In this dilemma Etta made the startling proposition of becoming teacher herself.
"You!" said Eunice, in astonishment. For to her, her sister always seemed the little child whom her dead mother had confided to her care. "You're not old enough. I thought of offering myself, but really my hands are full, I can't do another thing."
"I should think not," said James. "You do everything for us all. You need four hands for what you do already. But why should not Etta? You don't need her help in the afternoons, and surely she ought to be competent."
"I am afraid"—
"I know," broke in the girl. "You are afraid I will get tired of it, and drop it as I have done so many things. You've a right to think so. But you know I have a new motive and a new strength now. Eunice, what is the use of my superior education, if I can't do something with it for the Lord? It seems to me that this is one of the 'ways' in which I can 'acknowledge him.' Won't you let me try it?"
"If papa will consent," said her sister. And that settled it, as they all knew; for Mr. Mountjoy always consented that Etta should do exactly as she pleased. He only stipulated that her brother should always be on hand to bring her home, as during the winter months the school would not be over till after dark.
Etta proved—as all knew she would prove—a very efficient and interesting teacher. It was quite amusing to her brother, when he sometimes came for her half an hour before school was over, to see the quiet dignity with which she kept the great rough boys in order. But the work soon became too much for her alone. The "night school" grew into such a popular institution that it had more pupils than one person could properly attend to in the short space of three hours. So Mr. James arranged his time at some personal sacrifice to himself, and managed to take some of the classes. While, to the great astonishment of all, Rhoda, the middle sister, came out of her shell sufficiently to volunteer to give drawing lessons to such of the boys and girls as should show any decided talent or inclination. There is something contagious in beneficence. Those surrounded by its atmosphere are sure, sooner or later, to take the infection. Of course this school was better for the children than any plan of Mrs. Robertson's devising could have been, and her whole family were among its most enthusiastic and energetic members. Gretchen learned to write English, and Tessa to read and care for better things than sentimental fiction. And Eric, while far outstripping her in his studies, seemed to find great pleasure in assisting in hers, helping her over difficulties, and carrying her books to and from the school. But by far the brightest of the scholars were Katie and Alfred Robertson. They both learned so easily, and exhibited so much enthusiasm in the pursuit of knowledge, that once Eunice Mountjoy said to Mrs. Robertson:—
"It seems almost a pity that your children should be obliged to perform mill-work. My brother says that Alfred shows quite an uncommon taste for natural science, especially chemistry. And I think our little Katie would, after a few years' study, make a capital teacher, and you know she would make a great deal more money in that way than she ever can in the mill, with much less expenditure of time and strength."
"Yes," said Mrs. Robertson, with a sigh. "I never thought that my husband's children would have to work for a living."
"Working for a living is not degrading, Mrs. Robertson. The doctor himself did that."