The School-Girls in Number 40 OR, PRINCIPLE PUT TO THE TEST.

School Girls in No. 40.—Frontispiece.

THE School-Girls in Number 40; OR, PRINCIPLE PUT TO THE TEST.

“Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.”

PHILADELPHIA: AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 1122 CHESTNUT STREET.

NEW YORK DEPOSITORY: 375 BROADWAY.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by the AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

No books are published by the American Sunday-School Union without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of fourteen members, from the following denominations of Christians, viz.: Baptist, Methodist, Congregational, Episcopal, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and Reformed Dutch. Not more than three of the members can be of the same denomination, and no book can be published to which any member of the Committee shall object.

CONTENTS.

THE SCHOOL-GIRLS IN No. 40.

CHAPTER I. A REMOVAL.

“Dear me! dear me!” sighed Carrie Stanley, as she kneeled beside an empty trunk and glanced around her room. “How am I ever to get all these things into two trunks? It’s an impossibility! Where to begin I’m sure I don’t know.”

It was not surprising that Carrie was puzzled as to the proper mode of procedure; for that usually neat apartment was in a state nearly approaching to perfect confusion. The wardrobe stood open, displaying empty hooks; for the dresses and other articles of apparel10 which had hung upon them had been taken away and were piled, without order or arrangement, on the chairs and bedstead. The four bureau-drawers, instead of being in their proper places, were all upon the floor, forming a barricade about the trunk; the book-shelves, too, had been rifled, and their contents were strewn over the dressing-table, from which some of them had fallen to find a resting-place upon the pretty carpet. Indeed, it would have required no little care and skill, in moving about the chamber, to avoid stepping on books, glove-boxes, perfumery-bottles, and the like, which were strewed around everywhere but where they should have been.

Carrie’s glance around the disordered room seemed only to add to her perplexities; and, tossing back her bright curls, she bent over the large trunk, looking into its depths with a thoughtful air, as if studying the best possible arrangement. She did not appear to derive much satisfaction from her investigations; for, before she had put in a single article, her mother11 stopped at the open door and looked on the scene of confusion. A roguish smile parted her lips, as she stood for a moment looking on quietly without a word.

“My dear Carrie,” she said, at last, “this is a perfect chaos!”

“I know it, mother,” returned the girl, starting up. “I was just wondering if I ever could put things in any sort of order again. But I must have another trunk. All these clothes and books will never go into two, no matter how large they are. Look for yourself, mother. It is quite out of the question. What do you think about it?”

“I think that two trunks will be quite sufficient, after we lay aside all the articles not absolutely necessary.” And, suiting the action to the word, Mrs. Stanley selected several dresses from the heap of clothing on the bed, saying, “Just put these in the wardrobe again.”

“What, mother! My pretty pink tarletane to be left behind,—and this green silk, so becoming12 to me?” exclaimed Carrie, in a tone of expostulation.

“Yes,” replied her mother, decidedly, as she proceeded to separate other articles in the same way.

At first Carrie’s fair brow clouded, as she saw her prettiest dresses, her nicest linen and her most interesting books consigned to their resting-places on shelves, in drawers and closets again; but, quickly recovering her good humour, she followed her mother’s directions, and ere long the trunks were all packed, locked, strapped and ready, even the cards marked

Miss Caroline Stanley, Manchester, Mass.

and nailed on the ends.

The pretty little room was once more in order; but it looked desolate indeed. Mrs. Stanley could not help sighing deeply, and13 tears filled her eyes as she looked around her; while Carrie, all unconscious of her mother’s sadness, danced about in high glee, declaring that she “was never so happy in all her life.”

“Oh, mother, can it be possible,” she exclaimed, “that I am actually going away to school,—to boarding-school, too, where I have wanted to go so long? Oh, it is too delightful! It seems almost too good to be true!”

Mrs. Stanley smiled faintly.

“When you have put on your travelling-dress, my dear, come to me, in my room,” she said. “I want to see you and Susie together once more before you go. I must see if Susie needs any help now. You can dress for your journey without any further assistance from me, can’t you?”

