CHAPTER II

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FOR a good while after the incident Kitty did better. The sad story of her father's life and death had not been told to her in vain. She began for the first time to see her fault "as a fault," not as a mere amiable weakness at worst, but as a sin to be repented of and guarded against. The girls wondered what had come over her.

There was not a very high tone of morals existing in the school at Holford. The customs of schools often become a matter of tradition, and are handed down from one generation of children to another. It had always been the fashion in Holford to cheat at lessons. The clever girls did the sums, and wrote or helped to write the compositions of the stupid ones, with the understanding that they were to be paid in some way for their services. They "told" in class, read their lessons from slips of paper concealed in their hands, and shirked in every possible way. All this was easy enough under the rule of old Miss Parsons, who never thought of any thing but to earn her small salary in the easiest manner, and to slip through the school duties without making herself or her pupils uncomfortable.

But matters were much changed under the rule of Miss Oliver. Her eyes and ears were ever on the watch. No book could be held half open, no paper concealed in the hand, no exercise copied, without her at once detecting the fraud and exposing it in such a way as to make the offender feel like creeping into a very small hole indeed. At first she had tried to work upon the girls' sense of honour, but she soon found that, in all save a few instances, there was no honour to depend upon. The sense of right and wrong had to be created, in the first place. This was no easy matter, but by degrees some improvement began to show itself. A few girls—Rose Brown, Emma and Julia Parmelee, the minister's daughters, and the three Sibley sisters, with their cousin, Miss Coates, from the Corners—sided at once with the teacher, and gave her efficient assistance.

Kitty Tremain might have been expected to be one of this party. She had been carefully and religiously brought up; she was a good scholar and a lady-like girl. But then came the test! Kitty knew what was right, but she could be coaxed into doing almost any thing. She was so clever and good-natured, as Fanny Daskin and her party said to her face—so "soft," as they said behind her back. Kitty's conscience and taste were with Miss Oliver and her friends, but her real influence was thrown on the other side.

The Daskin family were distantly related to Mrs. Tremain. They were fond of boasting of their relationship to her and to Mrs. Baldwin, though the latter existed only in their own fertile imaginations. Mrs. Tremain, for her part, though she did not positively break with them, saw as little of them as possible. And as for Mrs. Baldwin, she ignored them entirely, and met Mrs. Daskin's first public attempt at cozening in a manner which prevented its ever being repeated.

Mr. Daskin thought himself very superior to the generality of mankind, principally on the ground that he found himself able to impose upon their credulity. He had a good trade, but he worked at it only by fits and starts, when he could no longer exist by borrowing money. Mrs. Daskin was a gossiping, extravagant, malicious slattern. One of the boys had gone to sea in a coasting-vessel when he was twelve years old, and by dint of keeping entirely clear of his own family, had turned out very well. Another was weak and always sickly—made so by his mother's neglect in scarlet fever. The younger ones were just what might be expected of such a father and mother. Fanny, however, was different; she was "a smart one," her father said—a girl who was "sure to fall on her feet, and not be imposed upon!" She had all her father's skill in getting and more than his skill in keeping. She was a handsome girl, with blue eyes and fair hair, and had a great trick of blushing when any one looked at her. If any thing were to be objected to her manners, it was that they were rather too sweet. Fanny flattered and coaxed right and left, and gained her point by sweetness as her friend and ally Lizzie Gates did by bullying.

Shortly after Mrs. Tremain's removal to Holford, the Daskins followed her, hoping, probably, to prey upon her as they had done on her husband. Mrs. Tremain at once and decidedly refused to lend them money, as Cousin Tilly did to lend them just a bowlful of coffee, or a cupful of molasses, or a few pounds of flour. Mrs. Tremain did not consider the Daskins objects of charity. She knew that Mr. Daskin was perfectly able to support his family if he chose to work, and she saw no reason why she should be burdened with them. So she set her foot down once and for all; and they soon left off troubling her.

