Katie Robertson

by Margaret E. Winslow

CHAPTER XI.

TESSA.

Katie Robertson remained in the mill that Saturday afternoon, although her work had long been completed, till the bell rang for five o'clock, that being the hour for the Saturday dismissal. Then she said to Tessa:—

"Come and take a walk with me. There's a full hour before tea, and I don't believe you've ever seen the Fawn's Leap. Have you?"

"No," said her companion, "I have never been anywhere in Squantown. They would not let us go, in the poor-house, and since I've been in the mill I've been too tired after work was over."

"Are you very tired now?"

"Not so very; I did not sleep much last night."

"Was it a very interesting story?" said the other, archly.

"Oh, yes," said Tessa, becoming at once very much excited; "she, Amanda, I mean, married the most elegant count, and he took her to his castle, and she had pearls and diamonds and silks and satins, and never had to do a thing all the rest of her life; and only think, Katie, she was a mill-girl in the beginning, just like us." The sentence finished with a sigh.

"Would you like a count to come and carry you off to a castle by-and-by, and give you all those things?"

"Oh, indeed, yes; when the light goes out, and I can't read any more I lie awake thinking about it, and wondering if such a count will ever come along. He might, you know, any day."

"Does that make the mill seem any pleasanter in the morning?"

"No! no! I hate the mill. It looks so rough and bare, and the girls all seem so common. I feel like crying to have to spend so many hours there."

"And then you can't do your work well. I know just how that feels. Miss Eunice says it isn't honest to do anything that will unfit us for the work we are paid for doing."

This was a new definition of dishonesty to Tessa, but she only said:—

"Who's Miss Eunice?"

"Oh, she's the teacher of the Bible-class; the nicest, most splendid lady in the Sunday-school, except, of course, Miss Etta. She's our teacher, you know, but she's so young she seems just like one of ourselves."

"Do you go to Sunday-school?" said Tessa opening her eyes. "I thought only little children went. Father said it was so in Italy."

"But everybody goes here. There's great big girls, quite young women, in Miss Eunice's class. Tessa," said Katie, struck with a sudden idea, "what do you do with yourself on Sundays?"

"I read," said the person addressed; "read all day long. I lie on the bed in my room, and forget how hot it is and how lonely, and then when it gets dark I remember beautiful Italy and cry."

"What a lonely life," said Katie, sympathetically. "Why don't you go to church?"

"We never went to church, my father and I. He said the church had ruined Italy, and he was not a Catholic any more."

"But we're not Catholics. Oh, I wish you would come to our church and our Sunday-school! It's just as nice!—there's Miss Etta, and Bertie and Gretchen and Cora, and two or three more, and on Wednesday Miss Eunice invites our class and hers to tea, and reads to us, and we have a society and work for missions and—oh, it's so nice!" said enthusiastic Katie.

"Do you go to Sunday-school just to have nice times?" and Tessa opened her black eyes very widely.

"No," said her friend, more soberly; "I think I go there to learn more about Jesus, and how to love him more and serve him better. Some of us hope to join the church soon."

Tessa asked some questions that led to a long talk which lasted till they had reached the Fawn's Leap, which was a beautiful little waterfall shooting down between two high rocks, from one of which to the other a fawn was reputed to have sprung. It was a very lovely spot, and the two girls threw themselves upon the grass to rest, while the Italian drew long inspirations of delight.

"It makes me think of home," she said; "the old home in Italy. We lived, my father and I, close to a waterfall just like this, among the mountains. After my mother died my father did not want to stay there, so he went to Naples and bought an organ, and we came to America in a big ship, and wandered about, and then"—her voice broke down then and she said: "Oh, Katie, I am so lonely! if I only had a home like yours, with people in it to talk to and to be kind to me, I should not want to read so many stories. I don't believe they are good for me." This was in reference to all Miss Eunice's talk about the evils of novel-reading as repeated by Katie.

A sudden thought struck the latter.

