EDUCATIONAL.

With so many interests to fill her leisure hours, as well as such a pleasant and restful home, our little Katie continued to bear the confinement and hard work of the mill better than her friends had expected she would. Though she grew rapidly taller, she did not become either pale or thin. She continued to like her work, and became more and more of a favorite, both with her companions and her employers. The affair of the fifty-dollar bill had been thoroughly explained, and for a time Katie was looked upon quite as a martyr heroine. She was a little in danger of being spoiled by the attention she received, and but for the remembrance of how nearly she had yielded to the temptation to do wrong, her Christian character might have been seriously injured.

Poor Bertie, however, had a hard time of it when she first went back to the mill. Of course, it had been impossible to right her companion without implicating herself, and it was hard for her to meet the significant looks and tones of some of the other girls, who did not believe in the new saintship and did very much despise the old malice and deceit.

Although forgiven for the guilt of her sin, the poor girl had to find that she could not avoid all its punishment. No one can; and though God may forgive us freely for the sake of his dear Son, and give us a new heart or a new purpose of action, we shall still have to suffer many of the consequences of the wrong we have done, and it can never be quite as though we had never sinned, which fact it would be well to remember before we are led into evil.

Many a time the poor girl, quite unaccustomed to control herself, would almost break out into some furious response to an unkind word or implied taunt, and remember just in time that she was pledged to the Lord’s service and must not disgrace his cause. A swift, silent prayer for help then would always bring the promised aid of the Holy Spirit, and so by degrees Bertie learned to conquer herself and to lead others to see that her repentance was sincere and her faith genuine. Katie’s friendship was a great blessing to her at this time. Katie had entirely forgiven her treacherous friend’s part in the affair which had caused her so much sorrow. She remembered only her dangerous illness, and that they were both now fellow-Christians and members of the same church. She was anxious to do all in her power to help Bertie in her struggle against the sins of her heart and the bad habits of her life, and, as is apt to be the case when we forgive and try to help any one, she soon came to love her very much. And this friendship and support served, more than anything else, to reinstate Bertie in the good graces of the other girls.

It was stated some time since that Mrs. Robertson had other plans with reference to her family of girls and boys, which she intended to put in operation when the long winter evenings came. This was the formation of a class for regular study, of at least one or two of the branches which her own children had attended to at school. But these plans were afterward merged in those of the young manufacturer.

The mill-girls, although they had generally had fair common-school advantages before they commenced work, were, of course, from that time totally deprived of them. They knew how to read, write, and “do examples” in the simpler rules of arithmetic. Perhaps this would be quite education enough for those girls who are to pass their lives in factories of the older world. But it is not so in America, where everybody reads and everybody thinks, where no one is stationary, no position permanent where the operative of to-day is the employer of to-morrow where many a girl steps from a position of toil and honorable self-support into that of mistress of a mansion, and is called to dispense a hospitality which in other lands would be called princely. In our as yet unsettled mode of existence, education is the one thing needful, because education is the only thing of which the “chances and changes” of life can not strip us the only thing which will adapt itself gracefully to any position, from the cottage and tenement-room to the presidential chair.

Eunice and James Mountjoy had often talked over the loss of educational advantages to which boys and girls entering the mill at so early an age were of necessity subjected, and this winter they took their youngest sister into confidence. The result was the commencement of a “night school,” held, however, from four o’clock till seven. The mill was now only working three-quarters time, so these three hours remained to be filled up, and no one objected to putting off supper an hour for this purpose.

The school-house did double duty the day scholars departing just as the more advanced classes assembled, and the trustees gladly gave the use of the building for so beneficent a purpose. But it was not to be expected that the poor young overworked teacher could do double duty too. She was, in fact, only a girl, not much in advance of the “night scholars,” either in age or acquirements, and well calculated to profit with them by superior advantages. Another hired teacher was not to be thought of, for the school committee were not entrusted with spare funds, and the Mountjoys, who might have furnished a teacher’s board and salary upon ordinary occasions, were this winter taxed to the utmost strain their finances would bear.

In this dilemma Etta made the startling proposition of becoming teacher herself.

“You!” said Eunice, in astonishment. For to her, her sister always seemed the little child whom her dead mother had confided to her care. “You’re not old enough. I thought of offering myself, but really my hands are full, I can’t do another thing.”

“I should think not,” said James. “You do everything for us all. You need four hands for what you do already. But why should not Etta? You don’t need her help in the afternoons, and surely she ought to be competent.”

“I am afraid”

“I know,” broke in the girl. “You are afraid I will get tired of it, and drop it as I have done so many things. You’ve a right to think so. But you know I have a new motive and a new strength now. Eunice, what is the use of my superior education, if I can’t do something with it for the Lord? It seems to me that this is one of the ‘ways’ in which I can ‘acknowledge him.’ Won’t you let me try it?”

“If papa will consent,” said her sister. And that settled it, as they all knew; for Mr. Mountjoy always consented that Etta should do exactly as she pleased. He only stipulated that her brother should always be on hand to bring her home, as during the winter months the school would not be over till after dark.

