BORROWING TROUBLE.

BY

LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY,

Author of "Irish Amy," "Opposite Neighbors," "Comfort Allison,"

"The Tattler," "Nelly, or the Best Inheritance," "Twin Roses,"

"Ethel's Trial," "The Fairchilds," "The Sunday-School Exhibition,"

"The Red Plant," &c.

PHILADELPHIA:

AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,

NO. 1122 CHESTNUT STREET.

NEW YORK: 7, 8, & 10 BIBLE HOUSE, ASTOR PLACE.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by the

AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I. MONDAY MORNING

II. PERSEVERANCE

III. A TERRIBLE TRIAL

IV. AUNT ACKERMAN

V. SEEING ONE'S SELF

CHAPTER I.

MONDAY MORNING.

"PERCY, Percy!"

"Oh, dear me!" said a pale, thin little girl, all black hair and brown eyes, who was sitting on the door-step, studying with all her might. "I shall miss, I know I shall, and then I shall get marked again!"

"Percy! Perseverance!" called the voice again,—a somewhat high but very pleasant and kindly voice. "Come here, my dear, I want to see you!"

"There now! Aunt Zoe will want me to do some errand or other, I know, and what will become of my lesson!" said Percy, impatiently, closing her book, and rising. "I am sure I wouldn't mind, only for missing!"

She went slowly up-stairs to the room from whence the voice proceeded, and uttered a cry of delight, as she beheld Aunt Zoe holding up a large folio like a scrapbook, which she seemed to have just taken from the depths of a great chest she was rummaging.

"Mother's book of drawings! Oh, how glad I am! I felt sure I never should see them again!"

"Well, you were worrying for nothing, you see, child, for here they are all safe and sound. I thought all the time they would turn up; and this morning I happened to think I had never taken the things out of this chest. So I went to work at it, and here is the book all right. What are you doing?"

"Learning my geography, aunt."

"But I thought you learned that Saturday night."

"I was going to, but Louise wanted me to help her clear off the table and wash the dishes, and then—"

"And then she ran away and left you to do the whole, I suppose?" said Aunt Zoe, as Percy paused. "That is her way exactly. Now, Percy, there is one thing I am going to tell you, and you must mind me. You must not indulge Louise by doing her work for her. She will shirk quite enough without any help from you, and you are only doing her an injury."

"She is so slow; and then she thinks I am cross if I don't do what she asks me," replied Percy.

"Let her think so, then! She thinks every one is cross who will not let her be just as idle as she wants to be. But don't you see, Percy, that it is absolutely necessary for her own sake and mine, that Louise should learn to work? I can't afford to keep her, unless she is some help to me; and as she is now, she will never learn to get her own living in the world."

"She thinks it is very hard that she cannot go to school, as I do," remarked Percy. "She says she knows she could do well enough, if she could only have an education."

"Yes, I know. She thinks she would do anything better than her own work; but what do you think she would do in school?"

"Not much, unless she did very differently from what she does now," replied Percy. "I told her so yesterday; and that Miss Van Ness and Miss Reynolds would never have the patience with her that you do."

"And what did she say to that?"

"Oh, she said she should do differently, if she only had work that she liked."

"Then why doesn't she learn the lessons I give her?" asked Aunt Zoe. "All I can do, I can't make her learn the multiplication table nor the definitions in the grammar; and half the days she manages so that she has no time for her lessons at all."

"I told her of that, and she said it would be different in school. But there, it is ten o'clock, and I must get ready. Oh, dear. I know I shall miss in my geography!"

"Well, if you should, it won't break any bones," said Aunt Zoe, kindly. "Why cannot you study your lesson on the boat?"

"I can," answered Percy; "I never thought of that. Thank you for telling me. But, Aunt Zoe, don't you think I ought to wish to have my lessons perfectly?"

"Of course, child. Learning lessons is your work, and you ought to do it the best you can; but not be unhappy or fretful, if you do happen to make a mistake. It would be a good thing if you and Louise could be stirred together, and divided evenly," added Aunt Zoe, smiling again, and drawing forth a pretty, old-fashioned writing-desk from the great chest. "See, here is your mother's old writing-desk. Don't you want to take it to school to help make your room look pretty? It is in very good condition; and I have put your clothes into my hat-box, so you will have plenty of room."

