Just Sixteen.

by Susan Coolidge

  Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)

  JUST SIXTEEN.

  "We will have luncheon here close to the fire," she said,"and be as cosey as possible."--_Page 28._]

  JUST SIXTEEN.

  BY SUSAN COOLIDGE,

  AUTHOR OF "THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN," "WHAT KATY DID," "WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOL," "WHAT KATY DID NEXT," "CLOVER," "A GUERNSEY LILY," ETC.

  QUI LEGIT REGIT.]

  BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1890.

  _Copyright, 1889_, BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.

  University Press: JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

  CONTENTS.

  PAGE

  A LITTLE KNIGHT OF LABOR (_Two Illustrations_) 7

  SNOWY PETER 63

  THE DO SOMETHING SOCIETY 80

  WHO ATE THE QUEEN'S LUNCHEON? (_Illustration_) 92

  THE SHIPWRECKED COLOGNE-BOTTLE 110

  UNDER A SYRINGA-BUSH 126

  TWO GIRLS--TWO PARTIES 137

  THE PINK SWEETMEAT 154

  ETELKA'S CHOICE (_Illustration_) 177

  THE FIR CONES 204

  A BALSAM PILLOW 217

  COLONEL WHEELER 229

  NINETY-THREE AND NINETY-FOUR 238

  THE SORROWS OF FELICIA 258

  IMPRISONED 271

  A CHILD OF THE SEA FOLK 282

  JUST SIXTEEN.

  A LITTLE KNIGHT OF LABOR.

  The first real snow-storm of the winter had come to Sandyport by theSea.

  It had been a late and merciful autumn. Till well into November theleaves still clung to their boughs, honeysuckles made shady coverts ontrellises, and put forth now and then an orange and milk-white blossomfull of frosty sweetness; the grass was still green where the snowallowed it to be seen. Thick and fast fell the wind-blown flakes on thelightly frozen ground. The patter and beat of the flying storm was ajoyous sound to children who owned sleds and had been waiting the chanceto use them. Many a boy's face looked out as the dusk fell, to make surethat the storm continued; and many a bright voice cried, "Hurrah! It'scoming down harder than ever! To-morrow it will be splendid!" Stable-menwere shaking out fur robes and arranging cutters. Already the fitfulsound of sleigh-bells could be heard; and all the world--the world ofSandyport that is--was preparing to give the in-coming winter a gaywelcome.

  But in one house in an old-fashioned but still respectable street no oneseemed inclined to join in the general merry-making. Only two lightsbroke its darkness: one shone from the kitchen at the back, where,beside a kerosene lamp, Bethia Kendrick, the old-time servitor of theTalcott family, was gloomily darning stockings, and otherwise makingready for departure on the morrow. The other and fainter glow came fromthe front room, where without any lamp Georgie Talcott sat alone besideher fire.

  It was a little fire, and built of rather queer materials. There werebits of lath and box-covers, fence-pickets split in two, shavings,pasteboard clippings, and on top of all, half of an old chopping-bowl.The light material burned out fast, and had to be continuallyreplenished from the basket which stood on one side the grate.

  Georgie, in fact, was burning up the odds and ends of her old lifebefore leaving it behind forever. She was to quit the house on themorrow; and there was something significant to her, and very sorrowful,in this disposal of its shreds and fragments; they meant so little toother people, and so very much to her. The old chopping-bowl, forinstance,--her thoughts went back from it to the first time she had everbeen permitted to join in the making of the Christmas pies. She saw hermother, still a young woman then, and pretty with the faded elegancewhich had been her characteristic, weighing the sugar and plums, andslicing the citron, while her own daring little hands plied the chopperin that very bowl. What joy there was in those vigorous dabs andcross-way cuts! how she had liked to do it! And now, the pretty mother,faded and gray, lay under the frozen turf, on which the snow-flakes werethickly falling. There could be no more Christmases for Georgie in theold house; it was sold, and to-morrow would close its doors behind herforever.

  She shivered as these thoughts passed through her mind, and rising movedrestlessly toward the window. It was storming faster than ever. Thesight seemed to make the idea of the morrow harder to bear; a big tearformed in each eye, blurring the white world outside into a dimgrayness. Presently one ran down her nose and fell on her hand. Shelooked at it with dismay, wiped it hastily off, and went back to thefire.

  "I won't cry, whatever happens, I'm resolved on that," she said halfaloud, as she put the other half of the chopping-bowl on the waningblaze. The deep-soaked richness of long-perished meats was in the oldwood still. It flared broadly up the chimney. Georgie again sat down bythe fire and resumed her thinking.

  "What am I going to do?" she asked herself for the hundredth time. "Whenmy visit to Cousin Vi is over, I must decide on something; but what? Aweek is such a short time in which to settle such an important thing."

  It is hard to be confronted at twenty with the problem of one's ownsupport. Georgie hitherto had been as happy and care-free as othergirls. Her mother, as the widow of a naval officer, was entitled to asmall pension. This, with a very little more in addition, had paid forGeorgie's schooling, and kept the old house going in a sufficientlycomfortable though very modest fashion. But Mrs. Talcott was not bynature an exemplary manager. It was hard not to overrun here and there,especially after Georgie grew up, and "took her place in society," asthe poor lady phrased it,--the place which was rightfully hers as herfather's daughter and the descendant of a long line of Talcotts andChaunceys and Wainwrights. She coveted pretty things for her girl, asall mothers do, and it was too much for her strength always to denyherself.

  So Georgie had "just this" and "just that," and being a fresh attractivecreature, and a favorite, made her little go as far as the other girls'much, and now and again the tiny capital was encroached upon. And then,and then,--this is a world of sorry chances, as the weak and helplessfind to their cost,--came the bad year, when the Ranscuttle Mills passedtheir dividend and the stock went down to almost nothing; and then Mrs.Talcott's long illness, and then her death. Sickness and death areluxuries which the poor will do well to go without. Georgie went overthe calculations afresh as she sat by the fire, and the result came outjust the same, and not a penny better. When she had paid for hermother's funeral, and all the last bills, she would have exactly ahundred and seventy-five dollars a year to live upon,--that and no more!

  The furniture,--could she get something for that? She glanced round theroom, and shook her head. The articles were neither handsome enough norquaint enough to command a good price. She looked affectionately at thehair-cloth sofa on which her mother had so often lain, at the well-wornsecretary. How could she part with these? How could she sell hergreat-grandfather's picture, or who, in fact, except herself, would carefor the rather ill-painted portrait of a rigid old worthy of the lastcentury, in a wig and ruffled shirt, with a view of Sandyport harbor byway of a background? Her father's silhouette hung beneath it, with hissword and a little mezzotint of his ship. These were treasures to her,but what were they to any one else?

