"I grant," conceded Clemence, "that she has no taste, but she has little time for its indulgence, so, perhaps, she is as well off without it. The poor woman is a perfect drudge. She never has a pitying word, or a sympathetic look, even from her husband. He seems to think that she is only filling her appropriate sphere. Yet, I do not think he means to be cruel. He, works hard himself, and expects every one around him to do the same."

"I'll tell you what I think about it," said Mrs. Swan, energetically, "she never was the wife for him. With a woman who had the least ambition, their home would present a far different aspect. As it is, you know, Miss Graystone, it _does_ look enough to disgust a neat man like him. No one can say, either, but what he furnishes liberally everything necessary for the household, and she is as close and saving as he is, for all she denies it."

"That is all very true," responded Clemence, "but for all that, I can't help but pity her. It seems as if their home might be rendered pleasanter. There is enough material there to bring out, and it only wants somebody to give them a friendly hint."

"And you think you are just the one to do it, and that it is your obvious duty, and all that?" said Mrs. Swan. "Now, just take my advice, and don't burn your fingers meddling with other people's affairs, nor do any such foolish thing for conscience sake."

"But if I think I ought, 'to do unto others,' you know," said Clemence, doubtingly.

"But you had _not_ ought. Just leave matters as they are, and they will come right of themselves, and if they don't, why, it's no fault of yours."

"That strikes me as a selfish policy," she said. "I can't reconcile it with my ideas of what is right."

"It's a safe one, for all that," was the reply. "Take heed to my words, and let the Owen's affairs alone. You don't expect to revolutionize the family by one effort."

"Still, I can't help but feel sorry for this overworked woman," said Clemence, "and what is more, I think as one of my own s.e.x, I may be able to do her some kindness without injury to any one. She has neither grace nor refinement, such as most women have in common with each other, whatever may be their position in life. I don't think that she is naturally lazy, as you say. At the foundation, her house is always clean. It needs somebody to keep it in order, and have a place for everything and everything in its place,' for the lack of which it presents this disordered appearance. I believe I can be of some use to her, and shall try faithfully to do my whole duty in that respect."

"You dear child," said Mrs. Swan, kindly, "you shame me by your disinterestedness. Remember, though, if you get into any difficulty, I have warned you solemnly, as I thought _my_ duty."

"I will remember," said Clemence, laughing, "and in that event I shall expect, and doubtless receive your warmest sympathy."

After that, she went to work with a will, and was so far successful in her praiseworthy labors, that the home of the Owen's began to wear a look hitherto a stranger to it. With her own hands, Clemence a.s.sisted in establishing a new order of things, and when praised by the smiling Mr.

Owen, would triumphantly bring forward some work of his wife's, which had been executed under her own supervision, as a proof that she had been kept down, and was not so totally deficient in taste as had been affirmed.

These little subterfuges, however, did not always have the desired effect, and more than once Clemence was annoyed by an unmistakable glance of admiration and a remark to the effect that after she left, things would resume their former dilapidated appearance.

"What coa.r.s.e manners this person has," she would think on these occasions, "and how much his poor wife must suffer in his boorish society."

She was pleased, though, and somewhat astonished, to see how readily Farmer Owen's purse opened at her demands.

"Amos never was so liberal to me before," said his wife, and the whole village echoed it.

"Mrs. Owen ought to pay you for staying there with her life-long grat.i.tude," said Mrs. Swan. "Let me congratulate you on your unparalleled success in that quarter."

"Oh," said Clemence, ingenuously, "as to that, I claim no merit for myself. I told you it was more from a lack of knowledge upon the subject than from intentional wrong, that this poor woman was made to suffer. It only needed some one to point out the error."

"You are a good girl, any way," said Mrs. Swan, by way of conclusion.

"Who but you would ever have thought of it, I should like to know?"

It very soon became the fashion to patronize and "bring out" little Mrs.

Owen in Waveland. People awoke to a knowledge of their duty, and regularly now, every Sabbath, she came to meeting under the care of two or more of the prim-looking matrons.

Clemence was pleased that they had, as she thought, at last begun to appreciate her many excellent qualities, but she could not understand exactly _why_ these kind people should be at such pains to flaunt their good deeds. After much bewilderment, she came to the conclusion that they must have thought her presuming, and considered that she ought to be put in her place, instead of aspiring to teach them their duty.

"As if," she thought sadly, "I could be guilty of harboring such a thought. I am afraid I shall never make many friends in Waveland."

