University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
MRS. ALLEN'S POLICY.

TRUE to her promise, Rose helped Edith all the
next day, and while she worked, the frank-hearted
girl poured out the story of her troubles,
and Edith came to have a greater respect and sympathy
for her “kind and humble neighbors” as she
characterized them in her own mind. Still with
her familiarity with the farming class, kept up
since her summer in the country as a child, she
made a broad distinction between them and the
mere laborer. Moreover the practical girl wished
to conciliate the Laceys and every one else she
could, for she had a presentiment that there were
many trials before them, and that they would need
friends. She said in answer to Rose,—

“I never before realized that the world was so
full of trouble. We have seen plenty of late.”

“One can bear any kind of trouble better than
a daily shame,” said Rose bitterly.

For some unexplained reason Edith thought
of Zell and Mr. Van Dam with a sudden pang.

Arden brought his last load and eagerly watched
for her appearance, fearing that there might be
some great falling off in the vision of the past
evening.

But to his eyes the girl he was learning to glorify,
presented as fair an exterior in the garish day,
and the reality of her beauty became a fixed fact
in his consciousness, and his fancy had already begun
to endow her with angelic qualities. With
all her vanity, even sorrowful Edith would have
laughed heartily at his ideal of her. It was one of
the hardest ordeals of his life to take the money
she paid him, and she saw and wondered at his
repugnance.

“You will never get rich,” she said, “if you are
so prodigal in work, and spare in your charges.”

“I would rather not take anything,” he said
dubiously holding the money, as if it were a coal
of fire, between his thumb and finger.

“Then I must find some one who will do business
on business principles,” she said coldly. “If
the fellow has any sentimental nonsense about
him, I'll soon cure that,” she thought.

Arden colored, thrust his money carelessly into
his pocket as if it were of no account, and said
briefly, “Good morning.”

But when alone he put the money in the innermost
part of his pocketbook, and when his father
asked him for some of it, he sternly answered,—

“No sir, not a cent.” Nor did he spend it
himself; why he kept it, could scarcely have been
explained. He was simply acting according to the
impulses of a morbid romantic nature that had been
suddenly and deeply impressed. The mother's
quick eye detected a change in him and she asked,—

“What do you think of our new neighbor?”

“Mother,” said he fervently, “she is an angel.”

“My poor boy,” said she anxiously, “take care.
Don't let your fancy run away with you.”

“Oh,” said he with assumed indifference, “one
can have a decided opinion of a good thing as well
as a bad thing, without making a fool of oneself.”

But the mother saw with a half jealous pang
that her son's heart was awaking to a new and
stronger love than her own.

Mrs. Allen with Zell and Laura were to come
by the boat that evening, and Edith's heart yearned
after them as her kindred. Now that she had had
a little experience of loneliness and isolation, she
deeply regretted her former harshness and impatience,
saying to herself, “It is harder for them
than for me. They don't like the country, and
don't care anything about a garden,” and she purposed
to be very gentle and long suffering.

If good resolutions were only accomplished certainties
as soon as made, how different life would be!

Arden had ordered a close carriage for her to
go down in and meet them, and had agreed to
bring up their trunks and boxes in his large wagon.

The boat fortunately landed under the clear
starlight on this occasion, and feeble Mrs. Allen
was soon seated comfortably in the carriage. But
her every breath was a sigh, and she regarded the
martyrs as a favored class in comparison with herself.
Laura still had her look of dreary apathy;
but Zell's face wore an expression of interest in the

new scenes and experiences, and she plied Edith
with many questions as she rode homeward. Mrs.
Allen brought a servant up with her who was condemned
to ride with Arden, much to their mutual
disgust.

“Oh dear,” sighed Edith as they rode along.
“It's a dreadful come down for us all and I don't
know how you are going to stand it, mother.”

Mrs. Allen's answer was a long unspeakable sigh.

When she reached the house and entered the
room where supper was awaiting them, she glanced
around as a prisoner might on being thrust into a
cell in which years must be spent, and then she
dropped into a chair sobbing.

“How different—how different from all my
past!” and for a few moments they all cried together.
As with Edith at first, so now again the
new home was baptized with tears as if dedicated
to sorrow and trouble.

Edith then led them up stairs to take off their
things, and Mrs. Allen had a fresh outburst of
sorrow as she recognized the contrast between this
bare little chamber and her luxurious sleeping
apartment and dressing-room in the city. Laura
soon regained her air of weary indifference, but
Zell, hastily throwing off her wraps, came down to
explore, and question Hannibal.

“Bress you, chile, it does my eyes good to see
you all, ony you'se musn't take on as if we'se all
dyin' with slow 'sumption.”

