Part 4

If Julia felt at all slighted by Brenda, she did not say so. Indeed she was too well occupied with her lessons and her music to be disturbed by trivial things. What her object was in studying Greek she did not disclose fully to any one, but she studied diligently the difficult declensions and conjugations. The serious looking man with eyeglasses who came to the school three times a week, was an object of much interest to most of the girls.

"Doesn't he look learned? Oh, Julia, I should think that you would be frightened to death," said Edith. But Julia smiled.

"I wish myself that Greek were just a little easier. I've got to the verbs and it seems to me I never shall know them."

"I don't wonder," responded Edith. "I don't see how you ever learn it,--all those queer letters and marks and things. Well, I should feel just as though I were standing on my head if I tried to study Greek."

Edith had no vanity about herself, at least in the matter of lessons. Her special talent was for drawing and mathematics but although she was conscientious about her school work, she rarely distinguished herself in her recitations. Like Nora, she had begun to have a great admiration for Julia. The latter shook her head when Edith spoke of the difficulty she had in learning Greek.

"It's like everything else," she said, "you can learn it if you make up your mind to try hard enough."

"I wish that had been the way with my German, for I really did try. Papa is disappointed, because he wanted me to speak by the time we go to Europe again."

"Then why don't you persevere? It would please him and it would do you good. If I were you I would take it up now."

"Well, perhaps I will after Christmas. Miss Crawdon won't let us make any changes until then."

As Edith watched Julia's diligence and perseverance she really became ashamed of her own rather indolent way of treating her lessons.

When Nora or Brenda came for her to go to walk early on some bright October afternoon she was very apt to say, "Oh, I cannot go now, I must finish studying."

"Well, Edith, I never knew anything so funny," Brenda exclaimed one day when she and Belle had vainly tried to persuade Edith to walk with them over the mill-dam. "You never used to make such excuses and I consider it a perfect waste of time myself to spend such a lovely afternoon studying. I should think your mother'd want you to have some exercise."

"Oh, I shall have plenty this afternoon. I am going to the gymnasium for an hour with Julia, and that will answer for to-day. We took a walk before school this morning."

"You and Nora are too provoking, Edith," exclaimed Brenda rather pettishly. "Ever since Julia came you seem to prefer spending your time with her. You never used to be such a book-worm."

"Well, I'm trying to make up for lost time. I wish that I could accomplish as much as Julia."

"Oh--Julia, Julia, I'm sick and tired of the name," exclaimed Belle. "Why in the world does she study so much, Brenda?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"You ought to--you're her cousin. I believe myself that she's going to be a teacher."

"Belle, it is not nice in you to say that," interposed Edith.

"Why isn't it nice to be a teacher. I thought that you liked them more than anything else. I am sure that Julia does."

"I dare say she does, but it doesn't follow that she's going to be a teacher herself."

"Oh, anybody can tell that she's a poor relation--isn't she, Brenda? Just see how plainly she dresses, and working so to get into college. I think that your mother and father are very good to give her a home."

Now all this was very presumptuous on Belle's part, but she spoke so pleasantly and smiled so sweetly at Brenda as she talked that the latter, though a little irritated, never thought of taking offence at her. But Belle's words had sunk deeper even than she had intended. Brenda had a certain kind of pride which was easily touched. She felt that in some way it was a source of discredit to her to have a cousin who might be a teacher. For in what other way could she interpret Julia's intention of studying Greek.

Julia, unconscious of Brenda's feeling, went on quietly without heeding the disagreeable little remarks that sometimes were made in her hearing by Brenda. Belle was as polite and agreeable toward Julia as to others whom she liked better. For it was a kind of unspoken policy of Belle's to be apparently friendly with all girls of whom she was likely to see much. If accused of this failing she would not have admitted that she was two-faced. She merely liked to be popular, and if she sometimes made ill-natured remarks about a third person, she trusted to the discretion of those to whom she talked. She did not realize that in time she might come to be regarded as thoroughly insincere. She had not measured the relative advantages of "To Be" and "To Seem."