"Thank you, Aunt Zoe, I should like it very much; but how shall I manage when I get to Round Springs? I can't carry the hat-box up myself, you know."

"Oh, Percy, you do go beyond everybody I ever saw, for putting mountains in your own way!" exclaimed Aunt Zoe, laughing. "Are there no men, or boys, or carts, or wheelbarrows, down at the wharf when the boat comes in? How do other girls get their trunks carried up to the school?"

"To be sure: John Fisk is always down with his wagon," said Percy, blushing a little. "I didn't think of that."

"Your box is all ready, and I told Harry to take it down for you," said Aunt Zoe; "and I have put in some apples and pears, and a bag of ginger-nuts, which you can eat or give away, as you please. You find it pretty pleasant now, don't you—in the school, I mean?"

"Oh, yes, aunt; I like it better than any school I ever was at. The teachers are so kind, and everybody is so good to me. I never saw such nice girls anywhere."

"And you don't find it so very bad to go up and down in the boat, either, do you?"

"No; I think it is very pleasant. I know what you mean, Aunt Zoe. I did think it would be horrid when I began. I felt sure I should be left or put off at the wrong place, or something."

"You would hardly do the last, unless you were very ingenious, seeing there is not a single landing between here and Round Springs," said Aunt Zoe. "But come, put away your desk and lock your box, for it is time Harry was under way. You need not set out yourself till you hear the boat-whistle, unless you like."

Percy packed up her desk and locked her box, and then went down to find Harry. As she passed through the kitchen, she saw Louise just finishing the washing of the breakfast-things—which were not many, as there were only three in the family, even when Percy was at home.

"Why, Louise!" exclaimed Percy, her eyes opening very wide,—which was not necessary, seeing that they were large enough by nature. "Haven't you finished your dishes yet? Well, if ever!"

"Oh, yes, it is all very well for you to say, 'Well, if ever!' when you are all dressed up and going off to school on the boat," said Louise, sulkily. "Wait till you have it to do, before you make so much fuss about it!"

"But I have done it ever so many times: I washed the dishes all that week you were at home, and I never had one thing round after nine o'clock. You talk about going to our school; I can tell you, you wouldn't do very well there, unless you had more ambition."

"That's what's in the way!" remarked Mrs. Swayne, the washerwoman. "Louise hasn't a speck of ambition; and, like all such folks, she thinks if she were only in a different place, it would be all right. I am sure I often wonder at Miss Devine's patience with her. I only wish my Maggy had the chance that she has."

"I thought Maggy went to the district school," said Percy.

"So she does, dear; but you see the school is very large, and Maggy, though she is good as gold, isn't that quick at her book; and the teacher doesn't have time nor patience to explain to her as Miss Devine does to Louise. Ah, Louise, it's sinning your mercies you are, child, and 't is a wonder if you don't lose them some day."

"What did you mean by Louise sinning her mercies, Mrs. Swayne?" asked Percy, as, having dispatched Harry with her box, she came back to the kitchen door, to watch for the first whistle of the little steamer which lay in sight at the landing below.

"Oh, 't is just a by-word they have in Scotland," replied Mrs. Swayne. "When a person is well off, and yet keeps grumbling and discontented-like, and all the time wishing themselves elsewhere, people say they are sinning their mercies. Louise has just as good a place as any girl could have, and as kind a friend as ever lived in your aunt; and yet you see she thinks, if she were only somewhere else, or if things were only different—but there's the whistle. Good-by, dear, and a pleasant voyage to you!"

"I wonder," said Percy to herself, as she established herself in a snug corner on the upper deck of the steamer, and sat watching the people who were coming on board, "I wonder if I ever sin my mercies."

CHAPTER II.

PERSEVERANCE.

PERCY, or Perseverance, Denham was the orphan niece of Miss Zoe Devine, who lived at Bridgeport, or "The Bridge," as the place was familiarly called.

Percy's father had been an officer in the regular army. He was a man respected and honoured in the army and out of it, and was in a fair way of rising in his profession, when his career was cut short by an Apache bullet; and his young wife was left without any earthly consolations except her little girl, and the thought that at least her husband had been granted a swift and easy passage to heaven, instead of falling alive, like some of his less fortunate companions, into the hands of those amiable savages, whom, by the way, he had always befriended to the extent of his power.

