inside the tent carrying round oranges, 
 and she thinks it was Steevie, and three after-
 
 THE CIRCUS. 77 
 
 noons she has been to try to look and see if it is 
 he, but she don't know yet. Once I asked Miss 
 Elspeth if I might go too, but she would not 
 let me." 
 
 " Hannah, why didn't you tell her your rea 
 son?" said Amy; '-anybody else could find out for 
 you better than Janet. Frank or my father would 
 have inquired for you. What made you think this 
 boy may be Steevie ? " 
 
 " Janet described him to me. This boy belongs 
 to the circus, and sells oranges there, and Janet 
 heard him say he would one day be a rider, and 
 that is what Steevie always wanted to be," said 
 Hannah. 
 
 " And is this all that makes you think it may be 
 Steevie?" asked Amy. 
 
 " Oh ! he must be somewhere, Miss Amy," said 
 Hannah, " and I must see him somehow." 
 
 As they approached the entrance of the circus, 
 Amy whispered to George what Hannah had said 
 and wanted. They made their way in through a 
 crowd, and seated themselves on one of the hard, 
 wooden seats. They had not been long seated, 
 when the cry was heard of, " Oranges ! fresh 
 oranges ! " 
 
 Hannah half rose up, and presently there made 
 his way along an ill-dressed boy, with yellow hair, 
 and an air of great business talent. George beck 
 oned to him, but Hannah pulled Amy's sleeve.
 
 78 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " Oh ! it isn't Steevie, that is not like Steevie," 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 George asked him some questions. 
 
 " I'm attached to the establishment, sir," he 
 answered ; " I've taken out a patent right for the 
 trade, and you can't get 'em cheaper. Six for 
 ninepencc," and so forth. 
 
 " But don't you have anybody to help you ? " 
 asked George, as he treated the children, who 
 had been looking at them with longing e} r es, to 
 oranges. 
 
 " There's a feller has got lozengers down there," 
 said the boy, pocketing his money; "there isn't 
 another in the establishment. 
 
 " Send along the lozenge boy," said George, 
 " we'll have some lozenges too." 
 
 The lozenge boy proved a little fellow, hardly 
 higher than the benches, and Hannah turned her 
 head away from him in despair. " Oh ! Janet did 
 not tell the truth. I believed her, Miss Amy," 
 she said ; " she told me just what he wore, and 
 how dark was his hair, and his way, she told me, 
 was just like Steevie's." 
 
 " But how could she know ? " asked Amy ; " she 
 had never seen him." 
 
 " Oh, I had talked so much about him. I told 
 her just how he looked," answered Hannah, " and 
 she thought she must have met him once. But 
 she was not telling me right. It wasn't the truth 
 she was telling me. She wanted to get me away,
 
 THE CIRCUS. 79 
 
 and make me come to the circus without Miss 
 Elspeth's leave, and she would like to have me 
 never go back there." 
 
 " But why would she like to take you away 
 from Miss Elspeth ? " asked Amy. 
 
 " Oh, she wants to join the circus too, and says 
 they could teach us anything; and I thought if 
 Steevie was here ' Hannah paused a little. 
 
 " You did not think of leaving Miss Elspeth, 
 and coming here ! " exclaimed Amy. 
 
 But the performances were beginning, and the 
 attention of the children was quite taken up with 
 the wonders that took place. The little ponies 
 were their great joy, and the way they breakfasted 
 at the table ; and they laughed at the jokes of the 
 clown, though they did not understand what they 
 meant, but he made up such a funny face that 
 they could not help laughing if they had tried not 
 to. And there was children's laughter sounding 
 all about, so that the elders could not help laugh 
 ing, too, even if they thought the whole thing 
 very silly and not worth looking at. And then 
 there were beautiful ladies, that must be either 
 queens or fairies, though Martha thought neither 
 queens nor fairies rode on horseback. But their 
 dresses shone and glittered so that Bessie believed 
 they might have bought them of the fairies. Bes 
 sie thought it must be very easy to jump through 
 a ring down upon the horse's back again, and 
 asked Frank if he did not think he could do it 
 any day.
 
 80 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 But they were all the most enchanted with the 
 little girl that came on with such rosy cheeks and 
 blue muslin dress, with real roses all over it, 
 or something that looked like real roses. Hannah 
 fixed her eyes upon her. The little girl, she 
 thought, looked more like a queen than all the 
 ladies had done. She gave out her commands 
 with a smiling royal air, and said what she would 
 have as if she knew she would be obeyed. She 
 looked so happy, too, and kept time with the music 
 in all her motions. 
 
 Going home, they all agreed the little girl was 
 the best part of the performance, all but Margie, 
 who would like to have the little ponies. Hannah 
 was so taken up with her pleasure that she seemed 
 to have forgotten for aw^hile her disappointment. 
 When they reached the gate, Amy said to Hannah, 
 " It is not too cold for me to talk a little while 
 at the gate with you after supper, and the chil 
 dren have gone to bed." 
 
 " In quick to your supper, and then to bed," 
 was Miss Dora's greeting to the children, " and 
 don't let's have any talking. You have had enough 
 of that ! " 
 
 "Are my eyes looking at my heels?" asked Mar 
 gie of Miss Elspeth. "Frank put me into the gate, 
 and said if I did not run quick I should see them." 
 
 " Oh, Frank was only laughing," said Miss Els 
 peth, as she gave the children their bread and milk. 
 
 " He thought our heads would be turned," said 
 Martha, " but mine isn't."
 
 THE CIRCUS. 81 
 
 Bessie began to tell Miss Elspeth all about what 
 she had seen, and Margie interrupted with her ex 
 clamations, and Martha began at the beginning, to 
 tell how everything was, and exactly what hap 
 pened. 
 
 But they were tired enough to be quiet, at last, 
 and willing to go to bed. Miss Dora put on her 
 mantle to go over and talk with Mrs. Bunce, and 
 tell her where the children had been, and agree 
 with her that she did not think it was the place for 
 children to go to, and that it only made them wild 
 and unmanageable the next day. 
 
 Miss Elspeth was walking up and down in the 
 garden in the fading light, walking quickly to keep 
 warm in the cool air of the approaching night. 
 Amy came to the garden gate, but she did not find 
 Hannah there, and went on to the house. She 
 found Hannah had just lighted the candles in the 
 parlor, and had placed them in front of the mirror, 
 and was looking at herself in the glass. She 
 turned round as Amy came in, and said presently, 
 " It would not do. All the roses, and gold, and 
 muslin dresses, would not make me beautiful. I 
 did not think of that before. How different I am 
 from that child ! Oh, look in the glass, Miss Amy." 
 
 Amy looked, and saw there, indeed, Hannah's 
 worn face and tired-looking eyes. She had not 
 gained the air of healthiness the other children 
 wore. She never had the freshness of childhood. 
 There was the same wistful glance that had first 
 6
 
 82 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 appealed to Miss Elspeth, and the same drooping 
 figure. " Miss Elspeth will have to nurse you, to 
 make you strong/' said Amy. " You don't look 
 well, Hannah. I have thought of it before." 
 
 " It's the beautiful face I am thinking of," said 
 Hannah, " that never was mine and never will be. 
 Oh, Miss Amy, I would like to be like that child, 
 so beautiful and happy." 
 
 " Don't you know, Hannah," said Amy, "' that the 
 roses were not real she wore, and what seemed like 
 gold \vas not gold. Her beauty, I think, was not 
 more real, Hannah, or her happiness. Perhaps 
 they paint her cheeks to make them look rosy 
 and healthy, and they teach her to laugh to make 
 her look happy. Oh, think, Hannah, how hard it 
 must be to have to laugh for one's work, to have to 
 dance when you feel tired, and to smile when you 
 feel sick and weary. And every afternoon this 
 poor child must come in and look the same, and 
 appear as happy, and all to earn bread, and some 
 thing to live upon." 
 
 " It does not seem like work," said Hannah, as 
 she listened intently. 
 
 " If you could see the child, she would tell you 
 it must be," said Amy. " Perhaps they treat her 
 kindly, but even if they do, she must every day go - 
 through this same work, whether she chooses or 
 not. IShe is bound as closely as any one you know, 
 and has to work as hard."
 
 - 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ONE YEAR GONE. 
 
 THE winter, with its regular hours of school, had 
 a beneficial effect upon Hannah. When the spring 
 came, and she had been a whole year with Miss 
 Elspeth, she showed a decided improvement in all 
 her appearance, and though she was never joyous, 
 wore a contented and happy air. 
 
 Miss Elspeth looked back upon the year's exper 
 iment, for she could scarcely look upon the year as 
 otherwise than an experiment, and had reason to 
 be deeply satisfied. It had been a year of great 
 labor and responsibility to her. Miss Dora was no 
 help in encouraging her here. When anything 
 went wrong, Miss Dora would constantly speak of 
 it as Elspeth's enterprise, and openly reproach her 
 for the additional trouble her romantic plans had 
 brought into their quiet household. But for all the 
 days of Hannah's faithful service, for the entertain 
 ment that, in spite of herself, the children afforded 
 her, for the gayer, more cheerful life that had taken 
 the place of their former monotonous existence; 
 for all this, Miss Dora never thought of bringing
 
 84 STEUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 thanks to Miss Elspeth. And her influence was not 
 very favorable for the children. They had soon 
 discovered how much Miss Dora's scolding meant, 
 and they found her much more indulgent to their 
 desires, however unreasonable, than Miss Elspeth. 
 
 "Miss Dora talks so all day," Bessie would say, 
 "that I don't mind whether she's talking at me or 
 the door-post. And then I run off, and Hannah or 
 somebody else stops to listen." 
 
 Miss Dora would rather say, "yes, yes," to any 
 of their requests, than take the trouble to see if it 
 were best to grant it. "Take it, and go, only don't 
 stop here to tease;" was the answer usually ex 
 pected by the trembling claimant. Miss Elspeth 
 was more conscientious, and weighed, too closely 
 perhaps, every little question, whether it would 
 be best for Bessie, to grant her this, or whether 
 Margie should be encouraged to do that. But, in 
 spite of doubt and speculation, time went on 
 and the little household affairs, and the children 
 gathered up here arid there much good and very 
 little ill. 
 
 In the spring, George Arnold was to go away, all 
 the way to China. There had been great doubt 
 what his father would do with him. He had been 
 kept at school the longer, because his father could 
 not decide the question. He wanted to make his 
 son a merchant, and George had other tastes, and 
 preferred college, or to be educated as a scientific 
 man. But now it was decided he was to make a
 
 ONE YEAR GONE. 85 
 
 voyage to China, before anything else was deter 
 mined, and George was ready enough to go. 
 
 Hannah had been sent to the station on an er 
 rand. She met Amy there, who had gone to bid 
 George good-bye. Frank was to accompany him 
 into town, to see him on board of his vessel. They 
 were standing on the platform 
 
 " I shall bring home a whole portfolio of sketches, 
 Amy," said George, as they waited, "and shall make 
 such paintings of the storms at sea, that your hair 
 will stand on end. I don't mean to give up my 
 drawing and painting, whatever else I may do." 
 
 Amy tried to speak cheerfully, " You'll make 
 your fortune, and then come home and settle down 
 into an artist." 
 
 " I shall have to make my fortune in a year, 
 then," said George, " for I mean to come home in 
 a year at any rate. And if I am to be an artist, it 
 is time I began. Oh, Amy, I see it now. It is all 
 folly, all this time is wasted. These last few years 
 I ought to have been doing something. Oh, why 
 couldn't my father have let me follow out my 
 tastes ! Last week when he proposed to me to go, 
 I thought I might go for the sake of the voyage 
 and the experience, but it is only using up another 
 precious year of my life. It won't make me a mer 
 chant, it will only unmake me what I am. Why 
 did he not throw away my pencils when I was five 
 years old, and shut me up in an office, if he wanted 
 to stifle me there ? One more year lost. Amy !
 
 86 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 An artist, Amy ! At my age an artist ought to be 
 an artist, but what am I?" 
 
 The whistle of the steam engine was heard sig 
 nalling its approach. " Oh, it is not too late now, 
 George," Amy said earnestly. " You will see your 
 father in town. Don't go, to throw away your life ! 
 Only speak to him, as you can speak, and I am sure 
 he will listen to you ! " 
 
 Frank's foot was on the step of the car. He 
 turned back for George. George looked into Amy's 
 face. " If I lose my life, Amy, you know I am to 
 come to you to find it again." 
 
 The train had gone, and Amy turned to find 
 Hannah by her side, waiting to walk home with her. 
 Amy had meant to take the winding path home 
 through the woods. She wanted a little quiet time 
 to think. She wanted to ask how it was everything 
 must go so wrong for George, and whether she 
 might have done anything to make it different. 
 She had so great an influence over George, and 
 what had she done with it? That last shrill sound 
 of the steam-whistle, as he was carried away, was 
 ringing still in her ears, and she wanted the gentle, 
 soothing sounds of the whispering leaves in the 
 pine woods. 
 
 There was left a great vacant space around her, 
 now that he was gone for a whole year. She 
 wanted to go and lean against the shaded rock that 
 the pine tassels covered, and hide her face in her 
 hands, and think. Presently, she must go home to
 
 ONE YEAR GONE. 87 
 
 work, but now she needed a few moments' solitude, 
 a few words with herself, to reproach herself that 
 she could not have found better words at parting, 
 that she had not been a better friend before the 
 parting came. She had thought it very strange 
 George had consented so willingly to go away, 
 without having made any appeal to his father that 
 he might stay. The old talk of his devoting him 
 self to his art, of going to Europe to give himself 
 up to study of the old masters and the new, all this 
 had been lately forgotten or set aside. Those last 
 words of George were very true. The last years 
 of his life had been, as it were, wasted. He had 
 devoted himself neither to his art nor to study of 
 any sort. He had dreamed them, happily enough, 
 away. Neither Amy nor he were conscious that it 
 had been an aimless life. Sometime or other he 
 had meant to speak to his father about his wishes, 
 and urge him to give up this cherished plan of 
 making a merchant of him, but the decisive moment 
 had never come. Mr. Arnold had moved to New 
 York from Boston, a few years before, and had left 
 his son at school there. George only saw his 
 father in his vacations, and not much of him then, 
 for his vacations were frequently spent in travel 
 ling and wandering among the mountains. He 
 had always supposed that, sometime or other, he 
 should be able to show his father that he was able 
 to do something superior to plodding on in the 
 common Avays. Amy believed this too. She thought
 
 88 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 every year that George would find some way to 
 show the real talent and genius that he possessed. 
 But the days passed on without any change, until 
 Mr. Arnold made the sudden proposal that George 
 should go to Canton. And George, attracted by 
 the idea of the voyage, thinking it was only for a 
 year he was to be gone, agreed directly to the pro 
 posal. Amy had wondered, and had been a little 
 disappointed, that he had so easily acceded. It 
 seemed like directly consenting to his father's plans, 
 without coming to any explanation with him. It 
 was like promising himself to him for the years 
 that should follow. But in the hurry of departure, 
 for George did not have time even to go on to New 
 York to bid his mother good-bye, in the bustle of 
 preparation, Amy could have no serious talk with 
 him. The very evening before he left, some friends 
 came out of town to bid him good-bye, and she had 
 no chance to speak with him. She brought herself 
 to think that George was deciding that his duty 
 led him to follow his father's will, and that he 
 meant to make a sacrifice of his tastes. She was 
 willing to admire him for this ; she only wished his 
 father might know how great this sacrifice was; 
 she only hoped it was right George should lay 
 aside all his high ambitions, and throw away, as it 
 were, the great gifts he possessed. 
 
 But these ideas of duty had not risen up in 
 George's mind. He had yielded to the proposal of 
 the moment, as all through his life he had yielded
 
 ONE YEAR GONE. 89 
 
 to circumstances. Yet as the} 7 walked silently 
 through the wood-path to the station, the quiet 
 nooks that opened themselves on each side, the 
 broad-spreading trees that hung above rocky seats 
 brought back the remembrance of the old enthusi 
 astic talks they had all had, when they used to go 
 and pass long mornings there. Such great imagi 
 nations as they had formed there ! George was to 
 go sometime to the old world, and study the inspir 
 ation of all its old stories and works of wonder, 
 and then he was to come back into these very woods, 
 bringing home a fresh love for the tall old trees, 
 and the new life that sprung up every year beneath 
 them, and then he was to show what the artist of 
 the new world could be ! . All these promises and 
 aspirations came back suddenly and reproachfully 
 now. At the last moments of parting, came the 
 sudden thought that this was the decisive act that 
 was to cut him off from these old dreams, that he 
 was to leave them behind as dreams, and promise 
 himself to that other life of activity that he had 
 never fitted himself for. 
 
 Just one moment can suddenly reveal hidden 
 feelings ! Those last words had awakened Amy. 
 They showed her, what she had not told herself be 
 fore, that she was bound to George, all her heart, 
 her whole soul. They showed her at the same 
 time that he needed her. Not in this moment did 
 she confess to herself that she was any way stronger 
 than he, nor ever would she feel this ! She believed
 
 90 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 he was so much above her in his genius and his 
 talent, she had always looked upon him with such 
 admiration, had loved his great thoughts and en 
 thusiastic hopes, that she did not see, and she never 
 saw, that she was greater than he in her steadfast 
 ness, and that he must depend on her for his faith. 
 Only she saw now that he did depend on her, and 
 that she was truly to " find his life " for him. But 
 he had gone away for a whole year, and she felt as 
 if she were standing quite alone in a broad desert 
 place. 
 
 She turned away, as her eyes came back along 
 the two black lines of the railway to the station, 
 already quiet and empty again. The noise and 
 tlie rush of the cars were over, and the whistling 
 and panting of the engine. There was an empty 
 space in front of Amy where the cars had stood, 
 and black cinders were scattered in among the 
 little spires of grass that tried to grow between 
 the rails. The sound of hurrying wheels had died 
 away from the station. Hannah stood by Amy, 
 and asked. 
 
 "Are you going home now? I have been to 
 get the eggs. This pretty little basket is Miss 
 Elspeth's egg-basket," she added, as she thought 
 Amy looked at her inquiringly. Amy recovered 
 herself, and walked down into the road with her 
 as Hannah began to talk. 
 
 " Did you remember, Miss Amy, it's just a year 
 yesterday since we all came here? Miss Dora
 
 ONE YEAR GONE. 91 
 
 made a cake in honor of it, and we would have 
 brought you in a piece last night, but Miss Elspeth 
 thought you would be busy about Mr. George's 
 going away. I thought a year would be so very 
 long. Do you remember, Miss Amy, you told me 
 one year wouldn't be so very long, and that five 
 years would soon be over?" 
 
 " Did I tell you one year would not be very 
 long?" asked Amy, dreamily. 
 
 " Yes, and I have remembered a great deal 
 you told me," said Hannah. " That night after 
 the circus, when I felt so bad, oh, you don't 
 know how wicked ! you spoke to me about work; 
 and another time you told me how everybody 
 needed to work, and how it made everybody hap 
 pier. It sounds better than it used to, but I don't 
 get accustomed to it yet. Wouldn't you truly, 
 Miss Amy, like to change places with Miss Pax- 
 ton?" 
 
 " Change places with Miss Paxton ! " exclaimed 
 Amy, rousing herself. 
 
 " I do believe she lies on the sofa or sits in her 
 chair all the day long," said Hannah ; " and then 
 she looks so handsomely, and all the day long has 
 nothing to do." 
 
 " Nothing to do, indeed, Hannah," said Amy ; 
 " when I was there a few evenings ago, she 
 looked to me so tired, she was leaning back in her 
 chair so languidly, that I fancied she must have 
 been riding on horseback, or tiring herself some 
 way, and I asked her ; but she said she had not
 
 02. STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 even walked out. She had been so interested in a 
 book she had, that she did not lay it down all the 
 morning, and she was so sorry she had finished it, 
 she had nothing left to do. What made her so 
 tired, was nothing to do. Hannah, I would 
 rather suffer a great deal than be Miss Paxton ! " 
 
 " And once you said that working for other 
 people would make me happy," said Hannah ; 
 "you wanted me to work for Bessie, for Miss 
 Elspeth." 
 
 When they reached the garden gate, Amy said, 
 " That is true, Hannah ; caring for others, and 
 working for them, must be our only happiness." 
 
 " And will that make the years go by ? " asked 
 Hannah. 
 
 " We must not be willing they should go by any 
 other way/' said Amy, " whether they go slow or 
 fast." 
 
 Amy walked directly home, and wondered if she 
 must look back to her own words for consolation 
 now. She wanted consolation, though she felt she 
 had just gained a very great happiness. It was a 
 happiness that came attended by a great care. 
 She must have faith in the future, and was to 
 nourish it by a cheerful life in the little details 
 that to-day and to-morrow must bring. 
 
 Evening came, and Frank came out to say that 
 George had sailed, and he only wished he could 
 be going too, it was such a famous vessel and such 
 a fine long voyage.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 
 
 HANNAH'S five years did pass away. They 
 brought little change on the outer face of Lang- 
 dale. The elm-trees rose a little higher into the 
 heavens, and the maples had spread/themselves 
 more widely. The vine had grown thick over 
 Miss Dora's porch, and the green moss had spread 
 on the roof of Mrs. Bunce's house. The shrubbery 
 was darker and closer round the Paxtons', and the 
 border of box in the garden stood higher and 
 stiffer, and no flowers ventured to grow in the 
 midst of its shade. There was very little change 
 here in the midst of the village. Further up the 
 street, Mr. Fay's grounds had been cut "up into 
 separate building lots, and where his wide lawn 
 lay, were as many as seven cottages of a pretty 
 pattern,- but all exactly alike, and the grand old 
 elm that stood in the corner had been cut down to 
 make way for some stores, and in that part of the 
 town there was a great air of business and life. 
 
 TVithin the houses, the change had been for the
 
 94 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 most part slow and gradual. Eleonora Paxton had 
 been married, and had gone to Europe with her 
 husband, but her departure had left no great 
 chasm for those outside of the Paxtons' house. 
 Mr. Strange, in his visits to Langdale, and at the 
 time of his marriage to Eleonora, had created a 
 little excitement in the village. lie was handsome, 
 quite handsome enough for Eleonora. Some peo 
 ple thought him stiff, some elegant, in his manners. 
 Amy thought he had very little to say for himself, 
 or for anybody else. Though she did not say so, 
 she felt he was very well fitted for Eleonora. If 
 either had shown any warm, expressive feelings, 
 they would have been checked by the icy chilli 
 ness of the other. She fancied them two stately 
 icebergs, and wondered if they would ever be 
 moved into the current of a warmer sea. 
 
 There was change at the Rothsays. The old 
 grandfather had died, Mr. Rothsay had been unfor 
 tunate in business, and had been growing poorer 
 and poorer, and the walks around the house showed 
 the need of attention and care. There was still a 
 home at the Rothsays for all the homeless. Besides 
 the aunt who was so great an invalid, a widowed 
 sister of Mr. Rothsay, Mrs. Campbell, with her 
 two girls and her boy, came to live there. And 
 Mrs. Rothsay herself had been very ill, and had 
 never recovered her strength from the long fever 
 she had. But Amy was still joyous and lovely, 
 and one would say she looked as young as when
 
 CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 95 
 
 she first welcomed Miss Elspeth to Langdale. Per 
 haps her gayety might be called cheerfulness, but 
 it was as flowing and ready as when she was six 
 teen. She greeted her father joyously when he 
 came out from town weary at night; she had a 
 happy sympathy for Frank when he came home 
 Saturdays from Cambridge. She was busy always, 
 everywhere, and at home. She did her best to 
 weed the borders in the large old garden that 
 missed the daily care of a gardener. She raked 
 away the leaves from the avenue to the door in 
 autumn, and trained the vines round the piazza in 
 sumifler. While within the house there were many 
 duties. She was the favorite of the little cousins 
 whom she cared for, and taught, too, and the 
 watchful nurse of her mother and the invalid aunt. 
 She did not neglect Miss Elspeth and her house 
 hold in the many cares of her own. She was still 
 Miss Elspeth's confidant, and adviser even, and the 
 friend of the children. 
 
 With the children there was no marked change. 
 Bessie was scarcely more sober or quiet. Her 
 thick brown curls and fresh color, and her warm, 
 loving eyes, made her still the beauty of the 
 household, and helped to make her the pet. 
 Martha was still very wise and good, and still kept 
 Bessie's overflowing spirits in check. Margie's 
 eyes were large and dreamy still. She loved to 
 read all the books that she could find, and, even 
 those the other children considered the dullest, she
 
 96 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 lingered over, making of them, with her imagina 
 tion, something very entrancing. 
 
 And Hannah's five years had passed away. 
 They had added a little to her height, and she had 
 grown more robust, and was more healthy in her 
 appearance. But in her face was still the old 
 expression, that eager, wistful questioning, as if 
 there were something within her still unsatisfied. 
 She had never shown, the last four years, any 
 uneasiness or desire to go away from Miss Elspeth, 
 and she had displayed more personal attachment 
 for both Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth as the time 
 passed on. But there still lingered this uncertain 
 expression in her face which the first ten years of 
 a wandering life had marked there, and that so 
 many days of monotonous duty had not been able 
 to drive away. 
 
 Miss Elspeth had talked with Hannah about her 
 plans after her five years should be over. Hannah 
 had been to school every winter, and had lessons 
 with Amy in the summer, but she had never shown 
 any particular aptitude or fondness for study. 
 Martha, and even Margie, were far beyond her in 
 many of their school acquirements. Under Miss 
 Elspeth's care, she had learned to sew excellently, 
 and, thanks to Miss Dora's surveillance, she was 
 very neat and methodical about all household 
 duties. 
 
 What should Miss Elspeth do with her ? Martha 
 was old enough now to take Hannah's place in the
 
 CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 97 
 
 house, in some measure, and Hannah ought, for her 
 own sake, to be earning some wages. This Miss 
 Elspeth told Hannah, and Hannah listened silently. 
 After a day or two, she spoke with Miss Elspeth. 
 " I will do what you please, Miss Elspeth," she 
 said ; " I had thought when the five years were 
 over, I \vould go somewhere very far away. I 
 believed that in five years I should be very differ 
 ent, somehow, with power to do what I pleased. I 
 thought I could .go away, and take care of myself. 
 But I will not go quite yet. I should like to earn 
 some" money. I should like to have something of 
 my own. I am willing to work for it, if you will 
 tell me how." 
 
 The question was still further decided when 
 Amy heard what was under discussion. Then she 
 begged that Hannah might come to them for the 
 summer months. She had been thinking they 
 should want some help at home, through the sum 
 mer, when they had so much company, and espe 
 cially now, because Katy the cook was not well 
 and strong. " I'd work for you without wages, 
 you know," said Hannah to Amy. But Amy 
 laughed, arid told Hannah she was quite too valu 
 able for that. And very valuable Hannah's ser 
 vices were. Miss Dora's training had fitted her 
 for many kinds of household experience. She was 
 to stay with the Rothsays through the summer 
 months, and then she was to go to the Carltons. 
 Hannah was quite in demand in Langdale. 
 7
 
 98 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 One day she was dusting the parlor at the Roth 
 says, tenderly, as was her wont. Here, on the 
 tables and the mantelpiece, were many treasures 
 of Amy's. Hannah had observed how carefully 
 Amy treated these, and she felt very proud when 
 she was allowed to take care of the parlor. Mrs. 
 Rothsay complained sometimes that Hannah lin 
 gered too long over this part of her labors, but she 
 was touched with the reverent feeling Hannah 
 seemed to entertain for everything in the room. 
 
 Hannah was passing her duster carefully around 
 the frame of a little picture as Amy came into the 
 room with fresh flowers. 
 
 " It seems many years, Miss Amy," she said, 
 " since Mr. George drew this picture. There's 
 Miss Dora with her knitting under the hemlock. 
 She looks as though she were sitting there how. 
 And those pine cones in the frame ! I remember 
 when Mr. Frank brought them home as if it were 
 only yesterday ! Who would ever have thought 
 Mr. George would stay away so long ? " 
 
 " We could not have believed it when he went 
 away," said Amy. 
 
 "And will he come home next spring ? " asked 
 Hannah. 
 
 " So we think ; so we hope," answered Amy. 
 
 " I could not quite think your letter that came 
 the other day told you Mr. George was coming 
 home," said Hannah, u Miss Amy, you have been 
 so still ever since, and quiet ; you have not been
 
 CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 99 
 
 round the house singing as you always do. I 
 couldn't help thinking about you that something 
 was the matter, that you did not seem like your 
 self." 
 
 "Sometimes," said Amy, "it makes one very 
 quiet to be very happy. And to look forward to 
 next spring, seems to me now almost as long as to 
 look forward a year five years ago." 
 
 Amy was speaking now as if there were no one 
 listening to her ! She was standing before the 
 picture Hannah had spoken of, and, as she looked 
 at it, the tears came into her eyes. " I have had a 
 great disappointment, and yet I am infinitely 
 happy," she said. " Five years ago I wanted to be 
 happy just one way. I was so full of hope that I 
 was very sure I could only be happy that way. If 
 I could have looked forward to know that all those 
 hopes would have utterly faded, my heart would 
 have died out within me. It was very merciful 
 that I could see but one step before me." 
 
 " But you could not be unhappy, Miss Amy," 
 exclaimed Hannah. " Oh, such as you ought to be 
 happy every way. Can you talk of being happy 
 only one way ? It is such as I, that have been 
 picked up in the streets, starving and homeless, 
 that think of only one way to be happy, and that is 
 shut out after all." 
 
 " You make me ashamed," said Amy, kindly. "I 
 am afraid I have nourished a complaining heart ! " 
 
 " You, Miss Amy," said Hannah, " that can smile
 
 100 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 for everybody, and make the whole house so 
 happy ! Nobody ever saw a complaining heart in 
 you. In Mrs. Campbell's sick-room, dark as it is, 
 you make a light when you come in. And every 
 body is happy just to look at you." 
 
 " I have been cheerful, Hannah," said Amy, "be 
 cause I taught myself it was my duty. I ought to 
 have been cheerful, because I have had so much 
 given me to enjoy. But look, how we are forget 
 ting our work. We will open the piano, and let 
 us set this vase of flowjers just above the open 
 keys, and we will let in just a gleam of light 
 through the window here. And this little table, 
 with its dish of gay flowers, shall stand by the 
 easy-chair ! How inviting it looks ! Any one who 
 came into such a pleasant parlor would want to 
 stay. The room looks as if we had been happy in 
 it ! We must make that same air linger in it still. 
 It will give us pleasure, just as a perfume brings 
 back happy remembrances. But we must go to 
 work, and when we get through, Hannah, we will 
 sit on the piazza, with our sewing, till the children 
 come home from the woods, and I will tell you 
 what has been troubling me the last five years." 
 
 It was strange, perhaps, that Amy should choose 
 Hannah as the one to whom she could tell all that 
 she had scarcely whispered to herself. It was a 
 kindly feeling that led her to do so, but she did 
 not know herself how great was its influence. She 
 did not know how much strength it gives to forlorn
 
 CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 101 
 
 and lonely hearts to be called upon to give strength 
 to others, to feel that their sympathy is esteemed 
 precious, or worthy to be asked for by one other. 
 Many persons would have been satisfied with giv 
 ing Hannah her wages and her daily food, with 
 seeing that she was clothed well, and did not work 
 too hard. Amy instinctively saw that she needed, 
 besides, the fresh sympathy of some one near her 
 own age, that she felt herself alone without the 
 support of any special class of friends even, and 
 Amy was not afraid to give her the sympathy and 
 confidence of her own heart.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 GEORGE had made the voyage to Canton, had stayed 
 there the appointed year ; then had made his way 
 to Calcutta ; then, quite to the surprise of his father 
 and Amy, letters came from him from Egypt. From 
 there he had gone to Constantinople and Greece. 
 
 " You cannot think how fascinating this travelling 
 is," he wrote to Amy. " I begin at the East, where 
 the world's civilization began, and am coming on 
 towards its highest point. When I was in Egypt, 
 studying its hieroglyphics, I could imagine myself 
 living in the time of the Pyramids. In Athens, I 
 find myself far advanced, and am again in the days 
 when the grace of form was worshipped. I can 
 dream here for hours and days, in the land where 
 once dreams were life. This is the world for an 
 artist, Amy, and you cannot think how I shudder at 
 the activity of our New World, that hurries the 
 life of ages into single days. Americans ought to 
 live in some of the quicker worlds, in Mercury, for 
 instance, where the works must be hurried up into 
 such short days ; for me, my heaven will be in one
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 103 
 
 of the slower planets, where the days and the years 
 are long enough to let me remember I am living. 
 I like to watch the slow growth of the rosebud? 
 and am willing to throw away the full-blown rose." 
 At last George reached Italy. 
 
 His letters were filled with sketches of the 
 groups by the wayside of the Italian women, the 
 peasants, the shrines of the Madonna, with kneeling 
 figures before them. And it was not merely de 
 scriptions of what he saw, of the sky and the moun 
 tain ridges, the flowers, broad plains, or the pictures, 
 storied buildings, and old cities, which he sent to 
 Amy. George poured out to her too, all his newly 
 awakened ideas of art and its great power. He no 
 longer contented himself with theories of his own, 
 but told of old schools with new enthusiasm as he 
 was in turn influenced by them. 
 
 And these especially rejoiced Amy. Now she 
 recognized the earnestness that used to inspire 
 George in the old times, and that these last few 
 years he had been forgetting. 
 
 She, hoped all this old fervor for Art was coming 
 back. She was glad to have him in Italy, to have 
 him awakened and roused by the great works round 
 him. She believed it would stir his spirit, so that 
 he would insist upon giving up all lower aims, and 
 devote himself to Art alone. Then he would come 
 home and " do something " himself. She believed 
 no other life could be happy for him. She believed 
 no other life was right for him while he possessed
 
 104 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 such high inspirations, and might accomplish such 
 great works. 
 
 How gladly she would be his companion then 1 
 She could relieve him of all the little cares of life, 
 and work for him in its trifling details, while he was 
 working in its higher fields. At least she could 
 admire with him what was high and noble, if she 
 could not labor with him there. She could be his 
 companion in his hours of rest, even if she could 
 not be with him in his higher hours of study. She 
 busied herself in thinking how she could make it 
 easy for him to make great and noble efforts while 
 she was struggling with the lesser duties of life. 
 
 While she was inspired with these imaginings, 
 all her own daily occupations became glorified. 
 She went about them all with a new zeal and devo 
 tion. Before, she had always been cheerful and 
 ready ; now, she hastened about her work as if it 
 were a real privilege to be allowed to work. Per 
 haps this devotion seemed scarcely different to 
 those around her from her usual manner, but with 
 herself, her hopefulness gave a wonderful ease to 
 all she did. The happy smile and the cheerful word 
 for others came, not because she thought them 
 their due, but out of her willing spirit that could 
 not be otherwise than glad. The days were like 
 clear summer days. Even the struggles and the 
 labor that came with them were like the easy 
 growth of plants beneath the warm, sunshine and 
 fed by the moist earth.
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 105 
 
 It was in the midst of these happy dreamings, 
 giving fresh activity to her daily life, that Mr. Ar 
 nold, George's father, came to Langdale. He told 
 Amy that he wanted to speak to her alone, and they 
 walked out through the garden path quite into the 
 woods where he talked to Amy about George. 
 He said to her that George had been wasting the 
 few last years of his life. He had no objection to 
 George's travelling for the purpose of travelling, 
 though he should have hesitated to grant his 
 request for a few years' travel, if George had 
 made such before he went away. But George's 
 connection with business had been for a long time 
 merely nominal. He thought such a pretended oc 
 cupation was worse than doing nothing. George 
 was no longer a boy, and it was time for him to 
 have fitted himself for some business in life. He 
 wrote George so, a year or two ago, when he was 
 lounging away his time in the East Indies. He was 
 not doing much better now, and two more years 
 had passed away. Mr. Arnold said he knew how 
 great was Amy's influence with George. He was 
 very proud of it, it was his greatest hope with re 
 gard to George, and he wanted to urge her to use 
 it to compel him to give up the aimless life he was 
 leading. It was time, long ago, for George to begin 
 to think of his own prospects, it was certainly his 
 duty now. He went on at some length to show in 
 what a position George might have been if he had 
 stayed at Canton and made a proper use of his ad-
 
 106 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 vantages, and fortunately it was not too late now 
 for him to go back to his friends there, who would 
 gladly nelp him if he would show any interest in 
 business, and devote himself to their affairs. 
 
