CHAPTER XX.

ROCK BOTTOM.

THE missionary society was successful. The scheme was propounded to the teachers first, and met with only as much opposition as brought out Doctor Campbell in a sermon, in which he brought up one after another all the ordinary objections to missionary work and disposed of them in a very satisfactory manner. The children entered into the matter with enthusiasm, and, so far from the general interests of the school suffering, they evidently gained.

Marion's health continued very delicate all through the cold weather; but when spring came on, she seemed to take a sudden start, and improved very rapidly. She gained strength and flesh, suffered less pain, and was able to go about the house and to walk out. Nobody who has not tried it knows the expansion of heart felt by an invalid who first gets out in the spring after a winter's long confinement.

Marion thought nothing could ever have been so beautiful as the starting leaves, the bunches of hepaticas, spring beauties, and trailing arbutus which the boys brought her. She got herself well laughed at for declaring that there were no ferns in Holford, or if there were, they did not come up with such dear little fuzzy, curly heads.

"Well, all I can say is that I must have got a new pair of eyes, then, for I am sure I never noticed them," said Marion, defending herself good-humouredly.

"'There fell from his eyes as it had been scales,'" quoted Uncle Duncan, in a low voice.

"But didn't you have any botany classes in school?" asked Frank, in whose mind ignorance of botany implied ignorance of all things worth knowing in this world.

"Oh yes; Miss Oliver and some of the older girls used to make great times over flowers, and so on. But somehow I never cared for botany; it seemed to me all hard words. The truth is, I don't think I paid any more attention to any of my lessons than I could help in those days."

The last of April brought home the travellers. Harry was quite himself again, and both Mr. and Mrs. Van Alstine much benefited by the long rest and freedom from care. It was very delightful to have the whole family at home once more, but it did not last long.

Gerty claimed Marion's promise to come and make her a long visit. She promised to take every care of her, and urged, with some show of reason, that the change of air and scene would be very good for Marion after her long confinement.

"I hate to have you go, Marion," said Bram, who was still Marion's special friend among the boys. "Honestly, now, do you like it yourself?"

"Honestly, Bram, I am not in love with it."

"Then why do you go?"

"That is a wise question, Master Abraham. Because I promised."

"Well, that was before you were sick."

"I know that, but I am well now, or nearly so. And besides, Gerty wants me, and I can't help feeling sorry for her. I don't believe, from what Mrs. Landon says, that she has much society."

Mrs. Landon was the minister's wife in Rock Bottom, who had been over to call upon Marion.

"It is her own fault, then, for there are plenty of nice people in Rock Bottom."

"And besides, Bram, as I said before, a promise is a promise, and you know very well you wouldn't think it right for me to break mine; now, would you?"

"Well, no, I suppose not," answered Bram, fairly pushed to the wall. "Anyhow, you needn't stay very long."

"No; I don't propose to live there, as I did once. Bram, do you remember our talking about that the night I fell over the cliff? What a goose I was!"

"I don't believe you will 'influence' Gerty—not much," said Bram. "She isn't that kind."

"I don't think I shall try. I haven't forgotten what you said about letting our light shine steadily, instead of holding it up and waving it about."

"But you won't stay long?" persisted Bram.

"No longer than I must in decency."

And with that Bram was obliged to be content.

He drove Marion over to Rock Bottom in the little carriage, taking a somewhat roundabout road to show her certain favourite points of view which she had not yet seen, and arrived at Rock Bottom about six in the evening.

It was a very pretty little village, built just where a small stream came down from the hills and ran across a narrow, fertile plain to the river. The Susquehanna here broke into a rapid, adding much to the beauty, but not greatly to the healthfulness, of the place, for it is a fact that rapids in such great rivers are great promoters of agues.

Asahel's house was a very good one, large and roomy, though old-fashioned, with a hipped roof and dormer windows, and a heavy, wide portico at the front. The house stood back from the street, and was shaded by some large and beautiful trees.

"What a pretty place!" said Marion.

"Isn't it? Father bought it of old General Van Deusen's heirs on purpose for Asahel, but Gerty doesn't like it because it is so old-fashioned. She wanted father to build it all over and make a Mansard roof."

"Horrid!" said Marion, regarding with an artistic eye the deep angles and shadows on the old mossy roof.

"It was a great deal prettier before it was altered—the nicest old deep-red brick colour—but Gerty never liked it, so father painted it for her."

"How good he is to her! I don't believe I would have done it."

"Well, you see, he has to oppose her so many times that I think he makes it a principle to please her if he can. Here she comes now. Well, Gerty, here we are, you see."

"Yes, I see we are here," answered Gerty, coming forward to meet her guests. "I expected you this morning, Marion. Pray how long have you been on the road?"

"Only since two o'clock," answered Marion. "Bram took me round to show me the view from Tom's Hill and the big hollow. I hope you haven't waited for us?"

