The change was so complete that Ethel felt like a new girl.
"I don't care if she is a miser," she thought, "she's just lovely and solike Grandmother; and I'll have a happy time, I know."
CHAPTER XII
ETHEL LEARNS TO COOK
Here is a page from her letter to her grandmother:
"Oh! my dear Grandmamma, you don't know how happy I am--not being away from those I love, but things are so different. I get up early and after breakfast I help Aunt Susan with the housework, for her maid is too old to go up and down stairs. I have learned to churn--to make butter and pot cheese as well. I dust, make my bed, and sweep my room. (Don't let mother see this. She may consider that I am doing a servant's work).
"I am invited everywhere and lovely people call, but that is because I am the niece of a wealthy woman. And yet people's love for Aunt Susan seems so genuine--not as though they were toadying to her for her money. And Grandmamma, 'Mr. Tom,' as I call him,--Tom Harper--is the finest man I ever met. He is a man--not a man like Harvey Bigelow, mind you,--and people respect him and look up to him. He comes here every other night. He has a buckboard and on Sundays he takes me for long drives. Doesn't he love Aunt Susan though? He told me that there never lived such a good and unselfish woman, and then he told me of all that she had done.
"His brother and he were left orphans without a penny. His father was a clergyman and his mother and Aunt Susan had been friends for years; in fact, he says, 'My mother had been one of Aunt Susan's pupils.' I must have shown surprise for he answered when I said 'What?'--'Yes, before her father died she taught in the High School.' Did you know it, Grandmamma? Well, she did. She's awfully intelligent and now I know the cause of it. Why, she's like a walking dictionary.
"Mr. Tom said that his father and mother died inside of a month, and he and his little brother Fred were left alone. Then brave Aunt Susan, who had loved his parents, came forward and legally adopted them. Think, Grandmamma,--but for her they might have had to go to the Orphan Asylum and wear blue gingham uniforms.
"Then Aunt Susan sent them each to college. Poor Fred contracted typhoid fever and died during his third year. Mr. Tom and Aunt Susan say he was lovely--so gentle and sweet. It is sad to die so young, isn't it? But Mr. Tom graduated from college and studied law with Ex-Judge Green, and if you will believe it, all of the Judge's practice came to him at his death--Judge Green's death I mean--and he told me that he could never repay dear Aunt Susan for her goodness to him and to his brother. It was more than that of a mother, for they were not of her blood.
"I'll close now, for Mr. Tom has come to take me for a long drive. I hope the girls get in to see you often. What do they think of Mamma's giving me permission to join Cousin Kate's Camp Fire Girls? Isn't it great?
"With love and lots of kisses to all, Your affectionate grandchild, Ethel."
CHAPTER XIII
A LITTLE DRIVE
That afternoon when Tom took Ethel for a drive he asked: "Do you seethat large house on the hill?"
"Yes," replied the girl. "It used to belong to Aunt Susan, didn't it?"
"It did," replied the man, "and she presented it to the town of Akronfor an asylum for partially insane people--men and women who havehallucinations only--so that by gentle and humane treatment they may behelped if not permanently cured, for she believes that many who mightgain their reason are made hopelessly insane by ill usage. She not onlygave the house and land but she added to it a couple of wings, and shehas created of it a most charming Sanitarium. I'll take you theretomorrow. You see, Aunt Susan gave it out that if the prominent businessmen of Akron could raise fifty thousand dollars she would give fiftymore, making the sum total of one hundred thousand dollars as a fund forthe future support of the Asylum, and by George!" said the young man,"they raised it. So you see so far as money is concerned they areindependent. The capital is invested in bonds and stock, and the Asylumis run with the dividends, and is well run, too. Aunt Susan is thehead--the President--and at any moment she may surprise them and walkin. The patients are treated with courtesy and a great many aredischarged cured; in fact, nearly all. It accommodates only fiftypatients--twenty-five of each sex. There's a continuous waiting list andit's seldom that one isn't greatly benefited after having gone there."
No wonder Aunt Susan was beloved by the inhabitants, for Tom told Ethelthat she was invariably the first to help anyone in distress.