 Amy listened to Me. Arnold in the same quiet 
 wood where so many times she had heard George 
 tell over his plans for life, and paint his glorious 
 ambitions. As she stood there, she felt as young 
 as she did then, though that time was so many 
 years ago. She had the same warm hopes and 
 buoyant energy, but she saw suddenly that the 
 time for hoping and dreaming had passed away. 
 There was no longer time to say, " We will do so 
 in the future, or build gay castles to-morrow," 
 the journey was no longer to be talked over and 
 planned, but already it should be begun, for the 
 day was far risen, and the traveller should be tip 
 and on his way. 
 
 The old oak, whose leaves were gently swaying 
 in the wind, had heard all the talk of youthful 
 enthusiasm, and now was waiting to see the fruit 
 of such great plans and purposes. Amy looked 
 round wistfully, She wished that George himself 
 might appear to vindicate himself, to show at once 
 that these years of waiting had only been prepar 
 ing him for greater duties than these that his 
 father would lay out for him. Since she had not 
 George's voice to aid her, she took up his cause 
 herself. She spoke of how much Italy was doing 
 for George now ; of his letters to her that had
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 107 
 
 shown ho had been awakened and roused by the 
 sight of works of genius. She told what she 
 hoped for George ; how much such minds were 
 needed in America; how much he might do for 
 his native country. She spoke of his genius, and 
 ploaded that such natures as his needed a longer 
 time for ripening, and a different treatment from 
 others. 
 
 " If he will only be an artist," said Mr. Arnold, 
 " I shall be more than content. But do you not 
 see by his letters that he is dreaming away his 
 life, just as he did in America? I can't make out 
 that he has touched pencil or canvas since he left 
 home." 
 
 " But such letters as he writes ! " pleaded Amy ; 
 " they show how he observes everything." 
 
 " Yes, I had some long letters from him about 
 Egypt," said Mr. Arnold, " and I carried them to 
 Mr. Percy, a great student in such things, and 
 talked to him about publishing them, but he says 
 it has all been written before, and I know very 
 well George wouldn't have the industry to apply 
 himself to give one lecture on the Pj^ramids. All 
 his observation is of no use to him. Don't you 
 see, he is merely amusing himself, while the rest 
 of us are working ? " 
 
 Mr. Arnold wanted her to urge a new proposal 
 of his to George, to go directly back to Canton. 
 Amy promised to present to him his father's 
 wishes, and agreed that he ought to come to some
 
 108 STBUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 decision; but she confessed that she should her 
 self wish to urge him to give up all idea of becom 
 ing a business man, and devote himself to the life 
 of an artist with eagerness and industry. In the 
 end, Mr. Arnold agreed to this. He wanted 
 George to be something, anything but an idle 
 wanderer, and with many affectionate words to 
 Amy, he left Langdale. 
 
 - Amy wrote an earnest letter to George. She 
 detailed her conversation with his father, and prof, 
 fered carefully his plans and desires, but she 
 showed him earnestly what were the wishes of 
 her own heart. " But only show your father," 
 she said, " that you have in you some of that 
 impulse, some of the spark of the genius that you 
 and I have loved to fancy in you. The thought of 
 it inspires me, and -I am convinced it must lift and 
 rouse you. These last few years you have been 
 struggling under the lead of two masters. Only 
 determine now to follow after the one you love. 
 I know that if only once you give yourself up to 
 such a master, you will find happiness and success. 
 But you must enter into his service, be willing to 
 be trained, and to submit your life to your art. 
 How foolish of me to be advising and counselling 
 you ! I never ventured to preach to you before. 
 You have always been higher up than I, and have 
 given me strength. How I should like to give 
 you back some of that strength ! Such a help as
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 109 
 
 it has been to me to have one great and noble aim. 
 It has made a joyful service out of drudgery. 
 
 " The poor little Hannah who is with us, now 
 goes about her work every day as if there were no 
 object but just to get it over. She must sweep 
 the steps, must clean the knives, etc., go from one 
 labor on to another, because it is the every-day 
 labor. Poor child ! she thinks of nothing but the 
 work. But when I think of what I am living for, 
 I find a special inspiration in each separate detail. 
 It seems like arranging the flowers for a dear 
 friend, and training the vines over the old arbor. 
 Each trifling duty is helping to ornament the life 
 of others, even the caring for their daily food. 
 I think each day, this is my art that I must bring 
 to its perfection joyfully and cheerfully. It is 
 very far down, very far below what must inspire 
 you ; nevertheless, it must be my inspiration. 
 
 " Work on a little while, only work, dear George. 
 Send home something to show you have been 
 laboring. However small it is, your father will be 
 proud of it, we shall all be proud. We shall 
 look forward to your coming home, when you will 
 be able to teach us. You will raise us out of our 
 little duties, by the great works which are yours. 
 We are all of us workers here ; that won't harm us 
 if we can only have one of the " High Art " work 
 ers among us too. 
 
 "And such words remind me of the old days 
 under the oak-tree "
 
 110 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 Amy's letter had a great effect, very different 
 from what she had imagined. She waited impa 
 tiently to hear from George, and a letter came. 
 He was on his way back to Canton. " I am going 
 back," he wrote, " that I may do something." " You 
 were right Amy, in telling me to submit myself to 
 a master. But you were wrong and I was wrong 
 in fancying that I could follow the inspiration of a 
 great master. Alas ! I have not the patience nor 
 the industry that the disciples of such a master 
 need. I have wasted a great many years, the fault 
 is not in my circumstances but in myself. If the 
 true genius had been in me, long ago I should have 
 shown it by my patient study of the art I loved. 
 Instead of sitting and dreaming of high ideas, I 
 should have begun to carry them out, rudely per 
 haps, but somehow. I have been learning this 
 sadly, the more sadly the more I have enjoyed the 
 inspirations of true genius. These came only to 
 men who were willing to labor, not to those who 
 were idly drinking in the delights of life. Your 
 labor, Amy, that you speak of so humbly, has been 
 high and glorious in comparison with my idle 
 dreamings. It is the thought of that labor of yours 
 that rouses me now into activity. I am going to 
 work, not in the way we thought of and dreamed. 
 No, I cannot go borne a great artist. How should 
 I dare to hope for so great a glory as that, when I 
 have not the self-denial, nor the patience, that could 
 devote me to so glorious a work ?
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. Ill 
 
 " A pretty group there is below. Such a color 
 as this sky has here, and so wonderful the atmos 
 pheric effect ! It colors up everything it touches ! 
 
 " But then I can go home and work. If I cannot 
 ehow any great works, I will show how to work. 
 We will both of us work with an object, to make 
 labor, and trial, and struggle grand, and full of 
 beauty too." Then followed his plans for crossing 
 the desert, and sketches of groups of camels being- 
 loaded, with an imaginary picture of an oasis, and 
 himself drinking from a fountain under the trees, 
 the fountain taking the form of the old pump in the 
 Rothsays' yard. 
 
 This letter Amy had received some months ago. 
 Since then she had seen Mr. Arnold again. He ex 
 pressed himself pleased that George had returned 
 to a merchant's life, and with his new determinations. 
 He only hoped this would not prove a new freak 
 of George's, and that he would hold on it a year at 
 least. He expected to hear of him in Australia, 
 next, or San Francisco. He was much obliged to 
 Amy for her influence, and hoped George would 
 not tire her out at last. 
 
 Amy thought it unkind that Mr. Arnold could 
 not receive mo re thankfully the sacrifice that George 
 had made. But she was not discouraged by his 
 forebodings. She was sadly disheartened that 
 George had been able to give up all his cherished 
 hopes and aspirations. She feared he would repent 
 sometime a determination he had made in a moment
 
 112 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 of despair. If she could only have seen him, only 
 have known more certainly if this renunciation of 
 his were a willing one. 
 
 The letters that came to her afterward from 
 George, helped her to this certainty. They were 
 in a happy tone, and showed at the same time a 
 strength of purpose that she had not missed before, 
 but that gave her a new encouragement. His let 
 ters were shorter and more concise. They showed 
 he was becoming a business man. She confessed 
 to herself they were more manly in tone, while she 
 detected in herself a half mournful feeling at the 
 change. Lately he had spoken of coming home, 
 and there had been some talk of his coming back 
 in the spring. Ever since he had been gone, his 
 letters to Amy and to Frank had given promises of 
 his coming home " next spring " or " next fall." 
 This was enough to satisfy the frequent inquiries 
 of the neighbors at Langdale who wanted to know 
 when George Arnold was to come back, and won 
 dered if he would marry Amy on his return, think 
 ing it a great pity that she should wait for him. 
 
 His last letter had told Amy that he should cer 
 tainly return next spring, and to stay. It was 
 nearly arranged that he should be settled in New 
 York with a branch of the firm there. There was 
 more certainty about this letter than any she had 
 received before, and she might allow herself to ex 
 pect him home again. How different a return his 
 would be from what she had planned, and yet how
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. ' 113 
 
 happy the thought of it made her ! It was a still 
 happiness that she believed could not be moved, 
 because she had so many years been training her 
 self to the thought that only that would be given 
 her which was best for her and those she loved. 
 
 8
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE EICH AND POOR. 
 
 AMY sat upon the piazza with her work. Han 
 nah, too, was sitting on the steps of the piazza 
 with a long seam before her, upon which she was 
 sewing with the care and precision Miss Elspeth 
 had taught her. 
 
 " I don't know how I am to get along after I 
 leave here, Miss Amy," said Hannah ; " those boys 
 at the Carltons are so rude. Yesterday, when I 
 passed the garden, they were throwing stones at 
 the passers-by." 
 
 "I am afraid you will find it hard," said Amy: 
 "It won't be at all like Miss Elspeth's well or 
 dered household, nor even like our busy one. 
 Mrs. Carlton has no command over the children, 
 and poor Bertha is so sick now that she cannot 
 control them." 
 
 " I don't believe I'd better go, Miss Amy," said 
 Hannah; "I know those boys will make me angry." 
 
 " It won't be pleasant," said Am} 7 , " but wher 
 ever you go, Hannah, you will not find every one 
 so kind and considerate as Miss Elspeth."
 
 THE RICH AND POOR. 115 
 
 " Nor any one that will talk so to me as you do, 
 Miss Amy," said Hannah ; " I remember when I 
 used to see Janet so much, I saw thaj; they treated 
 her at the Paxtons' as if they thought she had not 
 any feelings in her. I did not think much about 
 it then, but since then the blood rises up in me to 
 remember it. They would talk to her as if she 
 were a stone, or no more than a brute." 
 
 " Oh, there are not many persons so unkind as 
 that," said Amy, " but there a great many who are 
 very thoughtless, and forget to speak gently and 
 kindly." 
 
 " They think us a different race," Hannah broke 
 out ; " worse than that, they think us like the 
 brute beasts, and would like to trample us down. 
 But some day, oh, some day, I would like to get 
 the better of them, and show them how I would 
 look down on their pride." 
 
 " Hannah, what do you mean ? " exclaimed Amy, 
 surprised ; " who are the people you are talking 
 of?" 
 
 " Oh, the people out in the world, who are 
 oppressing the poor, and keeping them down," 
 said Hannah. 
 
 u Hannah, you don't know any such people ; 
 think of Miss Elspeth," Amy said. 
 
 " I do think of her, and of you, and of Miss Dora 
 too ; she speaks hard, but she does not think 
 hard. But the Paxtons, what right have they 
 to live in a great house, with sofas and couches,
 
 116 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 more than they have time to lie upon, day after 
 day ; and poor ragged girls and children begging 
 from step to step, that have not father or mother 
 to take care of them ? " 
 
 " It seems strange, a great contrast/' said 
 Amy ; " but what right have we to sit here so 
 comfortably, with this pleasant air about us, and 
 these vines and trees shading us, what right 
 have you and I, Hannah, to sit here so quietly, 
 when there are so many working hard, or, what is 
 worse, wanting work and food, not far away from 
 us ? It is a hard question to answer." 
 
 " You and I ! " said Hannah ; " what can we 
 do?" 
 
 " And what can they do ? the Paxtons, as you 
 call them," asked Amy ; " what would all the 
 money they spend every year do for the deal of 
 trouble just in Boston here ? Alas ! they do not 
 know what to do to help all these poor people, 
 more than you and I. I do not say they do their 
 utmost, people say the Paxtons are not kind and 
 charitable to the poor. But we cannot judge. 
 Do we do all that we can? At least, let us be 
 charitable in our thoughts to them." 
 
 " Let them have all their splendid furniture, and 
 mirrors, and dresses," said Hannah, " if they would 
 only think of somebody else, if they would not 
 believe themselves to be at the top of the world 
 and we all below." 
 
 " Every rich person is not of this sort, Hannah,"
 
 THE RICH AND POOR. t 117 
 
 said Amy ; " we read in some story-books of two 
 classes, the tyrants and the oppressed. It is not 
 so where we live. Here are a great many differ 
 ent people, and most have kind feelings, though all 
 don't show it." 
 
 " I feel as if everybody hated me and mine," 
 said Hannah, " except some few." 
 
 " But that feeling you must give up as soon as 
 possible, Hannah," said Amy ; " it is not true, it is 
 only in your imagination. I don't know what can 
 have put it there. Even at the Carltons you won't 
 find that hatred nor that sort of treatment." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Amy, with all those boys!" exclaimed 
 Hannah. 
 
 " Five boys in one house are never very quiet, 
 nor all gentle and considerate in their manners," 
 answered Amy ; " I know it will be hard to bear 
 with them, but they will give you no worse treat 
 ment than they give to everybody." 
 
 " I'm afraid I shan't stand it," said Hannah. 
 
 " It is very provoking, I know," said Amy. 
 " Last winter, when I slipped down on the ice 
 in front of the Carltons' gate, it was provoking 
 enough to have Freddy Carlton standing there 
 laughing at me. He did not help me, either. 
 My muff flew off one way, and my bundles another, 
 and all the time he was making laughing speeches 
 about me." 
 
 " Oh, if I had been there, Miss Amy ! " exclaimed 
 Hannah.
 
 118 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 "Well, ther3 was nothing to be done about it," 
 said Amy, " so I tried to remember that he was 
 the same boy that saved the child from drowning a 
 little while before. They said, you know, that he 
 stood on the ice holding up the child a long time, 
 till help could come to him." 
 
 " I haven't forgot it, Miss Amy ; and it was an 
 Irish boy too." 
 
 " Agnes Carlton has come home from school 
 now," continued Amy, " and she ought to be able 
 to do something for her brothers ; but she is not 
 like Bertha. I am afraid she is thoughtless, and 
 she has been away from home so much she has lost 
 all home feeling." 
 
 " Miss Bertha looks to me like a picture," said 
 Hannah, " like the picture of a beautiful angel." 
 
 " Bertha has had a hard life the last few years," 
 said Amy ; " she has been weak and sick, but has 
 never been willing to tell any one of it. Her 
 mother thinks of nothing but sewing all day long, 
 and occupies herself so, she never has seen how 
 much care Bertha has needed, till all at once 
 Bertha has broken down, and everybody sees now 
 how ill she is." 
 
 " She looks as if she came directly from the sky, 
 only to go back there," said Hannah. 
 
 " Hannah, it would be very hard for me to 
 part with Bertha," exclaimed Amy ; " I cannot 
 think of it yet. Bertha was older than I at school. 
 She used to help me every way. She never said
 
 THE RICH AND POOR. 119 
 
 much, but helped me by being so good herself. I 
 like to think of your going there, Hannah, you 
 will be able to do so much for Bertha." 
 
 " I can go up stairs and down j I can fetch and 
 carry for her," said Hannah, gloomily. 
 
 " You will do more than that, Hannah," said 
 Amy ; " it is very hard for any one like Bertha to 
 call for help from others. She has always thought 
 so little of herself that it pains her now to ask 
 help of any one else. If you give her a willing, 
 ready service, you will do her a deal of good." 
 
 " And Mrs. Carlton, she'll be wanting me for 
 other things." 
 
 " And the boys will order you round for this and 
 that," said Amy, " and Mrs. Carlton will want to 
 keep you at your sewing. You must be ready for 
 them all, ' Up stairs, and down stairs, and in my 
 lady's chamber,' but if you have a heart for it, 
 you will find time to be caring for the fire in 
 Bertha's room, and making sure that all is cheerful 
 there. You will ask her often through the day 
 what you can bring her, and find out in time how 
 to bring her what she wants without her asking. 
 Even if you are kept constantly at work, sewing or 
 sweeping, you will find some time to help her." 
 
 " It is hard work you are laying out for me, Miss 
 Amy," said Hannah. 
 
 " I know it, but you have been working every 
 moment of the day at Miss Dora's," answered 
 Amy ; " you can't work more than that at the
 
 120 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 Carltons, and the work will be all the easier if you 
 are only willing arid ready." 
 
 " I know that is the way you work, Miss Amy," 
 said Hannah ; " you go into Mrs. Campbell's room 
 to put it all to rights, and before you are half 
 through, they call you into your mother's room, 
 and when you are busy there, somebody wants 
 you in the kitchen ; and then the children are 
 ready for their lessons, or Master Sammy has tum 
 bled down stairs, and you must comfort him. 
 Everything is done, and you have time for all, and 
 always are smiling and making fun of it all as if it 
 were a frolic." 
 
 " Ah, well, is not it easier so ? " asked Amy. 
 
 " It is very easy for you," sighed Hannah, " but 
 not for me." 
 
 " And why not ? " said Amy. 
 
 " Because they all love you, and you love them. 
 You are precious to them. Who will care for me 
 at the Carltons' ? " said Hannah. 
 
 "Who has cared for you all along?" asked Amy; 
 " and listen, who are they that are shouting for 
 you now ? Bessie, and Martha, and Margie ; I 
 think they are coming for you to go to walk, and 
 it will be good for you to air some of your gloomy 
 thoughts. Now they are stopping a minute ; Miss 
 Dora has called them back for something. Per 
 haps Bessie has forgotten to lock the back door, or 
 Miss Elspeth has summoned her for some errand. 
 Why, Hannah 1 have you forgotten us all here ? 
 You are precious to all of us ? "
 
 THE RICH AND POOR. 121 
 
 " But there ? " persisted Hannah. 
 
 "We shall see you often," said Amy; "and Han 
 nah, if you are in any trouble, you must speak to 
 Bertha. She will feel for you kindly, I know. 
 And think, Hannah, perhaps some day it will be 
 such a comfort to look back upon what you have 
 done for Bertha." 
 
 There was a great uproar of voices, for Bessie, 
 and Martha, and Margie were coming, and Bessie 
 insisted on climbing the fence that separated the 
 two houses, and then she came running up the 
 grassy bank, her bonnet falling back from her 
 head, while she shouted with delight. 
 
 " Oh ! come into the woods, everybody ! Miss 
 Elspeth says we may go if Hannah will, and you'll 
 come too, Amy." 
 
 " Hannah will go, but I must stay for the chil 
 dren."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 THE little party made its way into the woods, 
 telling over to Hannah the events of the day; how 
 Margie had made her first pudding, how Miss Els- 
 peth was really to have the sewing circle, and how 
 they all meant to find something in the woods to 
 ornament the parlor with, when that great day 
 should come. Miss Dora had objected ; but then 
 she objected to everything; and Martha had prom 
 ised, if they could have flowers in the room, she 
 would pick up eveiy single green thing that fell 
 upon the carpet. Martha was the thoughtful one 
 of the household now. She was fond of study, 
 and hoped she might be a teacher sometime, if she 
 could only learn enough. Meanwhile, she made 
 the best of every moment's time, and had her vol 
 ume of botany under her arm now. 
 
 " I think it's a shame," said Bessie, " to carry 
 books into the woods. We have enough of them 
 in the houso, and I um sure there is plenty to look 
 at when we are out among the trees." 
 
 " But I am determined," said Martha, " to find
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 123 
 
 out the name of that new flower we saw the other 
 day. It was so withered I could not make it out 
 from that specimen at all." 
 
 "I think 'lily' was a very good name for it," 
 said Bessie. "I don't believe I can pronounce its 
 long Latin name, when you find it." 
 
 " There are a great many kinds of lilies," said 
 Martha, " and if I can find the flower's real name, I 
 can read about it in the book, and I dare say you 
 will be glad to hear about it." 
 
 " That it flowers the end of August," said Bessie, 
 " and we know that already; and that it is found on 
 the edge of swamps, and that Miss Dora knows, 
 because I brought some of the mud into the 
 kitchen the day we found it." 
 
 " There's one now, I declare," exclaimed Martha, 
 as she ran away from the path, and out through the 
 broad hemlocks. 
 
 Very soon the whole party were busy. Martha 
 was comparing the flowers she found with the 
 descriptions in her book. Margie had discovered 
 a real fairy's haunt. She was sure it must be. 
 There was the ring in the grass where they had 
 danced the night before, and a purple mushroom 
 in the middle, that must have been the queen's 
 throne. She set herself to look for some remnant 
 of the feast, for Oberon's mushroom, for she was 
 sure he must have been there too. Bessie was 
 quiet for some minutes. She was watching a squir 
 rel. If she could only be still enough not to frighten
 
 124 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 him, she could find out where his hole was, and see 
 if he had any of last winter's nuts there. 
 
 LTannah was the only one not busy. She waited 
 a little while for the others, then walked down the 
 path that led to the station. A train of cars from 
 Boston had just left the station, to go on farther. 
 Hannah fancied she recognized a girl, about her 
 own size, who was lingering on the platform. The 
 girl had seen her, and presently beckoned to her, 
 and came hastening to where Hannah stood. 
 
 "Janet, is that you?" exclaimed Hannah. 
 
 " Yes, it's me," said Janet, hurrying up the bank, 
 " and you're the person I've come to see. I wanted 
 to see you in a hurry, too, for I'm going right into 
 town again in the next cars." 
 
 " Where have you been all this long time, and 
 what are you doing?" asked Hannah. 
 
 "Well, don't you think I'm getting on in the 
 world? What do you think of my bonnet? What 
 would Mrs. Paxton say to it?" exclaimed Janet. 
 " Well, I'm not the same Janet that she used to or 
 der round." 
 
 " Where have you been since you went away so 
 suddenly from Mrs. Paxton's?" asked Hannah. 
 
 "Well, I left the Paxtons without asking them," 
 said Janet. 
 
 " Miss Nora is married," said Hannah. 
 
 "Dear me; who has she married?" said Janet. 
 
 " Nobody that you know about," said Hannah.
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 125 
 
 .1 
 
 " Well, never mind, I want to talk to you. I've 
 a proposal to make to you. Is not that grand ? " 
 
 " But I can't stop, Janet ; there are the children," 
 said Hannah. 
 
 " Oh, never mind the children," said Janet, " they 
 won't spoil ; I can hear their voices close by. Bes 
 sie's as tall as you now. She can take care of her 
 self." 
 
 " You can come into the woods with me," said 
 Hannah. 
 
 " No, I can't," answered Janet ; " sit down here 
 on this stone with me. You were asking me where 
 I had been. Well, I've been up and down ; you 
 would think I had been more down than up. I be 
 lieve } 7 ou think more of having a regular place to 
 sleep in and food and all, than you do of having 
 your own way." 
 
 " I mean to have my own way too, some time," 
 said Hannah. 
 
 " Well, that's like you, that's spirit," said Janet, 
 " so I thought. Now, I've been living in Board 
 Court some of the time. It is not much of a place. 
 But you see more of the world there than you do 
 in Langdale in any time." 
 
 " I don't want to live in Board Court," said Han 
 nah. 
 
 " You'd live there if Stephen were there," 
 said Janet. 
 
 " Have you heard anything of Stephen ? Have 
 you seen him ? Oh, tell me quick," exclaimed 
 Hannah.
 
 126 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " I haven't seen him, only the boys say he will 
 certainly come back to Board Court some time. 
 They expect him to turn up there any day." 
 
 " I don't believe you know anything about him," 
 said Hannah, getting up to hurry away. 
 
 " Don't go away, that is not what I want to talk 
 about. But I've been very busy lately helping 
 some ladies at the theatre. And such times as I 
 have had ! I can go and see the play almost every 
 night. They want somebody to sew for them. 
 And that is what I want you for. You were 
 always so good at sewing, and I can get you just 
 as much work as you want, and good pay for it too. 
 Besides that, we can go to the theatre when we 
 please." 
 
 " To the theatre ! " exclaimed Hannah. 
 
 " Yes, we'll have a little establishment of our 
 own in Board Court. And sometimes we can have 
 a look upon the stage, that is, behind the scenes. 
 But the best is, up stairs at the theatre. There 
 you can look down upon all the show, upon all the 
 fine people, and there's that nice warm gas smell, 
 and it's so comfortable and all." 
 . " I went once to the theatre long ago with Stee- 
 vie," said Hannah. " I have forgotten a great deal. 
 But there came in a great ship. It was on the 
 stage, but it came floating in just as if it were on 
 the water, only it was more golden and splendid 
 than any ship is. There was a sister and a brother 
 floating together in it. Oh, how they must live, the
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 127 
 
 people that act there ! It all looks so fine, even if 
 they do have to work hard ! I wouldn't mind the 
 work, Janet." 
 
 " Oh, you wouldn't have to work hard," said 
 Janet, "just sewing, that you can do so easy, and 
 then so much fun all the time ! " 
 
 " I didn't mean the sewing," said Hannah. " I 
 mean the actors can't have to work hard, not harder 
 than we do now." 
 
 " Oh, you are thinking of acting," answered 
 Janet ; " perhaps it might come to that in time, 
 who knows ? Any how, it's a more jolly life than 
 you are leading now." 
 
 " But I can't leave Miss Amy," said Hannah ab 
 ruptly, after a moment's thought. 
 
 " What have you to do with Miss Amy ? " asked 
 Janet. 
 
 " I have left Miss Elspeth's. I'm living at the 
 Rothsays' now " answered Hannah. 
 
 " Is that it? " exclaimed Janet ; "then it's easier 
 for you to go away than ever ! Then you've left 
 Bessie in good quarters. Don't stop to think ! 
 The down train will be along in fifteen minutes. 
 That will give you just time to go round through 
 the road and make up a bundle of your things and 
 come directly on with me." 
 
 " Oh, I can't go, I can't go with you ! " said Han 
 nah, yet with regret in her tone. " Never mind the 
 bundle," said Janet, "just sit and talk with me the 
 fifteen minutes. I'll tell you more what we will do.
 
 128 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 You don't want to be tied down all your life to two 
 old women. Just come into town witli me to-night." 
 
 " No, I can't to-night," said Hannah. " I can't 
 go now. Perhaps this fall, when I am at Carlton's, 
 if I find I can't bear it there, I'll come in to you 
 then." 
 
 " But it will be too late then," urged Janet, 
 " your place will be filled up. They will have got 
 somebody else in town, and what is it to do? 
 Miss Elspeth would not object to your going out 
 sewing ? " 
 
 " I am really a help to Miss Amy now, and I can't 
 leave her," said Hannah. " In the fall, I am to go 
 to the Carltons to live. It will be different there, I 
 know. That will be in a month or two." 
 
 " At the Carltons' 1 Are you going to live there ? 
 Why, Mrs. Carlton will keep you sewing from 
 morning till night, and expect you to take care of 
 the children too. I would advise you never to get 
 into that house unless you want to be a slave all 
 your life. In a month or two it will be too late." 
 
 " I love Miss Amy," said Hannah, " I don't love 
 many people." 
 
 " Well, just come in with me to-ni'ghtand see how 
 it is," said Janet, " you can come out again in a day 
 or two, and tell Miss Amy all about your new plans. 
 It would be different if you were going to live 
 with her always ; but as you are to leave her so 
 Boon, it can't trouble her to have you go now."
 
 AN OLD FBIEND. 129 
 
 " I can't go in to-night ! I can't go to-night ! " re 
 peated Hannah. 
 
 " Then I've had all my pains for nothing " ex 
 claimed Janet; " I expected you to be grateful at 
 least." 
 
 " Yet you've never helped me much," said 
 Hannah, " it wasn't the truth you told me of Stee- 
 vie and the circus." 
 
 " I told you all I knew, and you wouldn't believe 
 me," said Janet ; " I might have told you more. 
 But you don't deserve I should let you know any 
 thing. But only come with me to-night." 
 
 " I can't go to-night," said Hannah resolutely, 
 " next winter I will think about it." At this mo 
 ment Martha was heard crying for Hannah, and pres 
 ently Bessie's voice calling for help. Hannah hur 
 ried away up the wood-path. " I'll wait for you," 
 said Janet. She sat down on the stone and listened 
 to the different voices, but Hannah did not come 
 back again. Janet lingered about the woods, till 
 the train for town came along, and went away in it.
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 ME. JASPER. 
 
 HANNAH met Martha running towards her. " Oh ! 
 Margie is up in the tree, and we can't get her 
 down. She'll fall and break her neck ! What can 
 we do?" 
 
 Hannah hurried on, and found Bessie under an 
 oak-tree, looking up to Margie, who was clinging 
 to one of the outer branches. Bessie was half 
 laughing and half frightened. " She's so foolish," 
 she said to Hannah, explainingly ; " it's easy enough 
 to come down, but she is so frightened she won't 
 try." 
 
 " How did she get up there ? " asked Hannah, as 
 she came under the tree, arid tried to reach Margie. 
 
 " Oh, Bessie persuaded me to come up here, and 
 helped me along, and now I am out on this branch, 
 and I know it won't bear me, and I can't possibly 
 get down, and I know my arms will break." 
 
 Hannah was not tall enough to reach where 
 Margie was, and Margie would not let Bessie 
 climb the tree to her, because she was sure she 
 would break the branch if she came up into the
 
 MR. JASPER. 131 
 
 tree. So the poor child swayed backward and 
 forward on the light bough, clinging to it with 
 trembling hands. 
 
 " Let yourself down, we will catch you," said 
 Hannah ; " you are not very far from the ground." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I'm afraid," cried Margie. 
 
 ; ' Run to the house for some one," said Hannah 
 to Bessie. 
 
 " My arms will break off, I know," said Margie, 
 " before you come back." 
 
 " There's a noise, there's somebody coming," 
 exclaimed Martha ; " stop, Bessie, you needn't go. 
 It's a man, a gentleman." 
 
 Martha ran to him for help. He came just in 
 time, for Margie, in trying to reach a higher bough, 
 had strained her wrist. He lifted her down with 
 out trouble. 
 
 " How did you get there ? " he asked ; " why 
 didn't you climb down as you came up?" 
 
 " I know it," said Bessie ; " it's easy enough. I 
 have been up and down in the tree half a dozen 
 times since Margie has been on that branch." 
 
 " Bessie said it was so easy," said Margie, " and 
 that it was just like a swing up there ; and I didn't 
 mind climbing up into the tree, but I didn't know 
 how I ever should get down." 
 
 " Margie began to tell us a story," said Bessie ; 
 " Martha sat under the tree, and I believe Margie 
 was frightened by her own story, for she was just 
 telling something, oh, really dreadful "
 
 132 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 "And I heard a noise, it was only a little 
 noise," said Margie, " but it frightened me more 
 than a great one. I was very foolish ; I thought 
 of bears, and I crept out to the end of the branch, 
 and then it began to rock up and down, and I 
 thought I should fall, and I felt as if my arms 
 would break." 
 
 "And where were you?" asked their new friend, 
 of Hannah. 
 
 " I was away on the edge of the wood," Hannah 
 answered, " but I ought to have been here. I 
 would not have let Margie climb the tree if I had 
 been here. She is frightened so easily, she can't 
 climb like Bessie." 
 
 " I'm so glad you came through the wood," said 
 Martha to the stranger; "very few people know 
 the way through the wood." 
 
 " I know the way," he said, " though it is over 
 five years since I have been here. I only came to 
 Langdale this morning, and I came across through 
 the woods on my way to Mr. Rothsay's." 
 
 " We're going through the Rothsays' garden," 
 said Bessie, " so we can go together." 
 
 " I had better take this little Margie in my 
 arms," said he, " she is trembling still." 
 
 " It's my hand pains me," said Margie, " I can't 
 tie my bonnet." 
 
 " I am afraid your wrist is sprained," said their 
 friend. 
 
 " dear, we shall have to send for the Doctor,"
 
 MB. JASPER. 133 
 
 said Bessie ; " I wish it had been my wrist. But 
 there's one comfort for you, Margie, you wont have 
 to beat eggs with it." 
 
 The party went through the Rothsays' garden, 
 and Amy came out to meet them. 
 
 "What is the matter? Why, Mr. Jasper, is this 
 you with our little Margie? How came you here? 
 Is Margie hurt ? " 
 
 " She's more frightened than hurt," answered 
 Mr. Jasper. " I came by the morning train from 
 Boston, and I met this little party on my way 
 through the woods. They will tell you what was 
 the matter." 
 
 " It would have been so bad if he had not come 
 through the woods. I don't know what would have 
 happened to Margie," said Martha. 
 
 Bessie, at the same time, began to tell how it 
 was her fault persuading Margie to get into the 
 tree. They made a long story of it. Hannah was 
 silent. At the end, Amy. turned round to her 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " It was my fault," said Hannah ; then in a low 
 tone, " I shouldn't have stayed as I did by the 
 cars. I let the children go back into the woods 
 alone. I ought to have gone with them." 
 
 " But we are not children now," said Bessie, 
 impatiently. 
 
 "Miss Elspeth sent Hannah to take care of you," 
 said Amy. " Hannah and I will go in with you to 
 Bee Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora, if Mr. Jasper will 
 bring Margie to the gate."
 
 134 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 "I hope all Langdale is as little changed as 
 you," said Mr. Jasper, looking at Amy. " When I 
 found all this little party in the woods, I thought I 
 had come into a new neighborhood, but I begin to 
 feel at home again now." 
 
 "These are our new neighbors," said Amy; "the 
 Miss Eltons came just as you went away." 
 
 " I have heard a little about them from the 
 Fays this morning," said Mr. Jasper ; " I went 
 directly there, and they have refreshed me a little 
 in Langdale news ; it was a long time since I had 
 heard from here." 
 
 " And you are really going to stay with us a 
 little while ? " said Amy. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Peterson wrote me so earnestly to 
 take his place here this winter, while he went 
 away; and he sent, too, such earnest entreaties 
 from the parish, that I could not resist coming." 
 
 " And can you bear a winter here now ? " asked 
 Amy. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; don't I look as if I could bear any 
 thing ? " said Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " A different person from what you were when 
 you went away," said Amy ; " you don't look like 
 an invalid now." 
 
 They readied Miss Elspeth's house. 
 
 " This is Miss ^Elton's house, then," continued 
 Mr. Jasper, " is it ? the little brown cottage. 
 How the garden is grown ! Miss Margie, I wll 
 set you down here. If Miss Elton will let mu J 
 will come in and doctor your wrist."
 
 MR. JASPER. 135 
 
 Bessie had run on before to tell Miss Elspeth 
 what had happened, blaming herself for Margie's 
 trouble. 
 
 " I will wait at the gate," said Mr-. Jasper to 
 Amy, " while you go in and see if I can give any 
 surgical aid, then I will walk back with you to 
 your house." 
 
 But no ; Amy came out and said Miss Elspeth 
 was equal to the care of Margie, and there was 
 not much hurt done apparently. 
 
 " How pleasant it is to look up and clown the 
 street again," said Mr. Jasper ; " what a pretty 
 place it is. How the trees and vines grow and 
 flourish here ! Mrs. Bunco's little old house be 
 comes picturesque as the green gathers round it." 
 
 ' And Mrs. Bunce herself," said Amy ; " see, she 
 is looking after you over the fence, trying to make 
 you out." 
 
 " I must go and speak to her presently," said 
 Mr. Jasper; "that will announce my arrival in 
 Langdale. Mrs. Bunce was always the Court Jour- 
 nal of Langdale. Children on your piazza ! Ah, 
 those are your little cousins of whom I have heard. 
 Well, Amy, you have plenty to do." 
 
 As they walked up the path towards the house, 
 Amy heard herself called back into the street. 
 " Oh Amy, just come here a minute, I want to ask 
 you something." 
 
 " Agnes, is it you ? Won't you come in? What 
 do you want ? " asked Amy.
 