"The clock struck six as we came by the church," said Bram. "There's your bag, Marion, and your other things, and the trunk will be over before long. I'll put up the horse, Gerty, and then go over and meet Asahel if he hasn't come."

"Really, that is cool in Bram. I think he might wait for an invitation before he quarters himself on me in such an unceremonious fashion. But come, Marion, and take off your bonnet. I am sure you must be very tired."

"I am rather tired," Marion admitted. "It is the longest ride I have taken yet, but I enjoyed every bit of it."

"It was very inconsiderate on the part of Bram. Hadn't you better have your tea up here? I can send it as well as not. Just put on your wrapper and lie down, and Mary shall bring you a nice supper."

"Oh dear, no!" replied Marion, laughing at the idea. "I am above all that now, I assure you, and I shall enjoy my supper a great deal more down-stairs. Only let me wash my face and brush my hair, and I shall be all right."

"But I am sure you would enjoy your supper more if you had it quietly on the bed. I think it is a real luxury when one is tired," persisted Gertrude. "Don't you think so?"

"No, I can't say I do," replied Marion, completing her preparations in a hurry to put an end to the discussion. "I used to once, I believe, but I have eaten so many meals on the bed this winter that I think in future I shall prefer to take them while walking, like some Eastern monks that Uncle Duncan was telling us about. I am ready, Gerty, I believe."

Gerty looked dissatisfied, but she could not well say any more, and they went down-stairs, to find Asahel and Bram waiting for them in the parlour.

The room was more handsomely furnished than that at Hemlock Valley, but Marion thought it was not so pleasant or homelike in its aspect. She missed the tables made for use, the books meant to be read, and not looked at, the working materials and newspapers, all signs of pleasant occupations. The only table in Gerty's parlour was a marble one ingeniously contrived to be of no use whatever, and all the books visible were decorously set up in rows on the bottom of the what-not.

Asahel greeted Marion warmly. He was the handsomest of all the handsome family, but his face had a worn, patient look which belonged to none of the others.

"I tried to have Marion stay up-stairs, but she thought she must come down to show that she was not entirely overcome with her long ride," said Gerty.

"Are you so very tired, Marie?" asked Bram, anxiously.

"Oh no," answered Marion, gayly; "it is only Gerty's extra care for me. I don't think I am more tired than a night's rest will cure."

"And in that uneasy little buggy, with that fidgety, hard-pulling pony," continued Gerty; "but I suppose Father Van Alstine would not spare any of the other horses. Well, here is Jenny to say that tea is ready. Put on another plate, Jenny. Mr. Van Alstine's brother will stay to tea."

"To tea!" said Asahel. "You don't mean to go back to-night, Bram?"

"No," answered Bram, quietly. "I can't possibly go back to-night, but I can go down to the parsonage if my stay here is an inconvenience to Gerty. I dare say Tom Landon will make room for me."

"You will do nothing of the sort," said Gerty. "Don't be so dreadfully touchy, Bram. I thought you had got over that."

Bram made no answer.

Gerty led the way to the supper-room, and having made everybody thoroughly uncomfortable, laid herself out to be as amiable and gracious as she knew how to be.

"What time shall you go to-morrow, Bram?" asked Marion, taking advantage of a minute or two when she had him to herself.

"As early as I can conveniently get away. I wish you were going back with me. Hadn't you better?"

"Oh no; I must make my visit out. But you must all write and come over and see me when you can. I dare say I shall be dreadfully homesick. Bram, do you think Asahel looks well?"

"Not a bit. He's being worried out of his life about this iron business, I know. She never gives up any notion she once takes into her head."

"You won't go before breakfast?"

"Oh no; I have no notion of being driven that way. Besides, she doesn't mean half of it. It is only that she has fallen into that provoking way of talking. I hope you won't be sick, that's all. Why didn't you tell me you were growing tired?"

"But I am not so very tired. It is all nonsense. I shall be all right in the morning."

Gerty herself took Marion up to her room, and was hospitably anxious about her accommodation:

"I hope you will find everything comfortable here. This room was all furnished new this spring. I don't pretend to be so very literary or accomplished as some people, but I do hope I am a good housekeeper. You see the windows all have mosquito-netting nailed over the outside. I tried to make Mother Van Alstine do that, but I never could. I can't bear to have my house overrun with flies."

"Mother always has frames to put in the windows," said Marion.

"Oh yes, I know, but some one is sure to forget; and then there are the flies. I saw as many as half a dozen the last time I was at mother's, early as it is. Don't you think this furniture is in better taste than that Father Van Alstine bought in New York last year?"

"It is very pretty," said Marion.

"Oh, I see you mean to be non-committal; perhaps that is the best way, situated as you are. You can't be too careful. I found that out, I assure you. Do you think this bed will be soft enough for you? It has the best Tucker springs, but I can get you a feather bed."