 
"No," she decided. "Bethia shall take the old kitchen things and her ownbedroom furniture, and have the use of them; but the rest must go intoMiss Sally's attic for the present. They wouldn't fetch anything; and ifthey would, I don't think I could bear to sell them. And now that issettled, I must think again, what _am_ I to do? I must do something."

  She turned over all manner of schemes in her mind, but all seemedfruitless. Sew? The town was full of sempstresses. Georgie knew of halfa dozen who could not get work enough to keep them busy half the time.Teach? She could not; her education in no one respect had been thoroughenough. Embroider for the Women's Exchanges and Decorative ArtSocieties? Perhaps; but it seemed to her that was the very thing towhich all destitute people with pretensions to gentility fled as amatter of course, and that the market for tidies and "splashers" andpine-pillows was decidedly overstocked.

  "It's no use thinking about it to-night," was the sensible decision towhich she at last arrived. "I am too tired. I'll get a sound night'ssleep if I can, and put off my worries till I am safely at MissSally's."

  The sound night's sleep stood Georgie in good stead, for the morrowtaxed all her powers of endurance, both physical and moral. Bethia,unhappy at losing the home of years, was tearful and fractious to adegree. Sending off the furniture through the deep snow proved a slowand troublesome matter. The doors necessarily stood open a great deal,the rooms grew very cold, everything was comfortless and dispiriting.And underlying all, put aside but never unfelt, was a deep sense of painat the knowledge that this was the last day,--the very, very last of thehome she had always known, and might know no more.

  When the final sledge-load creaked away over the hard frozen crust,Georgie experienced a sense of relief.

  "The sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep,"

  she sang below her breath. Everything was in order. She had generalledall ably; nothing was omitted or forgotten. With steady care she rakedout the fire in the kitchen stove, which the new owner of the house hadtaken off her hands, and saw to the fastenings of the windows. Then shetied on her bonnet and black veil, gave the weeping Bethia a good-bykiss on the door-step, closed and locked the door, and waded wearilythrough the half-broken paths to the boarding-house of Miss SallyScannell, where Cousin Vi, otherwise Miss Violet Talcott, had lived foryears.

  No very enthusiastic reception awaited her. Cousin Vi's invitation hadbeen given from a sense of duty. She "owed it to the child," she toldherself, as she cleared out a bureau-drawer, and made a place forGeorgie's trunk in the small third-story room which for sixteen yearshad represented to her all the home she had known. Of course such avisit must be a brief one.

  "So you're come!" was her greeting as Georgie appeared. "I thought you'dbe here sooner; but I suppose you've had a good deal to do. I shouldhave offered to help if the day had not been so cold. Come in and takeyour things off."

  Georgie glanced about her as she smoothed her hair. The room bore theunmistakable marks of spinsterhood and decayed gentility. It was crammedwith little belongings, some valuable, some perfectly valueless. Two orthree pieces of spindle-legged and claw-footed mahogany made an oddcontrast to the common painted bedroom set. Miniatures by Malbone andlovely pale-lined mezzotints and line engravings hung on the walls amida maze of photographs and Japanese fans and Christmas cards and chromos;an indescribable confusion of duds encumbered every shelf and table;and in the midst sat Miss Vi's tall, meager, dissatisfied self, withthin hair laboriously trained after the prevailing fashion, and a dresswhose antique material seemed oddly unsuited to its modern cut andloopings. Somehow the pitifulness of the scene struck Georgie afresh.

  "Shall I ever be like this?" she reflected.

  "Now tell me what has happened since the funeral," said her cousin. "Ihad neuralgia all last week and week before, or I should have got downoftener. Who has called? Have the Hanburys been to see you?"

  "Ellen came last week, but I was out," replied Georgie.

  "What a pity! And how did it happen that you were out? You ought not tohave been seen in the street so soon, I think. It's not customary."

  "How could I help it?" responded Georgie, sadly. "I had all the move toarrange for. Mr. Custer wanted the house for Saturday. There was no oneto go for me."

  "I suppose you couldn't; but it's a pity. It's never well to outrageconventionalities. Have Mrs. St. John and Mrs. Constant Carringtoncalled?"

  "Mrs. Carrington hasn't, but she wrote me a little note. And dear Mrs.St. John came twice, and brought flowers, and was ever so kind. Shealways has been so very nice to me, you know."

  "Naturally! The St. Johns were nobodies till Mr. St. John made all thatmoney in railroads. She is glad enough to be on good terms with the oldfamilies, of course."

  "I don't think it's that," said Georgie, rather wearily. "I think she'snice because she's naturally so kind-hearted, and she likes me."

  The tea-bell put an end to the discussion. Miss Sally's welcome was agood deal warmer than Cousin Vi's had been.

  "You poor dear child," she exclaimed, "you look quite tired out! Here,take this seat by the fire, Georgie, and I'll pour your tea out first ofall. She needs it, don't she?" to Cousin Vi.

  "_Miss Talcott_ is rather tired, I dare say," said that lady, icily.Cousin Vi had lived for sixteen years in daily intercourse with MissSally, one of the sunniest and most friendly of women, and had neveronce relaxed into cordiality in all that time. Her code of mannersincluded no approximation toward familiarity between a Talcott and aletter of lodgings.

  Georgie took a different view. "Thank you so much, dear Miss Sally," shesaid. "How good you are! I _am_ tired."

  "I wish you wouldn't call Miss Sally 'dear,'" her cousin remarked afterthey had gone upstairs. "That sort of thing is most disagreeable to me.You have to be on your guard continually in a house like this, or youget mixed up with all sorts of people."

  Georgie let it pass. She was too tired to argue.

  "Now, let us talk about your plans," Miss Talcott said next morning."Have you made any yet?"

  "N--o; only that I must find some work to do at once."

  "Don't speak like that to any one but me," her cousin said sharply."There _are_ lady-like occupations, of course, in which youcan--can--mingle; but they need not be mentioned, or made known topeople in general."

  "What _do_ you mean?"

  "I don't know, I'm sure. I've never had occasion to look into thematter, but I suppose a girl situated as you are could findsomething,--embroidery, for instance. You could do that for theDecorative Art. They give you a number, and nobody knows your realname."

  "I thought of embroidery," said Georgie; "but I never was very good atit, and so many are doing it nowadays. Besides, it seems to me thatpeople are getting rather tired of all but the finer sort of work."

  "What became of that nephew of Mr. Constant Carrington whom you used tosee so much of two or three years ago?" demanded Miss Vi, irrelevantly.

  "Bob Curtis? I don't quite know where he is. His father failed, don'tyou remember, and lost all his money, and Bob had to leave Harvard andgo into some sort of business?"

  "Oh, did he? He's of no consequence, then. I don't know what made methink of him. Well, you could read to an invalid, perhaps, or go toEurope with some lady who wanted a companion."

