The Debtor's Daughter CHAPTER 8.
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The change in the external condition of Mr. Wilkins' family was not as great as it promised at first to be. They had been living at a cost of about four thousand dollars a year; and of course had to reduce materially their rate of expenses. But, as the minds of all were prepared for a much lower decent than the one taken, the change did not prove so very distressing.
With the exception of Mr. Wilkins, Grace probably suffered more than any other member of the family. The shock given to her feelings by Ada Bland, to a certain extent unnerved her, and made her over-sensitive. The light in which her mother had presented to her the misfortunes of her father, awoke for him the tenderest sympathies; and she felt willing to do and suffer anything for his sake. Strongly did she urge her mother at first, to take her away from the expensive school of Mr. Thompson, lest the cost to her father should be more than he could easily meet. But, when the great importance of a good education was explained to her, and how it would enable her not only to move in a higher and more useful place in society when she became a woman, but even to aid her father in supporting and educating her brother and sister, should he not be fully able to do so — she acquiesced in the views of her parents, and returned to her school, fully resolved to devote to her studies, every power with which she was endowed.
From this time, Grace was changed. Her mind suddenly attained a state of maturity beyond her age; while her feelings acquired a morbid acuteness which made them painfully susceptible. To return to school, with the cruel words of Ada Bland ringing in her ears, was a trial most painful to endure. "Mother says your father is worse than nothing — and all gone to the dogs!" "All the girls in the school know it!" Could she forget these words? No! Severe was the trial through which she passed, on going back. With all the strength of her young mind, she reasoned on the subject; but it availed little to remove the deep sense of humiliation which she suffered.
"Kiss me, dear mother," said she, when about leaving for school. She felt that in her mother's kiss, there would be a sustaining power.
Mrs. Wilkins understood her. Tears were in the eyes of the struggling child, as she lifted them to the loving face of her parent.
"Heaven bless you, my child!" said the mother, in a voice touched with emotion, as she bent down and kissed her fervently.
"It is wrong to feel so about it," said Grace, speaking to herself as she walked slowly on her way to school. "It was unkind and unfeeling in Ada to say what she did; and she has a great deal more cause to feel bad, than I have; for mother has often said: the wronger is always more hurt than the wronged. Her words need not injure me; but, coming as they did from bad feelings in her — they must have done her harm. Oh dear! I wish I could forget what she said. Or, rather, I wish she had never said it. All the girls in school know that my father has failed; and they think badly of him. If they only knew how good a father he is!"
Then Grace tried to push these thoughts from her mind, and walked on more rapidly. As she drew nearer and nearer to the school, her heart sank lower and lower in her bosom, and throbbed with a more troubled motion. When she set her foot upon the threshold, it ceased to beat for a moment or two altogether! As she entered her class room, it seemed to her as if every eye were upon her. Her own were cast to the floor. She hurried to her desk and sat down, trembling, without glancing either to the right or to the left.
"I thought you weren't coming anymore," said Ada Bland, whose seat was by her side. The girl spoke in a cold, unfeeling voice.
The weakest and most sensitive can repel an indignity when it goes beyond a certain limit. A finger touch upon a harp string, be it given ever so lightly, awakens a vibration. But a heavy hand laid thereon, instantly checks the thrill and the quivering wire becomes pulseless. The words of Ada were like this hand upon the harp-string. They instantly stilled the trembling heart of Grace, who lifted her eyes to Ada's countenance, and with a steady look that made the girls lashes droop to her cheeks, said —
"What reason had you for thinking this?"
"Oh, because your fa —
But, Ada felt a strong reaction from the mind of Grace, whose eyes, to which she had again raised her own, seemed to go through her.
For a few moments, the two girls looked at each other, and then their eyes were withdrawn, and each turned to her own desk, and bent over the books resting thereon.
"Were you not well yesterday, Grace?" said Mr. Thompson, who had approached the part of the room where Grace was sitting, and now stood beside her. His voice was kindbeyond its usual tone.
Grace turned partly around, and as she looked up to him, replied —
"Not very well."