Mrs. Denham was not very strong, and her life, like that of most officers' wives, had been a trying one. In fact, her husband's death-blow had been hers also; and she only lived long enough to write to her husband's half-sister,—the only near relative he had,—and beg her to take charge of his little girl. Miss Zoe Devine was, as she described herself, a stay-at-home body in general; but she was one of those people who can always do what seems necessary to be done. She received her sister-in-law's letter in the morning, and set out for the distant post, whence the letter was mailed, at six o'clock that evening. She arrived only in time to see her sister die; and in two or three weeks she was once more at home at "The Bridge" with little Percy, then eleven years old, but so small of her age, and so shy and retiring in her manners, that she might easily have passed for three years younger.

But if Percy was backward in her growth and manners, she was by no means so in her mind; and when she began to feel herself at home with Aunt Zoe, she showed such a capacity for and eagerness in learning, that Miss Devine at once decided to give her niece the best education possible. This was not done without some self-sacrifice on her part; for though "well off" as the phrase is, Miss Devine was by no means rich, and the income of Percy's own little property was not much more than enough to clothe her. Miss Devine did not altogether like the school at "The Bridge." It was too large, and was arranged and managed with so much "system," that there seemed very little chance for improvement. There was a boarding school at Round Springs, the next port on the lake, and to this school Miss Devine determined to send Percy.

When Percy found that she was to go away to boarding school, she was in despair. She had learned to love Aunt Zoe and to feel at home with her; but she was totally unused to the society of girls of her own age, and she dreaded them almost as much as the Indians who had been her daily terror, who even yet haunted her dreams. She knew that she should be perfectly miserable; and she was not at all consoled when her aunt told her that she should come home every Saturday and stay till the next Monday,—at least till the steamers were laid up for the winter.

"But shall I have to go alone?"

"To be sure, child. Why, one would think that you were talking of going to Australia! What do you think can happen to you, when you go on board the boat within sight of your own door, and have nothing to do but to sit still till you reach your stopping place? It will only be a pleasant sail, for the lake is hardly ever rough. I know Captain Seymour very well, and I will ask him to take care of you, and see that you get safely ashore. However, you need not come home on Saturdays, unless you like."

But Percy thought that staying at school week after week without coming home would be even worse than the weekly journey on the steamboat. She had sense enough to understand how greatly the arrangement would be to her advantage; and she had no objection to the lessons, for she was one of those rare children who love learning for its own sake; and, in the wandering life she had led, she had enjoyed very few advantages. But then those dreadful girls—those girls who had always been to school, and who would know so much more than she did—and the teachers would be shocked at her ignorance and stupidity! Then she would be obliged to have a room-mate, and Percy knew the said room-mate would be a cross, disagreeable girl, or a very orderly and particular lady, who would be shocked at her carelessness; or, worse still, one of those wicked, worldly girls she had read about in books, who would hinder her from reading her Bible, and laugh when she said her prayers, and who would want her to do all sorts of bad things.

Percy was a good little Christian child, and she felt instinctively that it would be very ungracious for her to object to a scheme which was so much for her own advantage, and was at the same time so generous on Aunt Zoe's part; so she never said a word about all these bugbears which, to her fancy, were lying in wait for her at Hansen school. But it was with a down-sinking heart and a decidedly long face that she accompanied her aunt on board the steamer on that first eventful Monday morning.

But in one thing Percy was very unlike many weak-spirited and timid people: her fears and forebodings were no affectation. They were very real, and they made her really and truly unhappy; so that she was very glad to get rid of them when she could. The first thing that brought her a drop of comfort was the steamer. It was such pretty little boat, so clean and fresh and so tastefully furnished, and it rode so lightly and easily in the water; and Captain Seymour seemed such a kind old gentleman; and the banks of the lake were so pretty; and it was so interesting to watch the gulls as they followed the boat or sat twittering to each other on the water, that Percy began to brighten up and think that the weekly sail would be very pleasant, and that she should not be so much afraid after all. As they came near the landing, Percy's great eyes were wide open to see all that could be seen, and she presently exclaimed:

"Oh, Aunt Zoe, just see those young ladies rowing! Don't they look pretty? See, there is another boat!"

