CHAPTER XIII.
THE WANDERER RETURNS.
For several days the musicale, and the events connected with it, formedthe subjects of general conversation. At first Sarah's remarkableaddress to her school-mates appeared likely to have a contrary effectfrom that which she desired, being calculated to make Marion moredisliked than ever by those to whom she had been held up by her zealouslittle champion as superior to themselves in every way.
But Sarah, despite her quick temper, was a great favorite in the school,for her warm heart and generous nature made her as ready to do any one akindness as she was to fly into a passion. She always spoke the truth,and if she unintentionally wounded or even annoyed one of her companionsshe was ever ready to make reparation. Perhaps many of them felt thetruth of her remarks, and thought that in this case silence was theironly safeguard.
Miss Christine had spoken privately to the older scholars, entreatingthem not to harbor any ill-will towards either of the three immediatelyconcerned, and so the matter was passed quietly over, and that which inmany instances could have had nothing but evil results seemed likely inthis one to be productive of good; for Marion, fearing that she had beenthe means of depriving Sarah of some of her warmest friends, almostunconsciously assumed a different bearing towards all her companions,and for her new friend's sake exhibited an interest in persons andthings about her which she had heretofore treated with supremeindifference. And so the days wore on, and Thanksgiving was rapidlyapproaching. None of the girls who lived at a distance were going homethis year, and the house was filled with lamentations, and half-stifledfears lest certain boxes should fail to make their appearance.
Marion had as yet received no definite news from her mother regardingJemima Dobbs, and her heart was filled with disappointment when shethought of the lonely Thanksgiving they were likely to have at thefarm-house in place of the bright and happy one she had pictured toherself.
She was sitting in her window one morning thinking of Aunt Bettie, whenher door suddenly opened, a voice cried, "Look out for your head!" and athick letter was shot into her lap. She caught it eagerly, not stoppingto think whose was the unerring hand that had so accurately hit itsmark, and tearing off the envelope in true school-girl fashion, sheglanced rapidly along the pages, when her eyes were caught with thewords: "Jemima will be at the B---- station Wednesday, when the seveno'clock train arrives; be sure and have some one there to meet her."With a cry of delight Marion ran to the door to call Florence, and wasmet by that young woman at the head of the stairs. She received thehappy tidings as enthusiastically as Marion could possibly wish, andgoing back to their room, and seating themselves in their usual window,Marion read the letter aloud:--
"BOSTON, Nov. 24th.
"MY DEAR DAUGHTER:--Papa has just gone down town; Fred is at school; and Charley radiantly happy in the possession of a new mechanical toy, which I expect will be demolished in a few moments, as that young gentleman is developing a surprising fancy for inquiring into the 'why and wherefore' of everything he takes hold of. As everything seems to promise a quiet time for me, I think I will devote myself to you, as I have quite a long story to tell you.
"I know you have been very much disappointed that my recent letters have contained no news of your protege; but I am in hopes that this one will put all your anxiety to rest, and quite equal your most ardent expectations.
"After waiting some time, Mrs. Benson received a letter from the lady in Charlestown, with whom the girl calling herself Arabella Dobbs has gone to live, in which she wrote that Arabella had stayed with her three weeks, but had left, thinking she could find work in some wholesale clothing establishment, that would prove more profitable than living out.
"The lady also voluntarily wrote, that she had every reason to think the girl was living under an assumed name, as she had repeatedly answered questions directed to the cook, whose name was Jemima, and seemed very much confused, when after doing so several times, remarks were made, and excused herself by saying that her mother used to call her Jemima 'just for fun.'
"Of course we were not much longer in doubt as to the identity of Miss Arabella, but we were, if possible, wider from the mark than ever, for we had not the most remote idea to what clothing establishment she had gone, and there being several in the city, it did not seem very probable that without much difficulty we should be able to find the right one. While I stood talking with Mrs. Benson, as she was looking over the directory, a girl came up to the desk. I moved aside that she might more easily speak to Mrs. Benson, and she asked in a weak, tired voice, 'Any letters for me, ma'am?'--'What name?' demanded Mrs. Benson, running her finger down the column of the book, and not raising her eyes. 'Arabella Dobbs,' replied the servant-girl.
"Up jumped Mrs. Benson, slamming the covers of the directory together with a report like a pistol, while I turned, equally unable to conceal my astonishment, and looked at the girl as if she had been a ghost. As you may imagine, such a proceeding could not be very agreeable to the poor thing, and she looked from one to the other with a bewildered, half-frightened expression.
"I must say at my first glance I was not favorably impressed with her. I had looked for a round-faced, good-natured-looking country girl; perhaps a trifle 'airy' after her short experience of city life; but I saw a thin, angular face and figure, the hair drawn tightly off her forehead up to the very top of her head, and done in an immense waterfall; a little, round hat tipped forward, the brim just reaching her forehead, across which lay a row of corkscrew curls; her dress, which had originally been a good, serviceable delaine, but was now so soiled as to almost defy description, was looped up and puckered into a great bunch behind, in imitation of the panniers worn by the fashionable young ladies of the day. All this I took in at a glance, and confess to being rather disgusted with the young woman; but when I looked carefully at her face all such uncharitable feelings vanished, for it bore the marks of recent illness and real distress.
