CHAPTER IX.

_MRS. FERRAND'S._

AND Rhoda believed it too. She was not, happily for herself, of a nervous temperament, and was disposed to look on the bright side of everything. By the time Monday morning came round, she was able to bid her friends good-bye with tolerable cheerfulness, and to go to her new home with good courage.

Mrs. Ferrand received her kindly. She was rather a pretty little woman, and attractive, in spite of a certain expression of anxiety and a precise, formal manner.

"We have a small family just now," said she; "only Mr. Ferrand and myself and one daughter, who goes to school. I have always kept two girls, but my cook went away last week, and the other girl was not contented without her. I shall get another cook as soon as I can find one to suit me, and in the mean time, we must manage as well as we can."

"Everything seems very convenient," remarked Rhoda, looking round at the kitchen, with its sink and range and abundance of tables and cupboards.

Mrs. Ferrand looked pleased:

"Well, yes. Everything is very convenient and nice, but somehow the girls don't seem to appreciate it. And really there is not much encouragement to make things right when they won't take any pains to keep them so. Only a week before Eliza went away, I bought a nice new clothes-wringer. She used it once, and the next thing I knew it was lying on the ground, out at the back door. But you look as if you might be careful. If you will go up these stairs, you will find your room at the head of them. I hope you will keep it in nice order, for Mr. Ferrand is very particular."

"I like to have things in order myself," remarked Rhoda, wondering at the same time what Mr. Ferrand would have to do with her room.

She found it a convenient though rather small apartment, having a pleasant window and comfortable furniture.

"This will do very well for one, but it would be pretty close quarters for two," she thought. "I wish I could do all the work myself. I wonder if I could?"

Rhoda found her life for the first week or two sufficiently comfortable. Mr. Ferrand was away, and Isabella, the daughter, was at school from half-past eight to four. The rest of the time she either studied or practised on the piano. She was a pretty, amiable girl, but Rhoda thought she seemed very languid and indifferent. Mrs. Ferrand was kind, and helped about the work herself. She was excessively nice and particular, but not unreasonable; and she soon discovered that Rhoda was bent on doing her best, and treated her accordingly.

Rhoda was well and strong, and she liked to have things neat and comfortable for her own sake. Mrs. Bowers had not neglected Rhoda's education in this respect, as do too many mothers. She had drilled her charge thoroughly in household work, and taught her to use her time and strength to the best advantage. Rhoda knew how to calculate her motions, to save herself steps, and to make her work tell. She felt that she was giving Mrs. Ferrand satisfaction, and that in itself was a great help to her.

She had arranged her room as nicely as possible, with various little ornaments and books which she had bought, or which had been sent from her former home, and it was really a very pretty little retreat. She had usually finished the most of her work by three o'clock, and after that, the time was her own till six, for Mrs. Ferrand never asked her to do any sewing.

Rhoda used to try to spend at least two hours a day over her books; and though she did not make very great progress, she at least kept what she had already gained. She deeply regretted the loss of her music, but there was no help for that. Her fingers used fairly to tingle sometimes when she was alone in the room with the piano, but she never ventured to touch it, and refrained from saying a word, even when Isabella tortured her ears as she did by making the very same blunders in the same places day after day.

"Don't forget your practising, Isa," said her mother, one evening, as she was going out. "Mr. Harvey tells me you ought to practice at least one hour more every day."

"Then I wish Mr. Harvey would mind his business," said Isa, sullenly, as the door closed behind her mother. "I want to learn my Bible-class lessons and to read, and I haven't one minute's time because of Mr. Harvey and that tiresome old piano. I wish they were in the Red Sea together."

"Don't wish that. Wish I had them," said Rhoda, who was clearing the tea-table. "I only wish I had your chance, Miss Isa."

"I'm sure I wish you had if you want it," answered Isa "perhaps you might make something of it. I know you can sing, for I have heard you, and I dare say you could learn to play, but I never shall. Fathers has spent a great deal on my music already, and I don't play decently."

"Oh, you mustn't be discouraged," said Rhoda. "You have come to the hard place, I suppose. Aunt Betsy says there must always be a hard place in everything. Oh, don't cry, please don't," said Rhoda, dismayed, as Isa's head went down on the piano amid a burst of hysterical sobs. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't," sobbed Isa. "But I am so tired and so discouraged, I can't help crying. It is just school, school, lesson, lesson, all the time from year's end to year's end. I detest it all, and I wish I was a Dutch girl working in Uncle John's nursery: so there!"

