CHAPTER VIII

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_MY NEW HOME._

WHETHER it was owing to the fact that I arrived at my new home on Friday or not I cannot say, but certain it is that I had the ill luck to displease my aunt before I had been in the house half an hour. When Mr. Hyde rose to go, after the exchange of some compliments, I naturally rose too, unwilling to lose sight of my old friend till the last moment.

"Remain seated if you please, Olivia," said my aunt.

The tone more than the words made me aware that I had somehow or other done wrong, and I shrunk into my seat, and to cover my embarrassment took up a book which lay on the table. It proved to be a volume of poems then much in vogue, called "The Muse's Companion," and containing poems by various hands. I opened the book at Goldsmith's ballad of "The Hermit," which I had never seen. A new poem was a prize. I forgot everything in the verses for a few minutes, till I was disagreeably recalled to present realities by my aunt's measured tones:

"Olivia, put down that book, and remember that hereafter you are not to open any book in this house without my permission."

Thus suddenly and sharply aroused to my present position, it is no wonder that I was rather overcome, especially as I was very tired and hungry. I tried to say, "I beg your pardon," but broke down at the second word, and burst into a flood of tears.

My aunt waited quietly with her eyes fixed upon me till my sobs had a little subsided. Then, taking me by the hand, she led me to a small room on the second floor; and seating herself on the only chair in the room, she placed me before her, and thus addressed me:

"Olivia, I pardon these tears on the present occasion, as they are perhaps only natural, but I request that there may be no more of them, now or at any time hereafter. It is certainly no cause of grief that you have been taken from a home where you must for some years to come be a burden on the poverty of your parents, and where you could receive no proper training, and placed where you will enjoy every advantage for education. Let me see by your conduct that you appreciate these advantages as they deserve."

Something in my aunt's tone and manner dried up the remainder of my tears instantly, and I felt that I would rather die than let her see me crying.

Aunt Belinda waited a moment, and then, apparently pleased with the effect she had produced, she continued:

"That is well; I see you can control yourself when you choose. I shall not expect too much of you, Olivia—I know how strongly foolishness and sin are bound up in the heart of a child—but I shall expect you to render implicit obedience to every command I lay upon you, to obey all my rules, and attend to all my regulations."

It was a way of my aunt's to say things two or three times over in different forms. I suppose she thought this custom added weight to her thoughts. It gave me on the present occasion a queer inclination to laugh, but I restrained myself and answered demurely,—

"Yes, ma'am."

"You will say 'Yes, madam,' if you please, Olivia," said my aunt.

And then she waited apparently for me to say it; so I repeated, "Yes, madam," after her.

"You will devote this evening to resting after your journey," said my aunt. "To-morrow I shall make you acquainted with my rules and what I expect of you. You will now dress yourself; and in half an hour I will send one of your cousins to conduct you to the dining-room. But remember this—that unconditional obedience, entire submission, and an exact observance of my commands are what I expect of all young persons under my roof. I will now leave you for the present."

I was thankful to be left alone, and should have been still more grateful if I could have remained so. I was utterly cast down and disheartened. I have all my life been very apt to form decided opinions of people at first sight. I had already made up my mind that I could never like my aunt Belinda, and it must be admitted that her manner of receiving me was not calculated to win the confidence of any child. I contrasted her with all my dearest friends—with mother and Jeanne, with Miss Tempy and Mrs. Hyde. I thought I now understood the glances which passed between Mr. and Mrs. Edwards at the mention of my aunt's name. I decided at once that I could never endure to stay with her, and before had finished brushing my hair I had already rehearsed the letter I meant to write to my mother on the first opportunity. At the same time I fully determined to show Aunt Belinda that my training had been as good as hers, and that I would "do just right," if it were only to disappoint her.

I was ready some time before any one came for me, but presently there was a tap at the door. I opened it and saw a girl a year or two older than myself. She had very dark eyes and very light hair, and would have been pretty only for her paleness and for a certain half-scared, half-stupefied expression.

"I have come to show you the way to supper," said she, in a set kind of way, as if she had been saying a lesson.

"Are you one of my cousins?" I asked as I prepared to obey.

"Yes; I am Amelia," she answered; and then she added, in a kind of scared whisper, "Have you come to live here?"

"Yes, I suppose so," I answered, not a little surprised at the question.

"Why—haven't you any mother?" was the next question.

"Yes, indeed—the best mother that ever was," I replied, rather indignantly. "Why do you ask that?"

"If 'I' had a mother," said Amelia, emphatically, but still in a whisper, and as it were stamping her foot softly—"if 'I' had a mother, and she lived in New Holland, I would dress myself up in boy's clothes and hide on a ship and go to her; and if I couldn't do that, I would swim all the way. But don't tell Aunt Belinda or Elmina that I said so, will you?"

"Of course not," I answered, very much surprised. "Why should I?"

"Elmina tells her everything," was the answer.

"Who is Elmina?" I asked.

