Some of the homelier girls sometimes used the old “gag,” if I may use a story term, and said “she lived on love;” yet the dozen or more who worked in the same bindery with her never saw her receive attentions from any man—never saw any person approach her in a lover-like way.
Her only fault to all who knew her was that there was a mystery about her.
That she was a born lady, her manners, her quiet, dignified way, her brief conversation, ever couched in unexceptionable language, told plainly. But she never told any one about herself. She never spoke of parents or relatives—never alluded to past fortunes. But Little Jess used to look in wonder at a shelf of books in Hattie’s room. There were books in French, German, and Spanish, and on Sundays, when she sometimes stole up stairs to see her favorite among all the boarders, she found her reading these books. And she had a large portfolio of drawings, and at times she added to them with a skillful pencil.
One thing was certain. Hattie was very poor—she had no income beyond that gained by her daily labor. She washed her own clothes, and, by permission of Biddy Lanigan, ironed them on Saturday evenings in the kitchen, for she had even a kind word for Biddy, and kind words are almost as precious as gold to the poor.
Hattie seldom was able to earn over four dollars a week, as wages ran, and thus she had but little to use for dress, though she was ever dressed with exceeding taste, plain though her garments were. These she cut and made, buying the patterns and goods only.
When she had overwork she made more, and she had been seen with a bank-book in her hand, so it was evident she had saved something to help along with should sickness overtake her.
She had been two years and one week boarding at Miss Scrimp’s, when one Thursday the postman, or mail-carrier, rather, delivered a letter at the door directed to her.
Hattie was down at the bindery then, and Jessie Albemarle, answering the bell, got the letter. She would have kept it till Hattie came, but her mistress demanded to see it, and took charge of it.
Little Jess had seen that it was a large letter, postmarked from somewhere in California, and that it had a singular seal in wax on the back. The impression represented two hearts pierced with an arrow.
The address was only the name, street, number, and city.