CHAPTER VIII.
BECKY’S NEW BIRTH.
Into the life thus accidentally opened to her, Becky dashed with thesame vigor and determination which had characterized her dealings withthe sports of tomboyhood.
On the departure of the Thompsons, she marched into the kitchen, andsurprised Aunt Hulda by pulling the table into the middle of the floor,spreading the cloth, and arranging the dishes for supper.
“Goodness gracious, child! What’s come to you?” cried the spinster, inastonishment.
“Don’t say a word, Aunt Hulda. I’ve been a bad girl, but I mean to dobetter. I’m not going to let you do all the work in this house.”
Aunt Hulda looked at the girl uneasily. Was this madcap endeavoring totake the reins out of her hands?
“Indeed! Praps you’d like to be mistress, and order me round.”
“No, indeed, Aunt Hulda; you shall be mistress, and I’ll be maid. It’slittle I know, shame on me! but I want to learn; and you know how toteach so well that I shan’t bother you long with my clumsiness, Iguess.”
“Well, that’s clever. You’re real handy, too; only you’ve put theknives and forks on the wrong side of the plates.”
“So I have,” said Becky, quickly “changing sides.” “Where are you goingnow, Aunt Hulda?”
“After wood; the fire’s getting low. It’s got to be chopped, too. But Ican manage that.”
“No, you must not.--Here, Teddy, bring in a good big armful of wood;and don’t you never let Aunt Hulda bring another stick.”
Teddy had been standing by the window, gazing, in open-mouthedastonishment, at Becky’s proceedings. He roused himself at her sharpcall, and obeyed.
“Guess Becky’s a little out of head,” he soliloquized, in the woodshed.“Got too much water on the brain in the dam.”
Supper finished, Becky washed the dishes, cleared away, and sweptthe kitchen, under the direction of Aunt Hulda, and then insisted onmaking bread, after careful directions from the mistress. All this wasfaithfully reported to Mrs. Sleeper by Aunt Hulda.
“I tell you, Delia, there’s the making of a smart woman in that girl;and it’s coming out fast.”
When bed time came, Becky went in to her mother with a sad face. Theidea that she had caused her mother’s illness was so strong upon her,that it could not be easily dissipated. Perhaps it was better so, if itonly strengthened her in her determination to achieve success in thenew life.
“How do you feel to-night, mother?” said Becky choking down a sob, andlaying her hand on her mother’s head, with a caress.
“Happy, Becky, very happy,” said the mother, with a smile. “Thelight step of a little woman about the house has made me wonderfullycontented.”
The “little woman” blushed, then said, with a smile she found it hardto muster,--
“Sick people should not listen. But I’m glad it made you happy, mother.Shall I stay with you to-night?”
“No; Aunt Hulda will take care of me. Good night.”
“Good night, mother” with a kiss. “Don’t worry about me. I mean to try,O, so hard--”
She could say no more. The tears would come, spite of her efforts torepress them; and she ran from the room.
She slept little that night; the new tenant--thought--rambled strangelyabout in its unfamiliar quarters, as if uncertain at what task to setitself, in what corner of this little head to find a resting-place.
Mr. Drinkwater was no better the next morning, and Harry Thompsonopened the school, as usual. He was gratified, on casting his eyesabout the room, to see Becky and Teddy in the places assigned them theday before; and very much surprised, when the religious exercises wereconcluded, to see Becky rise from her place, and march to the centre ofthe room.
“Master Thompson, if you please, I was very rude to you yesterday. Iwant to beg your pardon before all the scholars.”
“Very well, Miss Becky; you were somewhat rude; but this freeconfession amply atones for it. You are forgiven.”
“I want all the scholars to know, if you please, that after school,when I was told to take my place upon the platform, I jumped out of thewindow.”
Harry bit his lip. This was just what he didn’t want the scholars toknow; and they never would have known how he had been outwitted, butfor Becky’s confession. She was altogether too penitent.
“That will do, Miss Becky. You have said quite enough. I shall expectbetter conduct from you in the future.”
“I mean to try, sir.”
