Hetty Gray by Rosa Mulholland

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

"Hetty, I am sorry for this," said Miss Davis, "I could not have
believed you would speak so rudely."

"You have not heard the story, Miss Davis."

"I have heard you put yourself very much in the wrong. Phyllis would not
tell an untruth of you, I am sure."

"She said I put on fine airs," said Hetty, trembling with indignation.
"I did not put on airs. They wanted me to perform, and I could not do
it. If I had done it Phyllis would have been the first to blame me. I
remember how she scorned me for doing it long ago."

"I hope you will make her apologize to me, Miss Davis," said Phyllis
quietly. The more excited poor Hetty became, the quieter grew the other
girl.

"She is ungenerous," continued Hetty, striving valiantly to keep back
her tears; "she knew her mother would not approve of my performing; and
besides, I told her I was afraid. If I had done it she would have
complained to Mrs. Enderby of my doing it."

This passionate accusation hit Phyllis home. She knew it was true--so
true that though she had arraigned Hetty before Miss Davis for the
pleasure of humbling her, she yet had no intention of carrying the tale
to her mother, fearing that Mrs. Enderby would say that Hetty had been
right. Had Hetty made "a show of herself" by performing, Phyllis would
perhaps have made a grievance of it to her parents. Stung for a moment
with the consciousness that this was true, before she had had time to
persuade herself of the contrary, Phyllis grew white with anger. The
injury she could least forgive was a hurt to her self-complacency.

"She must apologize, Miss Davis, or I will go to papa," said Phyllis,
disdaining to glance at Hetty, but looking at her governess.

Miss Davis was troubled.

"This is all very painful," she said. "Hetty, you had better go to your
room till you have recovered your composure. Whatever may have been your
motives last night you have now put yourself in the wrong by speaking so
rudely."

Hetty flashed out of the room, and Phyllis, quiet and triumphant, turned
to her lesson-books with a most virtuous expression upon her placid
face.

Hetty wept for an hour in her own room. Looking back on her conduct she
could not see that she had been more to blame than Phyllis. Oh, how was
it that Phyllis was always proved to be so good while she was always
forced into the wrong? She remembered a prayer asking for meekness
which Mrs. Kane had taught her, and she knelt by her bedside and said it
aloud; and just then she heard Miss Davis calling to her to open the
door.

"My dear," said the governess, "I have come to tell you that you really
must apologize to Phyllis. It was exceedingly rude of you to tell her so
flatly that her words were untrue."

Hetty flushed up to the roots of her hair and for a few moments could
not speak. She had just been on her knees asking for strength from God
to overcome her pride, and here was an opportunity for practising
meekness. But it was dreadfully hard, thought Hetty.

"I will try and do it, Miss Davis. But may I write a letter in my own
way?"

"Certainly, my dear. I am glad to find you so willing to acknowledge
yourself in fault."

Left alone to perform her task Hetty opened her desk and sat biting her
pen. At last she wrote:

"Dear Phyllis,--I am very sorry I said so rudely that you did not tell
the truth. But oh, why did you not tell it, and then there need not have
been any trouble?

"HETTY."

Hetty brought this note herself into the school-room, and in presence of
Miss Davis handed it to Phyllis.

"Do you call that an apology?" said Phyllis, handing the note to Miss
Davis.

"I don't think you have made things any better, Hetty," said Miss Davis.

"I said what I could, Miss Davis. Phyllis ought to apologize to me now."

Phyllis gave her a look of cold surprise, and took up a book.

"Pray, Miss Davis, do not mind," said she over the edges of her book. "I
expect nothing but insolence from Hetty Gray. Mother little knew what
she was providing for us when she brought her here."

Hetty turned wildly to the governess. "Miss Davis," she cried, "can I
not go away somewhere, away from here? Is there not some place in the
world where they would give a girl like me work to do? How can I go on
living here, to be treated as Phyllis treats me?"

Miss Davis took her by the hand and led her out of the room and upstairs
to her own chamber. Having closed the door she sat down and talked to
her.

"Hetty," she said, "when you give way to your pride in passions like
this you forget things. You asked me just now, is there any place where
people would give work to a girl like you to do? I don't think there
is--no place such as you could go to."

"I would go anywhere," moaned Hetty.

