Aunt Kitty's Tales

by Madame Guizot

  CHAPTER VII.

  A HOLIDAY.

  "Poor things," said Mrs. Maclean the next morning at the breakfasttable, when she saw Ellen's eyes fill with tears at some mention of herUncle Villars, "Poor things! it is no wonder you feel bad to part withsuch a good friend; but you must cheer up, he will soon be back again;and now I will tell you what--instead of setting down to mope in yourroom to-day we will just make a holiday of it. I will put my ironing offfor once, and we will borrow Deacon Foster's horse and shay--the shaywill carry us all three easy enough--and I will drive you out to mybrother-in-law's farm. Were you ever there?"

  "No--never."

  "Well--I can tell you there ain't many such farms as Tom Maclean's, andyou'll get some of the finest peaches there that you've seen this year.So now I'll go for the horse and shay, and you can put these cups andsaucers in the cupboard for me, and get your bonnets on by the time Icome for you."

  Ellen's face brightened with the anticipated delights of the day--a rideof three miles, and then the privilege of sauntering at will throughgardens and orchards, of a sunny day in October--who can wonder at herenjoyment of the thought? Even Mary felt that she might take a holiday"for once," as Mrs. Maclean said, without being a butterfly. So the cupswere soon put away, and the bonnets tied on, and soon came DeaconFoster's horse and shay, and Mrs. Maclean driving. Mary and Ellen jumpedin, and found, as Mrs. Maclean had told them there would be, plenty ofroom; and Mrs. Maclean cheruped to the horse, and away they went--notvery fast, yet fast enough to get over the three miles in much less timethan Mary and Ellen wished. And yet they could scarcely be sorry whenthey reached the low, but large stone farmhouse, with its field ofclover on one side, in which three or four cows were grazing, and itsorchard on the other, where among pear and apple trees they could catchglimpses of the red and yellow peaches which Mrs. Maclean had praised sohighly. And Mrs. Tom Maclean, and Susy and Martha Maclean, came towelcome them with such pleasant looks and words, that nothing seemedwanting to their gratification. All the morning they walked about withSusy and Martha for their guides--had fruit from the orchard, milk fromthe dairy, and more flowers from the garden than they could carry home.When called in to dinner they found Mr. Maclean there. He too receivedthem very kindly, and talked of their Uncle Villars, regretting that hehad met with any troubles, as he heard he had, and that he should havebeen obliged to leave his own pleasant home.

  "Mrs. Merrill seems almost broken down about it," continued Mr. Maclean;"and she teld me that you was agoing to keep a school for youngchildren: now I'm a thinking of sending our Susy and Martha to you for awhile. A little more schooling won't do 'em any harm, and they can go inwith the market-cart every morning, and come back home in it when marketis over. You can help them, I dare say, and then what they pay will helpyou--and that's what I call right."

  Mary thanked Mr. Maclean, and said she would do her best to "help" hisdaughters, who smiled at each other, and looked much pleased with thearrangement.

  "Well now," said Mr. Maclean, "I should like to know what you're goingto charge?"

  To this Mary could only answer, whatever he thought right.

  "That won't do--that won't do," said Mr. Maclean; "you sell theschooling, and I buy it: it is the one that sells that always ought tofix the price."

  "Tom, how you talk," said his wife; "you might as well tell a baby aboutfixing prices, I dare say. Don't you know what you've paid before forschooling?"

  "Yes, I paid a dollar a month apiece; but that wouldn't be fair now--forthen they went to a man, and only learnt books; but I guess now they'llfind out how to be handy with the needle too, and that's worth as muchas book learning to a woman--so I think double the old price would befair now. I'll tell you what, miss," he added, turning to Mary, "toencourage you, I'll make it a dollar a week for the two, and I'll sendit in to you every Saturday; how will that do?"

