"So near is grandeur to our dust, So nigh is God to man, When Duty whispers low, 'Thou must!' The youth replies, 'I can!'"
"I do! I will! please go on," and Becky's troubled eyes grew clear andsteadfast as she took the words home to herself, resolving to live up tothem.
"Oh, mother!" cried Emily, thinking her very cruel to nip their buddinghopes in this way.
"I know you won't believe it now, nor be able to see all that I meanperhaps, but time will teach you both to own that I am right, and tovalue the substance more than the shadow," continued Mrs. Spenser. "Manygirls write verses and think they are poets; but it is only a passingmood, and fortunately for the world, and for them also, it soon dies outin some more genuine work or passion. Very few have the real gift, andthose to whom it _is_ given wait and work and slowly reach the height oftheir powers. Many delude themselves, and try to persuade the world thatthey can sing; but it is waste of time, and ends in disappointment, asthe mass of sentimental rubbish we all see plainly proves. Write yourlittle verses, my dear, when the spirit moves,--it is a harmlesspleasure, a real comfort, and a good lesson for you; but do not neglecthigher duties or deceive yourself with false hopes and vain dreams.'First live, then write,' is a good motto for ambitious young people. Astill better for us all is, 'Do the duty that lies nearest;' and thefaithful performance of that, no matter how humble it is, will be thebest help for whatever talent may lie hidden in us, ready to bloom whenthe time comes. Remember this, and do not let my enthusiastic girl'swell-meant but unwise prophecies and plans unsettle you, and unfit youfor the noble work you are doing."
"Thank you, ma'am! I _will_ remember; I know you are right, and I won'tbe upset by foolish notions. I never imagined before that I _could_ bea poet; but it sounded so sort of splendid, I thought maybe it _might_happen to me, by-and-by, as it does to other folks. I won't lot on it,but settle right down and do my work cheerful."
As she listened, Becky's face had grown pale and serious, even a littlesad; but as she answered, her eyes shone, her lips were firm, and herplain face almost beautiful with the courage and confidence that sprungup within her. She saw the wisdom of her friend's advice, felt thekindness of showing her the mistake frankly, and was grateful forit,--conscious in her own strong, loving heart that it _was_ better tolive and work for others than to dream and strive for herself alone.
Mrs. Spenser was both surprised and touched by the girl's look, words,and manner, and her respect much increased by the courage and goodtemper with which she saw her lovely castle in the air vanish likesmoke, leaving the hard reality looking harder than ever, after thislittle flight into the fairy regions of romance.
She talked long with the girls, and gave them the counsel all eageryoung people need, yet are very slow to accept till experience teachesthem its worth. As the friend of many successful literary people, Mrs.Spenser was constantly receiving the confidences of unfledgedscribblers, each of whom was sure that he or she had something valuableto add to the world's literature. Her advice was always the same, "Workand wait;" and only now and then was a young poet or author found enoughin earnest to do both, and thereby prove to themselves and others eitherthat they _did_ possess power, or did not, and so settle the questionforever. "First live, then write," proved a _quietus_ for many, and "Dothe duty that lies nearest" satisfied the more sincere that they couldbe happy without fame. So, thanks to this wise and kindly woman, a largenumber of worthy youths and maidens ceased dreaming and fell to work,and the world was spared reams of feeble verse and third-rate romances.
After that night Becky spent fewer spare hours in her nest, and more inreading with Emily, who lent her books and helped her to understandthem,--both much assisted by Mrs. Spenser, who marked passages,suggested authors, and explained whatever puzzled them. Very happy bitsof time were these, and very precious to both, as Emily learned to seeand appreciate the humbler, harder side of life, and Becky gotdelightful glimpses into the beautiful world of art, poetry, and truth,which gave her better food for heart and brain than sentimental musingsor blind efforts to satisfy the hunger of her nature with verse-writing.
Their favorite places were in the big barn, on the front porch, or bythe spring. This last was Emily's schoolroom, and she both taught andlearned many useful lessons there.