"Are your father and mother well?" asked Mr. Thompson.
"Yes sir. I thank you."
"Ada," said Mr. Thompson, now speaking to the girl who sat beside Grace. There was a perceptible change in his tone of voice. "I believe I must give you another seat. Please take the vacant desk beside Agnes Williams."
Grace understood the meaning of this and cast, almost involuntarily, a grateful look towards Mr. Thompson.
Ada, with a reluctance that she could not conceal, slowly proceeded to obey the direction of her teacher. She had been only a few moments gone from her old place, when Clara Putnam took the seat she had left vacant beside Grace, and looking affectionately into the face of the latter, said —
"Mr. Thompson says I may sit by you. I'm glad you have come back again! I was so afraid you were going to leave the school."
"No, father wishes me to continue with Mr. Thompson," returned Grace, looking at Clara with an expression of gratitude for the kindness she manifested. "He says it is the best school in the city, and that I must have every advantage it is possible for him to give me."
"I'm glad he thinks so. I told Mr. Thompson of Ada's rudeness to you yesterday. He was hurt about it; and said that he would not permit Ada to sit beside you any longer."
Grace made no answer to this. As gently and kindly as Clara referred to the subject of the change in her father's circumstances, she still felt pained by the allusion. Clara had a perception of this, and did not touch upon that theme, even remotely, again.
Everyone in the school observed a change in Grace; and all knew the cause of it, for the fact of her father's failure in business had passed from lip to lip. Some pitied her; while, in the minds of others, a coldness and estrangement were instantly felt. The exact moral defect of a failure in business, the latter did not clearly understand; but, that it involved something disgraceful, they inferred from the tone, words, and manner of those older and supposed to be wiser than themselves.
What Grace suffered during that day, was never forgotten. In every one who spoke to her, or looked at her — she saw a change that reminded her of her father's misfortune. The teacher's kinder tone; the gentle attentions of Clara Putnam; the stealthy glance towards her, or bold stare, which she now and then perceived from one and another; and especially the cold and shrinking manner of certain girls, in contact with whom she was thrown — all spoke to her of the sudden fall from wealth which her family had sustained, and of the different feelings with which she was regarded on that account.
When the school hours at length closed, and the merry-hearted girls gave vent to their long restrained feeling — Grace moved quietly and silently from her desk to the dressing room. As she was tying on her bonnet, she heard someone say —
"Where's Grace Wilkins?"
"I don't know," was replied.
"Doesn't she look cut down?" added the first speaker. "You wouldn't catch me pushing myself here, if my father had failed. I suppose Mr. Thompson, out of pity, is going to educate her for nothing. But I'd be too independent, for that."'
"Hush-h-h." said another, in a voice of warning, "Grace is in the room."
"Indeed! I didn't know that," was replied in a lower tone. "I, I hope she didn't hear me. I don't want to hurt her feelings."
Grace glided from the room and heard no more.
Oh, how bitter were these first experiences of the debtor's daughter! Alas, for corrupt human nature! How quickly does its inherent self-love show itself in the crushing of others! How early do the strong begin to oppress the weak! Those who stand high — look down with contempt on those below them. How soon is the external and extrinsic — elevated above what is internal and intrinsic!
Grace walked away alone, and with the tears ready to gush from her eyes at every step. As she drew near home, a womanly feeling prompted an effort at self-control.
"I must not let mother see my weakness," said she to herself. "She has troubles enough to bear; and they are a great deal worse than mine. Let the girls think and say what they please — it cannot really hurt me. If my father has failed, he is an honest man, and kind and good to all."
Thus Grace sought to strengthen herself in her trials; and the effort was, to some extent, successful, as all such efforts are. When she arrived at home, she was able to assume a tolerably cheerful air, and to conceal from her mother, the suffering through which she had passed.
"My share of this trouble is but small," was the thought of Grace, as she looked upon the serious countenance of her father as they gathered around the dinner table, and noticed that he scarcely tasted the food set before him.