  "Or be second-best wing-maker to an angel," put in Georgie, with alittle glint of humor. "Cousin Vi, all that would be very pleasant, butI don't think it is likely to happen. I'm dreadfully afraid no one wantsme to go to Europe; and I must have something to do at once, you know.I must earn my bread."

  "Don't use such a phrase. It sounds too coarse for anything."

  "I don't think so, Cousin Vi. I don't mind working a bit, if only I canhit on something that somebody wants, and that I can do well."

  "This is exactly what I have been afraid of," said Miss Vi,despairingly. "I've always had a fear that old Jacob Talcott would breakout in you sooner or later. He has skipped two generations, but he wasbound to show himself some day or other. He had exactly that common s
ortof way of looking at things and talking about them,--the only Talcott Iever knew of that did! Don't you recollect how he insisted on puttinghis son into business, and the boy ran away and went to the West Indiesand married some sort of Creole,--all his father's fault?

  "Now, I'll tell you," she went on after a pause. "I've been thinkingover this matter, and have made up my mind about it. You're not to doanything foolish, Georgie. If you do, you'll be sorry for it all yourlife, and I shall never forgive you besides. Such a good start as youhave made in society, and all; it will be quite too much if you go andspoil your chances with those ridiculous notions of yours. Now, listen.If you'll give up all idea of supporting yourself, unless it is by doingembroidery or something like that, which no one need know about,I'll--I'll--well--I'll agree to pay your board here at Miss Sally's, andgive you half this room for a year. As likely as not you'll be marriedby the end of that time, or if not, something else will have turned up!Any way, I'll do it for one year. When the year is over, we can talkabout the next." And Miss Talcott folded her hands with the manner ofone who has offered an ultimatum.

  If rather a grudging, this was a really generous offer, as Georgie wellknew. To add the expense of her young cousin's board to her own wouldcost Miss Vi no end of self-denials, pinchings here and pinchings there,the daily frets and calculations that weigh so heavily. Miss Talcott'sslender income at its best barely sufficed for the narrow lodgings, tofight off the shabbiness which would endanger her place in "society,"and to pay for an occasional cab and theatre ticket. Not to do, or atleast to seem to be doing and enjoying, what other people did, was realsuffering to Cousin Vi. Yet she was deliberately invoking it by herproposal.

  Had it been really made for her sake, had it been quite disinterested,Georgie would have been deeply touched and grateful; as it was, she wassufficiently so to thank her cousin warmly, but without committingherself to acceptance. She must think it over, she said.

  She did think it over till her mind fairly ached with the pressure ofthought, as the body does after too much exercise. She walked past theWoman's Exchange and studied the articles in the windows. There were thesame towels and tidies that had been there two months before, or whatseemed the same. Georgie recollected similar articles worked by peoplewhom she knew about, for which she had been asked to buy raffle tickets."She can't get any one to buy it," had been said. Depending on such workfor a support seemed a bare outlook. She walked away with a little shakeof her head.

  "No," she thought; "embroidery wouldn't pay unless I had a 'gift'; and Idon't seem to have a gift for anything unless it is housework. I alwayswas good at that; but I suppose I can't exactly take a place asparlor-maid. Cousin Vi would certainly clap me into an asylum if Isuggested such a thing. How nice it would be to have a real genius forsomething! Though now that I think of it, a good many geniuses have diedin attics, of starvation, without being able to help themselves."

  When she reached home she took a pencil and a piece of paper and wroteas follows:--

  _Things Wanted._

  1. Something I can do.

  2. Something that somebody wants me to do.

  3. Something that all the other somebodies in search of work are not trying to do.

  Round these problems her thoughts revolved, and though nothing came ofthem as yet, it seemed to clear her mind to have them set down in blackand white.

  Meantime the two days' _tete-a-tete_ with Cousin Vi produced onedistinct result, which was, that let come what come might, Georgieresolved that nothing should induce her to stay on at Miss Sally's asproposed, and be idle. Her healthy and vigorous youth recoiled from theidea.

  "It is really good of her to ask me," she thought, "though she only doesit for the honor of the family and the dead-and-gone Talcotts. But whata life it would be, and for a whole year too! Cousin Vi has stood it forsixteen, to be sure, poor thing! but how could she? Mother used to saythat she was called a bright girl when she first grew up. Surely shemight have made something of herself if she had tried, and if AuntTalcott hadn't considered work one of the seven deadly sins for a lady!She was handsome, too. Even I can recollect her as very good looking.And here she is, all alone, and getting shabbier and poorer all thetime. I know she sometimes has not money enough to pay her board, andhas to ask Miss Sally to wait, snubbing her and despising her all thetime, and holding on desperately to her little figment of gentility.People laugh at her and make fun of her behind her back. They invite hernow and then, but they don't really care for her. What is such a societyworth? I'll take in washing before I'll come to be like Cousin Vi!"

  * * * * *

  How little we guess, as we grope in the mists of our own uncertainties,just where the light is going to break through! Georgie Talcott,starting for a walk with her cousin on the third day of her stay atMiss Sally's, saw the St. John carriage pass them and then pull upsuddenly at the curb-stone; but she had no idea that so simple acircumstance could affect her fate in any manner. It did, though.

  Mrs. St. John was leaning out of the window before they got to the placewhere the carriage stood, and two prettily gloved hands were stretchedeagerly forth.

  "Georgie! oh Georgie, how glad I am to see you out, dear! I made Henrystop, because I want you to get in for a little drive and then come homewith me to lunch. Mr. St. John is in New York. I am quite alone, andI'll give orders that no one shall be admitted, if you will. Don't youthink she might, Miss Talcott? It isn't like going anywhere else, youknow,--just coming to me quietly like that."

  "I don't see that there would be any impropriety in it," said MissTalcott, doubtfully; "though--with you, however, it _is_ different. Butplease don't mention it to any one, Mrs. St. John. It might bemisunderstood and lead to invitations which Georgie could not possiblyaccept. Good-morning."

  With a stately bend Cousin Vi sailed down the street. Mrs. St. John, Iam sorry to say, made a face after her as she went.

  "Absurd old idiot!" she muttered. "Such airs!" Then she drew Georgie in,and as soon as the carriage was in motion pulled her veil aside and gaveher a warm kiss.

  "I am so glad to get hold of you again!" she said.

  Mrs. St. John, rich, childless, warm-hearted, and not over-wise, hadadopted Georgie as a special pet on her first appearance in society twoyears before. It is always pleasant for a girl to be made much of by anolder woman; and when that woman has a carriage and a nice house, andcan do all sorts of things for the girl's entertainment, it is none theless agreeable. Georgie was really fond of her friend. People who arenot over-wise are often loved as much as wiser ones; it is one of thelaws of compensation.

