# A New England Tale/Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV.
She, half an angel in her own account, Doubts not hereafter with the saints to mount Tho' not a grace appears on strictest search, But that she fasts, and item, goes to church.
Cowper.
The excellent character of Mary Hull had been spoken of to Mr. Lloyd by his landlady, and he was convinced that she was precisely the person to whom he should be satisfied to commit the superintendence of his family. Accordingly, on the evening of the sale, he sent a messenger to Mrs. Wilson's with the following note:—
"Robert Lloyd, having purchased the place of the late Mr. Elton, would be glad to engage Mary Hull to take charge of his family. Wages, and all other matters, shall be arranged to her satisfaction. He takes the liberty to send by the messenger, for Jane Elton, a work-box, dressing-glass, and a few other small articles, for which he has no use, and which, he hopes, she will do him the favour to retain, on account of the value they must have in her eyes."
Mrs. Wilson had no notion that any right could be prior to hers in her house. She took the note ​from the servant and, notwithstanding he ventured to say he believed it was not meant for her, she read it first with no very satisfied air, and then turning to one of the children, she told her to call Mary Hull to her. The servant placed the things on the table, and left the room.
"So," said she to Jane, who was looking at her for some explanation of the sudden apparition of the work-box, &c.—"So, Miss, you have seen fit to disobey the first order I took the trouble to give you. I should like to know how you dared to leave these things after my positive orders."
"I did not understand your note, Ma'am, to contain positive orders; and Mary and I did not think it was quite right to take the things."
"Right! pretty judges of right to be sure. She a hired a girl, and a Methodist into the bargain. I don't know how she dares to judge over my head; and you, Miss, I tell you once for all, I allow no child in my house to know right from wrong; children have no reason, and they ought to be very thankful, when they fall into the hands of those that are capable of judging for them. Here," said she to Mary, who now entered in obedience to her summons; "here is a proposal of a place for you, from that Quaker that buried his wife last week. I suppose you call yourself your own mistress, and you can do as you like about it; but as you are yet a young woman, Mary Hull, and this man is a Quaker widower, and nobody knows who, I should think it a great risk for you to live with him; for, if nothing worse comes of it, you may ​be sure there is not a person in this town that won't think you are trying to get him for a husband.
Mary was highly gratified with the thought of returning to the place where she had passed a large and happy portion of her life, and she did not hesitate to say, that "she should not stand so much in her own light as to refuse so excellent a place; that from all she had heard said of Mr. Lloyd, he was a gentleman far above her condition in life; and therefore she thought no person would be silly enough to suppose she took the place from so foolish a design as Mrs. Wilson suggested; and she should take care that her conduct should give no occasion for reproach."
"Well," said Mrs. Wilson, chagrined that her counsel was not compulsory, "it does amaze me to see how some people strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel."
Mary did not condescend to notice this remark, but proceeded quietly to remove the articles Mr. Lloyd had sent, which she succeeded in doing, without any further remark from Mrs. Wilson, who prudently restrained the exercise of her authority while there was one present independent enough to oppose its current.
"Oh, Mary," said Jane, when they were alone, how glad I am you are going to live with such a good man; how happy you must be!" "And I too, Mary;" and she hastily brushed away a tear, "I am; at least I should be very happy when I have such a kind friend as you are so near to me."
​"Yes, yes, dear Jane, try to be happy, this foolish aunt of yours will try you like the fire, but I look to see you come out of it as gold from the furnace: keep up a good heart, my child, it is a long lane that never turns."
The friends separated, but not till Mary had with her usual caution carefully packed away Jane's new treasures, saying, as she did it, "That it was best to put temptation out of sight."
Mary's plain and neat appearance, and her ingenuous sensible countenance, commended her at once to Mr. Lloyd's favour, and she entered immediately upon the duties of her new and responsible situation.
We must now introduce those who are willing to go further with us in the history of Jane Elton, to the family of Mrs. Wilson, where they will see she had a school for the discipline of christian character.