"Do not think, my dear Mab, that I kept the poor creature standing as long as it has taken me to write all this; my thoughts flew much faster than my pen ever can. I went up to her, and putting out my hand said, before Mrs. Benson could recover from her surprise, "Jemima, I believe there are no letters for you now, but I can tell you about your dear mother, who is very, very lonely without her daughter."
"It is useless to give you an account of our conversation, for I cannot remember it myself; the poor girl was so overcome by my unexpected kindness, and her own joy at finding a hand held out to her when she most needed help, that she opened her heart to me at once. The person who influenced her to come to Boston proved to be anything but a friend, and Jemima has paid heavily for following her advice; it was through her, as Mrs. Dobbs supposed, that she was induced to give her name as Arabella, and that act was the key-note to all her misfortune. She succeeded in getting work at a clothing establishment, at what seemed to her country ears most liberal terms; but work as hard as she could, she could earn but little more than enough to pay her board. Crowded into a room with more than twenty other girls, bending over her work in the stifled atmosphere from morning until night, soon told upon her health, accustomed as she had always been to pure country air and bodily exercise, and she had hardly been at the place three weeks when she was taken ill with a violent fever. The woman with whom she boarded, although a cold, grasping creature, was prevented from sending her away by the entreaties of the other boarders, who, as the fever was not of a malignant nature, insisted upon having her kept in the house. Some of the girls were very kind to her; but they could give her but little attention, as their time was mostly passed in the workroom. After the first severity of the fever passed, a
nd the tiresome days of convalescence were reached, the poor thing yearned for home and dear, familiar faces; she had sent her friends to Mrs. Benson's several times to inquire for letters, but with most incredible short-sightedness had always told them to give the name Arabella Dobbs, entirely forgetting that her mother did not know she had thrown aside the countrified Jemima.
"The day I saw her was the first day she had walked out, and she had literally dragged herself along the street, and up the two long flights leading to the office. She had given all her dresses, with the exception of the one she had on, to her landlady, and the woman had threatened to turn her out if she did not pay her five dollars that night. I fortunately had the carriage with me, and drove with Jemima to her boarding-place. The woman was all smiles and blandishments when she saw me, and quite overpowered Jemima with her tender inquiries as to how she felt after her walk; but I cut her short by telling her I had come to take Jemima home with me, and paid the five dollars she owed her. I think the woman would have asked more if she had not seen I was pretty determined; and so promising to send for Jemima's trunk, which was now almost entirely empty, I brought the exhausted girl here, that she might rest a few days and gain strength for her journey. She evidently is longing for home, and I do not believe she will feel like herself until she gets there. I am having her a good, warm dress made, and shall give her my plain gray silk bonnet, that her mother's good sense need not be shocked at sight of her hat, which is about the size of a small saucer. I think she is very much humbled; she shows it in many ways; most of all in her dress, and I am happy to say the corkscrew ringlets no longer adorn her brow. Jemima will be at the B---- station when the seven o'clock train arrives; be sure and have some one there to meet her.
"And now, my dear, I have only time to say that we are all well, and hoping to hear from you soon. I know this letter will be more interesting to you than if it contained pages of spicy news. I seem to see you and Florence enjoying its contents. Give my love to her, and accept more than ever a letter carried before for yourself, from your fond
"MAMMA."
"She'll be here to-morrow, as true as you live!" exclaimed Marion. "Oh,I am so glad! for now Aunt Bettie will have a Thanksgiving after all,and I was afraid it would be anything but that."
"Of course you'll go up there with her."
"No, I shan't. I shall go this afternoon, if Miss Christine will let me,and of course she will, and tell auntie that Jemima is found, and willprobably be with her by Saturday; then you see Jemima will surprise herby getting there to-morrow, for I must have a surprise about itsomewhere. I shall tell auntie how sick Jemima has been, and that shemust not be the least bit harsh with her."
"But I should think you would want to go too, so as to see the fun,"said Florence.
"Fun! I don't think there'll be much fun in it. I believe it will berather a _teary_ time at first, and I prefer to be out of the way."
"In other words, you think it would be a little easier for them to be bythemselves; so you give up seeing the 'grand tableau' at the close ofthe play, which never would have happened but for you."
"Don't be a goose, Flo!" laughed Marion, who, although radiant withdelight, and a secret sort of satisfaction, tried to remain cool, forfear she should appear too much pleased with the part she had played inthe affair.
"Who are you going to send to the station?" asked Florence.
"I'm going myself."
"Do you suppose Miss Stiffy's going to let you march off by yourself twodays in succession?"
"Not a bit of it," replied Marion. "I'm going to get up a party to go tothe farm this afternoon, and I'll manage it so that I can hang back, andtell the good news after you have all gone out."
"And then rush off and not give her a chance to thank you."