"Tessa," she said, "it must be awfully lonely at your boarding-house in the evenings and on Sundays. I wish you could come and live with me. I have no companions but the boys, and to have you would be just splendid."

"Do you think I could? Do you think your mother would let me? Oh, Katie, you can't really mean it!"

Katie had not taken her mother into consideration. Of course, she could not be sure of her approbation of such a plan, but she promised to ask, and went on planning how nice it would be—how the two girls could share Katie's room and bed; how they could go to the mill together. "And then," said she, "you could go to Sunday-school with me, Tessa."

But here Tessa drew back. She had no clothes, she said, fit to go to church in—only her working-dress and the straw hat which she wore every day to the mill.

"Go in that. Miss Eunice says God doesn't care what we wear when we go to church."

"But the girls do, and I care more about them."

This rather shocked Katie, but she did not see her way out of the difficulty, and mentally resolved to "ask mother": that way out of all difficulties which is first to suggest itself to a young girl's mind.

"There is the sun setting," said Tessa.—"It must be ever so late. I sha'n't get any supper; they never keep anything for us at our boarding-house."

"Oh, yes, you will! you are coming home with me; mother will have something ready for both of us. I told her where we were going, and she promised she would keep our supper for us, no matter how late it was. Besides, it will be a good chance to ask her about our plan."

So Tessa consented, nothing loth, and when she saw the fair, white cloth, with the clear glasses and bright, shining china, the delicate slices of white bread, the wild strawberries, and fresh brown gingerbread, and contrasted it with the bare table, the stoneware badly chipped, and the great piles of coarse provisions, into which the boarders dipped their own knives, she felt as though she had suddenly got into paradise.

Katie had told the home party about her Italian companion, and her apparent friendlessness, and all had taken such an interest in her that when the boys heard their sister ask and receive permission to bring her home to tea, and their mother's promise to make some soft gingerbread, they resolved to contribute their share toward the festival, and the strawberries, to gathering which they had devoted their afternoon holiday, were the result.

It was a very happy tea-party. Katie was in high spirits, her mother gentle and hospitable, the boys courteous and gentlemanly. Tessa had never been in such society before, and yet there was in her a native grace and refinement—due, perhaps, to the artistic atmosphere in which she was born—that prevented her from doing anything rude or awkward, or seeming at all out of place.

After tea the boys brought out the games, and the visitor showed herself quick to learn and eager to enjoy. The heavy, half-sorrowful look went out of her face, which became full of fun as her eyes sparkled and danced, and she pushed back her long black hair.

When the clock struck nine Mrs. Robertson said:—

"It is time for young folks who have to get up early to go to bed. The boys will see you home, dear; but perhaps you would like to stay and have prayers with us first."

"Oh, yes, I am sure she would," said Katie, seeing that her friend seemed not to know how to answer this proposition. So Eric handed his mother the books, and she first read a chapter in the Bible, and then kneeling down, with her little flock around her, read an evening prayer, commending them all to the love and protection of their heavenly Father. It all seemed very sweet to the visitor, who had never been present at such a service before. She could not probably have told how she felt, but a longing desire came over her to stay where everything seemed so near the gate of heaven, and she said impulsively:—

"Oh, Mrs. Robertson, if you would only keep me always!"

Then Katie said:—

"Mother, why can't Tessa live with us? There's plenty of room for her with me; and she has nobody belonging to her—nothing but a horrid room in the factory boarding-house, where nobody cares for her, and she has to read novels all the evening and all Sunday, and that makes her sick. It would be so nice to have her go to the mill with me every day, and to Sunday-school on Sunday—only she hasn't any clothes that are fit, and"—

"My dear, do stop to take your breath," said the astonished mother, "and let me get some idea of what you are talking about. Do I understand that you want Tessa to come and live here? I should much like to have her do so, my child, but you know—don't think me unkind, Tessa—that we are poor people, and find it hard to fill the four mouths that must be filled."