  "Now tell me all about yourself, and what you have been doing this pastweek," said Mrs. St. John, as they drove down to the beach, where thesurf-rollers had swept the sands clean of snow and left a dry, smoothroadway for the horses' feet. The sea wore its winter color that day,--adeep purple-blue, broken by flashing foam-caps; the wind was blowingfreshly; a great sense of refreshment came to Georgie, who had beenwearying for a change.

  "It has been rather sad and hard," she said. "I have had the house toclear out and close, and all manner of things to do, and I was prettytired when I finished. But I am getting rested now, and by and by I wantto talk over my affairs with you."

  "Plans?" asked Mrs. St. John.

  "Not exactly. I have no plans as yet; but I must have some soon. Nowtell me what _you_ have been doing."

  Mrs. St. John was never averse to talking about herself. She always hada mass of experiences and adventures to relate, which thoughinsignificant enough when you came to analyze them, were so deeplyinteresting to herself that somehow her auditors got interested in themalso. Georgie, used to her ways, listened and sympathized withouteffort, keeping her eyes fixed meanwhile on the shining, shiftinghorizon of the sea, and the lovely arch of clear morning sky. How wideand free and satisfactory it was; how different from the cramped outlookinto which she had perforce been gazing for days back!

  "If life could
all be like that!" she thought.

  The St. John house seemed a model of winter comfort, bright,flower-scented, and deliciously warm, as they entered it after theirdrive. Mrs. St. John rang for her maid to take off their wraps, and ledGeorgie through the drawing-room and the library to a smaller roombeyond, which was her favorite sitting-place of a morning.

  "We will have luncheon here close to the fire," she said, "and be ascosey as possible."

  It was a pretty room, not over-large, fitted up by a professionaldecorator in a good scheme of color, and crowded with ornaments of allsorts, after the modern fashion. It was many weeks since Georgie hadseen it, and its profusion and costliness of detail struck her as itnever had done before. Perhaps she was in the mood to observe closely.

  They were still sipping their hot _bouillon_ in great comfort, when asudden crash was heard in the distance.

  "There!" said Mrs. St. John, resignedly; "that's the second sinceMonday! What is it _now_, Pierre?"

  She pushed back her chair and went hurriedly into the farther room.Presently she came back laughing, but looking flushed and annoyed.

  "It's really too vexatious," she said. "There seems no use at all inbuying pretty things, the servants do break them so."

  "What was it this time?" asked Georgie.

  "It was my favorite bit of Sevres. Don't you recollect it,--two lovelylittle shepherdesses in blue Watteaus, holding a flower-basket betweenthem? Pierre says his feather duster caught in the open-work edge of thebasket."

  "Why do you let him use feather dusters? The feathers are so apt tocatch."

  "My dear, what can I do? Each fresh servant has his or her theory as tohow things should be cleaned. Whatever the theory is, the china goes allthe same; and I can't tell them any better. I don't know a thing aboutdusting."

  That moment, as if some quick-witted fairy had waved her wand, an ideadarted like a flash into Georgie's head.

  She took five minutes to consider it, while Mrs. St. John went on:--

  "People talk of the hardship of not being able to have things; but Ithink it's just as hard to have them and not be allowed to keep them. Idon't dare to let myself care for a piece of china nowadays, for if I doit's the first thing to go. Pierre's a treasure in other respects, buthe smashes most dreadfully; and the second man is quite as bad; andMarie, upstairs, is worse than either. Mr. St. John says I ought to be'mistress of myself, though china fall;' but I really can't."

  Georgie, who had listened to this without listening, had now made up hermind.

  "Would you like me to dust your things?" she said quietly.

  "My dear, they _are_ dusted. Pierre has got through for this time. Hewon't break anything more till to-morrow."

  "Oh, I don't mean only to-day; I mean every day. Yes, I'm in earnest,"she went on in answer to her friend's astonished look. "I was meaning totalk to you about something of this sort presently, and now this hascome into my head. You see," smiling bravely, "I find that I have gotalmost nothing to live upon. There is not even enough to pay my board atsuch a place as Miss Sally's. I must do something to earn money; anddusting is one of the few things that I can do particularly well."

  "But, my dear, I never heard of such a thing," gasped poor Mrs. St.John. "Surely your friends and connections will arrange something foryou."

  "They can't; they are all dead," replied Georgie, sadly. "Our family hasrun out. I've one cousin in China whom I never saw, and one great-auntdown in Tennessee who is almost as poor as I am, and that's all exceptCousin Vi."

  "She's no good, of course; but she's sure to object to your doinganything all the same."

  "Oh yes, of course she objects," said Georgie, impatiently. "She wouldlike to tie my hands and make me sit quite still for a year and see ifsomething won't happen; but I can't and won't do it; and, besides, whatis there to happen? Nothing. She was kind about it, too--" relenting;"she offered to pay my board and share her room with me if I consented;but I would so much rather get to work at once and be independent. Dolet me do your dusting," coaxingly; "I'll come every morning and putthese four rooms in nice order; and you need never let Pierre or Marieor any one touch the china again, unless you like. I can almost promisethat I won't break anything!"

  "My dear, it would be beautiful for me, but perfectly horrid for you! Iquite agree with your cousin for once. It will never do in the world foryou to attempt such a thing. People would drop you at once; you wouldlose your position and all your chance, if it was known that you weredoing that kind of work."

  "But don't you see," cried Georgie, kneeling down on the hearth-rug tobring her face nearer to her friend's,--"don't you see that I've _got_to be dropped any way? Not because I have done anything, not becausepeople are unkind, but just from the necessity of things. I have nomoney to buy dresses to go out and enjoy myself with. I have no money tostay at home on, in fact,--I _must_ do something. And to live likeCousin Vi on the edge of things, just tolerated by people, and mortifiedand snubbed, and then have a little crumb of pleasure tossed to me, asone throws the last scrap of cake that one doesn't want to a cat or adog,--_that_ is what I could not possibly bear.

  "I like fun and pretty things and luxury as well as other people," shecontinued, after a little pause. "It isn't that I shouldn't _prefer_something different. But everybody can't be well off and have thingstheir own way; and since I am one of the rank and file, it seems to memuch wiser to give up the things I _can't_ have, out and out, and nottry to be two persons at once, a young lady and a working-girl, but putmy whole heart into the thing I must be, and do it just as well as Ican. Don't you see that I am right?"

  "You poor dear darling!" said Mrs. St. John, with tears in her eyes.Then her face cleared.

  "Very well," she said briskly, "you _shall_. It will be the greatestcomfort in the world to have you take charge of the ornaments. _Now_ Ican buy as many cups and saucers as I like, and with an easy mind. Youmust stay and lunch, always, Georgie. I'll give you a regular salary,and when the weather's bad I shall keep you to dinner too, and to spendthe night. That's settled; and now let us decide what I shall give you.Would fifty dollars a month be enough?"

