Nelly's First Schooldays

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  CHICKENS AND "POETRY." Page 111.]

  THE MARTIN AND NELLY STORIES.

  NELLY'S FIRST SCHOOLDAYS.

  BY JOSEPHINE FRANKLIN. AUTHOR OF "NELLY AND HER FRIENDS."

  BOSTON: FRED'K A. BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS, 29 CORNHILL. 1862.

  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by

  BROWN AND TAGGARD,

  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

  RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.

  LIST OF THE

  "MARTIN AND NELLY STORIES."

  I. NELLY AND HER FRIENDS. II. NELLY'S FIRST SCHOOLDAYS. III. NELLY AND HER BOAT. IV. LITTLE BESSIE. V. NELLY'S VISIT. VI. ZELMA. VII. MARTIN. VIII. COUSIN REGULUS. IX. MARTIN AND NELLY. X. MARTIN ON THE MOUNTAIN. XI. MARTIN AND THE MILLER. XII. TROUTING, OR GYPSYING IN THE WOODS.

  CONTENTS.

  PAGE

  CHAPTER I. MILLY 7

  CHAPTER II. "MELINDY" 25

  CHAPTER III. COMFORT'S NEFFY 51

  CHAPTER IV. "LET'S MAKE FRIENDS!" 72

  CHAPTER V. CHICKENS AND "POETRY" 109

  CHAPTER VI. GETTING LOST 129

  NELLY'S FIRST SCHOOL-DAYS.

  CHAPTER I.

  MILLY.

  Not very far from Nelly's home, stood a small, time-worn, wooden house.

  It was not a pleasant object at which to look. A few vines that hadbeen trained over one of the front windows, and a stunted currant-bushwhich stood by the door, were the only green things within the brokenfence. In summer, the cottage looked bald and hot, from its completeexposure to the sun (no trees grew near to shade it), and in winter,the rough winds rattled freely around its unprotected walls.

  In this house lived a family by the name of Harrow. It consisted of thewidowed mother, a woman who had once moved in a far higher sphere oflife, and her two daughters, Milly and Elinor. There was a son, too,people said, but he did not live at home, having had the ingratitude,some time before the Harrows moved to the village, to desert his homeand run away to sea.

  Mrs. Harrow and her children were very poor. No one knew but themselveshow hard they found it to get work enough to earn their daily bread.The neighbors, among whom they were much respected, had long supposedfrom many outward signs that the family had no means to spare, butthey were far from conjecturing that often, the mild, patient-lookingMrs. Harrow, and her two gentle girls, were losing their strength fromactual famine. The little money they had, came to them through theirown exertions; their needle-work was celebrated far and near for itsdelicacy and exquisite finish. In that small neighborhood, however, thesewing which was brought to them to undertake, did not amount to much,and the prices, too, were low, and provision-rates very high.

  At last, just as despair was dawning on the household, Elinor, theeldest daughter, heard of a situation as domestic in the family of afarmer, who lived over the mountains, near Nancy's old home. The poorgirl's pride was dreadfully wounded at the thought of applying forsuch a place, she a lady born and bred, but necessity knew no law,and a few days only elapsed before pretty Miss Elinor was located atthe farm as a servant. It was a hard trial; mournful tears forcedthemselves from her eyes whenever she gave herself time to think aboutsuch a state of affairs.

  The farmer was a poor, hard-working, painstaking man, and his wife wasquite as thrifty and industrious, so that between them they managed tolay by a little money, every year, in the Savings Bank.

  When Elinor came to them, the bustling farmer's wife could not realizethat the tall, pale, elegant-looking creature was not quite as able torub and scrub from morning to night as she was herself. She did nottake into consideration that the girl was unaccustomed to much hardlabor, and that her frame was not equal to the burdens that were putupon it.

  The consequence was that when Elinor went to her room at night, she wastoo completely worn out to sleep, and in the mornings, rose feelingsick and weary. She did not complain, however, but went about herduties day after day, growing gradually more pale and feeble, andstoring in her system the seeds of future disease.

