CHAPTER V.
A SURPRISE.
When Ellen came into the library, she was surprised to see how verygrave her uncle Villars looked. She turned her eyes on Mary, and sawthat she had been weeping. Ellen would have asked what was the matter,but she was afraid that it was something connected with her and herwrong doings, and she thought it the safest course to be silent. Mr.Villars did not leave her long in doubt. Drawing her to him, he said, "Isee, Ellen, that you are anxious to know what has distressed Mary somuch; it is the thought of parting with her old uncle--for, Ellen, mydear child, I shall have to part with you both."
Before we attempt to describe Ellen's emotions, we must, to make themunderstood, tell our readers that Mrs. Merrill had more than once, whenvery much provoked by Ellen, hinted her conviction that Mr. Villarswould not long be able to endure such an unquiet house--that he wouldcertainly be obliged to send his nieces out to board, and that shedoubted not people might be found able to curb the most unruly spirit.On such occasions, Ellen, being angry too, had very valorously declared,that she was ready and willing to go anywhere to get rid of Mrs.Merrill. But we regard things very differently when they are only talkedabout or threatened, and when they actually come. Ellen felt now thatshe was neither ready nor willing to go. This, however, she was tooproud to acknowledge. Tears rushed to her eyes, but she kept them back,and would have answered boldly, perhaps saucily; but as she raised herhead, she again saw Mary's sad face, and the thought that her sister wasto suffer for her fault, subdued her spirit. Bursting into tears, shewept for a minute without speaking. Mr. Villars passed his hand kindlyover her head, saying gently, "Poor little girl!--poor little girl!"Encouraged by this kindness, she at length exclaimed, though sobs stillimpeded her utterance, "Please, Uncle Villars, let Mary stay--don'tsend Mary away--I'm sure she is good--I can't help my bad temper--I tryto do right--and if Mrs. Merrill would only let me alone, I am sure Iwould not trouble her; but send me away--I don't mind going--I shall bevery glad to go,"--here Ellen's pride and anger were again conqueringher better feelings,--"yes, I shall be very glad to go--I don't want tostay anywhere with people that don't like me"--again Ellen raised herhead stiffly, and again she saw Mary, whose tears were nowstreaming--"but oh! Uncle Villars, let Mary stay--I know you love Mary,and she will always be good."
Mr. Villars had not interrupted Ellen. At first he was too muchsurprised at the feelings she expressed to do so, and then he continuedsilent, because he desired to hear all she had to say. When she stoppedspeaking, he said, "Ellen, do you suppose that I would send either ofyou away if I could help it? You are my children, now," and putting outhis hand for Mary, he clasped both the weeping girls in his arms,--"bothmy children, and I love you both; but some of my property, as well asall your father's, has gone to pay his debts. They were honest debts, mydear children, and the people to whom they were owed wanted their money,and we must not regret that they have got it; but we are poor now, andwe cannot continue to live as we have done. I must soon leave you to goon a journey to a distant place, with the hope of recovering some moneywhich is due to your father's estate. I know not how long I may be gone;and even when I return I may not be able to come back to my old home,but may be obliged to look out some cheap country place where I canboard for little money. To this place I shall not take you with me. Ihave good reasons for not doing so. Listen to me, and I will try to makeyou understand these reasons. I am now an old man, and it is veryprobable that I may not live many years. I once hoped that when I died Ishould be able to leave you sufficient property to support you in theway in which you have been accustomed to live; but this, I now fear,cannot be. You will be obliged to do something by which you may makemoney to assist in supporting yourselves. Many women, you know, supportthemselves entirely by their own work. Do you remember the young girlwho came to make your mourning? She not only supplies her own wants,but those of an infirm mother, by her work."
"And must we go and hire ourselves out to people to sew for them as shedoes?" asked Ellen, with a heightened color and a curling lip.
"No, my dear Ellen, you could not do that, even if I wished it. MissFenner has been taught to make dresses,--she learned it as a trade, justas a shoemaker learns to make shoes or a carpenter to build houses. Youhave never learned it, and I fear nobody would hire you."
Ellen colored now from shame as much as she had just done from pride.
"But," Mr. Villars proceeded, "there are some things you can do. You canembroider and paint, and do many fancy works for which the rich areready to pay money. Mary understands music well. She may give lessons inmusic, and you can both of you teach a few small children. In this way,that is, by doing whatever you can, you may make enough to clotheyourselves. This is all I shall expect you to do at present,--I will payall your other expenses; and also I will continue to pay for yourFrench, Italian, and music lessons, till you have become so perfectlyacquainted with them as to be able to teach them yourselves. You willthen be always able to support yourselves respectably, even when youhave no Uncle Villars to help you."
I cannot attempt to describe to you the feelings with which Mary andEllen had listened to their uncle. They scarcely understood him, andwhat they did understand seemed like a strange dream. That they, who hadalways been waited on and surrounded with every luxury, should beobliged to work for money to buy their clothes--just like those whomthey had been accustomed to call the poor--it seemed impossible; andthey looked at Mr. Villars steadily, with the hope that they shoulddiscover something like a smile--something which would make them believethat it was a jest, or, as Ellen said to herself, "just done to frightenme." But on Uncle Villars' face there was no smile--all was graver,sadder than usual. He read their thoughts, and, as if to assure them ofthe truth of what he had said, told them to put on their bonnets and hewould show them their future home. They obeyed him, and he took them tothat small plain house in which I found them living, and introduced themto Mrs. Maclean as her future lodgers.
The next day Mr. Villars called at Colonel Melville's, and havingrelated to him and Mrs. Melville his arrangements for Mary and Ellen,asked what they thought of them. They both exclaimed together, "Theywill never do--they will never do!"
"Why," proceeded Colonel Melville, "here are two children, Villars--twomere children--the eldest is only fifteen, I believe;" he paused, andMr. Villars nodded. "Well, these children, hardly out of the nursery,you are going to--"
Mr. Villars interrupted him somewhat impatiently, "Going to place themin a comfortable room, with a kind and honest woman--going to demand ofthem that they shall do just as much as they can to help themselves, andno more; for all which they cannot do without injury to their health, Iwill. My children shall not want--at least while I live," and the oldman's voice trembled. "From you, my friends, I ask that while I amabsent you will watch over them. Do not let them want any thingnecessary for comfort. I have told them to come to you, Mrs. Melville,for advice in their outlay of money. I would wish their wardrobe to besuited to their circumstances--plain, but neat, respectable, andcomfortable. If it be necessary at any time, Melville, advance money forthem, and I will repay you."
"Mr. Villars," said Mrs. Melville, earnestly, "I will do all you wish,if you persist in this plan, but I pray you think better of it. I do notdoubt that Mrs. Brown would take Mary into her school as asub-governess, and her services in this capacity would pay for Ellen'sboard and tuition, till she could do something for herself."
"My dear Mrs. Melville, I have not told you all the reasons which makeme prefer my plan to yours--fair as yours seems. Poor Ellen's ungovernedtemper must be subdued; but before Mrs. Brown could reduce her into aproper behaved boarding-school Miss, she must inflict and Ellen endure acourse of discipline which would break Mary's heart to witness. Now Iwould give Ellen a discipline which she cannot escape from--which shewill feel it is vain to fret against--which will be steady andunyielding, but never cruel and tyrannical,--the discipline which wasGod's own appointment for man--labor and privation. Do you think me
right now?" he asked.
"I think that you may be. I hope that you are," said Mrs. Melville.
Aunt Kitty's Tales Page 46
