Part 4

"I wish she would show her pity in some other way than by bestowing her society upon me," said Olive. "It becomes rather fatiguing, besides taking up a good deal of valuable time, which I don't very well know how to spare."

"Why don't you tell her so?"

"Oh! I don't want to make an enemy of the girl. Dunce as she is, it is better to have her good-will than her ill-will, and perhaps I may do her some good."

"The idea of doing good to Lucretia Monroe! You would be a good person to head a crusade, Olive; nothing short of a physical impossibility would stop you. But there is no harm in trying."

Indeed, Olive made a good many efforts to induce Lucretia to leave off abstracting cakes and cheese from the table, and pickles from the storeroom, and to give a little more time to her books. In which she succeeded so far that Miss Monroe actually presented herself at the class with a perfect lesson thrice in one week, to the amazement of all who heard her, and passed three days without breaking a single rule.

We regret to be obliged to add, that the improvement was not permanent: Miss Monroe relapsed into her old habits in the course of a week or two, and at the end of the year, left school as great a dunce as she entered it. Her father, a sensible, plain man, who had never received any thing but a district-school education, felt very much disappointed at the small improvement made by his daughter, and was much disposed to lay the blame upon her own idleness and want of principle.

But his wife informed him that it was solely the fault of the teachers, who had not made study interesting to Lucretia. Miss Monroe had been allowed to study what she liked, and to leave off as soon as she came to a hard place. In this way, she had acquired a little music, a little drawing, and less French; and she had learned to spell correctly, and to express herself in tolerable English, because no scholar who had been at Mrs. Granger's two years could very well help it. But history, natural science, and general literature, had passed through her mind like water through a sieve, leaving her no wiser.

With her daughter's want of proficiency in drawing, Mrs. Monroe was really annoyed, especially as their neighbor, and Lucretia's old friend and playmate, Miss Thorn, who had taken lessons of a professor in the place, had been able to decorate her mother's back-parlor with a great number of showy drawings in colored chalks, after only a quarter's instruction. To be sure, Miss Thorn never could do any thing after she left off taking lessons. And when she attempted, at home, and without assistance, to copy a portrait of her father, no one could have told whether the object produced was intended for male or female. But the pictures done under the eye of Professor B. were much more brilliant than the portfolio of pen and ink studies and crayon drawings, which was all that Lucretia had to show; and, while being entirely her own workmanship, certainly displayed less skill than Miss Thorn's, which had all been "touched up" by the accommodating professor.

For many weeks, Abby's letters came regularly, and were very interesting, giving full and most graphic accounts of the various parties, concerts, etc., which she attended under the chaperonage of aunt Rebecca. And many a laugh did Olive and her friends have over her descriptions and pen and ink sketches of the people she met in company, and at her aunt's house.

Charlotte wrote sometimes, but not very often. She did not seem to enjoy going into the world as much as her cousin, and said she often wished herself back at Mrs. Granger's. She spoke frequently of the attentions Abby received, and the admiration excited by her musical talents.

After a time, Abby's letters grew shorter, and less frequent. She did not seem to be quite as contented, and spoke rather pettishly of the constant watchfulness of her aunt, who, she said, treated her as though she were a baby. At one time, she seemed to be the happiest person possible, and perhaps her next letter would be a commentary upon the Arabic song quoted by Dumas—"The earth is vanity, and all in it is misery." Such extremes had never been common with Abby, whose cheerfulness was usually a steady stream, subject neither to drought nor freshet.

Olive became quite uneasy, and began to long for the time to come when she should be at home again. One thing, however, comforted her. Mrs. Merton was not a very great letter writer, but she wrote to Olive three or four times in the course of the term, and in neither of her letters did she express any disapprobation of Abby, nor did she seem aware of any change in her spirits or temper. This was quite a consolation, for aunt Rebecca was tolerably clear-sighted, and Olive thought if any thing had been wrong in Abby's conduct, she would have been pretty apt to speak of it.

Still, she was very glad when the time came for her to go home. An excellent situation had been procured for her by the kindness of Mrs. Granger, whose good offices to her pupils extended far beyond their school-days. She was to take charge of the female department of a school in Pennsylvania, which had long maintained an excellent reputation. The salary was to be five hundred dollars, and as much more as she chose to make by music and drawing lessons. She was to have an assistant, if she wished it, and the entire control of matters in her own department rested with her.

At first, Olive shrunk from assuming so much responsibility, and almost wanted to decline, but Mrs. Granger was very anxious that she should secure the place, and her uncle and aunt, to whom the plan was communicated, approved it highly: so she was fain to accept, though with a good many misgivings. Once decided, however, the prospect seemed to brighten; she began to look upon Basswoods as her future home, and built some castles in the air (even the most practical people erect such edifices sometimes) upon the little round dot which represented that place upon the map of Pennsylvania.

Olive felt very sadly at leaving school for the last time. She had been there so long, that it seemed more like home to her than her uncle's house. She had never experienced any thing but kindness from Mrs. Granger, or any of her subordinates. With her pleasant little room in the third story were associated all the great experiences of her young life, since her mother's death. Here she had taken her first peep into the boundless wealth of foreign literature, written her first verses, and sketched her first cottage. Here, too, she had experienced her first deep religious feelings, and here she had found that pearl of great price, which is not far from every one of us, though we pass it by again and again, without seeing it.

Moreover, Olive had many warm, and some deeply-attached friends, among the school-girls. It is very much the fashion to sneer at school-girl attachments, and the author has heard a popular lecturer declare that there never had existed, and never could exist, any such thing as female friendship. Possibly, the gentleman was not very well read in Scripture history, for he might have remembered the story of Ruth and Naomi. We have known intimacies formed at school which have continued through many and severe changes, and one case, where a close correspondence was continued through thirty years, the parties meeting only twice or thrice during the time.

There is often in the friendship of two cultivated and religious young women a simplicity and truthfulness—a disinterested admiration of each other's good qualities, and an unfeigned rejoicing in each other's good fortune, which it is pleasant to look upon. As for the assertion that women can not endure to hear each other praised, we leave such shallow sneers to boys with their first tail-coats, and brainless young men, who have nothing manly about them but a budding moustache.

CHAPTER FOURTH.

OLIVE arrived at home about seven in the evening, much wearied with her journey, and very glad to find herself once more with her friend. Abby seemed just as usual; she danced and clapped her hands, and danced around her, as much like a child as ever. Still Olive could not help fancying, as she looked at her, that there was a change—she could not exactly tell how.

There was a shade of womanliness, and even care, upon her bright face, which had never belonged there, and which Olive could not help feeling sorry to see. She said to herself that Abby was getting on in life—it was time for her to grow grave and womanly, perhaps. But she felt that she would rather have her remain what she always had been—a happy and careless child.

But Abby talked so fast, and Charlotte had so many questions to ask, that she soon forgot her anxiety in giving and receiving information about school-mates and teachers, friends and neighbors, in answering aunt Rebecca's searching interrogatories about the place where she was going, and in the enjoyment of that delightful feeling of home and comfort which one always feels on returning after even a short absence.

Olive thought that Charlotte was rather pale and thin, and that she seemed grave and somewhat subdued. But Charlotte laughed at the idea of her being unwell, saying that she was only tired of going out, and she was glad the visiting season had almost come to a close.

"That is very ungrateful of you, Charlotte," said Abby. "Is it not, aunt Rebecca?"

"Why is it ungrateful?" asked Charlotte, rather sharply.

"Because you have received so much attention, and so many pretty compliments. I'll tell you, Olive, what Major Trimble said—"

"Major Trimble is an old goose, and you are not much better for troubling yourself to repeat his nonsense," interrupted Charlotte.

"Charlotte, Charlotte, for shame!" remonstrated Mrs. Merton. "How can you speak so of Major Trimble? He is a most excellent and respectable man."

"Mother, you laugh at him, yourself! Did you not have to go out of the room when he talked about the comedies of Dante, the great Roman poet, to Professor L.?"

"And engrossed all the conversation, so that Mr. L. could not say a word, though every one in the room was anxious to hear him," pursued Abby. "You know, aunt Rebecca, every one laughs at poor Major Trimble."

"Mr. Trimble is a very respectable man," repeated aunt Rebecca, "and it is wrong and unladylike to call any one an old goose."

"Well, I will not call him any thing, if Abby will leave off quoting him."

"I will not quote him if I can help it, Charlotte," said Abby, laughing; "but it is a great temptation. You do look so magnificent when you hear him mentioned."

"Come, girls," interposed Mrs. Merton, "you are keeping Olive up quite too late, considering that she has been riding all day. To rest, to rest, my children. You have eight weeks at least, of uninterrupted conversation before you, and can well afford to spare a few hours. And remember, Olive and Abby, no talking after you get to bed," she added, in her kindly authoritative tone.

Olive was very glad to obey the command, for she was very tired and had a bad headache.

She slept late the next morning, and breakfast was entirely over when she appeared, Mrs. Merton kindly excusing her by saying that it must be quite luxury for her to lie in bed for once. Mrs. Merton had no spite in her disposition. She never would say that approved of Olive's plans, and she heartily wished they had never entered her head. But now the matter was settled and could not be helped, she was above making her niece in any way uncomfortable on account of it.

The day was passed in unpacking and arranging, and in receiving company; for aunt Dimsden and Laura came over in the morning, and Mrs. Merton invited them to spend the day. Laura was even more affable and graceful than usual, but she seemed more than ever taken up with dress and company, and the admiration she had received. The same Major Trimble, whom Charlotte and Abby ridiculed so unmercifully, was apparently quite an oracle with her; and she indignantly repelled the idea that he was tiresome, declaring that she hated people like Professor L., who were always talking about such "grand things."

"What grand things?" asked Olive.

"Why Shakspeare and Dante, and—"

"Yes, Dante, the great Roman poet," interrupted Abby, but the joke was lost upon Laura, who continued, quite jealous in the defense:

"I am sure he knows as much as William Forester, and you are never weary of having him hanging about you, Abby."

"William Forester," exclaimed Abby, coloring: "William Forester's little finger knows more than Major Trimble thinks he does."

"That is saying a great deal, Abby," said Charlotte, gravely.

"What nonsense, Abby! Mr. Forester is well enough, but he is nothing remarkable, and he is as poor as poverty, besides being a coxcomb."

"I admire the elegance of your expressions, Miss Dimsden," said Charlotte, sarcastically. "I think both gentlemen would be flattered by what you say about them, if they knew it."

"You need not be so grand, Charlotte, you talk about people yourself."

"Not about young gentlemen," returned Charlotte.

"Well, now, isn't young Forester a coxcomb?" persisted Laura.

"No," said Abby, emphatically, "he is not a coxcomb, Laura, but a true gentleman, in every sense of the term. You have no more right to call him a coxcomb than he has to call you a coquette."

"Not quite so much, possibly," said Laura, significantly; "men are very apt to call women coquettes, who refuse them, you know!"

"Do you mean to say, Laura McHenry, that you refused William Forester?" asked Abby, with crimson cheeks and flashing eyes.

"In the first place, my name is not Laura McHenry, but Laura Dimsden, my dear; and secondly, it does not concern you whether I refused him or not. You know Mrs. Merton says there is nothing more unladylike than for a woman to tell of a refusal."

"And she is right," interrupted Olive, "whether she tells it out and out, or only implies it."

"And besides, Abby," continued Laura, disregarding the interruption, "if you are so warm in his defense, people will really begin to believe what they say about you."

"What do they say?" asked Abby, but Charlotte interposed:

"Do pray leave the gentlemen to themselves. I am sure we have heard enough of them, and I want you to hear Olive and Abby play that duet from Mendelssohn."

Laura muttered something about stupid, old-fashioned music, but she was, in her heart, rather afraid of pushing matters to extremities with her cousin; for though she herself excelled in light skirmishing, yet in a regular engagement, Charlotte was sure to conquer.

Abby's hand trembled, and, she made more than one mistake, a thing very unusual with her.

At every one Laura smiled significantly, and Charlotte looked as though she would like to box Miss Dimsden's ears. They kept up a regular snip-snap all day, and Olive was not sorry when the arrival of company from out of town, called Mrs. Dimsden and her adopted daughter home before tea. She could not help fearing that something was wrong with Abby, and she longed to find out what it was, but there seemed to be no opportunity. The parlor was full of company all the evening. They were up quite late, and Abby did not seem inclined for conversation after they retired to their own room.

The next evening, as the girls were busily engaged over some new books in the garden-arbor, Olive suddenly felt Abby start. She looked up in surprise, and saw a tall, handsome young gentleman approaching them.

Abby at first seemed inclined to go to meet him, but checked herself and waiting till he came up, introduced him to her sister as Mr. Forester.

He bowed politely, offered his hand to Charlotte, and seating himself without farther ceremony, he took up one of the books, and entered into conversation about it with graceful ease. He was unquestionably a very handsome man, though there was a certain want of strength and firmness about his mouth, which showed itself especially when he spoke, through his well-trimmed and handsome beard.

Charlotte did not seem to like him very particularly, and they disagreed rather sharply several times, Mr. Forester sustaining his opinion politely and well, despite the keenness of his opponent's wit.

There was nothing to find fault with, in what he said, and yet Olive noticed a lightness—a want of earnestness—which did not please her.

Abby seemed at first constrained and uncomfortable, but the feeling wore off apparently, and she was soon talking and laughing more merrily than Olive had yet heard her.

When they went into the house, singing and playing took the place of conversation, and Mr. Forester joined a fine and cultivated voice to those of the girls. It came out incidentally, that he drew and painted, and he was evidently quite at home in foreign literature. Other gentlemen coming in, he devoted himself exclusively to Abby.

Olive thought her uncle did not seem to look upon him with any particular favor. When he had taken his departure, and the girls were alone together, Abby, after sundry unfinished sentences, asked Olive what she thought of Mr. Forester.

"Why, I hardly know," said Olive. "I should have to see more of him before I could decide."

"But you must admit that he is very agreeable!"

"Oh! Yes, very pleasant, and well-bred, and all that, but—"

"But what?" asked Abby impatiently.

"I hardly know what. As I said, I do not know enough of him to form any judgment about him."

"I don't believe he ever offered himself to Laura, at any rate," said Abby after a pause, during which she had curled and uncurled her hair several times.

"That is nothing if he did. It is no disgrace to a man to be refused."

"No, but—"

"But what?" asked Olive, in her turn.

"Nothing as regards him, but if you were engaged to a man, you would not like to know that he had offered himself to any one else first."

"I do not think it would be pleasant, perhaps," said Olive, "but I do not see why you should have called Laura so sharply to account for what she said. To be sure it was not a very wise or lady-like speech, but from the way you took it up, any one might think you were personally interested in the matter. I would be more careful if I were you, especially before Aunt Dimsden."

"There it is!" exclaimed Abby, petulantly. "Lectures, nothing but lectures, from morning till night. I do wonder whether I am such a fool as every one seems to believe me. If I am, I think it is a pity I could not die at once and be out of the way."

"Abby!" exclaimed Olive, perfectly astonished. In all her experience, she had never before such an outbreak from her sister.

"I thought when you came home, you would have a little patience with me, and treat me kindly," continued Abby, beginning to cry. "It is bad enough to be watched by Aunt Rebecca, and checked and interfered with by Charlotte, without your joining in. I—" But Abby's voice became quite lost in her hysterical sobs.

Olive tried her best to quiet her, and to persuade her to tell what was the matter, but in vain.