“Oh, yes, indeed, mother,” returned Caroline; and Mrs. Stanley walked away, crossed the wide hall and entered another apartment.

A young girl about the same age as Carrie was the only occupant of this room. She was14 dressed in deep mourning, and was sitting by the open window, looking out over the spacious and pleasant garden.

“What! all ready, Susie?—trunk packed, travelling-dress on and all?” said Mrs. Stanley.

“Yes, aunt,” replied Susan.

“I meant to have come to you before; but I see you did not need me. You are quite an expert little body. I was detained longer than I expected to be in assisting Carrie to pack her trunk. She was quite helpless in the midst of her wardrobe.”

“I do not wonder,” replied Susie. “I remember what a formidable task it was to me when I first had it to do; but it is no new business to me now.” And her voice faltered.

“You have been crying, Susie,” said her aunt. “Are you unwilling to go to Manchester? You know, my dear, that I am very sorry to part with both my children at once; but I think it best for you to go. It will make it harder still for me if you are unhappy about going.”

15 “I am not, dear aunt. I know you would not send me if you did not think it best; but I have had a home for so short a time, and found it so sweet, that I dread to lose it,—even for a little while. But I don’t mean to be home-sick: so don’t feel badly about it, dear aunt.”

Just then Carrie came dancing along.

“I’m all armed and equipped as the law directs,” she said; “and now, mother, I’ve a proposition to make. Instead of adjourning to your room, let us go to the arbour. It is too lovely a day to stay in the house; and, besides, it will be a long time before we sit together in the garden again.”

“Very well,” said her mother; and away she went, followed by her mother and Susie, while Carrie scampered on ahead to the arbour.

It was a very pleasant spot. The large trellis of lattice-work was completely covered with climbing roses of different colours; and the interior was equally charming. It was furnished with garden-chairs, and a little16 table, where it was often Mrs. Stanley’s custom to have tea served in the summer evening. Carrie had already reached the arbour, and was busily engaged in arranging the seats near the entrance, from which a small pond or lake was to be seen gleaming through the trees that surrounded it, and the garden, with its terraces and winding paths that led through a grove down to the water’s edge.

“There’s your favourite seat, mother,” she said, pointing to a low chair. “Susie may sit by your side. I shall take this stool at your feet.”

After all were seated and Mrs. Stanley had given the girls some directions about their journey, she said, “One thing more, my children. It is only six months since you both made a profession of religion and united with the Church; and now for the first time you are about to be placed in circumstances which will test the strength and sincerity of your Christian principle. You will have many trials, many temptations. I confess I almost shrink17 from the thought of applying such tests to your piety.”

“Why, mother!” exclaimed Carrie, much pained. “Do you doubt our sincerity?”

“No, my child,—not your sincerity, but your strength.”

“You need not fear for that, dear mother. I rather hope we shall have some trials,—though I can’t imagine exactly what they will be.”

“You will discover them soon enough, my daughter. Never forget that you are Christians,” Mrs. Stanley continued. “I do not mean, by that, that you are to have grave faces continually and be always talking of religious matters; but be guided by religious principle. Read your Bibles regularly, and do not forget to pray.”

“Forget to pray!” repeated Carrie. “I should as soon forget my regular meals.”

Mrs. Stanley kissed her child’s upturned face.

“Go into the library, my dear,” she said,18 “and bring me a small package which you will find on the table.”

Carrie ran off, and soon returned with the parcel. Mrs. Stanley opened it and displayed two beautiful little Bibles. The girls were loud in their admiration of the elegant crimson morocco bindings, fine type and heavy gilding; but the clasps—of real silver, and on which their names were engraved—were pronounced “perfect.”

Both declared that they had never seen such beautiful Bibles before; and they kissed and thanked the dear giver repeatedly.

“Put them in your baskets now,” said Mrs. Stanley. “I see Hannah coming with our lunch. I told her we would have it here to-day.”

Hannah entered, bringing a basket, which contained a table-cloth, napkins, dishes and all that was necessary to spread the table. The girls showed her their presents; and, after she had admired them sufficiently, they proceeded to set the table, while she went back19 to the house and soon returned with the eatables.