"I have slept on a spring mattress all winter," said Marion.

"Oh, but I assure you Tucker springs are considered much more agreeable and wholesome. I wonder if Dr. Campbell does not know that? Just see how elastic they are!"

"I am sure they are very nice," said Marion, feeling as if any bed would be welcome.

And at last, after having displayed the superior excellences of the dressing-bureau, the wash-stand, and the rocking-chair to anything at the valley, Gerty said "Good-night."

Marion, thoroughly weary, said her prayers, asking for special grace to suit her new circumstances, and went to bed to dream that she was trying to drive a pony across the Susquehanna on a spring bed, which formed the only bridge.

The next morning her trunk came, and Bram took his leave.

For a week or two, as Bram had predicted, Gerty was very kind and polite to her visitor. She took her out to drive every pleasant day, and made a delightful expedition to Coaltown, and from there to visit several localities of interest.

It was at Coaltown that the first real offence was given. Marion was looking from the window of the hotel upon the street while Gerty rested on the sofa before dinner. Suddenly the air was pervaded by an unearthly noise, as of a hundred elephants all gone melancholy mad and all howling at once.

Marion put her hands to her ears:

"What is that horrible din?"

"That's the steam-gong," said Gerty, with the air of one doing the honours. "It can be heard nine miles."

"I should think it might be heard nine hundred," said Marion; "and do look, Gerty! What are these?" As the street suddenly became filled with an immense crowd of black, demoniac-looking figures, each bearing a small lighted lamp on his forehead.

"What are they?" asked Marion, in wonder. "They look like demons of the pit."

"That is just what they are—demons of the coal-pit," said Gerty, laughing. "They are the coal-miners, child; there are ever so many mines in the city."

"But how many lame people there are among them!" said Marion. "See, there is a man with one leg, and there is another; and oh what a horrid scar that poor cripple has on his face!"

"Yes, they are always getting hurt," said Gerty, indifferently. "Not a week passes that some of them are not killed, or crippled for life."

"What a dreadful thing!" said Marion.

"A great deal of it comes from their own carelessness, they say. Not but there are unavoidable accidents, of course. What with the furnaces and engines, and the dozens of railroad tracks, people are always being killed."

"How horrid!" said Marion, shuddering. "It would be as bad as living in the front of an army. I am glad I don't live in Coaltown."

"Then you think you wouldn't like to live here?" asked Asahel from the balcony outside, where he was enjoying a cigar.

"No, indeed," answered Marion; "I don't fancy living where locomotive engines are allowed to run loose in the streets as they do here. I think the noises are quite dreadful."

"But up where we went this afternoon there are no noises and no engines," said Gerty, her colour rising a little.

"No, it was pretty; but still, you know, you would have to come down very often. After all, I suppose I may be prejudiced against Coaltown, though it is my native place, you know," Marion added, smiling.

"Your native place!" repeated Asahel. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I was born here. Why, surely you knew that. But mother had pretty hard times here, I suppose; anyhow, she dislikes the place very much."

"What were you thinking of, Asahel? Don't you know Mrs. Van Alstine went from here to be cook or nurse—which was it?—to your mother?" said Gerty.

"Housekeeper," said Marion, trying to speak quietly, though her blood tingled.

"And a great blessing she was," said Asahel.

"Oh, housekeeper, was it? Well, it must be admitted that she succeeded in keeping the house very effectually," said Gerty, with her peculiar little laugh—"a good deal better than her mistress did. Asahel, why don't they call us to supper? Oh, here they come."

Nothing could exceed Gerty's amiability at the table and during the evening. "I never bear malice," she was wont to say of herself; "I say my say, and that is the end of it—"

That is, having stabbed her antagonist with a poisoned knife, she was quite ready to forgive and even to pet him afterward. She was wont on these occasions to assume an air of solicitous kindness and affection which did not make the sufferer any more comfortable under the smart of his wounds. She talked to Marion, was very careful that she should be helped to the best of everything; and when they went out for a little shopping expedition after tea, she insisted on buying for Marion a pretty collar and necktie which she admired.

If Marion had "followed her impulses" as the heiress of McGregor took pride in doing, she would have thrown the parcel into the street. But she did not. She certainly accepted the present somewhat coolly, and with an internal resolution that she would bestow some present of equal value on Gerty at the very first opportunity. But she had too much respect and pity for Asahel to quarrel with Gerty if she could help it. She had a hard struggle with herself after she went to her room before she could be sure that she had forgiven the offence.

"If she had insulted me, I should not have minded so much, but to speak so of mother, and such an unprovoked insult! Only for distressing Asahel, I would go home to-morrow. But there is no use in thinking about that. Oh, if I could only forget it! But I can't do that, either, and I can't make myself forgiving as I know I ought to be. Oh, help me to do right. Help me to forgive as Thou hast so often forgiven me."