Zell put her hand on the black's shoulder and

looked up into his face with a wonderfully gentle
and grateful expression, saying,—

“You are as good as gold, Hannibal. I am so
glad you stayed with us, for you seem like one of
the best bits of our old home. Never mind, I'll
have a grander house again soon and you shall
have a stiffer necktie and higher collar than ever.”

“Bress you,” said Hannibal with moist eyes,
“it does my ole black heart good to hear you.
But Miss Zell, I say,” he added in a loud whisper,
“when is it gwine to be?”

“Oh,” said poor Zell, asked for definiteness,
“Some day,” and she passed into the large room
where Arden was just setting down a trunk.

“Don't leave it there in the middle of the
floor,” she said sharply. “Take it up stairs.”

Arden suddenly straightened himself as if he
had received a slight cut from a whip, and turned
his sullen face full on Zell, and it seemed very
repulsive to the imperious little lady.

“Don't you hear me?” she asked sharply.

“Perhaps it would be well for you not to ask
favors of your neighbors in that tone,” he replied
curtly.

Edith, coming down, saw the situation and said
with oil in her voice, “You must excuse my sister,
Mr. Lacey. She does not know who you are.
Hannibal will assist with the trunks if you will be
so kind as to take them up stairs.”

“She is different from the rest,” thought Arden,
readily complying with her request.

But Zell said as she turned away, loud enough
for him to hear: “What airs these common country
people do put on!” Zell might have loaded
Arden's wagon with gold, and he would not have
lifted a finger for her after that. If he had known
that Edith's kindness had been half policy, his face
would have been more sullen and forbidding than
ever. But she dwelt glorified and apart in his
consciousness, and if she could only maintain that
ideal supremacy, he would be her slave. But in
his morbid sensitiveness she would have to be very
careful. The practical girl at this time did not
dream of his fanciful imagining about her, but she
was bent on securing friends and helpers, however
humble might be their station, and she had shrewdly
and quickly learned how to manage Arden.

The next day was spent by the family in getting
settled in their narrow quarters, and a dreary
time they had of it. It was a long rainy day, and
the roof leaked badly, and every element of discomfort
seemed let loose upon them.

Her mother had a nervous headache, and one
of her worst touches of dyspepsia, and Zell and
Laura were so weary and out of sorts that little
could be accomplished. Between the tears and
sighs within, and the dripping rain without, Edith
looked back on the first two days when the Laceys
were helping her, as bright in contrast. But Mrs.
Allen was already worrying over the Laceys, connection
with their settlement in the neighborhood.

“We will be associated with these low people,”

said she to Edith querulously. “Your first acquaintances
in a new place, are of great importance.”

Edith was not ready for any such association,
and she felt that there was force in her mother's
words. She had thought of the Laceys chiefly in
the light of their usefulness.

She was glad when the long miserable day came
to a close, and welcomed the bright sunniness of
the following morning, hoping it would dispel some
of the gloom that seemed gathering round them
more thickly than ever.

After discussing a rather meagre breakfast, for
Hannibal's materials were running low, Edith pushed
back her chair, and said,—

“I move we hold a council of war, and look the
situation in the face. We are here, and we've got
to live here. Now what shall we do? I suppose
we must go to work at something that will bring in
money.”

“Go to work, and for money!” said Mrs. Allen
sharply from her cushioned arm-chair. “I hope
we haven't ceased to be ladies.”

“But, mother, we can't live forever on the title.
The `butchers, bakers, and candlestick-makers,
won't supply us long on that ground. What
did the lawyer, who settled father's estate, say before
you left?”

“Well, replied Mrs. Allen vaguely, he said he
had placed to our credit in — Bank, what there was
left, and he gave me a check-book and talked economy
as men always do. Your poor father, after

losing hundreds at the club, would talk economy
the next morning, in the most edifying way. He
also said that there was some of that hateful stock
remaining that ruined your father, but that it was
of uncertain value, and he could not tell how much
it would realize, but he would sell it and place the
proceeds also to our credit. It will amount to considerable,
I think, and it may rise.”

“Now girls,” continued Mrs. Allen, settling herself
back among the cushions, and resting the forefinger
of her right hand impressively on the palm
of the left, “this is the proper line of policy for us
to pursue. I hope in all these strange changes, I
am still mistress of my own family. You certainly
don't think that I expect to stay in this miserable
hovel all my life. If you two girls, Laura and
Edith, had made the matches you might, we would
still be living on the Avenue. But I certainly cannot
now permit you to spoil every chance of getting
out of this slough. You may not be able to
do as well as you could have done, but if you are
once called working girls, what can you do?