“Just the very things I love best,” said Carrie,—“even coffee for your especial benefit, Susie. They begin to treat us as if we were of some consequence, now that we are going away: don’t they? Here’s that quince marmalade that I teased for in vain the other night at supper, and the almond sponge-cake you like so well. I don’t know whether to take it as a compliment or not, Sue. It seems a little like a feast of rejoicing at getting rid of us.”

So Carrie rattled on, till a servant announced that the carriage was in readiness to take them to the depôt, where Mrs. Stanley accompanied them and left them in charge of the gentleman who was to go with them to Manchester.

CHAPTER II. GETTING SETTLED.

Caroline Stanley and Susan Cameron were cousins, and very nearly of the same age; but neither from their looks nor from their characters would one have supposed that there was any tie of relationship between them.

Carrie was very pretty; and it was not strange that she knew it. Ever since she could remember, she had heard from her nurses the praises of her curling hair; bright, black eyes, rosy cheeks and white teeth. Even strangers whom she met in the street spoke of her beauty; and if she had not been blessed with a judicious mother, she would probably have had her little head quite turned by the flattery which she received. But Mrs. Stanley had taught her that mere external beauty was no substitute for loveliness of character.21 Carrie was by no means free from faults. She was impulsive, hasty and extremely careless and disorderly; but she was the life of the house, and the idol of all the servants, from the oldest to the youngest,—so that they were too apt to try and screen her from her mother’s just reproof by failing to report her wrong-doings. If she was ill-natured or angry, she was so sorry for it afterwards, and so ready to apologize, that the domestics could not bear to have Mrs. Stanley hear of it, since they well knew

that Carrie would be punished, and there was not one of them who did not prefer to be in disgrace rather than to see “Miss Caro” in trouble.

The only drawback to her happiness was her father’s long absences,—for he was a sea-captain, and of course much away from home; but she was passionately attached to her mother; and there was always her father’s return, to which she looked forward with joy.

Even in his absence the time did not pass heavily. They had a great deal of company,22 and sailing-parties, picnics and rides were frequent,—so frequent that they interfered sadly with Carrie’s studies; and it was for this reason that Mrs. Stanley had decided to send the girls away to school, instead of employing a teacher at home for them, as had been her custom.

Carrie’s life had been all sunshine; but poor Susie’s had been stormy enough.

Before she was fifteen, she had passed through more trouble than falls to the lot of many women in a lifetime. Her father, Lieutenant Cameron, was an army-officer, and had been stationed chiefly on the frontier. Moving from one military post to another, where of necessity they were deprived of many comforts, Susie’s life had been a succession of changes and hardships. Her mother’s health was delicate; and in their frequent removals a great part of the care had fallen on Susie. She was an active, willing and able assistant to her feeble parent, and by degrees Mrs. Cameron came to depend on her for almost every thing.23 The younger children were intrusted to her charge also, and most of the duties of housekeeping were resigned to her. She was her mother’s constant companion; and this, together with the trust reposed in her, had developed her character prematurely. She shared all her parent’s troubles and perplexities, and had never known what it was to be a careless, happy child.

When at last her mother died, it was to her that her father turned for consolation; and, almost heart-broken as she was, she was obliged to control herself for his sake, lest the sight of her grief, added to his own wretchedness, should unman him altogether.

One short year after Mrs. Cameron’s death the whole family had been attacked by cholera, and of them all Susie alone was spared! The desolate little orphan then came to live with her aunt Stanley, who had been her mother’s favourite sister; and here no pains were spared to make her as happy as possible.

It was not a long journey to Manchester,24 but both the girls were very glad to hear the conductor call out the name of the station,—for Carrie was impatient to see the place where she was anticipating so much pleasure during the next six months, and Susan was anxious to get established again quietly somewhere, even if it were at school.

The school-building was a large brick edifice, situated very pleasantly in the midst of finely-laid-out grounds; and the girls were received very cordially by the principal, Mr. Worcester, who had been expecting them, as he had received intelligence of their intended coming. He was an old friend of Mrs. Stanley’s; and this fact made Carrie feel quite at home immediately.