With Kitty the case was different. With the younger children she had no temptation to associate. But Fanny was so kind in her manners, and seemed so fond of her, that Kitty could not believe it was all a sham. Fanny borrowed her pencil and paper, and never returned them; borrowed her books, and that was the last of them; her pocket-money, and Kitty never saw a penny of it again. Fanny led her into scrapes against her judgment and conscience, laughed at her religious feelings, made use of her without scruple, and then left her to bear the blame. Kitty knew that Fanny was selfish, false, and mercenary—she could not help it—yet she continued to be governed by her because it was hard to say "no!"

What Fanny did by coaxing and flattery, Lizzy Gates did by an opposite course. "I am sure you will do so and so, Kitty—you are always so generous and kind-hearted!" was Fanny's plea. "If you don't do so and so, I shall think you are the meanest girl that ever lived," was Lizzy's argument: and both were equally successful. Fanny and Lizzy had very early formed an offensive and defensive alliance against Miss Oliver. They thwarted her plans for the improvement of the school, teased and annoyed her in all sorts of little mean ways, and kept alive a party against her; and they compelled Kitty to join this party and help along their plans, though Kitty both loved and respected her teacher. The mischief had indeed gone much farther than Kitty's mother was aware of; and Miss Oliver was seriously thinking of advising Mrs. Tremain to take Kitty out of school.

For some days, however, Kitty did better. Fanny and Lizzy had been very angry at her for betraying them, as they said, and thus getting them a double task and a severe public reproof. This was fortunate for Kitty. Instead of being greatly distressed at their coldness, and coaxing them round again, as they expected, Kitty kept out of their way, worked hard at her lessons, and walked to and from school with Miss Oliver or Rosa Brown.

"Never mind! She will come round again!" said Fanny. "I know how to manage her." But the days went on, and Kitty did not come round. She returned Fanny's greeting, indeed, but she did no more, and when Lizzy said something about a haughty, stuck-up puss, Kitty only smiled.

This went on for nearly two weeks, and Kitty began to feel herself quite safe, and to rejoice in her easy victory. This was not a good sign. Rejoicing in a victory is all very well, but it is a good thing to be sure, in the first place, that we have gained it. It was very easy for Kitty to resist temptation as long as the temptation kept at a distance, but it remained to be seen what she would do when she came to close quarters with her enemy once more. In fact Kitty was not

## acting in the proper spirit. She felt ashamed, and was angry that her

mother should think her such a fool, and that the girls should call her "soft," at the same time that they made their own account of her weakness. Her "pride" was wounded! She was ashamed, but not humbled, and she set to work in her own strength to resist temptation.

Kitty had just finished reading "Christmas Greens," which she had taken from the Sunday-school library for the third or fourth time. She had a great fondness for reading over books which she liked, and could repeat her favourite stories almost by heart. She had curled herself up in the window sash to take advantage of the last lingering daylight while her mother was knitting by the fire. Kitty sat silent, looking at the clouds, which were beautiful in the curious afterglow of an autumnal sunset.

"Mamma!" said she, suddenly. "I have got an idea in my head!"

"Have you?" said her mother, smiling. "How do you suppose it could get there?"

"Out of the book I have been reading, I suppose!" said Kitty, laughing in her turn: and then, leaving the window seat, she came and sat down on the hearth-rug at her mother's feet.

"But now listen, mamma dear!" said she. "Because I want to know what you think. Why cannot I make a nice little Christmas tree for my Sunday-school children? I don't mean any thing very expensive, of course, but just to have them here, and give them some coffee and cakes (all French children like coffee you know, mamma), and some little presents!"

"What sort of presents?"

"Oh, little dolls and books, perhaps—although they cannot read English, so the books must be picture-books—little china mugs and figures, and such like!"

"Now 'I' think—" said Cousin Tilly, "that something useful would be more to the purpose. They are all as poor as crows, you know!"

"That is the very reason why I would give them playthings, Cousin Tilly!" replied Kitty: "Because they never have any. They do pretty well for clothes, and you know the society will give them what is really necessary, but nobody gives poor children playthings; and yet I suppose they like them quite as much as other children do!"