"Elmina is my cousin, and I dislike her!" Again came the little stamp. "If she were in the ship and a shark were following after it, I would push her overboard in one minute. I wish an earthquake would come and swallow her."

"You should not say such things; they are wicked," said I, more impressed, however, with the oddity of the sentiment than with its unchristian character. I had always thought of cousins as very desirable possessions.

"Everything I say or do is wicked, so I may as well say one thing as another," answered Amelia. "But don't you tell."

This very queer bit of dialogue brought us to the dining-room, where my aunt and a girl whom I supposed to be Elmina were already waiting, and without any further words we took our places at the most elegantly-furnished table I had ever seen in my life. My aunt sat at the head, Elmina and Amelia at one side, and I at the other. There was a chair at the foot, but it remained empty, and was, I afterward discovered, never occupied unless the minister of the church my aunt attended or some other gentleman came to tea.

My aunt asked a very long blessing, and then we were helped by a tall coloured woman who stood behind her chair. Elmina and Amelia had bread and butter, but my aunt directed Phebe to bring some cold meat for me, saying that I should probably be hungry after my ride.

I had fully intended to behave as nicely as possible, and to show my aunt how well I had been brought up. Instead of that, I believe I committed every awkwardness of which I had ever been guilty in my life. There was something in my aunt's way of watching me which, made my knife drop out of my hand, my spoon rattle in the saucer—for we were all allowed one cup of weak tea—and which, in short, animated everything which I touched with a perverse spirit of opposition. Every time one of these little mishaps occurred Amelia started and Elmina smiled in a contemptuous fashion, which at last caught my aunt's eye and drew down what was evidently a very unexpected reproof.

"Elmina, if you cannot forbear laughing, you had better leave the table," said she as Elmina smiled again at my nearly oversetting my teacup. "Your smiles are far more ill-bred than your cousin's little mistakes. Olivia will learn better in time."

"I dare say Miss Olivia's hands are cramped with holding her basket," observed Phebe, who stood behind my aunt's chair.

"It is not needful, Phebe, to make any remark or add any comment," said my aunt, severely. "I have said all the occasion requires."

Phebe gave her head a queer little toss, but said nothing. Elmina smiled no more, but she gave me a look which did not promise very well for our future friendship.

After tea we had prayers, to which all the servants came in. My aunt read a chapter and made some remarks upon it. Then we sung a very long Psalm, and my aunt made a very long prayer, at which we all stood. My thoughts went back to my old home, where I knew father would be praying with his own family, and where they would all remember me. I had very hard work not to burst out crying again, but I put a desperate restraint on myself, and succeeded in keeping back my tears. After prayers we were left to ourselves for a time while my aunt entertained some visitors in the parlour.

Elmina would not speak a word, but went and looked out of the window. Amelia had a lesson to learn which it seemed she had failed to recite properly in the morning.

"Don't study now," said I.

"I must," answered Amelia, in a despairing tone. "If I don't say this grammar rule, I can't have any breakfast; and I don't understand it the least bit in the world. Why can't they make their books easier for children?"

"Let me see," said I, sitting down by her; "where are you?"

She showed me the rule and the notes under it. I had been well grounded in English grammar by Miss Tempy; and remembering her explanations, I soon rendered the matter clear to Amelia.

"Now study it over, and then I'll hear you repeat it," said I, quite comforted to find something to do.

Amelia did so, and at the third repetition she said it perfectly.

"There! Now don't bother with it any more to-night. You will only puzzle yourself if you do," said I, recalling Ezra's counsels to me on a similar occasion. "Let us tell each other stories about ourselves."

Amelia's tale was soon told. She had lost her mother and father so young that she could hardly remember them, and she had lived with Aunt Belinda ever since, excepting one year which she spent with a cousin in Nantucket, and which she seemed to look back to as Adam might have done to Eden. But Cousin Martha Coffin had died, and there was no one else to take her, and Aunt Belinda had brought her home.

"And ever since I have wished I had been drowned when I fell off the wharf," concluded Amelia.

"Why? Don't you have good times?" I asked.

"You'll see," was the answer. "But now tell me about yourself."

I was very willing to relate my own history, which, eventless as it was, seemed deeply interesting to Amelia, especially when she learned that I was so happy as to have an aunt living in that island of the blest, Nantucket.

All this time Elmina sat silently by the window, which looked out into a side street.

"Please don't be angry, Elmina," said Amelia, timidly, at last. "It wasn't my fault!"

"You'll see," was the only answer. "Just wait till we go to bed, that's all!"

"What does she mean?" I asked.

"She means to tell me stories and scare me," was the answer, in a low tone. "She does every night."

"But you haven't done anything to her," said I, "nor anybody but Aunt Belinda."

"It doesn't make any difference," said Amelia, shaking her head. "She always takes out everything on me."

I was prevented from making any remark by the entrance of Phebe with my aunt's command that we should go to bed directly.

"And don't you go playing any of your tricks, or you'll have me after you," was Phebe's addition as she put into my hands a candlestick containing about two inches of candle. "Just go straight to bed, and don't let me find anybody's clothes all scattered about when I come up for the light."