They were soon shown to their room,—“No. 40,”—a large and airy chamber.

“Very liberal in the way of furniture,” said Carrie, as she looked around. “Two beds, two bureaus, two tables, two closets! They don’t intend to give us any excuse for quarrelling as to the disposal of our traps.”

25 They occupied themselves for the remainder of the day in unpacking and getting settled, so as to be ready for school-duties in the morning. At tea-time they were ushered into a large dining-room, where more than sixty girls were seated round the table, all of whom looked curiously at the new-comers. Poor Susan could hardly eat a mouthful, it was so awkward to feel that so many eyes were upon her; and even Carrie lost some of her appetite. After tea, they all went into the large parlour, where Mr. Worcester conducted prayers; and then came the study-hour to be spent in their own chambers.

Carrie and Susan gladly escaped to their room; but hardly were they seated when two other girls entered and took seats as if they were very much at home.

“This is our room,” said Carrie, modestly; for she supposed they had made some mistake.

“This is our room too,” said the one she addressed,—a tall and fine-looking girl.

“I beg pardon,” Carrie answered; “but I26 supposed my cousin and I were to have it alone. It seemed quite unoccupied. The bureaus and closets were both empty.”

“A very natural mistake,” was the reply; “but the way of it is, we have just been moved from our room to accommodate two new girls who are distant relations of our old room-mates, and who want to room together: so we are put in here, and our ‘fixins’ will follow this evening. As we are to be such near neighbours, we might as well introduce ourselves, I suppose. I am Florence Anderson, at your service; and this is Sallie Wendell.”

“My name is Caroline Stanley; and this is my cousin, Susan Cameron,” said Carrie.

This introduction served to loosen the girls’ tongues, and they talked quite fast, without appearing to remember that it was the study-hour.

Florence gave the new-comers an account of the teachers, and told them beforehand which they would like and which they “would perfectly abominate and despise.”

27 Carrie listened with deep interest, and was quite charmed with the frankness and sociability of her new acquaintance. The clock struck nine while they were in the full tide of discourse. This was the signal for retiring, as Florence informed them; and they proceeded to put up their books and papers and make ready for the night.

Florence and Sallie were soon snugly ensconced in bed, having first politely offered the choice of beds to their new room-mates. Susan took her little Bible and read a chapter, as was her custom, and then kneeled by her bedside to pray. Carrie was still brushing her hair, when she heard a whisper and a suppressed laugh from the other girls. She glanced at them and saw the cause of their merriment. She said not a word; but, having put up her hair, she took her Bible also and read a short chapter.

“Ahem! Saint number two,” she heard, in a loud whisper from the other bed.

The blood rushed to Carrie’s face. She felt28 indignant and a little ashamed: she extinguished the light hastily and then kneeled by her bedside a few moments in prayer. The next morning, Susie, as usual, after dressing, read her Bible and offered up her silent prayer,—a proceeding which seemed to afford Florence and her companion much amusement; and Carrie delayed her dressing purposely till her room-mates went out, when she hastily performed her morning devotions.

“I wish,” she said to Susie, “that those girls did not room with us!”

“Why?” asked her cousin. “I thought you liked them last night.”

“So I did,” was the reply; “but I don’t now.” And Carrie went on to describe their conduct while Susie was on her knees. This did not seem to trouble Susan in the least.

“Poor, foolish girls!” said she; and, having said this, she seemed to dismiss the subject from her mind. But for Carrie it was not so easy a task,—particularly as she saw Florence talking with a whole bevy of school-girls on29 the piazza, who were laughing merrily; and, as they immediately grew very sober and silent when she approached them, she felt sure that Florence had been ridiculing her cousin and herself.

The school-bell soon rang, and the new pupils followed the other girls across a covered gallery to the school-room. It was a pleasant apartment, and the cousins had very excellent seats given them near a window. Florence was quite a near neighbour here also.

“The Fates seem to throw us in each other’s way,” she whispered, with a pleasant smile.

whispered Carrie back again,—half in jest and half in earnest.