University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

The next morning Caroline put on her hat
and shawl and went mechanically to her daily
tasks at Mrs. Carvil's. On the way she was
sadly thinking what she should do to relieve
her mother, and was busily devising some
way to obtain the money for her. The idea
occurred to her of throwing herself upon the
generosity of the lady of some wealthy citizen;
but even her little knowledge of human
nature had taught her that some ladies are
apt to look with suspicion upon unfortunate
girls, and are apt to have less charity for
them than they should have; while she
shrunk from applying to a gentleman, lest
her motives might be misinterpreted, and her
delicacy hurt by dreaded offers of conditional
assistance, that might wound her maidenly
sensibility far more than the landlady's words
had done. What to do she knew not, and
with a thousand schemes in her mind she
had come to no determination when she found
herself in Walnut street, and within a few
doors of Mrs. Carvil's.

`Oh, what, what shall I do! If I go in she
will not let me go for the rest of the day, and
something must be effected before I return
home. Oh, that I could find a purse with
twenty-one dollars in it—for there seems no
other way of relief.'

She had scarcely spoken when she beheld
lying upon the side-walk, a few steps before
her, a small green pocket-book. She bounded
forward and caught it up with a cry between
hope and doubt. A glance showed
her it was full of bank notes. The next
moment she was in Mrs. Carvill's little par
lour, and as she was the earliest there of the
apprentices, she was alone. With a trembling
hand she took the pocket-book from her
bosom and furtively unclasped it. Within
was a miniature, and she recognized it as the
same the purchaser of the gloves had taken
out to pay her for them. She trembled still
more, and partly unfolding the notes, she
saw the figures 50, XX, X, 5, upon them.—
She offered up a short ejaculation of gratitude,
while visions of the happiness she
could bring to her mother that evening filled
her heart with joy. But what means this
sudden paleness of the cheek—this sinking
of the spirits—this dropping of the whole
form but now so animate with hope and joy?
What means this desponding air and aspect
of despair mingled with resignation! Why
has she slowly reclasped the book, and why
dejectedly return it to her bosom! The reflection
has suddenly flashed upon her mind
that the treasure is not hers—that it belongs
to another—that he has no right to make
use of it without the owner's permission—
that it is a sacred thing.

`No—no—' she said, with virtuous resolution
that gave brightness to her eye and a
heightened flush to her cheek, `it is not
mine! I will let the storm burst upon our devoted
roof ere I seek to avert it by guilt. No
—I will discover and restore it to the owner
—and in the meanwhile forget that I have
found it!'

Having made this noble resolution, she
opened the pocket book and counted the amount
it contained, which was three hundred
and seventy-five dollars in the United States
Bank notes, and restored them to their place
in it. On the edge of the pocket book she
then saw written, Francis Astley, No. —
Girard Place.

`No, it is not mine! Heaven has kept me
from using it. If I'd taken a portion of it, and
afterwards been unable to make it up, my fair
name and honor would have been in his
power. Protector of the innocent I thank
thee for delivering me from this great temptation.'

With the determination of sending her eldest
brother with to Girard Place, when she
should return me at noon, she sat herself
down to work with a heart relieved (she knew

not why) from a great load, and with that
consciousness of rectitude which ever carries
with it its own reward. She felt, too, less
anxiety than she had hitherto done about the
result of the day's events, and seemed buoyed
up with the assurance that all would yet be
well with herself and all dear to her.

About ten o'clock in the forenoon the newsbop
threw into the door the morning paper,
which one of the young girls caught up and
began to read aloud to Mrs. Carvil, while
she was basting a dress for the apprentice
to begin upon. After the items of morning
news had been ended and characteristically
commented upon by Mrs. Carvil, who
took especial interest in the police reports,
she said,

`Now look, Jane, for the new advertisements.
I wonder if Madame Gaubert comes
out with any thing new. These French women
are taking the bread out of us honest
folks mouths.'

`Here's an advertisement, Mrs. Carvil,'
cried Jane, who had, meanwhile, been running
her eye over the morning advertising
column, `here's an advertisement that is
a curious one! I wonder if it is serious!'

`Read it girl,' said Mrs. Carvil, sharply,
`and we then can hest tell!

Here the apprentice read aloud Dr. —'s
advertisement.

`It's all a hoax!' said a pretty black-eyed
chery lip'd girl, at work on the same seam
with Caroline.

`How do you know, pert, that it's a hoax!'
tartly questioned her mistress. `I once had
a dentist—a proper handsome man he was
too—offer me a five dollar bill a piece for
two of my front teeth—he said they were so
white and shapely, he wanted 'em as models.
See girls they are sound and white yet!'

Here Mrs Carvil grinned a ghastly smile
around upon her apprentices, for the purpose
of displaying the two ill-shapen rows of
yellow teeth, with an intermixture of glaring
ghastly white one, for which, plainly, she was
indebted to the skill of some proper handsome
dentist.

`Do you think it earnest then, marm?'
asked the reader of the paper.

`To be sure I do!'

`Then why don't you go, Mrs. Carvil,'
said the black eyed apprentice, gravely—`I
dare say the dentist would be glad to get
such beautiful teeth as yours!'

`Mrs. Carvil eyed her sharply, to see if she
was quizzing her, for, truth he told, she had
little faith in her own assertions of the beauty
of her old teeth; but seeing her seriously
continue her sewing, she said, complacently,

`I would, but can't bear the pain of the destraction
of so many teeth.'

`Caroline, suppose you go,' said the black
eyed maiden, with a laugh; `you certainly
have the prettiest teeth I ever saw! If my
teeth were even,' she said, smiling and displaying
as she did so exceedingly white but
somewhat irregular teeth, `I would lose four
of them for—for'—

`For how much, now? asked Mrs Carvil.

`For fifty dollars,' she answered, after a
moments thought.

`I think I would for half that,' said Jaue.

`What would you lose four of your teeth
for, Caroline?' asked she with the cherry
lips.

Caroline did not reply. She had taken
with an unsteady grasp the paper from the
hand of her fellow-apprentice, and with an
effort of calmness, through which those who
knew her history could clearly see the anxious,
eager earnestness beneath it, read the
advertisement. All at once her face assumed
its natural expression, and, laying down
the paper, after taking a single look more at
the advertisement as if to fix the address upon
her mind, she replied, with a bright smile to
the question of her fellow.

`I would take for my teeth only what
would purchase my mother's, my three brothers,
and my own happiness, give us all a roof
to sleep beneath for this night, and feel no
anxiety for the morrow.'

`You value your teeth very highly, Miss
Archer,' observed Mrs. Carvil, with a toss of
her head—`It would take five hundred dollars
to do all that.'

`Five thousand dollars for the mere money's
sake, madam, would not induce me to part
with my teeth. The happiness and comforts
of which I have spoken I value far above
wealth. The peace and comfort of a family
are not measured by any scale of gold and
silver. If one dollar would save my mother

from sorrow, and I could get it only by sacrificing
my teeth, I would as cheerfully part
with them as I would for one hundred thousand—for
the end would be the same whether
attained for one dollar or a million.'

`I think you are getting on dictionary stilts,
Miss Archer,' said Mrs. Carvil, who could
not with her narrow mind quite comprehend
the drift of her apprentice's argument. `I
'spose you mean to say, if your mother wanted
money, you'd sell your teeth to get it for
her.'

`Yes, indeed, I would,' answered Caroline,
firmly.

`Then you might go and get work where
you could; I'd have no toothless girls about
me to frighten people away.'

Caroline sighed, returned the sympathizing
pressure of the dark-eyed apprentice's hand,
under the table, and bending ever her work
plied her needle in silence.