  "My dear Mrs. St. John! Fifty! Two dollars a week was what I wasthinking of."

  "Two dollars! oh, you foolish child! You never could live on that! Youdon't know anything at all about expenses, Georgie."

  "But I don't mean only to do _your_ dusting. If you are satisfied, Idepend on your recommending me to your friends. I could take care offour sets of rooms just as well as of one. There are so many people inSandyport who have beautiful houses and collections of bric-a-brac, thatI think there might be as many as that who would care to have me if Ididn't cost too much. Four places at two dollars each would make eightdollars a week. I could live on that nicely."

  "I wish you'd count me in as four," said Mrs. St. John. "I should seefour times as much of you, and it would make me four hundred timeshappier."

  But Georgie was firm, and before they parted it was arranged that sheshould begin her new task the next morning, and that her friend shoulddo what she could to find her similar work elsewhere.

  Her plan once made, Georgie suffered no grass to grow under her feet.On the way home she bought some cheese-cloth and a stiff little brushwith a pointed end for carvings, and before the next day had providedherself with a quantity of large soft dusters and two little phials ofalcohol and oil, and had hunted up a small pair of bellows, whichexperience had shown her were invaluable for blowing the dust out ofdelicate objects. Her first essay was a perfect success. Mrs. St. John,quite at a loss how to face the changed situation, gave her ahalf-troubled welcome; but Georgie's business-like methods reassuredher. She followed her about and watched her handle each fragile treasurewith skilful, delicate fingers till all was in perfect fresh order, andgave a great sigh of admiration and relief when the work was done.

  "Now come and sit down," she said. "How tired you must be!"

  "Not a bit," declared Georgie; "I like to dust, strange to say, and I'mnot tired at
all; I only wish I had another job just like it to do atonce. I see it's what I was made for."

  By the end of the week Georgie had another regular engagement, and itbecame necessary to break the news of her new occupation to Cousin Vi.I regret to say that the disclosure caused an "unpleasantness," betweenthem.

  "I would not have believed such a thing possible even with you,"declared that lady with angry tears. "The very idea marks you out as aperson of low mind. It's enough to make your Grandmother Talcott risefrom her grave! In the name of common decency, couldn't you hunt upsomething to do, if do you must, except this?"

  "Nothing that I could do so well and so easily, Cousin Vi."

  "Don't call me Cousin Vi, I beg! There was no need of doing anythingwhatever. I asked you to stay here,--you cannot deny that I did."

  "I don't wish to deny it," said Georgie, gently. "It was ever so kind ofyou, too. Don't be so vexed with me, Cousin Vi. We look at thingsdifferently, and I don't suppose either of us can help it; but don't letus quarrel. You're almost the only relative that I have in the world."

  "Quarrel!" cried Miss Talcott with a shrill laugh,--"quarrel with a girlthat goes out dusting! That isn't in my line, I am happy to say. As forbeing relatives, we are so no longer, and I shall say so to everybody.Great Heavens! what will people think?"

  After this outburst it was evident to Georgie that it was better thatshe should leave Miss Sally's as soon as possible. But where to go? Sheconsulted Miss Sally. That astute person comprehended the situation inthe twinkling of an eye, and was ready with a happy suggestion.

  "There's my brother John's widder in the lower street," she said. "She'stolerably well off, and hasn't ever taken boarders; but she's a sort oflonesome person, and I shouldn't wonder if I could fix it so she'd feellike taking you, and reasonable too. It's mighty handy about thatfurniture of yours, for her upstairs rooms ain't got nothing in them tospeak of, and of course she wouldn't want to buy. I'll step down afterdinner and see about it."

  Miss Sally was a power in her family circle, and she knew it. Beforenight she had talked Mrs. John Scannell into the belief that to takeGeorgie to board at five dollars a week was the thing of all others thatshe most wanted to do; and before the end of two days all was arranged,and Georgie inducted into her new quarters. It was a little low-pitched,old-fashioned house, but it had some pleasant features, and was veryneat. A big corner room with a window to the south and another to thesunset was assigned to Georgie for her bedroom. The old furniture thatshe had been used to all her life made it look homelike, and thehair-cloth sofa and the secretary and square mahogany table were welcomeadditions to the rather scantily furnished sitting-room below, which sheshared at will with her hostess. Mrs. Scannell was a gentle, kindlywoman, the soul of cleanliness and propriety, but subject to lowspirits; and contact with Georgie's bright, hopeful youth was asdelightful to her as it was beneficial. She soon became very fond of "myyoung lady," as she called her, and Georgie could not have been betterplaced as to kindness and comfortableness.

  A better place than Sandyport for just such an experiment as she wasmaking could scarcely have been found. Many city people made it theirhome for the summer; but at all times of the year there was aconsiderable resident population of wealthy people. Luxurious homes wererather the rule than the exception, and there was quite a littlerivalry as to elegance of appointment among them. Mrs. St. John'senthusiasm and Mrs. St. John's recommendation bore fruit, and it was notlong before Georgie had secured her coveted "four places."

  Two of her employers were comparative strangers; with the fourth, Mrs.Constant Carrington, she had been on terms of some intimacy in the olddays, but was not much so now. It _is_ rather difficult to keep upfriendship with your "dusting girl," as her Cousin Vi would have said;Mrs. Carrington called her "Georgie" still, when they met, and wasperfectly civil in her manners, but always there was the businessrelation to stand between them, and Georgie felt it. Mrs. St. John stilltried to retain the pretty pretext that Georgie's labors were a sort ofjoke, a playing with independence; but there was nothing of this pretextwith the other three. To them, Georgie was simply a useful adjunct totheir luxurious lives, as little to be regarded as the florist whofilled their flower-boxes or the man who tuned their pianos.

  These little rubs to self-complacency were not very hard to bear. It wasnot exactly pleasant, certainly, to pass in at the side entrance whereshe had once been welcomed at the front door; to feel that her comingsand her goings were so insignificant as to be scarcely noticed; now andthen, perhaps, to be treated with scant courtesy by an ill-manneredservant. This rarely chanced, however. Georgie had a little naturaldignity which impressed servants as well as other people, and from heremployers she received nothing but the most civil treatment. Fashion isnot unkindly, and it was still remembered that Miss Talcott was born alady, though she worked for a living. There were stormy days and dulldays, days when Georgie felt tired and discouraged; or, harder still tobear, bright days and gala days, when she saw other girls of her agesetting forth to enjoy themselves in ways now closed to her. I will notdeny that she suffered at such moments, and wished with all her heartthat things could be different. But on the whole she bore herselfbravely and well, and found some happiness in her work, together with agreat deal of contentment.