  Mary thought it would do very well. Knowing nothing of the labor ofteaching, and as little of the value of money, she thought a dollar aweek a great sum to be given her. It was really a generous offer in Mr.Maclean, who, being uneducated himself, could not estimate very trulythe value of her services in educating his daughters, and who knew,besides, that he could have them taught at some common day-schools forless.

  The happiest day must have an end, and the western sky was still brightwith the sun's last beams, when Mary and Ellen alighted at their owndoor, leaving Mrs. Maclean to drive home the borrowed chaise.

  The next morning Mary awoke very early--much earlier than usual, and tryas much as she would, she could not sleep again. I have told you thateven in her early childhood Mary had been thoughtful, but now you mustremember she was over fifteen years old, and had already experiencedsuch changes as might have made a person of much gayer temper grave. Butnot even these changes had tended to sadden Mary so much as Ellen'swaywardness had done. The charge which she had received from her dyingmother Mary never had forgotten, and it had been recently and forciblyrepeated by her father. Though Mr. Leslie did not know himself theextent of those losses through which his children had been left so verydestitute, he knew enough to make him suffer much anxiety about them inhis last illness. Especially had he feared for Ellen,--so young, sothoughtless, and so arrogant in temper. To Mary, who was ever at hisside, and who showed so much of a woman's care and thoughtfulness thathe often forgot she was but a child, these anxious feelings wereexpressed; and again did she promise to her father, as under likecircumstances she had done to her mother, that she would never part fromEllen--that she would love her--and bear with her--take care of her, andif it were necessary, work for her support, even as her mother wouldhave done had she lived. And faithfully did Mary fulfil her promise ofloving Ellen and bearing with her, and pleasant did she feel it would beto take care of her, and even to labor for her. And Ellen loved hersister Mary too, and for her sake would have done almost any thingexcept control her temper, or restrain the expression of any angry ordissatisfied feeling. But it was just this temper and these feelingswhich gave Mary most pain, and were likely to make her task mostdifficult. In all which these sisters had to do, they must dependgreatly on the kindness and good-will of others. Mary knew this, and sheknew too that kindness and good-will were not to be gained by a displayof passionate, wilful tempers. Especially did Mary dread any thing ofthis kind in the school they were about to begin, and her morningthoughts--the thoughts which would not let her sleep again when once shehad awoke--were all of how she might most gently, and with the leastdanger of displeasing Ellen, impress upon her how much patience andself-control would be needed in teaching a set of rude, ignorantchildren. Before she had come to any decision on this important point,Ellen awoke, and with more animation than she usually evinced at such anearly hour, exclaimed, "Why, Mary, not up yet--and our school to beginto-day!"

  "But not for three hours yet, Ellen--it is only six o'clock."

  "But I thought you were always up at half-past five."

  "So I am; but I have been thinking so much about this school thismorning that I have forgotten every thing else."

  "What about it, Mary--about what you should teach?"

  "No, Ellen--not just that; but I have been thinking how unpleasant anddifficult it will be."

  "Do you think so? I think I shall like it."

  "So should I, Ellen, if I were sure that the children would all besmart, and pleasant tempered; but it must be very hard to teach dullchildren; and if they are obstinate and ill-tempered we shall be so aptto become impatient with them, and then, you know, all comfort will beat an end."

  "But I don't see why you should think they will be dull; I am sure Susyand Martha Maclean seemed to be very pleasant children."

  "So they did, but there are four other children, you know, whom Mrs.Maclean has engaged for us, and of whom we know nothing."

  "Well, I dare say they are clever children. For my part I don't thinkchildren are ever ill-tempered unless people are cross to them, and ifyou are afraid that I shall be cross to _your_ scholars, Mary--
"

  Mary interrupted Ellen's hasty speech, saying in a gentle tone, "I amafraid, dear Ellen, that _our_ scholars will often tire us and try ourpatience very much; but Uncle Villars says that whatever we do, weshould do cheerfully, so I will not talk of my fears any more."