She went on to give the last touches, with friendly looks at the girl in the glass, and with various little arts of inattention trying to make it easy for her visitor to disembarrass herself. Then she sat down in her rocking-chair, facing Rachel, who had received her kindliness not unkindly, but now came promptly to her business.
“I oughtn’t to disturb you to-night, Mrs. Gilbert,” she said, “and I should have come Saturday night, but I knew you had company; and last night was Sabbath. I wanted to thank you for buying that picture of mine. I never thought of anyone’s buying it; and I’m afraid you gave more than you ought. I couldn’t bear you should do that. I’ve been talking about it with mother, and she thinks I ought to offer you part of the money back.”
Mrs. Gilbert listened without interruption of any sort, and the girl, doubtless knowing better how to deal with this impassiveness than with that second-growth impulse which in city New-Englanders has sprung up on surfaces shorn so bare by Puritanism, went on tranquilly.
“We think it is like this: it isn’t probable, even if this picture is worth all of what you paid, that I can do any more as good, and if you’ve bought it to encourage me, I might disappoint you in the end. Besides, we should not be willing to be beholden to anybody.”
Having said her say, Rachel waited for Mrs. Gilbert’s response, who answered, quietly, “I know that you and your mother are perfectly sincere, and I am glad you came to say this to me. How much should you think I ought to take back?”
Rachel thought a moment and said, soberly, “The paper cost twenty-five cents; then I used some of a preparation of Mrs. Farrell’s to keep the charcoal from rubbing, but that didn’t come to anything. If my picture took the first premium at the county fair—we did think some of sending it there at first—it would be three dollars, but we should have had to pay seventy-five cents for entering it. If you really want the picture, Mrs. Gilbert, and are not buying it for any other reason, you can have it for two and a quarter.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Gilbert, gravely, “have you brought me the change? Then please hand it to me, as I’m an old lady and very much settled in my rocking-chair.” The girl obeyed, and approached her with some bank-notes in her hand. The elder woman leaned forward and caught her by either wrist, and held her, while she exclaimed, “Rachel, you’re the manliest girl, and your mother’s the manliest woman, I know of—and I can’t say anything better! But don’t think you can take advantage of my sex, for all that. You shall not give me back a mill—if there is such a thing outside of the arithmetic. Two dollars and a quarter! Upon my word I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at you! I didn’t know there was so much uncorruption left in the world. What do you suppose Mrs. Stevenson will be asking by and by for her cat-tails, when she’s learned to paint them for door-panels? Why—no, I won’t blot your innocence with a knowledge of that swindling. Your Blossom is worth all I paid for her. Don’t be afraid that I bought her to encourage you. No, my dear, that isn’t my line. I’m the great American discourager. I suppose Mrs. Farrell has been babbling to you about the admiration your picture excited. She’s a foolish woman. It was admired, and I think you might be a painter. But, oh, dear me! why should anyone encourage you on that account? Talent is a trouble and a vexation even to men, who are strong enough to fight against it; but for women it’s nothing but misery. The only hope for you that I can see is that you’ve got something of a man’s honesty and modesty to help you through. Draw up your chair and sit down by me, Rachel. I want to talk to you, I want to catechise you. Oh, you needn’t be afraid of me! I’m not going to do you any favor; and you shall keep me at a proper distance in everything you say!”
She smiled quizzically at the girl’s constraint, and added, “But I’m older than you, and I’ve seen more of the world, and maybe I’ll be able to tell you some things it would be useful for you to know. You shall pay me what you think is right, if I do. Why don’t you want to be beholden to anyone? Why shouldn’t I give you more for your picture than it’s worth, if I like?”
“I don’t know,” answered Rachel, shyly puzzled. “It’s a kind of feeling. The laborer is worthy of his hire; but he isn’t if he takes any more.”
“Good! first-rate! And you shouldn’t think it pleasant to have things given to you?”