Etta proved as all knew she would prove a very efficient and interesting teacher. It was quite amusing to her brother, when he sometimes came for her half an hour before school was over, to see the quiet dignity with which she kept the great rough boys in order. But the work soon became too much for her alone. The “night school” grew into such a popular institution that it had more pupils than one person could properly attend to in the short space of three hours. So Mr. James arranged his time at some personal sacrifice to himself, and managed to take some of the classes. While, to the great astonishment of all, Rhoda, the middle sister, came out of her shell sufficiently to volunteer to give drawing lessons to such of the boys and girls as should show any decided talent or inclination. There is something contagious in beneficence. Those surrounded by its atmosphere are sure, sooner or later, to take the infection. Of course this school was better for the children than any plan of Mrs. Robertson’s devising could have been, and her whole family were among its most enthusiastic and energetic members. Gretchen learned to write English, and Tessa to read and care for better things than sentimental fiction. And Eric, while far outstripping her in his studies, seemed to find great pleasure in assisting in hers, helping her over difficulties, and carrying her books to and from the school. But by far the brightest of the scholars were Katie and Alfred Robertson. They both learned so easily, and exhibited so much enthusiasm in the pursuit of knowledge, that once Eunice Mountjoy said to Mrs. Robertson:

“It seems almost a pity that your children should be obliged to perform mill-work. My brother says that Alfred shows quite an uncommon taste for natural science, especially chemistry. And I think our little Katie would, after a few years’ study, make a capital teacher, and you know she would make a great deal more money in that way than she ever can in the mill, with much less expenditure of time and strength.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Robertson, with a sigh. “I never thought that my husband’s children would have to work for a living.”

“Working for a living is not degrading, Mrs. Robertson. The doctor himself did that.”

“Of course. But he did it as a gentleman not in a mill.”

“My father and brother, too, earn their livings in a mill, and neither they nor we feel at all degraded by it,” said Eunice, quietly. “Only, if your boy has talents which will fit him for a profession beneficial to the human race, like that of his father’s, it seems almost a pity that they should not be cultivated. Depend upon it, self-support is always honorable, for man or woman, and we should consider our work high or low, not because it is considered ‘genteel’ or not, but because it does or does not do the most good. I wish that something could turn up to help both Alfred and Katie to better educations, for I believe they might thus do a great deal more good.”

And Mrs. Robertson wished so too. But she was wise enough not to say anything to her children about it.

Better things were in store for the children, however, than their mother’s heart had dared to hope for; and for once she felt thoroughly ashamed of her murmurings and want of faith. One evening toward spring, when the merry group came from school more noisily than usual, and, as usual, greatly in want of their delayed supper, they were all slightly astonished to see a light in the window of the seldom-used sitting-room. They noticed, as they went in, a strange hat in the hall.

“What can your mother be doing in the best room?” said Tessa, as she and Katie reached their own room.

Tessa was always inquisitive, and the sight of a strange man’s hat had greatly excited her curiosity.

“I am sure I don’t” but at that moment the girls were interrupted by Alfred, who rushed in without knocking, and shouted, though quite out of breath with excitement:

“Katie! Katie! Mother wants you! Come quick! Who do you suppose is here? It’s Uncle Alfred all the way from California! Isn’t it splendid?”

“I didn’t know we had an uncle in California, did you?” said Katie.

But there was no opportunity for her brother to answer, as by this time they had reached the parlor door, which stood open now, and both children were warmly embraced by a gentleman whom at first neither of them could see.

“What an old man I must be,” said the gentleman, as he released them, “to have three such grown-up people for nephews and nieces! And it seems only the other day since Eric and I, and you too, Linda, were no bigger. Yet they were all born after I went away. Such a little time!”

“But many sad things have happened since then, Alfred. It seems to me a very long time since your brother Eric went away never to come back, and left me to battle with the world with no one to help me feed and educate his children.”

There was a slight tone of reproach in the widow’s tone as she said this, but the returned brother did not seem to notice it, as he said reverently:

“No one but God. You would have told me in the old days when I didn’t believe it or care for it that you could not have a better or more efficient friend; and now that I do believe it, I am sure that you have found it true.”

“Yes, I have,” said the mother, looking with thankful pride upon her well-grown boys, and bright and healthy, if diminutive, little girl. “God has been very good to us, and I have every reason to think well of his protecting care.”

“And the children,” said their uncle, “have they too learned to trust in their Saviour and do his will?”

“Eric and Katie have. Alfred is, I am afraid, a little too much like his uncle of old times.”

“I am sorry to hear that. He loses so much of the joy of youth and the strength of growing up into true manliness. I hope he will never have cause to be as sorry as his uncle is that he did not give his Saviour ‘the kindness of his youth.’ But we will have plenty of time to talk about all these things by-and-by. Just now I am as anxious for my supper as these young folks must be. I remember of old, Linda, what a good supper you can give a hungry traveler, and I don’t suppose I need an invitation.”

“Why, no!” said his hostess, with a little flush of embarrassment. “Only you must prepare yourself for a somewhat large tea-party, and not of a very aristocratic kind. For, you know, I keep a sort of factory boarding-house.”

“One who has camped with California miners is not likely to be very fastidious,” said Mr. Robertson. “But I suspect if your boarders are companions of this niece of mine, they will be good enough company for me.”