Chapter 9 A Glimpse at “Society”
Chapter 9
A Glimpse at “Society”
Lucy was fatigued by her walk and looked pale and languid. She sat down in the first chair she saw when she entered, quite out of breath. “I am afraid we walked too far,” said Helen. “I didn’t know you had so little strength.”
“I’m not used to walking much,” said Lucy.
“But exercise is good for everybody, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I had exercise enough running after the children and all that, but not much time for walking. But don’t wait for me. I’ll be as well as ever in a minute.”
Helen went to tell her mother how feeble Lucy was, and as soon as she was out of sight, Miss Prigott appeared, peeping out from the door of an adjoining room.
“What, idling in the morning?” she cried. “Oh my love, that is a sad way of beginning the day. If I had wasted my youth that way, I don’t know what I’d be at my age. There is nothing as attractive to see in young people as industry.”
Lucy made a great effort to control herself but did not succeed so far as to attempt a reply. Miss Prigott, therefore, stepped out into the hall and confronted her with a mixture of coolness and excitement in her manner. No description could do it justice. Lucy’s pale cheeks glowed under it.
“A little temper,” said Miss Prigott. “I’m sorry to see that, my dear.”
“I was not angry,” said Lucy, gathering courage. “I was hurt at being misunderstood.”
“Yes, yes; that’s the common phrase of young ladies, nobody understands them. They’re very complicated indeed.”
Lucy looked down and was silent. Her heart only was allowed to speak, and this time to God. It said, “Oh, make me patient! Oh, make me patient!” and felt already grieved that it had not been so from the outset.
“I am your true friend,” continued Miss Prigott, “the true friend of the young and inexperienced. And I am sure I can be of great service to you if you will allow it.”
At this moment Helen appeared with her mother, and they took Lucy away without ceremony and made her lie down. Miss Prigott looked after their retreating figures with what she called regret, and far be it from us to assign to her emotions a harsher name.
“There they go,” she exclaimed, “one to be spoiled and two to be fooled. It’s truly a sad spectacle.” And she returned to her room and reflected on life and said it was a dream.
A couch had been placed in Lucy’s room during her conversation with Miss Prigott, and both her aunt and Helen busied themselves making her comfortable on it. She felt ashamed of herself for being unwell, but the shame brought no strength with it. They left her alone with books within reach, and she lay still and looked about the large, pleasant room with tasteful furniture, friendly fire, and pictures on the wall.
If I had some of them here, I would be perfectly happy,” she thought. “If dear Mother could see me, how relieved and thankful she would be! And if I only had Arthur here! Dear Arthur! With all these books, and this nice fire, and this quiet room, what would he say?” She smiled at the thought, it was so very pleasant, and then sighed. At the bottom of the sigh lay Miss Prigott, but her little figure floated off with it, and the image of Mother and Arthur and the baby came back again and hovered around her, and would let no other intrude.
“How soundly you sleep!” said a voice near her.
She started. “Have I been asleep?” she cried.
“Only four hours,” said Helen laughing.
“Oh, why didn’t you call me? I’m ashamed of myself for sleeping so! But I was very tired, and on the journey, I slept very little.”
“Are you quite rested now?”
“Oh yes, I feel like a new person.”
“Who is this ‘Arthur’ you talk about in your sleep?” asked Helen, archly.
“My brother, but did I talk about him?”
“Oh yes, and I was afraid it was some young gentleman.
“Why, I am not yet sixteen; and do you think I’m as silly as that?”
“Not sixteen and so tall! Lucy! And as for being silly, all girls are silly. I get sick and tired of their talk about boyfriends and such things.”
“You won’t hear that kind of talk from me,” said Lucy, springing up and preparing to arrange her hair. “I don’t know or care anything about that.”
“I’m very glad,” said Helen. And now there was another bond of common ground between them. “When will you be sixteen?” continued Helen.
“Let me see. What day of the month is it? The fifteenth? Well, I’ll be sixteen on the nineteenth.”
“So soon! We’ll celebrate it, then. Did you read before you fell asleep?”
“No, I’m saving that pleasure until I’ve written home. I must write as soon as I’m dressed.”
“You won’t have time until after dinner; dinner is ready now.”
“Dear me! Why didn’t you tell me? I would have hurried.” She flew about the room looking for this and that and dressed with a speed and vigor quite opposite of the fatigue of the morning.
“I advise you not to fly around like that in front of Miss Prigott,” said Helen. “She’ll think you were pretending to be sick this morning.”
