Brenda's Bargain: A Story for Girls Page 11

  XI

  SEEDS OF JEALOUSY

  Fortunately for many of the girls at the Mansion, they did not liveunder a very rigorous system of rewards and punishments. Every one wasexpected to report once a week what property she had injured, and thisusually meant what dishes she had broken. She was also expected to tellwhat other things she had done that were not for the good of the school.One or two girls really liked to have a long list of misdemeanors. Theyseemed to think that it gave them an air of distinction, and Concettawas especially delighted to read from a written list:

  "Bed not made until ten o'clock Monday. Bureau drawers untidy for three days. Forgot to put salt in the bread. Let the kitchen fire go out. Spilled ink on my best apron. Broke one of our blue cups," etc.

  Most of the girls were contented with one or two faults, and some wereinclined to forget that they had any, until reminded by nudges from someof their neighbors. These "confession meetings" were held once a week,between four and five o'clock. A girl would have had to show herselfunusually bad to be excluded from the pleasant hour that followed whenMiss Julia played for them to sing, and then around the open fire gavethem good advice for half an hour,--good advice that they never imaginedto be anything but a bit of pleasant conversation, although they allsaid that they went away feeling as if they could be good forever.

  It is true that the girls whose conduct was especially approved byJulia, regardless in many cases of their reports, were permitted toborrow some book from her bookcase that they especially wished to read.At first she had been surprised to find that few of these girls had anyidea about choosing books.

  Haleema didn't care to read; she liked to do other things better.Concetta loved to read, but had actually never read anything butstories; indeed, she was surprised to hear that people ever readanything else.

  Little did Brenda realize that she was sowing the seeds of jealousy. Shefelt much pride in Maggie as having been her own discovery. She thought,with some complacence, that but for her Maggie might still have beencondemned to the tiresome round of a cash-girl's duties. She did severallittle kind things of which Maggie herself was unaware, that enabledJulia and Miss South to enlarge the work of the school in directionsthat were especially helpful to Maggie.

  But with the best intentions in the world, Brenda could not help showingher preference for the pretty Concetta, whose dark eyes seemed mirrorsof truth, and whose manners were always so charmingly deferential. Hadshe known that she was giving pain to Maggie by showing her preferencein this way she would herself have been always ready enough to admitthat this was not wise. But Maggie, although her tears flowed so easily,had the ability to keep her thought to herself.

  Mrs. McSorley herself, with her Scotch canniness, had an exalted opinionof Brenda, and on Maggie's weekly visits home impressed on her the greatadvantages that she might expect from having the interest of a Back Bayyoung lady. "And if she likes any other girl better than you, it will beall your fault, and I'll take it a sign that you ain't doing your verybest."

  So Maggie had never said a word to her aunt about Miss Barlow's growingpreference for Concetta. To have spoken of this would only have drawn areproof upon herself. It was hard enough to confess her real faults, totell over the list of things she had broken during the week. She hadpromised on first entering the Mansion to do this, and thus far she hadkept her promise.

  Now Maggie had her own little bit of a secret, and sometimes she drewfrom her pocket a crumpled half-sheet of paper, and wept when she saw atthe bottom:

  "From your loving Tim."

  What would her aunt say, what would Miss Brenda say, if they knew thatat intervals she received these misspelled letters from a jail-bird.Yes! "a jail-bird," that was what her aunt had called him, and though itwas true that he had only been in the reformatory, and that hisoffence, as he had explained it, was due more to the fault of anotherman. Still he had been imprisoned, and Maggie was forbidden ever tospeak to him again.

  Yet he was her uncle more than Mrs. McSorley was her aunt. The latterwas only an aunt-in-law, while Tim was her own uncle, and in spite ofhis faults she loved him. Of course he was a ne'er-do-well, but hissmile was so jolly in contrast with the long-drawn, severe expression ofMrs. McSorley. The latter said that it was very easy for him to bejolly, when he never had the least care in the world for himself or forany one else. But Maggie remembered many kind things that he had done."Since for him I'd never have been to the circus, and it was a whole daywe spent at Nantasket, and he gave me that plush box of pinknote-paper;" and Maggie would wipe away one of her ready tears as shethought of Tim, and she gazed at the tintype that she kept with a fewother treasures in the plush-covered box.

  Many a time she pondered what she should do if he should ever come toBoston, for he was now in Connecticut looking, as he said, for work."And it won't be so very long," he wrote, "before I'll have me ownhouse, and you for housekeeper; so learn all you can, for it won't belong."

  For Maggie had written him once or twice since coming to the Mansion,and her letters had been more cheerful than those that had found theirway to him when she was living with her aunt.

  So Maggie had her day dreams; and the real secret of her patience, andher anxiety to learn everything relating to the work of the house, camefrom this hope, that she was to have the chance of showing her unclewhat a good housekeeper she could be. Now Maggie should have realizedthat her aunt had done much more for her than her uncle; that Mrs.McSorley had shown her kindness in comparison with which Tim'soccasional bursts of liberality were very small indeed. Where would sheand her mother have been but for Mrs. McSorley? And Mrs. McSorley wasonly a sister-in-law, whereas Tim was her mother's own brother. Yet thekindness of Mrs. McSorley had been so overladen with good advice andreprimands, that it did not stand out as kindness pure and simple.Maggie was as sure that Mrs. McSorley did not love her as she waspositive that Tim did love her.

  Among the girls at the home she found little Haleema almost the mostsympathetic. At least Concetta disliked them both, and this was theirfirst bond of sympathy. The girls were apt to be sent in pairs onerrands, and occasionally on pleasure walks, and it had come to be thehabit for Maggie and Haleema to go together. They had gone together incompany with Julia to present their scrap-books and dolls to theChildren's Hospital, and there it was that they had fallen in love withthe prettiest little blue-eyed girl, who had been sent to the hospitalwith a broken leg. She was then almost well, and when Miss South saw howdeeply interested the two were in her she allowed them to go each weekon visiting day. Later, when little Jennie went home, the two continuedto visit her; sometimes they even brought her to the Mansion to visit.There she soon became a great favorite, and poor Maggie saw that Jennieno longer owed everything to her and Haleema. Concetta won the child'sheart by dressing her a beautiful doll, and all the others vied with oneanother in doing things for her.

  It was especially hard for her when, in answer to a request fromConcetta, Brenda herself sent a box of useful and pretty things forJennie's use.

  "It might just as well have gone through me," thought poor Maggie;though, on further reflection, she had to admit that Concetta deservedthese things, because she had been bright enough and quick enough tothink of asking for them.

  A few days later, when she went to see Jennie she took with her abeautiful bouquet, purchased with money taken from the little hoard thatshe had so carefully saved. This was a real sacrifice on Maggie's part,and when she saw the joy with which the little girl received her giftshe was more than repaid.

  Moreover, in the hour that she spent with the little girl she was surethat Jennie cared for her as much as ever. Indeed, had she been able toreason more deeply, she would have discovered that a child discriminatesvery slightly as to the value of different gifts. Jennie, like otherchildren, loved Maggie quite as well as she loved Concetta, and thoughshe enjoyed the presents that each one brought her, she had no scale ofvalues by which to measure them.