Part 3

Ethel almost wished it were any other day, but she was accustomed to implicit obedience, so she picked up her papers, and put away her colors with a very good grace. She tried hard to prevent the thought of her new employment from intruding on her prayers, and succeeded pretty well; but her dreams were haunted by pictures, and she thought of them the first thing in the morning. She could not resist the temptation to take a peep at her work of the night before, and had even taken her brush is hand to alter the shading of the old woman's cap, when she recollected herself, and put the pencil away with a blush.

"It would be as bad as Abby doing her arithmetic on Sunday, for fear she should not finish it before Holidays."

As her mother said, Ethel had too much the habit of drawing comparisons between Abby and herself. She was given to nourish a Pharisaic spirit of thanking God that she was not as others.

For once, Sunday seemed a long day to Ethel. She could not interest herself in her favorite pursuits—her Sunday-school book seemed dull, and she was tempted to speak harshly to the children several times in the course of the afternoon.

Her father remarked her impatience, and took an opportunity of saying gently, "Ethel, if your employment is going to spoil your Sundays, it would be better to give it up at once. Your earnings will cost more than they come to, if they lead you into sin."

Ethel acknowledged her fault, and made an effort to do better. She called the children to her, and began to tell them Bible stories. And when they were tired of that, she interested herself in her lessons for next Sunday, so that the afternoon passed more quickly than she had supposed possible.

Monday being washing day, Ethel had more work to do than usual, so that she had no time to touch her pictures before school. When she arrived at the school-house, she found Rosa and Bessy waiting for her, anxious to know the result of her conference with their uncle. Ethel told them of the bargain she had made.

"That is more than he gives us," remarked Bessy, rather inclined to be hurt at first.

"Ethel does them better than we," said sweet-tempered little Rosa. "You know uncle would not trust those flower paintings with us, for fear we should spoil them."

"And besides, Bessy," said Ethel, "you can do a good many more of the cheap ones than I can do of the nice ones, so it will come to just the same in the end."

Bessy, who cared rather more for the honor than for the money, was not quite satisfied with this argument, but she was contented when Ethel promised to give her lessons, that she might improve.

All this conversation was carried on in a low tone in a recess of the window apart from the other girls. And Abby, coming in while it was in progress, naturally approached the group to see what they were talking of.

Ethel, who was chatting very eagerly, checked herself at her cousin's approach: the other girls stopped because she did, and the whole party looked embarrassed.

"Talking secrets!" said Abby, carelessly, though she felt rather hurt at the sudden silence. "If you are, I won't intrude."

"We are through now, at any rate," said Ethel, laughing rather awkwardly.

"Oh, I don't want to creep in where I am not wanted," returned Abby, walking away. "I dare say I can find companions."

"Don't be silly, Abby," said Ethel, following her. "You know very well I am not fond of secrets. I will tell you all about it after school," she added, in a lower tone. "There is no privacy about it that I know of, only one don't want to be talking of every thing before the whole world."

Abby, always good-natured, allowed herself to be easily pacified, though she was very curious to learn what it was which was not to be talked of before the whole world.

Great was her wonderment when Ethel opened the matter to her as they were walking home. And when her cousin concluded with "Isn't it nice?" she answered—

"It may suit you, Ethel, but I would not do it for the world. What would Aunt Sally Bertie say, if she knew that you worked for money? Or suppose any ladies should come in and catch you at it, how ashamed you would be!"

"I don't see why," said Ethel. "Why should I be ashamed of working for money, any more than my father?"

"That is different, and besides, I don't believe your father likes it very well. Mother says she should think your father would be mortified enough to be only a book-keeper in an establishment where he has been head so long."

"I don't believe he cares," said Ethel, her face flushing with a feeling which she could not easily have defined.

"I don't know what mother will say, Ethel," Abby continued, without heeding her cousin's remark. "I know she would be very much mortified at the thought of my working for money. When Cousin Eliza stayed at our house, she used to give music lessons to the two Parkins girls, and mother always made her go round the back way, so that no one should see her. But I won't tell her about this, Ethel, if you don't want me to."

"You can do as you like about it, Abby," replied Ethel, with spirit. "I never intend to do any thing that I am ashamed of. But perhaps you would rather not be seen walking with any one that works for money."

"Now, Ethel, you know I did not mean any such thing. I don't care about it for myself. It is only what people will say, and I know they will think it strange."