VII

VISITING MANUEL

Two or three weeks after their adventure with Manuel passed before Brenda and Nora were able to visit him. They talked several times of going, but something always interfered. Sometimes it was the weather, sometimes it was another engagement, more often they could not go because they had no one to accompany them. For it was evident that two young girls could not go alone to the North End. At length one morning one of the under teachers in the school offered to go with them that very afternoon. She had overheard them at recess expressing their sorrow that they could not go alone.

"Really," pouted Brenda, "I think that mamma is very mean. We could go as well as not by ourselves, and why we should have to wait for her or some older person to go with us I cannot see."

"Don't call your mother mean," Miss South said laughingly in passing, and then as Brenda explained the cause of her rather undutiful expression, she had added, "Your mother is perfectly right. It would never do for you to go alone. But I have an errand down near Prince Street this very day. If you get Mrs. Barlow's permission I shall be happy to have you go with me." So it happened that one warm, sunny day in early November, the girls and Miss South exchanged their Back Bay car at Scollay Square for a Hanover Street electric car. It whizzed swiftly down a street which neither Brenda nor Nora had ever seen before, filled with gay shops whose windows were bright with millinery or jewelry--or, I am sorry to say it--bottles of liquor, amber and red. There was more display here than in the streets up town.

"Sometimes," said Miss South, "I call this the Bowery of Boston. It is the chief shopping street of the North End, and on Saturday nights the poor people do most of their buying. I came here one evening with my brother. It was really very amusing."

They had been in the car but a few minutes when Miss South gave the signal for the car to stop.

"It will interest you," she said, "to see this quaint old street. It has an old-time name, too--'Salem Street.'"

Brenda and Nora glanced around them in surprise. It was a narrow street, winding along almost in a curve. Though most of the houses were brick, a number were of wood. Some of them had gable-roofs, and nearly all of them looked old. Shops occupied the lower part of most of these houses, and many of them were pawn-shops. As they entered the street it seemed as if they could hardly pass through. Hooks and poles laden with old clothes projected from many of these shops, and the sidewalks themselves held numerous loungers and children. Nora looked interested, Brenda, a trifle disgusted, as they saw a woman chattering with a hand-cart man who sold fish.

"Ugh, I wouldn't want to eat it," said the latter.

"Oh, it's probably perfectly good fish," responded Miss South with a smile. "Only it does not look quite as inviting as it would if shown on a marble slab in an up-town fish market."

"Are these people _dreadfully_ poor?" asked Nora.

"No," replied Miss South. "This is the Jewish section, and most of the men here make a pretty good living. They are peddlers, and go out into the country selling tins or fruit, or they have little shops."

"But these children look so poor!"

"If you will notice more carefully you will see that their clothes are dingy rather than poor. Nearly all wear good shoes, and there are not many rags. Many of these Russian and Polish Jews when they first come to Boston have very little money, and are supported by their friends. But they soon find a chance to earn their living, and a man coming here without a cent, in five years sometimes owns a house. I speak of this, girls, because I have known people to think that dirt and dinginess mean great poverty."

Nora and Brenda made many exclamations of surprise as they looked down some of the narrow lanes leading from Salem Street.

"It's just like pictures of Europe, isn't it?" cried Nora; "and then these people--and the queer signs--Oh! really I think it's _too_ interesting for anything."

The signboards of which Nora spoke certainly did look strange.

Some of them had Russian names, others were in odd Hebrew characters. Those which were English were peculiarly worded. The owner of a tiny shop with one little window described himself as a "Wholesale and retail dealer in dry goods," a corner groceryman called himself an "importer." The English spelling was not always correct, and the names of the shop-people were long and odd.

