“But I have no books.”
“I am going to give you some. Here is the Geography you studied at school, and your Arithmetic. True, you are just commencing, but with occasional help, I have no doubt you will get on finely. Come to school when you can; but when kept at home by Mr. Jeffries, do not fret over it. Do your work faithfully, and look forward. God helps those who help themselves. He will not leave you, my boy.”
How strong and happy I felt as I climbed up the hill-side to Mr. Jeffries’ house. I forgot the dark, cold mornings when I had to rise at four o’clock, and make paths through the snow; and help feed the stock and see to the horses, the poor patient brutes waiting until an opening could be made in the trough, or the snow melted. Then there were pigs to feed, and corn to shell for the poultry, and the kitchen to sweep; and by the time I had done it was nearly noon, and too late for school that day. And Jennie would climb up into my lap, and tell me not to cry; and I would read my Geography to her very much as, the last summer, I had read Jack the Giant Killer, Babes in the Wood, Robinson Crusoe, and Sinbad the Sailor; her blue eyes looking up wonderingly as she nestled still closer, laying her white velvet cheek to my brown one.
Dear little comforter, much as I loved her, my heart rebelled not a little at the loss of school-hours. Still I did not forget Mr. Brisbane’s words, so that I neither cried nor murmured outwardly, studying every moment I could get, and repeating my lesson aloud to Jennie, who in her turn began to study geography, and to make figures on my slate.
My writing lesson I suffered the most in. But Mrs. Jeffries had a sister that visited her occasionally, and when there, Miss Grimshaw condescended to set me copies; so that between my duties at home, Mr. Brisbane, and Miss Grimshaw, I made considerable advancement.
Mr. Jeffries scolded not a little whenever he saw my books, and one day actually tossed them out of the window, where Molly the cook rescued them from a mischievous puppy, minus one of the covers. I could have cried over this; but the leaves were all there, and afterwards Mrs. Jeffries gave us two chairs and a little table in her linen closet; and as this was the tidiest place in the house, and above all, never entered save by Mrs. Jeffries, we were for a time uncommonly happy.
While I had my books and a chair in the linen closet, Jennie had a few pots of geraniums and tea-roses that Mrs. Brisbane had sent her, and which she nurtured with great care. Never shall I forget the look of distress on the little face, when one morning she had watered them tenderly, taxing her strength not a little to set them where they would have all the benefit of the sun, watching them with delight, counting the buds on the rose-bush, and thinking of the little bouquets she would be sure to make, first for me and then for Mrs. Jeffries, putting one in Miss Grimshaw’s room by way of surprise. All at once Mr. Jeffries came through the room, and seeing the little girl idle for the moment, with one sweep of his hand landed the rose-bush in the middle of the yard, the stem broken and the opening buds torn. There was not a tear, not a word of complaint as she stole up to the linen closet and laid the ruined stem in my hands, hiding her face on my shoulder, and trembling like an aspen.
“Who has done this, Jennie?” said I hurriedly, and in a passion.
“Don’t be vexed at him; it was Mr. Jeffries. He’ll be sorry to-morrow.”
“But this was yours; what right had he to touch it? I will go and ask him;” and I flung down my book and started up.