Signing the Contract and What it Cost

“I think I may say I have been thoroughly drilled in plain sewing both by hand and with the machine,” Floy answered modestly; “and for the last year I have fitted and made my common dresses, and generally assisted with the better ones.”

“You may begin with this,” said Mrs. Sharp, handing her a dress-skirt of cheap material.

“That sounds very well, but we shall see what we shall see,” was what Floy read in her countenance. “And she shall see,” was the girl’s mental resolve.

“She’s a treasure – this new arrival – if she only keeps on as she’s begun,” Mrs. Sharp said, with a triumphant smile, talking to Hetty that night after the apprentices and journey-women had retired; “as handy and neat a sewer as ever you saw, both by hand and on the machine, and turns off nearly twice as much work as any one of the others.”

“That’s splendid, Aunt Prue,” returned Hetty, “but we must be careful not to work a willing horse to death.”

“Of course, Hetty; did I ever do that?”

An odd little smile played about the girl’s lips, but she only said:

“We’ve taken in a good many orders to-day; sold off most of our stock of ready-made hats too, and – there! it’s striking eleven, and I have two hats to trim before I go to bed.”

“You’re worth your weight in gold, Hetty, and it’s a fine thing you need so little sleep,” remarked her aunt. “But I think Sarah should relieve you of the oversight of Patsy and the meals more than she does.”

“Mother’s not well,” said Hetty shortly.

“Oh, she’s hipped; it’s more that than anything else,” laughed Mrs. Sharp. “Good-night,” and she left the room.

“Hipped! of course she is! Everybody is that complains of anything, except that Sharp Thorne of hers,” muttered Hetty, adjusting flowers, feathers, and loops of ribbon with deft and rapid fingers. “And of course I wouldn’t enjoy being in bed now, or lying an hour later in the morning! Well, thank Heaven, I haven’t a man to support, and don’t need one to support me,” she added cheerily.

CHAPTER XVII

HETTY TO THE RESCUE

“The drying up a single tear has more
Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.” —

    Byron.
“Hetty Goodenough, you’ll have to interfere, and set your foot down firmly too, or the child’s health will be ruined for life,” remarked that young lady to herself, stealing another and another furtive glance at the wan, thin cheeks of Floy Kemper. “Why, she’s but the ghost of the pretty girl the expressman brought here two months ago.”

The Christmas holidays were near at hand, and for weeks past orders for party-dresses, head-dresses, opera cloaks, etc., had poured in upon the establishment till, as Mrs. Sharp said, they were driven almost to distraction.

It was now near midnight following one of the hardest days of the season, and all the weary toilers save these two had left the work-room to seek the rest so sorely needed.

“Floy,” said Hetty aloud.

They had long since taken up the habit of calling each other by these familiar names.

“Well, Hetty?” and the girl, who was busily engaged in looping up the folds of rich silk and lace on an over-skirt, with delicate blossoms wonderfully real in their loveliness, looked up from her work with a faint smile.

“Do give that up for to-night; you’ve done too much to-day by a great deal.”

“But it can’t be helped while so many are hurrying us so for their dresses, and this will be done now in a few minutes.”

“The heartless creatures!” ejaculated Hetty. “There’s nothing hardens the heart like love of dress, Floy; I’d rather be – what I am – worked half to death – than a butterfly of fashion. Well, if you’re determined to finish that, I must come and help you.”

“Thank you,” said Floy. “What makes you so good to me, Hetty?”

“It’s odd, isn’t it? but somehow I took a fancy to you the first minute I set eyes on you.”

“And you’ve been the one bright spot in my life here ever since.”

Hetty looked both touched and gratified.

“There, it’s done at last!” she said presently, holding up their finished work, gazing at it admiringly for an instant as she shook out the rich folds; then carrying it to a closet, she hung it up carefully, shut and locked the door, putting the key in her pocket, and came back to Floy.

“What is it?” she asked almost tenderly, for Floy sat in a despondent attitude, her elbow on the table, her cheek on her hand, while her eyes, gazing into vacancy, had a deeply sad, far-away look.

“I was only thinking,” she answered with an effort to speak cheerfully; but her voice broke, and a sudden gush of tears followed the words.

“Don’t mind me! I – I didn’t mean to!” she faltered, dashing away the bright drops and vainly struggling to recover her composure, as Hetty dropped on one knee at her side and put her arms affectionately about her.

“You’re just worn out; that’s one trouble, but I’m afraid not the only one. I’m not curious, and don’t want to obtrude myself into your confidence, but if you want sympathy – I’d be ever so glad to give it. I – I’ve thought sometimes ’twould do you good to unburden your heart to some one. You’re homesick, I’m sure of that, for I know the symptoms. The home folks ought to write to you oftener than they do. I’ve noticed the postman has brought you only two or three letters since you came, and one of those was from an attorney at law.”

“Yes, and the others were from one who is a dear, kind friend, but has no drop of my blood in her veins. Hetty, I never had a sister or brother. Last year – oh! only four short months ago – I was a petted only child, the darling of the best, kindest, dearest of parents; now – I am alone – all alone! The grave closed over them both in one day.”

The last words were scarcely audible, but Hetty’s quick ear caught them, and her warm heart bled for the bereaved one. She clasped her more closely in her arms and wept with her.

“Poor dear, poor dear!” she said, “what a pleasant home you must have had with them! Wouldn’t it do you good to talk of it to me?”

Floy felt that it would, and in trembling, tearful tones drew a bright picture of the happy home of her childhood, the tender parental love and care that had made it such in no ordinary degree.

Hetty was just the deeply-interested, sympathizing listener the poor heart craved, and the outpouring relieved it of half its load.

“What a change for you – coming here!” was Hetty’s comment; “and how well you have borne it! so patient, so uncomplaining, so diligent, and faithful! I hardly know how you can have sufficient energy and ambition.”

“A strange remark coming from you,” returned Floy, smiling faintly as she wiped away the tears she had been shedding to the memory of the dear ones gone, “you who seem to me to be the very embodiment of energy and ambition.”

“Ah, I’m used to the life, and I have an object; poor mother has only me to relieve her of her heavy burdens; love of her lightens toil wonderfully!”

“Love of Another too, Hetty; isn’t it so? And I too can rejoice in the hope that He is pleased when I strive to do my work faithfully, because it is of His appointment, and be patient under trial, because He sends it.”

Hetty silently pressed the hand she held, a tender moisture gathering in her eyes.

“And – yes, I will tell you, for I am sure you are a true friend, one worthy of my confidence. I have another object in life besides the necessity of earning my own support.”

And in a few brief, eager sentences, alight shining in her eyes, a tender smile hovering around her full, red lips, Floy told of her hope that she had still a mother living, and should some day be able to search her out.

Hetty listened to the tale in almost breathless surprise and delight.

“You’ll find her!” she cried, “you’ll find each other – I’m sure of it.”

“And so am I at times, but I seem to make no progress of late. I so seldom get out even into the street, or go anywhere that I am likely to meet strangers.”

“You ought to be in the store,” said Hetty musingly; “perhaps that can be managed by and by, and in the meanwhile I’ll be on the lookout for you. You resemble her?”