"And I only wish I had your chance to go to school and study," said Rhoda. "I would rather do it than anything else in the world. I wouldn't care how hard I worked."

"Wouldn't you?" retorted Isa. "Just look here, Rhoda: do you know any algebra?"

"A little. I have been as far as simple equations. I like it too, but I think it is pretty tough, I must say; especially when I have no teacher."

"Well, just look at my lessons for to-morrow. Three pages of examples in equations—all new, you see—one hundred and fifty lines of Virgil, besides my exercises and six propositions in geometry, all to be learned to-morrow, besides my music and walking to and from school with all my books, more than a mile each way. What do you think of that?"

[Illustration: _Rhoda's Education._ "Just look at my lessons for to-morrow * * * besides my music," said Isa.]

"I think it is a shame," said Rhoda, warmly. "I have been studying geometry, and I found one proposition as much as I could very well do in a day. Why don't you tell your mother about it?"

"Much use that would be. Besides, it isn't her doing; it's pa. He thinks I can't be overworked because I have only three studies and music. And the worst is, I don't see any end to it," said Isa, who seemed to find comfort in talking. "I shall finish at the academy in a year if I can only keep on, and then papa says he shall send me to a French or German school for two or three years."

"I should think you would like that," said Rhoda. "I read a book about the Moravian school at Konigsfeld, and I thought it seemed lovely."

"Yes, I know what you mean. I had the book too, and I asked papa to send me there. Then he read it—the book, I mean; but he said they did nothing but play, as far as he could see. He didn't think it would answer at all. And I don't have one minute's time to myself from one month's end to another. I do like my Bible lessons—there seems some use in them—and I like to read, but I can't. Pa don't approve of light reading. He says the only true use of reading is to gain information and improve the mind."

"I have noticed that you don't seem to have any story-books," remarked Rhoda.

"No, hardly any; and papa won't even take a magazine for fear I should get some fun out of it. Oh, you'll see when he comes home. It isn't like the same house when he is here."

"Where has he gone?" asked Rhoda.

"To some educational convention or other. Well, I must go at these things, I suppose. Can't you come and sit with me when your work is done? I like to have you even when I can't talk."

"I am afraid your mother would not like it," said Rhoda.

"She won't care; and besides, she won't know: she won't be home till nine. And there's another thing: I like to go to the Wednesday evening service ever so much; but if I say anything, papa always asks, 'What about your lessons, Isabella?' in that provoking way of his. Well, there! You needn't look shocked. I know I ought not to talk so, but it is a comfort to speak one's mind for once."

"I will bring over my algebra next time I go home," said Rhoda. "I should like to go over what I studied. I was always pretty quick at figures, and perhaps I could help you."

"Why, you seem to have a real good education," said Isa, surprised. "I shouldn't think you would be living out. How did it happen?"

"It is a long story and not a very pleasant one," said Rhoda, flushing a little. "I'll tell you some time, but not to-night. I must wash my dishes; and excuse me, Miss Isa, but I think you ought to be practising."

"Well, don't I know it?" asked Isa, irritably. And striking a chord, or discord, which tortured Rhoda's ears, she went on with her music.

"Poor girl!" thought Rhoda as she retired to the kitchen. "I don't think I should like lessons myself if they were crammed down my throat in that way. Oh dear! What work she does make! She can't have the least bit of an ear. I wonder what her father is like? He must be queer, I think."

Rhoda was destined to be fully convinced of Mr. Ferrand's queerness before she had done with him. One morning Mrs. Ferrand came into the kitchen, her cheeks a little paler and more than the usual shade of anxiety in her manner.

"Mr. Ferrand is coming home to-night, Rhoda," said she. "We must have everything about the place in order. He is very particular. Be sure to have the range blackened up and all the ashes taken care of. Don't the tins want cleaning?"

"I cleaned them all yesterday and washed all the shelves," said Rhoda, wondering whether the master of the house was expected to interest himself in basins and cups.

Mrs. Ferrand still lingered, picking up odd bits of paper and making herself anxious over the state of the windows and the fittings of the range. Rhoda saw that she was nervous and apprehensive, and exerted herself to have everything in faultless order.

