life which might show Mrs. Coryton that she was not dependent on her aid. Of course, like most women similarly circumstanced, the first thing she thought of was a school, but to establish one even on the humble scale suited to Long Arrow, some money would be necessary, and she was absolutely penniless. Still she possessed two articles of value, which she thought might be converted into money; her watch and a diamond brooch, both of which had fortunately been on her when she escaped from the wreck. The brooch contained the hair of her parents, and with it she felt she could never part, but the watch might be sacrificed, though not without a pang, for it was her father’s gift, and had shared with her those happy days, when his affection and the pleasures she enjoyed with him, made for her a world large and bright enough to satisfy all her desires.
One morning when she was sitting with Mrs. Wendell, Helen knitting a shawl for her kind nurse of those home-spun and home-dyed worsteds of which the American housekeepers usually have good store, and Mrs. Wendell making raspberry vinegar, Helen said:
“I am quite well now, Mrs. Wendell, and almost as strong as ever; I must not live in idleness any longer.”
Mrs. Wendell turned her keen, sharp face towards Helen, but said nothing.
“I have thought of setting up a school,” continued Helen; “do you think I should get any pupils? I would not charge much, of course, and I would take great pains with them.”
Still Mrs. Wendell looked at her with a curious expression of doubt and hesitation visible on her face, and made no reply.
“Why don’t you tell me what you think of my plan, Mrs. Wendell? Are you afraid I should not succeed? Perhaps you think me more helpless than I really am. At all events I should like to try, and if the school doesn’t pay very well, I must help it out with needlework. I must manage to support myself some way or other.”
“I guess you are right,” said Mrs. Wendell, shortly.
“And you think I’ll get pupils, do you? “
“Oh, I guess so; but I reckon you haven’t got much notion what sort they’ll be. I haven’t lived among aristocrats myself, but I’ve known them that did, and I’ve read something about them in books, so I have some idea of their ways and notions, and I’m feared our folks may not suit you.”
“But you needn’t be afraid,” said Helen, smiling; “I had a Sunday-class of poor children when I lived in Quebec, and I often visited them at their homes, so that I’m not so ignorant about them as you seem to imagine.”
“Well, human nature and children’s nature is the same all the world over, I do suppose; but still there’s a difference. As I understand, the people in the large cities are more like the old country by a deal than we that live in the back settlements. I expect these poor children you talk of were taught, as they say in the English Church Catechism, to order themselves lowly and reverently to all their betters, meaning every one that has a finer house and richer clothes, and grandfathers that were gentlemen; they thought you a grand lady who was doing them a wonderful honour in condescending to teach them, and, no doubt, were made to believe that it was their duty to be humble and submissive to you, under pain of disgrace in this world and everlasting punishment in the next.
“I am sure I never taught them any such thing,” said Helen; “my father always strongly impressed upon me ideas totally at variance with such doctrines.”
“I didn’t say you taught them, child; I am sure you never taught them anything that wasn’t true, but I guess them that have to earn their living by pleasing those who think the world and the poor folks in it were only made for their use and convenience, must learn it, or at least the pretence of it, which answers as well. But the children here would not be like your Sunday-school children. Their fathers and mothers teach them that this is a fine country, where everyone is as good as his neighbour, and then they needn’t take off their hats to the king, if he came in their way, or make a curtsey to the queen unless they liked it. We’re all the one sort here, all living by our labour, all working together, and not one a bit better than the other, except it may be Squire Hubbs, who has a little more money, and has seen a little more of the world than the rest, and Mr. Dillon, who had always something about him far above every one else in these parts. His father, I am told, was a gentleman of estate in Ireland. The rest of the people are as different from what you’ve been used to as an iron spoon from a silver one.”
“If they were only like you, Mrs. Wendall,” said Helen.
“Well, dear, I ain’t much to speak of with regard to manners and book learning, but I can read my bible, and I hope I can understand it, and there ain’t many here can say as much. They’ll be civil to you in their way, no doubt, but it won’t be such as you are used to; they’ll make no more of you than if you were one of themselves, except that your pretty looks and nice ways may get you a little more thought of by any among us that have wit enough to value them. They’re mostly rough, and coarse, and ignorant, and some among them never heard a prayer said in their lives, and their children can’t be anything else but rude and wild, and hard to manage, poor things.”
“I expect plenty of trouble,” said Helen, “I know it will be rough work at first, but I hope that if I do my best it will grow smooth by degrees.”
“Well, it will, if you keep cool and steady, and don’t let yourself be scared by dirty clothes, and stubborn tempers, and rough ways among the children, and free manners and coarse language in the parents. They may be a little stiff with you at first, when they find out you are so different from them, or anything they’ve been used to; but they will soon see it’s not your nature to show scorn or disdain to any one, and that your heart’s full of kindness to every living thing; they’ll know the good you’re doing their