"what is he going to do?"
"I do not know. Get something for dinner, he said."
"Do you like him to do that?"
"Do what?"
"Bring us dinner."
"Don't be foolish, Rotha."
"Mother, I think he is doing what he calls a 'kindness.'"
"Have you any objection?"
"Not to his doing it for other people; but for you and me-- Mother, we have not come to receiving charity yet."
"Rotha!" exclaimed her mother. "My child, what are you thinking of?"
"Having kindnesses done to us, mother; and I don't like it. It is not Mr. Digby's business, what we have for dinner!"
"I told him we had not much but bread."
"Why did you tell him?"
"He would have found it out, Rotha, when he came to sit down to the table."
"He had no business to ask to do that."
"I think you are ungrateful."
"Mother, I don't want to be grateful. Not to him."
"Why not to him, or to anybody, my child, that deserves it of you?"
"_He_ don't!"--said Rotha, as she finished setting the table, rather in dudgeon. "What do you suppose he is going to bring?"
"Rotha, what will ever become of you in this world, with that spirit?"
"What spirit?"
"Pride, I should say."
"Isn't pride a good thing?"
"Not that ever I heard of, or you either," Mrs. Carpenter said with a sigh.
"Mother, I don't think you have enough pride."
"A little is too much. It makes people fall into the condemnation of the devil. And you are mistaken in thinking there is anything fine in it. Don't shew that feeling to Mr. Digby, I beg of you."
Rotha did not exactly pout, for that was not her way; but she looked dissatisfied. Presently she heard a sound below, and opened the door.
"He's coming up stairs," she said softly, "and a boy with him bringing something. Mother!--"
She had no chance to say more. Mr. Digby came in, followed by a boy with a basket. The basket was set down and the boy disappeared.
"Mrs. Carpenter," said the gentleman, "I could not find anything in this neighbourhood better than oysters. Do you like them?"
"Oysters!" said Mrs. Carpenter. "It is very long since I have seen any. Yes, I like them."
"Then the next question is, how do you like them? Saw? or roasted? We can roast them here, cannot we?"
"I have not seen a roast oyster since I was a girl," said Mrs. Carpenter. Her visiter could hear in the tone of her voice that the sight would be very welcome. As for Rotha, displeasure was lost in curiosity. The oysters were already nicely washed; that Mr. Digby had had done by the same boy that brought the basket; it only remained to put them on the fire and take them off; and both operations he was quite equal to. Rotha looked on in silent astonishment, seeing the oyster shells open, and the juice sputter on the hot iron, and perceiving the very acceptable fragrance that came from them. Mr. Digby admonished her presently to make the tea; and then they had a merry meal. Absolutely merry; for their visitor, he could hardly be called their guest, spiced his ministrations with so pleasant a manner that nothing but cheerfulness could keep its ground before him. At the first taste of the oysters, it is true, some associations seemed to come over Mrs. Carpenter which threatened to make a sudden stop to her dinner. She sat back in her chair, and perhaps was swallowing old troubles and heartburnings over again, or perhaps recalling involuntarily a time before troubles began. The oysters seemed to choke her; and she said she wanted no more. But Mr. Digby guessed what was the matter; and was so tenderly kind and judiciously persuasive, that Mrs. Carpenter could not withstand him; and then, Rotha looked on in new amazement to see how the oysters went down and how manifestly they were enjoyed. She herself declined to touch them; they did not look attractive to her.
"Rotha," said Mr. Digby, as he opened a fine, fat oyster, "the only way to know things is, to submit to learn."
"I needn't learn to like oysters, I suppose, need I?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It might be useful some day."
"I don't see how it should. We never had oysters before, and perhaps we never shall again."
"You might go a missionary to some South Sea island, and be obliged at times to live upon oysters."
"I am not going to be a missionary."
"That is more than you know."
"But I know what I like, and what I think."
"At present. Perhaps you do. You do not know whether you like oysters, however, for you have not tried."
"Your sphere of knowledge will be small, Rotha," said her mother, "if you refuse to enlarge it."
Stung a little, Rotha made up her mind to try an oyster, to which her objections were twofold. Nevertheless, she was obliged to confess, she liked it; and the meal, as I said, went merrily on; Rotha from that time doing her fall share. Mrs. Carpenter was plainly refreshed and comforted, by the social as well as the material food she received.
"How good he is!" she exclaimed when their friend was gone.
"So are the oysters," said Rotha; "but I don't like him to bring them. I do not think I like Mr. Digby much, anyhow."
"You surprise me. And it is not a little ungrateful."
"I don't want to be grateful to him. And mother, I _don't_ like him to bring oysters here!"
"Why shouldn't he, if he likes? I am sorry to see such pride in you, Rotha. It is _very_ foolish, my child."