Miss South's errand took her to a large building occupied as an industrial school. On their way upstairs they saw some boys at work at a printing press, and Miss South told the girls a little about the boys' and girls' clubs, which met in this building certain evenings in the week. Miss South wished to speak to the kindergarten teacher whose school was on the top floor. Most of the little children had gone home for the day, and only a few remained whose mothers were out working and had no one with whom to leave the children. Nora and Brenda exclaimed with delight at sight of five or six little boys and girls seated in small chairs around a low table. Nearly all had dark hair and eyes, although there was one little blonde girl with long, light curls. They looked at the visitors with small wonder, for they were used to seeing strangers. Nora at once began to play with the light-haired girl, but Brenda, after a glance or two, preferred to look out of the window. Unlike Nora, she was not very fond of children. They did not remain long in the building, and were soon in the street again.

"Just one block below," said Miss South, "is Prince Street, but before we go there let us look at Christ Church. Do you realize that you are under the very shadow of the spire where Paul Revere hung his lantern?"

The girls fairly jumped with surprise.

"Of course I knew it was somewhere down here, but I hadn't an idea it was so near," said Brenda, while Nora began to recite,

"Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere."

They had turned the corner again into Salem Street, and following Miss South, had crossed the street. There before them loomed the gray front of the old church with its tall spire on which they could read the inscription:

"The signal lanterns of Paul Revere displayed in the steeple of this church April 18, 1775, warned the country of the march of the British troops to Concord and Lexington."

"This is the oldest church building in the city," said Miss South, "and some Sunday you would find it worth while to come down here to a service, for the interior has been restored to look just as it did in its earliest days."

"Oh, how Julia would enjoy that!" exclaimed Nora. "You know that she just loves old things."

"Yes," continued Miss South, "you must take her, too, to see Copp's Hill Burying Ground, up this street. We haven't time to go to-day, but if you do not make other arrangements I shall be very glad to come with you some Sunday."

"You're awfully good, Miss South," said Brenda. "I don't care so much for old things myself, but still I'd like to come again."

"I know, Brenda, you like new things--Manuel for instance. Well, you shall see him in less than five minutes--that is, if he is at home."

They had reached the corner of Prince Street. Like Salem Street this too, was narrow with quaint old houses. One wooden house which looked as if it might fall down at any minute bore a placard which warned passers-by of possible danger. The placard stated that it had been built in 1723.

"In the time of George II.,--just think of it!" exclaimed Brenda, who when she wished, could remember dates.

"Rear of No. 11," said Miss South, and they turned down a short alley. They had not to ask the way, however, for there, in front of the second house, stood Manuel himself. He looked at them at first without recognizing them, but when Nora called his name, he took his finger from his mouth, and in a moment began to smile very broadly. But instead of running to the girls he turned toward the house.

"Come, come," he said, and almost at the same moment Mrs. Rosa appeared at the door. She looked very pale and thin and she had an old black shawl drawn over her head. Nora and Brenda now found that they had lost their tongues. They really did not know what to say, and they were very glad that Miss South had come with them. The alley, too, was so dirty, so different from any place they had ever seen, that they willingly followed Mrs. Rosa into the house when she asked them to do so.

Mrs. Rosa talked very poor English, but Miss South was able to gather from what she said that she had been ill for two or three weeks. She had not been able to go to her fruit stand. Her eldest daughter had been attending to it for her, a girl twelve years old.

"But why isn't Manuel at school?" asked Miss South.

"Him home for company," smiled Mrs. Rosa, showing both rows of white teeth.

Miss South shook her head. "He ought to go every day to the kindergarten."

"His shoes so bad," apologized Mrs. Rosa, and as they all looked at the little boy they saw a red toe peeping out from one shoe. Nora nudged Brenda--Brenda smiled assent. The nudge and the smile meant that in Manuel they were surely going to have a field for their charitable efforts.

The little room in which they sat looked very poor and bare. It had no carpet, and the table and the two or three chairs were of unpainted wood. The most important piece of furniture was the large cook-stove. On the mantelpiece were various dishes, several of which were broken, and there were the remains of a meal on the table. Altogether the room did not look very neat. Although it was not a cold day there was a large fire burning in the stove where something rather savory was boiling in a pot.