In the afternoon, she started again for school, and in a calmer frame of mind. But this calmness was soon disturbed. As she was walking along, she saw one of her school-mates, a girl with whom she had been on very pleasant terms, crossing the street just in advance. She stepped forward more briskly, to meet her as she reached the pavement; but the girl, perceiving this, moved on quickly and thus succeeded in avoiding her.
Grace was deeply hurt at this evident purpose to shun her. The act completely destroyed the equable frame of mind with which she was returning to school, and left her heart almost as much depressed as it was in the morning. On gaining her classroom, she glided with noiseless steps to her desk, in order to avoid observation, where she took her place, and bent down to resume her studies, not glancing to the right nor to the left. Clara, who was sitting at the desk beside her, seeing that Grace was disturbed in mind about something, thought it best to say nothing. But, in a little while, she asked her for the correct pronunciation of a French word in the lesson she was studying.
This was immediately given by Grace in a cheerful tone of voice. The very act of obliging her friend, had caused an instant reaction in her depressed feelings.
"Oh, I wish I could acquire the right accent and pronunciation as easily as you can, Grace!" said Clara. "I am a very dull scholar."
"It only requires a little attention and practice," replied Grace.
"It may only require that for you — but I learn nothing easily."
"There are some things I find hard," said Grace. "But, when a lesson is hard, I give it more of my thoughts; and I always master it in the end. If we keep on trying, the most difficult task can at length be learned."
"I believe there is truth in that," remarked Clara.
"I have proved it a good many times," said the other.
"And I, a few times. But I must prove it oftener in the future," returned Clara. "Thank you for the hint, Grace. I will try to profit by it."
This was not a mere vanishing good effort. The purpose in the mind of Clara, stimulated by contact with Grace, was a living purpose.
When the class was called, an hour afterwards, to recite their lessons, Clara conducted herself better than she had ever done before. "So much for trying!" she whispered to Grace, as she resumed.
"There is nothing like trying," returned Grace with a smile of encouragement. "I have proved it hundreds of times."
"But you never have to try very hard. I wish everything were as easy to me, as it is to you."
"Oh yes, I do have to try hard," replied Grace. "And often very hard. Nothing is done without an effort."
"But how hard it is to make the effort!" said Clara.
"It is often harder to make the effort, I have heard mother sometimes say — than to do the work after it is once begun," added Grace.
"That's very true," responded Clara with animation, as if a new light had broken upon her. "The hardest thing I have to do, is to put my mind down to study. If I try, I can learn well enough."
"Yes, there is everything in trying," said Grace, as she turned from her companion to her books; and both resumed their studies.
"I am so hurt at the way some of the girls in school act towards Grace Wilkins," said Clara to her mother, a few days after her reconciliation with Grace; "and yet, few of them can compare with her in anything. She is smarter and better than the best of those who treat her so badly. I'm sure I like her better than any girl in school."
"In what are they unkind to Grace?" asked Mrs. Putnam.
"Some of the girls haven't spoken to her since her father's failure."
"Not on that account?"
"Oh yes."
"She sustains no loss in giving up their friendship," said the mother.
"I know. But, still, she cannot help feeling hurt at such base conduct. I've seen the tears in her eyes a good many times."
"Poor child!"
"Yesterday, Flora Edwards said so loud, that Grace heard her: 'I wonder why she keeps coming here? Mother says her father is no longer able to pay the school bills.'"
"How cruel! Clara, dear! Above all things, never wound, by a look or word — those who are in any misfortune!"
"Can't I ask her to come home with me some day after school?"
"Certainly. Tell her that I will be very glad to see her."
"I'll say it before some of the very girls who have treated her so shamefully!" said Clara.
To this, Mrs. Putnam did not reply.
On the next day, Clara invited Grace to go home with her after school. Grace said that she could not do so then, but that, if her mother did not object — she would be happy to accept her invitation for some other occasion.
Mrs. Wilkins saw no reason for withholding her consent to her daughter's request, when made. So, a few days afterwards, Grace accompanied Clara home, where she was very kindly received by Mrs. Putnam and all the children. Ralph with whom Grace had always been a favorite, was delighted to see her. He insisted on her playing for him, and kept her at the piano half the time she was in the house.