"Oh, I didn't mean that," said the girl, timidly, and turning crimson. "Of course, I wouldn't let you and Katie support me; but I could pay you my board, just as I do at the boarding-house. I suppose it would be more, but perhaps I could work harder and earn something extra, as some of the other girls do."

"How much do you pay now?"

"Two dollars and a half a week."

"And you have only three dollars! Katie makes five."

"Yes, I know; she works fast. Perhaps I could if there was any use—anything to do it for. I didn't need any money. They gave me my clothes at the workhouse, and I bought books with the other half-dollar."

Both girls looked very beseechingly at Katie's mother, and Eric, who had taken a great fancy to the dark-haired girl, added his entreaties; but she said:—

"I can not answer you to-night; I must think about it and pray over it. I will let you know when I have made up my mind. Now you must go home, dear; Eric will go with you. Good-night, and God bless you."

Tessa felt the kiss that accompanied these words down to the bottom of her heart. No one had ever kissed her before, so far as she could remember, except her father, and she longed most ardently to be taken into this home.

Katie followed her to the door and whispered: "Tessa, I shall ask God to make mother decide the way we want her to. You ask him, too. You know it says in the Bible: 'If any two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them.'" But Tessa did not yet understand about "asking God." She only stared and bid her friend good-night.

The next morning as she sat rather disconsolately on the doorstep of the boarding-house, not knowing exactly what to do with herself, for in consequence of last night's visiting she had neglected to provide herself with a new book, Katie came by and greeted her brightly. She looked so sweet and fresh in her simple Sunday dress that it was not to be wondered at that Tessa, in her soiled mill-clothes, again refused to accompany her friend to Sunday-school.

"You shall have my library book, any way. I don't care to get another to-day, and mother says you are to come round this afternoon to get her answer."

The book was a pleasant story, and though it lacked the species of morbid excitement to which the girl had accustomed herself, it filled up the time agreeably, and gave her a glimpse of a higher, purer plane of life than any with which she was as yet familiar. Some precious truths concerning the love of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the happiness of serving him, were woven into it, and served as the indestructible seeds which were yet to ripen in the girl's spiritual life. At about four o'clock she put on her hat, and full of mingled anxiety and hope, made her way to the corner house which seemed to her so much like heaven.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Robertson had thought the matter over in every direction. She did not at first like the idea of increasing the home party, or of introducing into it any element that might prove discordant. She dreaded to have Katie or the boys come under any influence that might counteract the earnest, religious training she was endeavoring to give her children. But there seemed to be nothing vicious, or even common, about Tessa; she was sweet and well-mannered, and so friendless and forlorn that it would be a positive charity to take her in. Then, too, the girl had evidently had no religious teaching and was profoundly ignorant about spiritual things. Perhaps this was missionary work sent to her very hands. She might at least try it for a while. The board to be paid would make it possible to do so, and if the plan were not a success, or proved hurtful to her own children, to whom she owed her first duty, she could but send the girl back to her present lodgings.

So, when Tessa came she was told, to her great joy, that her request was granted, and she might commence her new life on Monday. A very serious motherly talk followed, and among other things the new boarder was obliged to promise never to introduce sensational literature into the house.

Mrs. Robertson agreed to take Tessa for two dollars a week, on condition that she would assist Katie with the housework before and after mill-hours. The half-dollar a week thus saved would soon procure a simple Sunday outfit, and enable her to accompany her friend to Sunday-school and church.

Katie, with some of the remains of her precious fifty dollars, insisted on advancing this; and on the first Sunday morning the young Italian, looking very pretty but rather shy, took her place in Miss Etta's class, and was at once enrolled among its members.

Mrs. Robertson never had cause to regret her kind-hearted decision. Tessa was devotedly attached to Katie, and followed, rather than led, her friend. She was shy with the boys at first, but soon came to show them the same sisterly feeling that their sister did. Her wit, quickness, and power of story-telling soon made her a valuable addition to the family circle, while the genial home influences and good fare so told upon herself that her extreme delicacy soon disappeared, and she became capable of as much work or endurance as Katie herself.