  Mrs. St. John added to her difficulties by continual efforts to tempther to do this and that pleasant thing which Georgie felt to beinexpedient. She wanted her favorite to play at young ladyhood in herodd minutes, and defy the little frosts and chills which Georgieinstinctively knew would be her portion if she should attempt to entersociety again on the old terms. If Georgie urged that she had no properdress, the answer was prompt,--"My dear, I am going to give you adress;" or, "My dear, you can wear my blue, we are just the sameheight." But Georgie stood firm, warded off the shower of gifts whichwas ready to descend upon her, and loving her friend the more that shewas so foolishly kind, would not let herself be persuaded into doingwhat she knew was unwise.

  "I can't be two people at once," she persisted. "There's not enough ofme for that. You remember what I said that first day, and I mean tostick to it. You are a perfect darling, and just as kind as you can be;but you must just let me go my own way, dear Mrs. St. John, and besatisfied to know that it is the comfort of my life to have you love meso much, though I won't go to balls with you."

  But though Georgie would not go to balls or dinner-parties, there weresmaller gayeties and pleasures which she did not refuse,--drives andsails now and then, tickets to concerts and lectures, or a long quietSunday with a "spend the night" to follow. These little breaks in herbusy life were wholesome and refreshing, and she saw no reason fordenying them to herself. There was nothing morbid in my little Knight ofLabor, which was one reason why she labored so successfully.

  So the summer came and went, and Georgie with it, keeping steadily on ather daily task. All that she found to do she did as thoroughly and ascarefully as she knew how. She was of real use, and she knew it. Herwork had a value. It was not imaginary work, invented as a pretext forgiving her help, and the fact supported her self-respect.

  We are told in one of our Lord's most subtly beautiful parables, that tothem who make perfect use of their one talent, other talents shall beadded also. Many faithful workers have proved the meaning and the truthof the parable, and Georgie Talcott found it now among the rest. Withthe coming in of the autumn another sphere of activity was suddenlyopened to her. It sprang, as good things often do, from a seemingdisappointment.

  She was drawing on her gloves one morning at the close of her labors,when a message was brought by the discreet English butler.

  "Mrs. Parish says, Miss, will you be so good as to step up to hermorning-room before you go."

  "Certainly, Frederick." And Georgie turned and ran lightly upstairs.Mrs. Parish was sitting at her writing-table with rather a preoccupiedface.

  "I sent for you, Miss Talcott, because I wanted to mention that we aregoing abroad for the winter," she began. "Maud isn't we
ll, the doctorsrecommend the Riviera, so we have decided rather suddenly on our plans,and are to sail on the 'Scythia' the first of November. We shall be gonea year."

  "Dear me," thought Georgie, "there's another of my places lost! It isquite dreadful!" She was conscious of a sharp pang of inwarddisappointment.

  "My cousin, Mrs. Ernest Stockton, is to take the place," continued Mrs.Parish. "Her husband has been in the legation at Paris, you know, forthe last six years, but now they are coming back for good; and when Itelegraphed her of our decision, she at once cabled to secure thishouse. They will land the week after we sail, and I suppose will wantto come up at once. Now, of course all sorts of things have got to bedone to make ready for them; but it's out of the question that I shoulddo them, for what with packing and the children's dressmaking andappointments at the dentist's and all that, my hands are so full that Icould not possibly undertake anything else. So I was thinking of you.You have so much head and system, you know, and I could trust you as Icould not any stranger, and you know the house so well; and you couldget plenty of people to help, so that it need not be burdensome. Therewill be some things to be packed away, and the whole place to becleaned, floors waxed and curtains washed, the Duchesse dressing-tablestaken to pieces and done up and fluted,--all that sort of thing, youknow. Oh! and there would be an inventory to make, too; I forgot that.Then next year I should want it gone over again in the same way,--thearticles that are packed taken out and put into place, and so on, thatit may look natural when we come home. My idea would be to move thefamily down to New York on the 15th, so as to give you a clearfortnight, and just come up for one day before we sail, for a finallook. Of course I should leave the keys in your charge, and I shouldwant you to take the whole responsibility. Now, will you do it, and justtell me what you will ask for it all?"

  "May I think it over for one night?" said prudent Georgie. "I will cometo-morrow morning with my answer."

  She thought it over carefully, and seemed to see that here was a newvista of remunerative labor opened to her, of a more permanent characterthan mere dusting. So she signified to Mrs. Parish that she wouldundertake the job, and having done so, bent her mind to doing it in thebest possible manner. She made careful lists, and personallysuperintended each detail. Miss Sally recommended trustworthyworkpeople, and everything was carried out to the full satisfaction ofMrs. Parish, who could not say enough in praise of Georgie and hermethods.

  "It robs going to Europe of half its terrors to have such a person toturn to," she told her friends. "That little Miss Talcott is reallywonderful,--so clear-headed and exact. It's really extraordinary whereshe learned it all, such a girl as she is. If any of you are goingabroad, you'll find her the greatest comfort possible."

  These commendations bore fruit. People in Sandyport were always settingforth for this part of the world or that, and leaving houses behindthem. A second job of the same sort was soon urged upon Georgie,followed by a third and a fourth. It was profitable work, for she hadfifty dollars in each case (a hundred for her double job at the AlgernonParishes'); so her year's expenses were assured, and she was not sorrywhen another of her "dusting" families went to Florida for the winter.

  It became the fashion in Sandyport to employ "little Miss Talcott." Hercapabilities once discovered, people were quick in finding out ways inwhich to utilize them. Mrs. Robert Brown had the sudden happy thought ofgetting Georgie to arrange the flowers for a ball which she was giving.Georgie loved flowers, and had that knack of making them look charmingin vases which is the gift of a favored few. The ball decorations wereadmired and commented upon; people said it was "so clever of Mrs.Brown," and "so much better than stiff things from a florist's," andpresently half a dozen other ladies wanted the same thing done forthem. Fashion and sheep always follow any leader who is venturesomeenough to try a new fence.

  Later, Mrs. Horace Brown, with her cards out for a great lawn-party, hadthe misfortune to sprain her ankle. In this emergency she bethoughtherself of Georgie, who thereupon proved so "invaluable" as a _dea exmachina_ behind the scenes, that thenceforward Mrs. Brown never feltthat she could give any sort of entertainment without her help.Engagements thickened, and Georgie's hands became so full that shelaughingly threatened to "take a partner."

  "That's just what I always wanted you to do," said Mrs. St. John,--"areal nice one, with heaps of money, who would take you about everywhere,and give you a good time."

  "Oh, that's not at all the sort I want," protested Georgie, laughing andblushing. "I mean a real business partner, a fellow-sweeperess andhouse-arranger and ball-supper-manageress!"

  "Wretched girl, how horribly practical you are! I wish I could see youdiscontented and sentimental just for once!"

  "Heaven forbid! That _would_ be a pretty state of things! Now good-by. Ihave about half a ton of roses to arrange for Mrs. Lauriston."