"They may as well wonder at that as any thing else," said Ethel. "But good-bye, Abby. Come and see me, and I will show you what pretty work it is."

Abby promised, and walked home faster than usual, anxious to tell her mother all she had heard.

Mrs. Coles exclaimed, and wondered, and lamented, and being, though weak, rather an amiable woman, felt a sincere regret that her cousin should have fallen so low. Mr. Coles thought it just of a piece with their other conduct, and opined that Fletcher would not be ashamed to be seen driving a cart through the streets, if he could not find any thing else to do; in which opinion he came nearer to the truth than was always the case with him.

Poor Mrs. Coles was really distressed, and took the first opportunity of seeing Mrs. Bertie, to consult with her as to what could be done to awaken Mrs. Fletcher's sense of propriety, and save the family from any further degradation.

As she had expected, Mrs. Bertie flew into a passion, declared that her nephews and nieces were all fools together, and finally told Mrs. Coles to hold her tongue if she could, and leave the matter to her.

Mr. Coles was very well satisfied with the result of the conference, when his wife reported it to him. He had his own reasons for wishing the old lady to be not too well pleased with his cousin Fletcher. Whether he was as well satisfied in the end, may be discovered in the course of these pages.

Meantime Ethel spent all the time she could spare from her lessons and her house-work upon her pictures, laboring with more and more satisfaction as she perceived herself to improve. When she had finished a dozen of the common and one of the fine engravings, she took them down to Mr. Beckford's store to show them. Mr. Beckford approved of them, but told her that she took too much pains. "You might as well do them twice as fast, my dear young lady. I fear the price I named will not remunerate you for the labor you bestow upon them."

Ethel could not think for a moment what was the meaning of the long word Mr. Beckford had used, but when she had remembered that it meant pay, she answered gayly: "I like to make them look as pretty as I can, Mr. Beckford. It is much pleasanter."

"Well, well, my dear, that is the right spirit," replied Mr. Beckford, evidently much pleased. "I am quite satisfied with the pictures, and shall be able to give you as much employment as you desire from now till Christmas. Would you prefer to be paid by the piece, or have your money all together?"

After some consideration, Ethel decided that she would rather be paid by the piece. She felt as though it would be pleasant to see her hoard grow before her eyes; and there arose before her the image of a certain ivory box with a lock and key in which she meant to store her treasure.

Mr. Beckford went to his drawer and counted out six five-cent pieces and five three-cent pieces, besides a dime for the flower painting.

No money Ethel had ever possessed seemed in her eyes so valuable as this. She put it carefully into her purse, and taking her way homewards, she looked up at the shop windows, calculating what she could get for her mother and the boys; and she even went into a store to ask the price of a pretty little stained willow sewing chair, the same shape as a favorite one of her mother's which had been sold with the rest. It was marked two dollars, but the man said he would sell it for ten shillings.

"If I can only get enough to buy that for mother, how glad she will be," said she to herself; "but then I must get something for father and the boys, and for Abby, if I can."

And she plunged at once into a deep calculation as to the probable amount of her means—so deep that she did not notice how far she had gone, till she heard her name sharply called. And looking up, saw her aunt's face at the open window of her own house.

"Come in, Ethel," repeated her aunt more sharply than before. "I want to speak to you."

It was with no very pleasant feelings that Ethel mounted the steps. She divined at once that Aunt Sally had heard of her employment, and meant to call her to account for it. She entered the parlor with her bundle under her arm, and found herself face to face with her aunt, before she had exactly made up her mind what to say.

"Good afternoon to you, Miss Fletcher," said her aunt, making her grandest courtesy. "What is that bundle you have under your arm?"

"Pictures, Aunt Sally," said Ethel, her eyes sparkling rather mischievously. "Would you like to look at them? They are very pretty."

And before Mrs. Bertie, who was somewhat taken aback, could reply, she had opened her bundle and displayed her treasures, descanting upon their beauties, and calling her aunt's attention to the fact that the dog in old Mother Hubbard exactly resembled Mrs. Bertie's dog Fido.

Mrs. Bertie did not exactly know what to do next, for like a skilful general, Ethel had foiled her tactics by marching out of her intrenchments, and attacking, instead of waiting to be assaulted. However, she did not mean to give it up so easily, so she tried another way.