 136 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 ' Oh, haven't you any old novels you can lend us 
 to read 1 I'm tired to death of the Club books, they 
 are all so stupid. Has not Frank something inter 
 esting to read ? " 
 
 " I dare say, will you come in and see ? " answered 
 Amy. 
 
 11 Oh, no matter now. That is not really what I 
 wanted. I brought you out here to ask you if that 
 isn't Mr. Jasper you were walking up with ? I 
 saw you in the distance, and I thought it looked 
 like him. But it is so long since I have seen him. 
 I suppose he has come to stay ? Well, I'm rejoiced. 
 I'm tired to death of Mr. Peterson. He preaches 
 over the same things. I could say off his sermons 
 before I went to church. He's got me into such a 
 habit of going to sleep, that I'm afraid Mr. Jasper 
 won't wake me up. No, I won't come in; it's such 
 a comfort to have a piece of news to tell people, 
 that I won't stay. The Lees will be out on their 
 doorsteps. What a novelty it is to have somebody 
 coming back 1 Everybody has been going away 
 so ! Tom Paxton, you know, is really coming home. 
 They expect him every day. I do hope he'll stir 
 them up a little at the Paxtons. But I won't keep 
 you any longer. It must be a treat for you to have 
 somebody to talk with." 
 
 " Who is your pretty friend ? " asked Mr. Jasper 
 of Amy. 
 
 " That is Agnes Carlton. Did not you remember 
 her ? " asked Amy.
 
 MR. JASPER. 137 
 
 " Is that Agnes ? Why she was one of the little 
 girls when I went away. One of your witches, 
 that Mrs. Carlton was always scolding, because she 
 wouldn't sit still, and never came into the house 
 except to show that her dress was torn off her shoul 
 ders, or her braids tumbling down her back." 
 
 " Agnes has come home from school a finished 
 young lady now," said Amy, " she's the model of 
 dress for all Langdale." 
 
 " She is pretty," said Mr. Jasper ; " I watched 
 her as she talked with you, her ribbons flying, her 
 tongue going, and her eyes dancing. Then she 
 has a fresh healthy color in her cheek." 
 
 " You should have heard what she said," said 
 Amy, " for she only stopped to ask about you." 
 
 " How different from Bertha ! " said Mr. Jasper, 
 thoughtfully ; " a younger sister of Bertha ! " 
 
 " She is a picture of health by the side of Ber 
 tha ! " said Amy ; " and poor Bertha, so languid 
 now, so feeble. And she is different every way 
 from Bertha ! Bertha has all the soul and heart. 
 Agnes is full of life and animation. I can't make 
 myself interested in her, though I try to, for Ber 
 tha's sake, and though she excites so much admira 
 tion. Oh, she is a great contrast to Bertha ! She 
 is cold and shining, and Bertha is full of feeling." 
 
 " Bertha went to heaven a long time ago," said 
 Mr. Jasper, " her spirit went. She has not lived 
 on the earth, as one of us, this great while." 
 
 " But her body is as beautiful as a spirit, as frail
 
 138 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 and transparent/' said Amy ; " that has been moving 
 round with us still. Though lately, Bertha has 
 been more shut up at home. I dread this winter 
 for her." 
 
 " Why don't they carry her away to the 
 South?" asked Mr. Jasper. " It is no place for her 
 to spend the winter here." 
 
 "Mrs. Carlton is wilfully blind," said Amy ; " she 
 does not see how sick Bertha is. But indeed, Ber 
 tha would not like to go away from home. And I 
 am afraid she could not be comfortable or happy 
 anywhere else." 
 
 " Can she be happy or comfortable anywhere in 
 this world? " asked Mr. Jasper; " her nature is so 
 delicate it can't bear up against what this world 
 brings. How terrible must be to her all the house 
 hold discomforts, and the little home embitterments 
 she is surrounded by." 
 
 " Bertha never shrank from life," said Amy ; " she 
 had too much faith for that." 
 
 " Yes, it takes more faith to live by, than to die 
 by," said Mr. Jasper.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE SEWING CIRCLE. 
 
 Miss ELSPETH'S little rooms were crowded by the 
 Be wing circle, and Miss Dora's household arrange 
 ments had been previously so perfected that she was 
 actually able to sit down to entertain her guests 
 when they assembled. Hannah and Bessie had 
 been busy in the kitchen with her all the morning. 
 Martha had picked the prettiest flowers from 
 the garden and the woods, and had arranged them 
 gracefully around the rooms. There were dishes 
 of bright scarlet flowers, and tall vases of wild 
 flowers, and Margie's pet basket, out of which hung 
 graceful vines. Miss Dora made some objections 
 to covering the tables with flowers. She did not 
 see where the work was to be put, or the candles, 
 when it came time to light up. But Miss Elspeth 
 showed her they had left room for the candles, and 
 Martha had arranged the work on a table in the 
 corner. 
 
 So there was great talking, and, of course, a 
 great deal of work done too. For the two rooms 
 were full, and the younger girls sat on the stairs in
 
 140 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 the entry. Mrs. Paxton was there. She could not 
 sew because she couldn't use her eyes, and 
 she never talked much, but then it was respectable 
 to have her sitting there in her well-fitting gloves. 
 Mrs. Bunce was in fine spirits. Her fingers went 
 fast, her eyes took in all that was going on, nor did 
 her conversation flag. " So, Miss Dora, Martha is 
 to be a teacher," she broke in. 
 
 " So it seems," said Miss Dora ; " she has been 
 studying hard enough. She has her French les 
 sons with Amy, and has been to school summer and 
 winter. When she's old enough she will go to the 
 Normal School, I suppose. I don't see the use of 
 so much learning and studying, myself." 
 
 " Well, if she can teach, she can earn her living 
 that way," suggested Mrs. Bunce ; " that's a good 
 thing." 
 
 " But what is it all to come to ? " said Miss Dora. 
 " Here's Martha learning just to teach a new set 
 of children. Now, what good is it going to do all 
 these others ? Are they going to learn merely so 
 they can teach? What are they going to do with 
 it all, I should like to know ? It would save time 
 if none of them learnt." 
 
 " Ah, but Miss Dora, what will you do with the 
 time when you have saved it ? " asked Amy. 
 
 " That's verytrue," said Mrs. Paxton ; " occupa 
 tion is the great thing for young people." 
 
 " There's plenty to do without reading books all 
 the time," said Miss Dora, " and there would be
 
 THE SEWING CIRCLE. 141 
 
 another saving of time. If nobody read their 
 books it would save the time of the people that 
 have to write them. It must take considerable to 
 be scribbling it all ; I've never wasted my time 
 over it." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Dora, but don't you read the Harper, 
 and Thackeray ? " asked Annie Fay. 
 
 " And if you would only write a book, Miss 
 Dora," said Amy j " only think how much good 
 you'd do." 
 
 " The only book I should write," said Miss Dora, 
 " would be a cook-book ; and I should say in the 
 beginning that it wouldn't do any good, and if they 
 wanted to cook they must cook, and not read books." 
 
 " But, Miss Dora, then your book wouldn't help 
 us," said Annie Fay. 
 
 " There's Margie," continued Miss Dora, " when 
 she begins upon a story there's no chance to get her 
 away from it. She has the book stuck up on the 
 mantelpiece when she's dusting, and open on the 
 table when she's sewing. There would be no meals 
 in the family if we waited for her. You can't eat 
 and drink the best books in the world." 
 
 " I must say," said Mrs. Bunce, " I don't often 
 see Margie but what she has a book in her hand." 
 
 " But you haven't told us what we are to do if 
 we don't read," said one of the Lees. 
 
 " I suppose you'd like to have us sew," said An 
 nie Fay. 
 
 " The girls now-a-days," said Mrs. Carlton, " don't
 
 142 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 know anything about sewing. I can't think what 
 we shall come to. I cannot get along with my 
 work unless I keep at my sewing steadily from 
 morning till night. I always meant to teach my 
 girls how to sew if they did not know anything else. 
 But, dear me, I believe Agnes knows everything 
 else, and I can't induce her to sew long enough to 
 pay for hunting up her thimble." 
 
 " I never thought much of sewing steadily all 
 day," said Miss Dora ; " and Elspeth says there's 
 poor folks enough who need the sewing work, 
 to say nothing of machines, though I wouldn't 
 have one in the house. But there's one thing 
 that does come regularly, and that is three meals 
 a day ; and I think a girl ought to know how to get 
 the meals, if she don't cook them herself." 
 
 " You are right there," said Mrs. Paxton, who 
 had never troubled herself with more than order 
 ing her meals. 
 
 And Miss Dora bustled away to arrange her gen 
 erous tea-table. 
 
 Mr. Jasper came in the evening, and the greet 
 ings were especially cordial ; every one was glad 
 to see him back again, and everybody was fresh 
 with delight at his last Sunday's sermons. 
 
 Mr. Jasper was talking with Amy in the entry. 
 " That little Margie's hair will take fire," he 
 exclaimed ; " what is she doing with the candle in 
 her hand ? " 
 
 Amy went to the stairs, where Margie was show-
 
 THE SEWING CIECLE. 143 
 
 ing a friend some pictures, and advised her putting 
 down her candlestick. 
 
 " The little Margie interests me," said Mr. Jas 
 per ; " she is full of imagination. Only don't let 
 her grow up into one of those girls that let their 
 minds go to walk through some side door when 
 they think they are with you all the time." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Amy. 
 
 " Don't you know how tiresome it is when you've 
 been talking earnestly to any one, suddenly to find 
 your listener, instead of being a listener, has been 
 taking a little excursion of his own, wandering off 
 into some delightful region, very likely, but he 
 alone has the gate to it and the key? " 
 
 " Absent-minded people are very trying," said 
 Amy. " I have a wicked desire, all the time, to 
 stick pins into their minds and rouse them out of 
 their dreams." 
 
 " Present-minded people are as unsatisfactory," 
 said Mr. Jasper ; " they are so taken up with what is 
 going on, they think only of what they are saying 
 now, and forget if they have any pastor future. Most 
 party talk goes no further than the candles, and 
 dresses, and show of the evening. Look at our 
 lively friend, Agnes Carlton. She leans against 
 the door-post, complacently happy. Tom Paxton 
 is on one side and Prank at the other. She is not 
 even thinking of what she is saying now. She is 
 thinking of the opinion that she sees you and I are 
 passing upon her."
 
 144 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " I am afraid you are right," said Amy. 
 
 " Yet she can talk well," said Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " But she talks without heart. What she says 
 is from her lips ; it comes from no deeper. And 
 is there anything deeper there ? " said Amy. 
 
 " Are you not severe ? " asked Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " And you ? " said Amy. 
 
 " Do you think me severe ? " asked Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " You have appeared to me more so than before 
 you went away," said Amy. 
 
 " Have I ? And is not that right? " asked Mr. 
 Jasper. "I have lived -five years and more since 
 then. Should not that embitter' me ? " 
 
 " It is not like you to say so," said Amy. 
 
 " What should I say ? " asked Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " Your old self used to say that true living could 
 only refresh us. It must be those who let their 
 better life die out who talk of the harshness of 
 life," said Amy. 
 
 " It is my death then that I complain of when 
 I complain of the bitterness of my life," said 
 Mr. Jasper. " And all my disappointments, yes, 
 they are the death of my better, my happier hopes. 
 I may complain still then, only give my complaint 
 a different name." 
 
 " Is that what discipline is to teach us ? " asked 
 Amy. " You used to teach us differently." 
 
 " I can teach others better than I can myself, 
 Amy," said Mr. Jasper ; " and perhaps my own 
 salvation lies that way. -If I cannot heal myself, I 
 may heal others."
 
 THE SEWING CIRCLE. 145 
 
 " There's room for it here," said Amy. " We all 
 need freshening and renewing." 
 
 " And there is room for it, you think, opposite j 
 with Agnes Carlton ? " asked Mr. Jasper. " You 
 think she needs improving?" 
 
 " Yes ; but how I scarcely know," said Amy. 
 " I can hardly tell how to reach her. I am afraid 
 she is weak ; she seems very thoughtless. I would 
 like to love her more because she is Bertha's sister, 
 but I grow discouraged. And then I try to com 
 fort myself with thinking perhaps she is not in my 
 parish." 
 
 " Your parish is a large one, as it is," said Mr. 
 Jasper, laughing. " All these four girls belong to 
 it, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, they take care of themselves very much," 
 said Amy ; " but I am deeply interested in them. 
 Hannah troubles me most. The others were 
 younger when they came here, and have made 
 themselves at home here. Hannah cannot help 
 feeling she is oppressed still. I am troubled about 
 her." 
 
 " The others seem very happy," said Mr. Jasper. 
 
 "Yes; Margie, you see, has her little friend 
 there, and Bessie has taken hers away to help her 
 in the kitchen, and the sober, thoughtful Martha 
 has her friends everywhere." 
 
 " But Hannah does not find her place ? " asked 
 Mr. Jasper. 
 
 10
 
 146 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " She is uneasy; still, she is not happy." said 
 Amy. 
 
 " But to return to our old subject. Do you think 
 Agnes Carlton is in my parish?" asked Mr. 
 Jasper. 
 
 " Most certainly she is under your influence," 
 said Amy ; " but then I have not recommended 
 her to you. Indeed, I have talked more about her 
 than I like." 
 
 " But Bertha's sister ought not to be weak-minded 
 and trivial. For Bertha's sake we might do some 
 thing for her," said Mr. Jasper ; " only, is not Ber 
 tha's own influence the best for her ? " 
 
 " What has pained me in Agnes," said Amy, " is 
 her apparent want of feeling towards Bertha. She 
 might do much for her now. A joyous, light- 
 hearted spirit, such as Agnes has, might add so 
 much to Bertha's happiness ! Oh, it is wrong of 
 me to speak of Agnes so ; but every day, when I 
 am with Bertha, I see how she is pained by the sel 
 fishness that Agnes shows." 
 
 " You are with Bertha every day ? " asked Mr. 
 Jasper. " How happy for you, for her, you can do 
 so much for her." 
 
 " It is she that does much for me," said Amy. 
 " She purifies my day for me, and makes the ail 
 clearer." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Jasper," Mrs. Bunce broke in, " if 
 this is a sermon you are preaching, I think your 
 audience is too small. It is not fair ; you have 
 been talking to Amy the last half hour."
 
 THE SEWING CIRCLE. 147 
 
 " It is Amy who has been preaching to me," said 
 Mr. Jasper. " That is a chance I don't have often, 
 you know." 
 
 " Well, I couldn't think of any one's venturing 
 to preach to you," said Mrs. Bunce. " Amy knows 
 h6w to practise. She's one of Mr. Peterson's most 
 devoted parishioners." 
 
 " Where did you find those cardinal flowers ?" 
 asked Agnes of Martha. " I wet my feet and spent 
 the whole afternoon yesterday trying to find some. 
 Somebody said there were plenty by the brook." 
 
 " Frank Rothsay brought us these," said Martha. 
 " He found them ever so far off, by the glen, I 
 believe." 
 
 " Oh, wouldn't it be fine to get up a party for 
 the glen?" said Agnes. " Amy, do let us go and 
 find cardinal flowers. Tom Paxton is wild to go 
 somewhere, and he is making forty thousand plans. 
 He says it tired him so to see the house at home 
 look just as it did when he went away, and all the 
 people too are just the same. I should think it 
 would be tedious enough, when he has been 
 all over the world ! He has taken up the currant- 
 bushes already, and would like to remove the elm- 
 trees if they would move ! " 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Paxton must be disturbed," said 
 Amy. 
 
 " Oh," said Agnes, " I think she likes it. It must 
 be better than vegetating as she did when Nora 
 was at home. They might all of them have been
 
 148 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 rooted in the garden, for all the motion they ever 
 indulged in ! I wonder Nora could travel ! It 
 must be such a bore to her to remember where 
 she is every day, and where she is going the 
 next 1 "
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 
 
 HANNAH had one more interview with Janet. 
 One evening at dusk, as she went out to go down 
 in the village, she met Janet in the street. 
 
 " I have been waiting for you the last half hour 
 and more," said Janet, " and I was just beginning 
 to give you up. They must keep you pretty hard 
 at work in there. At Miss Elspeth's you used to 
 have a little quiet time in the evening at the gar 
 den gate." 
 
 " I don't like to be idle," 'said Hannah, "you 
 know I never did." 
 
 " Where are you going now ? " asked Janet. 
 
 " Only to the grocery store in the village," said 
 Hannah. 
 
 "That grocery store," exclaimed Janet; "I won 
 der if those same two lemons are in the window 
 that used to be there in my day ! Langdale is a 
 slow place. I have a new plan; I am going to 
 New York now." 
 
 " Going to New York ! Then you have given 
 up living in Board Court, and the theatre, and 
 all?"
 
 150 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 "I couldn't make it go without you," said Janet; 
 "they engaged me to do the sewing, and I couldn't 
 do a stitch of it. You were to have done the sew 
 ing, and I was to get the place for you." 
 
 " Then I was to have done all the work," said 
 Hannah, "and you were to have the fun you talked 
 about. I wondered why you wanted me so much." 
 
 " You needn't be bitter about it," said Janet ; 
 " if you are so fond of work you needn't have 
 minded it. And you must agree I was calculated 
 to make the best impression about getting the 
 place. I never could sit down and sew ; I should 
 soon be tired of that." 
 
 " But where are you going to in New York ? " 
 asked Hannah. 
 
 " Oh, I'm going to try my fortune there," said 
 Janet ; " I never like to live long in one place. It 
 grows tiresome after a while. I expect to find 
 friends there, bu I want you to go on with me." 
 
 " To do your sewing?" asked Hannah. 
 
 " You needn't take that so hard," said Janet ; 
 "you might just as well work for me as for Mrs. 
 Carlton, or anybody else, and better too, if I can 
 get you better wages for it." 
 
 " I don't see what you have to offer me in New 
 York," said Hannah. 
 
 " Well, very much the same place I had for you 
 in Boston," said Janet ; " then New York is so 
 large that there is plenty to do. And even if you 
 went out to work there, you would have a better
 
 BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 151 
 
 time. You needn't have to work half so hard, 
 .and it's a great place to live in." 
 
 Hannah went into the little store to make her 
 purchases, and then turned back with Janet. 
 
 " I am going to the Carltons' this next week," 
 she said, " and I have been thinking about what 
 you have told me when I saw you before. If I 
 find it hard, I will go on to New York and meet 
 you somehow." 
 
 " If you come into Boston, to Board Court, 
 they'll tell you there where I am, any time. You 
 know your mother's dead," Janet added abruptly. 
 
 " How ? What do you mean ? " asked Hannah, 
 surprised. 
 
 " Well, I thought you would have heard of it," 
 said Janet ; " you'll hear of it in time. Mrs. 
 Badger has been fussing round in Board Court, 
 and she will be out to tell you all about it. You 
 can't feel very bad, after all, you went away from 
 her." 
 
 " I have always thought, Janet," said Hannah, 
 " that sometime or other " 
 
 " Sometime or other is what you are always 
 talking about," said Janet ; " that is where you 
 live, in ' sometime or other.' You always thought, 
 I suppose, that sometime or other you would drive 
 in from Langdale in a eoach and four horses, and 
 take your mother away, and live like great folks in 
 a hotel." 
 
 " I believe I did think very much so," said 
 Hannah.
 
 152 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 "Well, you may coine in, in the omnibus; I don't 
 see how you'll come any other way from Lang- 
 dale," said Janet. " I may as well bid you good- 
 by ; if I'm going to see you ' sometime or other/ 
 I shall see you no time." 
 
 " Perhaps you will see me this winter," said 
 Hannah ; " I shall have earned enough to go to 
 New York. I had meant to keep my earnings." 
 
 " Then you have begun to save up something," 
 said Janet. 
 
 " Miss Elspeth keeps my savings," said Hannah. 
 " I wish I were you, Janet ; I should like very 
 well to go round from one place to another. But 
 I can't go now." 
 
 " Good-by, then," said Janet ; " I shall see you 
 1 sometime or other.' " 
 
 Hannah had found it hard to part with Miss 
 Elspeth and the family, when it came time for her 
 to go to the Carltons. It seemed more like going 
 away than when she went to the Rothsays. Amy 
 was the same friend to her that Miss Elspeth was. 
 She would have been willing to work for her for 
 love. She was now beginning to enter upon ser 
 vice, to work for wages. 
 
 " You won't be able to come and help us at our 
 busy times now," said Miss Elspeth ; " so, Hannah, 
 we shall depend upon seeing you at your leisure 
 hours. You will have Saturday evenings to your 
 self, and you must always come here then. It will 
 be a quiet time to see you in."
 
 BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 153 
 
 " And don't forget what I told you about keep 
 ing tidy yourself," said Miss Dora; "whatever you 
 do, don't forget to make things look neat. With 
 all the boys at the Carltons, the house always looks 
 topsy-turvy. You can see after things a little. 
 You can be of great use in the family." 
 
 " Don't give Hannah more to do than Mrs. Carl- 
 ton will find for her," said Miss Elspeth ; " I don't 
 want to have Hannah work herself to death." 
 
 Afterwards, she said to Hannah, " You must not 
 forget to come to me if any trouble comes. Don't 
 stay at home and think over your troubles, but let 
 me know what they are. Very often I may help 
 you." 
 
 Bessie said to Hannah, " One of these days I 
 shall be going out to work too. I have been 
 thinking about it a great deal since it has been 
 planned you should go." 
 
 " That won't come for a great while," said Han 
 nah. 
 
 " I don't know that," said Bessie ; " I want to 
 be earning some wages and doing something. Not 
 that I am ready to leave here ; oh, that would be 
 hard enough ! How kind Miss Dora and Miss 
 Elspeth were to take us away. I don't remember 
 much about the old home, Hannah, but sometimes 
 I have bad dreams about it, and recall old faces 
 that make me shudder. And there were such 
 harsh words spoken there, and the people that 
 came home at night talked so loud, it frightens me 
 to think of them."
 
 154 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 "Do you think of them all so?" asked Hannah. 
 
 " Of all but Steevie," said Bessie ; " I think I 
 would like to see him again j yet I have had bad 
 dreams even of him, and have fancied he came 
 sometimes to take me to some dark place." 
 
 " Oh, don't think of such things," said Hannah, 
 shuddering ; " I had rather think that sometime 
 we shall go and find him." 
 
 " Perhaps we shall," said Bessie, " though I 
 don't like ever to think of leaving here. It has 
 seemed so sunny ever since we came here. What 
 bad ways I had when I first came. I am not so 
 very good now ; I do a great many things that 
 Martha and Margie don't even think of. But then 
 I did not know what it was to do right, and now I 
 do wrong when I know it is not good to do it." 
 
 " You are not a bad child," said Hannah, half 
 laughing. 
 
 " I'm not as bad as I should have been if it had 
 not been for Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora," said 
 Bessie ; " I have such dreams of what I would like 
 to do when I grow up." 
 
 " What is it you want to do? " asked Hannah. 
 
 " Oh, it is quite too good to come true." said 
 Bessie, "but I like to think about it. I would 
 like nothing better than to live always here, and 
 take care of Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora. By-and- 
 by they will be growing old, and Miss Dora will 
 have to give up working. It's very selfish in me 
 to take to myself the caring for them that would
 
 BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 155 
 
 be so pleasant, and seeing to their bouse and all. 
 But you others can all do better things. You are 
 a great deal wiser than I am, Hannah, and are fit 
 for a great deal more. Martha will be going away 
 to teach one of these days. Perhaps she will live 
 with us, and go into town every day to her school. 
 That would be good. And Margie could never 
 take care of the whole house. But I could, for I 
 know what Miss Dora wants, and I should not 
 mind if she scolded me when I did wrong." 
 
 " Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora would like noth 
 ing better, Bessie," said Hannah ; " I don't know 
 why it should not be so." 
 
 " Oh, it's too good," said Bessie, " and I should 
 like first to be earning something, just to show 
 them that I could. But then, where would you 
 be ? You must not be far off." 
 
 Miss Elspeth had heard of the death of Mrs. 
 O'Connor, from Mrs. Badger, who said that people 
 were glad in Board Court that her establishment 
 there was broken up. Hannah thought more than 
 ever of her talks with Janet, and was even moved 
 to join her and go on to New York with her. She 
 had been much touched by her talk with Bessie. 
 Bessie had spoken of a feeling toward Miss Els 
 peth and Miss Dora, that Hannah was conscious of 
 in herself. It was this feeling that had restrained 
 her when her old love of wandering, that had been 
 so long kept down, tempted her to go away. She 
 did now feel bound to Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora.
 
 156 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 It would be really hard to do anything to pain 
 them. For more than five years she had been pro 
 vided with a quiet, peaceful home. She had not 
 been troubled each day with doubts as to how she 
 was to live to-morrow. She had been kindly and 
 gently led and taught. At first, she had not been 
 willing to trust to the kindness that was shown 
 her. She had rather believe that it was not shown 
 her from goodness of heart alone, but from some 
 unknown selfish motive. She could not believe in 
 such unvarying kindness, nor understand it. The 
 suspicion and the distrust lingered still, yet Han 
 nah was gradually and unconsciously softened by 
 the influences round her. Five years of quiet, 
 tame life had quieted her, though she was hardly 
 aware of it herself, j All the years before, she had 
 lived in a roving, aimless way, and the old love of 
 change came up often to assert its power. Often 
 came back the old longing to live where she would 
 not be bound to anybody, where she might be 
 free, even if she were only free to starve.^ Bessie 
 showed greater gratitude to their kind friends than 
 Hannah was willing to acknowledge or express. 
 Hannah began to feel her own conscience relieved. 
 Yes, Bessie should stay and take care of Miss 
 Elspeth and Miss Dora, and Hannah herself would 
 be free of that charge. She herself would go out 
 and try the world ; she would leave behind Bessie 
 and all, as before she left the old home, it could 
 not be harder now.
 
 BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 157 
 
 But it was harder. For before, she had never 
 been bound by any sense of duty, and now she was 
 tied by it imperceptibly. When Martha and Bes 
 sie bade her good-night at Mrs. Carlton's door, 
 Hannah waited a moment till the sound of their 
 footsteps had died away. She did not, as she had 
 planned, turn away from the door, to go to the 
 station with her bundle, and take the evening train 
 for Boston.
 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 NEW DUTIES. 
 
 MRS. CAELTON had given Hannah her directions 
 over night. She was to be the first one up the 
 next morning, and her first duty was to unlock the 
 front door and wash the steps. 
 
 Hannah was standing on the threshold with her 
 pail, having performed this task. It was a frosty 
 morning, and the last of the dead leaves were falling 
 to the ground. It was still and quiet, the only 
 sound was the gentle fall of the leaves, and a little 
 rustling in the dead branches of the vine by the 
 door. Hannah looked up through the dark pines 
 that stood against the clear blue sky, and again at 
 the little path she had cleared so carefully from the 
 whirling leaves. Whatever her thoughts were, 
 they were suddenly interrupted by a shout behind 
 her. It came from some voice up stairs. 
 
 " New girl, new girl, what are you about? here 
 are my boots to clean ! " 
 
 " Look out for your head, new girl," cried another 
 voice ; ' you must clean mine too." " And be quick 
 about it, for we want to put them on right off."
 
 NEW DUTIES. 159 
 
 " Mine too," cried a small wee voice. And down 
 came a clatter of heavy boots from over the stairs. 
 
 " Be particular to give them an extra polish/' 
 the voices began again. " And hurry up, don't 
 move like a snail." 
 
 " I shall be down after mine before you can tarn 
 round." 
 
 A door was heard to open, and another voice ex 
 claimed, 
 
 " What's all this noise ? Go back into the nursery, 
 Harry ; Fred, are you not ashamed to be stirring up 
 the house so, at this hour ? Don't let me hear one 
 word more ! " There was a slam of the doors, then 
 a silence, then a whispered sound, " We shall be 
 down the back way, so fly round, new girl ! Extra 
 fine blacking ! " 
 
 Hannah's head had fortunately escaped any blow, 
 and she picked up the pile of boots of different 
 sizes, that lay scattered round. She carried them 
 to the kitchen, where Bridget could give her some 
 directions as to what she should do with them. 
 Here was a pair of heavy boots with thick soles 
 and quite covered with mud ; next, came a pair a 
 size smaller, but a close imitation of the first ; the 
 third were smaller still, and the mud less alarming. 
 The two others were not so shapeless, and less 
 heavy. The smallest of more delicate form, still 
 bore the shape of a childish foot, while the rest 
 tried to look very mannish. 
 
 Hannah had hardly half finished blacking the
 
 160 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 boots when there came down the back stairs a sup 
 pressed clatter. Fred was carrying the little Harry 
 in his arms. "Where are my boots? oh, ready? 
 well, that was smart ! I'll soon have them on. I 
 must go out, Jack, and see what Mike is doing with 
 the cow ; there's no hurry about you." 
 
 " Jack has got my boots," cried Tom ; " it's just 
 like him ; he always thinks he's as big as I am." 
 
 " I hope we're going to have something good for 
 breakfast, Bridget," said Fred. 
 
 " We didn't have anything fit to eat for supper, 
 last night," said Tom. " I'm as hungry as a bear ! " 
 
 " Where's Arthur? " said Jack. " I am going to 
 pull him out of bed, he's so lazy." 
 
 " You'll take me out to see the cow ? " said Harry ; 
 "don't go without me." 
 
 " Why, you haven't got any boots," said Fred. 
 
 " Take me on your shoulder, Fred, never mind 
 about my boots," said Harry. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Fred, don't let him go without his 
 boots," said Bridget anxiously ; " what will his 
 mother say ? " 
 ''It won't hurt him. It will save hisboots," said Fred. 
 
 Hannah finished the blacking, Tom giving his 
 assistance too. She felt relieved when they were 
 all out of the house, and she was left to lay the 
 breakfast-table in peace. She had a dread of this 
 mob of boys, and she trembled at their voices. 
 She did not meet with them again till she was sent 
 into the dining-room at breakfast-time with some
 
 NEW DUTIES. 161 
 
 * 
 
 hot cakes. Fred had brought his dog in from the 
 barn, and Fido was lying stretched by his side. 
 Hannah did not see the dog, and as she came up to 
 the table, she stumbled over him, letting her plate 
 fall. The dog shook himself and gave a growl. 
 " That's clumsy ! " said one voice. 
 
 "You'll please to let my dog alone," said Fred. 
 
 " I'll thank you for the cakes," said another. 
 
 " Poor fellow, poor Fido ; here's a bone, poor fel 
 low." 
 
 " I wish you'd look where you are stepping," 
 said Mrs. Carlton ; " take the plate back, and bring 
 some fresh cakes." 
 
 " She's a clumsy one," said Tom as Hannah left 
 the room. 
 
 " Well, that dog is always in the way," said Ag 
 nes ; " that's a fact. It is no place for him, in the 
 house ; the next thing, we shall have him on the 
 table." 
 
 Fred took Fido up in his arms, and set him up 
 triumphantly by Agnes's elbow. 
 
 " Put your dog down," said Mr. Carlton ; " Agnes 
 is right ; we have noise enough in the house, with 
 out the dogs beside. 
 
 " Fido is harmless enough." said Fred ; " only if 
 stupid Irish girls will tread on him 
 
 " Hush, she's coming in again," said Arthur. 
 
 " Don't tread on the dog," said Jack. Fido by 
 this time was at the other end of the room, looking 
 out of the window. Jack's remarks were always 
 11
 
 162 STRUGGLE FOR LTFE. 
 
 considered witty by the others, and whenever he 
 spoke, the rest were ready to laugh. So an insult 
 ing suppressed titter greeted Hannah as she came 
 in and went out. 
 
 " Agnes has an extra flourish to her hair," said 
 Jack. 
 
 " She's dressed up," said Tom ; " I wonder what 
 she's going to do so early." 
 
 " I'm going into town," said Agnes; " you needn't 
 wonder long." 
 
 " Will your highness have the pleasure of es 
 corting me in ? " said Fred. 
 
 " I shall go in the early train," said Agnes. 
 
 " Agnes, you are not going off early this morn 
 ing," said Mrs. Carlton ; " } r ou know Miss Simpkins 
 is coming to-morrow about the boys' clothes. I 
 want to be ready for her to-day." 
 
 " If Miss Simpkins is coming about the boys' 
 clothes," said Agnes, " I don't see why you need 
 mo ; I thought she was to do the work." 
 
 "Pray, don't wear Agnes out with working, ma'a," 
 said Fred ; " Agnes has so much to do, she'll be used 
 up." 
 
 " She was so dreadful busy yesterday afternoon," 
 said Tom, " she could not make the bobs to my 
 kite. She wouldn't make half a bob." 
 
 " You ought to have called them Roberts," said 
 Jack, " that would have been more elegant. Agnes 
 likes to be elegant." 
 
 " I know what she was doing," said Tom ; u she 
 was on the sofa all the afternoon, reading."
 
 NEW DUTIES. 163 
 
 " I wish Agues had never learned to read," said 
 Mrs. Carlton. 
 
 "Well, Arthur, what have you to say?" said 
 Agnes, " everybody has something against me all 
 round. It seems to me it's a harmless thing for me 
 to go into town." 
 
 " Perhaps you'll stay," suggested Jack. 
 
 " I'm glad enough to have you go into town," 
 said Fred, " because you may treat me to an ice or 
 something after school." 
 
 " I'm going in with the Lees," said Agnes. 
 
 " I wish you'd tell them to have their names writ, 
 ten on their bonnets," said Fred. " I can't tell the 
 Lees apart. I can tell them without their bonnets. 
 The one that has red hair is Maria." 
 
 " One of them talks so silly and mincing, I can 
 always tell which she is," said Tom. 
 
 " Neither of the Lees has red hair," said Agnes, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " Now I'll appeal to John," said Fred. " Don't 
 one of the Lees have red hair? " 
 
 " It don't make any difference what Jack says," 
 said Agnes. " Maria's hair is a reddish brown." 
 
 " Why, now," said Jack, '' I've been wondering 
 all breakfast time whether that bow on your collar 
 was made out of red ribbon or out of one of the 
 Lee's hair." 
 
 " You are too silly," said Agnes. 
 
 " If you are going into town, Agnes," said Mrs. 
 Carlton, " there's some buttons and sewing silk to
 
 1G4 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 be got, and then I want you to match that plaid. 
 I'll show you before you go in." 
 
 " What are you going to do in town ? " said Mr. 
 Carlton. 
 
 " I think I shall have my daguerreotype taken," 
 said Agnes. 
 
 " I don't like to have you going to daguerreotype 
 rooms with those girls," said Mrs. Carlton. " I wish 
 you'd speak to Agnes, Mr. Carlton. I've sewing 
 enough to keep her at work all day, and Agnes 
 has spent half her time in town since she came 
 home." 
 
 " Why, you've Hannah to sew for you," said 
 Agnes. " That's what she's here for." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; set the new girl to sewing," said 
 Jack. " She knows dog stitch ; I guess she'll know 
 cat stitch." 
 
 " I can't tell about Agnes going into town," said 
 Mr. Carlton. " I've just promised to buy her a 
 season ticket." 
 
 " A season ticket 1 " exclaimed Mrs. Carlton. 
 " Why, she'll be in and out every day. What are 
 you thinking of? " 
 
 " I've been to school steadily the last five years," 
 said Agnes. " I think I might enjoy myself a little 
 while now. The rehearsals begin very soon, and 
 then I must go in regularly. I may as well have 
 the use of my season ticket now." 
 
 " There's a great deal of time wasted at those 
 rehearsals/' said Mrs. Carlton.
 
 NEW DUTIES. 165 
 
 " I mean to patronize the rehearsals this year," 
 said Fred. " Half of the fellows are going, and I 
 intend to invest in some tickets." 
 
 " You can carry up Bertha's breakfast, Agnes," 
 said Mrs. Carlton. " It is time she had it." 
 
 Why don't you send for Hannah ? " said Agnes. 
 " I thought she was to wait upon Bertha. I am 
 sure I haven't time this morning. I am going to 
 call for the Lees, and very likely they will keep 
 me waiting." 
 
 "I begin to pity the new girl," said Tom. 
 " She's to do all the sewing and all the waiting 
 that Agnes don't do." 
 
 " I thought you were going to say that Agnes 
 used to do ! " said Jack. " That wouldn't be 
 much." 
 
