CHAPTER VIII.

THE SUBSCRIPTION PAPER.

SIX months have passed since the events related in the last chapter. After a week's holiday, the brother and sister returned to the city, where the student intended to pass the remainder of his vacation.

Soon after their arrival, Helen renewed her lessons both in music and drawing, devoting herself to her practice with a zeal which threatened to prove an injury to her health.

Her guardian being absent on a business tour, and the time of Roswell being unusually employed in his father's store, the young wards found their residence in the city far more endurable than they had expected.

By the advice of Mr. Knowles, Frank had persuaded his sister to return to her studies, and endeavor to bear with patience the annoyances and petty trials likely to arise from the fact of living with persons so uncongenial to her taste.

That there was anything beyond such annoyances to be feared, neither Mr. Knowles nor Frank imagined. For, true to her own sense of honor, Helen had kept the secret she had overheard strictly within her own breast.

In the beginning of the autumn, just after her brother had left for College, the young girl was seized with the measles which were very prevalent at that time. In her case the disease was violent, and left her with an alarming cough which confined her to her chamber for months.

It was May before she was quite recovered, which leads us to the present time in her history.

During her convalescence she had begun to keep a journal which, once a week, she deposited with her own hands in the Post Office for her brother. From this journal I shall take the liberty to make a few extracts.

_June_ 2: "Mrs. Barrows died last night. Poor Sarah sent me word as she had promised, and I went to her at once. She was overcome almost as much as if she had never expected such an event. I could say nothing to comfort her, so I just sat and held her hand, and let my tears fall with hers. I did wish then that I dared to remind her of the Saviour's love and pity. I would have given anything if I had been worthy to kneel by that couch, and commit the afflicted girl to the care of One mighty to give consolation. But as I knew I had no right, I sat still, and shed some tears for myself as well as for her. By and by the woman for whom she had sent, came to make arrangements for the funeral, and I took my leave.

"As I had promised to procure what mourning was necessary, I went into a dry-goods store for that purpose. While I was hesitating between goods that suited my taste and such as suited the length of my purse, (my guardian keeping me rather short of late), the owner of the store, Mr. McKinstry, came by and spoke to me.

"'I hope that mourning is not for yourself, Miss Edmond,' he said.

"'No, sir. It's for a poor seamstress, named Sarah Barrows.'

"'I have heard that name before,' he answered, trying to call to his recollection where he had heard it. 'Has she a sick mother?'

"'Yes, sir; it is she who is dead.'

"'And is Sarah left entirely destitute?'

"'Yes, sir, and very feeble in consequence of her devotion to her mother. I wish something might be done to aid her. She is very worthy.'

"I said this more to myself than to him; but he responded at once:

"'I was greatly interested in her appearance on the only occasion I ever met her; and if you will start a subscription paper, I will give twenty-five dollars.'

"I was going to thank him, but just then he was called away. Now I shall do as he suggested, and call on him to-morrow to head the list. I am very happy about this, and very hopeful too. You used to say I could make people do just what I wished; and I mean to exert all my talents in this good cause. Perhaps I shall get enough to support Sarah a year at school. It is the height of her ambition to be a school teacher; and I have heard her say that after one year of review and close application she would dare venture."

_June_ 6. "I tried to write last evening after the funeral, but so much had happened I was too much excited. I called on Mr. McKinstry twice. But he was out, so I had to head my list with some other name. I found the gentlemen very good-natured and generous, listening patiently to my story about Sarah and never offering me less than ten dollars. Yesterday morning I had seventy-five toward the three hundred that I consider necessary for a year's schooling, and went to Mr. McKinstry again for his twenty-five, feeling quite rich at the thought that with that, one third had been raised with so little trouble.

"The good man was looking over the names while he asked me questions about Sarah; for he had taken a lively interest in her, and at last I grew quite confidential.

"Now I have come to a part where I fear, Frank, you will blame me; and I must confess my own conscience pricks me a little. I was saying, 'If I can't make up all the sum, I must contrive to collect a debt of thirty dollars owing her.'

"'Certainly you must. But, Miss Edmond, you have omitted your guardian's name. Has he not given you something?'

"'I have not asked him.'

"Then you must, without delay. It was at his store I met your protégé; and her modesty and grace of manner greatly prepossessed me in her favor.'

"'What was her errand?' I asked, feeling my face burn with shame.

"'To collect a bill which Mrs. Tracy had overlooked, and which he paid at once. I remember he spoke of the girl after he came back with the receipt, and said he could not forgive himself for her apparent distress; or rather, he expressed deep regret that he had never heard of her before. He remarked that he should not soon forget her.'