"What are you going to do with all these pictures?" she asked.

"I am going to paint them, aunt. Then Y shall give them back to Mr. Beckford, and he will pay me the money for them. I have earned fifty-five cents already."

"Umph!" said her aunt, drily. "What are you going to do with so much money?"

"I am going to buy Christmas presents with it, if I get enough."

"I should think your father might let you have money for such a purpose, without your degrading yourself by working for a bookseller," said Mrs. Bertie.

"Why is it degrading, aunt?" asked Ethel.

"Because it is!" was the short reply.

"Father cannot afford to give me money now," pursued Ethel, "and mother said I might earn some if I could. So I got these pictures to paint, and really, Aunt Sally, I like it very much. It is pretty work, in the first place, and then there is all the time a pleasure in thinking you are going to be paid for it!"

"The long and the short of the matter is, Ethel, that you must leave off this business at once—at once, do you hear?" said Mrs. Bertie, growing angry as usual on finding herself opposed. "If you don't, you need never expect any thing from me. Perhaps you think, because you are my relative, that I am bound to leave my fortune to you, whether or no; but I can tell you, you will find yourself mistaken. I will never leave you one penny, unless you do as I tell you in this matter."

"You must do as you like about that, Aunt Sally," said Ethel, modestly but firmly. "If you think I shall take any more pains to please you because you are rich, you are very much mistaken. I should do it just as much if you were as poor as old Mammy Rachel."

"And pray, who taught you such fine sentiments, Miss Fletcher?"

"My mother taught me, aunt. She said—" and here Ethel stopped, for she was not quite sure that she ought to repeat what her mother had said.

"Well, what did she say? Come, don't be afraid."

"I am afraid you won't like it, Aunt Sally; but mother said we children ought to take pains to come and see you, and to please you when we could, because you are an old lady, and not very strong, and have no children of your own to wait on you and be company for you."

"Umph!" said Mrs. Sally again. "And so you come here out of pity, I suppose, and not because you find it pleasant?"

"No, aunt, I like to come, only—"

"Only when I am cross, I suppose."

"I don't mind any thing you say to me, aunt, but I don't like it when you talk about my father and mother as you do sometimes, and I do not think it is right. If it were not for that, I should always like to come here, for you have been very kind to me ever since I can remember."

Mrs. Bertie was silent for a few moments, and Ethel could not tell whether she was angry or not.

Presently she said: "Suppose I should give you the money to buy your presents with,—would not that do as well?"

"No, aunt, because they would be your presents and not mine."

"Well, then, I will make a bargain with you. You shall come and read to me two hours a day, and I will pay you as much for that as you can earn by painting. We will read something you like—say Miss Yonge's stories—and when they are finished you shall have them for your own."

Ethel hesitated. The offer was certainly a tempting one, for she was fond of reading aloud, and she had been very anxious to read the books in question.

Mrs. Bertie thought she had gained the day, when all at once Ethel's face changed.

"Auntie, I don't see how I can do it, though I should like it very much. You see I have made a bargain with Mr. Beckford, so that he depends upon me for the work, and I know he could not easily find any one else to do it, if I should give it up. I don't think it would be honorable for me to creep out of my agreement, and break my word, because I find something to do that I like better, do you?"

Quite unconsciously, Ethel had touched the old lady upon her most assailable side. She had, as we have said, a high sense of honor, and her ideas of integrity were very strict.

"You are quite right, Ethel," she replied, after a little thought. "If you have made an agreement with this person, you must not break it on any account. But, my dear, you must consult me another time, before you make a bargain."

Ethel smiled, but she did not promise to do so, though she was glad to see that her aunt's ill-humor was fast passing away. "I will come and read to you any day when I have time, aunt, if you like to hear me. I love to read aloud."

"Very good," replied Mrs. Bertie. "Come when you please, I shall always be glad to see you. And, my dear, you must not think I am angry with you or your mother for your plain speaking. I believe you always tell the truth, and that is more than I can think of some folks. Now run home, for the old woman is tired with so much talking."

Ethel kissed her aunt and went her way, much pleased with the result of the dreaded conference, and not a little satisfied with herself for the part she had played in it.

Mrs. Bertie sat alone for some time, apparently thinking deeply. At last she rang the bell, and sent the man-servant to summon her lawyer, with whom she had a long conference, and of whom she made some particular inquiries respecting her nephew, George Fletcher.