In the first place we must go into the best society
of this town. Our position warrants it of course.
Therefore, for heaven's sake don't let it get abroad
that we are associating with these drunken Laceys.”
(Mrs. Allen in her rapid generalization
might give the impression that the entire family
were habitually “on the rampage,” and Edith remembered
with misgivings that she had drank tea
with Arden Lacey on that very spot.) “Moreover,”

continued Mrs. Allen, “there is a large summer
hotel near here and `my friends' have promised
to come and see me this summer. We must
try to present an air of pretty rural elegance, and
your young gentlemen friends from the city will
soon be dropping in. Then Gus Elliot and Mr.
Van Dam continue very kind and cordial, I am sure.
Zell, though so young, may soon become engaged
to Mr. Van Dam, and it's said, he is very rich—”

“I can't get up much faith in these two men,”
interrupted Edith, “and as for Gus, he can't support
himself.”

“I hope you don't put Gus Elliot and my
friend on the same level,” said Zell indignantly.

“I don't know where to put `your friend,'”
said Edith curtly. “Why don't he speak out?
Why don't he do something open, manly, and decided?
It seems as if he can see nothing and
think of nothing but your pretty face. If he would
become engaged to you'and frankly take the place of
lover and brother, he might be of the greatest help
to us. But what has he done since father's death
but pet and flatter you like an infatuated old—.”

“Hush!” cried Zell, blazing with anger and
starting up, “no one shall speak so of him. What
more has Gus Elliot done?”

“He has been useful as my errand boy,” said
Edith contemptuously, “and that's all he amounts
to as far as I'm concerned; I am disgusted with
men. Who in all our trouble has been noble and
knightly toward us?—”

“Be still, children, stop your quarreling,” broke
in Mrs. Allen. “You have got to take the world
as you find it. Men of our day don't act like
knights any more than they dress like them. The
point I wish you to understand is that we must
keep every hold we have on our old life and society.
Next winter some of my friends will invite you to
visit them in the city and then who knows what
may happen” — and she nodded significantly.
Then she added, with a regretful sigh, “What
chances you girls have had. There's Cheatem,
Argent, Livingston, Pamby, and last and best,
Goulden, who might have been secured if Laura
had been more prompt, and a host of others.
Edith had better have taken Mr. Fox even, than
have had all this happen.”

An expression of disgust came out on Edith's
face, and she said, “It seems to me that I would
rather go to work than take any of them.”

“You don't know anything about work,” said
Mrs. Allen. “It's a great deal easier to marry a
fortune than to make one, and a woman can't make
a fortune. Marrying well is now the only chance
you girls have, and it's my only chance to live
again as a lady ought, and I want to see to it that
nothing is done to spoil these chances.”

Laura listened with a dull assent, conscious
that she would marry any man now who would
give her an establishment and enable her to sweep
past Mr. Goulden in elegant scorn. Zell listened,
purposing to marry Mr. Van Dam though Edith's

words raised a vague uneasiness in her mind, and
she longed to see him again, meaning to make him
more definite. Edith listened with a cooling adherence
to this familiar faith and doctrine of the
world in which the mother had brought up her
children. She had a glimmering perception that
the course indicated was not sound in general, nor
best for them in particular.

“And now,” continued Mrs. Allen, becoming
more definite, “we must have a new roof put on
the house right away, or we will all be drowned
out, and the house must be painted, a door-bell put
in, the fences and things generally put in order.
We must fit this room up as a parlor, and we can
use the little room there as a dining and sitting
room. Laura and I will take the chamber over
the kitchen, and the one over this can be kept as a
spare room, so that if any of our city friends come
out to see us, they can stay all night.”

“O mother, the proposed arrangements will
make us all uncomfortable, you especially,” remonstrated
Edith.

“No matter, I've set my heart on our getting
back to the old life, and we must not stop at
trifles.”

“But are you sure we have money to spare for
all these improvements,” continued Edith anxiously.

“Oh yes, I think so,” said Mrs. Allen indefinitely.
“And as your poor father used to say, to
spend money is often the best way to get money.”

“Well mother,” said Edith dubiously, “I suppose
you know best, but it don't look very clear to
me. There seems nothing definite or certain that
we can depend on.”

“Perhaps not, to-day, but leave all to me.
Some one will turn up, who will fill your eye and
fill your hand, and what more could you ask in a
husband? But you must not be too fastidious.
These difficult girls are sure to take up with
`crooked sticks' at last.” (Mrs. Allen's views as to
straight ones were not original.) “Leave all to
me. I will tell you when the right ones turn up.”