It was a long time before Marion could sleep, but she did at last, and woke to find that the work she could not do, had been done for her. The rest of the journey was very pleasant, and Marion could write to Bram with a good conscience that she had enjoyed it very much.

But as time went on, Marion began to grow homesick. She was very lonely. She missed the great family at the valley—the boys with their various interests, Betsy with her odd speeches and her various and vehement expressions of opinion on all possible subjects, the Overbeck little ones, always in and out. Above all, she missed the kindly, genial atmosphere of home, where everybody tried to add to the general happiness, where the pleasure of one was the happiness of all, and nobody took delight in the annoyance of another. Teasing had always been made a high crime and misdemeanour in the Van Alstine family code. Nor was this all she missed. Since Marion had fairly waked up from her long day-dream and began to live outside of herself, her mind had taken a great start. She had learned especially to appreciate intelligent conversation, and she had enjoyed a great deal of it during last winter.

Gerty had no lack of either intelligence or education, but she did not care for the things that the people at Hemlock Valley cared for—the things which made up life to the Campbells and Mrs. Andrews and the boys. She took no interest in books, none in her husband's business. She cared for nothing but talking about people. Every one of her acquaintances was pitilessly attacked and ruthlessly dissected. She contrived to know more about the private affairs of all the people in the village than Marion could have supposed possible, especially as she seemed to have very little to do with them.

Marion wondered at this. She had heard a good deal about the pleasant society at Rock Bottom, and as the days went on she was rather surprised that they had so few calls. Mrs. Landon and her daughters came to see Marion directly. She was a kind, gracious, motherly woman, and the girls were pleasant and cultivated, and Marion spent a day with them and found them very agreeable companions. Emily had a taste for drawing, and was working at it by herself. Marion was glad to be able to help her. She had a genuine and unusual talent for art, and under Mrs. Andrews's tuition, she had made remarkable progress in water-colour painting and sketching from nature. She found it very pleasant to go out sketching with Emily, and in the ravine above the town and down on the bank of the river they found abundance of studies. Marion, however, did not go as often as she would have liked, because Gerty complained of being left alone.

"I thought you had a good deal of society here?" said Marion, innocently, one day to Emily when they were out sketching together, "making a study" of the end of the old gray tannery and the bank on which it leaned.

"So we do," said Emily. "I don't believe there is a place of the size in the State where you will find more pleasant people than in Rock Bottom."

"So I heard, but I don't see many of them. We hardly ever have any calls."

Emily dabbled her brush very fast in her water-glass, and her cheeks turned very pink:

"Well, the truth is, Marion, your sister is no favourite here. She doesn't mean any harm, I dare say, but you know her way of talking; and the long and the short of it is, she has made so many unkind speeches and said so many hard things that she has offended almost every lady in the place."

"What a pity!" said Marion. "Take care, Emily; you are working that up too much. Let it dry till the rest is done, and then you can glaze it if you like."

"It isn't that Mrs. Van Alstine isn't kind in one way," continued Emily; "she is always ready to do for the sick and to give to the poor, but she spoils it all with her speeches. If you knew how she talks about father! It is no thanks to her that we are here now."

"I do know," said Marion; "but, Emily, she doesn't mean half of it. It is a foolish way of talking she has got into. Then she is not at all well: she has very bad headaches; and besides, I think she has some trouble that she does not tell of; and the discomfort makes her irritable."

"Poor thing! I am sure I am sorry for her," said Emily; "but you see, Marion, other people don't know these things, and they can't be expected to make allowances, as you do. Besides, to tell you the truth, it is not only that Mrs. Van Alstine says sharp things. She says scandalous things that get repeated and make trouble, and she talks from one to another. I have wanted to tell you this, though it doesn't seem just the thing, either," continued Emily, greatly endangering the "keeping" of her stump in her confusion and earnestness. "I thought you would think it very strange that so few people in the church called on you."

"It did seem odd, but then, you know, I don't know much of the world," said Marion. "I never lived anywhere but at Holford and in the valley. Everybody was very sociable at Holford, and I think Aunt Barbara was a very great favourite. And in the valley, you know, there are only ourselves. But I am sorry for Gerty."

"And so am I, and so is mother, but we can't help her much. We visit her and ask her to our house, but we can't make other people do so. Look, Marion; is that right?"

"Very nice indeed," pronounced Marion, inspecting the sketch; "I think it is quite wonderful for a first attempt."

"And I am sure yours is beautiful," exclaimed Emily. "I wouldn't have believed any one could make such a pretty picture of a tannery."

"I thought it would please Asahel," said Marion. "Do you mind waiting while I touch these leaves again? No; on the whole I won't. Come, Emily; let's pack up the traps and go home."