"Anywhere is nowhere," said Miss Davis. "Just look round you and see
all that is given to you in this house. There is your comfortable bed to
sleep in, you have your meals when you are hungry, you have good
clothing, you have a warm fireside to sit at, you have the protection of
an honourable home. Yet you would fling away all these advantages
because of a few wounds to your pride. Phyllis is trying, I admit--I
have to suffer from her at times myself--but you and I must bear with
something for the sake of what we receive."

Hetty raised her eyes and looked at Miss Davis's worn face and the line
of pain that had come out sharply across her brow, and forgot herself
for the moment, thinking of the governess's patient life.

"But, Miss Davis, _you_ need not suffer from Phyllis; you are not like
me. Any people would be glad to get you, who are so clever and so good.
You could complain of her to her mother, and if she did not get better
you could go away."

"Should I be any more safe from annoyance in another family? Hetty, my
dear, there are always thorns in the path of those who are poor and
dependent on others, and our wisest course is to make the best of
things. I might say to you, _you_ have no one to think of but yourself.
For me, I have a mother to support, and I have to think of my dear young
brother, who is not too wise for his own interests, and whose prospects
are at the mercy of a rather capricious old uncle."

"Oh that I had a mother and a brother to work for!" cried Hetty
passionately.

"Perhaps that would teach you wisdom, my dear. However, profit by my
experience and be cheered up. Take no notice if Phyllis is unkind. It is
better to be here, even with her unkindness, than straying about the
world alone, meeting with such misfortunes as you never dreamed of."

After Miss Davis had left her, Hetty sat a long time pondering over that
lady's words. It seemed to her that the governess, good and patient as
she was, had no motive for her conduct high enough to carry her through
the trials of her life. It was certainly an excellent thing to be
prudent for the sake of her mother and brother; to bear with present
evils for fear of worse evils that might come. But yet--but yet, was
there not a higher motive than all this for learning to be meek and
humble of heart? Looking into her own proud and stubborn nature, the
little girl assured herself that Miss Davis's motives would never be in
themselves enough for her, Hetty--never sufficiently strong to crush the
rebellion of self in her stormy young soul. Instinctively her thoughts
flew to Mrs. Kane, and seizing her hat and cloak she flew out of the
house, and away down the road to the labourer's cottage.

Fortunately it was a good hour for her visit. John had gone out after
his dinner. The cottage kitchen was tidied up, the fire shining, the two
old straw arm-chairs drawn up by the hearth. Mrs. Kane was just
screwing up her eyes, trying to thread a needle, when Hetty dashed in
and flung her arms around her neck.

"Oh, Mrs. Kane, the pride has got so bad again; and I have been
quarrelling with Phyllis and wanting to run away."

"Run away!" said Mrs. Kane; "oh, no, dearie, never run away from your
post."

"What is my post?" said Hetty weeping; "I have no post. I am only a
charity girl and in everybody's way. Phyllis hints it to me in every way
she can, even when she does not say it outright. Oh, how can I have
patience to grow up? Why does it take so long to get old?"

Mrs. Kane sighed. "It doesn't take long to grow old, dear, once you are
fairly in the tracks of the years. But it does take a while to grow up.
And you must have patience, Hetty. There's nothing else for it but the
patience and meekness of God."

Hetty drew a long breath. All that was spiritual within her hung now on
Mrs. Kane's words. The patience of God was such a different thing from
the prudence of this world. That was the difference between Miss Davis
and Mrs. Kane.

"There was something beautiful you said one day," said Hetty in a
whisper; "say it again. It was, 'Learn of me--'"

"Learn of me; for I am meek and lowly of heart," said Mrs. Kane. "That
is the word you want, my darling, and it was said for such as you."

Hetty's tears fell fast, but they were no longer angry tears. She was
crying now with longing to be good.

"There was something else," she said presently, when she could find her
voice; "something that was spoken for me too."

"Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,"
said Mrs. Kane, stroking her head. And then Hetty cried more wildly,
thinking with remorse of her own pride.

"If He is for you, my dear, you needn't care who is against you,"
continued Mrs. Kane; "take that into your heart and keep it there."