  "Oh,--for her dance! Georgie," coaxingly, "why not go for once with me?Come, just this once. There's that white dress of mine from _Pingat_,with the _Point de Venie_ sleeves, that would exactly fit you."

  "Nonsense!" replied Georgie, briefly. She kissed her friend and hurriedaway.

  "I declare," soliloquized Mrs. St. John, looking after her, "I couldfind it in my heart to _advertise_ for some one to come and rescueGeorgie Talcott from all this hard work! What nice old times those werewhen you had only to get up a tournament and blow a trumpet or two, andhave true knights flock in from all points of the compass in aid ofdistressed damsels! I wish such things were in fashion now; I would buya trumpet this very day, I vow, and have a tournament next week."

  Georgie's true knight, as it happened, was to come from a quarter littlesuspected by Mrs. St. John. For the spare afternoons of this secondwinter Georgie had reserved rather a large piece of work, which hadthe advantage that it could be taken up at will and laid down whenconvenient. This was the cataloguing of a valuable library belonging toMr. Constant Carrington. That gentleman had observed Georgie ratherclosely as she went about her various avocations, and had formed so highan opinion of what he was pleased to term her "executive ability," thathe made a high bid for her services in preference to those of any oneelse.

  Recognizing an old friend, she jumped up, exclaiming,"Why Bob--Mr. Curtis--how do you do?"--_Page 49._]

  She was sitting in this library one rainy day in January, beside a bigpacking-case, with a long row of books on the table, which she wasdusting, classifying, and noting on the list in her lap, when the dooropened and a tall young man came in. Georgie glanced at him vaguely, asat a stranger; then recognizing an old friend, she jumped up,exclaiming, "Why Bob--Mr. Curtis,--how do you do? I had no idea that youwere here."

  Bob Curtis looked bewildered. He had reached Sandyport only thatmorning. No one had chanced to mention Georgie or the change in herfortunes, and for a moment he failed to recognize in the white-aproned,dusty-fingered vision before him the girl whom he had known so well fiveyears previously.

  "It is?--why it _is_," he exclaimed. "Miss Georgie, how delighted I amto see you! I was coming down to call as soon as I could find out whereyou were. My aunt said nothing about your being in the house."

  "Very likely she did not know. I am in and out so often here that I donot always see Mrs. Carrington."

  "Indeed!" Bob looked more puzzled than ever. He had not remembered thatthere was any such close intimacy in the old days between the twofamilies.

  "I can't shake hands, I am too dusty," went on Georgie. "But I am veryglad indeed to see you again."

  She too was taking mental notes, and observing that her former friendhad lost somewhat of the gloss and brilliance of his boyish days; thathis coat was not of the last cut; and that his expression wasspiritless, not to say discontented. "Poor fellow!" she thought.

  "What on earth does it all mean?" meditated Bob on his part.

  "These books only came yesterday," said Georgie, indicating the big boxwith a wave of the hand.

  "I have had to dust them all; and I find that Italian dust sticks justas the Amer
ican variety does, and makes the fingers just as black." Alittle laugh.

  "What _are_ you doing, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

  "Cataloguing your uncle's library. He has been buying quantities ofbooks for the last two years, as perhaps you know. He has a man inGermany and another in Paris and another in London, who purchase forhim, and the boxes are coming over almost every week now. A great casefull of the English ones arrived last Saturday,--such beauties! Look atthat Ruskin behind you. It is the first edition, with all the plates,worth its weight in gold."

  "It's awfully good of you to take so much trouble, I'm sure," remarkedMr. Curtis politely, still with the same mystified look.

  "Not at all," replied Georgie, coolly. "It's all in my line of business,you know. Mr. Carrington is to give me a hundred dollars for the job;which is excellent pay, because I can take my own time for doing it, andwork at odd moments."

  Her interlocutor looked more perplexed than ever. A distinctembarrassment became visible in his manner at the words "job" and "pay."

  "Certainly," he said. Then coloring a little he frankly went on, "Idon't understand a bit. Would you mind telling me what it all means?"

  "Oh, you haven't happened to hear of my 'befalments,' as Miss SallyScannell would call them."

  "I did hear of your mother's death," said Bob, gently, "and I was trulysorry. She was so kind to me always in the old days."

  "She was kind to everybody. I am glad you were sorry," said Georgie,bright tears in the eyes which she turned with a grateful look on Bob."Well, that was the beginning of it all."

  There was another pause, during which Bob pulled his moustachenervously! Then he drew a chair to the table and sat down.

  "Can you talk while you're working?" he asked. "And mayn't I help? Itseems as though I might at least lift those books out for you. Now, ifyou don't mind, if it isn't painful, won't you tell me what has happenedto you, for I see that something _has_ happened."

  "A great deal has happened, but it isn't painful to tell about it.Things _were_ puzzling at first, but they have turned out wonderfully;and I'm rather proud of the way they have gone."

  So, little by little, with occasional interruptions for lifting outbooks and jotting down titles, she told her story, won from point topoint by the eager interest which her companion showed in the narrative.When she had finished, he brought his hand down heavily on the table.

  "I'll tell you what," he exclaimed with vigorous emphasis, "it's mostextraordinary that a girl should do as you have done. You're an absolutelittle _brick_,--if you'll excuse the phrase. But it makes a fellow--itmakes _me_ more ashamed of myself than I've often been in my lifebefore."

  "But why,--why should you be ashamed?"

  "Oh, I've been having hard times too," explained Bob, gloomily. "But Ihaven't been so plucky as you. I've minded them more."

  Georgie knew vaguely something of these "hard times." In the "old days,"five years before, when she was seventeen and he a Harvard Junior oftwenty, spending a long vacation with his uncle, and when they hadrowed and danced and played tennis together so constantly as to setpeople to wondering if anything "serious" was likely to arise from theintimacy, the world with all its opportunities and pleasures seemed opento the heir of the Curtis family. Bob's father was rich, the familyinfluential, there seemed nothing that he might not command at will.

  Then all was changed suddenly; a great financial panic swept away thefamily fortunes in a few weeks. Mr. Curtis died insolvent, and Robertwas called on to give up many half-formed wishes and ambitions, and facethe stern realities. What little could be saved from the wreck made ascanty subsistence for his mother and sisters; he must support himself.For more than two years he had been filling a subordinate position in alarge manufacturing business. His friends considered him in luck tosecure such a place; and he was fain to agree with them, but theacknowledgment did not make him exactly happy in it, notwithstanding.

