Rhoda's Education by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

THE news of Aunt Hannah's death was a dreadful shock to Rhoda. She had looked to her return with a vague but strong hope that somehow the old lady would set matters right. She had felt so sure of seeing her, especially since she had made up her mind to write, and her heart had throbbed faster every time the door-bell rung. Now it was all over. Aunt Hannah was gone, and she felt herself indeed alone in the world.

"After all, if it was to be so, I am glad she died instead of changing like the others," said she to Miss Brown. "If mother had died when baby was born, I should not have been half so sorry about her as I am now."

"Ah, my dear, there are few people who might not say that of some one," said Miss Brown, sighing. "But, Rhoda, would there have been nothing to regret then?"

"Not on her side," answered Rhoda. "I soon found out that mother was not the wisest woman that ever lived, but she was always kind to me. I don't believe any child ever was happier or better taken care of than I was for those eight years."

"Then you have at least that much for which to thank Mrs. Bowers," remarked Miss Brown, "since she gave you eight years of happiness."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Rhoda, thoughtfully; "and yet, somehow, this last business seems to have blotted out all the rest. I could find it in my heart to wish they had let me alone."

"I understand you," said her friend; "but, Rhoda, you must try to forgive as you would be forgiven."

"Indeed, I do, Miss Brown," said Rhoda, earnestly. "You don't know how much I pray for a forgiving spirit, and sometimes I think I have it, but then again the tide comes up and sweeps it all away."

"That is the way with everybody, child. We have to fight our battles over and over again."

"It is very strange that Aunt Hannah left no will," said Rhoda, recurring again to Mr. Weightman's letter. "He says that as his sister left no will, the property returns to the rightful owner-himself, I suppose he means: that he sends me her clothes and some other things, though I have no right, in law, to anything. I don't understand it, for I am sure that Aunt Hannah had made a will at one time. You don't suppose Mr. Weightman can have destroyed it, do you?"

"I think not. He would hardly have ventured on such a crime. Aunt Hannah may have destroyed it herself, thinking that she would make another. You know she died very suddenly."

"I don't know. Mr. Weightman would do almost anything for the sake of money, I think," said Rhoda. "It was all he cared about. It was that which spoiled mother more than anything else. She got to think, as Uncle Jacob did, that money was everything, and she was jealous of everybody better off than herself. She used to vex me talking about Aunt Annie-aunt is her sister. She said Annie was so worldly and extravagant, though I don't think she was, and she said she should think Annie would feel ashamed to wear so diamonds and keep so many servants when her own sister had none.

"I don't think that she loved money so much for its own sake as because she thought it made people respected and looked up to. She said nobody cared for poor folks-they never were respected; and she used to fancy that people felt above her. I know Mrs. Swan came to see her from the Springs, and she never would return the call, because she said Mrs. Swan came in a handsome silk dress and a sable cloak, and she had nothing to wear but a merino."

"It is a poor kind of spirit, but one meets it everywhere," said Miss Brown. "Mrs. Merchant won't sit next Mrs. Smithers on Sunday because Mrs. Smithers wears her black silk dress to tea."

Rhoda had several letters from the girls in Boonville, and one from Mrs. Antis offering to give her a home till she could do better. Rhoda thanked her friend, but declined the invitation.

"I couldn't do it," she said to Miss Carpenter, to whom she showed the letter. "Mrs. Antis is very kind, but I think it would break my heart to go back there now."

Miss Carpenter sympathized with the feeling, and was secretly glad that Rhoda did not want to go away.

"I should hardly know how to do without her, and that is the truth," said she to Mrs. Mulford, one day when the two were talking over matters in the house.

"She makes herself useful, then?"

"Oh yes, indeed, she does. Not that she accomplishes so very much work, but she is always at hand, and always ready to help when she is wanted. Even when I have to call her away from her book or her music to do an errand or to sit with somebody, she is just as pleasant about it as can be.