Mrs. Carruth had not meant to let the girls learn of it until, if worse came to worst, all hope of recovering something had to be given up.
But, several days before, Eleanor had found her mother in a state of nervous collapse over the letter which brought the ultimatum, and had insisted upon knowing the truth. Mrs. Carruth confessed it only upon the condition of absolute secrecy on Eleanor’s part, for Constance was in the midst of mid-year examinations and her mother would not have an extra care laid upon her just then. Eleanor had kept the secret until this morning when Jean’s outbreak seemed to make it wiser to tell the truth, and, if the confession must be made, poor Eleanor could no longer conceal her remorse for the mischief her experiments had brought upon them all.
She had gone that morning to her Aunt Eleanor’s home to confess the situation to her, and to ask if she might leave school and seek some position. The interview had been a most unpleasant one, for Mrs. Eleanor Carruth, Senior, never hesitated to express her mind, and having exceptional business acumen herself, had little patience with those who had less.
“Your mother has no more head for business than a child of ten. Not as much as some, I believe. And, your father wasn’t much better. Good heavens and earth! the idea of a man in his sane senses agreeing to pay another man’s debts. I don’t believe he was in his senses,” stormed Mrs. Eleanor.
“Please, Aunt Eleanor, don’t say such things to me about father and mother,” said Eleanor, with a little break in her voice. “Perhaps mother doesn’t know as much about business matters as she ought, and father’s heart got the better of his good sense, but they are father and mother and have always been devoted to us. I don’t want to be rude to you, but I can’t hear them unkindly spoken of,” she ended with a little uprearing of the head, which suddenly recalled to the irate lady a similar mannerism of her late husband who had been a most forebearing man up to a certain point, but when that was reached his wife knew a halt had been called; the same sudden uplifting of the head now gave due warning.
However, Eleanor was only a child in her aunt’s eyes, and, fond as she was of her, in her own peculiar way, she could not resist a final word:
“Well, I’ve no patience with such goin’s on. And now here’s a pretty kettle of fish and no mistake. You’ve taken Hadyn Stuyvesant’s house for a year, and of course you’ve got to keep it, yet every cent you’ve got in this world to live on is twelve hundred dollars a year. That means less than twenty-five dollars a week to house, clothe and feed five people. I ’spose it can be done—plenty do it—but they’re not Carruths, with a Carruth’s ideas. And now you want to quit school and go to work? Well, I don’t approve of it; no, not for a minute. You’ll do ten times better to stay at school and then enter college next fall. You’ve got the ability to do it, and it’s flyin’ in the face of Providence not to.”
Aunt Eleanor might just as well have added, “I representing Providence,” since her tone implied as much.
“Now run along home and leave me to think out this snarl. I can think a sight better when I’m alone,” and with that summary and rather unsatisfactory dismissal, Eleanor departed for her own home to be met by Jean with her trials and tribulations.
Meanwhile Mrs. Carruth had gone in quest of that young lady, for upon Mammy’s return from market, Jean, Baltie and the box of candy had been missed, and the old woman had raised a hue and cry. At first they believed it to be some prank, but as the hours slipped away and Jean failed to reappear, Mrs. Carruth grew alarmed and all three set forth in different directions to search for her. Constance going to Amy Fletcher’s home. Mammy to their old home, or at least all that was left of it, for Jean frequently went there on one pretext or another, and Mrs. Carruth down town, as the marketing section of Riveredge was termed. While there, one of the shopkeepers told her that Jean had driven by, headed for South Riveredge.