One day as Becky came to rest a few minutes and shell peas, Emily putdown her book to help; and as the pods flew, she said, nodding towardthe delicate ferns that grew thickly all about the trough, the rock, andthe grassy bank,--
"We have these in our greenhouse, but I never saw them growing wildbefore, and I don't find them anywhere up here. How did you get suchbeauties, and make them do so well?"
"Oh, they grow in nooks on the mountain hidden under the taller ferns,and in sly corners. But they don't grow like these, and die soon unlesstransplanted and taken good care of. They always make me think ofyou,--so graceful and delicate, and just fit to live with tea-roses ina hot-house, and go to balls in beautiful ladies' _bo_kays," answeredBecky, smiling at her new friend, always so dainty, and still sodelicate in spite of the summer's rustication.
"Thank you! I suppose I shall never be very strong or able to do much;so I _am_ rather like a fern, and do live in a conservatory all winter,as I can't go out a great deal. An idle thing, Becky!" and Emily sighed,for she was born frail, and even her tenderly guarded life could notgive her the vigor of other girls. But the sigh changed to a smile asshe added,--
"If I am like the fern, you are like your own laurel,--strong, rosy, andable to grow anywhere. I want to carry a few roots home, and see if theywon't grow in my garden. Then you will have me, and I you. I only hope_your_ plant will do as well as mine does here."
"It won't! ever so many folks have taken roots away, but they neverthrive in gardens as they do on the hills where they belong. So I tell'em to leave the dear bushes alone, and come up here and enjoy 'em intheir own place. You might keep a plant of it in your hot-house, and itwould blow I dare say; but it would never be half so lovely as my acresof them, and I guess it would only make you sad, seeing it so far fromhome, and pale and pining," answered Becky, with her eyes on the greenslopes where the mountain-laurel braved the wintry snow, and came outfresh and early in the spring.
"Then I'll let it alone till I come next summer. But don't you take anyof the fern into the house in the cold weather? I should think it wouldgrow in your sunny windows," said Emily, pleased by the fancy that itresembled herself.
"I tried it, but it needs a damp place, and our cold nights kill it. No,it won't grow in our old house; but I cover it with leaves, and thelittle green sprouts come up as hearty as can be out here. The shade,the spring, the shelter of the rock, keep it alive, you see, so it's nouse trying to move it."
Both sat silent for a few minutes, as their hands moved briskly and theythought of their different lots. An inquisitive ray of sunshine peepedin at them, touching Becky's hair till it shone like red gold. The sameray dazzled Emily's eyes; she put up her hand to pull her hat-brimlower, and touched the little curls on her forehead. This recalled herpet grievance, and made her say impatiently, as she pushed the thickshort locks under her net,--
"My hair is _such_ a plague! I don't know what I am to do when I go intosociety by-and-by. This crop is so unbecoming, and I can't match my hairanywhere, it is such a peculiar shade of golden-auburn."
"It's a pretty color, and I think the curls much nicer than a boughtenswitch," said Becky, quite unconscious that her own luxuriant locks wereof the true Titian red, and would be much admired by artistic eyes.
"I don't! I shall send to Paris to match it, and then wear a braid roundmy head as you do sometimes. I suppose it will cost a fortune, but I_won't_ have a strong-minded crop. A friend of mine got a lovely goldenswitch for fifty dollars."
"My patience! do folks pay like that for false hair?" asked Becky,amazed.
"Yes, indeed. White hair costs a hundred, I believe, if it is long. Why,you could get ever so much for yours if you ever wanted to sell it. I'lltake part of it, fo
r in a little while mine will be as dark, and I'dlike to wear your hair, Becky."
"Don't believe Mother would let me. She is very proud of our red heads.If I ever do cut it, you shall have some. I may be hard up and glad tosell it perhaps. My sakes! I smell the cake burning!" and off flew Beckyto forget the chat in her work.
Emily did not forget it, and hoped Becky would be tempted, for shereally coveted one of the fine braids, but felt shy about asking thepoor girl for even a part of her one beauty.
So July and August passed pleasantly and profitably to both girls, andin September they were to part. No more was said about poetry; and Emilysoon became so