Half a Century | Page 9

and while the sin
remained the salvation was doubtful and the sorrow certain.
On the afternoon of that first Sabbath, a number of young lady pupils
came to the Bee-hive for a visit, and as I afterwards learned to inspect
and name the two new girls, when I was promptly and unanimously
dubbed "Wax Doll." After a time, one remarked that they must go and
study their "ancient history lesson." I caught greedily at the words,
ancient history. Ah, if I could only be permitted to study such a lesson!
No such progress or promotion seemed open to me; but the thought
interfered with my prayers, and followed me into the realm of sleep. So
when that class was called next forenoon, I was alert, and what was my
surprise, to hear those privileged girls stumbling over the story of
Sampson? Could it be possible that was ancient history? How did it

come to pass that every one did not know all about Sampson, the man
who had laid his Lead on Delilah's wicked lap, to be shorn of his
strength. If there is any thing in that account, or any lesson to be drawn
from it, with which I was not then familiar, it is something I have never
learned. Indeed, I seemed to have completed my theological education
before I did my twelfth year.
One morning, Mrs. Olever sent for me, and told me she had learned my
mother was not able to send me to school, but if I would take charge of
the lessons of the little girls, she would furnish me board and tuition.
This most generous offer quite took my breath away, and was most
gladly accepted; but it was easy work, and I wondered my own studies
were so light. I was allowed to amuse myself drawing flowers, which
were quite a surprise, and pronounced better than anything the drawing
master could do--to recite poetry, for the benefit of the larger girls, and
to play in the orchard with my pupils.
With the other girls, I became interested in hair-dressing. I had read
"The Children of the Abbey," and Amanda's romantic adventures
enchanted me; but she was quite outside my life. Now I made a nearer
acquaintance with her. She changed her residence; so had I. She had
brown ringlets; I too should have them. So one Friday night, my hair
was put up in papers, and next morning, I let loose an amazing shower
of curls.
The next thing to do was to go off alone, and sit reading in a romantic
spot. Of course I did not expect to meet Lord Mortimer! Miss Fitzallen
never had any such expectations. I was simply going out to read and
admire the beauties of nature. When I had seated myself, in proper
attitude, on the gnarled root of an old tree, overhanging a lovely ravine,
I proceeded to the reading part of the play, and must of course be too
much absorbed to hear the approaching footsteps, to which I listened
with bated breath. So I did not look up when they stopped at my side,
or until a pleasant voice said:
"Why you look quite romantic, my dear."
Then I saw Miss Olever, the head teacher, familiarly called "Sissy
Jane." In that real and beautiful presence Miss Fitzallen retired to her
old place, and oh, the mortification she left behind her! I looked up, a
detected criminal, into the face of her who had brought to me this
humiliation, and took her for a model. My folly did not prevent our

being sincere friends during all her earnest and beautiful life.
She passed on, and I got back to the Bee-hive, when I disposed of my
curls, and never again played heroine.


CHAPTER V
.
LOSE MY BROTHER.--AGE, 12-15.
Measured by the calendar, my boarding-school life was six weeks; but
measured by its pleasant memories, it was as many years. Mother wrote
for me to come home; and in going I saw, by sunlight, the scene of our
adventure that dark night going out. It was a lovely valley, walled in by
steep, wooded hills. Two ravines joined, bringing each its contribution
of running water, and pouring it into the larger stream of the larger
valley--a veritable "meeting of the waters"--in all of nature's work,
beautiful exceedingly.
The house, which stood in the center of a large, green meadow, through
which the road ran, was built in two parts, of hewn logs, with one great
stone chimney on the outside, protected by an overshot in the roof, but
that one in which the log-heap burned that night was inside. One end
had been an Indian fort when Gen. Braddock tried to reach Fort Pitt by
that road. The other end and stone barn