A little before night-fall, and just as Grace was beginning to think of returning home, Mr. Putnam came in. The children now recollected how unkindly he had spoken of Grace only a little while before; and they did not present her to him. But he, noticing her, said, smiling,
"What young lady is this?"
"It is Grace Wilkins," replied Clara.
Instantly there was a change in Mr. Putnam. He dropped the hand he had taken — the smile left his face — and he turned himself away from the group of children. Everyone feltchilled. Mr. Putnam walked to the window, and stood looking out for some moments. Then he went from the room. In doing so, he said —
"Clara, I wish to see you for a moment."
Clara followed him out.
Distinctly did Grace hear Mr. Putnam say, as he stood in the hall with Clara.
"Did you invite that girl home?"
"Yes, father," Clara replied.
"Well, don't do it again."
"Father," said Clara, "Grace is a very good girl. Mother says — "
"Clara!" Mr. Putnam spoke with anger. "It is my wish that you no longer keep company with her. I do not like her family, and I wish no association with them whatever. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, father," replied Clara, in a choking voice.
"Very well. I speak, now on this subject, once for all. Her father is a man whom I have reason to dislike, and I believe his daughter to be a vulgar-minded girl."
"Oh no, no, father! She is — "
"I wish no apologies for her, Clara," said Mr. Putnam, peremptorily. "There is to be no association between my family — and that of Mr. Wilkins. This is something that I desire you to understand clearly!"
Saying this, Mr. Putnam turned away from his daughter and went upstairs.
Clara did not return to the parlor immediately, but remained for two or three minutes standing in the hall, striving to regain her calmness of feeling so as to go in and meet Grace without betraying in her face or tone of voice, anything of what had passed between her and her father. While thus standing, one of the parlor doors opened, and Grace, with her shawl and bonnet on, came hurriedly out.
"Goodbye Clara," said she, in a voice that betrayed the fact of her having heard the cruel words of Mr. Putnam. And, passing on, she went from the house. Quick as thought, Clara sprang into the parlor.
"Did Grace hear what father said?" She inquired, eagerly, of her brother.
"Every word!" returned the lad, with ill-concealed indignation in his tones.
Clara said no more, but covering her face, sat down and wept aloud.
"It's no such thing!" exclaimed Ralph, as he walked about the floor, "She's not a vulgar-minded girl! I like her better than any girl I know. And I think it was right down cruel in father — so I do! Suppose her father has failed in business? Does that make her any worse? I don't see that it does."
To all this, Clara made no answer. Her heart was too full. To think that her own father should be thus unkind to the unfortunate! Oh, how deeply it did grieve her!
As for Grace, she was able to keep her tears back only until she closed the door of Mr. Putnam behind her. We will not portray her feelings as she went slowly and thoughtfully homeward. It was some distance to her father's house, and she had time for reflection. Had her mother been near her at the first overflow of her feelings, she would have thrown herself upon her bosom and there sobbed away the violence of her grief. But, before she had reached home, her brave young spirit began to nerve itself to endure the trouble alone.
"It will only pain mother," said she; "and she has enough to bear."
Thus feeling and thinking, she returned home. Several times during the evening, it seemed to her as if she must unburden her heart to her mother. But, she suffered on alone, and remained silent. Thus early, was she learning her lessons in the new school of life.
The meeting between Grace and Clara on the next day was a painful one, and embarrassing to both. They had little to say to each other; but the manner of each expressed regard, and was full of tenderness. Instead of estrangement being the result of Mr. Putnam's effort to separate the two young friends, it only drove them closer together. A new bond was thrown around them, which was cemented by mutual pain. Such a bond is not easily broken.