  Discipline can hardly be agreeable. Bob Curtis had been a little spoiledby prosperity; and though he did his work fairly well, there was alwaysa bitterness at heart, and a certain tinge of false shame at having itto do at all. He worked because he must, he told himself, not because heliked or ever should like it. All the family traditions were opposed towork. Then he had the natural confidence of a very young man in his ownpowers, and it was not pleasant to be made to feel at every turn that hewas raw, inexperienced, not particularly valuable to anybody, and thatno one especially looked up to or admired him. He scorned himself forminding such things; but all the same he did mind them, and the frank,kindly young fellow was in danger of becoming soured and cynical in hislonely and uncongenial surroundings.

  It was just at this point that good fortune brought him into contactwith Georgie Talcott, and it was like the lifting of a veil from beforehis eyes. He recollected her such a pretty, care-free creature, pettedand adored by her mother, every day filled with pleasant things, not aworry or cloud allowed to shadow the bright succession of heramusements; and here she sat telling him of a fight with necessitycompared with which his seemed like child's play, and out of which shehad come victorious. He was struck, too, with the total absence ofembarrassment and false shame in the telling. Work, in Georgie's mind,was evidently a thing to be proud of and thankful over, not something tobe practised shyly, and alluded to with bated breath. The contrastbetween his and her way of looking at the thing struck him sharply.

  It did not take long for Georgie to arrive at the facts in Bob's case.Confidence begets confidence; and in another day or two, won by herbright sympathy, he gradually made a clean breast of his troubles.Somehow they did not seem so great after they were told. Georgie'ssympathy was not of a weakening sort, and her questions and commentsseemed to clear things to his mind, and set them in right relations toeach other.

  "I don't think that I pity you much," she told him one day. "Your motherand the girls, yes, because they are women and not used to it, and italways _is_ harder for girls--"

  "See here, you're a girl yourself," put in Bob.

  "No--I'm a business person. Don't interrupt. What I was going to saywas, that I think it's _lovely_ for a young man to have to work! We areall lazy by nature; we need to be shaken up and compelled to do ourbest. You will be ten times as much of a person in the end as if you hadalways had your own way."

  "Do you really think that? But what's the use of talking? I may stickwhere I am for years, and never do more than just make a living."

  "I wouldn't!" said Georgie, throwing back her pretty head with an air ofdecision. "I should scorn to 'stick' if I were a man! And I don'tbelieve you will either. If you once go into it heartily and put yourwill into it, you're sure to succeed. I always considered you clever,you know. You'll go up--up--as sure as, as sure as _dust_,--that's thething of all the world that's most certain to rise, I think."

  "'Overmastered with a clod of valiant marl,'" muttered Robert below hisbreath; then aloud, "Well, if that's the view you take of it, I'll do mybest to prove you right. It's worth a good deal to know that there issomebody who expects something of me."

  "I expect everything of you," said Georgie confidently. And Bob wentback to his post at the end of the fortnight infinitely cheered andheartened.

  "Bless her brave little heart!" he said to himself. "I won't disappointher if I can help it; or, if I must, I'll know the reason why."

  It is curious, and perhaps a little humiliating, to realize how much ourlives are affected by what may be called accident. A touch here orthere, a little pull up or down to set us going, often determines thedirection in which we go, and direction means all. Robert Curtis inafter times always dated the beginning of his fortunes from the day whenhe walked into his uncle's library and found Georgie Talcott cataloguingbooks.

  "It set me to making a man of myself," he used to say.

  Georgie did not see him for more than a year after his departure, but hewrote twice to say that he had taken her advice and it had "worked," andhe had "got a rise." The truth was that the boy had a
n undevelopedcapacity for affairs, inherited from the able old grandfather, who laidthe foundations of the fortune which Bob's father muddled away. Whenonce will and energy were roused and brought into play, this hereditarybent asserted itself. Bob became valuable to his employers, and likeGeorgie's "dust," began to go up in the business scale.

  Georgie had just successfully re-established the Algernon Parishes, whoarrived five months later than was expected, in their home, when Bobcame up for a second visit to his uncle. This time he had three weeks'leave, and it was just before he went back that he proposed theformation of what he was pleased to call "A Labor Union."

  "You see I'm a working man now just as you are a working woman," heexplained. "It's our plain duty to co-operate. You shall be GrandMaster--or rather Mistress--and I'll be some sort of a subordinate,--aWalking Delegate, perhaps."

  "Indeed, you shall be nothing of the sort. Walking Delegates areparticularly idle people, I've always heard. They just go about orderingother folks to stop work and do nothing."

  "Then I won't be one. I'll be Grand Master's Mate."

  "There's no such office in Labor Unions. If we have one at all, you musthave the first place in it."

  "What is that position? Please describe it in full. Whatever happens, Iwon't strike."

  "Oh," said Georgie, with the prettiest blush in the world, "the positionis too intricate for explanation; we won't describe it."

  "But will you join the Union?"

  "I thought we had joined already,--both of us."

  "Now, Georgie, dearest, I'm in earnest. Thanks to you, I know what workmeans and how good it is. And now I want my reward, which is to workbeside you always as long as I live. Don't turn away your head, but tellme that I may."

  I cannot tell you exactly what was Georgie's answer, for thisconversation took place on the beach, and just then they sat down on theedge of a boat and began to talk in such low tones that no one couldoverhear; but as they sat a long time and she went home leaningcontentedly on Bob's arm, I presume she answered as he wished. He wentback to his work soon afterward, and has made his way up very fastsince. Next spring the firm with which he is connected propose to sendhim to Chicago to start a new branch of their business there. He is tohave a good salary and a share of the profits, and it is understood thatGeorgie will go with him. She has kept on steadily at her variousavocations, has made herself so increasingly useful that all Sandyportwonders what it shall do without her when she goes away, and has laid upwhat Miss Sally calls "a tidy bit of money" toward the furnishing of thehome which she and Bob hope to have before long. Mrs. St. John has manyplans in mind for the wedding; and though Georgie laughingly proteststhat she means to be married in a white apron, with a wreath of "dustymiller" round her head, I dare say she will give in when the time comes,and consent to let her little occasion be made pretty. Even a girl whoworks likes to have her marriage day a bright one.

  Cousin Vi, for her part, is dimly reaching out toward a reconciliation.For, be it known, work which brings success, and is proved to have asolid money value of its own, loses in the estimation of the fastidiousits degrading qualities, and is spoken of by the more euphonious titleof "good fortune." It is only work which doesn't succeed, which remainsforever disrespectable. I think I may venture to predict that the timewill come when Cousin Vi will condone all Georgie's wrong-doings, andextend, not the olive-branch only, but both hands, to "the Curtises,"that is if they turn out as prosperous as their friends predict andexpect them to be.

  But whatever Fate may have in store for my dear little Georgie and herchosen co-worker, of one thing I am sure,--that, fare as they may withworldly fortune, they will never be content, having tasted of the saltof work, to feed again on the honey-bread of idleness, or become dronesin the working-hive, but will persevere to the end in the principles andpractices of what in the best sense of the word may be called theirLabor Union.