When I went up to my room, my first proceeding was to say my prayers, and then to get my Bible out of the box and read my five verses, as I did at home. I had promised mother never to omit this duty, and Jeanne and I had agreed that we would always read the same verses.

By the time I had finished my portion my candle was nearly burned down to the socket, so I put it out and undressed in the dark, and was safe in bed when Phebe opened the door.

"That's right," said Phebe, casting an approving glance at my clothes; "but you needn't put out the candle, child."

"I was afraid it would burn down and spoil the candlestick," said I.

"That's right too; I'm glad you can be careful. And now, child, just let me tell you one thing," said Phebe, approaching the bed and speaking in a low tone: "you'll find yourself in a place very different from what you've been used to, and it'll come mighty hard to you. But you be a good girl, and mind my mistress, and don't tell no lies nor play no tricks, and I dare say you'll do well enough. Above all, don't you let that Elmina get you into no scrapes. She's dangerous, that one is."

"I want to be good, I'm sure," said I; "but it is all so strange."

"Yes, yes, that it is, but you'll get used to it in time. I s'pose your folks acted for the best sending you here, but for my part, when the Lord gives children homes and mothers, he means they should stay there. Well, good-night, and don't cry yourself to sleep."

This well-meant advice produced the very result against which it was intended to guard. I burst into tears; and covering my head with the bed-clothes, that no one might overhear me, I did cry myself to sleep.

The next morning I was called at six by Phebe, who informed me that she should call me twice, after which my aunt expected that I would rise of myself. I was soon dressed, and hurried down to the dining-room, where my aunt was sitting by the fire.

"Good-morning, Aunt Belinda," said I, coming up to her and holding up my face to be kissed, as I was in the habit of doing with my own mother.

She looked surprised and kissed me, but said,—

"Remember another time, Olivia, that a little girl must always wait to be spoken to, and that as a general thing I do not approve of kissing."

This seemed very odd to me, but I had wit enough to make no remark.

Elmina and Amelia came next, the latter with her grammar in her hand, which she handed to my aunt, and immediately began repeating her rule, which, to my great joy, she accomplished very successfully.

"That is correct," said my aunt when she had finished; "you have said it rightly. Good-morning, Amelia."

"Good-morning, aunt," responded Amelia.

I was so amused with the notion that my aunt was, as it were, unconscious of Amelia's existence till she had said her lesson, that I fear I should have disgraced myself by laughing if Elmina had not diverted my attention by saying,—

"Aunt Belinda, Amelia did not do her lesson alone: Olivia told her."

My aunt turned to me, and with a look and tone of great displeasure said,—

"Olivia, do I understand that you have been prompting Amelia in her recitation?"

I did not at first understand what my aunt meant by prompting in a recitation, but as the idea dawned on me I answered,—

"No, aunt, not if you mean that I have been telling her while she was saying the rule. I told her last night what I thought it meant, and heard her say it over till she had it perfect."

"'Perfectly,' you should say," said my aunt, unbending a little. "Do I understand you that you merely explained the rule to her comprehension and heard her repeat it last night?"

"That is all," I answered, wondering what was the use of such long words.

My aunt relaxed still more.

"There was no harm in your doing so," said she. "Elmina, perhaps unintentionally, gave me the impression that you had been prompting Amelia upon the present occasion, which would be a dishonest, underhanded, and deceitful mode of conduct, which I should have been obliged severely to reprehend. We will now have breakfast. Afterward I will examine your wardrobe and see what additions it may require, and I will then explain to you the rules which govern my family, and to which I expect you strictly to conform."

We had breakfast accordingly, and a very nice breakfast it was; and being a little more at my ease than I was the night before, I succeeded in getting through the meal without committing any grave offence against table manners. After breakfast we had prayers, and each member of the family, servants and all, repeated a verse from the Bible. I had not been apprised of this custom, which I still think a very nice one, but my memory was well stored with Bible verses; and when it came to my turn, I repeated one which I had taught Harry only the Saturday before: "Call upon me in the day of trouble: I will 'hear' thee and thou shalt glorify me;" at which my aunt gave me an approving look. Elmina said a long verse very glibly, and Amelia stumbled painfully over a very short one, and was ordered on the spot to study it over again, at which I saw a look of triumph on Elmina's face, and jumped at once to the conclusion, which proved to be correct, that she had purposely hindered Amelia from learning her verse.

All this being got through, my aunt, according to her expressed intention, examined my clothes, which I had placed neatly in the drawers in my room, and expressed herself to the effect that I was very respectably provided, but that I needed a new hat, cloak, and gloves. She also looked over my books. It happened—probably fortunately for me—that I had left all my story-books at home for Ruth except "The Pilgrim's Progress" and Mrs. More's "Sacred Dramas." I was rather afraid of losing these as I saw Aunt Belinda looking over them, but at last, to my great relief, she laid them back upon the bureau, remarking that Bunyan was a very experimental writer and Mrs. More had evinced the spirit of vital religion.

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