 " Here, Fido ! " called Fred, and went out, fol 
 lowed by a train of the boys. 
 
 " Don't stay up in Miss Bertha's room now," said 
 Mrs. Carlton to Hannah, when she was called in. 
 " I want you to clear away the breakfast things 
 when you come down."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 
 
 HANNAH carried her tray slowly up stairs. The 
 little mob of boys were in the entry below, looking 
 after their hats and caps. She fancied they were 
 jeering at her. 
 
 " Somebody's cleared away my cap," cried one. 
 
 " And somebody has taken my hoop-stick," said 
 another. 
 
 " You'd better look in the kitchen fire for it. 
 Some folks are so clumsy and don't know any bet 
 ter," said another, and great laughter followed. 
 
 But the hubbub ceased, and the front door was 
 slammed by the retiring army. 
 
 Hannah rested her tray on the stairs. She was 
 bewildered and indignant. How could she submit 
 to be treated in this way ? And there was nobody 
 to defend her. "Why had not she gone off into 
 Boston the night before? She could not stay 
 another day to be insulted and oppressed this way. 
 She took up her load again and found her way to 
 Bertha's chamber. She opened the door, and \v hat 
 a quiet air she came into, and what a pleasant light !
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 167 
 
 There were white muslin curtains round the win 
 dows and round the bed, and the sunlight came 
 streaming in across the carpet. 
 
 " It is too bad of me to be so indolent," said 
 Bertha, as Hannah entered the room, " and to give 
 everybody such trouble. To think of my having 
 my breakfast in bed ! That must seem quite too 
 luxurious when everybody is working hard in the 
 house. I won't keep you waiting here long. If 
 you will set the tray down, I should like to have 
 you bring me one thing. In the little dressing- 
 room are my flowers. I could not keep them here 
 through the night. Will you bring me the vase 
 from the round table ? They are the flowers Amy 
 brought me yesterday morning. Did you see that 
 she cut one of her own roses for me ? That was 
 like Amy, wasn't it ? But you need not stay 
 longer. I know you are busy down stairs. Per 
 haps when all your work is done you can come in 
 for a little while, to sit with your sewing ; it may 
 rest you." 
 
 Hannah felt rested already as she left the room. 
 The quiet atmosphere, Bertha's beautiful face and 
 gentle tone, the sight of Amy's pet flowers that 
 she had arranged for Bertha, all softened Hannah. 
 She went down stairs, and for a little while their 
 influence lingered with her, in the midst of a wrang 
 ling talk that was going on between Agnes and her 
 mother. 
 
 Mrs. Carlton was very injudicious in her attempts
 
 168 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 at management of Agnes. She unfortunately 
 believed that all reading was folly, and all study a 
 waste of time. She herself never spent her time 
 in anything but sewing from morning till night. 
 Her own mind had always been taken up with the 
 making up of her household linen, with all the 
 details of needlework, and she expected her daugh 
 ters to follow in the same useful track. When 
 Bertha was a child she had instructed her carefully 
 in this branch of fine sewing. She was very much 
 shocked when Bertha went to school and showed a 
 desire to learn something else. 
 
 Bertha pleaded that all the other girls were per 
 mitted to read and study, but Mrs. Carlton sup 
 posed it to be the depravity of the generation, and 
 believed it would grow wiser in time, and learn that 
 its daughters should know only how to make shirts 
 and sheets, and that it was not important they should 
 know anything else. But Bertha, with her industry 
 and her eagerness to keep up in school with the friends 
 of her own age, had been able to gratify her moth 
 er's desires and her own. She managed to make 
 herself a bright, intelligent scholar, and to satisfy 
 her mother's demands at home. She sewed dili 
 gently and steadily, and read and studied as earn 
 estly. She even won her mother's consent to 
 read such useless books as Scott's novels, and the 
 like. Her mother considered it a waste of time, 
 but Bertha was generally so active and busy, she 
 might be permitted to waste a little time. It was
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 169 
 
 not so dangerous for her as for some girls who 
 spent their time in nothing but reading. Bertha 
 did more than this. She was always ready to help 
 the younger children. She spent all her spare time 
 from school with her sewing in the nursery, where 
 the little army of boys were collected, and was at hand 
 to help our their knots and soothe over their little 
 quarrels. She knew how to suggest plays when 
 they were tired of the old ones, or would tell 
 tell them a story while she finished " this piece of 
 work for mamma." Mrs. Caiiton sat there, undis 
 turbed by the tumult around her. She was so 
 taken up with her stitching and her long seams, 
 that her ears seemed to have grown indurated to 
 all noise. The children seldom thought of appeal 
 ing to her. If they did in extreme cases, the most 
 innocent were often the most severely scolded and 
 punished, for she had no time to inquire into the 
 source of the trouble. Bertha was notable to bear 
 this long. She had taken a violent cold, and then 
 a fever followed. She thought slie was well again, 
 and tried to go through all the old duties. But 
 often she was obliged to lean back in her chair, her 
 head weary with the noise round her, and her pale 
 hands folded over her work. At last she was 
 obliged to give up school, and presently, work. It 
 was only within the last year that Mrs. Carlton had 
 begun to see that Bertha was really ill ; that she 
 was coughing badly: that she must not let her sit 
 with the children ; that slip herself must watch to
 
 170 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 see that Bertha did not tire herself. Fred was 
 proud of discoursing with the younger children of 
 those happy days when Bertha was well and used 
 to play with them. Bertha was not like Agnes, to 
 think that boys were only great plagues. Even 
 now Bertha ventured to sit a little while in the 
 play-room, and while she was there the tumult 
 -would be quieted. Tom would refrain from knock 
 ing down Harry's brick house, and Jack fin-1 some 
 thing better to do than upsetting Arthur and all 
 the chairs in the room. 
 
 Mrs. Carlton had met with a great disappoint 
 ment in teaching Agnes. She was not like Bertha. 
 She was gay and wild, without any special fault, 
 but a dislike to be pinned down to tiresome sew 
 ing. She became so unmanageable that, in a fit of 
 despair, Mrs. Carlton sent Agnes off to a boarding- 
 school, a school of which she knew nothing, except 
 that " the Lees " went there. Mrs. Carlton had 
 always professed a dislike to the Lees, as being 
 idle girls, and likely to set Agnes a bad example, 
 but as she had no higher object in sending Agnes 
 away than to throw off the responsibility from 
 herself, it was not inconsistent that she should 
 send her to the first school that offered itself. 
 Bertha regretted it deeply. She wanted Agnes at 
 home. She wanted her to care for and love the 
 boys. Her own illness, her loss of strength, pre 
 vented her from doing all she could do for them, 
 and longed to flo herself. She believed if Agnes
 
 MOTHEE AND DAUGHTERS. 171 
 
 could only grow up a little longer at home, she 
 must learn to love these duties as she herself did; 
 and she saw, on the other hand, that Agnes was 
 growing even more weaned from them. 
 
 Mrs. Carlton regretted that she had not another 
 daughter to bring up to her favorite occupation. 
 The boys, of course, scorned the idea of sitting 
 still for a moment. Only little Arthur, who was 
 more delicate than the others in his organization, 
 and shrank sometimes from their rough plays, con 
 sented to learn a little patchwork. But he was so 
 laughed at by his brothers, who called him a "girl- 
 boy," that Mrs. Carlton had to give him up in 
 despair. 
 
 Now that Agnes had returned, Mrs. Carlton was 
 very capricious and injudicious with her. She 
 held a fresh contest with her every day. She 
 abused every occupation Agnes showed the least 
 interest in. She was quite as loud in reproaching 
 Agnes for waste of time, if by chance she took up a 
 volume of Macaulay's History to read, as if sitting 
 idly at the window. Agnes, in the end, took her 
 own way. She went where she pleased, and stayed 
 out as late as she pleased. She read what she 
 chose, and had no fixed hours for occupation any 
 day. She was a favorite in Langdale. Everybody 
 liked to have her with them on any party of pleas 
 ure, and as she had her own time at her disposal, 
 she never refused any invitation. Agnes was a 
 favorite of her father's, too. He liked to have her
 
 172 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 go in and out of town with him. She picked up 
 gossip and lively stories with which she enter 
 tained him in the evening when he was tired. 
 Mrs. Carlton, through all the warm summer even 
 ings, as well as by the winter fireside, would be 
 sitting occupied with her absorbing work, and it 
 was a resource when Agnes could spare time from 
 her numerous friends of the village, to relate her 
 day's experiences, set off with brilliant coloring 
 and due exaggeration. He liked to have her come 
 in upon him in his office in town. Her handsome, 
 gay face lighted up the dingy room, and put him 
 into a mood to grant whatever she chose to ask 
 him. 
 
 This morning, Mrs. Carlton and Agnes were 
 arguing again the question of her going into town 
 so early. 
 
 " You can be of great help to me," said Mrs. 
 Carlton, " if you stay till the afternoon, and go in 
 then to do my shopping." 
 
 " It's too late now," said Agnes ; " I've put on 
 my bonnet, and it would be a waste of time to 
 take it off again. Besides, I have promised the 
 Lees." 
 
 " What are you going to do with your daguer 
 reotype ? " asked Mrs. Carlton ; " you had two 
 taken last week." 
 
 " It's only a twenty-five cent one," answered 
 Agnes ; " I don't know but I shall give it to 
 Tom Paxton. He wants a gallery of all the
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 173 
 
 Langdale beauties." And with this, Agnes hurried 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. Carlton sank down, astonished. " Well, 
 Mr. Carlton ought to do something about that ; 
 Agnes does go a little too far. This comes of 
 teaching girls, and sending them to school." 
 
 Fred came in to put up his luncheon. He went 
 into town to school. Tom, and Jack, and Arthur 
 went to the school in Langdale. Mrs. Carlton did 
 not think it worth while to teach Harry his letters 
 yet, but she was beginning to think she must send 
 him to school too. He made as much noise as all 
 the rest of the boys put together, when he was left 
 at home. 
 
 There was work for Hannah down stairs. When 
 she was through with it, she was to take her sew 
 ing to the play-room and sit with Harry. Mean 
 while, Harry amused himself in getting into all 
 sorts of mischief. His favorite amusement was 
 sliding down the banisters. Every time Mrs. Carl- 
 ton passed through the entry, she told him warn 
 ing stories of boys who had broken their heads in 
 just such dangerous games. Harry kept on until 
 he was allured by an inviting smell to the kitchen. 
 But Bridget would not suffer him to stay there 
 very long, and he came back as Mrs. Carlton was 
 going into Bertha's room. She took Harry in with 
 her under his promise of keeping perfectly quiet. 
 He was allowed to take in his last new horse, 
 which had been brought to him last night. Its
 
 174 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 tail and one leg were already broken off, so that all 
 zest in playing with it was destroyed, but still it 
 was a worthy object to display to Bertha. Han 
 nah knocked at Bertha's door to tell Mrs. Carlton 
 she had done all she had been told. 
 
 " Have you cleaned the knives, cleared away 
 the breakfast things, swept and dusted the parlor, 
 shaken the mats, etc. ?" Mrs. Carlton asked. " You 
 may stay here then, and do what Bertha needs of 
 you, and then come in to your sewing. Here is 
 the morning half gone, and I have not accom 
 plished anything. If Agnes had not gone into 
 town, she might have shown Hannah about, and 
 left me a little time for my sewing. I don't know 
 how we are ever to get on with the fall work, 
 there are so many interruptions. We shan't do 
 more than be ready for winter when the spring 
 comes."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A DAY AT THE CARLTONS'. 
 
 MRS. CARLTON was fond of pouring out the family 
 troubles into Bertha's ears, and Bertha was very 
 willing to listen. It was all she could do to help 
 on the family wheels, and she was patient too, and 
 very thoughtful in her suggestions. 
 
 Hannah now, under Bertha's directions, set the 
 room in order, putting away all that gave it an in 
 valid air. She brought the flowers to Bertha her 
 self, that she might rearrange them, and then she 
 drew Bertha's couch to the window. This looked 
 out upon the quiet lawn beside the house, and 
 beyond to an outline of distant hills. The autumn 
 sun came in cheerfully through the almost bared 
 branches of an elm that hung across a part of the 
 window. 
 
 This was work that Hannah loved. She would 
 not let a speck of dust rest anywhere, and her 
 touch gave a finished air of neatness to the room. 
 She did it quickly, too, lest she should be suddenly 
 called away before all should be in proper order. 
 
 " Now will you bring me my books ? I will have 
 them on the table by my side," said Bertha.
 
 176 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 " Can you read much, Miss Bertha ? " asked 
 Hannah. 
 
 <l It tires me so that I can read but little," said 
 Bertha, *' but I love these books so much, that it 
 seems like having friends, to see them here near me. 
 And then I read when I am tired of thinking." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Bertha, the time must go very slow 
 when you are so much alone," said Hannah. 
 
 " I have a great deal to think about," said Bertha, 
 " and the sky outside and my flowers to look at. 
 And Amy is here every day and my other friends. 
 You will see I am not so very much alone." Ber 
 tha gave a kindly smile of thanks as Hannah left 
 the room, and said, " My room' has not looked so 
 neat and cheerful this long time." 
 
 Hannah went into the play-room where Mrs. Carl- 
 ton was sewing. Harry had made a train of cars 
 of all the chairs in the room, except the one Mrs. 
 Carlton occupied. A contest arose between Mrs. 
 Carlton and Harry, she insisting that he must give 
 up a seat to Hannah. Harry was the victor. He 
 declared his train was full, and he could not spare 
 a single car, and Hannah was sent into the next 
 room for a chair. But she did not sit long in quiet, 
 her work was constantly interrupted by Harry's 
 demands. He was used to having the other boys 
 to play with him, and he did not know how to 
 amuse himself. Presently the door opened gently, 
 and Amy appeared. 
 
 " I came in a minute to see how you and Hannah
 
 A DAY AT THE CARLTONS'. 177 
 
 are getting on this morning. I can't stop long, I 
 am going in to see Bertha." 
 
 " Everything is dreadfully behindhand," said 
 Mrs. Carlton, " we grow worse and worse every 
 day. It is such a piece of work to get the children 
 off to school, and then they are at home again before 
 I have time to turn round." 
 
 "We are all well at home Hannah," said Amy, 
 " Miss Elspeth was in this morning a little while, 
 and she says they are all well there." 
 
 " How is Mrs. Campbell ? " asked Hannah. 
 
 " She seems better this morning, I am going to 
 take her to drive when I go home," said Amy ; " I 
 have been teaching the children. We all miss you 
 very much." 
 
 " You are very good to teach those children," 
 said Mrs. Carlton, " but, as Miss Dora says, where's 
 the use of so much teaching ? " 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Carltou ; I don't think any of us learn 
 or teach too much ; " said Amy laughing, as she 
 hurried away to Bertha. 
 
 " I don't see where Amy finds time to do so 
 much," said Mrs. Carlton ; " I should think things 
 must go behindhand somewhere in the house. She 
 is so busy with sewing circles and book clubs and 
 those things. The sewing circles are well enough, 
 only anybody might accomplish twice as much sew 
 ing staying at home. All this going out takes up 
 so much time. Now Agnes " 
 
 Mrs. Carlton's speculations were interrupted by 
 12
 
 178 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 a loud bang at the front door. " The boys have 
 come home from school," she sighed. A loud clat 
 ter of heavy boots was heard on the stairs. " The 
 boys have come, the boys have come, I'm so glad," 
 Harry exclaimed as he rushed to the door. " Come 
 along, Harry," said Tom, " we are going to have a 
 great time down in the swamp." 
 
 " Now you are not going to take Harry down 
 there," exclaimed Mrs. Carlton ; " he came in with 
 his feet wet through this morning. His boots are 
 not so thick as yours." 
 
 " You should get him some dumpers then," said 
 Tom, "but we want something to eat." 
 
 - Hannah, you can get the boys some luncheon," 
 said Mrs. Carlton, " if Bridget can find any. I de 
 clare, it seems as if we had just done breakfast. 
 And you'll have to tell Bridget to show you about 
 laying the dinner-table. Now, Harry, you had bet 
 ter stay in." 
 
 But Harry was already half way down stairs. 
 
 The house was not left long in peace. There 
 were constant emissaries back to it. Jack wanted 
 a hammer, that Hannah must find for him. Tom 
 came back for some more luncheon, and Harry 
 was constantly sent through the mud to know 
 what time it was, and then 'Hannah must go 
 in and look at the parlor clock. The dinner went 
 through with turmoil and confusion. Agnes and 
 Mr. Carlton not being there, the boys had the talk 
 all to themselves. They were loud in their vocif-
 
 A DAY AT THE CARLTONS'. 179 
 
 erations of what they would be helped to. Hannah 
 was bewildered by the crossfire of demands made 
 upon her, and any little hesitation or mistake on 
 her part was received with laughter and reproaches. 
 It came out by their talk what was the great work 
 they were all so busy about. They were building 
 a bridge over one part of the swamp. 
 
 " We shall hurry home from school, just as fast 
 as we can," said Tom, " so as to get as much as 
 possible done before Fred comes out to-night." 
 
 " I shall speak to your father about it," said Mrs. 
 Carltou ; " I don't think it's a safe business to be 
 working in the swamp so, and Harry is all mud. 
 You might pay a little consideration to his clothes, 
 if you won't to your own." 
 
 " If Harry is dressed girl-fashion, he had better 
 stay at home like a girl," said Tom. 
 
 " I won't be a girl," said Harry, " and I won't 
 stay at home. I don't care for my clothes." 
 
 " It" will take me all the afternoon to wash him 
 and make him decent," said Mrs. Carlton. 
 
 But the boys hurried through their dinner and 
 were off at school again, and Harry kept out of his 
 mother's way as long as possible, that he might 
 not remind her of his disgraced appearance. Han 
 nah was sent after him, and went through a long 
 struggle with him. Harry imitated his older 
 brothers in their treatment of her. 
 
 " You may take your work into Miss Bertha's 
 room, this afternoon," said Mrs. Carlton ; " that's
 
 180 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 the only place in the house that's quiet, and I 
 want that stitching done to-day." It was quiet as 
 always in Bertha's room. 
 
 " I have had a little visit from Mrs. Paxton, 
 this afternoon/' said Bertha ; " she came to tell me 
 that Eleonora's husband, Mr. Strange, is quite ill 
 in Florence. Poor Nora ! it must be very hard 
 for her, so far away from home." 
 
 " What does Mrs. Paxton say about it ? " asked 
 Mrs. Carlton. 
 
 " I tried to persuade her to go out to Nora," 
 said Bertha, " but she thinks it would be impossi 
 ble for her to get away." 
 
 Mrs. Carlton left the room to find Harry. 
 
 " Miss Nora never has had any trouble before," 
 said Hannah. 
 
 " She has never had much pleasure, either," 
 said Bertha ; " she has, indeed, never known this 
 kind of trouble, with her children, too, to care for." 
 
 " She always seemed so stately," said Hannah, 
 " that I can't think of her being sorrowful." 
 
 " She has never been moved much, either way," 
 said Bertha ; " that will make it harder for her 
 when she comes to suffer." 
 
 " It seemed as if she lived only to have a good 
 time," said Hannah ; " she has always had every 
 thing she wanted when she was at home, and then 
 she went away to travel just where she pleased." 
 
 " Yet you never saw her look very cheerful or 
 happy, Hannah," said Bertha. " I don't know how
 
 A DAY AT THE CARLTONS'. 181 
 
 it has been since she was married, since she went 
 away. She writes home letters filled with de 
 scriptions of beautiful places she has seen, but 
 they are not very happy letters." 
 
 Agnes opened the door at this moment, and put 
 in her head. " I thought I would tell you that 
 I'd got home, and I've had a first-rate time." 
 
 " Oh, come in, come in, Agnes," said Bertha. 
 
 " I've seen a little of everybody," said Agnes, 
 coming in, " and have bought me a new dress. 
 The shops are full of such beautiful things, one 
 wants to buy everything, though I can't think 
 when I shall wear this. Oh, such colored ribbons, 
 Bertha ! " 
 
 "But come here a moment; come nearer to me," 
 said Bertha ; " what is this about the daguerreo 
 type? Mother is quite worried. You don't mean 
 to give it to Tom Paxton, with all the other girls?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ; I just said it," said Agnes ; " I 
 did not even have it taken. There was such a 
 crowd of people at the place, I couldn't wait. I 
 only said it to make a fuss. Mother is worrying 
 so all the time, I thought she might just as well 
 have something to fuss about." 
 
 " Agnes ! why will you do so ? " said Bertha, 
 troubled. 
 
 " Well, because I am Agnes," she answered ; 
 " you know you are here to be the good one, and I 
 may as well vary the subject by being bad." 
 
 The tears came into Bertha's eyes.
 
 182 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " You needn't be troubled," said Agnes ; " I 
 have to fight my battles. I'll try to keep them 
 out or your room, that is all." 
 
 " It would be easy for you to get along without 
 fighting," said Bertha, " it is so easy for you to 
 please people." 
 
 " I should grow tired of clear admiration," said 
 Agnes ; " I like variety, and I don't mind being 
 talked at. I like to have people talk at me and 
 about me," and Agnes gave one of her favorite 
 shakes to her head, and went out of the room. 
 
 Much to Mrs. Carlton's satisfaction, Hannah fin 
 ished the appointed task of stitching, in the midst 
 of her other duties. Mrs. Carlton praised Han 
 nah's powers, and said Miss Elspeth was an excel 
 lent teacher. The boys all came home to a late 
 supper from their labors in the swamp. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Carlton left the tea-table to them, under Han 
 nah's care. Fred pronounced the great work of 
 the bridge to be going on admirably. Agnes came 
 in to hear the account. 
 
 " What's the use of having a bridge into a 
 swamp ? " she asked ; " nobody wants to go there 
 but the turtles and frogs. You boys had rather 
 wet your feet than not." 
 
 " You ought to be grateful, Agnes," said Tom j 
 " girls are always wanting to be getting at flowers 
 in swampy places. Now, you'll only have to cross 
 the bridge." 
 
 " I suppose you've pulled up all the flowers, 
 making it," said Agnes.
 
 A DAY AT THE CARLTONS'. 183 
 
 " Oh ! it's great fun/ 7 exclaimed Harry. 
 
 " I should think so," said Agnes ; " you look as 
 if you had been up to your ears in the mud all 
 day." 
 
 The elder boys were left to study their evening 
 lessons in the dining-room. Hannah assisted in 
 bearing the struggling Harry away to bed. Agnes 
 held a conclave of the Lees at the door. Then 
 she piled up the cushions on the sofa, and after 
 she was comfortably arranged, amused herself by 
 giving her father a lively account of her day's 
 proceedings.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A WEEK. 
 
 THE first day had passed away at her new home. 
 It had seemed very long to Hannah. She was 
 amazed at its close to find herself looking forward 
 with some interest to the coming of another. 
 She was excited by the little details that came 
 along to interrupt its course, and she rose with 
 unexpected alacrity to its new duties. She was 
 not greeted this morning by the shower of boots 
 that had roused her the day before. She went for 
 them herself, and found it hard labor to free them 
 from the mud of their work in the swamp. The 
 duties that followed were very much those of the 
 first day. There was the same rush and hurry of 
 the boys, and noise and confusion while they were 
 in the house. But in these last lingering days of 
 autumn they were occupied out of doors almost all 
 the time they were not at school. They brought 
 in with them great quantities of mud, much to 
 Mrs. Carlton's horror, \vhenever they came in, 
 while Hannah persevered admirably with her sew 
 ing in their absence.
 
 A WEEK. 185 
 
 Bertha was very much alone. It was true that 
 she had many friends who came often to see her, 
 but it was at uncertain hours. Amy was with her 
 a few moments every day. Agnes was very capri 
 cious in her attention to Bertha. Sometimes she 
 seemed to exert herself as much as possible to 
 entertain her. She would sit with her and watch 
 her motions and offer her whatever she needed. 
 No one could be more amusing. than Agnes was at 
 such times, nor more tender in her manners. But 
 she would be gone whole mornings or afternoons, 
 scarcely seeing Bertha for the whole day. Some 
 days, without telling any one her plans for the day, 
 visiting the neighbors, or walking with her friends, 
 lounging away her time in lively thoughtlessness. 
 
 Bertha liked to have the boys come in to see her, 
 and they always behaved gently and thoughtfully 
 while in her room. She showed them her flowers 
 and her pictures. They brought home wonderful 
 specimens of flowers that they had picked pur 
 posely for Bertha, which she always received cor 
 dially, and treasured. 
 
 " How can you keep those weeds to litter up 
 the room ? " Agnes exclaimed. " That sprangling 
 golden rod, and there's a real mullein Jack t has 
 brought in to you." 
 
 " I always liked the golden rod," said Bertha. 
 " You ought to admire its bright color with those 
 purple asters." 
 
 " Why, you can see them all along the roadside." 
 said Agnes.
 
 186 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " You forget," said Bertha, " that I can't see 
 them. You know it is only very rarely, now that 
 the warm days are passing away, that I can go out 
 to see golden rod and asters. I like to have it in 
 the room. It makes me think of the broad fields 
 of it on the edge of the road, bowing in the 
 wind." 
 
 " Well, I should as soon think of caring for the 
 road fence," said Agnes. 
 
 Agnes was fond of throwing off the little labors 
 she should have performed at home upon Hannah. 
 She sent her upon errands, gave her work of all 
 sorts to do, and called upon her continually. Even 
 Mrs. Carlton remonstrated. 
 
 " It wouldn't hurt you, Agnes, to do some of 
 your going up and down stairs yourself. Hannah 
 has enough to be busy about." 
 
 " She's paid to do the work," said Agnes, unfeel 
 ingly, " and I am not. If she thinks the work too 
 hard, she can go." 
 
 The consequence was, that Hannah did have to 
 work very hard. She was called upon by every 
 body for every kind of service, and service that 
 was not requested but demanded. She was sitting 
 one morning with her work in the play-room. The 
 morning's labors had been unusually hard and try 
 ing and she leaned back in her chair a moment, her 
 hands resting upon her sewing. The boys had 
 come home from school, and were all out at play, 
 except Arthur, who stood by the window. He 
 turned round suddenly.
 
 A WEEK. 187 
 
 " Are you tired of sewing?" he asked of Hannah. 
 
 Hannah was surprised at his observing her, and 
 went on with her work. 
 
 " No, I am not tired of sewing. I like to sew." 
 
 " Then I suppose you are tired of running about 
 so up and down stairs." 
 
 " I am used to that," said Hannah. 
 
 " Then you must be tired of being ordered 
 about," said Arthur. " I hate it. That's why I've 
 come in. I don't mind Fred's sending me round, 
 but when it comes to Tom and Jack's ordering me' 
 about, I can't stand it." 
 
 " I don't mind that," said Hannah ; " that does 
 not tire me." 
 
 " What makes you look so tired all the time, 
 then?" 
 
 "Do I look tired?" asked Hannah. "I didn't 
 know it. It does not tire me to work, because I 
 am used to it. I would like to work for some peo 
 ple all day long. I like to work for Miss Bertha 
 because she is so kind ; she is pleased with what I 
 do for her." 
 
 " Other people like what you do," said Arthur. 
 " Fred says you're a trump." 
 
 " I didn't know I ever pleased him," said Han- 
 nah. " He is talking at me all the time." 
 
 " Well, you can't expect him to be praising you 
 up ; that is girls' way," said Arthur. " But it is 
 very easy to know when you've pleased Fred, and 
 then the rest of the boys always think as he 
 does."
 
 188 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 Arthur was already tired of staying in the house, 
 and he left Hannah, a little encouraged that she 
 was beginning to find favor with those autocrats, 
 " the boys." Saturday evening she went to Miss 
 Elspeth's. Through the week, since Monday night, 
 when she left them, she had seen Bessie, Margie, 
 and Martha occasionally, and Amy every day for a 
 few moments. Sunday morning, when Hannah went 
 in with Bertha's breakfast, she lingered to speak 
 with her. She had something to say which she 
 found it hard to express. 
 
 " I don't know as I have any right to think about 
 it, Miss Bertha," she began, "but Miss Elspeth 
 encouraged me to think there was no harm, though 
 it was a little plan I made all myself." 
 
 "What is it?" said Bertha. 
 
 Hannah brought our her plan clumsily. 
 
 " I wished I had time and knew how better to 
 read to you, and then I thought Margie was such 
 a good reader, and she would like to read to you so 
 much. There are so many of your books that you 
 are not well enough to read, Miss Bertha, and Miss 
 Amy has not time either." 
 
 " But Margie has not time," said Bertha. " Did 
 you think of asking her to come to me ? Hannah, 
 I should be afraid Miss Elspeth had enough for her 
 to dp, and Margie is too young to give up her play 
 hours to me." 
 
 " Oh, I spoke to Margie about it last night," said 
 Hannah, " and she was quite glad with pleasure at 
 the thought of coming, and hoped you would let
 
 A WEEK. 189 
 
 her. She is so fond of reading. They say she 
 likes to read one book as well as another. She 
 begged that she might come." 
 
 "And Miss Elspeth?" asked Bertha. 
 
 " Miss Elspeth was much pleased too," said Han 
 nah. " She said the books you would like to hear 
 read would do Margie good. Margie said she 
 would come any day or every day. I told them I 
 thought you were most alone in the early part of 
 the afternoon; that you could not always sleep 
 then." 
 
 " Hannah," said Bertha, " it pleases me to have 
 you so thoughtful of me. It pleases me as much 
 as it will to have Margie come and read to me. 
 And then you have chosen the right time too ! It 
 is the hardest part of the day with me. I grow 
 tired then, and am often alone." 
 
 " Then you will let Margie come?" asked Han 
 nah, eagerly. 
 
 " Very gladly," said Bertha. " She must not 
 come every day, though. We will try every other 
 day. I shall like to have it to look forward to." 
 
 "Then I may tell Margie this morning?" said 
 Hannah. " I shall see her on the way to church. 
 She said she should come and meet mo, she was so 
 anxious to know." 
 
 Hannah went back to the Sunday morning's 
 duties, which were always especially confusing. 
 The boys were always late at breakiayt, and then 
 they were to be dressed for church. In a most
 
 190 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 distracting manner Hannah was called in every 
 direction. At one moment she was expected to 
 carry hot water to Mr. Carlton ; to find a missing 
 shoe of Harry's ; to hunt up Tom's cap, and to set 
 tle a difference between Tom and Jack as to the 
 ownership of the only cap that could be found. 
 There was great shouting up stairs and down. 
 Agnes was secluded a long time in her room, and 
 then came out in magnificent array. She stood in 
 the entry, laughing at the " set " of the boys' Sun 
 day collars. Harry had a violent fit of crying from 
 some unknown cause. Jack upset Arthur, who 
 was already dressed for church. 
 
 " Dear me ! I should think it was Babel instead 
 of Sunday morning," said Mrs. Carlton ; " Agnes, 
 why can't you help somebody, instead of standing 
 there irritating the boys?" 
 
 " I'm only giving them some wholesome advice," 
 said Agnes. 
 
 " Agnes looks like a peacock with its tail spread," 
 said Jack ; " she has on all the colors of the rain 
 bow." 
 
 " I should think she might find my cap," said 
 Tom ; " I can't wear my straw hat to church, the 
 brim is half torn off." 
 
 " Who has lost a cap ? " said Fred, who had been 
 out to inspect the barnyard. 
 
 " It's Tom's cap ; have you found it ? " said Mrs. 
 Carlton, " it is time we started for church." 
 
 '' I can't say it's much of a find," said Fred ; " the
 
 A WEEK. 191 
 
 brown lien lias stolen her nest in somebody's cap. 
 She looks as comfortable in it under the barn stairs 
 as if it were made for her. You will have to do 
 without it. It wont do to disturb her." 
 
 " Under the barn stairs ! what a place for your 
 cap, Tom ! " said Mrs. Carlton. 
 
 "I don't believe it's mine, it's just like Jack to 
 leave his there," said Tom, as he joined the rush to 
 see the brown hen's nest.- 
 
 " I'm so tired by the time I get to church, Sun 
 day mornings," said Mrs. Carlton, " that I don't 
 have strength to listen to the sermon ; I am all in a 
 flutter now. You might have been in Bertha's 
 room the last half hour making yourself useful, 
 Agnes." 
 
 " I don't like to be useful Sundays," said Agnes, 
 setting forth as she saw the Lees passing the door. 
 Hannah had barely time to prepare herself for 
 church. She was in as great a flurry as Mrs. Carl- 
 ton. It rejoiced her to meet Margie and to see her 
 delight when she was told that Bertha was willing 
 she should read to her. 
 
 " What a nice thought it was of yours ! " Margie 
 exclaimed ; " I shall thank you for it to the end of 
 my life ! Bertha is so lovely and so beautiful it will 
 make me happy to be near her." 
 
 Hannah was indeed encouraged to think that she 
 could make a plan that should be so well thought 
 of. It was a new feeling with which she entered 
 church. It gave her an unusual confidence in her-
 
 192 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 self, a consciousness that she was of worth to some 
 body. The remembrance of the little jars of the 
 morning, its disagreements, passed away, and she 
 felt more than ever before the solemnity of the 
 place she had entered. Before, she was often list 
 less and inattentive. To-day Mr. Jasper's words 
 were encouraging to her mood of mind. 
 
 Amy had observed a change in the style of Mr. 
 Jasper's preaching since he went away. He was 
 younger then, but she remembered perfectly how 
 hopefully, with what courage, he spoke, how earn 
 estly he exhorted all to go forward manfully in the 
 battle of life. 
 
 Now she thought he spoke more sadly, at times 
 almost despondingly. Yet no one else seemed to 
 remark this. His preaching was enthusiastically 
 praised. " What an improvement upon old Mr. 
 Peterson," said Agnes to Amy as she came out of 
 church ; " I was really beginning to give up going 
 to church, when Mr. Jasper came back." 
 
 Hannah gladly stayed at home with Bertha in 
 the afternoon. Bertha was not so well this day. 
 She was more languid, but not at all complaining. 
 Her strength varied from day to day. In some 
 warmer days of November she was strong enough 
 to go down stairs, to go out occasionally to drive. 
 
 When she came down stairs, the boys, even the 
 younger ones, were devoted in their attentions to 
 her. 
 
 " It will be fine when you are well enough to 
 come down every day ! " Tom said.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THOSE BOYS! 
 
 THERE was a constant warfare between Agnes 
 and her brothers. Their jarrings and bickerings 
 formed the excitements of each day. There was 
 a little world of tumult seething in the house all 
 the time. Mrs. Carlton went on steadily with her 
 sewing, and the affairs of the house moved along 
 smoothly enough, but only in Bertha's room did 
 there seem to be peace and quiet. This incessant 
 contest affected Hannah's temper too. She became 
 sullen in her obedience, and impertinent in her 
 replies to the boys, and even to Mrs. Carlton. Sh@ 
 was sorry for what she had said often as soon 
 as she had spoken. It was not natural J,o her 
 to yield to any sudden passion. She was slow in 
 her thoughts, and was more wont to brood over any 
 trouble, and heighten it by her mistrust and suspi 
 cion, than to give vent to her feelings. Now she 
 had not time to bury herself in long fits of doubt. 
 One offence quickly followed upon another. 
 
 The faults of a household spread from the higher 
 to the lower members. Agnes's talent for repartee 
 13
 
 194 STKUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 was very attractive to the boys, who were crlad to 
 imitate it. Without any ill-feeling toward Hannah, 
 they were glad to make her their butt, and expend 
 their wit upon her. Bridget had a gift of the 
 tongue too, and the same warfare went on in the 
 kitchen that prevailed in the parlor. What a little 
 world the four walls of each house shut in! The 
 little duties of each day grow magnified till they 
 come to seem great aims. The little differences 
 between one and another are fostered till they grow 
 into weighty strifes. Sickness and suffering are 
 hidden in one place, and where there might be hap 
 piness in another, there is discordance and petty 
 turmoil. One ruling, cheerful spirit might make a 
 sunny home in all ! 
 
 "If Bertha were only well ! " thought those who 
 looked a little into the interior of the Carltons' 
 home. Yet her secluded life had its influence over 
 the turbid waves of the little sea about her. 
 
