A Dear Little Girl at School

“And I am in a hurry, too,” said Miss Newman, “for I am very anxious to get home to my sister. Thank you very much for the umbrella. I should have had to go in somewhere, it is pouring so, and that would have delayed me.”

By this time Celia came up and Edna slipped under her sister’s umbrella. They took their car at the next corner, but they saw Miss Newman standing on the other side waiting for the car which should come along somewhat later. “Poor thing,” said Edna as she looked from the car window; “she would have been soaked, Celia, if she had had to stand there without an umbrella, and she has a cold now.”

Celia smiled. “I believe you would love a chimpanzee, or a snake, Edna.”

“I think little green snakes are very pretty,” returned Edna calmly. “Cousin Ben likes them, too. He showed me one in the grass last Sunday. I felt sorry for it because nearly everybody hates snakes, and Cousin Ben said this one was perfectly harmless.”

“I draw the line at snakes,” returned Celia. “I suppose you feel sorry for Miss Newman.”

“Yes, I do; she is so unpretty.”

Celia laughed. “That is a delicate way of putting it, I am sure. Well, I am glad she has one friend; no doubt she needs it. Most of the girls aren’t so ready to say nice things of her as they were of Miss Ashurst.”

“I know it,” replied Edna, “and that is one reason Dorothy and I stand up for her. We say suppose we were as – as ugly as that, and had to go a long, long way to school every day to teach horrid girls who didn’t be nice to us, how would we like it?”

“She looks like a cross old thing,” returned Celia rather flippantly.

“She isn’t exactly cross, but she isn’t the kind you can lean up against and say ‘what a pretty tie you have on,’ as we did with Miss Ashurst. Celia, I am afraid Miss Newman never will get married.”

Celia laughed. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to. Everyone doesn’t, you know.”

This was rather beyond Edna’s comprehension, and she sat pondering over the extraordinary statement till the car reached the station. She arrived early in the school-room on Monday morning to find Miss Newman already there. She looked up with a smile as the little girl entered. “I brought back your umbrella,” she said. “I don’t know what I should have done without it. I left my sister rather worse than usual and I wanted very much to get home as soon as possible.”

“Is your sister ill?” asked Edna

“She is never very well. When she was a little girl, younger than you, she fell and hurt her spine. She has never been well since, and at times suffers very much.”

“How was she this morning?” asked Edna sympathetically.

“She was much better. I left her sitting on the porch in the sun. She can walk only a few steps, you see, and sometimes has to be lifted from place to place.”

“Who lifts her?” Edna was much interested at this peep into Miss Newman’s life.

“I do when I am there, for I know just how to do it without hurting her.”

“Will she sit there all day where you left her?”

“Oh, no, for she has a wheeling chair and the old woman who lives with us can wheel her in when she is ready to go.”

“Tell me some more.” Edna leaned her elbows on the table and looked at her teacher with a wistful look. She did feel so very sorry for this poor sister who could not walk.

“She is a very cheerful, bright person,” Miss Newman went on, “and everyone loves her. She is very fond of children and is continually doing something for those in the neighborhood. It is far from being a wealthy street, and back of us there are many very poor people. At Christmas we had a tree for the ones who couldn’t have one at home, and my sister made nearly everything on it, such pretty things they were, too. There was a present for each child.”

“I think that was perfectly lovely,” said Edna. This was the kind of thing that appealed to her. “What is your sister’s name?”

“Her name is Eloise.”

“I think that is a beautiful name. I should like very much to see her.”

“She would like very much to see you, for she knows every one of my class, and asks about each one when I go home. You see she cannot go out into the world where I go, I have to take what I can of it to her.” It was evident that this was the subject which was nearest to the teacher’s heart, and that when talking of it she showed the gentlest side of her nature. “How would you like to go home with me this afternoon to see her, you and Dorothy Evans?”

“I would love to go, but are you sure she would like to have us come?”

“I don’t know of anything that would please her more. She has never seen one of my pupils and has often longed to, for as I told you she has to see the world through my eyes, and anything that interests me interests her.”

“I’ll tell Dorothy as soon as she comes and I will ask Celia if I may go. Thank you, Miss Newman for inviting us.” Then a number of girls came in and school was called to order before Edna had a chance to speak to her sister.

At recess, however, the matter was talked over, both Agnes and Celia listening attentively. “I don’t think they ought to go home with Miss Newman,” decided Agnes, “for she probably has dinner as soon as she gets home and it would make extra trouble. If they could go later it might be all right. I’d better go and talk to Miss Newman myself, then we can tell better what can be done.” She went off and soon came back to say that she had arranged to go with the little girls later in the afternoon. “We can take a car from there which will connect with our line and in that way we shall not have to come all the way back into the city.”

But a better arrangement than that was made, for when Margaret and Jennie heard of the affair they were so eager to be included in the party, that Miss Newman noticing their wistfulness, asked if they, too, would come. “There is nothing my sister likes better than to have a company of children around her to whom she can tell some tale. She is a great one for that, and often has as many as a dozen children on the porch,” she told them.