“She thinks so now,” said Lucy, stopping short. “I’m beginning to think that she was right.” On reaching the dining room, Lucy found them all waiting for her and apologized for the delay.
“You look quite refreshed,” said her aunt. “I hope you are.” Lucy assured her that this was the case. Miss Prigott maintained an ominous silence.
“How have you amused yourself this morning?” asked her uncle.
“To tell the truth, I was sleeping,” said Lucy. “I was very tired. But I won’t do that again.”
“I hope they provided you with books?”
“Yes, Sir; but I didn’t read. I fell asleep as soon as I returned from my walk.”
“Doesn’t like reading,” said Miss Prigott mentally. Her little eyes immediately ran and told the thought.
“I do enjoy reading,” said Lucy, “but today I was so tired! And seeing so many books I had been longing to read, and knowing I had time to read them, I just did nothing.”
“Young people should be methodical,” said Miss Prigott.
“Lucy won’t be methodical or anything else she doesn’t like while she’s here,” said her uncle.
“Oh yes, this is Liberty Hall,” said Miss Prigott.
Mr. Whittier looked at her and was tempted to say, “I would think you thought it was, by the way you visit it.” But between a touch of his wife’s foot under the table and certain prudential forces of his own, he held off.
As soon as dinner was over, Lucy began her letter home, but there were so many things to tell that she was surprised by a call to tea before it was half done. While she was writing, her aunt, Helen, and Miss Prigott sat together at their work. “Lucy seems like a very sweet, intelligent girl,” said Mrs. Whittier. “Don’t you think so, Miss Prigott?”
“I’m a student of human nature,” said Miss Prigott, oracularly.
“I’m sure I like her very much,” said Helen “She is different from other girls.”
“Yes, very fresh and simple,” said Mrs. Whittier
“Of course, coming from the country,” said Miss Prigott.
“Not necessarily. Some young people who have always breathed country air are as full of pretension as possible. Everything depends on education. Or rather, I should say, a great deal depends on it.”
“Do you mean to say that simplicity is a matter of knowledge?” asked Miss Prigott.
“Oh! I am no metaphysician. I won’t argue the matter with you.”
“I always thought simplicity was an unconscious virtue. It is a new idea to me that I can educate myself into it.”
“But I didn’t say you could, I believe,” said Mrs. Whittier. The idea of old Miss Prigott trying to be simple seemed ludicrous. “I must find what Fenelon says on the subject for you to read.”
“I don’t read French,” said Miss Prigott drily.
“Pardon me. I thought you read everything.”
“Fifty years ago, young people were taught more useful things than these days.”
“For instance, embroidering on satin,” said Helen mischievously.
Miss Prigott was not amused and went on. “If I may ask, how did you discover Miss Lucy’s ‘sweetness, and intelligence, and simplicity?’ For she has hardly honored us with her presence for an hour.”
Mrs. Whittier smiled. “I am a student of human nature too,” she said. “But, of course, I’m not certain about an opinion so quickly formed. But I must say that so far I have been very impressed by all I have seen.”
“What do you think of that?” asked Miss Prigott abruptly, presenting her embroidered muslin collar for inspection.
“I think it’s very pretty. Did you learn this sort of work at Miss Burton’s school?”
“Yes, yes. That was a school where something was taught worth learning. And for an old woman, I think I should not blush at such work as that.”
“I hope you’ll give it to me when it’s done,” said Helen.
“No, it is for your cousin.”
Helen and her mother looked at each other and smiled. “That is really kind,” said Mrs. Whittier.
“When girls idle about all day, they need someone to care for them,” returned Miss Prigott.
“I do believe you like Lucy after all,” said Helen. “And you said you didn’t.”
“I said nothing of the sort. I haven’t said I like her either. But I suppose I can show her an act of Christian kindness?”
“I’m sure Lucy never had such a collar as that,” continued Helen. “And you never made one for me. I feel really hurt. But I suppose you’re waiting for me to arrive at years of discretion as Lucy has. Mama! Lucy will be sixteen in a few days.”
“It pains me to see a young woman live so many years in this world in thoughtlessness and irreligion,” said Miss Prigott.
“But you don’t know that Lucy is irreligious,” said Mrs. Whittier.
“I don’t know that she is religious, but I doubt it.”
“My dear Miss Prigott! She has not spent an entire day under this roof.”
“That is true, but my opinions are not formed more hastily than your own. Here you have been making her out to be sweet, simple, and intelligent, with no better opportunity of judging her than I’ve had.”
“I merely said she impressed me as such. One always receives an impression of some sort in making a new acquaintance. And, until I know the worst, I like to think the best of those I meet.”