Mr. Ferrand's expected arrival seemed to discompose the whole household. Isa, the moment she came home from school, sat down to her scales and exercises, which in her agitation she played worse than ever.

"Just hear that child!" said Mrs. Ferrand, who was in the kitchen superintending the frosting of some cake. "What work she does make of it! I don't know what her father will say."

"She is so tired," said Rhoda, whose sensitive ears were being bored with Isa's discords. "I should think she ought to rest and amuse herself when she comes from school, instead of sitting down to practise her music-lessons directly."

Mrs. Ferrand looked rather surprised:

"Do you think so? Mr. Ferrand always says change of occupation is sufficient recreation."

"Well, I don't know. If I have been washing all day, I don't think I should find much recreation in going to ironing," said Rhoda. "And I don't think Miss Isa is very fond of her music. She likes her tatting better."

"Mr. Ferrand has a system for all those things," said the lady, with the same little sigh. "He means that Isa shall have a perfect education. He has had a good deal of experience too. His oldest son, Isa's half-brother, was ready to enter college at twelve years old; only he unluckily took a fever and died. It was just after I was married. I was very fond of the poor little fellow, and he clung to me in his illness and would not have his father near him. He thought he was the indicative mood, and was trying to kill him."

"Poor little thing!" thought Rhoda. "And with that warning before him, he goes on just so with Isa."

"My sister Harriet, Miss Hardy, has a young ladies' school," continued Mrs. Ferrand, who seemed to find comfort in talking. "She has wished to have Isa with her for a year, but Mr. Ferrand will not consent, because he does not approve of her system. He thinks she gives the girls too much liberty and playtime. I must say, though, that Harriet has good success with her girls. There was Helen Kane; she never could get on at the academy and was always being sick, but she has been three years with Harriet, and her health has improved every year. But Mr. Ferrand asked her several questions when she was here one day, and she could not answer any of them."

"What were the questions?" asked Rhoda.

"I don't remember them all, only she did not know the latitude and longitude of San Francisco, nor the year of her reign in which Queen Elizabeth died; only she said she thought it was the last. Her father laughed, I remember, but Mr. Ferrand said he could see nothing to laugh at in such ignorance."

Rhoda laughed too when she was alone, but she could not help feeling uneasy. Mr. Ferrand was a coming event which seemed to cast a very cool shadow before, and she wondered whether she would suit him.

Mr. Ferrand arrived at six, and Rhoda took a good look at him as she carried in the tea. He was a rather small man with iron-gray hair, greenish-gray eyes, and lips that looked, Rhoda thought, as if he were always saying "cabbage."

Isa was looking more scared and awkward, and her mother more uneasy, than usual.

Rhoda felt herself scrutinized in her turn; and feeling a perverse inclination to laugh in the great man's face, she set down her teapot and hastily retreated.

"Who is that young person?" asked Mr. Ferrand as the door closed behind Rhoda.

"She came from 'The Home' to me," answered his wife. "Mrs. Mulford recommended her, and she is really an excellent girl. With a little showing, she can cook a nice dinner."

"I do not approve of showing, as you call it," said Mr. Ferrand. "A good housekeeper does not show; she gives directions, and has them obeyed. Is this young person an orphan—one of the beneficiaries of the institution?"

Mrs. Ferrand related Rhoda's history as she had heard it from Mrs. Mulford.

Mr. Ferrand listened and shook his head.

"I don't like that," said he. "The girl must have misbehaved in some way, or she would not have been so summarily turned off."

"Do you think it is always people's own fault if they are ill-treated, pa?" asked Isa.

"If you will put that question into a grammatical and intelligible form, Isabella, I may perhaps answer it," was the reply.

Isa relapsed into sulky silence, and did not speak again during the meal.

Her father made perpetual comments on her manner of eating, drinking, and sitting, and the quantity of bread and milk she consumed—she was not to be allowed tea or butter—and checked her as she was taking a piece of sponge cake.

"No more, my daughter. You have already eaten heartily, and it is far better to rise from the table with appetite. I have been hearing some admirable lectures on dietetics for young people," he continued, addressing his wife and passing his cup for the third time. "I think it would be a good plan to let Isabella have oatmeal porridge for breakfast and supper."

"Pa, I can't bear it," said poor Isa, just ready to cry at the idea.

"You will learn to bear it, Isabella," was the calm reply. "I shall procure a supply to-morrow."