"Jane," said Mrs. Wilson to her on the morning after Mary's departure, "you know, child, the trouble and expense of taking you upon my hands is very great, but it did not seem suitable that being my brother's daughter you should be put out at present: you must remember, child, that I am at liberty to turn you away at any time, whereas, as you will always be in debt to me, you can never be at liberty to go when you choose. It it a great trial to me to take you, but the consciousness of doing my duty and more than my duty to you, supports me under it. Now as to what I expect from you:—in the first place, my word must ​be your law; you must not hesitate to do any thing that I require of you; never think of asking a reason for what I command—it is very troublesome and unreasonable to do so. Visiting, you must give up entirely; I allow my children to waste none of their time in company: meetings I shall wish you to attend when you have not work to do at home; for I do not wish you to neglect the means of grace, though I am sensible that your heart must be changed before they can do you any good. You must help Martha do the ironing, and assist Elvira with the clear starching and other matters; Nancy will want your aid about the beds; Sally is but young, and requires more care than I can give her, for my time is at present chiefly spent in instructing the young converts; and therefore I shall look to you to take the charge of Sally; and I expect you to take the charge of mending and making for David when he comes home; the other boys will want now and then a stitch or two; and, in short, Miss, (and she increased the asperity of her tone, for she thought Jane's growing gravity indicated incipient rebellion,) you will be ready to do every thing that is wanted of you."
Jane was summoning resolution to reply, when both her and her aunt's attention was called to a rustling at the window, and crazy Bet thrust her head in—
"Go on," said she, and fill up the measure of your iniquities, load her with burthens heavy and grievous to be borne, and do not touch them with one of your fingers.—There, Jane," said she, ​throwing her a bunch of carnations, "I have just come from the quarterly meeting, and I stopped as I came past your house, and picked these, for I thought their bright colours would be a temptation to the Quaker. And I thought too," said she, laughing, "there should be something to send up a sweet smelling savour from the altar where there are no deeds of mercy laid."
"Out of my yard instantly, you dirty beggar!" said Mrs. Wilson.
Bet turned, but not quickening her step, and went away, singing, "Glory, glory, hallelujah."
"Aunt," said Jane, "do not mind the poor creature. She does not mean to offend you. I believe she feels for me; for she has been sheltered many a time from the cold and the storms in our house."
"Don't give yourself the least uneasiness, Miss. I am not to be disturbed by a crazy woman; but I do not see what occasion there is for her feeling for you. You have not yet answered me."
"I have no answer to make. Ma'am," replied Jane, meekly, "but that I shall do my best to content you. I am very young, and not much used to work, and I may have been too kindly dealt with; but that is all over now."
"Do you mean, Miss, to say, that I shan't treat you kindly?"
"No, aunt, but I meant——excuse me, if I meant any thing wrong."
"I did expect, Miss, to hear some thankfulness expressed."
​"I do, Ma'am, feel grateful, that I have a shelter over my head; what more I have to be grateful for, time must determine."
There was a dignity in Jane's manner, that, with the spirit of the reply, taught Mrs. Wilson, that she had, in her niece, a very different subject to deal with from her own wilful and trickish children. Well, Miss Jane, I shall expect no haughty airs in my house, and you will please now to go and tell the girls to be ready to go with me to the afternoon conference, and prepare yourself to go also. One more thing I have to say to you, you must never look to me for any clothing; that cunning Mary has packed away enough to last you fifty years. With all her methodism, I will trust her to feather your nest, and her own too."
Alas! thought Jane, as she went to execute her aunt's commission, what good does it do my poor aunt to go to conference? Perhaps this question would not have occurred to many girls of thirteen, but Jane had been accustomed to scan the motives of her conduct, and to watch for the fruit. The aid extended to our helpless orphan by her pharisaical aunt, reminds us of the "right of asylum" afforded, by the ancients to the offenders who were allowed to take shelter in the temples of their gods, and allowed to perish there.
She found the girls very much indisposed to the afternoon meeting. Martha said, she "would not go to hear Deacon Barton's everlasting prayers; she had heard so many of them, she knew them all by heart."
​Elvira had just got possession, by stealth, of a new novel; that species of reading being absolutely prohibited in Mrs. Wilson's house, she had crept up to the garret, and was promising herself a long afternoon of stolen pleasure. "Oh, Jane," said she, "why can't you go down and tell Mother you can't find me. Just tell her, you guess I have gone down to Miss Bancker's, to inquire whether the tracts have come; that's a good thought; that will quiet her;" and she was resuming her book, when seeing Jane did not move, she added, "I'll do as much for you any time."
"I shall never wish you to do as much for me, Elvira."