Mr. Simonton, the lawyer, being an honest man himself, had a great admiration of the same quality in others, and he gave Mrs. Bertie such an account of Mr. Fletcher as greatly raised him in his aunt's estimation: one consequence of which was, that the next time Mr. Coles ventured in his aunt's presence to lament over the obstinacy and folly of his cousins, he was politely informed by his relative that George Fletcher was an honest man, and an honorable man, which was more than could be said of all the family.

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Chapter Third.

ETHEL'S work went on prosperously, and by the Christmas week she had finished all her pictures. Christmas came on Saturday, and on Thursday she went to carry them home.

It was rather late, and the store was full of people buying Christmas presents, so that even Mr. Beckford was hurried for once. He hastily counted over the pictures, said they were all right and very pretty, and handing her the money, he went to attend to the customers who were calling upon him.

Ethel had waited for some time in the store, and it was almost dark when she came out. She had a nervous dread of being out late in the street, and hurried home without looking at her money which she had put into her glove.

"Make haste down, Ethel," said her mother, as she went up-stairs to put away her bonnet and shawl, "I want you to help me."

Ethel obeyed, and dropped her money into the box without counting, or even looking at it. She was very busy all the evening helping her mother finish up the ironing and mending, that nothing might be left to do on the morrow.

When she went up to bed, however, she took her box from its hiding place, and prepared to count her treasure. She spread it out upon the table, and there among the quarters and dimes lay a bright yellow quarter-eagle!

How could it have come there? Ethel picked it up and looked at it, admiring the beauty of the coin. It almost doubled the amount of her finances, but there arose the question as to whether she had any right to it. She did not think she had earned so much, but then she could not exactly remember how many pictures she had painted.

Now the right course would have been for Ethel to go directly to Mr. Beckford, and ask him if he had intended to pay her the extra sum; but here arose a temptation.

"If this money were mine, I could buy that willow chair for mother, and a piece of pretty chintz to make a cushion for it, and yet have enough to get Tom the ten-pins he wants so much."

If Ethel had done as she had been taught, she would have put the whole matter aside till she had said her prayers and asked to be guided in the right way. But the confidence in herself which had been increasing for some time put, had arrived at such a pitch, that she no longer felt so much the need of Divine direction. She considered herself, as she said, competent to manage her own affairs; and when a little girl or a large girl arrives at that point, that girl is in great danger of a sad fall. She began to debate the matter with herself, but consciously or unconsciously she looked only at one side of the argument.

"Mr. Beckford said I did the pictures better than any one else, and that the price he first named would not pay for the trouble; so perhaps he meant to give me more. I am sure my work is worth a great deal more than Bessy's and Rosa's."

If Ethel had known Mr. Beckford better, she would have been aware, that though he often gave money away, he never on any occasion paid more than he felt himself bound to do. Neither was she entirely satisfied with her own reasoning, though she tried very hard to be so. If she had been, she would have gone to her father with the matter, and she would have said her prayers without that uneasy feeling at her heart which made them an unwelcome task; nor would the text she had lately learned in school have recurred so vividly to her memory:

"'If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.'"

It was with the same uneasy feeling that she awoke in the morning and came down to breakfast without having again looked at her money.

At the breakfast table she was rather silent, and her father said smilingly—

"You seem rather absent, my daughter; are you calculating the amount of your capital?"

"How much have you got, Ethel?" asked little Tom.

"Perhaps Ethel would rather not tell how much she has," remarked her mother, seeing that Ethel looked a little disturbed. "We must not question her too closely. I suppose you will like to go out this morning to make your purchases, my dear: don't be too extravagant; you know you will want spending money after holidays are over."

Ethel knew that very well, but she wanted still more to buy the willow chair for her mother. She put the gold piece into her purse with the rest of her money, saying to herself that a person so careful in money matters as every one said Mr. Beckford was, would never have made such a mistake, and that he must have done it on purpose. Still she did not feel easy about it, and it was not with a very light heart that she set out to make her purchases, intending first to do some errands for the family: for Ethel had learned to be quite a little market-woman, and could judge very sensibly between different qualities of sugar and tea!

She sighed as she concluded her list of small purchases at the family grocer's, thinking of the large orders they had been accustomed to make at this time of the year.