Becky returned to her seat. She did try hard that day; and not onlythat day, but every day, found her trying, and succeeding, too. Shediligently applied herself to the studies assigned her, watched herconduct carefully, and in a very short time Harry Thompson had reasonto be proud of his pupil. She gave Teddy a helping hand, also. She waspained to hear the laugh when Teddy blundered; so every night at homeTeddy was carefully tutored by his sister for the next day’s task; andin a short time he, too, accomplished wonders.
As soon as the brain was trained to systematized labor, Becky’s sharpeyes traced the difference in her attire and that of the girls abouther; and very soon improvement was noticed in this. Mrs. Thompson,whose visits to the brown house were now of daily occurrence, taughther to sew. Material was readily found among the stock of presents thesailor husband had been accustomed to bring his wife, and which hadnever been made up; and thus Becky was as neat and well dressed a girlas there was in the school. She made quick progress with her studies.In one branch she excelled all--that of drawing. Harry had introducedthis as a pleasant study, with no idea that Becky had such a genius forit as she rapidly displayed.
Mr. Drinkwater continued ill all the winter, and Harry kept the school,by his orders; for, contrary to his expectations, Captain Thompson didnot come into the school. The shrewd proprietor evidently discoveredthe trick to bring about a reconciliation, and, with his usualobstinacy, defeated the well laid plan. And so, autumn gave place towinter, and the snow lay heavily on the ground. Winter, in turn, gaveplace to spring, with all its opening beauties; and school was over.
Harry Thompson stood upon the steps of the school-house, the doorlocked behind him for the last time, the key in his hand. His scholarshad gone; up and down the road he could hear their merry voices,as they wended their ways homeward. But one was left to keep himcompany--Becky Sleeper. She stood beside him, anxiously watchinghis troubled face; for the master was looking across the road atthe home of his childhood, where he could not now enter. He wasbitterly disappointed in his labors; they had not brought about thereconciliation for which he had plotted, and which, for his mother’ssake, he had so longed for. He turned, with a sigh, to Becky.
“Well, little one, school is over.”
“Yes, Harry. It’s been a pleasant time for me. How can I thank you forhaving been so kind to me, for having taught me so much, and being sucha dear, kind friend?”
“Yes, I have been able to do you some good, Becky. My labor has notbeen fruitless, after all.”
Fruitless! No. One look at the thoughtful face beside him, one glanceat the trim figure, might convince him of that. Six months ago ahoiden, to-day a woman; bright, young, beautiful, still; but strong,energetic, persevering, rapidly unfolding the intellectual graces oftrue womanhood.
He was fond of his pupil; and to her he was a hero--always had been;but for the last six months they had been constantly in each other’scompany. Out of school, many of the old familiar ways had been revived.They had ridden, sailed, rowed, even indulged in an occasional gameof cricket. At her home he was a constant visitor, that being theestablished rendezvous for meeting his mother; and mother and son haddiligently wrought--quietly, but earnestly--a great change in her life.She knew it, and blessed them for it. These two were very dear to eachother, and, without knowing it, were passing beyond the boundaries offriendship into the perplexing maze of love.
“Harry,” said Becky, suddenly, “where does all the money come from?”
“Money, Becky! What money?”
“The money that gets us all we have at home. Mother’s went long ago;and yet we are always well supplied with food and clothing. Does itcome from your father?”
“I think it does, Becky. My angel mother possesses a key which unlocksall his treasures; and I suspect that some of them fly across thebridge to your home.”
“I thought so. It isn’t right. Is there not some way in which I couldearn money?”
“Well, I don’t know of any. Stay. You might blow the bellows for Fox,the blacksmith, or get employment in the shipyard.”
“O, stop. That’s not what I want. Couldn’t I work in one of the mills?”
“Yes, I suppose you could; but I wouldn’t, at least until after we’vehad a consultation with my angel mother.”
“Then let’s have one, quick. I’m determined to earn money some way; andif you don’t find me something better I _will_ blow the bellows for Mr.Fox.”
“Well, I’ll come over to-night, and we’ll have a grand council of war.Good by, Becky.”
“Good by, Harry.”
He turned up the road, and she stood and watched him as he steppedbriskly along, swinging the key in his hand, and whistling merrily.
“He’s just splendid! O, if I was only a man, to follow him into theworld! For this life will not content him long. He’s restless now,eager to be at work among men. And he’ll go, too. And, O, dear! howlonesome it will be without him!”