  When the farmer's wife saw her moving slowly around her tidy, spotlesskitchen, she thought her a lazy girl, and often told her so in a loud,sharp tone, that was a very great trial to hear patiently, whichElinor always did, and then set about working more steadily than ever.

  So the weeks went on, till, one morning, the maid of all work wasmissing from her place. She had been seized with a sickness, that hadlong been secretly hanging over her, and now she could not rise fromher bed.

  Martin, a boy who lived at Mr. Brooks', told Nelly that Miss Elinorfell at her post like a sentinel wounded on duty.

  When the doctor came, he informed the farmer and his wife that theirservant had lost the use of her limbs, through an affection of thespine, which had been brought on by lifting too heavy burdens, and shewas indeed as unable to move hand or foot to help herself as a babycould be. Her mind, however, was not impaired. The farmer thought itwould have been fortunate if it had been, for she seemed to suffer suchterrible mental anguish about her misfortune, and the new care andmisery she was bringing on her mother and sister.

  The farmer took her home in his wagon, a confirmed cripple. Her motherand Milly helped him to carry her up to her old bedroom, and there shelay, suffering but little pain, it is true, but at the time of ourstory, having no hope of recovery.

  The days were very long to Elinor now. She despised herself for everhaving repined at fate before. What was all she had endured previously,to this trial? There was no light work of any kind, not even sewing,which she could do, as she lay on her bed, and this made the time seemlonger. She was forced to be idle from daylight till dark. She couldhave read, it is true, but she had no books, and to buy any was anextravagance, of which, with the scanty means of the family, she didnot allow herself to dream.

  The neighbors were shocked to hear of Elinor's misfortune. They visitedher, and at first, sent her little delicacies to tempt her appetite,but by and by, although they pitied her as much as ever, they forgother in the events of their own domestic circles.

  One very cold winter night Milly came into Mrs. Brooks's kitchen, andasked Comfort, a colored woman who worked for the family, where hermistress was. Comfort promptly led the way to the sitting-room, wheregrouped coseyly around the centre-table were the different members ofthe farmer's family. A bright fire blazed on the hearth, and the woolencurtains were tightly drawn to keep out the winds that whistled aroundthe farm-house.

  At the sight of this picture of comfort, Milly's pretty lips quivered.She took kind-hearted Mrs. Brooks aside.

  "Dear Mrs. Brooks," said Milly, "I _must_ say it; we are starving!Elinor lies dying with cold and hunger, in her bed. Mother has nottasted a mouthful since yesterday, and she is so proud she would notlet me beg. What _are_ we to do? I have run over here to ask yoursympathy and aid, for we have not one friend to whom we feel as thoughwe might apply."

  Tears gathered in Milly's eyes.

  "And pray," said the farmer's wife, "what do you consider _me_, Milly,if not a friend? You ought not to have delayed so long in this matter.I feel really hurt. Why did you not come to me before?"

  She led the way into the kitchen that the young girl's sad tale mightnot draw upon her too close attention from the children.

  Milly Harrow sank upon a seat, before the fire on the hearth, and weptsuch bitter, heart-bre
aking tears as it is to be hoped no one who readsher story has ever known. She was a gentle, refined, well-educated girlof twenty, and had met much more sorrow than happiness.

  "Milly," said the farmer's wife kindly, and advancing as she spoke,from the open door of the pantry, "come here to the table and see how abit of this roast fowl tastes. And try this glass of currant wine,--youneed not be afraid of it, it is home-made. While you are busy with it,I'll get a little basket ready, and put on my cloak to run over withyou when you go back."

  Milly blushed crimson. It was difficult to her to learn the hardlessons of poverty. Nevertheless, she ate some bread and cold chicken,and was quite ready to praise the delicate wine for the grateful warmthit sent thrilling throughout her frame.

  When she had finished, Mrs. Brooks was ready to accompany her, andComfort too, having received private instructions, stood with hershawl over her head, and a large basket of wood in her hand.

