Chapter III: A Terrible Trial

PERCY did not miss in geography; on the contrary, she rather distinguished herself. She had lived both in Arizona and in Colorado, and could tell a great deal about the wonders of those places. Miss Reynolds drew her out to talk, and both the teacher and the pupils were so much interested as to be surprised when the hour elapsed.

"I am sure we are very much obliged to you, Percy," said Miss Reynolds. "You have made the lesson very pleasant."

Percy blushed with pleasure, and thought, "There, I needn't have been so uneasy about my lesson."

"I did have my lesson perfectly, after all," she wrote to Aunt Zoe (for she always wrote home every week); "and Miss Reynolds says I made the lesson interesting, because I could tell about Arizona and Colorado."

"I am glad you had no trouble with your lesson," wrote Aunt Zoe; "but I was not surprised, because I had no idea you would have any. It would be a good thing if you could learn a good old maxim: 'Never cross a bridge till you come to it.'"

When the steamboat ceased its daily trips in November, Percy's weekly visits to her aunt came to an end, as a matter of course; for, though a stage ran between the two places, the road was heavy clay, and apt to be very bad.

By this time, however, Percy had learned to be well contented at school. She liked the girls, and they liked her; she was getting on famously with her studies, and had actually made an intimate friend of a girl of her own age. Flora Lester's father had been a physician in Round Springs for many years; but he had lately gone to Colorado with his wife to look after some property which had fallen to him by the death of a brother; and Flora had been left as a boarder at Hansen school, where she had been a day-scholar almost ever since she could remember.

The acquaintance began through Flora's desire to learn as much as she could about the place where her father and mother were living, and where she might some day go herself. For Dr. Lester liked the climate of Colorado, and found his own health and his wife's the better for the change, and he began to talk quite seriously about selling his place and practice at Round Springs, and setting up his staff in Denver city.

"Don't you hate the thought of going out there, away from everybody you have ever known?" asked Percy one day, after Flora had been reading a letter from her father.

"I don't know—no," answered Flora, considering before she spoke, as usual. "Perhaps I should, if I thought much about it; but I don't. Something may happen, or father may change his mind; and if I do have to go, maybe I shall like it after all. There is no use in borrowing trouble, and fretting about things that may never come to pass, you know, Percy."

"That is just what Percy doesn't know," remarked Blandina, in whose room the conversation had taken place. "If she did, she would not keep such a zoölogical garden of bugbears to frighten herself with. She is always sure she is going to be late at breakfast, and afraid that she shall miss in her lesson, and perfectly certain that she shall never have wool enough to finish her cushion, or be able to match the colour, if she hasn't. It is no wonder Mrs. Herman complains that she doesn't grow fat. How can she, when she has all these ravenous bugbears to feed?"

Percy laughed and blushed a little. Flora's contented spirit and Blandina's good-natured ridicule had begun to make her feel a little ashamed of her constant forebodings of evil.

"I know I am silly," said she; "but, somehow, I can't help it."

"Because you don't go to work the right way," answered Blandina: "but now get your slate, and I will help you over the hard place in your arithmetic lesson, so you cannot make yourself miserable about that."

Percy laughed, and owned that it was foolish to worry herself so about what never might come to pass. Nevertheless, it was not more than a week afterwards, that Blandina and Jenny, coming home from a walk, found Percy on the bed, drowned in tears and sobs, and Flora in vain trying to comfort her.

"What is the matter?" exclaimed both girls at once. "Has Percy heard any bad news from home?"

"I can't make out," said Flora. "It was something in her aunt's letter; but I can't find out what; only that Miss Devine wants her to go away somewhere."

"May I look at the letter, Percy?" asked Blandina, picking it up from the floor. Percy made a strangled sound in the depths of the pillow to which she was confiding her grief, which might pass for an assent, and Blandina began reading the letter.

"I am sure I don't see anything here to cry about," said she, when she had finished it. "Miss Devine tells you that your aunt, Mrs. Ackerman, in New York, wants you to spend your Christmas holidays with her; and Miss Devine thinks you had better do so, as she wants to make a visit to some friends in Millby. What is there so dreadful in that? Is Mrs. