CHAPTER XIV.
NEW FRIENDS, NEW DUTIES, AND A NEW LOSS.
The sale of Sara's collection to Professor Grandet brought her a neat little sum, with which she added a few much-needed articles of furniture to her rooms, making them more modern and comfortable; and through Mrs. Hoffstott she finally succeeded in finding a trusty little girl, who was glad to come during the hours of Sara's absence to tend baby and do the left-over bits of work for the pittance she could afford to pay. Even this left a perilously small amount for the house expenses, and the clothing of the four; but the latter necessity was made easier by Madame Grandet and Miss Prue, both of whom found they had many articles too good to throw away. The latter had pressed enough of these upon Sara, during the packing, to make Molly and herself quite comfortable, for, as Miss Prue always wore black, her dresses were suitable now; and, the madame had come to the rescue with some of the professor's cast-off trousers for Morton's use.
It was one Saturday afternoon, and Sara, consequently, at home by three o'clock, when she stood, armed with a pattern and some formidable- looking shears, about to attack a light gray pair of these, when there came a quick little "rat-tat-tat" at the door.
"Open it, Molly," she said abstractedly, thinking it might be either Kathie or Grisel; but instead of the round pink and white face and yellow braids she looked for, there appeared a tall lady, richly dressed, whose pale, fine countenance was quite unfamiliar.
The lady advanced.
"This is Miss Olmstead, I know; and I am Mrs. Macon. I have often seen you through the window at home."
Sara greeted her with a blush, and drew forward the best chair, inwardly experiencing a deep regret that she had not changed the baby's pinafore, and had kept her cutting operations in the parlor.
Mrs. Macon, however, seemed to notice neither, but praised the baby's pretty rings of hair, saying he reminded her of one of Raphael's cherubs, and asked Molly about her school, taking in, with evident amusement, the child's original answers, and little twists and tosses, till Sara could recover her equanimity, and be her own quiet self once more. Then she turned to her with some word of commendation for her laborious life, and added, with a light laugh,—
"You looked quite fierce with your great scissors as I came in. It wasn't the baby's hair you thought of cutting, I hope?" "Oh, no, indeed! I wouldn't cut his dear little curls for anything! I was trying to—to cut out some pants for Morton."
"You poor child! What a genius you must be to attempt it! Do you think you can?"
The tone of perfect camaraderie seemed to drive away the last vestige of Sara's shyness.
"I have once or twice at home, but it's different here: the boys dress better, you see, and Morton's getting very particular. I've a good pattern, but I do feel a bit frightened to put my scissors into the goods."
"Of course you do," rising, and going over to the table to look at the pattern pinned carefully over the old garment. "But, my dear, couldn't you cut to better advantage by turning this a little? Here, let me show you."
With a rapid movement she unfastened and cast aside the jetted lace wrap she wore, and filling her mouth with pins, after the manner of womankind, began mumbling her explanations, as she turned and twisted the paper about, Sara, meanwhile, looking on with the earnestness of a priestess of Athene, listening to her oracle.
Months of meeting in fashionable parlors could not have made them so intimate as those ten minutes over that pattern, while their heads bobbed together, and their tongues ran on in unison. For when it was adjusted, Mrs. Macon insisted on superintending the cutting, and when this was satisfactorily accomplished, to the exclusion of the one worn place, and the ink-spatters, she was as elated as Sara herself.
"There! We've done it, we've done it! Now, if you only get them together right; you're sure you'll remember which is the front, and which the back, and when you stitch them—where's your machine?"
"I haven't any," said Sara.
"Dear heart! And were you going to sew those long seams by hand?"
Sara nodded deprecatingly, as much as to say she knew it was wrong not to have a machine, but she couldn't help it; and her visitor was so charmed with the look in her sweet eyes, that she gave her cheek a playful little tap as she said,—
"It's not to be thought of! I've an excellent machine which stands useless half the time; you shall come and learn to use it: this will be just the thing to begin on. Why can't you come now? I'm anxious to see them underway, and, besides, I haven't a doubt Morton needs them; boys always are needing new trousers!"
Sara had to acknowledge that he did; and the upshot was, that in less time than it takes to tell it, baby was turned over to Molly, and Sara, with her bundle, found herself in Mrs. Macon's carriage, riding home with her, to the astonishment of the coachman, who had been preparing his mind for a long, sleepy afternoon on the box, while his mistress consulted her list, and made her formal visits. The fact is, she had forgotten all about them; just now the most interesting thing in her rather monotonous life was Sara and those trousers. An acquaintance begun in this manner could never be quite formal again. Mrs. Macon was warm-hearted, and often-times weary of doing nothing in her great silent, childless house. She adopted Sara and her little brood from that moment, and to be adopted by Marion Macon was to fall into good and gracious hands.
She led Sara, now, straight to the sewing-room, in which was the machine, throwing wide the blinds of the broad window before which it was placed.
"Did you ever use one?" she asked anxiously, as she removed the cover.
"Yes, once or twice. Miss Plunkett had one."
"Miss Plunkett; that's a name I know. I have heard my mother mention a
Captain Plunkett she knew as a girl; they were a good family, the
Plunketts. Then you know them?"
Sara spoke of the life-long friendship between that family and her own, but in so modest a way that the lady's respect for her increased with every word; but both were too intent on business to give much time to genealogy.
Sara proved an apt learner, and soon was making the treadle fly, while her hostess, seeing her well underway, ran down-stairs for a time. When she came back Sara had performed the cunning task of getting the pockets in place, and was finishing off the long seams.
"How rapidly you work!" cried her new friend. "My husband told me how business-like you were."
"Did he say so? I'm glad he thinks I am!" cried Sara, much pleased. "It would be so annoying to a man like him if I were not."
"And why to him especially, Miss Olmstead?" asked the wife curiously.
"Because he is absorbed in his work, and cares for nothing outside. In fact, one always is with that work," enthusiastically; "it takes your whole being for the time."
"Yet the last girl he had was a dreadful little idler, and would interrupt him in the midst of his most interesting researches to ask the silliest questions."
Sara shook her head mournfully. "I don't see how she could!"
"Well, to tell the truth," bending forward confidentially, "isn't it awfully dry and uninteresting? There! I wouldn't dare lisp it before my husband, but isn't there a good deal of—of—well, humbug, about it?"
"Humbug!" Sara's eyes glowed. "That's because you haven't studied these things, Mrs. Macon. Think, think what it must be to have your husband's power to peer into the past!
"Think of taking two or three bones, and from them constructing an animal now extinct; or, think of knowing from an impress on a stone, made years ago, what animal had walked over its then soft surface. Humbug! oh, Mrs. Macon!"
The lady laughed.
"Well, don't for mercy's sake, ever hint that I suggested such a thing; I see you're nearly as far gone as Henry himself. But, as for me, I must say I can't get specially interested in post-pliocene things, when there's so much going on around us; and how you, with all those children to look after, and their clothes to make, can care for fossils and bones, and bits of rock and mineral, is a conundrum to me."
"I hope I don't neglect the children for the bones," said Sara, so deprecatingly that Mrs. Macon laughed again.
"Don't worry about that! They look all right, anyhow, what I've seen of them. Now come, it's getting too dark to sew, and you have these nicely together; fold them up, child, and come down-stairs with me."
This was the first really elegant house Sara had ever entered; and as she followed the lady over the soft carpets, past bronze and marble, into a beautiful room, through whose western end, wholly of glass, came a rosy glow from the setting sun, she could hardly keep back her cry of delight. It was the dining-room, and seemed dazzling to Sara, with its rich tones in wall and rug, its buffet a-glitter with glass and silver, and its green garlanded windows; but her native instincts were nice, so it was only in her eyes that this astonished admiration found expression.
Mrs. Macon made a careless gesture towards the table, which was partly laid.
"Sit down, my dear," she said, "and we will have a bit of a supper together; Mr. Macon has gone into the city, and won't be back until a very late dinner. How do you take your tea, please?"
It was a delectable little spread, nearly all the dishes being novelties to Sara, even the familiar lobster being scarcely recognizable in its Frenchy dress; but she felt the refinement and delicacy of it all, as an infant feels the softness of velvet, not comprehending, only enjoying.
In speaking of it afterwards to the children she remarked,—
"I can't tell you what it was, for I have eaten meals I really relished better; but it was there, and I have never experienced it anywhere else, not even at Miss Prue's. It seemed as if I were in a palace, with soft music and sweet odors about me; yet there was no music, and the only fragrance was from the tea. No, I can't tell what it was; but sometime— _some_time, Molly, I hope you will feel it too!"
"Well, if it's going to make me feel solemn and creepy I don't want to," said that young damsel with decision. "That's the way I felt the first few Sundays in the church we go to here; it was so big and high, and had so many colors on the walls, and such dark, purple corners. I kept expecting something to happen; but I'm getting over it a little, for nothing ever does, you know, except the preaching and singing. Only, Sara, that reminds me: there's one thing I've been going to ask you about this ever so long; are the singers all hunchbacks, like Zeba Osterhaus?"
"Dear me! no, Molly, I hope not. What a question!"
"Well, then, what makes them hide so behind those red curtains? I've tried and tried to see if they were like other folks, but I couldn't; and if they are, I don't see why they act so queer!"
Sara tried to explain, but Molly evidently still held to her original opinion; there was some mysterious reason for their modesty, else why did they not stand out plain and high, as did the village choir at home? And it was many weeks before she could be moved from her stand in the matter.
Sara's work went on much the same after the close of the collegiate year, though now Professor Macon was away a large part of the time; yet, as he was constantly sending home cases of specimens, she was usually kept nearly as busy as before. But one day, sitting at her desk with only a few unimportant odds and ends of work before her, her thoughts drifted away, and soon formed themselves into words and sentences which seemed clamoring for definite expression. She seized her pen and some blank paper, setting them down as rapidly as possible, and before she quite realized what she was about had written several pages. Finally, stopping to glance over her work, she felt encouraged to continue it, which she did till her working-hours were over. That night more thoughts came to her, and the next day she completed the article. Reading it over, and correcting it carefully, she decided to copy it; and, while the impulse was upon her, even had the audacity to enclose it in an envelope and send it to a certain magazine having scientific tendencies, which came to the museum regularly.
It was an article describing some oolitic formations she had been much interested in when at the old home; and she told of her ramblings, speculations, and discoveries, in a modest, face-to-face way which gave them a certain interest in addition to their scientific value.
Several days passed, and she had given up her fledgeling for lost, when one morning she saw amid the mail upon the professor's desk an envelope addressed to herself, and opening it found with astonishment that it was an acceptance of her sketch, enclosing a check for what seemed to her a large amount. That, she often said afterwards, was the proudest moment of her life. Her whole frame thrilled with keenest satisfaction, her whole soul was uplifted in thanks for this gift that seemed directly from above.
The professor, back from his trip, entered just then, saw the glow on her face, and looked the inquiry he would not speak. But Sara understood the look.
"I have been much pleased," she explained, "by this." and handed him the enclosure.
"What! Really an article in the Science Made Popular? Well, Miss Olmstead, you are to be congratulated!" holding out his hand with great cordiality. "May I ask what you wrote about?"
She told him, and he nodded vigorously.
"Very good, very good! I shall watch for its appearance; and now I've a proposition to make you. Would you like to study Latin and French?"
"I?" gasped Sara.
"Yes; they are much needed in our work, as well as German and Greek; but there must be a beginning. I have all the books you will need, and will hear your Latin recitation every morning. It won't take long, and I'm sure Madame Grandet will help you with the French."
"But they're going away soon, are they not?"
"He is, but she has half decided to remain. It's so delightfully quiet here in summer, and only a short run to the seashore; besides, she likes her boarding-place."
Sara's eyes shone.
"I think every one is very good to me," she said softly.
"Heaven not only helps those who help themselves, but earth, too, Miss Olmstead; which is only another way of saying that real effort always brings appreciation. Now we'll take hold of that last case I sent, if you please. I'll bring your books this afternoon—or, no; better stop in and let Mrs. Macon give them to you; she always enjoys a visit, you know."
But pleasure and pain always keep as close together as light and shadow; and while everything seemed going so prosperously with Sara in the business of her life, there came a new worry at home. Baby was evidently ailing. Each morning it became harder to leave that supplicating little face, and she would turn back to reiterate cautions to Molly, who, being out of school now, saved the extra expense of the little nurse-girl. Even after she had actually torn herself away from the fretful baby voice begging pitifully,—
"No go, Wawa; 'tay baby!" she would stop below at Mrs. Hoffstott's door to beg, almost with tears, that she would look after things a little, and not let flighty Molly neglect the child; which the good woman was always ready to do. Those were anxious days, which even the madame's and Mrs. Macon's kindness could not wholly relieve.
And they were very kind. The latter often took the two children to drive, while the former brought baby dainties and toys to brighten his languid eyes.
A doctor was finally called, who said his ill feelings were entirely owing to his teeth, and left some mild powders for him to take. But there came a night when he was so feverish and flighty that Sara dared not leave him in the morning, so sent a note by Morton to the professor, stating the reason for her absence. The latter read it carefully, said a sympathizing word or two to the boy, who plainly showed his concern, then added kindly,—
"Tell her not to worry at all about the work till the little one is quite well enough to be left; there is nothing pressing just now; and supposing you stop at the house as you go by, and let Mrs. Macon read this note. She is fond of the child."
"Yes, sir," said Morton, and was about to start on his return, when the gentleman arrested him.
"Stay," he said, "what are you doing since school closed? Are you working at anything?"
"Not much, sir; I'm helping Mr. Hoffstott in the bakery, carrying home orders on his busy days: it doesn't take all my time though."
"I suppose you are used to the management of boats; you can row or sail one?"
"Oh, yes, sir!" his eyes lighting.
"Very well, I may have a proposition to make you soon, that's all. Be sure and stop at Mrs. Macon's."
Morton obeyed, but only to find her gone into the neighboring city on a shopping excursion, so hurried on to deliver his kindly message from the professor, wondering all the way what that wise gentleman could have meant by his remark about the boat.
But when he reached home all these thoughts fled; for he found Molly just descending the stairs, crying bitterly; and when he asked what was the matter she only gave her hands a desperate wring and sobbed,—
"Oh, the baby! the baby! Where does that doctor live, anyhow?"
Hurrying in he found Sara, her eyes wild with trouble, and Mrs. Hoffstott, fairly purple with consternation, both trying frantically to bring the child out of a spasm.
"Oh, run, run for the doctor, Morton!" cried his sister. "Baby's getting worse, I'm sure; and Molly doesn't know the way."
Morton did run, but alas! it was of no avail. The poor little fellow had one moment of consciousness, in which he feebly tried to pat Sara's colorless cheek and murmur, "Wawa deah!" then the beautiful eyes rolled back, set and glassy, the limp, dimpled hand dropped on his breast, and the sweet baby life was over.
Sara gave a heart-rending cry, which reached Morton and the doctor, now hurrying up the stairs; and when they entered she was calling piteously upon the little one with every loving term her tongue was used to.
The doctor drew her gently away.
"He is gone," he said with solemn emphasis; "his sufferings are over! Madam," to Mrs. Hoffstott, "pray take her away for a time; her nerves are all unstrung."
That good woman led the half-fainting girl below, and at once despatched Grisel for Madame Grandet and the minister of the church the Olmsteads attended, who were shortly there, doing their best for the grief- stricken little household; while in the evening both Professor and Mrs. Macon came, the latter much grieved that she had been away when Morton called.
All was done that could be done; and Sara, even in her grief, which was for the time almost overwhelming, so deeply had this one of her cares and responsibilities taken a hold upon her nature, was surprised at the number of friends who seemed to have sprung up around them. She did not know that the story of her love and her struggles had passed from mouth to mouth, and that for the moment she was a heroine in their estimation. Nor did she know, till days later, that the lovely little blanket of white roses which wrapped the tiny white casket in its soft fragrance, was the gift of some of those very students who had brought the blushes to her cheek by their too pronounced admiration.
It softened her grief to find so much genuine friendliness and good-will in the hearts of even the strangers about her; and when she wailed for baby through the lonely nights, so sadly missing the clasp of his warm, soft arms about her neck, there was no bitterness mingled with her sorrow.
"He has gone to his mother," she wrote Miss Prue. "I sometimes think she must have longed for him even in heaven; and I hope she knows that, if I ever neglected him, it was only because I felt compelled."
To which the good spinster answered,—"You have never neglected him, Sara; to that I am ready to bear witness. If God has seemed to bereave you, it is because he sees it is best; meanwhile, take comfort in this: you have been tenderer than many mothers, and more patient than many sisters, to this dear little brother who loved you so well, so do not let self-reproach add to your sorrow."
The words were a comfort, as they were meant to be; for, with the girl's supreme conscientiousness, she had been torturing herself for fear she had not done all that was possible for her dear one; and, as Miss Prue's word had always been law with her, so now she let it heal this unnecessary smart.