After that they had a long talk about all Hetty's difficulties, and when
at last the little girl left the cottage, it was with a lighter step
than had brought her there. When she walked into the school-room just in
time for tea the signs of woe were gone from her countenance, and she
looked even brighter than usual. Without giving herself time to think,
or to observe the looks of those in the room, she went straight up to
Phyllis and said cheerfully:

"Phyllis, I am sorry I gave you offence. I hope you will forget it and
be friends with me"; and then she took her seat at the table as if
nothing had happened.

Miss Davis, who had been rather dreading her appearance, fearing a
renewal of the quarrel, looked up at her and actually coloured all over
her faded face with pleasure and surprise. Hetty had really taken her
lessons to heart, and was going to be a wise and prudent girl after all.
She little thought that a far higher spirit actuated the girl than had
at all entered into her teachings.

Phyllis glanced round with a triumphant air as if saying, "Now I am
indeed proved in the right. She herself has acknowledged it!" and then
she said gently:

"I accept your apology, Hetty, and I will not say anything of the matter
to my mother."

"Is not Phyllis good," whispered Nell afterwards, "not to tell mamma?
Because you know, you were very naughty to her, Hetty, and she is papa's
daughter and the eldest."

Nell's friendly speeches were sometimes hard to bear, as well as
Phyllis's unfriendly ones. Hetty would have been glad if the whole
affair could have been laid before Mrs. Enderby, and saw no reason to
congratulate herself on Phyllis's silence to her mother as to the
quarrel and its cause. But the others judged differently. Miss Davis was
pleased that by her own tact she had been able to arrange matters
without calling in the aid of Mrs. Enderby, who, she was aware, liked a
governess to have judgment and decision sufficient to keep the mistress
of the house out of school-room squabbles. Nell was delighted that
there was to be no more "fuss." Phyllis above all was pleased, for now
she felt no more necessity for questioning her own motives and conduct,
no more danger of being told by her mother that Hetty had in the
beginning been in the right, while she, by opposing her, had brought on
the wrong which had followed.

Falling back upon her own doctrine, that she must be right because her
judgment told her so, Phyllis was coldly amiable to Hetty for the rest
of the evening; while Hetty, having made her act of humility, rather
suffered from a reaction of feeling, and had to struggle hard to keep
the moral vantage-ground she had gained.

CHAPTER XVI.

A TRIAL OF PATIENCE.

Two more years passed over Hetty's head. She had grown tall and looked
old for her age, her large gray eyes were full of serious thought, her
brow was grave, and the expression of her mouth touched with sadness.
The haughtiness and mirth of her childhood were alike gone. Earnest
desire to attain to a difficult end was the one force that moved her,
and this had become visible in her every word and glance. She was
painfully aware that the time was approaching when she must go forth to
battle with the world for herself, and that on her own qualifications
for fighting that battle her position in the world must depend. That she
had not sufficient aptitude for learning out of books, or for
remembering readily all that she gathered from them, she greatly feared.
Her memory gave her back in pictures whatever had engaged her
imagination; but much that was useful and necessary was wont to pass
away out of her grasp. Thorough determination, close application, did
not remove this difficulty, and she was warned by those around her that
unless she could make better use for study of the three years yet before
her than she had made of those that lay behind her, she could never be a
teacher of a very high order. Of all that this failure meant, Hetty
understood more clearly now than when she had wished to live with Mrs.
Kane and be the village schoolmistress. Loving all that was beautiful
and refined in life, she had learned to dread, from another motive than
pride, the fate of being thrown upon a lower social level. And yet this
was a fate which seemed now to stare her in the face.

Mr. Enderby, who had of late taken a personal interest in her studies,
examining her from time to time on various subjects, said to her:

"My little girl, if you do not wake up and work harder I fear you will
have to take an inferior position in life to that which I desired for
you."

Poor Hetty! Was she not wide awake? So wide awake that when he and all
the household were asleep she lay staring her misfortune in the face.
And how could she work harder than she did, weeping in secret over the
dry facts that would not leave their mark upon her brain? Thus it was
that life looked dreary to her, and her face was grave and pale. Phyllis
and Nell, who were three and two years older than herself, had begun to
talk of the joys which the magic age of eighteen had in store for them.
They would leave off study and go forth into the enjoyment of their
youth in a flattering world. Idleness, pleasure, happiness awaited them.
No one could say they were not sufficiently well educated to take that
graceful place in life which Providence had assigned to them; Hetty was
rebuked for being less learned than she ought to be, because for her
there was no graceful place prepared; only a difficult and narrow path
leading away she knew not where.