“It is quite the opposite with me.”
“You don’t have to proclaim that,” thought Helen. “Everybody knows it.”
They were now summoned to tea. Lucy came down looking happy, for her thoughts were full of pleasant images of home. But her face grew brilliant when her uncle gave her a letter and she saw that it was from her mother.
“From dear Mother!” she exclaimed. “It’s from Mother! How very kind! She must have written as soon as I left home!”
“The mail travels faster than we did,” said her uncle.
“Quite a pretty little piece of acting,” thought Miss Prigott, looking with disfavor at the animated, glowing face opposite her. “It is really quite remarkable for a mother to write to her child,” she said drily.
“But you don’t know how much Mother has to do now that I’m gone,” said Lucy. “I’m sure she must have sat up late at night to write this. She gave it a little loving squeeze under the table as she spoke.
“Then I’m sure you ought not to enjoy what has cost her such an effort,” said Miss Prigott.
The joyous face clouded over. “I am selfish.’’ thought Lucy. “All I care about is my own joy. But it did seem so good to get a letter from Mother! The very first I ever got from her in my life!”
Her aunt looked embarrassed and displeased and mentally revolved a plan for Miss Prigott’s eviction from the premises.
After tea, Lucy ventured to run to her room long enough to read her precious letter. It was very precious indeed, and she felt tempted to read it again before rejoining the family when a knock at her door stopped her. Opening it, she found Miss Prigott standing there.
“My love,” she said, “you will thank me, I’m sure, if I use the privilege of a friend and give you some little hints that may be of service to you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Lucy. “Will you come in?” Miss Prigott entered and seated herself.
“My dear, you are ignorant of the world, and having never been accustomed to good society, cannot be expected to conform to all its customs.”
“What is good society?” asked Lucy.
This stopped Miss Prigott in the middle of her speech. Fixing her astonished eyes on Lucy, Miss Prigott was speechless for a moment. Was the question malicious? Or was the girl a simpleton?
“Because in my dictionary it may not mean what it does in yours,” said Lucy.
“It can have but one meaning, of course.”
“I think it has more than one. I mean, I have been taught to think so.”
“Perhaps, too, you think you have been accustomed to it?”
Lucy smiled.
“The society of farmers, and farmers’ wives and children,” said Miss Prigott, contemptuously.
“Is that bad society?”
“You will find my patience without limit. You can go on. I shall bear your rudeness with equanimity.”
“I hope I’m not rude; I didn’t intend it.”
“Then you really mean to say you have been in good society?”
“Yes, I do say so!” cried Lucy with spirit. “I know I have seen little of the world, and that I am very ignorant of its manners and customs. But I never can know them so well as to doubt that, in the best sense of the word, the society of my parents is good, very good.”
“I thought your father was a farmer.”
“Yes, he is a farmer; but he is a man of education and refinement. And my mother was well educated too.”
“What insufferable pride!” cried Miss Prigott, clasping her hands. “I suppose you even think you find nothing better here than you did at home!”
“No, I don’t think so. I didn’t say so. But I only say I was used to seeing real goodness, real refinement, and real worth, and I never knew before that it would be questioned anywhere.”
“Of course, then, my wish to be of service to you is a vain one. You are already so entrenched in wisdom.”
“Oh no. I know nothing about the customs of society in your sense, and I’ll thank you if you will be so very good as to teach me anything you think I ought to know. And if I am so proud as you say, I am very sorry. I don’t wish to be proud. I do want to be and do right in all things.”
Miss Prigott was mollified by the eager, earnest tone. “I came to say that it is not proper to spend so much time by yourself. But I’m sure your mother, who is so well educated, mentioned that in her letter!”
“I was just going down. I only wanted to read my letter. I know I ought to be careful not to keep too much aloof from my aunt and Helen.”
“Oh, of course they don’t need your company, they’re sufficient for each other.” Lucy shrank back. Her past fear of intrusion rushed upon her with new force.
“What should I do?” she cried. “If I stay by myself, it’s neglecting them. If I join them, it’s an intrusion. Oh, Miss Prigott! I never spent one hour from home before, and I always asked Mother what I should do, and she always seemed to know!”
“And have I not tried to be a mother to you, ever since you came? And you pay no heed to what I say.”
“Yes, I do, indeed I do. I will go or stay, just as you advise.”
“Go, then, of course.”
Lucy went; and if her spirits were not brilliant, and if the long evening seemed very long, who could wonder, who has ever felt the little eyes of a Miss Prigott?