She was glad when Monday morning came again, and she could resume her school duties. At least, here was a legitimate object of interest to occupy her mind. When the lessons were over for the day, she went back with little Sammy Owen pattering along beside her. She seated herself, and went to work industriously, on some sewing of Mrs. Owen's, and applied herself so closely, that she completed the garment just as she was called to supper.

"Well, I have finished your dress," she said, as she came to the table.

"And you are nearly tired to death," said Mr. Owen. "Susan, you ought not to have allowed Miss Graystone to overwork herself."

Clemence protested it was nothing, and that a cup of their good tea would rest her, and the worthy couple immediately set about loading her plate with food enough to have satisfied the appet.i.te of a plough-boy.

And as soon as she could slip away, she left the table.

Her hostess soon followed her, to try on the new dress. It was a pretty, soft-tinted muslin, and made the round, plump figure look more nearly approaching to attractiveness than it had ever done before.

"Well, I declare," said the farmer, surveying her with satisfaction, "that does look nice and tidy. Now, if we could always have you, Miss Graystone, to select my wife's dresses, and cut and fit them, and afterwards tell her how to put them on, she would look, positively, respectable."

"Here is a collar that I brought for you," said Clemence, pretending not to have heard this doubtful compliment, and the delighted little woman forthwith burst forth into a profusion of exaggerated acknowledgements of her kindness and generosity.

"There, Amos Owen," she exclaimed, blushing with pleasure, "what do you think of your wife, now? You can see by this time that she ain't the one to be kept down forever, and drudge her life away. She was born for better things." And stepping backwards, with a self-complacent smile and toss of her head, the little creature, unfortunately unused to fineries of any kind, planted her foot, which was by no means a small one, upon the delicate fabric and made an awkward rent.

Clemence was ready to cry with vexation. Plainly, here was, at least, another half hour's work for her tired fingers.

Mr. Owen gave a long, low whistle, and then a shout of derisive laughter, as he turned and went out of the house. Clemence feared that her cause was being irreparably ruined, instead of helped along, as she so ardently desired, by this untoward event.

"Deary me!" said Mrs. Owen, "what _shall_ I do? I wish I'd never tried to dress up at all. Just think how much that cost, and it's only a stringy thing after all, and a great big rent in it before its ever worn at all. I wish now, I'd got that calico that I wanted to. I should, if _you_ hadn't persuaded me not to."

If a few tears fell among the pale, pink rosebuds, with which the condemned article was dotted as plentifully as May blossoms, it is hardly to be wondered at. Tired, overworked, and a good deal discouraged, the pale young teacher might be pardoned for any signs of weakness, though she needed to gather up all her sinking courage for the future, that lay before her lost in shadow.

CHAPTER X.

Somewhat apart from, and forming the western boundary of Waveland, was a lovely inland lake, by the margin of which Clemence had been accustomed to spend many sad hours, since she had become a resident of the little village. A narrow foot-path, that led through the sombre woods, brought her to a sheltered spot upon the sloping sh.o.r.e, where she often came alone to pa.s.s an idle hour. She had come to regard this place as her own peculiar property, for no one had ever come here to interrupt her, or claim any portion of its solitude.

It was a safe retreat from prying eyes, and it became to the girl, at length, the one sacred spot where she could pour out her griefs to that One, who looks upon His stricken children only to pity and forgive.

She sat, now, idly watching the sun sink in the western sky, behind the far-off hills. She thought, as she noted the sunset, that she had never seen anything more beautiful--

Amber, and purple, and crimson, and blue, Glittering shades of every hue.

Fleecy cloudlets of silver-gray, And shroud-like white, for the dying day.

She remembered, as her eye dwelt in admiration of the scene, of the beautiful pa.s.sages in Revelation, and of the gates of pearl and jasper, "which shall not be shut at all by day, for there shall be no night there." It almost seemed as if she could drift through these cloud portals into the peace and rest beyond. Her heart yearned for the loving clasp of the sweet pilgrim, who had gone before, and who had entered into "the joy of her Lord." The thought comforted her. She rose up absently to find two curious eyes fastened upon her, while Mr. Owen's voice said at her elbow:

"You find this scene more congenial, it appears, than our well ordered household, and dreaming away the hours, a much more agreeable task than trying to make a lady of my homespun wife?"

"Why," said Clemence, nervously, not replying to this singular speech, "how you startled me. Who would have thought of your being here? How did you find me? Have you any message from your wife?"

"None, whatever," he said, regarding her strangely, and replying to her last remark. "Do not go, just yet. Miss Graystone; I am tired, and would like to rest."

"In that case," returned Clemence, "I will leave you to yourself, and walk on, and you can come at your leisure."

"But I want to talk to you," he rejoined, detaining her, "I came here particularly for that purpose."