Claribel or, Rest at last
one outside had a different exposure, she betook herself thither, and
sitting down on the window-seat just mentioned, began studying once
more. She was just trying to fix in her head the date of King John's
death, when she heard voices below.
"Was it a three-legged precious, then, and did it want to improve its
mind?" said a voice which Claribel recognized as Percy's.
"So it should, then, and I guess nobody will look down on it when it
knows all about Anglo-Saxon and things!" added Flora, in a voice of
exaggerated sympathy. "I guess Molly won't despise it any more, now
that it improves its mind, if it is a three-legged old dear."
"I think it is just a shame that Mr. Hausen don't get the poor thing a
cork leg," said Tilly's voice. "Let's subscribe our own money, girls,
and buy one."
"What's a cork leg when one's tenderest affections are wounded and
trampled on, and all that kind of thing?" said Percy. "Can cork legs
bring balm to a heart lacerated by a fuzzy-tailed tyrant?"
Now, there was one little word in this sentence which might have done
something toward explaining the mystery if Claribel had only attended
to it. But she did not. She jumped at once to the conclusion that the
girls meant her. When Mrs. Richardson came to her room to see why
she did not come to dinner, she found Claribel in a frenzy of rage,
sobbing, and actually screaming.
While her next-door neighbour, who had heard her cries, was trying to
quiet her, or at least to find out what was the matter.
"I can't make anything of it," said she, in answer to Mrs. Richardson's
question. "She won't do anything but scream and say she will go home."
Mrs. Richardson had no better success. And while she was trying to
get something out of Claribel beside inarticulate shrieks, Mr. Hausen
himself came up stairs, passing through the little crowd of girls which
the noise had assembled on the landing-place. His first move was to
send every one away but Mrs. Richardson and himself. His next was to
lock the door.
"Stop crying, Claribel!" were his first words. "Be still this instant!
Do you think we shall allow such a noise as that in the house? Be
silent!"
Never had Claribel been so addressed before. Aunt Hepsey had had a
great dread of these screaming fits, or "tantrums," as she called them,
and would give way in everything to avoid them. But it was clear that
Mr. Hausen was not the least frightened. On the contrary, after waiting
a moment, he renewed his command, with still more authority, not to
say sternness. Claribel was rather alarmed, and made such an effort to
quiet herself as she had never done before in all her life.
"Now, if you will try to speak reasonably, we will learn the cause
of all this disturbance," said Mr. Hausen, when she had in a measure
succeeded; "but speak quietly, and let us have no screaming."
Claribel told her story—that the girls had been insulting her and
making fun of her and calling her names under the window; that she
always knew they would, and that it was twice as mean to do it as they
had done as if they had spoken to her face.
"What girls, and how did they do it?" asked Mr. Hausen.
"It was Percy, and Tilly, and Flora, and Fanny Morey. I knew their
voices, and they meant I should."
"Impossible!" said Mrs. Richardson. "There are no better girls in the
school."
"Call them," said Mr. Hausen; "let us hear what they have to say."
The girls were called, and great was their astonishment at the
passionate accusation brought against them. Tilly bluntly denied it.
"I never thought of such a thing," said she; "Claribel must be crazy, I
think."
"What names did we call you, Claribel?" asked Percy.
"You—you said I was a three-legged precious," sobbed Claribel, "and you
said I ought to have a cork log, and that I was trying to improve my
mind, so that Molly Richardson shouldn't laugh at me."
The girls exchanged glances. Percy smiled, and the others laughed
outright.
"Oh, Mr. Hausen, it was Bab," exclaimed Tilly. "Miss Foster had down
that great book of English history prints and left it open on the desk,
and we found Bab sitting on the table before it looking just as wise as
if he were studying the pictures. Then somebody said he was trying to
improve his mind, so that Molly wouldn't despise him—you know she does
despise him—and that was all. We never thought of Claribel or knew she
was there. A likely story," added Tilly, rather indignantly, "that we
should make fun of any one for being lame."
Mr. Hausen smiled in his turn.
"I begin to see through the mystery," said he. "Tilly, you may go and
bring Bab here if you can find him."
All waited in silence, the other girls glancing at each other and
trying to suppress their smiles, and Claribel feeling an uncomfortable
misgiving that she had been making herself ridiculous.
Presently, Tilly came back, carrying in her arms a big white and
brindled cat, which she set down on the floor.
Bab had once been a handsome animal of his kind, and was still plump
and in good condition, but by some unlucky accident he had lost one
forepaw and a large part of his tail, so that he presented a very
comical figure. Bab seemed no way displeased at finding himself the
object of so much attention. He limped about from one to another,
purring loudly; and at last coming to Claribel, and seeming to think
her in need of special sympathy, he jumped into her lap, and rubbed his
big head against her chin with a kind of cooing noise.
"Well, I declare! What a compliment!" said Tilly. "I never saw him go
to a stranger before. I guess he knows that Claribel likes cats; don't
you, Claribel?"
Claribel murmured some inarticulate response as she bent her head down
and fondled the old cat. She saw through the whole mystery. Never in
all her life had she felt so ashamed of herself.