"I could not sit still and hear this. I started to my feet, and I have no doubt I looked like a fury, as you say I do when I'm angry.

"'Did you imagine Mr. Tracy followed poor Sarah from the room to pay her?' I asked.

"'Of course I did.'

"'But, Mr. McKinstry, he did not. He knew well of her distress, and was annoyed at her continuing to urge the bill upon his wife, which her mother's sickness obliged her to do. I heard him abuse her, and threaten never to give her a dollar if she was so impertinent. She should wait, he said, till it pleased him to pay it. When she humbly urged that she had done the work under price, because her need was so great, and represented their starving condition, he actually shut the door in her face. I believe she was starving then.'

"'Can this be true?' he asked, gazing in my face as if he would read me through.

"'Yes, sir, every word of it. I ran out by the servants' door, and gave her what change I had in my purse, and that was how our acquaintance began.'

"'Are you sure he did not pay the bill on the day she called?'

"I then told him about Sarah's letter to Mr. Knowles, and that you had sent her the money to keep her from being turned into the street. I told him, too, that I referred to the same bill when I mentioned that some one owed her thirty dollars.

"'This is a terrible revelation,' he said, very sternly. 'I wish I might believe you are yourself deceived.'

"'I wish so myself; with all my heart,' I exclaimed, sobbing. 'For if I were, so many things would be different.'

"'Give me that paper a minute,' he said, presently.

"And then I was all alone in his counting-room, perched up on the high stool where I had seated myself. Don't think me very silly and childish, for I couldn't help it. When I thought how many people one selfish man can make unhappy, my self-control gave way. And when Mr. McKinstry came back, he found me leaning on his desk, and crying all over his papers like a great baby. I laughed, though, when he showed me the addition of four names to my paper, over a sum of sixty dollars, making more than half of all I want.

"Before I came away, he tried to make me promise to present the paper to Mr. Tracy, but I would not. And he said:

"'Then I shall do it myself. If he does not pay his debts, the law shall make him.'

"You can imagine after this, how I felt when, at the usual hour, Mr. Tracy read the Bible, and prayed for the poor and afflicted, the sick and dying, etc., etc. I never before realized so fully the truth of the inspired words: 'Behold, the hire of the laborers * * * which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth; and the cries * * * are entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.'"

_July_ 17. "I have long felt that a crisis in my life was approaching. I have several times met Monson P. Tracy's eyes fixed on me with a strange expression. It is impossible to describe it,—not hate, nor contempt, nor curiosity, but a mingling of all these emotions. I imagine he has ascertained that I do not worship him, and perhaps thinks I have taken a peep under the cloak of piety which he wraps so closely about him.

"There is another reason why a longer residence here is undesirable; 'intolerable,' is the better word. Roswell persists, in spite of all my coldness, in paying me marked attention. He does this especially in public, and evidently means to give the impression that some engagement exists between us.

"How I am chafed and fretted by all this, you can easily imagine. Sometimes for a few minutes I do try to follow dear Mr. Knowles' advice, and subdue all my hard thoughts. Sometimes I can pray for the charity which 'endureth all things, which thinketh no evil,' but I suppose there is too much iniquity in my heart for my prayers to be heard."

_July_ 25. "Oh, Frank! How I wish you were here this minute. If you do not come soon, I shall leave by myself. Something has just happened which has made me very angry. I was sitting in my room with the door ajar on account of the heat, when I heard a familiar voice at the front entrance inquiring for me. I flew to the mirror to brush my hair, and then stood impatiently waiting for the servant to summon me, when I heard the outer door shut, and, running to the window I saw, who do you guess? Your old friend, Frederic Knowles, walking slowly up the street. I rushed down stairs with so much haste, that I almost fell into the arms of Mr. Tracy, who was taking a card from the hands of the servant girl.

"'Why was I not called to receive my visitor?' I asked, angrily enough.

"'Mr. Tracy told me you were not in,' the girl answered, innocently.

"I repeated my question, turning to him.

"He dismissed the servant, and walked into the parlor without answering. Then he said coolly:

"'I am your guardian, and wish to know the character of gentlemen who call, before I allow you to receive their visits.'

"I confess I was too angry to articulate one word. Oh, how I longed to tell him all I thought of his conduct. I am thankful now that I was restrained from doing so, though I cannot keep back the tears when I recollect my disappointment. Why am I not twenty-one instead of seventeen? Or, why was not Mr. Knowles appointed my guardian instead of Monson P. Tracy? I have no doubt he has learned of my interview with Mr. McKinstry, and is intending to punish me. But is not a guardian's authority limited? How sadly our dear papa mistook the character of the man he selected for us."

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