While Miss South was talking the two girls realized that they had come rather aimlessly to Mrs. Rosa's. They managed to ask her if Manuel had run away again, and she smiled as she answered, "Every day," and shook her head at the little boy.

"Well, he must be careful not to run under the horses' feet," said Nora.

"He won't find some one ready to pull him back every day," chimed in Brenda, while Manuel and his mother both smiled, though I am sure that the little boy hardly understood a word of what was said.

"Oh, them 'lectrics," said Mrs. Rosa, "they're awful bad. I whip Manuel all the time so he won't run in front of them 'lectrics."

"Aren't you afraid whipping will make him run away more often?" asked Miss South. But Mrs. Rosa looked as if she did not quite understand the meaning of this question, and after a few more inquiries about the other children who were still in school, Miss South said it was time to return home. Before going, Nora gave Manuel a picture-book, and Brenda gave him a top which they had bought for him.

"Come again," called Mrs. Rosa, waving an end of her shawl at them, and "Come again" shouted Manuel as they turned from the narrow alley into the broader street.

"Isn't it perfectly dreadful," exclaimed Nora, "for people to be so poor."

Miss South was silent for a moment. Then she responded, "There are different kinds of poverty. Mrs. Rosa seems very poor to you, and it is true that she has not much money, but if you were to ask her I dare say that she would tell you that she is better off than when she lived in the Azores," and then, as she saw that the girls were interested, Miss South continued, "in Boston she can send her children to good schools, knowing that when they are old enough, they will find a way to earn a living. When she herself is out of work, or ill, she is not likely to suffer, for there are many people and institutions in Boston looking out for the poor."

"But they look so awfully poor now," said Brenda. Miss South smiled. "I would not try to make you less sympathetic, Brenda, but you must remember that a plain uncarpeted room when properly warmed is not so uncomfortable as it looks. The worst thing about Mrs. Rosa's way of living is the fact that she and her children are crowded into two small rooms. At night they bring a mattress from the little bedroom and spread on the kitchen floor. Three of the children sleep there, while Mrs. Rosa and the others sleep in the bedroom."

"How can they possibly live that way!" said Nora, who, as a doctor's daughter, had pretty definite ideas on the subject of ventilation and hygiene.

"It is indeed a very bad way of doing," said Miss South. "The best way to help Mrs. Rosa would be to persuade her to take her family to some country town where they could have plenty of light and air."

VIII

PLANNING THE BAZAAR

Brenda at the dinner-table that evening had much to say about the expedition of the afternoon. Or rather, she had much to tell about Manuel and his cunning little ways, about his mother and the poverty of the family and what she intended to do for them. Her mother smiled, her father looked interested and said,

"Well, I'm glad that you have found a use for your pocket money. I won't begrudge it to you as long as it does not all go into Schuyler's candy."

Julia cried, "Oh, Brenda, how I should love to have gone with you," when Brenda spoke of the old church and the old streets. "Do tell just what the church was like."

But Brenda's ideas were less definite on these points. She wasn't exactly sure what Paul Revere had done--for history was not her strong point--and she was a little annoyed at Julia's surprise at her lack of interest. Julia did not mean to show any surprise, but it did seem strange to hear Brenda say rather impatiently in answer to a question about the church,

"Oh, well, it was a brown church,--no, I think it was gray, with a steeple, but I didn't notice much. Nora quoted some poetry, but I was in a hurry to go on to see Manuel, and I think that it's very tiresome to have to dig up history and things like that out of school."

Mr. Barlow frowned at this. "Before you go to the North End again I hope you will have your history and your Longfellow fresh in mind. It is rather a shame for a Boston girl to be ignorant of historic places in her own city."

"Julia must go with you next time," said Mrs. Barlow, wishing to divert the conversation from Brenda's shortcomings.