"I do not think it is so very much, just to go down stairs; besides, Jane," she added, imperiously, "Mother says, you must do whatever we ask you to."
Elvira was so habituated to deceit, that it never occurred to her, that the falsehood was the difficult part of the errand to Jane; and when Jane said, "Cousin Elvira, I will do whatever is reasonable for you, and no more; any thing that is true, I will tell your Mother for you;" she laughed in derision.
"Pooh, Jane, you have brought your deaconish nonsense to a poor market. It was easy enough to get along with the truth with your mother, because she would let you have your own way on all occasions; but I can tell you, disguises are the only wear in our camp!"
​"I shall not use them, Elvira. I should dread their being stripped off."
"Oh, not at all. Mother seldom takes the trouble to inquire into it; and if she does, now and then, by accident, detect it, the storm soon blows over. She has caught me in many a white lie, and black one too, and she has not been half so angry as when I have torn my frock, or lost a glove. Why, child, if you are going to fight your battles with Mother with plain truth, you will find yourself without shield or buckler."
"Ah, Elvira!" replied Jane, smiling,
"That's no battle, ev'ry body knows,
Where one side only gives the blows."
"That's true enough, Jane. Well, if you will not help me off from the conference, I must go.—Sweet Vivaldi," said she, kissing her book, and carefully hiding it in a dark corner of the garret, "must I part with thee?"
"One would think," said Jane, "you was parting with your lover."
"I am, my dear. I always fancy, when I read a novel, that I am the heroine, and the hero is one of my favourites; and then I realize it all, and it appears so natural."
Elvira was not, at heart, an ill-natured girl; but having a weak understanding, and rather a fearful unresisting temper, she had been driven by her Mother's mode of treatment into the practice of deceit; and she being the weaker party, ​used in her warfare, as many arts as a savage practises towards a civilized enemy. A small stock of original invention may be worked up into a vast deal of cunning. Elvira had been sent one quarter to a distant boarding-school, where her name had attracted a young lady, whose head had been turned by love-stories. They had formed a league of eternal friendship, which might have a six months' duration; and Elvira had returned to her home, at the age of sixteen, with a farrago of romance superadded to her home-bred duplicity.
Martha was two years older than her sister, and more like her mother: violent and self-willed, she openly resisted her Mother's authority, whenever it opposed her wishes. From such companions, Jane soon found she had nothing to expect of improvement or pleasure; but, though it may seem quite incredible to some, she was not unhappy. The very labour her aunt imposed on her was converted into a blessing, for it occupied her mind, and saved her from brooding on the happy past, or the unhappy present. She now found exercise for the domestic talents Mary had so skilfully cultivated. Even the unrelenting Mrs. Wilson was once heard to say, with some apparent pleasure, that "Jane was gifted at all sorts of work." Her dexterous hand was often put in requisition by her idle and slatternly cousins, and their favour was sometimes won by her kind offices. But more than all, and above all, as a source of contentment and cheerfulness—better far than ever was ​boasted of perennial springs, or "Amreeta cups of immortality"—was Jane's unfailing habit of regulating her daily life by the sacred rules of our blessed Lord. She would steal from her bed at the dawn of day, when the songs of the birds were interpreting the stillness of nature, and beauty and fragrance breathing incense to the Maker, and join her devotions to the choral praise. At this hour she studied the word of truth and life, and a holy beam of light fell from it on her path through the day. Her pleasures at this social period of her life were almost all solitary, except when she was indulged in a visit to Mary, whose eye was continually watching over her with maternal kindness. The gayety of her childhood had been so sadly checked by the change of her fortunes, that her countenance had taken rather a serious and reserved cast. Mr. Lloyd's benevolent feelings were awakened by her appearance; and Mary, whose chief delight was in expatiating on the character of her favourite, took care to confirm his favourable impressions by setting in the broadest light her former felicity, her present trials, and her patience in tribulation.
Mary had orders to leave the furniture in a little room that had formerly been assigned to Jane, precisely as she left it, and to tell Jane that it was still called, and should be considered, her room.
"And that beautiful honeysuckle, Jane," said Mr. Lloyd to her, "which thy tasteful hand has ​so carefully trained about the window, is still thine."
These, and many other instances of delicate attention from Mr. Lloyd, saved her from the feeling of forlornness that she might otherwise have suffered.