"So she wasn't a miser, after all," thought the girl--"She gives awayeverything in charity and she saves her money to do so."
Ethel couldn't fail to observe that Aunt Susan was growing fond of herand her conscience smote her. She felt that she was a hypocrite. Even asshe pondered she held in her hand a letter received from her motherwhich advised her to be tactful and make herself agreeable andinvaluable to the old lady,--alter her gowns and make and trim her hats,etc. "You're clever, and from helping me sew you have become proficientand have acquired considerable knowledge of dressmaking. If she'smiserly and won't buy new, my child, you can flatter her by remodelingher old gowns, etc. Then she'll grow to depend on you. She'll consideryou a good manager and feel that her money will not be wasted by you.Then, when you marry we'll go abroad to associate with peers andduchesses and members of the nobility. You'll feel that your period ofimprisonment with Aunt Susan has brought forth fruit."
With a flushed face Ethel read and reread her mother's letter. Sheblushed with shame. Already she had remodeled some of Aunt Susan'sgowns. She was glad that she had done so before the letter came. Froman old silk tissue skirt she had fashioned her a lovely neckpiece withlong ends. She had also made her a dainty hat of fine straw and lace.She had persuaded her to allow her to dress her hair which grew quitethick on her head. First, as her hair had originally been black, shewashed and _blued_ it, making it like silver. Then, parting it in front,she waved it either side and coiled it loosely in the back, and reallyAunt Susan looked like another woman,--most lovely and aristocratic. Tomwas delighted with the metamorphosis and insisted upon Ethel's takingtwenty dollars from him to buy her aunt a new stylish wrap.
"Oh, I'm so glad it all happened before I received this," she said toherself, tearing up the letter. "At least I'm not so contemptible as Imight have been had I done as Mamma suggested, for gain only."
CHAPTER XIV
SOME CONFIDENCES
Aunt Susan now looked up-to-date, younger and happier, and she was mostgrateful for everything that Ethel had done for her. They all went totheaters, moving picture shows, and twice a week Tom would hire a motorand they'd take long drives far into the country.
Ethel now knew why Aunt Susan loved the man so dearly. She praised himconstantly and the girl thought: "Well, if as Dorothy Kip expresses ithe's doing these kind acts to 'build character' with Aunt Susan, atleast he's an excellent actor."
They visited the Insane Asylum. It was like a lovely summer hotel andthe nurses were most solicitous and polite to the patients. Ethel couldunderstand how they might be cured,--how their poor tired and sickbrains were rested and strengthened by humane treatment. It was awonderful revelation to the young girl--this charity of Aunt Susan's.What a good, worthy woman, and after her death what a reward awaited herif we are to be rewarded according to our good deeds.
Ethel was changing. She had lost a good deal of her worldly pride.Cousin Kate was expected the following week and she was looking forwardto trying on her Camp Fire costume, and to the happy days that were tocome.
One morning Aunt Susan sat by the window sewing. She looked actuallylovely, or at least Ethel thought so, and longed for Grandmamma to seethe change that she had wrought. As she gazed upon the old lady she saidto herself: "Perhaps, it is because I'm growing so fond of her."
Aunt
Susan had on a white silk sacque that Ethel had made, trimmed withrare old lace ruffles at the wrist and collar, while her hair was verywhite and pretty. There was a gentle breeze blowing in at the window,and little curly locks fell upon her forehead.
Ethel was knitting a sweater. She had learned the stitch in the townwhere she had bought her wool, and she was making one for her mother.In after years she never knitted that she didn't think of theconversation that took place between Aunt Susan and herself. The groundwas covered with white petals of apple and cherry blossoms and it was asthough the snow had fallen in May. She remembered everything connectedwith that conversation, and later in life she could close her eyes andhear the robins calling and see the butterflies flitting among thebushes, for that morning was the turning point in her life.
"Aunt Susan," began the girl, knitting very rapidly, "Mr. Tom tells methat his mother was your pupil. Did you teach very long?"