Even then Becky felt a lonesome shadow gliding into her heart with itsoppressive weight, felt the tears gathering in her eyes. Then, when hewas still in sight! How would it be when he should be far, far away?
Yet she stood and watched as he descended the hill, till he was out ofsight; longer still, her eyes fixed upon the spot from which he hadvanished, her thoughts shaping themselves into queer notions of thefuture, in girlhood’s flattering mirror of romance, building brightpictures of renown for him,--her hero,--in which she bore no part.
From this sudden romantic attack she was aroused by the appearanceof another figure in the place on which her eyes were fixed. Slowlytoiling up the hill came a girl, pale-featured, poorly-clad, deformed,and crippled. With the aid of a crutch she stumped along the path untilshe reached the school-house; then, with a pleasant nod to Becky, and asigh of relief, she seated herself upon the steps.
Becky returned the nod, and seated herself by the side of the cripple.
“You seem to have a pretty hard time of it.”
“Do I?” said the cripple, smiling. “Well, I suppose to you, who havetwo feet to run about on, it does seem hard. But it’s the best I cando, the best I ever could do; and so I don’t mind it a bit.”
“You don’t mean to say that you like being a cripple,” said Becky, inastonishment. “I never could be contented in that way--never!”
“No, I don’t think I like it; but I cannot help it. It must always beso. It’s hip trouble. I only try to make the best of it. The hardestto bear are the hard, grinding pains that come sometimes. O, theyare terrible! But they come and go; and after they’re gone I’m realcomfortable till--the next.”
“Well, you’re a brave girl, any way,” said Becky. “What’s your name,please?”
“Why, don’t you know Jenny York? I thought everybody knew me. What’syours?”
“Becky Sleeper.”
“What! the tomboy?”
A dark shadow passed across the face of Becky.
“I was the tomboy, Jenny; but I’ve outgrown that name. I think I’msomething a little nearer what a girl of my age should be now.”
“I beg your pardon for speaking so, Becky. I’ve never met you before;but I’ve always heard of you and your--your--”
“Capers, Jenny. Don’t be afraid. I don’t mind it a bit. Thank goodness,I’ve outgrown all that folly. But tell me, are you Silly York’s sister?”
“Yes. She’s number one, and I’m number two; then there’s Johnny, three,and four and five. They’re little tots, and don’t count for much yet.Silly works for Mrs. Thompson, and I work at the mill.”
“_You_ work! At what mill?”
“The paper mill, sorting rags. It’s profitable business, too. Someweeks I make five or six dollars.”
What a strange meeting! A little cripple earning six dollars a week,and a great, strong, healthy girl, who never earned a cent. Becky couldscarcely believe her ears.
“Why, Jenny York, you’re worth a dozen girls like me. I never earned acent in my life. I wish I could, though.”
“It’s easy enough. Mr. Small wants some help; he told me so to-day.The work is not very clean; there’s plenty of dust to get down yourthroat, and up your nose, and into your ears. But it never gets into myeyes thick enough to prevent my seeing the wages every Saturday night.”
Jenny York laughed merrily, making it evident that the dust had noeffect on her good humor.
“There, I guess I’ve had a good rest. I must be going.”
“Let me go with you,” said Becky, springing up, and assisting Jenny toregain her feet.
“O, thank you! That will be nice. I can put my arm about your waist, ifyou’ll let me, and you can shoulder the crutch, if you like, and ’twillbe a pleasant change for me.”
Warm-hearted Becky quickly adjusted herself to the requirements of hercompanion, and they started off down the road.
“Do you walk up and down every day, Jenny?”
“O, no. Almost always somebody comes along and gives me a ride.Everybody is very kind to me, and I get along famously.”
Ah, Jenny, if everybody had your cheerful spirit, how much betterand brighter the world would become! how pleasantly we should all getalong! The hard, grinding times come to all, in different shapes, to berightly borne in patience; but between the past and the coming are longreaches of level life which the sunshine of a contented spirit can makeglad and happy.
That long walk opened a fresh path in the new life to Becky. For twoyears Jenny York had worked at the mill. She gave her companion a fulldescription of her duties, and eagerly pressed her to come and tryher luck. They parted at the door of Mr. York’s house, sworn friends.Becky, refusing an invitation to enter, remembering her charity visit,gave Jenny her promise that the next day should find her at the mill.
