What would Nelly have said if she had known that some of those very school-girls she envied looked upon themselves as greatly abused by being made to go to school, and that they exercised far more ingenuity and pains in shirking their lessons—in trying not to learn—than would have been needed to acquire them? Nelly Ryan, leaning over her grandmother's gate, with no one to teach her even to read, thought she would be perfectly happy if she could only go to boarding-school, and walk to church on Sunday morning with a nice dress and clean collar. Nelly Lambert, who had been taught and cared for all her life,—whose father spent hundreds of dollars every year upon her education,—had been fretting that very morning at being obliged to dress and go to church, and thought if she had no lessons to learn, and nothing to do but to amuse herself all day long, SHE would be perfectly happy. Both were, no doubt, mistaken, since perfect happiness is hardly to be found in this world; but I think Nelly Lambert's mistake was the greater of the two.
Presently Kitty Brown came along home from Sunday-school, with her Bible and library-book in her hand. Kitty "lived out" with one of the families whom Nelly supplied with milk; but her mother was a neighbour of Mrs. Ryan's, and her mistress was in the habit of allowing her to go home after Sunday-school on Sundays and stay till near teatime.
Kitty had always had a liking for Nelly, and the girls would perhaps have become intimate, if Mrs. Brown had allowed it; but though she was always kind to Mrs. Ryan and her grand-daughter, she did not think Nelly a very suitable companion for Kitty. The girls always spoke when they met, however, and generally had a few minutes of gossip when Nelly carried round the milk. Kitty knew all about Lord Glengall and the former grandeur of the Butlers, and, as she had a lively imagination, and was very fond of stories, she had constructed more than one pretty romance relating to Nelly's future prospects. She used to like very much to talk over these romances with Nelly herself; but Nelly had of late become rather shy of them.
"Why, Nelly, how nice you look!" said Kitty, stopping to speak to her friend; "but what made you cut off all your hair?"
"It tangled so I could not comb it out," replied Nelly. "I wish it was straight like yours, and then I could keep it decent."
"Why, Nelly Ryan! I would give any thing in the world to have my hair curl as yours does; but it looks real pretty as it is, and it will have plenty of time to grow again before you are a young lady, you know."
"I guess it will," said Nelly. "It will have time to grow and grow white before that time comes."
"Oh, you don't know! For all you can tell, the news of your fortune may come to-morrow."
"Don't, Kitty!" said Nelly, impatiently. "I am sick of all that stuff, and I don't believe in it, either. I want to be decent now, and to have something, and not be always thinking about what will never happen. I don't feel as if I ever wanted to hear of those things again. I think about them and hear granny's stories till they all seem real to me, and then I just wake up, and every thing is as poor and mean as ever, and looks ten times worse than it did before. I am sick of it all, and I am sick of this world," said Nelly, passionately. "I should like to die and go somewhere else."
Kitty stood aghast at this outbreak from Nelly. She had never seen her in such a mood before, and she did not understand it. She did not reflect that the day-dreams which served her for amusement now and then were all her friend had to live upon. One may like some oranges once in a while, when one has had enough of solid food; but a man who had nothing else to eat would soon starve to death upon it.