"Yes, Ethel," she replied, "I taught for years. Father, although a richman, expected his girls to do something, and there he was wise. Healways said that a girl should have some occupation the same as a boy;then, when ship-wrecks came, they'd know how to swim. In other words,when one's money was taken away there would be something to fall backupon. Your grandmother took music lessons and taught for a while, butshe was pretty and during her first visit to New York, Archie Hollisterfell desperately in love and married her. Tom's mother was a finecharacter and my favorite pupil. In so many ways Tom resembles her. Shewas clever and bright, and so is Tom. Why, Ethel, he has more than paidme for what I have done for him and Freddie. Today he's not twenty-fiveand he's one of our cleverest lawyers. I shouldn't be surprised if someday Ohio would send him to Congress. You know some of our cleverest mencome from this state,--presidents and statesmen--and Aunt Susan'scheeks grew pink with excitement.
"And dear little Fred," she continued--"he was more like a baby. He sortof clung to me; but, Ethel, they were like my own children, and you'veno idea how happy they made me."
"Aunt Susan," said Ethel, with her cheeks aflame, "don't think meimpertinent but you seem different from an----"
"An old maid," laughed Aunt Susan, "that's what you dared not say."
Ethel nodded and continued: "From the different photographs I have seenof you, you must have been lovely. Why have you never married?"
Aunt Susan blushed and said in a low voice: "Ethel, I have beenmarried."
The girl started.
"Haven't you noticed that people call me _Mrs._ Carpenter?"
"Yes," replied the girl, drawing nearer with wonder in her eyes, "but Iknow several maiden ladies who are called 'Mrs.' Mamma has a secondcousin--she's dead now, I mean--but I remember her. She speculated inWall Street and had an office, and she insisted upon being called Mrs."
"Yes, I've heard of women like her," replied Aunt Susan, "but I marrieda man by the same name, although no relation. Has your grandmother neverspoken of him?"
"Never," replied the girl.
"Well, Alice has always hidden the family skeleton, but I will tell youall about it.
"When I was about thirty-six years of age I married Robert Carpenter. Iwas alone and wealthy. I loved him and tried to make his life happy,but he drank. He had inherited that habit from his father, and drinkingled to gambling. He grew worse and worse. One night under the influenceof drink he came home and seemed determined to pick a quarrel. Seeingthat he was irresponsible I made no reply to his very insulting remarks.That angered him beyond endurance. He struck and threw me across theroom. Then he left the house.
"Over on the hill by the Asylum is the grave of my little son who wasborn and died that night."
Ethel started.
"Yes, my dear, I have been a wife and mother. Of course, I knew nothinguntil the next day. I recovered consciousness but Robert had gone. Hehad taken all of my money that he could find in the house and he had notgone alone. His companion was a disreputable woman from the town."
Aunt Susan paused and looked over toward the little grave on thehillside.
"It seemed," she continued, "as though God, who knew my sorrow at losingmy little one, sent me my two dear boys--Tom and Fred. They came into mylife when I most needed them and were my greatest comfort, for I was alonely woman, my dear. One day I received a letter written in a strangehand saying that my husband was ill and not likely to live--that hewished for me, to ask my forgiveness, and he begged me for God's sake togo to him. I went. He was in Detroit in a squalid boarding house. I wasshocked at the change. I had not realized that a man could so lose hisgood looks as he had done. I took him to a clean place kept by a womanwho had been highly recommended. Upon my arrival he wept bitterly andbegged my pardon. Then I was glad that I had never divorced him as myfriends had advised, for the poor man had been deserted by his companionwhen the money had gone. He had kept on sinking lower and lower, ashamedto appeal to me until when what he thought to be his last illness cameupon him he sent for me to ask my forgiveness."
"Did you give it?" asked the girl.
"Yes, Ethel, I did, and I gave it freely, because for the year past hehad been stone blind. I was so glad that I could cheer him up and makethe few remaining days of his life liveable."
"Did you ask him of his companion?" asked Ethel.
"No, he never spoke of her, nor did I. Had he wished to have told me hewould have done so. Robert had many loveable traits--yes, many nobletraits--but it was drink that ruined him. He was not mercenary. I hadmoney, but until he began to drink he was too proud to take it from me.He was truly fond of me and would have married me had I been poor, butof course after he had started the downward course he lost his pride.