So homeward tripped Becky, thanking her lucky stars for thisprovidential meeting, thinking how oddly it had come about that just atthe right moment a weak, crippled girl had been able to point out toher the road to independence.
The “council of war” that night deliberated long and earnestly onthe question which Becky laid before that body. Harry opposed, Mrs.Thompson hesitated, Becky was resolute.
“I hate to oppose you, Harry, who have been so good to me. But I canearn money there; and it’s high time I did something for the support ofthe family.”
She had taken the precaution to win Aunt Hulda and her mother to herside before submitting her plan to the others. Aunt Hulda, whoseadmiration for Becky sometimes was unbounded, had been first consulted.This mark of confidence had won all that remained of Aunt Hulda’sheart, and she readily acquiesced, as she would have done had Beckyproposed to shingle the church. The mother had read in the sparklingeyes of her daughter, now so very dear to her, the earnest desireto work and earn, and could not, if she would, disappoint her. Thusthrice-armed in a just cause, Becky met her councillors, and bore offthe victory at last.
With these stipulations: she should give just the time daily which hadbeen occupied by her school duties to rag-picking--no more. She shouldperform her household labors as usual, and be ready at other timesfor out-door exercise at the will and pleasure of Harry Thompson. Hisconsent could be gained on no other terms. Mrs. Thompson was doubtfulof the influences which might be brought to bear upon Becky at themill, yet could not but admire the spirit she displayed. She hesitatedon Becky’s account a while, then smilingly gave her vote in favor ofBecky, and the field was won.
The next morning found her at the mill equipped for dusty labor. Mr.Small received her kindly, made a sat
isfactory bargain with her, andshe at once entered upon her duties.
The paper mill was composed of three buildings; the main section,comprising the business office, the machine-room, the pulp-vats, andthe bleaching-tubs, was built of bricks. At right angles with thisstructure, and attached to it, was a flat-roofed wooden building. Inthe lower story of this were stored rags in bags; from this room theywere hoisted to the second story, where they were sorted, then takento the main building to be bleached. At the end of this building wasa low, slant-roofed stable. In the sorting-room from ten to a dozenfemales were usually employed; and to this section of the paper millBecky was assigned.
To no pleasant work did Becky set her hands; in no very pleasantcompanionship did she find herself. With the exception of Jenny York,the “girls” were middle aged and old women, loud-tongued, and very aptto be quarrelsome. At first Becky tried to make friends with all ofthem; but, finding her overtures met with rudeness, she desisted fromfurther attempts, and drew the closer to the little cripple.
As time passed on, and she grew familiar with her labor, strongergrew her friendship for Jenny. These two made a corner of their own,a little removed from the Babel of tongues. Jenny, rejoicing in thecompanionship of one so near her age, was always bright and happy.Becky, catching the inspiration of her cheerful spirit, overflowed withmirth and humor, and oft-repeated stories of tomboy adventures madethem both merry over their work.
But Becky never lost sight of her independence. She worked gaily, butshe worked with a will; and the sight of her wages when Saturday camewas a reward of merit dearly prized. Steadily she worked through thehot months of summer, until she could count ninety dollars in herstrong-box; and then a sad disaster befell the mill.
The machinery of a paper mill seldom stops, night or day, save forrepairs. It was in the month of September that it was necessary tostop for the repair of a broken wheel. The sorting-room, however, waskept in operation.
At twelve o’clock the “girls” repaired to their homes for dinner--allbut Jenny York. Occasionally Becky staid to keep her company, but notoften, the stipulations with the council requiring her to be punctualto her meals at home. Certainly Jenny fared all the better for this,for Becky’s return always added something nice to her plain fare.
But one day Jenny had a fierce attack of her grinding pains, and allthe forenoon she lay upon a couch of bags, and when dinner time came,spite of her wishes, Becky would not leave her. They were alone; Jenny,just recovering, was faint and ghostly white; Becky, bending over her,was bathing her temples, when, suddenly, outside, the cry of “Fire!”was raised. Becky sprang to her feet, to find the room thickening withsmoke, coming up through the chinks in the floor. A too common accidentin paper mills had occurred. A bag of cotton waste had burst intoflames, and the store-room beneath was a furnace of fire. Her firstthought was--no thought at all. The instinct of self-preservation tookher into the machine-room very quick, and then she thought of Jenny.She ran back to the terrified girl, crying,--
“Don’t be frightened, Jenny. The mill’s on fire; but I’ll save you.”