"There is something in that notion, I confess!" said Cousin Tilly. "But I never should have thought of it!"

"But, Kitty, who would furnish the necessary funds?" asked her mother. "Christmas parties cost money, you know. Have you thought about that?"

"Yes, mamma, I thought you would perhaps give us the coffee and cakes, and I would do the rest. I shall have some money by that time."

"Haven't you any now, Kitty?"

"No, mamma, only eighteen cents. But there will be my three dollars on the first of December, and you need not pay me any money till then. Five weeks will be fifty cents. Three dollars will buy all I want, and more too, I should think."

"You seem to have considered the matter very carefully, Kitty!"

"I was calculating, mamma, that I would spend twenty-five cents apiece upon the children. Ten quarters of a dollar are two dollars and a half, which leaves something for extra candy and lights, and so forth."

"Well, Kitty, I will take the matter into consideration. But I tell you at once you must not expect any thing great in the matter of refreshments. You know that painting the house and new-covering the roof has used up a great deal of money, and we shall have to be very careful not to run behindhand. However, I suppose I could give them a good-sized cake apiece, and Cousin Tilly can make you some of her nice biscuits. Will that do?"

"Oh yes mamma—nicely!"

"But remember you must not so much as ask me for any funds besides your regular pocket-money."

"I won't, mamma. Then may I consider it settled?"

"You may, unless something unforeseen happens," replied Mrs. Tremain, smiling. "But, Kitty, don't say any thing about it beforehand."

"Oh no, of course not! That would spoil it all. Thank you very much, dear mamma!"

It remains to be explained how Kitty Tremain, a little girl thirteen years old, came to have a Sunday-school class. It arose principally from the fact that Kitty could speak French very fluently and prettily—an accomplishment which she had gained by living in Paris from the time she was two years old till she was eight. In fact she had learned French before she knew any English to speak of, and her mother had taken care that she should not forget what she had learned. Mrs. Tremain's friends in Paris often sent her new books and papers; and Kitty read aloud to her mother in French every day, besides talking over what she read in the same language.

There were then in Holford several families of French Canadians, some of whom could not speak English, and when the women were prevailed upon to let their children come to Sunday-school, there arose a great difficulty about teachers. Besides Mrs. Tremain and her daughter, no one in Holford could speak French with any degree of fluency except Miss Oliver, and her time on Sunday was fully occupied with her large Bible-class, made up of girls from the factory at the Corners. Mrs. Tremain took charge of the elder children, but what was to become of the little ones? In this strait Miss Oliver proposed that the "infants" should be turned over to Kitty.

"Kitty is very good with little ones. I have often watched her in school and in the play-ground. She can have assistance when she needs it, and I dare say she will do very well."

The experiment was tried, and it succeeded. Kitty had very pleasant manners—a great advantage in the management of children. She also possessed sufficient authority, and took great pains; and Mr. Burgess considered the class as well managed as any in the school. Kitty was devoted to her charge, and it was pretty to see how the little things clustered about her when school was out, or when she went to visit them, all anxious for the honour of holding her hand, and all chattering together in their Canadian French like a flock of blackbirds.

"How glad I am that I have broken off with Fanny Daskin!" thought Kitty, as she went to school next morning. "She would be sure to find out all about it, but I am determined she shall not make a fool of me again!"

Kitty was sitting in the school-room at recess, putting to rights the crochet-work of one of the little girls who had got into difficulty with the hood she was making. She was always ready to help the younger girls with their work, and they were very fond of her. She had pulled out quite a piece, and was working it up again, when Fanny Daskin came and sat down beside her. Kitty coloured, but neither of them said a word for a minute.

"So, Kitty, you never mean to speak to me again," said Fanny, presently, in a low voice. "Well, I don't know as I blame you: I like to see people show firmness and decision, even when it goes against myself!"

It was something new for Kitty to be complimented for firmness and decision, and she could not help feeling a little glow of gratified vanity, but she answered, coolly enough—

"As to that, Fanny, you know you began it."