 Agnes, and her friends the Lees, came in one 
 day, at noon, and heard a great tittering in the 
 parlor. They stopped and looked through the 
 door. There was Jack lounging on the sofa, an old 
 bonnet of Agnes's on the back of his head. The 
 bobs of his kite were strung on each side of his 
 face, and he shook them as though they were fall 
 ing ringlets. He was carrying on a talk, taking off 
 Agnes, with Tom, very much to the amusement of 
 Harry and Arthur, who were rolling on the floor 
 with delight, and to the entertainment of two of
 
 THOSE BOYS. 195 
 
 their boy friends. " I saw such an ecstatic shawl 
 yesterday when I went into town," he went on, 
 " it threw me into supreme delight ! I absolutely 
 fainted, and would you believe it, Tom Paxton? I 
 was carried into Vinton's and they had to throw 
 two pails of ice-cream over me before I recovered ! 
 Fortunately, one was flavored with vanilla, which 
 you know I detest, and that of course roused me. 
 It's a happy thing my nerves are not easily shat 
 tered, or I shouldn't be here now!" 
 
 " That would have heen a dreadful pity," said 
 Tom. Jack ran on in the same strain. 
 
 "Those boys!" exclaimed Agnes. She kept in 
 her laughter and went off to find a great coat of 
 Fred's, which she put on and returned with it into 
 the room where the boys were. She walked in, 
 her hands in her pockets, imitating Jack's indiffer 
 ent manner, and exaggerating it, making detestable 
 puns and creating quite a roar on her side. 
 
 " Well, you're a good-natured piece of elegance," 
 said Jack, shouting and throwing his bonnet on the 
 floor. Mrs. Carlton came in at the noise. 
 
 " I should really like to know if there are young 
 ladies in the midst of all this uproar? Agnes, 
 what are you coming to next?" 
 
 " Do let her have a little fun with us," exclaimed 
 Tom. " It isn't often she'll consent to be amusing 
 to us." 
 
 " I think you are in better business in your 
 swamp," said Mrs. Carlton, " than cluttering up the
 
 196 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 parlor, and making such a hideous noise in the 
 house." 
 
 " That's a fact," said Jack. " Don't let us stay 
 any longer in the house. Agnes, why can't you 
 come and see our bridge?" 
 
 " You can bring along your Lees with you," said 
 Tom. 
 
 " Dance over, my Lady Lee," whispered Jack. 
 
 " I don't care to see your bridge," said Agnes. 
 " I don't want to wet my feet through." 
 
 " Oh, my Lady Elegance has on her new boots,'' 
 said Tom. 
 
 " There's plenty of water in case she should faint 
 at sight of mud," said Jack. 
 
 " Don't say the word mud, or she'll faint now," 
 said Tom, " and the Miss Lees too." And the whole 
 troop went clattering out of the house. 
 
 " I should think you might know better," said 
 Mrs. Carlton, complainingly, " than to encourage 
 those boys. They talk enough as it is ! " 
 
 Agnes and the boys were not always at sword's 
 points. They were very glad to join in the amuse 
 ments that were got up when her friends came to 
 spend the evening with her. They listened with de 
 light to her talk, and were ready to join games and 
 dances. They liked nothing better than these merry 
 evenings, while the next day they would laugh 
 unmercifully at her guests, caricaturing all they 
 had said and done the night before. Even Harry 
 was eager to sit up on such occasions. Many
 
 THOSE BOYS. 197 
 
 times he was rigidly sent to bed, but would appear 
 again at some unexpected door, or start up from 
 behind a chair. 
 
 Mr. Jasper came one day. He had hoped he 
 might see Bertha. But she had not been so well 
 for a few days, and was not down stairs. He found 
 a coterie of Agnes's friends assembled. 
 
 " I was amazed to see you at the rehearsal, the 
 other day," said Agnes. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I be there?" asked Mr. Jasper. 
 " May not I enjoy music as well as any of you 
 young folks ? " 
 
 " Oh, I supposed you were one of the kind that 
 would not enjoy music when there were other 
 people about," said Agnes. " Some people are so 
 disturbed if you say just a word or shake your 
 head while music is going on. I wish they would 
 sit inside of the organ, they could not do anything 
 but hear there." 
 
 " And what else do you want to do? " asked Mr 
 Jasper. 
 
 " Oh, I want to see and to talk a little myself," 
 said Agnes. " It is so tiresome at the rehearsals 
 when they play those long, solemn pieces ; one 
 might as well be at church." 
 
 " And not better ? " asked Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot about you," said Agnes, " and I 
 was not thinking about your church." 
 
 " I had rather you would not think of it as my 
 church," said Mr. Jasper. " I serve in it only."
 
 198 STEUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 " But I like to be lively when I am lively," said 
 Agnes, " and solemn when I'm solemn. Now the 
 sermon last Sunday made me sober, and I liked it." 
 
 " Did you ? " said Mr. Jasper. " You gave me 
 a whole half hour, or nearly that 1 I thank you for 
 the present." 
 
 " I don't see that it was much of a present," said 
 Agnes. " Half hours are cheap. I am glad to be 
 rid of them sometimes." 
 
 " I was grateful for your attention," said Mr. 
 Jasper. " Do you give that often ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? I attend to what I'm 
 about," said Agnes. 
 
 " What are you about ? " asked Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " It ought to be something very useful if I'm 
 talking with you, I suppose," replied Agnes. "Ev 
 erybody wants to set me to work. Will you join 
 the crusade ? What will you have me give my 
 attention to beside your sermons ? " 
 
 " Miss Sally More was calling at the Fays, when 
 I met you there yesterday," said Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " Yes ; how she did look ! " said Agnes. 
 
 " I saw you were studying her," said Mr. Jas 
 per. " I dare say you could tell me just how she 
 was dressed." 
 
 " Oh, I meant to tell it all to the girls here," 
 said Agnes. " It was a plum-colored silk ; a real 
 old-fashioned plum-color. I had half a mind to 
 bring out some of the Fays' plums to see if they 
 would not match. Then she had an immense
 
 THOSE BOYS. 199 
 
 parasol of a changeable green. There was a broad 
 yellow ribbon on her bonnet, and pink roses 
 inside, and a red scarf round her neck." 
 
 " That will do," said Mr. Jasper. " I did not 
 intend to call out that sort of picture. I wanted 
 to see what kind of attention you were paying to 
 poor Miss Sally. Now,. Amy Rothsay would have 
 picked out something worthy from her ; would 
 have told me the story Miss Sally was telling." 
 
 " Oh, that is your moral," . exclaimed Agnes. 
 " There's always some such thorn concealed in 
 what you say. Sometimes I have a very lively 
 talk with you, and after I am at home and think it 
 over, I find there was a dagger hidden." 
 
 " That is wrong of me," said, Mr. Jasper. " I 
 ought not to wound any one's conscience even, so 
 long as it is alive." 
 
 "Amy Rothsay is a bit of perfection," said Agnes. 
 " It is useless to hold her up as an example." 
 
 " What do you mean by a bit of perfection ? " 
 asked Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " I suppose I mean that there's a large lump of 
 perfection somewhere, and she's a bit broken off 
 from it," said Agnes. 
 
 " That is not saying enough," said Mr. Jasper. 
 " The artists, you know, talk about a little ' bit ' of 
 a landscape, meaning a pretty piece of tree and 
 sky, that they can take out from the rest and frame 
 by itself. Now Amy is just such a bit. She 
 would bear to be put in a frame by herself and 
 make a complete picture."
 
 200 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " You go as far in praising as you do in finding 
 fault," said Agnes. " The rest of us here are not 
 worth framing, I suppose." 
 
 " A little piece of nature would always be worth 
 that," said Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " Now, I'm tired of talking that way," said 
 Agnes. " Won't you talk about the weather ? It 
 has been very entertaining lately." 
 
 " Is there no hope of my seeing Miss Bertha this 
 week ? " asked Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " I can't tell," said Agnes, " she varies so much. 
 Some days she is much better, and then she is 
 worse again. I wish she could have gone away. 
 We wanted to send her with an aunt who was 
 going to Havana, but Bertha thought she was not 
 strong enough to go." 
 
 " It is your gain ; I hope it is not her loss," said 
 Mr. Jasper. " But you can do much to make her 
 winter comfortable and not harmful." 
 
 " I can't do much," said Agnes. " It is not my 
 way. I like to do as I feel. I can't keep my 
 strings stretched all the time." 
 
 " Your ^Eolian harps that only wait for the wind 
 are soon out of tune," said Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " I hope it isn't use that's to keep me in tune," 
 said Agnes. " I know I am jangling half the time." 
 
 " Do you know," said one of the Lees, after Mr. 
 Jasper had left, " they say Mr. Jasper wanted to 
 marry your sister Bertha when he went away ? " 
 
 " I never heard that," said Agnes.
 
 THOSE BOYS. 201 
 
 " Well, people wouldn't talk to you about it," 
 said Maria, " and you were so young then you 
 couldn't tell." 
 
 " I remember," said Agnes, " thinking he was 
 here a great deal. He used to be very lively and 
 full of fun." 
 
 " Mr. Jasper don't object to fun now," said 
 Maria. 
 
 " Well, let us go on with what we were about," 
 said Agnes. " Mr. Jasper's coming has quite put 
 it out of my head." 
 
 "You were telling about what Tom Paxton said," 
 said one of the Lees. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; how he thought he could persuade 
 his mother to let us have their house for the theat 
 ricals. You know the handsome large parlors 
 would be fine." 
 
 " But Mrs. Paxton would never consent to hav 
 ing them upturned." 
 
 " Oh, Tom can do what he pleases, you know," 
 said Agnes. 
 
 " All those things would have to be moved out," 
 said one of the Lees. 
 
 " And Mr. Strange is very sick too now," said 
 another. 
 
 " You needn't raise objections," said Agnes, 
 " Tom Paxton can arrange it all. He has had the 
 furniture moved about in the parldr two or three 
 times since he came home. But we must not make 
 much talk about it, or it can't be done."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 MAKGIE proved a very valuable reader to Bertha. 
 She enjoyed the reading so much herself that she 
 was never willing to allow anything to interfere 
 with her afternoons in Bertha's room. She had a 
 romantic admiration for Bertha. It was a pleasure 
 merely to sit and watch her motions, and a greater 
 pleasure to perform any service for her. She 
 admired the exquisite air of everything in the 
 room, the delicate perfume of the flowers there, 
 the beautiful engravings, too, of which Bertha had 
 much to tell her, the absolute neatness of every 
 thing, the whiteness of the curtains, and the unin 
 terrupted sky view that came in at the windows. 
 And Bertha always chose for her the pleasantest 
 books. They were always such inviting looking 
 books, too, the paper white and clean. She was 
 willing Margie should lead her poetry, and such 
 poetry that they could talk about afterward, that 
 Margie had never read, and that lingered long in 
 Margie's mind with all her other beautiful associa 
 tions with Bertha. Yet Bertha was not willing
 
 TWILIGHT. 203 
 
 that Margie should dwell upon these alone, though 
 she would gladly have read nothing else. She 
 made her read gay, merry books, and others that 
 were very serious. 
 
 " Oh, the winter afternoons are so short," Margie 
 exclaimed, as she went home one day ; " we have 
 such a short time in them for reading, now-a-days." 
 
 Margie said this as she went into the parlor at 
 Miss Elspeth's. Miss Elspeth and MissJDora were 
 sitting in the twilight by the fire, with Bessie and 
 Martha, only the fire lighting up the room. 
 
 " But you went this afternoon to the Carltons as 
 soon as dinner was done," said Bessie. 
 
 " Yet it became dark very quickly," said Margie, 
 " and Bertha actually sent me away. I did not 
 like to come, she looked so beautifully. The light 
 of the sunset came streaming into the room over 
 her couch, and the flowers, and her beautiful face 
 too." 
 
 " Did you give Bertha your rose ? " asked Miss 
 Elspeth. 
 
 " Yes, but she had such lovely flowers to-day," 
 said Margie. " Everybody sends her what is most 
 exquisite and rare. There was one flower that I 
 thought looked so much like her. It was shaped 
 like the white water-lily, but instead of the pure 
 white petals, they were pure blue. I can't tell 
 you the color of the blue, it was like the blue of 
 the sky when there are a great many white clouds 
 in it. Agnes provoked me by saying it was French 
 blue."
 
 204 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " The color of forget-me-nots," said Bessie. 
 
 " But the most beautiful part was the inside ; 
 the yellow stamens were each tipped with this 
 same delicate blue, and it was all cut so beauti 
 fully. I always thought the white water-lily was 
 the most lovely flower in the world, but this, oh ! 
 this, was like Bertha." 
 
 " How you do talk, Margie ! " said Miss Dora ; 
 "your tongue starts when you read to Bertha 
 Carlton, and then you keep on." 
 
 " We had a talk this afternoon," said Margie, 
 " about books, and imagination, and all those 
 things. I said I did not see as there was any 
 more harm in being occupied with my own imagi 
 nation, and being taken up by it, than in reading 
 stories that other people have written." 
 " " What did Bertha say ? " said Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " She said it was a more selfish occupation," 
 said Margie, " because other people were inter 
 ested, too, in the books we read, but that we 
 did not share the pleasure we had in our own 
 thoughts. She said she had so many hours to her 
 self, that there was great danger she should forget 
 the people round her, and forget to sympathize 
 with them, and care what happened to them. She 
 need never be afraid of that. She shows more 
 interest in everybody than I do, walking round 
 with them every day." 
 
 " There's some sense in reading stories to Bertha 
 Carlton," said Miss Dora ; " I don't see as she can
 
 TWILIGHT. 205 
 
 do much else now, and Margie does as much work 
 as when she was not away three afternoons in a 
 week." 
 
 " It is a great privilege for Margie to be with 
 Bertha Carlton," said Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " Are we not going to have the candles? " asked 
 Miss Dora. 
 
 " Oh, don't let us have them yet," said Bessie ; 
 "it is so much pleasanter talking by this light. 
 Margie never talks so much. She sits looking into 
 the coals, and forgets we are here. Do go on 
 about Bertha." 
 
 " I wish I could draw and paint," said Margie ; 
 " I could make such a beautiful picture of Bertha ; 
 oh ! I think I could. Words always seem very 
 clumsy to say what I want to, and I do like color 
 so much. She looks so thoughtful always, and not 
 joyful, as Amy Rothsay does." 
 
 " Did you see Hannah ? " asked Miss Dora. 
 
 " Only for a few minutes," said Margie ; " I have 
 not talked with her lately. She used to sit in the 
 room regularly, but Mrs. Carlton and Agnes find 
 so much for her to do, it is too bad." 
 
 " Let me take your stocking and set the heel," 
 said Bessie, seeing Miss Dora troubled at an intri 
 cate part of her knitting." 
 
 " I can see well enough," said Miss Dora, " only 
 I think it's time to have the candles. I don't 
 know what's the matter with my spectacles, 
 they don't suit me as well as they used to."
 
 206 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " I'll get the candles," said Martha ; " this talk 
 ing by firelight is very pleasant, but then there 
 are my French exercises." 
 
 " And, oh dear ! I have some work to finish 
 too," said Bessie. 
 
 At the same hour, at the Rothsays' house, Amy 
 was sitting by the firelight, in the parlor. She 
 was waiting her father's return from town. Mr. 
 Jasper came in. 
 
 " I have been in to talk with Mrs. Campbell," he 
 said, " and now I want to have a little talk with 
 you." 
 
 He drew a comfortable chair to the fireside, and 
 sat awhile, thinking. " I want to ask you to do 
 something for me," said he, at last ; " I want very 
 much to see Bertha. Will you ask her if she will 
 see me ? " 
 
 " I think she will be glad to," said Amy ; " some 
 days she seems very well, and I think nothing is 
 better for her than to see her friends." 
 
 " I have spoken to Agnes about it, but I had 
 rather you would ask Bertha," said Mr. Jasper; 
 " I think she may not wish it." 
 
 " But she has seen a great many of her friends," 
 said Amy ; " Annie Lane came the other day pur 
 posely to see her, and papa has seen her once or 
 twice, and Frank." 
 
 " Do you remember that spring when Bertha 
 was first ill ? " asked Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Amy, ' and the violent attack
 
 TWILIGHT. 207 
 
 upon her lungs. She told me about it herself. 
 I never shall forget that time, it came upon 
 me with a shock. She told me all the doctor 
 said." 
 
 " She was better a little while after," said Mr. 
 Jasper. . 
 
 " Yes, very much better," said Amy, " and I felt 
 very much encouraged, and tried to forget it 
 all, to forget that the doctor had said she might 
 never be well. And we had together some pleas 
 ant spring drives, and some walks too." 
 
 " And do you remember," said Mr. Jasper, "the 
 place we used to walk to, not far away, on the bank 
 of the stream, where there is a willow that bends 
 over and dips into the water ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Amy ; " it is beautiful still 
 just where the stream winds round the point." 
 
 " I have never been there since that time," said 
 Mr. Jasper. " I went one warm spring day, Ber 
 tha thought she could walk as far. We found the 
 first anemones that day. Frank, your brother 
 Frank, said he would meet us at the turn of the 
 road, and would drive Bertha home. So we kept 
 on as far as the stream. It was there, beneath 
 the willow, that I told Bertha what she knew 
 before, that I loved her, that I wanted her to 
 marry me." 
 
 " And Bertha ? " asked Amy. 
 
 " She could not marry me," said Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " She thought she should not live long, was it
 
 208 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 so ? " said Amy, after a pause. " I remember we 
 talked of that often, or rather it was Bertha who 
 talked to me of it. She was told she might live a 
 few years longer, with great care, but that perhaps 
 she might not live the summer through. I could 
 not bear to think of it, scarcely to hear her speak 
 of it. But I know it was in her mind constantly, 
 and that she was quietly preparing herself for it." 
 
 Mr. Jasper walked up and down the room, and 
 said at last, " I would not like to give her pain. I 
 would not like to excite her with thoughts that 
 would harass her. If, indeed, she has her face 
 fixed toward heaven, I would not like to call her 
 back again to earth. And yet, I long to see her. 
 No weary prisoner ever longed to see the light 
 again as I have longed to see Bertha's face once 
 more. It used to give me strength and hopeful 
 ness, and when it was shut out from me, it left me 
 dispirited, in the dark. God forgive me if it is a 
 selfish wish, if I forget what she may suffer in 
 thinking of all that I shall gain in seeing her 
 once more." 
 
 " Bertha will tell me truly," said Amy, after a 
 while ; " if she thinks it is beyond her strength, 
 she will tell me so. But I do not think she is so 
 easily excited as I have sometimes feared she 
 would be. One great thought fills her mind, and 
 everything else is swayed by that. Oh, I would 
 like to have yo'u see her. I. know it would bring 
 you peace."
 
 TWILIGHT. 209 
 
 " More than five years I have been away from 
 her," said Mr. Jasper, " and yet her image has 
 been closely near me. I have almost fancied every 
 day it might be her spirit, and that I should hear 
 it had been freed, and so was able to come and 
 keep me from being alone." 
 
 Mr. Jasper bade Amy good-night suddenly, and 
 went away. Amy sank back again into thought. 
 " Then Mr. Jasper banished himself from here," 
 she thought, " and these last few years have made 
 a separation between him and Bertha. How little 
 while it seems since they were both here, and 
 in this very room George sat too. How much 
 more hopeful is my separation from him, more 
 hopeful as far as this world is concerned. And 
 did Bertha love Mr. Jasper? He influenced her 
 most powerfully, that she has often acknowledged 
 to me ; and I know that with her it would be pos 
 sible to keep such a love quite hidden in her 
 heart. But yet, would she let him go awa} r from 
 her ? What reason could she have that would be 
 powerful enough? And how much she must have 
 suffered if it were so ! She is far more heavenly 
 minded than I am. I am thinking so intently of 
 my future happiness here, and she has built hers 
 in another world." 
 
 It was not often that Amy was allowed the quiet 
 time for a reverie by the fireside, and now her 
 thoughts were interrupted. The little Campbells 
 broke into the room. 
 14
 
 210 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " Cousin Amy, Katie has let us have tea in the 
 
 kitchen, it was so late." 
 
 ' And what do you think we had for supper ? " 
 " May we sit in your lap and tell you. all we 
 
 had for supper ? "
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 BERTHA'S ROOM. 
 
 THE first snow came and fell heavily on the 
 ground. It interrupted the labors of the boys ; 
 and Mrs. Carlton expressed loudly her pleasure at 
 this, as the very day before she had been thrown 
 into alarm by an accident that befell Harry. Ar 
 thur came hurrying into the house, crying out for 
 somebody's help, saying that Harry was lost in the 
 swamp. Hannah was the first to hasten to the 
 scene of trouble. She went out through the yard 
 and the meadow, behind the house, to the skirt of 
 the wood, along which a broad space of swampy 
 ground stretched. It was here the boys were 
 working upon their bridge. Harry had been 
 amusing himself in a favorite sport of jumping 
 from one little tuft of grass to another, till he had 
 lost his footing, and suddenly cried out to the boys 
 that he was sinking in the mud. Hannah found 
 that Jack had gone to rescue him, but was in 
 trouble himself. He had lost his own boot in his 
 efforts, and seemed uncertain whether to devote 
 himself to rescuing that or Harry. Tom was try-
 
 212 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 ing to encourage Harry, who was screaming 
 loudly. Hannah looked round to see how she 
 might bo of service. She brought from the wood 
 a strong branch of a tree, and at length, with Tom 
 and Jack's help, she succeeded in drawing Harry 
 out of his perilous position. He was wet through, 
 however, and shivering with cold. By the time 
 that they were turned back towards the house 
 they met a party of men, whom Arthur's entreaties 
 and representations had brought down to Harry's 
 help. Mrs. Carlton was at the door to receive 
 them. 
 
 " I expected no more than this," she exclaimed. 
 " I only wonder it has not happened before. Harry 
 will be sick a week after it, and that suit of clothes 
 is entirely ruined. Tom and Jack are not fit to 
 be trusted with the care of Harry." 
 
 " There wasn't anything the matter to make 
 such a fuss about," said Tom. " "We should have 
 got Harry out in time, only Arthur is always 
 frightened the first thing. He wants to run into 
 the house if a leaf rustles." 
 
 "And where's Jack?" said Mrs. Carlton. "In 
 more mischief? " 
 
 " He's fishing out his boot," said Tom. " One 
 of the men is helping him." 
 
 " Tell him to come directly into the house," said 
 Mrs. Carlton. " I am going to speak to Mr. Carl- 
 ton to-day and tell him to put an end to all this 
 working in the swamp. It ruins the carpets, all
 
 BEBTHA'S ROOM. 213 
 
 the mud that is brought into the house ! It might 
 have been the death of Harry, and it's impossible 
 to keep his clothes decent, or any of you fit to be 
 seen." 
 
 The snow came to assist Mrs. Carlton in her 
 determination. It began to fall towards night, and 
 the next morning lay thickly piled upon the 
 ground. The boys were up as early as Hannah, 
 full of excitement. 
 
 " We are going to help you this morning," they 
 exclaimed. " We'll clear your steps for you. 
 Fred is going to find our snow shovels ; he knows 
 where they are." 
 
 Harry, too, was eager to bear his part, and 
 begged the kitchen shovel of Bridget. 
 
 Agnes groaned that the snow should make the 
 walking so bad, and hoped Tom Paxton would get 
 up a sleigh-ride. She went into Bertha's room for 
 consolation. 
 
 " I declare, you look cosy here," she exclaimed. 
 " Your little crackling fire sounds comfortably. 
 And how pretty the snow-wreaths round the win 
 dow are. You always man ige to mike the cham 
 ber bright and cheerful." 
 
 " Hannah, here, does it all," said Bertha. " Sho 
 knows how to give a ' touch ' to a room." 
 
 " I wish she would give a touch to mine a little 
 oftener," said Agnes. " And before you begin 
 dusting the shelves, Hannah, suppose you take 
 those books out of the easy chair and draw it up
 
 214 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 to the fire. I may as well sit comfortably while I 
 am here. I have not told you about the party at 
 the Fays' last night, Bertha." 
 
 " Was everybody there?" asked Bertha. 
 
 " Almost everybody. We had rather a slow 
 time, on the whole," said Agnes. " I had a long 
 talk with Mr. Jasper, as usual. They tried to get 
 up a dance, but it did not succeed very well." 
 
 u I suppose Amy went? " said Bertha. 
 
 " Yes, Amy was there. She wore her new 
 dress," said Agnes. " They say it's quite certain 
 George Arnold comes home in the spring, and I 
 suppose Amy will be married then. Does she 
 ever talk to you about it? " 
 
 " Not much," said Bertha. " I think Amy feels 
 very happily about it. She thinks it is best for 
 George to be away." 
 
 " I think it is quite useless to be so virtuous," 
 said Agnes. "It would have been a great deal 
 pleasanter to have had George Arnold here, among 
 us all. He was before my time, but I remember 
 those funny sketches he used to draw. I don't 
 believe there's anybody half so entertaining now. 
 Frank Rothsay has grown stiff, and studies so 
 hard, one can't get a word out of him." 
 
 " I thought Frank seemed as full of fnn as ever, 
 when I saw him the other day," said Bertha. 
 
 " He can be as amusing as anybody," said Ag 
 nes. " Now, Thanksgiving night it was a perfect 
 refreshment to have him come in here. That, to
 
 BERTHA'S ROOM. 215 
 
 be sure, was by way of contrast, after the stupid 
 time we had been having. It is the stupidest day 
 in the whole year, one grows so tired of one's 
 relations." 
 
 " That's ungrateful, when you are the favorite 
 of the family," said Bertha. 
 
 " Oh, well, I like them all separately, but they 
 are tiresome to take them in a lump, and all day 
 long too ! I'm afraid our plan of theatricals is to 
 fall through ! " 
 
 " You were very sanguine about it yesterday," 
 said Bertha. 
 
 " I know it," said Bertha, " but last night Tom 
 Paxton told me he was afraid he should not bring 
 his mother to consent to it. He has been talking 
 to her about it." 
 
 " I don't wonder," said Bertha, " that she should 
 be unwilling to have them in her house, when she 
 is feeling so anxiously about Mrs. Strange." 
 
 " She don't feel anxious enough to care to go 
 abroad and see her," replied Agnes. " She might at 
 least consent to have a little fun going on. The 
 Lees thought they might have them in their house, 
 though Mrs. Lee don't like the trouble. And Tom 
 Paxton says he don't care to have them if they are 
 not at his house and if I don't take a part." 
 
 "Have you decided not to take a part?" said 
 Bertha, surprised. 
 
 " I never meant to," said Agnes, " though I did 
 not say much about it for fear they would give it
 
 216 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 up, and I like the amusement of getting them up. 
 But do think what a world of trouble it would be ! 
 How many pages I should have to learn ! It 
 would be as bad as school-days, because I did not 
 care if I missed then ; now, it would be rather dis 
 agreeable to forget one's part before all Langdale." 
 
 " You are consistent," said Bertha, laughing. 
 " You are not willing to put yourself out, or take 
 any trouble about the theatricals, even." 
 
 " I meant to put all the trouble off on the other 
 girls," said Agnes. " They were to make the cur 
 tains and the dresses and all that." 
 
 " It is a habit you have," said Bertha. " If you 
 had been willing to work in the school-days, it 
 would not come hard to work now." 
 
 " But where's the use," said Agnes, beginning to 
 walk up and down the room ; " lately I have had a 
 great many talks with Mr. Jasper. I talk to him 
 just as I do to other people, whatever happens to 
 come uppermost ; and I do believe he likes it. I 
 think he is interested in talking to me. Yet he is 
 always stumbling against some one or other of my 
 faults, and showing it off to me. I wish there was 
 such a thing as being liked in spite of one's faults." 
 
 " Oh, there is," said Bertha ; " nobody is perfect, 
 and so we love our friends, whatever their faults 
 are ; the more deeply, the more anxious their 
 faults make us." 
 
 " That is not what I mean," said Agnes, im 
 patiently ; " angelic people can do all that. I sup-
 
 BERTHA'S ROOM. 217 
 
 pose patience is one of their virtues. I don't 
 know anything about that. I never was patient. 
 But I was thinking about Mr. Jasper. I tell you I 
 think he likes me. But I do shock him very often, 
 and I know my faults stand in the way of his 
 liking me any better. He would like to do me 
 some good ; that is his vocation, and he likes me 
 out of the hope he has that I shall be better some 
 day. I don't care for that. I want to be liked all 
 for myself, because I am what I am and no other. 
 I want to be loved with all my faults heaped on 
 me!" 
 
 " There is only one friend loves that way ; only 
 one," said Bertha, seriously. 
 
 Agnes turned and looked at Bertha, whose eyes 
 were fixed upon the clear view that stretched 
 beyond the window. 
 
 " You can say that," said Agnes, " because you 
 have left all earthly feelings behind. You are 
 more spiritual than I. I cannot understand what 
 you mean." 
 
 A deep color came into Bertha's cheeks. " It 
 shows how little you know me," she said, " to say 
 that of me. I needed this long quiet preparation 
 for the new home that waits me ; I needed it, be 
 cause I was so cumbered with the weight of many 
 things here. God gives us the discipline we need. 
 He will give you the friend you ask, or be to you 
 the better friend himself." 
 
 " I ought often to ask you to speak to me this
 
 218 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 way," said Agnes. " You look inspired just now, 
 Bertha, like some pre-Raphaelite picture, as Mr. 
 Jasper would say." 
 
 " He never spoke so of me/' said Bertha, quickly. 
 
 " Oh no ; he speaks seldom of you/' said Agnes. 
 ' When he does, it is with a sort of reverence. I 
 have never told you that he wants to see you some 
 day, some day when you feel really well." 
 
 " He would like to see me/' repeated Bertha. 
 " Are you very sure that he wanted to see me. 
 Perhaps he suggested it from kindness." 
 
 " Oh no ; I think he was quite earnest about it," 
 said Agnes. 
 
 " You should have told me some of those days 
 that I was down stairs," said Bertha. '' Now the 
 winter is come, I may not go down again. Don't 
 give him an answer yet. I must think about it. 
 If I feel strong enough I should like to see Mr. 
 Jasper again." 
 
 " Oh well, don't trouble yourself about it," said 
 Agnes. " Perhaps I shan't see him to-day. I 
 have half a mind to go into town this morning. 
 If I can only reach the station through the snow, I 
 shall find the sidewalks cleared in town." 
 
 " What would you do there?" asked Bertha. 
 
 " Oh, a world of things, beginning with noth 
 ing," said Agnes. " If we are to give up the the 
 atricals, I must put something else into my head to 
 think about." 
 
 Bertha leaped back upon her cushions as Agnes
 
 BERTHA'S KOOM. 219 
 
 wont away. Hannah was still in the room. Mrs. 
 Carlton had given her some sewing to occupy her 
 there through the morning. Hannah thought Ber 
 tha looked tired by her talk with Agnes. She 
 closed her eyes, but the lids were pained and dis 
 turbed. Later in the day Hannah was in the room 
 again. 
 
 " I wanted to speak to you," she said to Bertha, 
 " about what Miss Agnes said this morning. You 
 looked tired after she went out, and I thought I 
 would not say more then, but oh, I do wish people 
 would not trouble us so with our faults." 
 
 " Very often,' 1 said Bertha, smiling, u our friends, 
 our elder friends, may say too much about them. 
 They ought to consider to whom they are speak 
 ing. Some people are already very sensitive to 
 their faults. But Mr. Jasper, perhaps, thinks that 
 Agnes does not think often enough of hers." 
 
 " I was not thinking of Miss Agnes," said Han 
 nah. " I was thinking of myself. I work so much 
 easier when people are encouraging and tell me 
 often that I am right, than when they find out all I 
 have done wrong. You never talk to me about 
 my faults, nor Miss Amy. and yet I know very well 
 when I don't do your work right ; but you always 
 see whatever I do that is good." 
 
 " Poor Hannah," said Bertha, " I am afraid you 
 hear too much fault-finding in the house ! The 
 boys are very thoughtless and careless. I have
 
 STKUGGLE FOIl LIFE. 
 
 spoken to Fred about it some times. I think you 
 are very patient with them." 
 
 " I am beginning to be used to the boys," said 
 Hannah, " and they are so merry always. I wish 
 I could please Miss Agnes and Mrs. Carlton 
 oftener." >>
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CONTEST AND PEACE. 
 
 THE winter passed on. The new year had come. 
 The constant snow had made it very gay in Lang- 
 dale. There had been a succession of sleighing 
 parties and other entertainments. The boys were 
 especially happy, particularly when Agnes and all 
 her friends had patronized the skating on wthe 
 meadow. Fred, and Tom, and Jack were devoted 
 in their gallantry to Agnes, the Lees, and the 
 Fays. The private theatricals had taken place, 
 after all, at the Lees'. Agnes had made all the 
 others work in the arrangements for them, while 
 she sat by, without taking to herself any share of 
 the trouble. She only offered her taste, and gave 
 the rest her suggestions. She ridiculed all the 
 plays they proposed acting, and finally selected 
 one herself. All the parts were given out under 
 her dictation, and at the last she took one of the 
 minor parts herself, where she did not have to say 
 many words, but made a brilliant appearance. 
 
 " It was the best part of the whole play," Torn 
 Paxton declared afterward to Agnes.
 
 222 STEUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " Oh, I didn't want to take any other," said 
 Agnes ; " I don't care about personating one of 
 your slow heroines. Indeed, I think the whole 
 thing is a humbug. I had rather go into the 
 Boston Theatre, any night." 
 
 Agnes was a favorite on these occasions, though 
 she always threw all labor and responsibility away 
 from herself. She was a favorite, because she was 
 never out of spirits. She was very fastidious and 
 selfish in taking to herself whatever she fancied, 
 but the Lees and the others admired her exceed 
 ingly, and were willing to submit to all her whims. 
 
 " Do you observe," said Fred to Tom, " that at 
 whatever angle Agnes tips her bonnet on the back 
 of her head, the Lees have an exact measurement 
 of it, and wear theirs in precisely the same slant?" 
 
 " Do you observe," retorted Agnes, " that in 
 whatever slang Fred indulges himself, it is copied 
 exactly by his train of Tom and Jack, to say noth 
 ing of Dick and Harry? If he would only set a 
 respectable example. But his talk is enough to 
 kill one!" 
 
 "Why is Fred like David?" says Jack. " Give it 
 up? Because one kills with his slang, and the 
 other with his sling." 
 
 " Jack, you grow worse and worse every day," 
 exclaimed Agnes ; " I wish the institutior of put 
 ting boys in barrels prevailed." 
 
 " Ho ! we are so useful you would have to take 
 us out every day," said Tom.
 
 CONTEST AND PEACE. 223 
 
 " Who would you send on your errands?" said 
 Jack. 
 
 "Who would bring you out of town after dark?" 
 said Fred. 
 
 " Who would carry your bundles," said Tom. 
 
 " Who would you scold round generally ? " said 
 Jack. 
 
 " And what a fermentation there'd be in the bar 
 rels," said Tom. 
 
 Agnes came home from the post-office one day. 
 " Here's a letter for Hannah," she exclaimed, as 
 she entered the house. " Hannah has a corre 
 spondent. Where is Hannah ? Such beautiful 
 writing on the letter ! Your friend, Hannah, is so 
 clear about his or her spelling. ' Care of Mrs. 
 Jon Carlton.' That's the new phonographic style. 
 I think I will take lessons, it must save trouble." 
 
 Hannah took her letter, wondering who could 
 write to her. It was from Janet, who wrote to 
 tell of her happy life in New York. Janet had 
 not so much command of her pen as her tongue, 
 and she was not able to fill quite one page, but 
 she wanted to assure Hannah that she had not 
 forgotten her. 
 
 " How I should like to see the inside of that 
 letter," said Agnes, waiting till Hannah should 
 finish reading it ; " if it equals its appearance out 
 side, it must be a treasure. I hope your friend 
 writes often." 
 
 " You never had the patience to write a whole
 
 224 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 letter," said Fred, who overheard what Agnes was 
 saying ; " if you did, nobody would have the pa 
 tience to read it. Why can't you let Hannah read 
 her letter in peace?" 
 
 " I expecte,d some thanks for bringing it all the 
 way from the post-office," said Agnes. 
 
 Hannah had lately thrust Janet out of her mind. 
 She was beginning to grow ashamed of her inter 
 course with her, and of the influence which Janet 
 had really possessed over her. She was hoping 
 she .should not hear from her again, and she did 
 not welcome a letter that brought up the subject 
 once more. Agnes's ridicule roused in her a spirit 
 of defiance. 
 
