MRS. L. Edith, how much trouble you have given me! Where have you been? Why did you bring that girl back?
EDWARD. Where do you think I found her? In the House of Correction.
MRS. L. In the House of Correction! My daughter! Edith Landor!
EDITH. Mother, I have something to say to you; will you not walk down the path with me? I shall come back soon, Lisa. Be gentle, girls.
FIRST GIRL. So you are a gypsy. A pretty game you have been playing!
What made you steal Edith"s clothes?
LISA. I did not steal them; she changed with me.
GIRL. That"s a likely story. Your mother beat her, and made her give them up.
LISA. My mother did not beat her; she never beats any one. O, yes, she punishes Julia sometimes.
GIRL. And you very often, I think.
f.a.n.n.y. How can you speak so to her? See, you have made her cry. Never mind, little girl; we know you did not mean to do any harm. I believe what you say. Edith is always getting into mischief in some way.
LISA. You will be good to me; you will be like Edith, will you not?
EDITH, (_walking with her mother._) You knew all this, and you sent the child away from your home, to wander houseless, and be led into all kinds of evil. You love me, and take care of me, your own child, and yet you let so many children suffer and do wrong, and do nothing to save or help them. O mother!
MRS. L. I have been very thoughtless. I have never realized these things until now.
EDITH. But, mother, now that you do, you will not send this poor child away. Let her live in Jane"s cottage; you know there are spare rooms there; and I can teach her to read and sew, and she will be so good!
Will you not let her stay?
MRS. L. Yes, Edith, have it as you please.
EDITH. Lisa, you are going to live in a nice cottage of ours in the grove, and I shall teach you to read and write, and we will walk and play together, and be so happy.
LISA. And mother too?
MRS. L. No, I cannot have the gypsy woman about the place. What could she do here?
EDITH. But she will not be a gypsy woman if she lives here. She will become like one of us, and be very happy here with Lisa.
MRS. L. These gypsies never change; their vagabond ways are in the blood. You can do nothing with them. She will be for wandering off, east, west, and north, and be like a caged lioness when she is in the house.
EDWARD. They are not real gypsies, mother. I have heard the neighbors say they are poor people, who have a.s.sumed the gypsy mode of life to tell fortunes, and impose upon the country people.
EDITH. O, yes, mother, they do not seem like real gypsies. I know you can make of her what you will, if you will only let her come.
LISA. Do let her come--she is so good to me! I will not leave her. I will go wherever she goes.
MRS. L. Well, she may come too; we will try it, and see how it will answer.
EDITH. Dear mother, how can I thank you enough? She shall come this very night. Edward, cannot we get her out of jail?
EDWARD. It will be impossible, I think.
ELINOR. (_rushes in_.) Lisa! my child!
LISA. Mother, mother, have you come? (_Throws herself into Elinor"s arms_.)
MRS. L. How did you come here, woman?
ELINOR. O, I ran away; they have not caught me this time. Come, Lisa, we must be off like lightning.
LISA. Mother, we are going to stay here, and live in a nice cottage, near Edith.
ELINOR. Who said so? They are laughing at you.
EDITH. Yes, it is true. Lisa is to be my little scholar.
EARNING ONE"S OWN LIVING.
"What a shame, girls!" exclaimed Anna; "Clara Morton"s things have been sent for, and she is not coming to school any longer. Her father has failed, and they are to give up house and furniture, horses and carriage, and the girls are going out to earn their own living."
"Not really?" said f.a.n.n.y.
"Why, every one knows it."
"You do not mean to say that Clara Morton is going to earn her own living," said little Effie. "The last person in the world! Why, I do not believe she ever sewed a st.i.tch in her life. She never even brought her own books to school, but had them carried for her by a boy."
"But there are other ways of earning a living besides sewing. Clara plays beautifully, and could give music lessons as well as----; well--perhaps not as well as Mr. Cantari."
"No, indeed! Can you not see one of his queer smiles at the idea of one of us girls giving lessons?"
"I know it. How flat one feels, after playing a piece so splendidly, to turn round and meet, for one"s only applause, that incomprehensible smile! Poor Clara! I hope that smile will not meet her, wherever she goes in the world. I am sure it will haunt me, for I can never see it without a dim apprehension of the possible fate that awaits our lessons and accomplishments in that formidable ocean into which our school days are to empty."
"Your geographical comparison is very natural for you; but as I do not pride myself upon my acquirements in that branch, I confess I do not see what it has to do with Mr. Cantari"s smile."
"You do not take music lessons, I believe, Miss Erudition; and perhaps the forebodings of examination day would be a comparison in which you would be more at home. I only hope poor Clara will not be reminded of it by the world into which she has fallen."
"Now do tell us, Anna, what you mean by the world."
"Why, the world is--the people that laugh at every thing we school girls do. Not exactly that, but the people who know how every thing should be done, and give one of Mr. Cantari"s smiles at our way of doing it; they do not always know how, either. It is not that--it is--it is--you girls sitting there, calmly watching me extricating myself from my definition. Well now, into this world, whatever it is, Clara has dropped, just as if she had been riding in something, and the bottom had come out, leaving her standing on the actual ground; and the poor child must walk on her feet which any little barefooted beggar girl can do better than she."
"That reminds me of a funny adventure which happened to me, when I was a little girl, in India," said Effie.
"In India! O, do tell us about it."