"I know I did," said Fanny. "I was vexed, and I showed it. That is my way. What I feel comes right out; and the more I love any one, the more vexed I am when they treat me ill. You never saw me refuse to speak to Rosa Brown or Julia Parmelee!"

"You don't have much to do with them anyhow," returned Kitty.

"Of course I don't. I don't care for them in the first place, and I know they feel above me. As for Rosa Brown, she feels above everybody, even Miss Oliver; and Julia Parmelee won't have any thing to do with me, because my father never goes to church. I think he is wrong myself, but it is not my fault."

"No, of course not!" replied Kitty, not knowing exactly what to say.

"As to that affair the other day, I was quite as much to blame as you," continued Fanny. "I ought not to have asked you to break a rule, and I won't do it again. Is that all you have against me?"

"I have not said that I had any thing against you."

"Now, Kitty, do follow your natural disposition, and be frank and open," said Fanny. "It isn't one bit like you to be so close and reserved: and I know that some one has been putting you up to it. Who has been telling you things about me?"

"Nobody has been telling me any thing about you," returned Kitty. "I can see enough for myself. You and Lizzy get me into all sorts of scrapes, and coax away all my things. You just make a fool of me; and I tell you plainly, Fanny, I won't stand it. I don't want to quarrel with you, but I won't be governed by you any more."

"Oh, well, if that is the way you feel!—But I am sure governing was the last thing I ever thought of. I supposed you were the one who governed me. I am sure you are the only girl who ever had any influence over me, or did me any good. I know very well I am a wicked girl: I don't want to deny it. But if all the good girls are to turn their backs on me, and never have any thing more to do with me, I don't see how I am ever to be any better. As for Rosa and Julia, I don't care for their professions of religion, because they won't act up to them. But you are different. I think you are a real Christian, and so is your mother. I will say that for her, though I know she does not like me, or want you to associate with me!"

"Because she says you flatter me so, and make a fool of me!" said Kitty, her indignation again rising, as she thought of what her mother had told her. "You call me clever and generous to my face, and behind my back you laugh at me and call me 'soft!'"

"I never did such a thing in this world. Your mother is much mistaken if she thinks so. But I know very well that is not the reason she does not like me. She thinks I shall tell you some things which she does not want you to know. She need not be afraid! I shall not tell you, even though I may think myself you ought to be told. But that is neither here nor there. I am not going to coax you now, Kitty, whatever I have done before. I know very well that it is of no use. You have made up your mind, and that is all about it. I might as well try to coax the North Rock to come down on the Church green. But I think it is rather hard on me to lose the only religious friend I have in the world, and just as I need her the most—just as I was beginning to think of such things and to wish to be a better girl."

"Surely the net is spread in vain in the sight of any bird!" One might think so. But the net was spread openly, and the silly little bird soon walked straight into it. Nobody had ever complimented Kitty on her firmness before. Nobody had ever told her she influenced them. She went home considerably uplifted in her own mind, and wondering very much what Fanny could possibly know which her mother did not wish her to learn.

In a week's time Kitty was just as much "under Fanny's thumb" as she had ever been. True, Fanny, warned by what had happened, was careful not to draw Kitty into any flagrant violation of the school rules, and took some pains to behave better herself. She even brought her Sunday-school lesson to Kitty (the Daskin children attended Sunday-school occasionally), and listened with the greatest deference and attention to Kitty's explanations.

"Humph!" said Cousin Tilly, when she heard it. "I hope it may last, that's all!"

"I think you are very uncharitable, Cousin Tilly!" said Kitty, with a lofty and serene air. "You have such a prejudice against the Daskins, you can see no good in any of them. I don't think poor Fanny ought to suffer for her father's faults!"

"And pray how do you know that I am prejudiced against the Daskins, Miss Kitty? I have known them ever since you were born, and long before! How do you know that my opinion is not founded upon knowledge, and not upon prejudice?"

Kitty had nothing to say in reply but that she supposed Fanny might have some good about her, and as long as she could do her any good, she might as well try!

"Try as much as you please, only be careful that she does not do you harm," said Cousin Tilly.

And there the matter ended.

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