MARTHA FINLEY.
THE GIRLS’ FRIEND.
ARTHA FINLEY, author of the “Elsie Books,” etc., amounting in all to about one hundred volumes, was born in Chillicothe, Ohio, April 26, 1828, in the house of her grandfather, Major Samuel Finley, of the Virginia Cavalry, in the War of the Revolution, and a personal friend of Washington, who, while President, appointed him “Collector of Public Monies” for the Northwestern Territory of which Ohio was then a part. In the war of 1812–14 Major Finley marched to Detroit to the assistance of General Hull, at the head of a regiment of Ohio volunteers in which his eldest son, James Brown Finley, then a lad of eighteen, was a lieutenant. On Hull’s disgraceful surrender those troops were paroled and returned to their homes in Ohio. James Finley afterwards became a physician and married his mother’s niece, Maria Theresa Brown. Martha was their sixth child. In the spring of 1836 Dr. Finley left Ohio for South Bend, Indiana, where he resided until his death in 1851.
Something more than a year later Martha joined a widowed sister in New York city and resided there with her for about eighteen months. It was then and there she began her literary career by writing a newspaper story and a little Sunday-school book. But she was broken down in health and half blind from astigmatism; so bad a case that the oculist who years afterward measured her eyes for glasses, told her she would have been excusable had she said she could not do anything at all. But she loved books and would manage to read and write in spite of the difficulty of so doing; and a great difficulty it was, for in the midst of a long sentence the letters would seem to be thrown into confusion, and it was necessary to look away from the book or close her eyes for an instant before they would resume their proper positions.
But orphaned and dependent upon her own exertions, she struggled on, teaching and writing, living sometimes in Philadelphia with a stepmother who was kind enough to give her a home, sometimes in Phœnixville, Pa., where she taught a little select school. It was there she began the Elsie Series which have proved her most successful venture in literature. The twenty-second volume, published in 1897, is entitled Elsie at Home. The author has again and again proposed to end the series, thinking it long enough, but public and publishers have insisted upon another and yet another volume. The books have sold so well that they have made her a lovely home in Elkton, Maryland, whither she removed in 1876 and still resides, and to yield her a comfortable income.
But her works are not all juveniles. “Wanted a Pedigree,” and most of the other works in the Finley Series are for adults, and though not so very popular as the Elsie Books, still have steady sales though nearly all have been on the market for more than twenty years.
ELSIE’S DISAPPOINTMENT.[¹]
(FROM “ELSIE DINSMORE.”)
[¹] Copyright, 1893, Dodd, Mead & Co.
HE school-room at Roselands was a very pleasant apartment. Within sat Miss Day with her pupils, six in number.
“Young ladies and gentlemen,” said she, looking at her watch, “I shall leave you to your studies for an hour; at the end of which time I shall return to hear your recitations, when those who have attended properly to their duties will be permitted to ride out with me to visit the fair.”
“Oh! that will be jolly!” exclaimed Arthur, a bright-eyed, mischief-loving boy of ten.
“Hush!” said Miss Day sternly; “let me hear no more such exclamations; and remember that you will not go unless your lessons are thoroughly learned. Louise and Lora,” addressing two young girls of the respective ages of twelve and fourteen, “that French exercise must be perfect, and your English lessons as well. Elsie,” to a little girl of eight, sitting alone at a desk near one of the windows, and bending over a slate with an appearance of great industry, “every figure of that example must be correct, your geography lesson recited perfectly, and a page in your copy-book written without a blot.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the child meekly, raising a pair of large soft eyes of the darkest hazel for an instant to her teacher’s face, and then dropping them again upon her slate.
“And see that none of you leave the room until I return,” continued the governess. “Walter, if you miss one word of that spelling, you will have to stay at home and learn it over.”
“Unless mamma interferes, as she will be pretty sure to do,” muttered Arthur, as the door closed on Miss Day, and her retreating footsteps were heard passing down the hall.
For about ten minutes after her departure, all was quiet in the school-room, each seemingly completely absorbed in study. But at the end of that time Arthur sprang up, and, flinging his book across the room, exclaimed, “There! I know my lesson; and if I didn’t, I shouldn’t study another bit for old Day, or Night either.”
“Do be quiet, Arthur,” said his sister Louise; “I can’t study in such a racket.”
Arthur stole on tiptoe across the room, and coming up behind Elsie, tickled the back of her neck with a feather.
She started, saying in a pleading tone, “Please, Arthur, don’t.”
“It pleases me to do,” he said, repeating the experiment.
Elsie changed her position, saying in the same gentle, persuasive tone, “O Arthur! please let me alone, or I never shall be able to do this example.”
“What! all this time on one example! you ought to be ashamed. Why, I could have done it half a dozen times over.”
“I have been over and over it,” replied the little girl in a tone of despondency, “and still there are two figures that will not come right.”
“How do you know they are not right, little puss?” shaking her curls as he spoke.
“Oh! please, Arthur, don’t pull my hair. I have the answer—that’s the way I know.”
“Well, then, why don’t you just set the figures down. I would.”
“Oh! no, indeed; that would not be honest.”
“Pooh! nonsense! nobody would be the wiser, nor the poorer.”
“No, but it would be just like telling a lie. But I can never get it right while you are bothering me so,” said Elsie, laying her slate aside in despair. Then, taking out her geography, she began studying most diligently. But Arthur continued his persecutions—tickling her, pulling her hair, twitching the book out of her hand, and talking almost incessantly, making remarks, and asking questions; till at last Elsie said, as if just ready to cry, “Indeed, Arthur, if you don’t let me alone, I shall never be able to get my lessons.”
“Go away, then; take your book out on the veranda, and learn your lessons there,” said Louise. “I’ll call you when Miss Day comes.”
“Oh! no, Louise, I cannot do that, because it would be disobedience,” replied Elsie, taking out her writing materials.
Arthur stood over her criticising every letter she made, and finally jogged her elbow in such a way as to cause her to drop all the ink in her pen upon the paper, making quite a large blot.
“Oh!” cried the little girl, bursting into tears, “now I shall lose my ride, for Miss Day will not let me go; and I was so anxious to see all those beautiful flowers.”
Arthur, who was really not very vicious, felt some compunction when he saw the mischief he had done. “Never mind, Elsie,” said he, “I can fix it yet. Just let me tear out this page, and you can begin again on the next, and I’ll not bother you. I’ll make these two figures come right, too,” he added, taking up her slate.
“Thank you, Arthur,” said the little girl, smiling through her tears; “you are very kind, but it would not be honest to do either, and I had rather stay at home than be deceitful.”
“Very well, miss,” said he, tossing his head, and walking away, “since you won’t let me help you, it is all your own fault if you have to stay at home.”
Elsie finished her page, and, excepting the unfortunate blot, it all looked very neat indeed, showing plainly that it had been written with great care. She then took up her slate and patiently went over and over every figure of the troublesome example, trying to discover where her mistake had been. But much time had been lost through Arthur’s teasing, and her mind was so disturbed by the accident to her writing that she tried in vain to fix it upon the business in hand; and before the two troublesome figures had been made right, the hour was past and Miss Day returned.
“Oh!” thought Elsie, “if she will only hear the others first;” but it was a vain hope. Miss Day had no sooner seated herself at her desk than she called, “Elsie, come here and say that lesson; and bring your copy-book and slate, that I may examine your work.”
Elsie tremblingly obeyed.
The lesson, though a difficult one, was very tolerably recited; for Elsie, knowing Arthur’s propensity for teasing, had studied it in her own room before school hours. But Miss Day handed back the books with a frown, saying, “I told you the recitation must be perfect, and it was not. There are two incorrect figures in this example,” said she, laying down the slate, after glancing over its contents. Then taking up the copy-book, she exclaimed, “Careless, disobedient child! did I not caution you to be careful not to blot your book? There will be no ride for you this morning. You have failed in everything. Go to your seat. Make that example right, and do the next; learn your geography lesson over, and write another page in your copy-book; and mind, if there is a blot on it, you will get no dinner.”
Weeping and sobbing, Elsie took up her books and obeyed.
During this scene Arthur stood at his desk pretending to study, but glancing every now and then at Elsie, with a conscience evidently ill at ease. She cast an imploring glance at him, as she returned to her seat; but he turned away his head, muttering, “It’s all her own fault, for she wouldn’t let me help her.”
As he looked up again, he caught his sister Lora’s eyes fixed on him with an expression of scorn and contempt. He colored violently, and dropped his upon his book.
“Miss Day,” said Lora, indignantly, “I see Arthur does not mean to speak, and as I cannot bear to see such injustice, I must tell you that it is all his fault that Elsie has failed in her lessons; for she tried her very best, but he teased her incessantly, and also jogged her elbow and made her spill the ink on her book; and to her credit she was too honorable to tear out the leaf from her copy-book, or to let him make her example right; both which he very generously proposed doing after causing all the mischief.”
“Is this so, Arthur?” asked Miss Day, angrily.
The boy hung his head, but made no reply.
“Very well, then,” said Miss Day, “you too must stay at home.”
“Surely,” said Lora, in surprise, “you will not keep Elsie, since I have shown you that she was not to blame.”
“Miss Lora,” replied her teacher, haughtily, “I wish you to understand that I am not to be dictated to by my pupils.”
Lora bit her lip, but said nothing, and Miss Day went on hearing the lessons without further remark.
In the meantime the little Elsie sat at her desk, striving to conquer the feelings of anger and indignation that were swelling in her breast; for Elsie, though she possessed much of “the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,” was not yet perfect, and often had a fierce contest with her naturally quick temper. Yet it was seldom, very seldom that word or tone or look betrayed the existence of such feelings; and it was a common remark in the family that Elsie had no spirit.
The recitations were scarcely finished when the door opened and a lady entered dressed for a ride.
“Not through yet, Miss Day?” she asked.
“Yes, madam, we are just done,” replied the teacher, closing the French grammar and handing it to Louise.
“Well, I hope your pupils have all done their duty this morning, and are ready to accompany us to the fair,” said Mrs. Dinsmore. “But what is the matter with Elsie?”
“She has failed in all her exercises, and therefore has been told that she must remain at home,” replied Miss Day with heightened color and in a tone of anger; “and as Miss Lora tells me that Master Arthur was partly the cause, I have forbidden him also to accompany us.”
“Excuse me, Miss Day, for correcting you,” said Lora, a little indignantly; “but I did not say partly, for I am sure it was entirely his fault.”
“Hush, hush, Lora,” said her mother, a little impatiently; “how can you be sure of any such thing; Miss Day, I must beg of you to excuse Arthur this once, for I have quite set my heart on taking him along. He is fond of mischief, I know, but he is only a child, and you must not be too hard upon him.”
“Very well, madam,” replied the governess stiffly, “you have of course the best right to control your own children.”
Mrs. Dinsmore turned to leave the room.
“Mamma,” asked Lora, “is not Elsie to be allowed to go too?”
“Elsie is not my child, and I have nothing to say about it. Miss Day, who knows all the circumstances, is much better able than I to judge whether or no she is deserving of punishment,” replied Mrs. Dinsmore, sailing out of the room.
“You will let her go, Miss Day?” said Lora, inquiringly.
“Miss Lora,” replied Miss Day, angrily, “I have already told you I was not to be dictated to. I have said Elsie must remain at home, and I shall not break my word.”
“Such injustice!” muttered Lora, turning away.
Miss Day hastily quitted the room, followed by Louise and Lora, and Elsie was left alone.