  So they set out together, Milly leading the way, the snow crunchingunder their feet, along the path.

  In a short time, a bright fire was burning in patient Elinor's room,while the remains of a little feast on a table in the centre, showedthat the family suffered no longer from the pangs of actual starvation.

  Elinor was bolstered up in bed, looking like a wan, despairing womanof fifty, instead of a girl of twenty-two. Care and sickness had agedher before her time. A faint, sweet flush was dawning on her cheeksto-night, however, for she was not now enduring hunger, and Mrs. Brookssat there by the cheerfully blazing hearth with her mother and sister,and talked hope into all their hearts.

  "I tell you what it is, Mrs. Harrow," said the farmer's wife, in apleasant, hearty tone, "we must set this Milly of yours to work. Thingsought not to go on this way with your family any longer."

  "Work!" echoed Milly, a little bitterly. "I've seen the time, dear Mrs.Brooks, when I would have given anything for a month's work. Only tellme something to do, and see how grateful I shall be."

  "Well," said the farmer's wife, "the darkest hour is just before day,Milly; who knows but that yours is now over, and dawn is coming. I havebeen thinking about your opening a school."

  Mrs. Harrow clasped her hands eagerly.

  "Oh, if she could! oh, if she could!" she cried. "But who would thinkof sending their children to us, when there are already two or threeother schools in the village?"

  "Miss Felix is just giving hers up, and is going to the city," saidMrs. Brooks. "I know it to be a fact, because I went to see her abouttaking Nelly last week. That will be quite an opening. I can go to herto-morrow, get a list of her pupils, and call on the parents to securetheir good-will, if you say so, Milly."

  Milly could scarcely answer for sobbing. At last she said in a brokenvoice, "dear, dear Mrs. Brooks, this is more than I have any reason tohope. How can I ever repay you for your kindness?"

  "By taking good care of Nelly when I send her to you as your firstpupil," was the cheerful reply. "And now let me see what are youraccommodations. You must have our Martin for a day or two, to knock youtogether some long benches with backs, and Comfort can help you coverand cushion them with some old green baize that I have in the garret.What room can you give to the use of the schoolmistress, Mrs. Harrow?"

  "Well," said the old lady, smiling for the first time in a month, "thefront room, down-stairs, is best, I think, because it opens directlyon the road. I can take the furniture out, (what there is of it!) andclean it up like a June pink, in a day or two."

  "The carpet is rather shabby and threadbare," suggested Milly. "Andlittle pegged shoes will soon spoil it completely," added Mrs. Brooks."I should say a better plan will be to take it up entirely. A cleanboard floor, nicely swept and sanded every morning, is plenty goodenough. What books have you, Milly?"

  "All my old school-books, and brother's, and Elinor's too," said theyoung girl. "That will do to begin on till the pupils purchase theirown."

  "I could teach French," put forth Elinor's voice from the bed,--"thatis, if it would answer for the class to come up here. You know, mother,I used to speak it fluently when I was at Madame Thibault's. Don't youthink I might try? My voice and my patience are strong, if _I_ am not;"and she smiled, oh, such a smile! It brought tears into the eyes ofall in that poor, little, desolate apartment.

  "Try!" said the farmer's wife; "why, Elinor, that is just the thing foryou! You may count _me_ as one in your class. It was only yesterday Iwas regretting having no opportunity to practise what little of thelanguage I know already. We must arrange your room a little, Ellie, andhave everything looking spruce, and Frenchified, eh?"

  At this Elinor herself began to cry.

  "You are so, s-o-o g-o-o-o-d," she exclaimed.

  "Good! Not at all!" said Mrs. Brooks; and by way of proving how farfrom good she was really, she hopped up like a bird, and was at thebedside in a minute, smoothing out the pillows and kissing Elinor'spale forehead.

  "I'll take my first lesson to-morrow afternoon," she said, "if you haveno objections; and your kind mother here, can begin to profit herselfat once by your labor, and send over to our meal-bag and dairy as oftenas she pleases."