"I dare say," replied Marion; "but I mustn't stop here; it's time wewent down, for the clock struck five minutes ago."
Marion was as good as her word, and arranged a party for Aunt Bettie'sthat afternoon, taking care, however, to have Florence gain the requiredpermission, as she knew she should want the same favor the next day. Shemanaged to make Aunt Bettie understand in a few words all that wasnecessary of her daughter's story, leaving it for Jemima to make updeficiencies, and hurried off, overtaking her companions before they hadmissed her.
The next day, finding out at what hour the train in which Jemima wascoming would arrive, she walked to the village, made arrangements witha man who was in the habit of doing errands for Miss Stiefbach, to havea comfortable covered wagon ready to take Jemima and her trunk to thefarm, and then went to the station to await the arrival of the cars. Asshe sat waiting, the station-master came into the room, and plantinghimself in front of her, with both hands in his pockets, and chewing atoothpick suddenly accosted her with:--
"Goin' deown?"
"Going where?" asked Marion, not overpleased at his advances.
"Deown--deown to Boston;" jerking his thumb over his shoulder, as ifthat city was situated in the room directly behind him.
"No, sir."
"No? 'spectin' someun p'raps."
Marion made no reply.
"S'pose you're one o' them gals up t'the schule?"
Marion still observed a dignified silence.
"Spectin' one o' the gals?" queried the man, who, being a true Yankee,was not at all abashed by the coldness with which his questions, orrather comments, were received.
"No, sir," replied Marion.
"You ben't?--_not_ one o' the gals; you're marm, p'raps?"
"No, sir."
"Did you say as how you b'longed up t'the schule?"
"No, I did not say so," replied Marion, too irritated to be amused athis persistency.
"Oh, you didn't; wall, I didn't know but p'raps you did, an' ef so, Ihed somethin' to tell yer, that's all;" and whistling a tune he wasabout to walk off, when Marion exclaimed:--
"I didn't say whether I belonged to the school or not, because youdidn't ask me."
"Didn't I jest say I s'posed you was one o' them gals up t'the schule?"demanded the man, still chewing his toothpick, and looking at her as ifhis last remark was a poser.
"So you did," replied Marion; "you stated the fact, and as I didn't sayanything took it for granted I was one of the scholars. When you ask adirect question perhaps I'll answer it."
"Aint you a smart un?" exclaimed the man. "Wall now, that's what I callright deown smart; jest answer to the pint, an' then yer don't gitcornered;" and he nodded his head at her in real admiration. "Wall, Is'pose I must put it pretty sharp ef I expect to git an answer. Neow,"taking his hat off and rubbing his hands through his hair as if tocollect his ideas, "be you one o' them gals as goes t'the schule jestabeout tew miles from here?"
"Yes, I am," replied Marion, who, now that she saw the man had somemotive besides idle curiosity, descended from her loftiness.
"Wall, I've got a box in here that came deown in the express train, an'I didn't kneow but what you'd come to see 'bout it. It's fur one o' themgals, an' 's I haint bin here long I haint much used to the business,an' I didn't know heow to git it up there."
"Who is it for?" asked Marion.
"I don't remember; one o' yer highfalutin sort o' names. But you jestcome and see it;" and he led the way into the "gentleman's room," andpointed to a large box standing in the corner.
Marion walked up to it, and glancing at the address exclaimed: "Why, itis for me!"
"Wall, neow du tell!" exclaimed the station-master; "neow I call thatquite a coincydance, I du!"
"Well, I call it a very nice box," laughed Marion; "and there comes aman I've engaged to do a job for me, and he can take it in his wagon,and leave it at the school."
"You're a smart un, I tell you," remarked the man as he lifted the boxand carried it to the door; "you know how to do the bisness, an' nomistake."
Before Marion could reply, or t
ake any notice of his remark, the whistleof an engine was heard, and as she went out on to the platform the trainwhizzed up and stopped If it had not have been for her mother'spreparation, she would never have recognized in the thin, subdued, paleyoung woman who stepped from the cars, the bright, rosy country girl shehad seen so many times at Aunt Bettie's.
She welcomed Jemima most cordially, making no allusions that couldembarrass the poor girl, and rattled on a string of good-naturednothings, as she delivered the little hair trunk into the hands of hercharioteer, and then placed Jemima on the back seat.
"Aint you goin', miss?" asked the driver.
"Oh, no! I prefer to walk. Good-by, Jemima. Give my love to your mother,and tell her I wish her a happy thanksgiving."
Jemima grasped the hand Marion held out to her, and exclaimed under herbreath, just loud enough for Marion to catch the words, "God bless you,miss!" It was the first time she had spoken since she arrived; but Ithink Marion was satisfied.
As Marion turned away from the wagon, her eyes fell upon thestation-master, who, with his legs planted at a most respectful distancefrom each other, his hands still in the depths of his pockets, and hishead cocked on one side, had been watching all the proceedings with thedeepest interest. As she passed him he nodded his head slowly threetimes in the most serious manner, and remarked, with even more than hisformer emphasis, "You're a smart un!"