Of the difference between their position and hers she could not help
thinking, but she had been so long accustomed to realize it that she did
not dwell upon it much. Miss Davis was the person on whom her eyes were
fixed as an image of what she ought to hope to become.

To be exactly like Miss Davis. To look like her, think like her, be as
well informed, as independent, as much respected; to teach as well,
speak as wisely, be called an admirable woman who had fought her own way
against poverty in the world, this was what Hetty had been assured by
Mr. and Mrs. Enderby ought to be the object of her ambition and the end
of all her hopes. And Hetty tried honestly to will as they willed for
her good. But her face was not less sad on that account.

Things were in this state when one day, a day never to be forgotten by
her, Hetty was feeling more than usually unhappy. Only the evening
before Mr. Enderby had examined her on several subjects, and had found
her wanting. He had spoken to her with a little severity, and at the
same time looked at her pityingly, and the girl had felt more miserable
than can be told at having disappointed him. To-day she was left to
spend a long afternoon by herself, as Miss Davis had taken Phyllis and
Nell to visit some friends, and, though her morning's work ought to have
been over, she still sat at her lessons, labouring diligently. At last
becoming thoroughly tired she closed her book and raised her eyes
wearily, when they fell on a jar of wild flowers which yesterday she had
arranged and placed upon a bracket against the wall. It was spring, and
in the jar was a cluster of pale wood-anemones with some sprays of
bramble newly leafed. Hetty's eyes brightened at the sight of these
flowers, and noted keenly every exquisite outline and delicate hue of
the group. It seemed to her at the moment that she had never seen
anything so beautiful before. Mechanically she took up her pencil and
began to imitate on a piece of paper the waving line of the bramble
wreath, and the graceful curves of the leaves. To her own great surprise
something very like the bramble soon began to appear upon the paper. A
sharp touch here, a little shadow there, and her drawing looked vigorous
and true. After working in great excitement for some time Hetty got up
and pinned her drawing to the wall, and stood some way off looking at
it. Where had it come from? she asked herself. She had never learned to
draw. She had not known that she could draw. Oh, how delightful it would
be if she could reproduce the flowers as they grew! Not quite able to
believe in the new power she had discovered in herself, she set again to
work, altering the arrangement of the flowers in the jar, and taking a
larger sheet of paper. It was only ruled exercise paper, but that did
not seem to matter when the flowers blossomed all over it. The second
drawing was even better than the first; and Hetty stood looking at it
with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart, wondering what was this new
rapture that had suddenly sprung up in her life.

As her work was done, and the afternoon was all her own, she was able to
give herself up to this unexpected delight, and spent many hours
composing new groups of flowers, and arranging them in fanciful designs.
When a maid brought up her solitary tea she lifted her flushed face and
murmured, "Oh, can it be tea-time?" and then spread out all her
drawings against the wall, and stared at them while she ate her bread
and butter.

She felt nervous at the thought of letting anybody see them, and locked
them up in her desk before Miss Davis and the other girls came home.

In earliest dawn of the next morning, however, she was out of bed and
studying the drawings as she stood in her night-dress and with bare
feet. Were they really good, she asked herself, or were her eyes
bewitched; and would Mr. Enderby laugh at them if he saw them? Anguish
seized on her at the thought, and she dressed herself with trembling
hands. A new idea, striving in her mind, seemed to set all nature
thrilling with a meaning it had never borne for her before. There had
been great painters on the earth, as she knew full well, whose existence
had been made beautiful and glorious by their genius; and there were
artists living in the present day, small and great, who must surely be
the happiest beings in the world. Their days were spent, not in
drudgery, and lecturing, and primness, but in the study and reproduction
of the beauty lying round them. Oh, if God should have intended her to
be one of these!

When the maids came to dust the school-room they found Hetty hard at
work upon a new wreath of ivy which she had hastily snatched from the
garden wall and hung against the curtain, and they thought she was
doing some penance at Miss Davis's bidding. By eight o'clock the
drawings were hid away, the flowers and wreaths disposed of in the jars,
and Hetty was sitting at the table with a book in her hand. No one need
know, she thought, of how she spent those early hours when everybody
else was in bed. And so day after day she worked on steadily with her
pencil, and there was a strange and unutterable hope in her heart, and a
new light of happiness in her eyes.