"Those are the school boats," answered Aunt Zoe. "The girls go out rowing a great deal in pleasant weather. See, they are managing to get into the wake of the boat, so as to rock on the swells."

There was a wagon to carry up the trunks landed from the boat, and Aunt Zoe and Percy walked up to the school.

"It doesn't look a bit as I expected," said Percy, surveying the building.

"All the boarding school buildings I ever saw before looked like barracks or factories. I think this house seems more like a home."

Nevertheless, Percy shrunk very close to her aunt's side as they entered the house. School was out for the afternoon, and there was a great buzz of young voices. Percy could see through an open door into the library, where two or three young ladies had their heads together over a volume of prints, and another was reading by herself in a book which looked as if it had been a good deal used, but was not a school book, nor a history. Percy loved books dearly, and she had been kept on a pretty short allowance of them. She thought the young ladies looked pleasant and not at all stuck-up or supercilious, and she wondered whether either of them would turn out to be the room-mate she had so much dreaded.

"Percy has always been used to sleeping alone," remarked Miss Devine to Mrs. Richardson, the lady Principal. "I don't quite know how she will get on with a room-mate."

"I think we can manage that matter nicely," replied Mrs. Richardson, and then she looked into the library, and called:

"Blandina, my dear, will you come here?"

The young lady, who was reading, closed her book, and came forward neither shyly nor boldly, but with a modest and self-possessed air.

"This is Miss Blandina St. Clair," said Mrs. Richardson. "Blandina, the little room which opens out of yours is unoccupied, I believe?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered Miss St. Clair: "Henrietta Hardy had it; but she is not coming back."

"Then I think I shall ask you to take in this little girl—Miss Percy Denham. Suppose you carry her off, and show her the room and the house, while I talk with her aunt a while."

Percy looked rather miserable at being separated from her aunt; but she could not be ungracious when every one was so kind, and she rose to follow Miss St. Clair with more alacrity than her aunt expected.

"Percy is very bashful," Miss Devine remarked, when the girls had left the room; "but it is real shyness, and not affectation. She has never been to school, but has lived with her father and mother in a little world of her own, and she is as much afraid of children of her own age as if they were Indians."

"I think she will do very well," said Mrs. Richardson. "Blandina and her room-mate are very nice, kind, well-principled girls; and if they have your niece in their room, they will keep a kind of oversight of her, and help her when she needs help."

Meantime Percy's conductor led her up-stairs, through a passage, and then at right angles by another passage, and then down two steps to an open door.

"This is our room," said she, as she entered. "My cousin and I sleep in the large bed, and this will be yours in here. It is a little place, you see, but comfortable enough; and you can study here or in the large room just as you like, only you know we shall expect you to be quiet when we are busy. What did your aunt call you—Percy? What an odd pretty name!"

"My real name is Perseverance," replied Percy, rather wondering at herself for not feeling as shy as she had expected. "I think it is a dreadful name: don't you?"

"Oh, it is not half so bad as mine!" returned her companion, laughing. "Mine is Blandina Violetta St. Clair. It sounds exactly like a name in a novel. They call me Blandy, which is not quite so bad. Well, how do you like your room?"

"I think it is very pretty," replied Percy; and indeed it was, being nicely carpeted and papered, and tastefully though plainly furnished.

"You can bring some little things from home to ornament it, you know," observed Miss St. Clair. "Those brackets are Jenny's and mine, and so are the pictures."

"I always thought it would be very nice to have a great many pretty little things," said Percy, venturing on an original remark. "Mamma never could, because she and papa were always travelling about, and living in camps; and an officer's wife can only have just so much baggage, you know."

Blandina did not know, and began asking Percy questions, and before they had made the round of the house, they were so well acquainted that Percy ventured to ask about the lessons.

"I suppose they are very hard."

"Oh, no," replied Blandina: "we are never allowed but three at the most; and the teachers are very good at explaining. But then we must mind what we are about, and do our best."

"I don't mind that. I like to work hard when I do work," said Percy; "but I am afraid I shall be very ignorant and backward, because I have never been to school. I have always done my lessons at home with my father or mother."