"Mother, it looks as if he knew we were poor."
"He knows it, of course. Am I not making his shirts?"
Rotha was silent, clearing away the dishes and oyster shells with a good deal of decision and dissatisfaction revealed in her movements.
"Everybody knows it, my child."
"I do not mind everybody. I just mind him. He is different. Why is he different, mother?"
"I suppose the difference you mean is, that he is a gentleman."
"And what are we?" said Rotha, suddenly standing still to put the question.
"We are respectable people," said her mother smiling.
"Not gentlemen, of course; but what do you call us?"
"If I could call you a Christian, Rotha, I should not care for anything else; at least I should not be concerned about it. Everything else would be right."
"Being a Christian would not make any difference in what I am talking about."
"I think it would; but I cannot talk to you about it, Ask Mr. Digby the next time he comes."
"Ask _him!_" cried Rotha. "I guess I will! What makes you think he is coming again, mother?"
"It would be like him."
CHAPTER V.
PRIVATE TUITION.
More days passed however, than either of them expected, before Mr. Digby came again. They were days of stern cold winter weather, in which it was sometimes difficult to keep their little rooms comfortable without burning more coal than Mrs. Carpenter thought she could afford. Rotha ran along the streets to the corner shop where she bought tea and sugar, not quite so well wrapped up but that she found a quick pace useful to protect her from the cold; and Mrs. Carpenter wrought at her sewing sometimes with stiffened fingers.
"Mother," said Rotha, one day, "_I_ think it would be better to do without tea and have a little more fire."
"I do not know how to get along without tea," Mrs. Carpenter said with a sigh.
"But you are getting along without almost everything else."
"We do very well yet," answered the mother patiently.
"Do we?" said Rotha. "If this is what you call very well-- Mother, you cannot live upon tea."
"I feel as if I could not live without it."
"Has Mr. Digby given you any money yet?"
"The shirts are only just finished."
"And what are you going to do now? But he'll pay you a good many dollars, won't he, mother? Twenty four, for twelve shirts. But there is
eight to be paid for rent, I know, and that leaves only sixteen. And he can afford to pay the whole twenty four, just for a dozen shirts! Mother, I don't think some people have a _right_ to be so rich, while others are so poor."
"'The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich,'"--Mrs. Carpenter answered.
"Why does he?"
"Sometimes, I think, he wishes to teach his children to depend on him."
"Couldn't they do it if they were rich?"
"There is great danger they would not."
"You would, mother."
"Perhaps not. But I have always enough, Rotha."
"Enough!" echoed Rotha. "Enough! when you haven't had a good dinner since-- Mother, there he is again, I do believe!"
And she had hardly time to remove the empty tea cup and, alas! empty plates, which testified to their meagre fare, when the knock came and Mr. Digby shewed himself. He explained that he had been out of town; made careful inquiries as to Mrs. Carpenter's health; paid for the shirts; and finally turned to Rotha.
"How is my friend here doing?"
"We always go on just the same way," said Rotha. But he could see that the girl was thin, and pale; and that just at an age when she was growing fast and needing abundant food, she was not getting it.
"Ask Mr. Digby your question, Rotha," her mother said.
"I do not want to ask him any questions," the girl answered defiantly. But Mrs. Carpenter went on.
"Rotha wants to know what a gentleman is; and I was not able to discuss the point satisfactorily with her. I told her to ask you."
Rotha did not ask, however, and there was silence.
"Rotha is fond of asking questions," Mr. Digby observed.
"What makes you think so?" she retorted.
He smiled. "It is a very good habit--provided of course that the questions are properly put."
"I like to ask mother questions," Rotha said, drawing in a little.
"I have no doubt you would like to ask me questions, if you once got into the way of it. Habit is everything."
"Not quite everything, in this," said Rotha. "There must be something before the habit."
"Yes. There must be a beginning."
"I meant something else."
"Did you? May I ask, what did you mean?"
"I mean a good deal," said Rotha. "Before one could get a habit like that, one must know that the person could answer the questions; and besides, that he would like to have them asked."
"In my case I will pledge myself for the second qualification; about the first you must learn by experience. Suppose you try."
His manner was so pleasant and well bred, and Rotha felt that she had gone so near the edge of politeness, she found it best for this time to comply.
"I asked mother one day what is the meaning of a 'gentleman'; and I suppose she was too tired to talk to me, for she said I had better ask you."
"O he did me honour."
"Well, what is it then, Mr. Digby."
"I should say, it is the counterpart to a 'lady.'"
"But isn't everybody that is grown up, a 'lady'?--every woman, I mean?"
"No more than every grown up man is a gentleman."