 " Just because a poor girl has never been taught 
 better, Miss Agnes," she said, " you think you can 
 laugh at her. If my friend, as you call her, could 
 have gone to school five years, as some others 
 have, she might be more useful than they are." 
 
 Agnes was going away, but she turned back. 
 " I did not mean to be insulting, Hannah," she 
 said ; " I dare say your friend is very useful, but 
 from her handwriting, I should not call her orna 
 mental." 
 
 When some warm, clear days came again, Ber 
 tha ventured to go down stairs once more. Her 
 father stayed out of town in the morning to carry 
 her down into the comfortable parlor. There she 
 was very glad to lie on the cushioned sofa, by the 
 glowing fire, with her flowers and books by her
 
 CONTEST AND PEACE. 225 
 
 side, and where her friends might come in to talk 
 to her. 
 
 One morning, after she had been established in 
 this way, Bertha was left alone for awhile. She 
 heard presently the front door opened, and then 
 Mr. Jasper entered the room. 
 
 " Bertha, you are here," he exclaimed ; " I met 
 Agnes, who asked me to come in to see you, but I 
 did not think to find you in this room, to come in 
 upon you so suddenly." 
 
 " I thought you would come to-day," said Ber 
 tha. " When I heard some one at the door, I 
 believed that it was you. It did not surprise me." 
 
 " So like the Bertha from whom I parted," said 
 Mr. Jasper ; " to stand in front of you, to look 
 down upon you, makes all the years that have 
 passed between, dwindle away. Was it only yes 
 terday, Bertha? What has become of all that long 
 time ! Only once have I felt sorrow in your pres 
 ence. It has always been to me light and joy. 
 That one time was when I knew I must leave 
 you." 
 
 The color came into Bertha's cheeks. She half 
 raised herself. " It seems, indeed, so natural to 
 see you here, it could hardly give me a shock of 
 surprise. I am glad to see you once more. I 
 have so often thought over what I would say to 
 you." She paused a moment, and then went on. 
 " I have been thinking that I was wrong in what I 
 said to you that last time I saw you. So many 
 15
 
 226 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 times my strength of heart has failed since then. 
 A great many times I have repeated to myself that 
 I was wrong in shutting out so great a happiness. 
 I told you that it was a great happiness." 
 
 "0 Bertha, how could you send me away?" 
 interrupted Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " There were so many who needed you," said 
 Bertha. " You were strong, you had a great work 
 before you, you were to work for the world. 
 And I, I was so weak, I should have kept you 
 back. Do not turn away, nor look so doubtfully. 
 If I did wrong, I have suffered. But I could not 
 bear to tie you down to me, when I thought I 
 might live on as I have done. More than five 
 years I have been a care to those around me. I 
 have been very dependent. Those who loved me 
 most have suffered most for me." 
 
 " Oh, you are wrong, Bertha," said Mr. Jasper ; 
 " do you forget that we love you ? Is any care 
 heavy that we take for those we love ? " 
 
 " I am not excusing myself," said Bertha, " yet 
 I would like to have you clearly know how, in 
 what I did, I meant to have helped }*ou. Oh ! we 
 are all so weak ; when we would help each other, 
 the most we have is so little to offer." 
 
 "Forgive me, Bertha," said Mr. Jasper; "how 
 cruel I am to come to trouble you so. But you 
 are so unchanged, so like the Bertha I left behind, 
 1 cannot think of you as ill and suffering. How 
 thoughtless I am to add anything to all you have 
 to bear."
 
 CONTEST AND PEACE. 227 
 
 " Do not think of that," said Bertha ; " I have 
 wished you should have a better opinion of me. 
 When you left me, you thought or attempted to 
 think that I was cold and without feeling. I tried 
 to hope you might think so. It would make the 
 parting easier for you to believe me less worthy." 
 
 " One hour away from you," said Mr. Jasper, 
 " and all such idle suspicions, anything that could 
 cloud my trust in you, vanished." 
 
 Bertha went on, "When I was told that my 
 days were numbered, that for the life that had 
 grown so precious to me, the end was already 
 appointed, I was stupefied with a deep sorrow. 
 I loved everything in the world. I wanted to be 
 everything for everybody. I thought that I would 
 make Agnes love me dearly ; that I would watch 
 over her, would check the faults in her that had 
 grown in me like rude weeds. I thought I could 
 see the source of my own faults, but she was so 
 much younger I would work for her, so that when 
 she grew up she should not have such faults in 
 herself to contend with. I thought I would be 
 the dear elder sister of the boys, the softener of 
 all that was rough in them." 
 
 " All this you were, all this you have been," 
 interrupted Mr. Jasper, "and "why would you not 
 bless me also ? " 
 
 " That would have been the most glorious joy of 
 all," said Bertha; " to live for others, to live for 
 you, it was a happiness, indeed, too great for
 
 228 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 me. Then came the sudden shock, when my 
 strength was suddenly cut down. A new way was 
 appointed for me. Instead of laboring for others, 
 I was to suffer, and they were to labor for me. 
 Oh ! every way I looked upon it, to try to bring 
 ray heart into a willing state. I wished I could 
 have a little time, a little longer time, and stretched 
 my arms back into life imploringly. And then it 
 was I made the great mistake. I wanted to suffer 
 alone. I wanted to put upon myself the whole 
 weight of my trial. I tried to persuade myself 
 that I had mistaken your feeling towards me ; that 
 it was not so deep as I had fancied, that you 
 might be easily weaned from me. I taught myself 
 that if I were only firm enough, I could shut my 
 self out from you ; that you would soon have 
 higher aims, that would take the place of the 
 lower love you felt for me. I thought that I 
 alone should suffer in the separation. "With you, 
 it would be a momentary pang of deep sorrow, a 
 sad remembrance, perhaps, while you would be 
 left free. On the other hand, I shrank from bind 
 ing you down to one whose strength and life were 
 failing as mine were. The longer that I should 
 live here, the longer that I should linger weak 
 and suffering, the closer I should bind you to 
 my side, and keep you away from other duties. I 
 wanted you to be great for the world ; not to give 
 your life to one weak invalid, and I that one. I 
 had a false idea of duty, that made me believe if
 
 CONTEST AND PEACE. 229 
 
 the duty were a hard one for me, it must be right. 
 I thought as long as I suffered, there was no fear 
 but that I was unselfish, and so I must be right." 
 
 " Five years ; five long years ! " said Mr. Jasper. 
 
 " When they told me you had come back," said 
 Bertha ; " when Amy said you appeared to her not 
 so cheerful as when you went away; when she 
 told me that the little duties of the parish weighed 
 upon you now, as they never weighed before, 
 then I began to see, perhaps it was all wrong. I 
 saw that you had been living an incomplete life. 
 Something had been wanting to you. Oh ! then I 
 felt that there was no such thing as breaking a tie 
 like that which bound us to each other. There 
 was a promise that had never been spoken in 
 words, yet it never could be broken. Though you 
 had been far away, I, weak and suffering, had 
 bound you still." 
 
 Mr. Jasper was sitting by Bertha, his face bur 
 ied in his hands. "What God has joined together, 
 man cannot break asunder," he said. 
 
 " The suffering had not been wholly mine," con 
 tinued Bertha ; " I could not take away your 
 share, and it was the heavier for both of us, 
 because we were separated from each other. Will 
 you forgive me that I brought upon you this great 
 suffering? Will you forgive me that I sent you 
 out alone when you needed human help ; forgive 
 me that I shut up in myself all those warm feel 
 ings, all that love, that might have soothed and 
 encouraged you ?
 
 230 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " I have seen others die near me, whose hold on 
 life seemed far surer than mine, who have passed 
 out suddenly from the midst of warm love and 
 healthy action. The battle is not always to the 
 strong, nor the race to the swift. I have learned, 
 too, that though the world needs sorely active 
 workers, yet it is not for mere usefulness that one 
 may be loved. A long illness has taught me that 
 there may be a virtue in leaving to others the 
 work we long to do ourselves ; that even in being 
 dependent upon others, we may find a pleasure in 
 their willing service, may give a pleasure in re 
 ceiving it with a willing heart. I could not give 
 you active love, that hastens to move all obstacles 
 from the path of those it loves, that wearies not in 
 well-doing, but I was wrong in shutting out from 
 you the sympathy that belonged to you, that was 
 your due. I should have waited till God called 
 me, instead of leaving behind the world in which 
 he planted me, in order to go to meet him. I am 
 glad to see you again, to tell you what I am in 
 love to you for the rest of the life God gives me 
 here ; to tell you I have blamed myself for this 
 five years' separation." 
 
 " Bertha," said Mr. Jasper, " there is nothing for 
 me to blame in you. The blame must fall upon 
 me. You only miscalculated my strength. I was 
 not so brave as you. I did not take up manfully 
 the duty you appointed me. We might have been 
 happier if we had not parted, but there was no
 
 CONTEST AND PEACE. 231 
 
 excuse for me. Had I been stronger, I might 
 Lave grown into greater insight; I might have 
 taught myself that my place was by you. You 
 took upon yourself the heavier share of the bur 
 den, only to stand and wait in the presence of 
 God. You have triumphantly performed your 
 work; I come home one of the vanquished." 
 
 " We cannot tell about triumph or defeat/' said 
 Bertha, " not yet. Perhaps it is all right, that I 
 needed this lonely time to wean me from the 
 world. Yet, indeed, it is a great mistake to think 
 that sickness can wean us from the world. Truly, 
 the best way to prepare for another life, must be 
 to live this one thoroughly and truly. And sick 
 ness is near to death only because our powers are 
 deadened by which we live here, and we know not 
 yot how to unfold what we shall need in another 
 life. If only those who are well could realize that 
 a sick-room is truly no preparation for that other 
 world ! 
 
 " There is a color in your cheeks, and spirit in 
 your eye, and the spring is coming," said Mr. 
 Jasper, " but, Bertha, you must rest now."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 WINTER TALKS. 
 
 MARTHA left Lang-dale to go to the Normal School. 
 Her absence left a gap in Miss Elspeth's household. 
 She was very quiet always, but always thoughtful 
 for others. Even Miss Dora said, " Martha is a 
 sensible girl. She is worth her weight, in common 
 sense." Miss Dora had hoped to make a first-rate 
 housekeeper of Martha, because she was so docile, 
 and so eager to render herself useful ; but she was 
 disappointed when Martha, as she grew up, showed 
 a decided taste for studying, in preference to the 
 cares of the house. 
 
 " I should not have expected it," said Miss Dora, 
 "of one of Martha's sense. But it is all Elspeth's 
 fault. She would send her to the best schools, and 
 there's nothing so catching as book learning." 
 Miss Dora, too, was very indignant at the propo 
 sition of her going to the Normal School. She 
 thought it was the height of folly; that there 
 should be a school for schoolmasters. " Pray who 
 were to teach the teachers of the Normal School ! 
 By and by people would get into such a whirl, they
 
 WINTER TALKS. 233 
 
 would not know whether they were teachers or 
 scholars themselves." 
 
 " That's the true principle," said Martha ; " we 
 are all learners and all teachers." 
 
 " Fiddlestick ! " said Miss Dora ; " I don't like 
 this idea of girls going to school all their life long. 
 I went ten months to learn how to work a piece, 
 and I considered myself finished then. What's the 
 use of my learning French, when I shouldn't want 
 to say anything to a Frenchman if I saw one. I 
 think it's blasphemous, this trying to learn so many 
 languages. What were people made to talk differ 
 ently for, if they were not meant to talk differently. 
 One of these'days, by way of warning, there'll be 
 another Babel, just as you have learnt all your 
 languages ! " 
 
 " Oh dear," said Margie, laughing, " and shall we 
 have to learn a new set of languages !" 
 
 " Miss Dora will wake up and find herself talking 
 German ! " said Bessie. 
 
 " I might as well talk German now," said Miss 
 Dora, " for all the attention I get. There's the 
 sugar-bucket standing outside the cupboard this 
 minute, that I told you, Bessie, to put away, full 
 half an hour ago." 
 
 " Oh, but dear Miss Dora," said Bessie, " you 
 know I only waited to see what you had to say 
 about languages." 
 
 " How pleasant the p:\rlor looks 1 " said Hannah, 
 as she came in at twilight with Margie, the day 
 after Martha left.
 
 234 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " Oh, isn't it pleasant," said Bessie ; " doesn't 
 Miss Dora look like a picture, with the light falling 
 on her just so ? There's something for Margie to 
 paint 1 " 
 
 " If we had more light," said Miss Dora, " I sup 
 pose you think I shouldn't make so much of a 
 picture ! Well, Hannah, so Martha's gone." 
 
 " I bade her good-night at the cars," said Hannah. 
 " I hoped I might come round last night or this 
 morning to help her, but we were too busy." 
 
 " All Martha thought of was packing her books," 
 said Miss Dora. " I should think she was going to 
 dress in books, instead of gowns and collars." 
 
 " You must not complain of Martha," said Miss 
 Elspeth ; " we shall miss her badly enough." 
 
 " Margie and I mean to be so lively," said Bessie, 
 " that you'll think there are four girls in the house, 
 instead of two. Only, I expect to act very badly, 
 because Martha always kept me in order." 
 
 " Well, we shall miss Martha," said Miss Dora, 
 " in taking care of you." 
 
 " Oh, she has helped me out of so many scrapes," 
 said Bessie, " it is so much easier to confess scrapes 
 when they are well over. Do you remember that 
 time when I burnt all the cake that we were to 
 have for tea? Mrs. Bunce was coming to tea. I 
 left the cake in the oven and went out to cool my 
 self in the garden, when there came up a story that 
 Mrs. Bunce's pig had escaped. I ran to help in 
 the chase, and forgot all about my cake 1 "
 
 WINTER TALKS. 235 
 
 " I remember," said Miss Dora. " I didn't know 
 anything about it till it was all over. I scolded 
 you well then, and you deserved it." 
 
 " I know it," said Bessie. " Martha helped me 
 out then. She went into the Rothsays and 
 borrowed some fresh cake they had just been 
 baking. You were putting on your best dress, 
 and we did not have a chance to tell you till Mrs. 
 Bunce had gone." 
 
 " I smelt the cake burning, though," said Miss 
 Dora. " I supposed you had spoilt half the batch, 
 if you hadn't the whole. You didn't have a chance 
 to tell me ! I guess you might have made a 
 chance." 
 
 " Oh, Martha couldn't have kept it secret," said 
 Bessie ; " she was burning to tell you, and she did 
 tell Miss Elspeth, but Mrs. Bunce talked so fast she 
 couldn't put in a word." 
 
 " I remember how Martha mended your bardge 
 dress," said Hannah. 
 
 " Yes," said Bessie ; " the very day I was going 
 to the Rothsays, I tore it slipping off the ladder, 
 as I came down from the cherry tree." 
 
 " A pretty place to be in the cherry tree, in your 
 barege dress ! " said Miss Dora. 
 
 " "Well, Martha mended it so beautifully," said 
 Bessie, " that I was more proud of it than I ever 
 was before." 
 
 " I always used to forget to take the right 
 books to school," said Margie, " and when I got to
 
 236 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 school I always found Martha had brought them 
 for me." 
 
 " She always reminded me to study my lessons," 
 said Hannah. 
 
 " What a pity Martha is not here to hear her 
 praises sung ! " said Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " I guess she wishes she were here now/ 7 said 
 Bessie. " I wonder what she is about ; talking stiff 
 to some poky people, I suppose." 
 
 " Bertha Carlton said she knew the Mays, with 
 whom Martha is to board," said Margie, " and she 
 says they are very pleasant people." 
 
 " How is Bertha to-day ? " asked Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " I think her strength is failing," said Hannah. 
 " It tires her more to talk than it used to." 
 
 " Oh, but she says so much in so few words," 
 said Margie. " We were talking this afternoon 
 about that book, ' More Worlds than One.' Annie 
 Lane was there." 
 
 " What does that mean ? " said Miss Dora. 
 " Aren't people contented with one world ? What 
 with California and Australia, I should think there 
 was room enough here ! " 
 
 " Annie Lane said she liked to think of all the 
 stars being inhabited," said Margie, ' and what an 
 occupation it would be to go from one to the other, 
 and how grand it was to think there was so much 
 to know." 
 
 " I think there's enough to know here, and 
 travelling enough here," said Miss Dora. " I want 
 to get to a place where I can be quiet."
 
 WINTER TALKS. 237 
 
 "That is not very different from what Bertha 
 said," said Margie. " She said she was afraid 
 sometimes of forgetting all there was ' to enjoy in 
 this world, in thinking of all the different glory that 
 might come in another. I think she spoke for my 
 sake, as she often has before. She thought we 
 might pass by the beauty of this world, if we were 
 wondering all the time at the splendors of another. 
 Then when we reached that, we should be looking 
 after another, still neglecting what lay nearest to 
 us, and what had a greater claim upon us." 
 
 " There is so much to think of in this world," 
 said Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " And it is so easy to be taken up with just one 
 little set of thoughts and cares," said Margie. 
 
 " I should not like to live as those Miss Rosses," 
 said Bessie. " I showed them the way into the 
 woods the other day, and wanted to have them see 
 how pretty the wood-paths were, and what splendid 
 great rocks were scattered about, and what a mag 
 nificent tree the oak was ! But they were so intent 
 on picking up little straws they were going to paste 
 on paper and make into houses and fences, that 
 they did not once look round." 
 
 " I like to have people keep their eyes open," 
 said Miss Dora. 
 
 " I believe Bertha thinks I am always in a maze, 
 and that she would like to wake me out of it," said 
 Margie. 
 
 " I hope she'll succeed," said Miss Dora. " I
 
 238 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 dare say now, you forgot to buy the split peas as 
 you came along." 
 
 " I did forget all about it," said Margie, starting 
 up. 
 
 " I'll go for them," said Hannah. 
 
 " It's too late now," said Miss Dora. " I suppose 
 we shall forget to have dinner now Martha has 
 gone." 
 
 " We shan't need much, there are so few of us," 
 said Bessie. 
 
 " Martha wasn't much of an eater," said Miss 
 Dora. " But I dont see how you could forget the 
 peas, Margie ; I told you the very last thing ! " 
 
 " I could have got them," said Bessie. " No 
 wonder Margie forgot about it." 
 
 " No wonder, indeed," said Miss Dora ; " talking 
 about all the worlds." 
 
 " Oh dear," said Margie, " I never shall learn to 
 be good for anything. I came near crushing Miss 
 Lane's bonnet this afternoon. It was in the chair 
 I usually sit in. But all the way there I was think 
 ing about Martha's going away, and all the way 
 home I was thinking of what they had been talking 
 about, Bertha and Annie Lane." 
 
 " You must have been a pleasant companion for 
 Hannah," said Miss Elspeth. 
 
 " Oh, I knew what she was thinking about," said 
 Hannah. " It makes everybody thoughtful to go 
 in and see Miss Bertha, and a happy sort of 
 thinking, too, it gives everybody, for Miss Bertha
 
 WINTER TALKS. 239 
 
 \ 
 
 seems happier to me since she has seen Mr. Jasper. 
 He comes every day to talk with her f every day 
 that she is well enough." 
 
 " I hope you keep up your early rising," said 
 Miss Dora. " They say the Carltons are late 
 people ; but there's no need of your being late. I 
 have no doubt of your finding enough to do, if 
 you get up at early hours all the winter long." 
 
 " There's no danger of that," said Hannah. 
 "Mrs. Carlton gives me plenty to do ; she likes to 
 have Bridget and me up, and she is up herself, too, 
 sewing before breakfast." 
 
 Margie and Bessie went out with Hannah when 
 she went away. Hannah lingered at the gate, as 
 she always used to do. 
 
 " It seems so natural to stand here," she said. 
 
 It was a clear, cold, winter's night, and the stars 
 shone brightly in the deep blue sky. 
 
 " How many worlds there are up there ! " ex 
 claimed Margie. 
 
 " I wonder if there are girls standing at the 
 garden gates, in those other worlds," said Bessie. 
 
 " And I wonder if we shall ever know them," 
 said Margie. 
 
 " I had rather know more about this world," said 
 Hannah. 
 
 " How much more we might know here," said 
 Margie. " Perhaps in the very next street is 
 standing somebody whom we might help, or who 
 might help us, some friend who could be very 
 friendly- to us."
 
 240 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 " Perhaps Steevie is waiting somewhere, wanting 
 us," said Hannah. " If we could only go to him, 
 if we could only know where he is." 
 
 " He knows where we are," said Bessie. " I 
 think some day he will come to us." 
 
 " Good night."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A DEPARTURE. 
 
 AND the spring came again. There were some 
 warm days in early March. They bore a deceitful 
 promise of spring, and even a warm summer glow. 
 The sun shone fervently down upon the moistened 
 earth, and in the edges of the woods the little 
 vines here and there ventured to throw off their 
 warm winter shelter of leaves. There was a lan 
 guid softness in the air, and late in the afternoon 
 there lingered a dreamy haziness about the atmos 
 phere. Occasionally a bird was seen here and 
 there, the buds were swelling on the trees, there 
 was a few days' forgetfulness that it was March, 
 that the stormy March had come, and not spring 
 herself. 
 
 Some complainers bemoaned of the unseason- 
 ableness of the weather; they liked better a steady 
 cold. Mrs. Bunce said that as long as she had not 
 put away her winter things, and was expecting to 
 keep fires in the house, she did not mind its being 
 cold. She had rather have it now than in the' 
 middle of June. And yet, Mrs. Bunce was one of 
 16
 
 242 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 those who found something unseasonable in every 
 month in the year. Her listeners always won 
 dered what was the standard of climate that she 
 had laid down. Langdale certainly never came 
 up to it. 
 
 The few warm days were encouraging to the 
 poor people, whose means for fuel were small or 
 none, because some of the charitable societies did 
 not give out fuel in March, their standard of the 
 season's warmth and cold being different from that 
 of Mrs. Bunce. 
 
 It was happy for the poor that the windows 
 could be opened, and a fresh air let into the small, 
 poor houses where the winter's cold had been an 
 enemy, and a few sticks or a little coal could be 
 saved up for the winter days that might yet come, 
 and for the occasional meal when a fire could be 
 afforded. To those who were obliged to labor all 
 day, there was something oppressive in the air 
 that exhausted and dispirited them. They would 
 have enjoyed so much a little moment of rest, 
 when they could fold their hands and look out 
 upon the fresh activity that was waking up in 
 nature. The school-girls found their books weigh 
 ing heavily as they carried them to school, and 
 panted for the air as they came out of the close 
 schoolroom and walked lazily home in the warm 
 noonday sun. 
 
 Agnes returned from a visit in town, languid 
 and dispirited too. She came home complaining
 
 A DEPARTURE. 243 
 
 tbat she was forced to come back to Langdale in 
 this dreary season when the roads were so muddy 
 that she could not walk nor go out of the house, 
 and when it was so gay and lively in town. Her 
 complaints were hushed when she entered the 
 house, for she found there a subdued atmosphere. 
 There was no longer any strife or bickering. Even 
 Mrs. Carlton's querulousness was for awhile sub 
 dued. The boys' noisy gayety was calmed. They 
 moved about the house quietly and gently. They 
 came in, closing the doors carefully. They were 
 unwilling to begin upon any amusement until they 
 had knocked at Bertha's door to know if she were 
 better, or to ask if she would see them. Even 
 Harry, who could scarcely know what it was that 
 made them all so quiet, sat in the parlor with his 
 picture books, so that his noise might not disturb 
 any one, and imitated his brothers, often asking if 
 he was not wanted for anything, and could not do 
 something for Bertha. All the village, too, was 
 quiet. The neighbors were all thoughtful in their 
 attentions to Bertha. Bertha was loved by every 
 body, and so warmly, that what she suffered was 
 suffered by all. 
 
 But Bertha was not suffering. She was sinking 
 away as gently to repose as sank these warm, 
 summer-like days into the glowing sunset. She 
 looked out through the opened window upon the 
 clear outline of the hills beyond. She said once to 
 Amy, " How peaceful it looks there. It reminds
 
 244 STEUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 / 
 
 me of that place to which we shall come from all 
 doubt and sorrow ; from all doubt of ourselves 
 whether we are right or wrong. I think often, 
 Amy, of those beautiful lines, 
 
 " 'And thou shalt walk in soft, white light, with kings and priests abroad, 
 And thou shalt summer high in bliss upon the hills of God.' 
 
 " I often think of them as I look upon that clear 
 line against the sky. The beautiful hills ! The 
 sky always seems to rest gently over them clear 
 and blue, and the clouds there are always lighted 
 up, or softened by some glow." 
 
 But Bertha's words were growing fewer as her 
 breath grew fainter, while from her room the 
 friends that loved her most, carried some precious 
 words that lingered with them afterwards to 
 sustain and uphold them. They saw the spirit 
 was passing away already, leaving a glow round 
 the beautiful face that to the last moment was 
 lighted up by a peaceful happiness. 
 
 Before the cold spring winds had returned to 
 chill the opening earth, Bertha had passed out 
 from this world into the new life. It seemed as if 
 the unwonted loveliness of those March days had 
 been sent to hang as a beautiful halo round the 
 moment of her departure. On the day that was 
 called the day of her death here, the air was soft 
 and mild, the budding willows waved gently over 
 the sunny spot where was laid the beautiful form 
 io which her spirit had given life.
 
 A DEPARTURE. 245 
 
 There was a heavy sorrow and silence in Lang- 
 dale at Bertha's departure. She had been loved so 
 warmly by all, that her absence left a great space 
 among them. The change was not hurried over 
 and forgotten, as it might have been in larger 
 places, where the tumult and rustle and changes 
 of one day hurry out the remembrance of the day 
 before. There was time enough to recall all she 
 had been in life, to feel that her memory was living 
 still and fresh. For some months, though she had 
 not been present in the little circle, her influence 
 had been warmly felt, and now it seemed as if she 
 had scarcely been taken farther away from them. 
 
 Amy wondered at the strength and cheerfulness 
 with which Mr. Jasper went through his duties. 
 He was more active than ever. She met him one 
 day in one of the poorer houses in the outskirts of 
 Langdale. 
 
 "Are you strong enough for all this?" asked 
 Amy. " Are you not working too hard? " 
 
 " I believe the hard work helps me," said Mr. 
 Jasper. " Sometimes I feel like stopping to think. 
 I feel like shutting myself up with my own 
 thoughts, and having my sorrow out. That might 
 be better for some people, and at such times I 
 think with a half envy of those who believe they 
 purify themselves in leaving the world, its cares as 
 well as its temptations. I feel as if I heard those 
 beautiful words : ' Never did Nature or Art offer 
 thee pleasure so great, as did that beautiful form
 
 246 STRUGGLE TOTl LIFE. 
 
 in which I was enclosed, that now lies scattered in 
 the earth. And if thy highest pleasure so failed 
 thee at my death, what mortal thing ought to 
 lure thee to its love ? Thou oughtest, at that first 
 stroke, to have lifted thyself above all that is 
 deceitful, directly to me, who was no longer among 
 such things.'" 
 
 " Bertha did not say those words ? " asked Amy. 
 
 " Beatrice reproaches Dante with them," said Mr. 
 Jasper. " No, Bertha did not use such words. It 
 is the purity and beauty of her life and thoughts 
 that lift me that way to her. I think Bertha 
 would have dreaded using any words that should 
 have seemed to move me away from whatever 
 duties there are waiting for me in the world." 
 
 " Oh, I think," said Amy, " that she used to 
 reproach herself for what she used to call her sin 
 of Other-worldliness. She said that for many years 
 she had thought too much of another world, and 
 had tried to live too little in this." 
 
 " In all her last words," continued Mr. Jasper, 
 " she was urgent in praising all the work of this 
 life. I think by her death she sang a song of life." 
 
 " She must have had," said Amy, " a constitu 
 tional shrinking from all the real struggle of life. 
 It would have been hard for her to have been 
 out in the battle of life, contending with many who 
 were uncongenial to her. And yet how brave and 
 courageous she was in all the struggles she did go 
 through ; how patient in her want of sympathy,
 
 A DEPARTURE. 247 
 
 which must have been at home, a continual want 
 for her." 
 
 " It is strange to think," said Mr. Jasper, " that 
 she already knows what we still doubt of, aud 
 question ; that her faith has passed out into cer 
 tainty, or higher questionings have risen upon the 
 lower mists that trouble us here." 
 
 Hannah found the house very lonely and deso 
 late. The younger children were oppressed with 
 a feeling of sadness, the whole weight of which 
 they did not understand. Fred and Tom went 
 about the house without occupation, and unwilling 
 to begin upon any amusement, finding no one to 
 sympathize with them. Mr. Carlton involved him 
 self more than ever in his business. Mrs. Carlton 
 had no resources in the hour of great sorrow, and 
 no comfort to bring to those around her, only her 
 own complainings. Agnes was sullen and capri 
 cious. She, perhaps, felt deeply her loss in Bertha, 
 and was disturbed by a self-reproach that she had 
 not been more to her while she lived. But this 
 she would not show to Bertha's friends. She was 
 unwilling to give way to any feeling before them, 
 and wore an air of indifference, though no longer 
 of gayety. Hannah missed the expression of sor 
 row. It was hard to go back to the old routine of 
 duties, only those duties wanting that were the 
 lightest to perform, that gave strength for others.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A EETUEN. 
 
 THE same spring that bore a way , one of Amy's 
 friends, brought back George Arnold. He returned 
 in April to Langdale. 
 
 Frank brought to Amy the telegraphic dispatch 
 that announced George would arrive in Boston by 
 the morning train from New York. He would 
 come directly to Langdale. Amy went into the 
 garden to await him. She walked up and down its 
 alleys. She listened eagerly for the whistle of the 
 engine that would prepare her for George's 
 approach. She looked down the path into the 
 woods. A leafless branch that hung across the 
 entrance, waved often deceitfully as though it 
 were moved by some one passing by. She had 
 heard the hurry and the bustle of the cars ; cer 
 tainly it never took any one so long to come 
 through that little path. She turned away again 
 from watching it. Suddenly she heard a voice 
 behind her. George was standing by her side. 
 She looked at him doubtfully a moment. He was 
 changed indeed in so many years. He had cer-
 
 A RETURN. 249 
 
 taiuly grown manly, he was taller, liis figure 
 broader. Then his complexion was bronzed, and 
 the dark moustache gave him a different expres 
 sion. But his voice was the same. " You don't 
 know me, Amy," he said, " you do not feel quite 
 sure that it is I ? But I have no doubt of you. I 
 knew the sunny brown hair, I saw the well-known 
 figure in the distance as I came through the woods. 
 Through the branches of the low bushes it shone 
 upon me like sunlight ! A little more slender, 
 perhaps ! But the face is quite the same. The 
 hair hangs a little lower, either side the cheeks, 
 and the mouth falls into a sadder curve, though it 
 smiles, and tears are in the eyes. But you are my 
 Amy still ? Will you speak to me and tell me so ? 
 Or shall I begin freshly to plead my cause ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell if I am dreaming," said Amy, 
 " my eyes swim, I cannot see if it is you, if it is 
 George." 
 
 " Sit down in the old seat here," said George ; 
 " let the sun come through the lattice, the warm, 
 welcoming sun. All through the woods I heard 
 voices speaking to me. The oak would like te 
 have talked to me, but I hurried by too fast. Am 
 I the same? Not quite the same, though these old 
 voices will call me back into the past. Not the 
 same, better, I hope. You are willing I should 
 change in order to be stronger, Amy, than I was?" 
 
 " I have been almost afraid," said Amy, " I loved 
 the old so much, till this moment I have been
 
 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 almost afraid to see you, George. I wanted no 
 change." 
 
 " Not even for the better, Amy ? " asked George. 
 " Perhaps, indeed, you'll not be disappointed ; per 
 haps I have grown no better." 
 
 " You are quite the same," said Amy. " I'm so 
 very happy." 
 
 " Perhaps you saw in me what was best," said 
 George, " and I have been working to make myself 
 worthy of you ; to raise myself to the ideal you 
 had formed of me ! After all, I have brought 
 home little that I did not carry away. I was to 
 come home an artist. I have brought home no 
 great works for you to be proud of." 
 
 " I did not want to be proud of your great 
 works, but of you," said Amy. " George, that did 
 disappoint me ! " 
 
 " I saw it did," said George. " I knew that it 
 must be your fancy had given me greater powers 
 than I possessed. I was not so great as you, and 
 I dreamed that I was, under the oak-tree. I woke 
 out of the illusion before I had dreamed away my 
 life." 
 
 " I cannot yet think those were all dreams and 
 illusions," said Amy ; " though while I hear you 
 speak I find myself willing to believe all you say." 
 
 " As you believed what I said then," said 
 George, " it is well I am no longer the will-o'-the- 
 wisp, the ignis fatuus I was, to lead you after me, 
 over marshes and briars. Now, I am come home a
 
 A RETURN. 251 
 
 solid man. I no longer go astray in fields of art. 
 I sit down and count my gains and ponder fresh 
 ones." 
 
 " That I will not believe," said Amy. 
 
 " Well, then, Amy, I will tell you I have had 
 some struggles," said George. " At first I did 
 indulge in complainings. I found myself reproach 
 ing the way I had been brought up, my early life. 
 If I had only been permitted to bring out my 
 early tastes ; if what talent I had, had been cher 
 ished ; if my youth had not been thrown away, I 
 amused and tortured myself with such exclama 
 tions as these. But they were idle and foolish. 
 An artist needs more strength of mind, more earn 
 estness and singleness of purpose than any other 
 laborer ; more than I possessed. If I had been 
 trained earlier to work, to work about something, 
 if it had only been in a sawmill, I should have 
 been better fitted for an artist, than I was when I 
 began to look around me and ask myself what I 
 was ready to do. It was a time of despair then ! 
 As I gave up the hope of helping to make the 
 world glorious in art, so I must lose all hope. I 
 was not fitted even to be a shoemaker. I had not 
 the power of application which would make me 
 worthy the lowest profession or trade. This was 
 when your letter came to me, the one that 
 decided me." 
 
 " My poor letter," said Amy. " It was written 
 with a very different purpose."
 
 252 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 "It was written to infuse strength into my poor 
 wavering spirit," said George. I determined to 
 make myself fit for living somehow, and I chose 
 the easiest way. The clank of dollars and cents 
 would drown the voice of the syrens. I might 
 forget the forms of the sculpture round the tem 
 ple, at sight of the gold and silver, and in the com 
 pany of those who bought and sold." 
 
 " Oh, don't go on in that way," said Amy. " If 
 it were not for the tones of your voice I should 
 think you were speaking in bitterness." 
 
 " And you would not have me speak bitterly of 
 the trade that I have chosen, of the profession that 
 I am going to follow ? " said George. " It would not 
 be fair in me, I have found such friends among my 
 fellow-laborers ; it would be dishonorable of me. 
 Indeed, there is no need of the fingers being soiled 
 by the base metal that passes through them. I 
 have seen brave deeds done, Amy, with dollars and 
 cents, equal in beauty to a copper statue or a vase 
 of silver. I have only changed the tools of my 
 trade. I am going to work on in the same cause 
 for art and beauty still." 
 
 " That sounds natural," said Amy. " The words 
 come out with the old earnestness." 
 
 "I have only come home to carry out the old 
 theories," said George, " and your favorite theory, 
 too. Do you remember the day you taught me 
 that even to sweep a room was ' divine.' I have a 
 sketch of you I made from recollection, a white
 
 A RETURN. 253 
 
 handkerchief pointed over your head, a dark dress 
 with a white apron which floated in front, a fresh 
 color in your cheek, and a broom that was exceed 
 ingly picturesque in your hand. After all, the 
 beautiful lies in the actual. What we admire, is 
 the way the spirit expresses itself. It is the ex 
 pression that gives the charm to the form, and a 
 beautiful spirit must give beauty to the form." 
 
 " So you have time to theorize a little over the 
 dollars and cents," said Amy. 
 
 " I am another Benvenuto Cellini," said George. 
 " I work in silver and gold for merchant princes. 
 My vessels bring the raw material from the mines 
 in California. We put it into a crucible and it 
 comes out silks and burlaps, and teas and coffees. 
 My works of Art ornament and refresh the world, 
 only I do not carve my name on their pedestals." 
 
