“Miss Stella, ma’am,” responded Mr. Parker, with unmoved politeness, “is, as you are perhaps aware, my daughter’s most intimate friend. Cynthia is an only child, and, I am sorry to say, rather a lonely one. She has her little peculiarities, Miss Spellman, like the rest of us, and her mother and I have every reason to be satisfied with your ward’s influence.” (Here Miss Sophia indulged in an unmistakable sniff.)
“In addition to this, my daughter firmly believes that Miss Stella saved her life from the Wolcott bull, not a great while ago, which of course puts us all in her debt; and, in short, Cynthia says that she will not graduate without her.” (Another sniff.) “And besides,” firmly continued Mr. Parker, with perhaps a secret enjoyment of the situation, “the fact is, ma’am, her friends all feel that Miss Stella is a girl of—ahem!—unusual abilities, and ought by all means to complete her education.”
“Of course, Mr. Parker, I shall require some time to think this matter over.” Miss Sophia spoke rather feebly, after a long pause. “The suggestion is an unexpected one, and—and—However, I shall mention it to the girl, and—By the way, Mr. Parker, you may not be aware that my sister left her by will all of her personal property, and a sum in savings-bank amounting to something over three hundred dollars. Stella is not exactly an object of charity.”
The storekeeper was quite aware of this fact, as was everybody else in the village. The will had been drawn up by the local lawyer, who had deemed it necessary to keep his counsel no longer than till the funeral was over. However, Stella’s friends did not think the legacy of great importance, as bearing on the question in hand. Three hundred dollars was a nice little nest-egg for her, to be sure; but it would not cover her board, clothing and school expenses for two years.
He simply bowed, therefore, and took up his hat as he replied, civilly:
“Certainly, certainly, ma’am; take all the time you wish to talk the matter over with the young lady. When you and she have made up your minds, may I ask that you will communicate with me?”
At Miss Sophia’s front door, the merchant encountered Doctor Brown. Almost a personal encounter it was, for the big Doctor was in a hurry, as usual, and had stopped in upon urgent business, on his way to a patient. Miss Sophia was just on the point of escaping to her room, to consider this unprecedented interference with her plans—rank impertinence, she was inclined to call it—when he bluntly detained her.
“No, no; I can’t sit down. I sha’n’t keep you a minute. It’s just this. Stella Waring must have her chance. She must graduate from the academy, in the first place, and her little bit of money won’t do the trick. My wife and I aren’t rich, as you know, but there’s room under our roof for the child, especially if she’s willing to make herself useful—and I know she is, bless her heart!
“She can come to-morrow; we need her to wait on mother, help my wife about the house and be company for Doris, so she’ll give as much as she gets. Stella’s proud, Miss Sophia, and wouldn’t consent to be a burden to anybody. I want her to understand that she’ll be doing us a favor by coming. Talk it over with her, and let me know. Good day!”
Well, there was no way out of it; the whole matter must be laid before the girl herself. Distasteful as the task was, Miss Sophia must explain to her both offers and give her her choice; yes, and the further alternative of remaining where she was for two years longer. Upon mature consideration, and with her eyes fully opened, at last, to Stella’s position and value in the community, this stiff-necked elderly Puritan was compelled to face the fact that the girl’s services were worth as much to her as to any one else; and the further fact that it would not “look well,” in the eyes of her lifelong neighbors and townsfolk, if her dead sister’s foster-child should be obliged to find another home in Laurel. She could scarcely be packed off to the reservation willy-nilly; not with such influential friends on her side.