Rotha stood looking at him, and the young man on his part regarded her with more attention than usual. He was suddenly touched with compassion for the girl. She stood, half doubtful, half proud, dimly conscious of her enormous ignorance, and with an inward monition of a whole world of knowledge to be acquired, yet beyond her reach; at the same time her look shewed capacity enough both to understand and to feel. Rotha was now nearly fourteen, with mental powers just opening and personal gifts just beginning to dawn. The child's complexion told of poor feeding and want of air and exercise; it was sallow, and her features were sharp; but her hair was beautiful in its lustrous, dark abundance; the eyes shewed the fire of native passion and intelligence; the mouth was finely cut and expressed half a dozen things in as many minutes. "Poor child!" thought the visiter; "what is to become of her, with all this latent power and possibility?"
"A gentleman, Rotha," he said aloud, "may be defined as a person who in all manner of little things keeps the golden rule--does to everybody as he would be done by; and knows how."
"In little things? Not in great things?"
"One may do it in great things, and not be a gentleman in manner; though certainly in heart."
"Then it is manner?"
"Very much."
"And a lady the same way?"
"Of course."
"What sort of little things?" said Rotha curiously.
"A lady in the first place will be always careful and delicate about her own person and dress; it does not depend upon what she wears, but how she wears it; a lady might wear patches, but never could be untidy. Then, in all her moving, speaking, and acting, she will be gentle, quiet, and polite. And in her behaviour to others, she will give everybody the respect that is due, and never put herself forward. 'In honour preferring one another,' is the Bible rule, and it is the law of good breeding. And the Bible says, 'Honour all men;' and, 'Be courteous.'--Have I spoken according to your mind, Mrs. Carpenter?"
"Beautifully," said the silent, pale seamstress, never stopping her needle. "Better than I could have done it. Now you know, Rotha."
Rotha stood considering, uneasy.
"What is the next question?" said Mr. Digby smiling.
"I was thinking--" said Rotha. "Mustn't one know a good deal, to do all that?"
"To do what, for instance?"
"To give everybody the respect that is due; it is not the same to everybody, is it?"
"No, certainly."
"How can one know?"
"There _is_ a good deal to be learned in this world, before one can hold the balance scales to weigh out to each one exactly what belongs to him," Mr. Digby admitted.
"That is one of my troubles," said Mrs. Carpenter looking up. "I cannot give my child an education. I do a little at home; it is better than nothing; but I feel that my power grows less and less; and Rotha's needs are more and more."
"What do you know, Rotha?" said Mr. Digby.
"I don't know much of anything!" said the girl, an eloquent flush coming into her pale face. It touched him.
"A little of what, then?" said their visiter kindly.
"You would not say it was anything."
"She knows a little history," Mrs. Carpenter put in.
"Have you any acquaintance with Alexander of Macedon, Rotha?"
"The Great? asked Rotha.
"He is called so."
"Yes, I know about him."
"Think he deserved the title?"
"Yes, I suppose he did."
"What for?"
"He was such a clever man."
"Well, I have no doubt he was," Mr. Digby returned, keeping a perfectly grave face with some difficulty; "a clever man; but how did he shew it?"
Rotha paused, and a faint tinge, of excitement this time, rose again in her cheeks, and her eye waked up with the mental stir. "He had such grand plans," she answered.
"Ah? yes. Which do you mean?"
"For civilizing people; for bringing the different nations to know each other and be friends with each other; so that trade could be carried on, and knowledge and arts and civilization could spread to all; that his empire could be one great whole."
"On the whole you approve of Alexander. After all, what use was he to the world?"
"Why a good deal," said Rotha. "Don't you think so? His successors carried on his plans; at least some of them did; and the Greek language was spread through Asia, and the Jews encouraged to settle in Egyptian and Greek cities; and so the way was prepared for the spread of the gospel when it came."
"Mrs. Carpenter," said Mr. Digby, "your manner of teaching history is very satisfactory!"
"I have done what I could," said the mother, "but we had very few books to work with."
"We had none," said Rotha, "except Rollin's
Ancient History, and Plutarch's Lives."
"One good book, well used, is worth a hundred under other circumstances. Then you do not know much of modern history, Rotha?"
"Nothing at all; except what mother has told me."
"How about grammar?"
"I have taught her grammar," said Mrs. Carpenter; "and geography. She knows both pretty well. But I found, with my work, I could not teach her arithmetic; and I had not a good book for it. Rotha can do nothing with numbers."
Mr. Digby gave the girl a simple question in mental arithmetic; and then another, and another. Rotha's brow grew intent; the colour in her cheeks brightened; she was grappling, it was plain, with the difficulties suggested to her, wrestling with them, conquering them, with the sort of zeal which conquers all difficulties not insurmountable.
"May I give Rotha lessons in Latin?" Mr. Digby asked, turning quietly to