"Well, I joined him in Detroit and stayed until after he died. His sightnever returned, but I read to him and cheered him up, and I had thesatisfaction of knowing that I made the last part of his life happier.That's all, my dear. It is almost too sad to tell to a young girl."
Ethel sat and gazed upon her,--the woman who had shown such mercy to abrute,--a wife deserted by her husband,--a mother never able to feel thehand of her little child upon her cheek,--a woman whose life had beenspent in helping others, with no thought of self. The tears came intothe girl's eyes. She seemed to behold a bright halo about Aunt Susan'shead, and it filled her with awe. Suddenly she saw herself as she reallywas,--the daughter of a selfish, mercenary mother, whose sole ambitionwas for her future position in life. And this was her mission--to visitthis noble woman with a view to ingratiating herself and becoming herheiress,--to make her think she loved her,--to make herselfindispensable to her. Yes, those were her mother's words. She haddestroyed the letter lest it should be seen, but she knew it by heart.The young girl saw it all. Her lips quivered and she felt so utterlyunworthy that she fell on her knees and buried her face in Aunt Susan'slap, sobbing bitterly.
CHAPTER XV
A NEW ETHEL
"Oh! Aunt Susan, you don't understand and I am afraid to tell you, but Iam such a wicked girl--such a hypocrite, and so unworthy of yourrelationship and love. I am a cheater and a waster. My life is all liesand sham. It always has been lies and sham. I wish to tell youeverything so that you may see me as I am.
"I came here to get into your good graces--to win your love that therebyI might gain your fortune and marry into one of our old families--a manof great social prominence--and I've been trying to make you like me andmake myself necessary to you. I've tried to give you the impression thatI was clever so that in case you wished to make me your heiress youwould not hesitate for fear that I might be extravagant and aspendthrift. I can't tell you how bad I am. I've been ashamed of beingseen with you on account of the queer way you dressed. I'm not fit toput my head in your lap--no, I'm not fit to stay under your roof anylonger," and Ethel's sobs were pitiful to hear. She became hysterical.Then Aunt Susan took her in her arms.
"Child," she began, "don't cry. You have told me nothing new. Iunderstood from the first why you came home with me. You have many nobletraits of character. Your grandmother and I thought tha
t under differentinfluences you might become a splendid woman. It was she who suggestedmy inviting you. You are a good girl, Ethel, and above all you have akind and tender heart. You are a Carpenter in spite of your mother, andanyone bearing my father's name can not go far from right. You haveshown that this morning. Now, my dear, in this world environments havemuch to do with one's character, and you have never had a chance, mypoor little girl," and Aunt Susan kissed and soothed her as a mothermight have done. "Now forget it all, my dear child, just as I shallforget. Let us begin anew from this morning."
"But, Aunt Susan," sobbed the girl, "I feel so unworthy, and you are sosweet to forgive me. I should think you'd hate me and want me to leaveyour house. But, believe me, I do love you--I love you as dearly as Ilove Grandmamma and Papa. Excepting in books I never knew that any onewoman could be so good and self-sacrificing as you are. Oh, will youbelieve that I don't want your money, and that I only care for yourrespect and forgiveness, and your love, if you can give it?"
"Yes, my dear, I believe every word that you say. I believe in you fromnow on," and Ethel threw her arms around Aunt Susan's neck and wept forjoy.
CHAPTER XVI
AUNT SUSAN'S TRIALS
"And now sit down, my dear, and I will tell you something. First you cannever be my heiress, for I have no money to give away or leave toanyone. Tom supports me entirely. You look surprised and I don't wonder.I never told your grandmother. She is old and, owning the house in NewYork as she does, would probably insist upon my living with her; anduntil a year ago I had hopes of recovering some of my property that Ihad been cheated out of, but I have given it up. I love pretty gowns andpretty things as well as anyone, but I am saving the money that Tominsists upon giving me to spend on myself for him. I wish to leave himsomething at my death. Now I will tell you about it and how I lost myfortune.