For though her ill-humor seemed to dissolve with her tears, and she embraced and kissed her sister warmly, she still wept, and at last cried herself to sleep.

Next morning, the cloud seemed to have passed away, and Abby was as gay and cheerful as ever, lavishing all sorts of caresses on her sister, as though trying to make her forget the scene of the night before.

But Olive could not forget. It was so very different from Abby's usual habits—so utterly foreign to any thing she had ever known of her—that she was completely puzzled.

The next day was Sunday, and according to the inflexible rule of Mr. Merton's household, they all went to church, both morning and evening. Mr. Forester sat directly behind them at the latter service, and walked home with them, or rather with Abby, for they lagged so far behind that Aunt Rebecca twice stopped and waited for them to come up.

Monday evening, they were at a small party, together, and on Tuesday he called again. Olive was beginning to like him better. She thought him very modest and unaffected, and quite took herself to task for her first prejudice against him. She improved an opportunity one day, when they were alone together, to ask Charlotte about him.

"Who is he, and where did he come from? What are his antecedents, and what does he do with himself?"

"He is Mr. William Forester, and he comes from H. His antecedents are Mr. and Mrs. Jackson Forester who were old acquaintances of my father's, and very nice people, I believe," was Charlotte's cunning reply.

"Very satisfactory thus far," said Olive, smiling, "but you have not answered the most important of all. What does he do with his time?"

"He amuses himself, and entertains other people."

"And is that all? I should think at his age, he ought to be doing something more profitable."

"A good many people think so," said Charlotte, "and my father among the number. I believe, to do the young man justice, he does pretend to study law, but I do not know when he accomplishes it. He is always busy with some picture or translation, or getting up an amateur concert, or a military display, not to mention the hours he spends in dangling after different young ladies—Abby, for instance."

"Has he been long attentive to Abby?" asked Olive, glad that her cousin had introduced the subject.

"Why, yes, for three months perhaps. Before that, he was quite devoted to Laura. You heard what she said about refusing him."

"Yes. I did not know what to think about it."

"It is like enough to be true. She would certainly refuse him if he did offer himself, for she is bent upon marrying a rich man. William has about five or six thousand of his own, so he is not what one would call poor, but that is not enough to meet her views. I wish her would not come here quite so much, for I do not think either father or mother like him very well, and mother thinks it would be a disadvantage to Abby to have any idle story set afloat."

"But you do not think," said Olive alarmed, "that there is any thing—any engagement between them?"

"Oh! No!" replied Charlotte. "Abby is giddy enough sometimes, but I can not think she would enter into any engagement without father's knowledge and consent. I hope not, I am sure, for I fear he would never forgive her. But if I may speak quite plainly, Olive?"

"Of course. That is just what I want."

"I am afraid Abby likes him."

"I have thought so myself sometimes," said Olive, after a moment's painful thought, "but I can hardly believe it. She has always been so perfectly open with me, and so ready to tell me every feeling that I can not think she would conceal this," she concluded, thereby betraying the very small amount of her knowledge of human nature.

"Perhaps I am mistaken: I hope I am," said Charlotte, kindly. "I am not very good at observing and watching people."

"Do you think your mother notices Mr. Forester's attentions to Abby?" asked Olive, after another pause.

"Sometimes I have thought she did," said Charlotte. "She never seems very well pleased at his coming here. I know my father thinks him idle and trifling, a character with which, you know, he has very little patience. I hope Abby does not care for him, for I do not believe he has any stability of character, and that is something which she, of all people, needs in a husband."

"She is so young, too. I do hope she has no such idea."

"If you have any influence with her, Olive, pray persuade her to be open with my father. You know nothing annoys him so much as any concealment. But do not worry yourself; we may be entirely mistaken, you know. It seems rather odd, does it not," she added, smiling, "that we should be taking counsel together about her affairs? Do you remember how we used to quarrel in school?"

"No, I have been forgetting it as fast as possible," replied Olive. "I think the fault was, perhaps, as much mine as yours."