“Then, I will tell you what we can do,” said Jennie. “I know mother will say we may all go in the motor-car, and I can take you girls home just as well as not. I will call mother up now and tell her all about it.” So in a few minutes the whole matter was arranged by telephone. The three little girls, Edna, Dorothy and Margaret were to go home with Jennie to luncheon and then they would make the start from there.

“That is just like the Ramseys,” said Agnes, “they always come forward at just the right moment and do the thing that makes it pleasantest all around. Now we can go home at the usual time, Celia feeling perfectly safe about the girls.”

Therefore about three o’clock on this bright afternoon in May they set forth in the automobile which was to take them to Miss Newman’s and call for them later. Through a very unfamiliar part of the city they went till they came to a short street with a row of small houses on each side. Each house had a garden in front and a porch. In the very last one which had more ground around it than the rest, Miss Newman lived. The porch was covered with vines and in the garden there was a perfect wealth of flowers. A bird-cage in which a canary was singing, hung near the window. One end of the porch was screened by a bamboo shade. It was a very pretty nesty little place. Huddled down in a chair, with her head supported by pillows was Miss Eloise who smiled up at the girls as Miss Newman brought them forward one after another. Miss Eloise had a much more lovely face than her sister. Her eyes were beautiful, she had quantities of wavy dark hair, a sweet mouth and a delicate nose. The hand she held out was so small and fragile that when Edna clasped it in her plump fingers it seemed almost as if she were holding the claws of some bird.

“So this is Edna,” she said. “She looks just as I thought she did. Dorothy I know her by her hair, and Margaret because she is the tallest of them, so of course the one left must be Jennie. I am so pleased to see you all. Sister, will you wheel me just a little further back so there will be more room for us all?”

Miss Newman was quick to spring to her sister’s side, wheeling the chair at just the right angle, settling the pillows, and then passing her hand caressingly over Miss Eloise’s dark locks. The girls could not imagine her so tender.

“I hope you are feeling well to-day,” began Edna to start the conversation.

“Who wouldn’t feel well in such glorious weather. It is such a beautiful world, and has so many interesting things in it. How is your sister, Edna?”

“She is very well,” replied Edna, surprised that Miss Eloise should know she had a sister.

“And yours, Dorothy? I hear she is such a sweet, pretty girl.”

Dorothy likewise surprised, made answer that Agnes was very well and would have come with them but that the four of them came in the Ramseys’ motor-car.

“And wasn’t it fun to see it come whirling up?” said Miss Eloise. “It was the very first time a motor-car ever came to our door, and I was excited over it. I think it was very sweet of Mrs. Ramsey to give me this pleasure, and, Margaret I cannot tell you how I enjoyed the flowers you used to bring to sister in the winter. Your mother must have the loveliest greenhouse. I never saw such fine big stalks of mignonette. We shall have mignonette a little later, for our flowers are coming on finely. As for the books you all gave sister at Christmas they have been a perfect feast. I am so glad to have you here and to be able to thank you for all the things you have done to make the long winter go more quickly for me.”

The girls looked at one another. If they had known what their little gifts were to mean, how many times they could have added to them. They had not a word to say for they had not understood how a little ripple of kindness may widen till it touches an unknown shore.

“Now tell me about your club,” Miss Eloise went on. “I should so like to hear what you did at the last meeting. Sister tells me all she can, but she doesn’t have a chance to learn as much as I should like. I am so greedy, you see. I am like a child who says when you tell it a story, and think you have finished, ‘Tell on.’ I am always crying ‘Tell on.’ It is the most beautiful club I ever heard of and I am sorry I am not a little girl at your school so I could belong to it and enjoy the good times with you.”

“But, darling, you have your own little club,” said her sister, “and you are always thinking of what you can do for others.”

“Oh, I know, but I live in such a tiny little world, and my ‘little drops of water, little grains of sand’ are such wee things.”

“They mean a great deal more than you imagine,” said her sister gently. “I am sure I could never live without them.”

“Oh, that is because you make so much of me and what I do. She is a great sister,” she said nodding to the girls. “She is a regular Atlas because she has to bring her world home on her back every day to me. Yes, indeed. Perhaps you don’t think I am aware of all that goes on in that school-room. Why I even know when one of you misses a lesson, and if you will let me tell you a secret, I actually cried the day Clara Adams did the caricature.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” Edna could not help sighing aloud while the other girls looked as much ashamed as if they had done the thing themselves. However, when Miss Eloise saw this she broke into a laugh and began to tell them of some very funny thing she had seen from the porch that morning, then followed one funny tale after another till the girls were all laughing till the tears ran down their cheeks. Miss Eloise had the drollest way of telling things, and the merriest laugh herself. After a while Miss Newman went inside and presently came out with a tray on which were glasses of lemonade and a plate of small cakes. These were passed around, and much enjoyed.

“Now tell them one of your stories,” said Miss Newman to her sister.