 " These theories, then, don't interfere with the 
 great labors," said Amy. 
 
 " You will be sceptical, still," said George. 
 " You think I can do nothing still but talk. I will 
 show you solid proofs of my power, testimonials 
 of the esteem in which I am held by the magnates 
 in my field of Art. No, I have not a great picture 
 to bring home, a great historical work, done in 
 my own school of color, an American work of 
 genius ! I am not a member of the great Academy 
 of Art ! But I have a whole shipload consigned 
 to me, and papers and documents to show that I 
 am partner in the great firm of Shelburne, Arnold, 
 & Shelburne ! Are you satisfied ? "
 
 254 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " I must be satisfied," said Amy, " since you are 
 here." 
 
 " But I shall have greater demands to make of 
 you," said George. " We used to have old dreams, 
 of a home among the mountains, in the midst of 
 grand, glorious scenery. We would only leave it 
 to go to more glorious places still, to see the great 
 ocean, or to cross it for Italy and Greece and 
 Spain. Wherever we went, wherever we lived, 
 we were to live for the sake of Art. I was to 
 devote myself to its study, and you were to admire 
 all that I labored upon. These were great plans, 
 and it was in the archway of such a glorious life 
 that you promised yourself to me. I have turned 
 away from that path. Will you come into the 
 home that I am going to build now, a little 
 narrow house, a brick house, in a brick street in 
 Boston ? The view of the sky will be telescopic 
 only, the outline from the windows will be the 
 jagged outline of brick chimneys. The walks will 
 not lead through pine tasselled woods, but over 
 dusty pavements, and there will be noise and 
 clatter of wheels, instead of murmurings in trees. 
 The thought of Art, the study of Beauty will be 
 my rest, and not my labor. There will be around 
 our house, not even such beauty as hangs round 
 Langdale. Can you look upon such a home with 
 the same hopefulness you had in the old days, and 
 give me the same promise you gave me then?" 
 
 " While you speak to me, while you are by my
 
 A RETURN. 255 
 
 sido," said Amy, " I hear and see nothing else. 
 Even Langdale fades out of my sight. How can I 
 care what air surrounds me, what walls shut me 
 in, so that we have each other to live and hope 
 for ! " 
 
 In the evening Bessie went hastily to the 
 Carltons'. 
 
 " Hannah, we want you to come home to 
 spend the evening. George Arnold has come 
 home ! and we want to talk with you about it. 
 Mr. George Arnold ! You would not know him. 
 And they are all so happy ! And we have so 
 much to tell.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 GOING AWAY. 
 
 MRS. CARLTON was becoming more capricious 
 and rigorous in her treatment of Hannah. One 
 morning, after Hannah had spent an evening at 
 Miss Elspeth's, Mrs. Carlton lectured her severely 
 upon her love of going out. 
 
 " Bridget, too, is out. every night," she went on, 
 " and I am half the time left to sit down stairs 
 alone in the house. Last night I heard a noise at 
 the back part of house ; I went to the door, but 
 there was nobody there ! I called Mr. Carlton, 
 who was asleep over the newspaper, and he looked 
 round in the yard and did not see anybody. But I 
 am convinced some one had been there from the 
 noise I heard. Either it was burglars trying to 
 get into the house, or else it was yours or Brid 
 get's friends." 
 
 " I have no friends to come and see me at that 
 time," said Hannah. 
 
 " I don't wish to be contradicted," said Mrs. 
 Carlton. " I dare say you have as many friends as 
 anybody, and I have no doubt they are a poor set.
 
 GOING AWAY. 257 
 
 I don't wish to have them lingering about the 
 house. Agnes says you have a friend that writes 
 to you who does not know how to spell. They 
 had better keep away from here." 
 
 " There's no danger that any one will come to 
 see me," said Hannah, about to leave the room. 
 
 " All the Irish are banded together," said Mrs. 
 Carlton ; " and they all know one another, and they 
 all uphold one another, and if you trust yourself 
 to one, you trust yourself to all." 
 
 For some time longer Mrs. Carlton kept up this 
 tone of conversation with Hannah. She was 
 always making some complaint of the way in 
 which she did her work. 
 
 " I've been expecting it," said Bridget to Han 
 nah. " Mrs. Carlton don't ever keep her girls 
 more than one winter. I supposed she'd quarrel 
 us off before the spring came. And I'm about 
 ready to go, for my part. I'd as lief live in the 
 big bell of Bow, as hear the sound of Mrs. Carl- 
 ton's tongue all day." 
 
 But Hannah did not -feel this willingness to go. 
 She was attached to the memory of Bertha that 
 lingered round the house. She was even fond of 
 the boys now. Little Harry was more obedient to 
 her than any one else. Arthur liked to read 
 stories to her when she was sewing. The other 
 boys, it is true, were always appealing to her for 
 help, but they had learned to be grateful in their 
 
 17
 
 258 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 acknowledgments, and it was pleasant to her to 
 think that she was useful. 
 
 At last there came an outburst. Mrs. Carlton 
 found a favorite cream-pitcher broken. She called 
 in Hannah and accused her of breaking it. Han 
 nah said that she knew nothing of it ; she did not 
 know it was broken. 
 
 " How can you deny it, Hannah ? " Mrs. Carlton 
 said. " You know you are more awkward than 
 any one else in the house, and that no one else 
 could have broken it." 
 
 " I know I am awkward, Mrs. Carlton," Hannah 
 said, " and that it would be very likely I might 
 break it, but I never would deny it if I had broken 
 it." 
 
 " I don't wish to listen to your fine language," 
 said Mrs. Carlton. " If you can't speak the truth 
 you may as well not speak." 
 
 " Perhaps I had better not stay in the house," 
 began Hannah, slowly. 
 
 " You are quite right," interrupted Mrs. Carlton. 
 " And Mrs. Fales told me this morning of the two 
 sisters of her cook who are in want of a place. 
 They are American girls. I've been dissatisfied 
 with Bridget a long time " She stopped with 
 out finishing her sentence. 
 
 " I was going on to say," said Hannah, " that 1 
 would rather stay here till I could find out who 
 did break the pitcher ; that I would rather not 
 go till I could show you I did speak the truth
 
 GOING AWAY. 259 
 
 this time ; but if you have already found some one 
 for my place " 
 
 " What is this about breaking the pitcher ? " said 
 Agnes, sauntering into the room. " What a loud 
 talk about nothing ! You need not lecture Han 
 nah, ma'am, about the pitcher. I broke it myself 
 and picked up the pieces ! " 
 
 " You might have told me of it," said Mrs. Carl- 
 ton ; " but it makes no difference. Hannah and I 
 were talking of her going away. Hannah herself 
 seems to think she had better leave, and we have 
 not got along well together for some time." 
 
 " You won't find anybody that will do so much 
 work," said Agnes. " I would advise you not to 
 let Hannah go." 
 
 " I shall not try to find any one to do all your 
 work, Agnes," said Mrs. Carlton. " It is time that 
 you begun to work for yourself. I am tired of 
 having disputes with Hannah, and we had better 
 part." 
 
 " Perhaps it is better so," said Hannah, turning 
 slowly to leave the room, but she came back 
 quickly. " Mrs. Carlton, I had rather not go," said 
 she. " I will stay and work hard for you. It is 
 like working for Miss Bertha still. It will be like 
 parting from her again to go away. I will do all 
 you ask me. I will promise to see no friends of 
 mine." 
 
 " I see you are willing enough to stay," said Mrs. 
 Carlton, coldly. '' I supposed it would be so. When
 
 2GO STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 it comes to the point you don't care to leave a 
 good place. And it wouldn't do for Miss Elspeth 
 to know that you didn't suit me any longer. But 
 I don't like such uneasy minds." 
 
 More words followed. Agnes interposed, but 
 her interposition only irritated Mrs. Carlton the 
 more, and the conversation ended by Mrs. Carl- 
 ton's insisting that Hannah should leave that very 
 night. 
 
 " You had better go now and pack up your 
 things," was her final dismissal. 
 
 Hannah met Fred at the door as she was leaving 
 the room. He followed her. 
 
 " Has mother been quarrelling you away ? " he 
 asked. " It is a real shame, after you have been 
 knocked about all winter ! It is all the better for 
 you. There is nobody fit to live with in the 
 house. I wish somebody would send me off. We 
 shan't ever have anybody we like as well as you. 
 And nobody that is good for anything will stay in 
 such a house. I am sure I wouldn't ask them to." 
 
 Fred turned away, and there were tears in his 
 eyes. Not for Hannah, but for the uncomfortable 
 home and its succession of discords and annoy 
 ances. He would keep outside of it as much as 
 possible, and take the other boys with him. If 
 there was nobody to think of or care for them at 
 home, they needn't stay there. 
 
 Hannah went to her room bewildered. She 
 shrunk from the idea of going back to Miss Els-
 
 GOIXG AWAY. 2G1 
 
 peth. Now was the time to carry out the long, 
 cherished plan of taking care of herself. Mrs. 
 Carlton had promised her the back wages owing to 
 her. This would be enough to carry her to New 
 York. Janet's letter had given her some direc 
 tions where to find her if she should ever go 
 there. She put up her things hurriedly, deter 
 mining she would not go to see Miss Elspeth. She 
 left Bessie safe there, and now she would try for 
 herself. 
 
 In the midst of her plans she was summoned to 
 the parlor, and was surprised to find Mrs. Paxton 
 there, with Agnes. 
 
 " Mrs. Paxton wants you," said Agnes, " for Mrs. 
 Strange, to take care of Mrs. Strange's baby. She 
 heard that mother was going to send you away, 
 through Mrs. Pales." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Paxton. " Mrs. Fales's cook 
 told our chambermaid that her sister was coming 
 here in Hannah's place. Miss Agnes says, Han 
 nah, that her mother has no serious complaint to 
 make of you. Now, Mrs. Strange is all packed up 
 to go away to New York to-morrow, and her nur 
 sery-maid is taken sick, and we want somebody 
 directly to take her place." 
 
 " They want you, Hannah," said Agnes, " to go 
 on to New York to-morrow, and to take care of 
 Mrs. Strange's baby." 
 
 [t is just the way everything happens," said 
 Mrs. Paxton ; " that Mary should be taken sick at
 
 262 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 this time. She has always been a very reliable 
 girl, but one cannot tell what to depend upon. I 
 don't like Eleanora's going away again so soon, but 
 it seems very quiet to her here, and so sad and all ; 
 and she is so used to travelling, she is listless 
 whenever she is still. Then Mr. Strange's friends 
 are anxious to see the children. The baby is such 
 a splendid fellow, and the little girl is a little thing, 
 but she has such pretty ways. I should like to 
 have gone to see Miss Elspeth. I suppose she 
 would give Hannah a good recommendation. Any 
 body that she has brought up ought to be faithful 
 with a young child." 
 
 All the while Mrs. Paxton was pouring out 
 this and more to Agnes, Hannah was standing in 
 doubt. And yet hardly in doubt, rather in a sur 
 prised pleasure. Here was an easy way to go 
 to New York. Her wish was suddenly antici 
 pated. And when Mrs. Paxton and Agnes allowed 
 her time to speak, it was to give her consent. 
 Indeed, Mrs. Paxton's carriage was at the door. 
 She would take Hannah away with her if Hannah 
 was ready. She had left Ronald crying for his 
 nurse, and it would be a comfort to take Hannah 
 back directly. 
 
 Hannah felt herself carried away in a whirl. 
 She was naturally slow of thought and motion, and 
 now gave herself up to Mrs. Paxton's quick sug 
 gestions. She thought to herself bitterly that it 
 was but a change of masters, but she was attracted
 
 GOING AWAY. 263 
 
 by the novelty, and was rather pleased than other 
 wise, when Mrs. Paxton kept her so occupied 
 through the rest of the day that she had no oppor 
 tunity to go to consult Miss Elspeth, or tell her of 
 this change in her life.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE WHIKL OF WATERS. 
 
 THE next day, Hannah set forth upon her jour, 
 ney, taking the station at Langdale for New York. 
 Hannah was to have the care of the youngest 
 child only; a French maid took charge of the little 
 girl. As she could speak nothing but French, 
 Hannah could have little intercourse with her. 
 At New York they went directly to the house of 
 old Mr. Strange. 
 
 Hannah's first view of New York, was when she 
 went to take the child out with some other nurses 
 of the family and neighborhood. They were all 
 dressed in their best, the nurses and the babies. 
 Little Master Ronald, Hannah's charge, met a full 
 share of attention. His Paris hat and embroidered 
 cloak were the study and delight, not only of the 
 whole band of nurses, but of the mothers who 
 were straying up and down the sidewalk. Many 
 were the questions Hannah was obliged to an 
 swer with regard to him. She herself was won 
 by his great blue eyes and his healthy good 
 nature. Hannah repeated to Mrs. Strange the 
 praises that baby had received.
 
 THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 265 
 
 " Ronald does look well," she said, languidly ; 
 " but Hannah, you must not let him crumple his 
 ruche ; you must keep his hands still." 
 
 Hannah afterwards walked down Broadway with 
 one of the women. She was bewildered and con 
 fused by the noises, by the crush of people. She 
 saw a great many girls dressed as she fancied 
 Janet would be ; she shrank when they came near 
 her. She had no desire to meet Janet yet. She 
 would wait a little while and see what a life in 
 New York might be, and Mrs. Strange did not 
 allow her much time to make inquiries. 
 
 And indeed, her interest in the little Ronald 
 held her unconsciously, as well as the newness of 
 the life around her. She seldom left the upper 
 part of New York. Sometimes she looked down 
 the narrower streets, anxiously and inquiringly. 
 She saw along the sidewalks, poor, thinly dressed 
 girls, who reminded her of herself as she was 
 many years ago. She had started when she first 
 met some of them when she walked in Broadway. 
 It had needed that she should turn round to a 
 broad window at her side to recall to herself that 
 she was not one of them, but that the decently 
 dressed, sober-looking figure reflected there was 
 herself. She found herself almost dreading that 
 Janet should meet her in some of the streets, while 
 she was walking with the respectable-looking ser 
 vants of Mr. Strange's establishment, and feared 
 that she should be ashamed tq acknowledge her if 
 she did meet her.
 
 266 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 , x 
 
 Mrs. Strange had been received warmly and 
 kindly by her husband's family. She was sur 
 rounded with all the luxury of woe, and all the 
 attention that her widowed state required. But 
 she was as restless here as in Langdale. Fer 
 children gave her no occupation nor pleasure, for 
 she did not allow them to give her any care. 
 Ronald came to her every day before he went out, 
 that she might see that his rosettes and ribbons 
 were properly adjusted, and then he was displayed 
 again at dinner-time. " He looks so like his fa 
 ther," Mrs. Strange would say to her friends, "that 
 it brings up most harrowing recollections to have 
 him with me." 
 
 Elise was an hour or two a day with her mamma. 
 She could say a few words, half French and half 
 Italian, that entertained her and her friends. Her 
 toilet, too, was perfect, her dress always exquisite, 
 and a fruitful subject for admiration and discussion. 
 Elise had already learned to cast down her eyes, to 
 turn aside her head when her dress or herself were 
 admired, and she knew perfectly how to keep in 
 order her embroidered ruffles and streamers of rib 
 bon. When the children's dresses had all been 
 displayed, and the bijouterie that she had selected 
 and brought home with her had been sufficiently 
 admired, Mrs. Strange grew tired of her New York 
 relations, and very gladly consented to the pro 
 posal of some friends she had met in her travels, 
 to join them at Niagara, and go from there to 
 Montreal with them.
 
 THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 267 
 
 The French maid was charmed with the pros 
 pect of finding somebody to talk French with in 
 Canada, as she wearied a little of the society of 
 her mistress, and found Hannah a little impracti 
 cable. Hannah, too, was glad to be travelling 
 again. It was with the hope of seeing the world 
 that she had entered into Mrs. Strange's service. 
 The little Ronald, however, and herself, were firm 
 friends. She went with him every day to the 
 pretty squares, and was proud of all the attentions 
 that were paid him. He was always good-natured 
 with Hannah, and slept well and eat well. He 
 refused to let any one else care for him, so Hannah 
 had the almost constant charge of him. 
 
 They arrived late at night at Niagara. Mrs. 
 Strange found her friends awaiting her. All the 
 evening they talked over her trials, her sad afflic 
 tion in Florence. Elise and Ronald were shown 
 off. 
 
 " What a sad responsibility ! What a terrible 
 charge ! " they all exclaimed. 
 
 The next day, Mrs. Strange, with her friends, 
 went round in a carriage to see what was to be 
 seen. In the afternoon, Adele left Elise in Han 
 nah's care. She wanted to go and see the won 
 derful falls herself, and went off with a gay party 
 of the servants she had picked up. Hannah had 
 no chance all day to leave the rooms that were 
 allotted to them. The roar of the waters sounded 
 in her ears, the doors and the windows shook in
 
 2G8 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 their fall, but the windows commanded only the 
 village street, and she could see nothing but the 
 different parties setting off from the door of the 
 hotel. 
 
 In the evening, Mrs. Strange had Ronald brought 
 into, her parlor. Elise was talkative and noisy, 
 and she was afraid Ronald would not sleep in the 
 same room. Hannah sat by him as he slept on a 
 couch in a distant corner. He could not be dis 
 turbed by the subdued conversation that was 
 going on between Mrs. Strange and her friends. 
 Hannah, at first, did not pay any attention to this 
 conversation. She sat with her knitting by the 
 sleeping Ronald, thinking of the great roar that 
 was all the time sounding in her ears. At last 
 she was attracted by the words of one of the 
 gentlemen. He was more animated than the rest, 
 and had been a great traveller. He had been 
 talking ofi San Francisco. 
 
 " I suppose everybody gets along in California?" 
 said one of the ladies present. " What an excel 
 lent place it is for all the scapegraces and ne'er-do- 
 wells to go to." 
 
 " That's a pleasant picture of society there," 
 said Mr. Jones, laughing. " But it is only the 
 most spirited that manage to reach there, or to get 
 along after they have reached there. There was a 
 little Irish fellow I was interested in, went out in the 
 same ship with us when I went some years ago. He 
 got on board nobody knew how, and the captain
 
 THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 269 
 
 could not throw him overboard. He raised the inter 
 est of some of the passengers. My friend Smith was 
 struck with the mixture of foolhardiness and cour 
 age there was in the boy, and he helped him along 
 after he reached San Francisco. The captain had 
 threatened to put him on shore at Aspinwall, but 
 by the time we reached there, Steevie was quite a 
 favorite with the passengers and they would not 
 let him go." 
 
 Hannah had been listening attentively to Mr. 
 Jones's words, and now she came across the room. 
 
 " Oh, tell me what was his name ! " she ex 
 claimed. 
 
 " Hannah, what are you thinking of? what do 
 you mean? " said Mrs. Strange. 
 
 "I know I ought not to speak to Mr. Jones," 
 said Hannah ; " but perhaps he is my brother. I 
 mean the boy. Oh, sir, will you tell me his name, 
 and how long ago it was?" 
 
 " Hannah, you surprise me," said Mrs. Strange, 
 " to interrupt Mr. Jones in this way!" 
 
 " Never mind, Mrs. Strange," said Mr. Jones. " I 
 remember his name, because we used to laugh at 
 John O'Connor about him, and tell him he ought to 
 support his own relations, and that they probably 
 came from the same place in Ireland. John O'Con 
 nor was a young Irishman that we thought every 
 thing of; he was rich and jolly and young." 
 
 "Then it was Stephen O'Connor?" interrupted 
 Hannah. " Tell me about him. When did he go 
 to California? Is he there now?"
 
 270 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " My poor girl," said Mr. Jones, " it was so long 
 ago ! I should be very glad to give you his his 
 tory. Smith took a fancy to him and got him some 
 work in California, but Stephen was forever falling 
 into scrapes and tumbling out again. Smith kept 
 an eye on him. I saw him a year ago and asked 
 him about it. I think he said Stephen had gone 
 up to the mines, or to Australia." 
 
 " Oh, how long ago ? When did he go ? " said 
 Hannah. 
 
 " Let me see. It was the spring of " said 
 
 Mr. Jones. " I should say five or six years ago. 
 I can't remember which, but then it was a year 
 ago I met Smith, and he had lost sight of Stephen 
 then." 
 
 " But wouldn't he know? wouldn't he hear from 
 him?" asked Hannah. 
 
 "What, Smith?" asked Mr. Jones. "There 
 would be no hope of finding Smith. He turns up 
 now and then, but nobody ever knows where he 
 keeps himself." 
 
 " He sinks into the sea of Smiths, I suppose," 
 said one of the ladies. 
 
 " Then there is no hope," said Hannah. "'Ste 
 phen is lost again." 
 
 One of the gentlemen tried to comfort her by 
 telling her he would come home again, very likely, 
 after he had made his fortune. 
 
 " Well, now, 1 think it is only your bad pennies 
 that turn up again," said another.
 
 THE WHIRL OP WATERS. 271 
 
 Hannah returned to her corner, and later in the 
 evening she had permission to go out. It was late 
 and dark. She wandered into the street. She fol 
 lowed where the noise of the Falls led her, though 
 she was so full of other thoughts that she forgot 
 entirely where she was. She hurried along a 
 pathway under the trees. The sound of the roar 
 was nearer and nearer ; at length, she stood on its 
 very edge, just where the great ocean-like mass of 
 waters plunges itself into the broad, deep basin 
 below. The sky was heavily clouded, but a white 
 mist rose up to show the deep precipice of waters. 
 Hannah stood, confused, bewildered, before, in the 
 midst of the heavy tumult. Suddenly the black 
 sky was cleft, the broad, clear light of the moon 
 broke through and made clear the wonderful sea 
 of waters that lay below. 
 
 Hannah had hastened on in a tumult of passion 
 and excitement. Within her a perfect tempest 
 was raging. The coldness, the heartlessness ? 
 the thoughtlessness with which she had lately 
 been treated, filled up and were exaggerated 
 in her thoughts. They were sitting there all 
 so comfortably ; they had been talking of their 
 journeyings, and their plans were arranged to 
 give themselves excitement and pleasure. They 
 had bemoaned over Mrs. Strange's great loss; 
 they had exclaimed so loudly over their own joy at 
 meeting again. All the time they had never given 
 one thought of sympathy for the silent girl in the
 
 272 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 corner of the room. Hannah had not expected 
 they would. She had thought it a little hard that 
 Mrs. Strange had not remembered that the nursery 
 maid might have heard of Niagara Falls and had 
 never seen them. She claimed nothing more. 
 
 But she was aroused at the cold way in which 
 her excited questionings had been received. She 
 had a right to a brother and to love him, even if 
 she had no right to admire what was wonderful 
 in nature. This Mr. Jones, if he had had' any 
 feeling, might have told her more of her brother, 
 might have given her hope of finding him. But 
 she was nothing to them. A poor straw upon the 
 waters, and it was no matter where she floated. 
 They had returned to gossip about the fashions, 
 and her brother, her only brother was lost again. 
 He was always falling into scrapes, Mr. Jones had 
 said ; then perhaps he was doubly lost. What 
 could she do for him ? Nothing. What was there 
 left for her to live for ? But the great thunder of 
 the waters woke her out of her passion. The 
 tumult and the rush, the whirl of the waves stilled 
 the tempest in her breast. She stood in a pres 
 ence of great majesty. Her own self became 
 small before the wonderful scene around her. It 
 was greater than her eye or thought could take in, 
 and so she stood confounded before it. 
 
 A long time she stood there, motionless, fasci 
 nated by the never-ending motion before her. She 
 forgot herself and her own cares in the presence 
 of One great being.
 
 THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 273 
 
 " The waters stood above the mountains. At 
 his rebuke they fled ; at the voice of his thunder 
 they hasted away." 
 
 On her way there, she had thought to herself, 
 as she heard the roaring and the rushing around 
 her, she had groaned to herself, " If it could only 
 bear me away too ; if it could hurry me on into its 
 immense abyss. I am small, I am nothing ; what 
 matters it if I am swept away ? My cry will not 
 be heard in the midst of the great tumult ! " But 
 now she stood checked and silenced. It was the 
 voice of God in the great waters that spoke to her 
 and calmed her. The moon shone clearly on the 
 mass of water that went to whirl itself below, and 
 lighted up, too, the glistening spray that danced 
 above it. Her soul stood terrified, as it were, in 
 the presence of God. She shrank before the 
 abyss that had opened in her own spirit, at the 
 same time her heart throbbed to remember she 
 was the child of God, watched over by him, as 
 was the single drop of spray among the great 
 waters. 
 
 She turned homewards, and the mighty sound 
 that had seemed to her despairing, revengeful, 
 now rung in her ears like the organ notes of a 
 grand psalm, that is claiming and praying for the 
 return of a soul to God ! 
 18
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE RIVER'S BANK. 
 
 THE next morning Mrs. Strange decided she 
 would leave Niagara. The noise of the Falls had 
 kept her awake all night, and made her nervous. 
 She knew she should not be able to sleep a wink as 
 long as she remained there. Her friends had been 
 some days at Niagara, and were willing to leave, 
 'and were urgent that Mrs. Strange should come 
 directly to their home just out of Montreal. It 
 had been determined that when Mrs. Strange went 
 there, she should send the children to her mother- 
 in-law, who was by this time at her country seat on 
 the Hudson. 
 
 At noon, then, the very day after her arrival, 
 Hannah found herself leaving Niagara Falls with 
 little Ronald under her charge, Elise and Adele, 
 and Mrs. Strange's trusty man-servant. She had 
 been so busily employed in repacking, in all Mrs. 
 Strange's different requirements, that she had been 
 allowed no opportunity to leave the hotel. Mrs. 
 Strange sent away the children, expecting to meet 
 them again in a few weeks. She had brought
 
 THE RIVER'S BANK. 275 
 
 them with her to show them to her friends, that 
 they might see how Elise had preserved the French 
 accent in the few words she could say, during the 
 few weeks she had been at home, and how Ronald's 
 hair was beginning to curl. 
 
 Adele, for want of her mistress to converse with, 
 made some efforts at talk with Hannah, and the 
 journey was quickly accomplished. 
 
 The house of old Mrs. Strange was beautifully 
 situated on the banks of the Hudson. It was a 
 large house, stretching across a broad lawn. In 
 the summer it was the home of any of the children 
 and grandchildren that chose to come there ; so 
 beneath its roof were collected several families of 
 young people and children, with maids and nurses. 
 These were left to take care of themselves, to 
 do as they pleased ; the children played in the 
 grounds, or in the broad hall ; the young people 
 wandered in the garden, or made excursions 
 through the country round. Their elders met in 
 the library, or took sober drives to visit their 
 neighbors. Below the house, not far from its 
 balconied front, stretched the Hudson, behind, was 
 a line of hills of the Catskill range. Everything 
 was comfortable and luxurious about the house. 
 There were easy lounges in the airy summer rooms 
 and in the cosy library, and in the stables there 
 were horses and carriages for those who wished to 
 ride or drive. It was a haven of rest for Hannah 
 even. A rest for her body, but her thoughts were 
 full of uneasiness.
 
 276 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 The night that she heard news of Stephen at 
 Niagara, all her old passions had been roused and 
 excited. She was filled with hatred and distrust 
 of all the rest of the world. Even for a moment 
 she had believed she would gladly leave it, since 
 it was so cold, so harsh, so cruel to her. In the 
 midst of this mood she had stood beside the torrent 
 of Niagara, and its wild tumult had hushed for 
 a little while the passion within her ; it had 
 brought gentler thoughts back to her soul ; it had 
 reminded her of one great Protector, because it 
 had filled her with an awe that had driven her to 
 him alone for protection. That night, as she tried 
 to sleep in the midst of the great roar of the 
 waters, gentle sounds had mingled with her 
 dreams. She fancied she heard Bertha's voice, 
 she recalled her soothing tones. She was con 
 scious of a spiritual help, such as Bertha's faith 
 had taught her of already, and that came to uphold 
 her now. 
 
 But for poor Hannah these were high and great 
 visions. She could not strain herself up to rest in 
 them. The little vain trifling talk that Adele kept 
 up with her, brought her down from the higher 
 feelings that might sustain her. What right had 
 she, a poor, abused, unconsidered servant-girl, to 
 nourish such thoughts as these ? She listened to 
 the little squabbles and jealous quarrels that Adele 
 confided to her, that she was carrying on with the 
 servants, and found her own jealousies and dis 
 trusts nourished as she listened.
 
 THE RIVER'S BANK. 277 
 
 The children were received with warm pleasure 
 by their grandmother and the rest of the family. 
 Hannah found that her charge was taken very 
 much out of her hands. His little cousins Alice 
 and Lily took a fancy to Ronald. They were 
 about twelve and fourteen years old, always 
 together, and alike in their tastes. Whatever one 
 did, the other must do also. They could not rest 
 without having Ronald to play with. On the 
 pleasant days, they would take him out upon the 
 lawn. Hannah was made to sit under the trees 
 while they had a lively frolic with him. Then, 
 whenever they went to drive, Hannah must take 
 Ronald with them. He was such a good-natured 
 little fellow, and laughed whenever they shook 
 their curls at him. 
 
 Elise was a pet of the older girls. They were 
 fond of making her mimic young-lady airs and 
 graces, and she was a very apt scholar, and liked 
 nothing better than to be praised and laughed at 
 for her bright sayings. The French words coming 
 out from her little mouth sounded so charmingly, 
 and then they had such an excellent opportunity 
 to talk French with the nurse ! Ronald was 
 charmed with the attention he received. On rainy 
 days he would walk up and down the hall with 
 Hannah, and Alice and Lily would play hide and 
 seek with him behind the statuary that stood 
 there. It was a grand hall that went through the 
 house, and Ronald and Hannah both admired much
 
 278 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 the marble figures with which it was adorned. 
 They liked best the little Cupid on the Dolphin, 
 and Hannah held Ronald in her arms to look at it 
 again and again. Sometimes they ventured into 
 the conservatory, but not often, for if the gardener 
 was there he scolded them away. He did not like 
 to have the children there, they broke off the 
 flowers, or perhaps even knocked down the pots. 
 
 Everywhere else Hannah, with Ronald in her 
 arms, was welcomed. Grandpapa Strange laid 
 down his book if they came into the library, and 
 took off his spectacles to look at Ronald, and then 
 would lift him on his knee awhile, but give him 
 back to Hannah with a sigh, '' He looks so like his 
 father, as he was, so many years ago." 
 
 And in the drawing-room they compared the 
 hearty, rosy Ronald with the delicate, dainty little 
 Elise, and the girls were quite willing he should 
 pull down their hair, he was such a handsome little 
 darling. 
 
 One day, after a noisy play with Ronald on the 
 lawn, Alice came near where Hannah was sitting, 
 and threw herself all out of breath on the grass by 
 her side. 
 
 " Don't you think this is a pretty place?" she 
 asked of Hannah, as soon as she could recover her 
 self; " isn't this a pretty place ? I wish we had at 
 home such a wide laAvn. We have only a little bit 
 of a garden, and the walks in it are so narrow that 
 I can't run through it, or my skirts will knock off
 
 THE RIVER'S BAXK. 279 
 
 the heads of the tulips. But it is sucli a fine place 
 here ! Don't you think so, Hannah ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Alice," said Hannah. " I never saw 
 such a beautiful place." 
 
 " And don't you like to be here ? " asked Alice. 
 
 " I like to be with Master Ronald," said Hannah. 
 
 "But don't you like to be here?" persisted 
 Alice. " Do you want to go anywhere else ? You 
 look tired always ; you look as if you Avanted some 
 thing else." 
 
 " Do I look tired ? " asked Hannah. " Everybody 
 says so ; I don't know why they look at me." 
 
 " I don't suppose they do look much," said Alice; 
 u only I was wondering if it was so very tiresome 
 to take care of Ronald. Now I think I should like 
 to take care of him all day." 
 
 " Master Ronald isn't any care," said Hannah. 
 '' He isn't enough care." 
 
 " Why, I shouldn't want any more," said Alice. 
 "He is such a little plaything, just enough to 
 take up all one's time. Perhaps you don't like to 
 have us take him away from you." 
 
 " Oh no, Miss Alice," said Hannah. " I like to 
 see you playing with him, and very often it makes 
 me forget all about myself." 
 
 " Oh, you have unpleasant things to think of 
 then," suggested Alice. " I suppose people do, as 
 they grow up. Sometimes when I go to ask 
 mamma something, she says, ' Don't worry me, I'm 
 thinking.' But I shouldn't imagine any one could 
 worry here."
 
 280 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 Hannah did not reply to this. 
 
 " Perhaps," Alice went on, " you have been un 
 happy in your former life. Oh, I wish you would 
 tell me all about it. I like to read about people 
 who have had a former life, who have suffered 
 much through their early days, and then something 
 turns up that makes it all very happy for them." 
 
 " I have had kind friends who have kept me 
 from suffering," said Hannah. 
 
 " Did you leave an old father in Ireland ? " said 
 Alice. " Did he send you here to try your 
 fortune ? " 
 
 " I had a brother that I loved, Miss Alice," said 
 Hannah, at last, "and he went away to try his 
 fortune, and I think I shall never see him again." 
 
 " And hasn't he written to you ? " said Alice ; 
 " and don't you think he'll come home sometime 
 with a very magnificent fortune ? Oh, I shouldn't 
 think you would be tired, thinking and wondering 
 and fancying what has become of him, and how he 
 will come home." 
 
 " Perhaps he never will come home," sighed 
 Hannah. 
 
 Lily came running up with Ronald in her arms. 
 There was a summons into the house. It was time 
 to dress for dinner. All through the rest of 
 Hannah's stay, however, Alice pleased herself with 
 talking with Hannah about what had become of 
 her brother. She was pleased to know something 
 that the rest of the family had never heard of, so
 
 THE RIVER'S BANK. 281 
 
 she kept Hannah's confidence all to herself. She 
 raised wild speculations, and asked of Hannah a 
 great many questions. She was very sure she 
 should meet with Stephen herself in some very 
 romantic way, and then she would befriend him 
 and speak to him of Hannah and send him home to 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Alice," said Hannah, once, " I am 
 tired of thinking of that. I have been over and 
 over it again, a great many times, and have planned 
 in my mind many ways in which I should see him ; 
 and I have wondered how I should meet him, till I 
 have begun to fear to see him again ! " 
 
 JVfrs. Strange returned from her visit to Montreal 
 and took her place in the family circle. Hannah 
 perceived that she did not bring much pleasure 
 there. She showed no sympathy for her cousins 
 and nieces, or sisters-in-law. Even old Mr. Strange 
 could not interest her in anything. Everybody 
 was very attentive and kind to her, but she was 
 not satisfied with any attention or kindness. She 
 did not care for the books they were reading, nor 
 admire the collars they were embroidering. She 
 was listless, and expressed no pleasure in the 
 beauty of the scenery. It dazzled her eyes to see 
 the sunlight on the water, and she thought the 
 sight of the mountains was gloomy and dismal. 
 They reminded her of that sad winter she had 
 been passing. She drew down the curtains over 
 the windows, and shut out the sunlight and the
 
 282 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 view, and then she had no power to make any sun 
 light within. 
 
 She objected to Ronald's playing so much with 
 Alice and Lily. She was very sure some accident 
 would happen if he was left so much with those 
 wild girls. It was Hannah's business to take care 
 of him. She was quiet and steady, and Mrs. 
 Strange decidedly prohibited his constant frolics 
 with the others. Ronald did not like being 
 restrained, nor to return to Hannah's sober society 
 after he had tasted something more cheerful. 
 Poor Hannah had trouble in keeping him quiet, 
 while Alice and Lily were obliged to find amuse 
 ment somewhere else, and set off on long expedi 
 tions with their uncles into the mountains. 
 
 But Mrs. Strange could not decide to spend the 
 summer here ; she determined to go back to Lang- 
 dale. Ronald had a violent fit of crying, because he 
 did not wish to go away. His mother did not listen 
 to him, but with her whole family went down on 
 one afternoon in the boat to New York, and stayed 
 there a few days before returning to Laugda!e.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE OLD HAUNTS. 
 
 EARLY in the morning they reached Langdale. 
 Hannah was kept busy over the trunks and with 
 Ronald till the afternoon, when she asked Mrs. 
 Strange if she could spare her for a little while. 
 