"You see how it was," said Percy; "we always talk to Bab as though he
had sense, though I do think he has 'less' sense than any cat I ever
saw."
"You always will say that, and I don't think it is fair," remarked
Fanny Morey; "anyhow, Claribel, we were talking to him, as Percy says,
and laughing at the notion of his reading to improve his mind. You
would have laughed too if you had seen him, he looked so wise. But it
was funny you should think we meant you."
"Well, never mind," said Mr. Hausen; "Claribel won't think so again, I
am sure. There! Run away, all of you; and if Miss Van Ness can go with
you, you may take out the small boat and see how you can handle her."
"Shall I leave Pussy?" asked Tilly.
"Yes, please," answered Claribel. And then, making a heroic effort, she
added, "I am sorry I was so silly and made such a fuss; I won't do it
again."
CHAPTER IV.
_OPENING THE DOORS._
CLARIBEL hoped that Mr. Hausen would go away and leave her, but after
the girls had gone, he returned, and sat down by her side.
"My poor little girl," said he as he took her hand in his, "why will
you make yourself so miserable, when everybody wishes to make you
happy? Why should you take such jealous fancies into your head, and
make yourself so wretched over them? Why should you think that people
want to insult you?"
"Because—because I am different from other people," answered Claribel.
"You know I am, Mr. Hausen. You know I am a frightful little scarecrow,
and never can be anything else."
"I know no such thing, Claribel. You are lame, to be sure, and
unfortunate in other respects, but, you have a very fine head and
beautiful eyes, and a face that might be very attractive if only—"
"Well, if only what?" asked Claribel, with animation.
"If only you would banish that ugly scowl and try to look good-natured
and kind."
"Oh yes, it is easy to say that," returned Claribel, bitterly. "It is
easy for people to look good-natured and kind when everything goes to
please them and everybody likes them. I would be good-natured and kind
myself, if I had a home and friends, and a fine figure like Tilly, or a
beautiful fair skin like Fanny. Nobody could help being cross who was
afflicted as I am, I know."
Mr. Hausen took from his pocket-book two card photographs, one of which
he handed to Claribel. It was only a head and face, or vignette, as it
is called.
"Oh how sweet, how lovely!" exclaimed Claribel. "I never saw a nicer
face."
"You don't think she looks cross and unamiable?"
"No, indeed! She looks like an angel. Ah, if I were only like that
lady!"
"Then you would be worse off in some respects than you are now, as you
will see by this other picture," said Mr. Hausen, handing Claribel the
other photograph.
It represented the same face, but on a body terribly deformed, and what
is called hump-backed. Claribel uttered an exclamation of surprise and
pity.
"Both of these pictures are portraits of the same person, as you see,"
said Mr. Hausen. "You perceive that she was more deformed than you
are. Perhaps you have heard some of the girls speak of Miss Baldwin,
a teacher who died here last term. You say she looks like an angel,
and she certainly was as nearly ripe for heaven as any person I ever
saw. Her father was supposed to be very wealthy. He gave his daughter
an expensive education and every possible advantage, for he was fond
and proud of her, unfortunate as she was. But he was a careless,
self-indulgent man, and given to speculation. He was supposed to be
rich, till one day he died very suddenly, and then it was discovered
that he had absolutely nothing—that he did not own so much as the house
he lived in; and poor Miss Baldwin, who had been brought up in every
luxury, found herself fatherless and penniless at the same time."
"Poor thing!" said Claribel, much interested. "What did she do?"
"She sold her jewels and other valuables, of which she had a great
many, and paid off the servants and such bills as were for necessaries,
and then she looked about for means of making herself useful and
independent at the same time. A friend recommended her to me as a
teacher. She came here and lived with us till she went to her home in
heaven, and I am sure that if ever the words, 'Well done, good and
faithful servant,' were spoken to any one, they were to her. Now, my
dear child, you have, I think, talents quite equal to Miss Baldwin's,
and your advantages are likely to be as good as hers. Why should not
you be as useful and as happy as she was?"
"I don't know," said Claribel, slowly; "I never thought I could be
anybody. I wouldn't so much mind if I could only learn, so as to do
something for myself and make myself famous."
"I don't quite like that way of putting it," said Mr. Hausen. "I would
rather hear you say, 'If I could do something for others and make
myself useful.'"
"But people liked Miss Baldwin," said Claribel, after a little
consideration, "and nobody likes me—nobody. The girls don't like me,
and even my own father was ashamed of me; Priscilla said so."
"Then Priscilla was very wrong. Your father was not ashamed of you; he
may have erred in judging what was best for you, but I will show you
some letters from him which will convince you that your welfare was
his one object in life. But, Claribel, let me ask you a question. Why
should you expect any one to like you? What have you ever done for any
one—for the girls here, for example—that should make them like you?"
Claribel looked as if struck with a new idea. "I never thought of
that," said she. "I never thought I could do anything."
"My dear, shall I tell you what I think is, and has been, your greatest
trouble in life—worse than your lameness, a great deal?"
"Yes, please."
"It is that you have grown up to think only of yourself. You have never
been taught to work or care for others; and instead of thinking what
you can do for those around you, you think all the time of what they