A few months after this visit to Clara, Mr. Putnam, who seemed actually to hate Mr. Wilkins and his family, and to desire to do them harm — accidentally learned that his daughter and Grace sat beside each other at school. Immediately he wrote a note to Mr. Thompson, desiring, for reasons particular to himself, that Clara should be given a different desk from the one she occupied. The change was accordingly made, greatly to the injury of Clara, who had been stimulated by Grace to apply herself more intensely than she had ever done before, and who was receiving, in her daily fellowship with the pure-minded girl — a fund of good feelings and good principles.
The young lady, beside whom she was now placed, was idle, frivolous, and inclined to be ill-natured in her remarks about others. Not possessing, naturally, much firmness of character, Clara was easily acted upon by those into whose company she was thrown; and she was, accordingly, much influenced by this new companion with whom she was in constant fellowship. She no longer recited her lessons perfectly, as had been the case since her more intimate association with Grace — and was far from being as happy, as while striving to follow the precepts, and imitate the good example of her gentle, right-minded friend.
"Clara," said Mr. Thompson to her, a few days after the change was made. "You are getting back again into your old bad habits. I am sorry for this. You haven't said a lesson well since — "
"You changed my seat." Clara finished the sentence for him. "Please let me go back again to my old place?"
"Along side of Grace Wilkins?"
"Yes sir."
The teacher shook his head no.
"Did father tell you to change my seat?" inquired Clara.
Mr. Thompson did not answer this question; but his manner satisfied Clara, that her suspicions were correct.
"If you'd prefer not sitting beside Anna Wheeler, I can give you another place," said Mr. Thompson.
"I'd rather sit by Grace."
Mr. Thompson shook his head, no.
"Then I don't want to change. I like Anna well enough."
"But you are neglecting your lessons."
"I always did that, until I sat beside Grace Wilkins; and I suppose I will continue to do it. I can't study now."
"You must try, Clara."
"I do try, but it's of no use. Anna keeps putting so many things into my head."
"Then I must separate you," said Mr. Thompson.
He did so; but the result was no better. Clara needed the influence of just such a one as Grace. Deprived of this wholesome influence, her mind wandered from the better purposes by which it had been effected. Still, the presence of Grace in the school, and their frequent fellowship, was highly useful to her; and she often found herself stimulated to industry by a word or two, timely spoken. After school was dismissed, they often walked a few squares together, homeward.
"Clara," said Mr. Putnam, one evening, speaking sternly. "Was that the daughter of Wilkins, I saw with you in the street today?" This was nearly a year after the failure of Mr. Wilkins.
"Yes sir," replied Clara.
"Haven't I positively forbidden you to keep company with that girl?"
Clara dropped her eyes to the floor and stood silent.
"I'll put a stop to this," said Mr. Putnam, "cost what it may! If Mr. Thompson will have girls like that in his school — then he shall not have mine! You will not go back again tomorrow."
Clara looked up into her father's face with an expression of surprise.
"You understand me, I presume?"
"Yes sir," replied the daughter,
"But, father — "
"I wish to hear nothing on the subject," was the peremptory answer, and Mr. Putnam turned angrily away and left the room. He was in earnest in what he said. Possessing astrong will and a resoluteness of purpose, when he once entered upon a course of action — nothing could swerve him to the right hand, or the left.
Clara did not return to Mr. Thompson's school; but was sent off some fifty miles from home, to a fashionable school, much against the will of her mother.
Thus far, the selfish, ill-natured, hard-hearted policy pursued by Mr. Putnam towards his debtor and his family, had reacted upon himself in evil consequences. His own peace of mind was disturbed, and his family, to a certain extent, made unhappy. The removal of Clara to a boarding school was against the will of her mother, who dreaded the consequences likely to follow. She knew the temptations to which a young and giddy girl like Clara would be subjected, and trembled for the result. The opposition which she felt called upon to make, when the change was proposed, aroused the angry spirit of her husband, who spoke to her with a degree of unkindness on the occasion, which almost broke her heart. Thus was peace destroyed at home, and the family circle broken. But, the worst consequences that followed the persecuting spirit indulged by Mr. Putnam, were experienced by Clara. To her, the companionship of Grace would have been everything. How much she lost by the separation, the sad sequel will show.
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