She stooped and lifted Jenny in her arms. All the “waste” of her earlylife served her well now. Exercise had made that small frame tough andmuscular, and she easily bore Jenny towards the door. But suddenly theiron doors between the two buildings were closed with a crash. Somecrazy operative, thinking only of the danger to the main building, hadtaken this precaution, without looking into the room. Becky dropped herburden, and flew to the doors. She screamed for help; she beat the ironwith her fists in vain. Then she ran to the windows on the sides; therewere none at the end. But the thick, black smoke, rolling up outside,obscured the light. No escape there; they were walled in on every side.The smoke in the room was so thick it was with difficulty they couldbreathe.
No escape? Yes, one. Becky cast her eyes aloft. In the centre ofthe roof was a scuttle, ten feet above her. Lying along the side ofthe room was a ladder. Becky sprang for it. It was very heavy; butdesperation nerved her arms, and it was raised.
All this time Jenny lay upon the floor, watching with wishful eyes themovements of Becky. O, if she only had a little strength now! Beckycame to her side, and raised her once more in her arms.
“Now clasp me close, and we’ll soon reach the roof, and be out of thisstifling smoke, any way.”
With her heavy burden she toiled up the ladder, rested a moment at thetop, then threw up the scuttle, and reached the roof. There she laidJenny down and ran to the edge. Right and left the smoke was rising indense volumes; but at the farther end all was clear, and beneath itwas the steep roof of the stable. There was her chance for escape. Shecould drop easily; it was but ten feet. But Jenny! The poor girl wouldscarce escape without injury. Only a moment she pondered, then ran backto the scuttle, and descended the ladder, at the risk of her life.Near the iron doors the flames were shooting up through the floor, anddancing on the wall. The smoke was stifling. She caught up severalempty bags, and quickly regained her place upon the roof.
“Quick, Jenny, quick! Help me to tear these bags to pieces. We musthave a rope.”
They tore the bags apart, divided them, with the aid of their scissors,into long, narrow strips; then Becky’s nimble fingers twisted themtogether.
“Now, Jenny, I’m going to lower you to the shed; and then we’re safe.”
She fastened the improvised rope about Jenny’s waist, and bore her tothe edge of the roof. She then passed the rope around the chimney.
“Once more, Jenny. Slide over the roof, and hold on to the rope.”
The rope slid through Becky’s hands, and Jenny was upon the roofbelow. Then the brave girl, casting loose the trusty cord, advanced tothe edge of the roof, and, supporting herself a moment by her hands,dropped beside her friend. None too soon; for, while she clung there,up through the scuttle appeared the flaming head of the advancingcolumn of fire.
It was still ten feet from the stable to the ground, and no time to belost.
“Slide down the roof, Jenny, and drop again. I’ll hold you; never fear.”
She stretched herself flat upon the roof, with the rope in her hands.Jenny slid down, and dropped as directed. But now a new danger toBecky arose: the cord had become entangled in her dress; and, as Jennydescended, she found herself being dragged down the roof. But she heldall the tighter to the rope, fearing the shock to Jenny, should shefall, more than the danger of being herself plunged headlong from theroof. Faster and faster they went; she was nearing the edge; she mustgo over. No. Suddenly the cord slacked. Jenny had touched the ground.She dropped the cord, clutched the gutter with all her strength, herbody swung round, and she dropped to the ground, very ungracefully, butunhurt.
“O, Becky, you’ve saved my life! Can I ever repay you.”
Jenny lay upon the ground, with clasped hands and streaming eyes. Beckystood by her side, looking ruefully at the burning building. No morework there.
“Yes, Jenny, I believe I’ve saved both our lives. But there’s one thingI forgot; and it’s just like me. Your crutch! I might have saved thattoo.”
Not quite a thoughtful, earnest woman yet, Becky; but this day theclimbing frolics of the tomboy days have enabled you to glorifyhumanity with its proudest triumph--an heroic act!
THE BURNING MILL.--Page 142.]
Running to Waste: The Story of a Tomboy Page 8