After some time she became more daring and attempted to bring colour
into her designs. Using her school-room box of paints, the paints
intended only for the drawing of maps, she placed washes of colour on
her leaves and along her stems, making the whole composition more
effective and complete. Day by day she improved on her first ideas, till
she had stored up a collection of really beautiful sketches.

With this new joy tingling through her young veins from morning till
night, and from night till morning again, Hetty began to look so glad
and bright that everyone remarked it. Miss Davis looked on approvingly,
thinking that her own excellent discipline of the girl was having an
effect she had scarcely dared to hope for. Nell was full of curiosity to
know why Hetty had become so gay.

"May I not have the liberty to be gay as well as you?" said Hetty
laughing.

"Of course; but then you are so suddenly changed. Miss Davis says it is
only because you are growing good. But I think there must be something
that is making you good."

"I am glad to hear I am growing good. Something is making me very happy,
but I cannot tell you what it is."

Nell, always on the look-out for a secret, opened her eyes very wide,
but could get no further satisfaction from Hetty, who only laughed at
her appeals to be taken into confidence. That evening, however, she told
Miss Davis that Hetty had admitted that there was _something_ that was
making her so happy.

"I knew she had a secret," said Nell mysteriously.

"Then it is the secret of doing her duty," said Miss Davis. "She has
made great improvement in every respect during the last few weeks."

"I know she gets up earlier in the mornings than she used to do," said
Nell, "and I don't think she is at her lessons all the time."

"I hope she has not been making any more friends in the village," said
Phyllis.

"I am sorry such thoughts have come into your minds, children," said
Miss Davis; "I see nothing amiss about Hetty. If she is happier than she
used to be, we ought all to feel glad."

Phyllis did not like the implied rebuke, and at once began to hope that
she might be able to prove Miss Davis in the wrong. If Hetty could be
found to have a secret, as Nell supposed, Phyllis decided that it ought
to be found out. Her mother did not approve of children having secrets.
Even if there was no harm in a thing in itself, there was a certain harm
in making a mystery of it. So, having arranged her motive satisfactorily
in her mind, Phyllis, feeling more virtuous than ever, resolved to
observe what Hetty was about. The next morning she got up early and came
down to the school-room an hour before her usual time. And there was
Hetty working away at her drawing with a wreath of flowers pinned before
her on the wall.

Phyllis came behind her and was astonished to see what she had
accomplished with her pencil; and Hetty started and coloured up to her
hair, as if she had been caught in a fault.

"Well, you are a strange girl," said Phyllis; "I did not know drawing
was a sin, that you should make such a mystery over it."

"I hope it is not a sin," said Hetty in a low voice. She felt grieved at
having her efforts discovered in this way. She wished now that she had
told Miss Davis all about it. Phyllis opened the piano and began to
practise without having said one word of praise of Hetty's work; and the
poor little artist felt her heart sink like lead. Perhaps the beauty
that she saw in her designs existed only in her own foolish eyes.

She worked on silently for about half an hour, and then put away her
drawing materials and her flowers, and began to study her lessons for
the day.

"Of course you do not expect me to keep your secret from Miss Davis,"
said Phyllis, looking over her shoulder. "I have been always taught to
hate secrets, and my conscience will not allow me to encourage you in
this."

"Do exactly as you please," said Hetty; "I shall be quite satisfied to
let Miss Davis know what I have been doing."

"Then why did you not tell her before?" asked Phyllis.

"I am not bound to explain that to you," said Hetty; but finding her
temper was rising she added more gently, "I am willing to give an
account of my conduct to any one who may be scandalized by it"; and
then, fearing to trust herself further, she went out of the room.

On the stairs she met Miss Davis, and stopped her, saying:

"Phyllis has a complaint to make of me. I shall be back in the
school-room presently after she has made it."

"What is it about, my dear?"

"She can tell you better than I can," said Hetty. "Please go down now,
Miss Davis, and then we can have it over before breakfast."

"Miss Davis, I find Nell was right in thinking that Hetty was doing
something sly," began Phyllis, as the governess entered the school-room.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12