"You'll let me know, won't you," interposed Julia pleasantly, and Brenda gave a careless "Yes" as she turned to her father and said,

"Oh, papa, I wish that you would let me buy a carpet and a lot of things for Manuel's mother. You have no idea how poor they seem. Do give me the money, that's a dear. You never will miss it in the world."

"How much, Brenda, does your modesty lead you to think you need?" asked Mr. Barlow.

"Oh, I don't know," answered Brenda, whose ideas of the value of money were very vague indeed. "You might let me buy the things and have them charged."

"Dear me! that would be worse than giving you the money--worse for my pocket. I suppose you'd want to do your shopping in some really fashionable Boylston Street establishment?"

"Now, papa, you're laughing at me!"

"Perhaps I am," replied her father. "But really, Brenda, I don't believe that Manuel's mother would thank you for a carpet. Didn't you say they all lived in one room? A bare floor is easier to keep clean."

"Oh, well, I must buy them something, and my pocket money won't go far. Besides, I've spent all you gave me this month."

"Well, Manuel and his mother and all those brothers and sisters have lived in Boston very comfortably for several years without any help from you. If you should give them a carpet they might grow discontented. The next thing they would want might be a piano, and from what you say I hardly think that room would hold a piano as well as the whole family and the cook-stove."

"Oh, papa, I believe that you are making fun of me."

"No, indeed, I am not, but I wish you to be reasonable."

"If there's anything in the world I hate it's that word reasonable. It always means that I'm not to have what I want."

"There you are _un_-reasonable," answered Mr. Barlow. "We will talk no more about it now, but some day perhaps your mother will go down with you to see Manuel, and then you can both tell me whether the Rosas ought to have a piano as well as a carpet."

With this Brenda had to be content, but the next afternoon when the Four Club had its regular weekly meeting she and Nora grew excited as they described the poverty of the Rosas to the other two.

"At any rate we can do a lot of fancy-work this winter," said Brenda, "and I shouldn't wonder if we were to have a very successful Fair."

"Oh, don't call it a 'Fair,'" said Belle, "that sounds so awfully common. Bazaar, or Sale--no, Bazaar is best. Let's always speak of it as a Bazaar."

The others assented, for really they hardly ever dared dissent from Belle when she laid down the law in this way.

"Well, what else shall we call it, The Busy Bees' Bazaar?" asked Nora.

"Oh, no, that would be dreadful! We needn't decide about the rest of the name just yet."

"No, I think that it would be better to wait until we have something ready," said Edith, at which the other three looked up somewhat surprised. They had never heard Edith make a remark that sounded so nearly sarcastic.

"Now, Edith, you know very well that we shall have plenty to sell. Just think how much we'll do if we meet every week ourselves. Then every girl in school ought to make at least one thing, and we can get any amount from older people. Really it's the duty of older people to help us all they can. I should think we might have four large tables just loaded with fancy-work, besides refreshments and flowers--and--oh, dear me--I feel quite dizzy when I think of it," cried the sanguine Brenda.

"Aren't you going to ask Julia to join the Four Club?" queried Edith, turning to Brenda.

"How silly," said the latter. "Of course not. It wouldn't be a Four Club then."

"But don't you think it must seem a little strange to Julia. We run upstairs past her room every Thursday, and no one asks her to come."

"Oh, she doesn't care," interposed Belle. "I don't believe that she cares for anything but study and music."

"Yes," added Brenda, "it drives me half crazy to hear her piano going half the time."

"Ah, _that's_ what drives you crazy," said Nora, mischievously. "I thought you had seemed a little queer lately."

Brenda tossed her head, but before she had time to answer this, Edith returned to the question of Julia.

"Really and honestly, Brenda, I feel very uncomfortable about Julia. We ought at least to invite her to join us. I dare say she wouldn't come every week, but I _do_ think that she ought to be asked. It doesn't seem to me polite to leave her out--or kind."

Again Belle spoke for Brenda. "Really, Edith, you're awfully Puritanic; that's what everybody says: you're always thinking about the wrong and right of things."

"Well, why shouldn't I? I'm sure we all intend to do what is right."