 " You look tired," said Mrs. Strange, for once 
 observing Hannah's appearance, " and I suppose 
 you would like to go and see Miss Elspeth. You 
 shall have the afternoon to rest yourself, and Mary 
 shall take care of Ronald." 
 
 Hannah did look worn and anxious. She 
 dressed herself, took a hurried good-by of Ro 
 nald, and went into the street. Here she stopped 
 and looked up and down, as she used to do in the 
 early days when she first went to Langdale. As 
 she looked up the street, she could see just beyond 
 the row of trees that stretched along the sidewalk, 
 the gate that led to Miss Elspeth's house. As she 
 looked down, she saw the curve shut in by the 
 drooping branches of the elms, that always closed 
 the prospect there. 
 
 She turned her steps down the street, and
 
 284 STRUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 passed the little grocery shop, and the tavern, and 
 went out of the village. Farther than this she 
 had never walked before. She had never been in 
 Boston since the day she drove away from it with 
 Miss Dora and Frank. For the first year or two 
 Miss Elspeth had purposely kept her from going 
 there, as she wanted to break up her associations 
 with the place, and afterwards the family wants 
 from there had been so small, that Miss Elspeth 
 could always supply them herself. So, for the first 
 time, Hannah trod the road that had seemed so 
 long to her six years before. Now she hurried 
 along it, and as she passed on and drew nearer 
 Boston, the way grew more and more familiar. 
 She recognized some of the large houses, to 
 which broad avenues led, that had seemed to her 
 like palaces when she passed them before. She 
 remembered the different places Frank had pointed 
 out to Bessie to amuse her. As she walked on she 
 came to the long ropewalk that had astonished 
 Bessie, and she had asked Frank what it was, and 
 if a ropewalk were anything like a sidewalk. Bos 
 ton rose up before her. The brick houses shutting 
 in the narrow streets, towering up and crowned 
 by the dome of the State House. She saw the 
 water again, and the many bridges stretching 
 across it, over which she used to wander so long 
 ago. She hastened along so fast that she was sur 
 prised to find it so near. " Has it always been so 
 near to me?" she exclaimed to herself. In her
 
 THE OLD HAUNTS. 285 
 
 hurry and excitement she felt no fatigue, and 
 pressed on more and more ardently. Just as she 
 entered upon the dusty streets, a little girl touched 
 her. " Will you give me a cent, ma'am?" she 
 asked. Hannah did not venture to look at her. 
 She dared not see this image of herself as she 
 once was. She pushed by and went on. She 
 crossed the Common, that seemed little changed^ 
 though she hardly cast her eyes around. There 
 were children playing there, who looked as the 
 children did there six years ago. An apple-woman 
 sat beneath a tree. Hannah could not help observ 
 ing her. " Is that old Mrs. Grundy sitting there 
 still and looking just the same, sewing on the same 
 work, with one eye still upon her apples ? Mrs. 
 Grundy, they used to say, was rich, and had saved 
 up* money in the bank, or somewhere. She saved 
 it so that Jem might be taught book-learning. 
 Where is Jem now ? He never liked anything so 
 well as playing marbles in the streets. And poor 
 Mrs. Grundy sits there still, sewing on the coarse, 
 blue pantaloons." But Hannah did not stop here. 
 She even walked on faster. She would not have 
 Mrs. Grundy see her and recognize her. So she 
 hurried on till the streets grew narrower and nar 
 rower. There were new buildings here that 
 almost confused her. The old landmarks were 
 gone, and high rows of stores, with broad-paned 
 windows, filled with brilliant silks and ribbons, 
 rose up where before were old wooden houses,
 
 286 STEUGGLE FOE LIFE. 
 
 that Hannah herself used to frequent. She 
 turned the corner of one of these, and came in. 
 sight of the entrance to Board Court. She passed 
 on and reached the very corner, and looked down 
 the little, narrow court. There everything was 
 quite unchanged. The old gates in front of the 
 doorways still hung loosely on their hinges. Old 
 barrels stood along in front of the houses. Rub 
 bish, broken baskets, stoves, laid heaped up, all 
 along the court. There were groups of children, 
 noisy children, that were quarrelling there, as they 
 used to do long ago. There were women hanging 
 out clothes along the lines spread across their 
 door-yards. They were talking to each other in 
 loud tones, the strains of which sounded familiar 
 to Hannah's ears. Two boys were fighting over 
 the broken hoop of a barrel, and a dog was joining 
 in the contest, and some girls were struggling 
 about a torn straw bonnet. Yes, it was all familiar 
 to Hannah's eyes ; the sight of it made her dizzy, 
 the sounds stunned her. She stood a moment 
 fixed. She had meant to go down there, to 
 have inquired about the people that u?ed to live 
 there. She thought some of them might tell her 
 news of Stephen. She had a vague idea that 
 there would be somebody there who would receive 
 her warmly and cordially. She remembered that 
 they used to love one another there, and she came 
 back to find an old home-feeling she fancied she 
 could meet nowhere else.
 
 THE OLD HAUNTS. 287 
 
 But she stood still, shocked, overwhelmed. She 
 had thought so much of her own people, of her 
 earlier friends, that her fancy~had thrown a mist 
 over them that elevated them in her remembrance. 
 At one moment all this went away. At one 
 moment she saw what she was, in comparison with 
 what she might have been. She saw, coming 
 towards her, a girl struggling under the weight of 
 a heavy basket of chips. It was just so she used 
 to come home from her daily wanderings. It pic 
 tured herself. She realized it now more than she 
 had done in the crowds of New York. Now she 
 stood puzzled between the Hannah that was, and 
 the Hannah of seventeen years of age, standing 
 there, well-cared for, and in comfortable dress ; and 
 within, how different ! 
 
 The thought of this last difference made her 
 shudder afresh. She suddenly began to fear she 
 might be recognized, might be drawn back into 
 that abyss.. For she suddenly saw how she her 
 self had been made over ; how within her were 
 new standards of right and wrong, such as she had 
 been quite unconscious of before ; such as she 
 was partly unconscious of now. She could not 
 now say to herself, I believe that there is a right 
 and wrong ; that it is my duty to follow in the 
 path to God ;, she did not know this, but she felt 
 herself shuddering before that other path. 
 
 She turned away quickly ; she dreaded lest they 
 should know her ; lest somehow she should be
 
 288 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 tempted back to that old life that only from this 
 moment she loathed. Faster than she Lad come 
 there, if possible, she hastened away ; only one 
 thought was in her mind. " Miss Elspeth, Miss 
 Elspeth I She saved me. But for her, I should 
 be there still ; or where, indeed, should I be?" 
 
 She pressed through the crowded streets. The 
 high houses that looked down upon her were 
 crowded too. Those just around her had ouco 
 been grand mansions, but had been deserted for 
 more fashionable quarters, and were given over to 
 the lowest of the poor. They still had their 
 stately entrances, and iron balconies, and stone 
 facings to the large windows. Within were high- 
 storied rooms, ornamented ceilings, and oak-carved 
 balustrades. Now the houses swarmed with occu 
 pants. Each room held its family, perhaps more. 
 Children and lounging men and women were 
 crowded out upon the steps and staircase. All were 
 struggling for life. It was like a wild field, where 
 the native plants struggle with an overgrowth 
 from alien seeds, for daily subsistence. It was a 
 struggle for mere physical life ; for the food of the 
 day ; for permission to breathe, and to breathe in 
 an air that seemed to choke breath. There was 
 little room for a struggle for spiritual life. 
 
 Two women leaned together from a window, 
 looking equally old. They were mother and 
 grandmother of the child looking up to them from 
 below. . Their faces were grimed with filth, and
 
 THE OLD HAUNTS. 289 
 
 worn with caro, and hardened and stolid in igno 
 rance and brutality. All humanity had so faded 
 from the coarse, repulsive features, that one would 
 hesitate to call them women still. The little child 
 beneath looked up with laughing brown eyes, shak 
 ing joyfully its curls of golden hair. Its cheeks 
 were hidden in dirt, but were still ruddy and fresh. 
 It was a picture of health, and heartiness and hap 
 piness. It is to struggle for life, as those two 
 poor women have done before it. Must it be only 
 to find food for the day, losing health of body and 
 soul for the sake only of food and raiment? It is to 
 struggle with the crowding humanity around, with 
 weeds and tares, while its own growth is feeble 
 and unassisted. Must it be left so? Must the 
 child harden into vice, stunted and maimed, when 
 it has a child's hearty claim on life, life physical 
 and life spiritual, the claim of every human 
 being ? 
 
 Some of these thoughts and questions came into 
 Hannah's mind as she hurried along. She was 
 suddenly conscious that she had been transplanted 
 from a close, weedy, unhealthy ?oil, into food, 
 and air, and light. Not only herself had been 
 saved, but Bessie, Martha, and Margie had been 
 rescued. For suddenly she realized what a down 
 ward path there lay from such a home as she left 
 behind. There was love and kindness there, such 
 as she fancied she had been longing for these 
 many years ; but there came before her the mcm- 
 19
 
 290 STEUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 ory of evil, she shuddered to think how alluring ; 
 and the destitution that shuts out the sight of all 
 else but the thought of supplying daily Avants; 
 and the recklessness that cares only for the mo 
 ment's pleasure ; and loathsome sights, and misery 
 in all its forms, to harden the feelings or drive the 
 heart to despair. From all this she had been 
 saved, snatched away, brought into a higher and 
 lighter atmosphere, to another world. 
 
 To Hannah, it seemed as if this were the moment 
 of her own salvation, because for the first time she 
 felt utterty grateful to Miss Elspeth for all she had 
 done. Before, she had wild, ambitious, vain imag 
 inings ; she had believed that if only Miss Elspeth 
 had left her to herself, she would have worked out 
 for herself some greater position in the world. 
 She had cherished a sullen feeling towards Miss 
 Elspeth and Amy. She thought they had taken 
 her away merely to make her work, to live a life 
 of labor. While she had been with Bertha, her 
 sullenness had been cleared aAvay, the darkness 
 of her atmosphere purified; a little while she had 
 been raised above her natural range of thought. 
 But like a vision, these better modes of mind had 
 lately passed away. 
 
 The last few weeks, her old passions, her gloom 
 iness of disposition, had returned with new force. 
 She had become suspicious of her old friends, dis 
 trusting those who were near her. Travelling 
 back to Langdale, there had rushed upon her a
 
 THE OLD HAUNTS. 291 
 
 desire to return to her old home, to her old haunts, 
 and her old ways of life. And she had come to 
 Boston with the firm resolution of returning to live 
 in Board Court. If she found there one of her old 
 friends, a single person who could welcome her, 
 she meant to stay there. She would live as they 
 did, and make her home with them. Miss Elspeth, 
 Amy, Bessie, Ronald, she could leave them all 
 behind, as once she had left Board Court. She 
 was older now, and could take care of herself. 
 She would live independently, free of others, and 
 not subject to'their exactions. 
 
 It was not till she saw the old place, with its 
 desolation hanging round it, that she knew just 
 what a home she had left there. It was not till 
 this moment she realized the strength of the new 
 ties that bound her. She hurried back, dizzy, her 
 head confused with thought. In the crowded 
 streets she seemed to see only the poor, thinly 
 dressed girls. At all the street corners they 
 seemed to appeal to her. She saw them clinging 
 to the omnibus steps, seated under the church 
 porches, coming out from the alley-ways. Again, 
 upon the bridge she was asked for a cent, and 
 emptied the contents of her pocket into a poor 
 girl's hand. On she walked until she was quite 
 out of town, till she drew near Langdale. Here 
 she left the road, and turning into a little wood by 
 the wayside, sat down in a sheltered spot. She 
 hid her face in her hands and wept bitterly. They
 
 292 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 were softening tears, they broke up the stoniness 
 in her heart, melted the ice there. For once, she 
 thanked God heartily, earnestly. He had turned 
 the heart of Miss Elspeth towards her, and that 
 had saved her. 
 
 fit is so hard to melt away the influences of an 
 early life, to counteract all the lessons of the first 
 ten years, to tear up the weeds that are early 
 planted. There are evil inheritances to be strug 
 gled with, childish prejudices and fancies ban 
 ished.^ It requires the constant care of a warm 
 love, and the patience that comes with love, and 
 even at the last there is often disappointment. 
 For" there comes often a moment of reaction, such 
 a time as came to Hannah, when she found herself 
 independent, or fancied herself so, when the old 
 life came upon her, almost irresistible with its 
 charm, of which its distance formed a part. At 
 this age and point of their lives, such girls as 
 Hannah, who have been saved so far, suddenly 
 feel a right to choose for themselves their future 
 life. They have no special home of their own, like 
 those of their own age who are fortunate enough 
 to have mother, father, sister) and brothers to hold 
 and claim them ; and in contrast, a life of indepen 
 dence looks attractive and tempting to them. 
 They are restless under restraint, they are unwill 
 ing to feel grateful, are unconscious that they 
 have anything to be grateful for. It is a time of 
 contest. The struggle comes for a spiritual life,
 
 THE OLD HAUNTS. 293 
 
 and upon the nature of the influences of the last 
 few years will depend the result. It is not enough 
 to have kept these poor ones from the evil, to have 
 sheltered them from harm, they must have been 
 brought into a positive love of the good, and must 
 be held still and restrained by the powerful arms 
 of love. 
 
 It would be hard to say what influences were 
 now most powerfully working upon Hannah ; what 
 it was that had remade and regenerated her. 
 There* was Miss Elspeth's untiring kindness that 
 had never looked for an answering glance ; there 
 was Amy's warm, tender, unvarying interest ; and 
 there were the pure strong words of Bertha ; all 
 these had made an atmosphere around her that 
 had elevated her above early clinging habits, that 
 had given her a higher tone of character, which 
 she did not know of, till a sudden glimpse showed 
 her the contrast between the old and the new. 
 And to help the sharpness of this contrast came 
 Miss Dora's obstinate love of order that had, one 
 by one, weeded out the unneat habits of the first 
 years of Hannah's life, which nothing but Miss 
 Dora's preciseness and attention to petty detail 
 could have destroyed. 
 
 In looking down Board Court, besides the hor 
 ror of the degrading atmosphere with which she 
 suddenly felt it was surrounded, Hannah shrank 
 from its filth and its unthriftjness. If nothing else 
 had kept her from the place, the sense of order
 
 294 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 and of neatness acquired in these last few years 
 would have kept her from it. Any life, a life of 
 hardship and of labor, were better than a home in 
 such squalor and discomfort. 
 
 The long summer afternoon had passed away, 
 and the sun was setting, as Hannah lifted her face 
 from her hands, and rose to go back. A new 
 sense had come in upon her ; her first thought of 
 gratitude. With it, a new hope, new resolutions, 
 even plans for the future. It was no vague idea 
 of something great to come upon her that ani 
 mated her, but something that she was herself to 
 do, an object in life.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 A MEETING. . 
 
 As Hannah turned into Langdale, at a meeting 
 of two streets, she was asked a question about the 
 way, by some one who was passing by. Her face 
 was bent down, so she had not observed who it 
 was that spoke to her, but the voice roused her. 
 She looked up to see a tall, well-built man, with 
 sunburnt face, not different from many she met in 
 the street ; but something about him attracted her, 
 especially when he repeated his question, " if Miss 
 Elspeth Elton lived anywhere near." 
 
 Hannah had hardly wakened out of the dream 
 into which her walk had thrown her, with all its 
 remembrances of all the years of her life. Instead 
 of answering, she stared at the stranger, and said 
 to herself, " If it should be Stephen ! " 
 
 " But it is Stephen," was the answer. u Stephen 
 O'Connor. But I'm sure I can't say who you are, 
 if it is not Hannah." 
 
 He was interrupted by Hannah's exclamations. 
 Poor Hannah was never demonstrative. She had 
 never shown in her face any feeling that warmed
 
 296 STKUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 below. And now in the street, with an unknown 
 Stephen before her, she scarcely knew how to 
 bring out her expressions of delight and joy, her 
 questionings and wonderings. She forgot all the 
 weariness of her walk, of her long life, in the 
 crowning pleasure she had dreamed of and 
 pictured to herself through these many years. 
 She was passing from one dream of life into 
 another, into a happiness she neither knew how 
 to realize or to express. And now no action or 
 color or words came to Hannah after that first 
 utterance of surprise in the reality of her happi 
 ness. There was no doubt in it either, for though 
 the Stephen that stood before her had outgrown 
 the Steevie of six years ago ; though the reckless, 
 ragged boy had become what Hannah's fastidious 
 eyes had directly perceived to be "respectable" 
 looking, there was enough of the old manner and 
 voice and face to assure her that her brother was 
 not lost, that he had indeed comeback again. 
 Stephen's words did not falter. 
 
 " I do believe it is Hannah," he said. " But you 
 look so white and pale ; you can hardly stand up. 
 Just sit down here a minute ; let us look at each 
 other. It is better than I expected, to find you in 
 the same place all the time. It would have served 
 me right if I had lost you entirely. It is Hannah, 
 and Hannah grown well-looking, though you are so 
 pale, and happier than ever you looked before. I 
 was afraid to go to Board Court ; I was afraid lest
 
 A MEETING. 297 
 
 I should find you in the old place. And Bessie, 
 I'm afraid to ask about Bessie. Don't tell me yet 
 about her if it's bad. I can't hear it." 
 
 Hannah had seated herself on a stone by the 
 wayside, under the barberry bushes, the blackberry 
 vines clambering in and about her feet, almost 
 opposite the Lees' house, but she started up when 
 Stephen spoke of Bessie. 
 
 " I must take you to her," she exclaimed. " I 
 must not keep you here. I believe I thought I 
 was dreaming, and that it would all act itself out 
 without any moving." 
 
 Hannah hastened away with Stephen, and met at 
 Miss Elspeth's door Bessie and Margie. 
 
 " Oh, Hannah," Bessie exclaimed, " we were 
 coming to see if it were true that you had got 
 home. And how could you go away without 
 bidding us good-by ? But what is the matter ? 
 You look pale and sick, and happy, and crying 
 too ! Oh, Miss Elspeth, come here ; it is Hannah, 
 and I cannot tell what is the matter with her." 
 
 Bessie was so taken up with Hannah that she 
 could scarcely notice her companion. But Hannah 
 succeeded at last in making her understand who it 
 was. After she understood, it was some minutes 
 before Bessie could welcome in the grown-up man 
 before her, the old playfellow she could never quite 
 forget; but at last she threw herself into his arms 
 with sobbings and delight. 
 
 Bessie and -Margie had an idea that Hannah must
 
 298 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 have brought Stephen from Niagara or New York ; 
 it was a long time before they could understand 
 that he was as new a treasure to Hannah as he 
 was to Bessie, or how or where it was that Hannah 
 had found him. 
 
 Through the summer evening, Bessie sat upon 
 the door-steps listening to Stephen's talk as he 
 told of all his adventures? how he had come home 
 a "carpenter," not a "nabob" with California 
 gold, of his narrow escapes, and wonderful stories 
 about the sea. Margie sat by with eyes wide 
 open in wonder and delight. Hannah listened, too, 
 for a while, but presently went in to talk with Miss 
 Elspeth, while Miss Dora had fallen asleep over her 
 knitting. 
 
 " I want to ask you about yourself, Hannah," 
 said Miss Elspeth. " You went away so hurriedly, 
 and Mrs. Carlton has already regretted that she let 
 you go, and would gladly have you back again. 
 But I can't regret the journey, if it has made you 
 look so fresh and well ; or is it Stephen's return 
 that has refreshed you so ? " 
 
 " It is neither, it is neither," said Hannah, " and 
 it is that I want to tell you. It all conies from my 
 walk to Boston this very afternoon." 
 
 " You walked to Boston ! " exclaimed Miss Els 
 peth. " It is not possible you walked all that 
 way." 
 
 " Ah, I did more than that," said Hannah. And 
 she went back to tell all the distrust and ingrati-
 
 A MEETING. 299 
 
 tude of her last years, all the hardness of her heart, 
 and evil suspicions. She told as well as she could 
 of the sudden glimpse into her old life, and how it 
 had wakened her into a feeling of what she had 
 been, of what she owed to Miss Elspeth. 
 
 '* I came back," she said, " thinking Bessie and I 
 could never do enough if we gave our whole lives 
 to you, and eager to work all my life long, if I can 
 only do some of the good you have done." 
 
 Miss Elspeth listened, wondering, in silence. 
 She had never looked for reward. When she 
 began her work she had never looked towards its 
 end. She was one of those workers who would 
 never have asked to see the end. She liked best 
 that work whose object was so grand that its end 
 ing fell into the hands of God, though its beginning 
 was small enough for her weak energies. Not that 
 she evor reasoned so, nor knew that she was work 
 ing in so grand a way. She took up what lay near 
 her to do, because it was her work and she would 
 never give it to another. That night she could 
 scarcely close her eyes for this wondrous gratitude 
 at her own work. She loved -Hannah with a love 
 different from that she felt for the other children. 
 They were attractive to everybody, and won their 
 own way ; but for Hannah she had longed and 
 waited. She had found it hard to understand her, 
 and for this reason had yearned the more to move 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 HOME AT LAST. 
 
 Miss DOKA was a little suspicious of Stephen at 
 first. When he left, she herself locked all the 
 doors. She did not like the idea of introducing a 
 new man into the house. It might be Stephen, but 
 then, again, it might not be ; and if it were Ste 
 phen, what ought they to expect of him? Her 
 prejudices were gradually removed by Stephen's 
 constantly respectful air and deference, and by the 
 handiuess that he displayed in sundry little pieces 
 of work about the house. It was settled that 
 Hannah was to live \vith Stephen in Boston. 
 Hannah and Bessie easily persuaded him that it 
 was not right to take Bessie from Miss Dora and 
 Miss Elspeth. Hannah talked with Miss Elspeth 
 of it. 
 
 " Stephen will not listen to any other plan. He 
 is willing that I should sew to help him earn 
 his living. There is another plan, and Stephen 
 is willing to help it. I thought of it that 
 day in the wood, after I came from Boston. I 
 thought all my life long I would work for those
 
 HOME AT LAST. 301 
 
 poor girls wandering in the streets. If I could 
 find the one that was so like me, that I saw that 
 day, how I would like to help her. I shall not 
 have such a home aa yours to bring her to. I am 
 not like you. I cannot show her what goodness is. 
 But I can take her or some child out of a sadder 
 home. You will help me, Miss Amy will help me. 
 Perhaps, because I have been so near those poor 
 ones once, I may know how to help them, though I 
 am so little in myself." 
 
 On an appointed day, Stephen met Bessie and 
 Hannah at the station and led them to his house, 
 some rooms in a little, quiet street, one of a block 
 newly built. Everything was neat about it, the 
 steps and the stairway. Hannah opened the door 
 of the front room and started to find it all fur 
 nished. She had partly expected this, but not to 
 find such a finished, comfortable air over every 
 thing. She was still more surprised when Agnes 
 and Fred Carlton came to greet her. 
 
 " Have not we done wonders?" said Agnes. " I 
 can't say I have done much. But one day, when I 
 was coming into town, I found Amy was concoct 
 ing this plan, and I could not help having a hand 
 in it. She was busy enough about her own house, 
 I told her, and I asked her to let me come and 
 arrange it with her. I suppose we ought to be out 
 of the way now, while you look round on your 
 new possessions ; but I never did anything before 
 that I enjoyed so much ! "
 
 302 STRUGGLE FOB LIFE. 
 
 " Why, how beautiful it is here ! " exclaimed 
 Hannah. " And Miss Agnes, you helped about 
 this ? " 
 
 " You know I never do much," said Agnes. " I 
 tried this time, but it was hard work. I thought I 
 might accomplish some sweeping, and took up the 
 broom one day, but it made my side ache so that I 
 had to sit down again." 
 
 Hannah was looking round, admiring all there 
 was in the room. 
 
 " Pray, admire the carpet," said Agnes. " That 
 was Mr. Rothsay's present. Amy was coming into 
 town to select it the day I met her, and that she 
 told me of her plans. So I went with her, and I 
 do believe I prevented her from getting one of 
 those horrid red and green ones. Amy has a good 
 taste, but she had an idea they would be more use 
 ful. Now, look at Fred's labors in putting up 
 those bookshelves." 
 
 " Mr. Fred has been very handy," said Stephen. 
 
 " Oh, we have had a famous time," said Agnes, 
 seizing Hannah and spinning her round the room 
 and seating her at last in a little sewing-chair. 
 " That is Fred's present," she continued ; " and 
 the workbox on the table Tom and Jack sent you. 
 Do you know they were full three days in the 
 woodhouse, hammering up a workbox for you 
 with shingles and nails, which they thought quite 
 splendid? But when papa came to see it, he 
 thought it would not do for you, so he brought
 
 HOME AT LAST. 303 
 
 them into town and took them to a shop, to pick 
 out the prettiest they could find. And this was 
 the result. A little gaudy, perhaps, but valuable 
 as expressing their taste ! " 
 
 " But this picture by the table here ! " exclaimed 
 Hannah. " Why, this is Miss Amy herself! " 
 
 " Ah, yes, you can see George Arnold's hand in 
 that," said Agnes. 
 
 " She looks as I have seen her so many times," 
 said Hannah, " standing on the doorstep." 
 
 " Yes ; the broom in her hand and all," said Ag 
 nes. " Nobody would have thought of that but 
 George Arnold. She is brushing away the leaves 
 from the piazza, and the vines across the pillars 
 make such a pretty archway for the picture ! " 
 
 There was a sofa Mr. Carlton had sent to Han 
 nah, to be admired and praised. The pretty round 
 table Agnes had contributed, with its vase of 
 flowers. 
 
 " Now look into your cupboards," said Agnes. 
 " See how nicely Miss Elspeth has filled them ! " 
 
 " What beautiful china ! " exclaimed Hannah. 
 " Stephen, what shall we do with such handsome 
 things ? " 
 
 " And this famous chest of tea, George Arnold 
 brought home," said Agnes. 
 
 " And my store-closet furnished too 1 " said Han 
 nah. " What kind friends I have ! " 
 
 In her own bedroom were traces of Amy's hands, 
 in the white window curtains and the pretty work- 
 table she had left for Hannah.
 
 304 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 Agnes followed Hannah into the room just as 
 she was looking up at an engraving that hung 
 opposite her bed. 
 
 " That beautiful picture too ! " she said. " Oh, 
 Miss Agnes, the one Miss Bertha loved so well ! " 
 
 " Yes, Hannah," said Agnes, " it is the very one 
 that used to hang in Bertha's room. I thought you 
 would like to have it. It will seem to you like a 
 present from Bertha." 
 
 " Miss Agnes, it is so kind of you. You are so 
 very thoughtful," said Hannah. 
 
 " You had not expected it of me," said Agnes. 
 *' I would not have expected it of myself. Yet 1 
 am not quite ungrateful. You were more to Ber 
 tha than ever I was, and you have taught me a 
 great deal. I would give much if I could be like 
 you." 
 
 " Like me ! " exclaimed Hannah. " You could 
 not wish that ! " 
 
 " Oh yes ; you know how to work, and I think 
 there must be pleasure in that," said Agnes. " I 
 believe Bertha used to think it would be a very 
 hard lesson for me to learn how to work. And it 
 is so. My thoughts fly about in so many different 
 ways. I am unsettled. I have no aim. I have 
 had greater pleasure here than I ever had before. 
 I tried to think what Bertha would have done had 
 she been here. But as soon as I compare it all 
 with her, I can think of nothing but a failure 1 " 
 
 " Oh, dear, Miss Agnes, not so," said Hannah.
 
 HOME AT LAST. 305 
 
 " It was such a very great pleasure merely to see 
 you and Mr. Fred here ! And that you should 
 have thought of this beautiful picture ! I could 
 love nothing more than this. We seem to see the 
 angels that bore away our dear Miss Bertha." 
 
 Agnes hurried away. She would not stay any 
 longer, but she ran back to tell Hannah she should 
 stop there often to give her some valuable hints 
 upon housekeeping, and to help her if she were in 
 any strait about her sewing. 
 
 Hannah was left with Bessie and Stephen, to 
 look again at all her own possessions, and exclaim 
 again with gratitude. There were the books that 
 Frank Rothsay had selected, and the silver spoons 
 that Mrs. Strange had sent. The pretty water 
 pitcher and some plaster statuettes were the gift 
 of Bessie, Martha, and Margie. They, too, had per 
 suaded Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora to have their 
 daguerreotypes taken for Hannah, and Ralph, the 
 cat, was also introduced into the picture. It had 
 proved as difficult to get Miss Dora to the daguer 
 reotype rooms in Langdale, as the cat. She did 
 not like daguerreotypes, and her sourest expres 
 sion was transferred to the plate. Miss Dora's 
 gifts were found in the store-closet. 
 
 Miss Elspeth, Bessie, Martha, and Margie assem 
 bled at Hannah's house-warming, which was cele 
 brated by a splendid tea m her new home. 
 
 20
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 AMY'S LANDSCAPE. 
 
 MRS. BUNCE was very much shocked that Amy 
 Rothsay should leave Langdale to live in a narrow- 
 street in Boston. Mrs. Bunce had been to see the 
 house Amy was to live in, for George Arnold had 
 asked her one day when she went into town with 
 him in the cars, to go and look at it. It was a 
 small house, and there was a row of brick buildings 
 in front, and a dead brick wall behind it. To be 
 sure, there was a horse-chestnut in front of the 
 doorway, but it was only a mockery of a tree, 
 growing out of the bricks, and Amy all her life had 
 lived in the garden and in the woods, as it were, 
 and George pretended to be so fond of sketching 
 from nature. To be sure, she should think it would 
 be easier to draw houses and windows, where he 
 could rule the lines, and she always wondered 
 anybody would try to draw trees when there was 
 not one tree like another, if the woods were ever 
 so large, and she never could see how anybody 
 could think of putting them down just the same on 
 paper. But then George and some other painters
 
 AMY'S LANDSCAPE. 307 
 
 she had seen, always had a fancy for trying to 
 draw trees and vines, and George had always 
 insisted she should keep the creeper over her own 
 porch, though it had grown so thick now that it 
 quite darkened her front room. But she was sure 
 she didn't care if there was not any light in the 
 front room, now Amy and everybody else that she 
 wanted to see, were going away from Langdale. 
 
 Amy herself was not at all so melancholy about 
 her new home. There was sunlight in the house, 
 even if the brick walls shut it out so closely. The 
 outside of the house was like all the rest in the 
 block, and it needed George Arnold's name on the 
 door to guide the most intimate friend to the right 
 entrance ; but once inside, there was no doubt to 
 whom it was to belong. Already it wore an indi 
 vidual air, in spite of the plan that ruled the whole 
 row of houses, and its rooms expressed both com 
 fort and elegance. 
 
 It was one day when almost the last finishing 
 touch had been given to the pretty rooms that 
 Hannah drew Amy to the front window. 
 
 " I have never yet told you," she said to Amy^ 
 " why I like these windows of yours. If you look 
 up the street to the corner opposite, you will see 
 the place where I first met Miss Elspeth. I 
 remember perfectly how I stood shivering there, 
 lingering in the cold, before I should go to my 
 cheerless home. In front of Miss Elspeth, came 
 along a lady very handsomely dressed. She at-
 
 308 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 tracted me, and at first I meant to speak to her. 
 She wore so many satins and furs, I thought she 
 must have a great deal of money. I was going 
 forward to speak to her when I saw Miss Elspeth 
 just behind. There was something about her face 
 that looked gentle and kind. Oh ! you cannot 
 think in those days how we learned to study faces. 
 I did not think of Miss Elspeth's dress. I only 
 saw she looked as though she could not answer me 
 harshly, and so I spoke to her. That first lady, 
 dressed in the satins and furs, Miss Amy, was Mrs. 
 Pax ton, so I knew afterwards, for I had never 
 forgotten her face. And if I had asked her for 
 help, oh, think of it ! she would have turned me 
 away, I should have lost my chance of speaking 
 to Miss Elspeth. I know Mrs. Paxton would not 
 have listened to me, and she might have given me 
 hard words. Those hard words would have sent 
 me back into my old life, into that life that I 
 loved in those days, but out of which I never 
 could have lifted myself. I know how stern, how 
 severe she is, and she would have made me harder 
 and colder than I was before." 
 
 " Stop a moment," said Amy, smiling ; " you 
 are talking in the way you used to go on. Think 
 of the kind words that have been spoken to you." 
 
 "It is those words I am thinking of, indeed," 
 said Hannah; "but how can I help shuddering 
 when I think what a difference just those few 
 words might have made in me. Even a kind word
 
 AMY'S LANDSCAPE. 309 
 
 might have helped me then. Miss Elspeth gave 
 me much more, but in those days gentle words did 
 soften me. It was the hard treatment I received 
 that helped to make me hard. I remember when 
 I was quite young, I was more like Bessie when 
 she was a child. I did not care what came the 
 next day or the next hour. I laughed at the gay 
 sights I saw in the street, and was full of joy on 
 those days that I had more food to eat than others. 
 One day I remember I stood in the street by a 
 carriage door to watch a lady who was getting 
 out from the carriage with her two children. I 
 watched them as one does a pretty sight. I liked 
 to see their gay clothing. I did not. think at all 
 that I was a child like them, nor regret that I had 
 not their fine clothes. But suddenly I was roused 
 by the lady's voice. l Child, what are you standing 
 there idling for?' Suddenly I grew angry; I 
 turned away, but wondered why it was these 
 children should be dressed so gayly, and fed so 
 carefully, while I was left to wander in the streets, 
 and might not even stand to look upon their 
 finery." 
 
 " But you were not left to wander quite alone," 
 said Amy. 
 
 " I might not have been a better child, Miss 
 Amy," continued Hannah, " if I had lived such a 
 life as those children whom I envied. I could 
 never have been better taught than by good Miss 
 Elspeth."
 
 310 STEUGGLE FOR LIFE. 
 
 " There was One who cared for you, and who 
 led so good a friend to you," said Amy. " What 
 a moment, indeed, it was that changed your life. 
 How glad I am that my windows look upon so 
 pleasant a spot. Mrs. Bunce need not be anxious 
 about my landscape. I have found one charm in 
 it already." 
 
 " You will make many such sunny places," said 
 Hannah, laughing, " all through Boston, while you 
 live here, Miss Amy." 
 
 " You and I together, Hannah," said Amy ; " we 
 will do our best." 
 
 It was an encouragement of this resolution that 
 Mr. Jasper spoke, when he came to Amy's new 
 home. " I have seen some households," he said, 
 " that stand like a centre for many planets. All 
 the members of it revolve around in their little 
 duties, noiselessly and easily, and presently their 
 quiet, even motion is felt beyond their small circle, 
 and it harmonizes many wandering bodies that 
 would seem beyond its reach, and many erratic 
 planets, comets that have a wide orbit, come 
 within its influence. All this time the little sys 
 tem is keeping on its course round the great 
 central sun, performing its part of the grand law 
 that ages must complete. All these words mean 
 that the little households whose members truly 
 perform their part have a wide influence, farther 
 than they know or are aware of. If they only 
 keep to their own centre, going on with an even,
 
 AMY'S LANDSCAPE. 311 
 
 equal motion, they become themselves the centre 
 and support of others. I say I know many such 
 homes that give out warmth and light beyond 
 their firesides, and work more good than many 
 great conventions and large assemblies. And this 
 I believe will be one, for it begins with the spirit 
 of love." 
 
 This was Mr. Jasper's benediction upon Amy's 
 home, and Hannah felt that he meant it for her, too, 
 for he looked kindly to her, and spoke encouraging 
 words to her. So when she went back into her 
 own home, she felt that however humble it might 
 be, it could still have some of that power of which 
 Mr. Jasper spoke. Miss Elspeth had saved her, 
 not with money, or by great influence, but by the 
 power of her own good-will, and Hannah prayed 
 for that kindly heart that might lead her to help 
 others. She felt that into her room came the spirit 
 of Bertha to help her, with the memory of Bertha's 
 loving and beautiful life. And she counted up the 
 many living friends who stood near her to counsel 
 and support her. For she needed support when 
 she looked out into the streets and saw so many 
 wanderers needing more than a home, and she felt 
 herself so small for so great a work. Her only 
 thought was, "Ah, if there were more Miss 
 Elspeths ! "

 
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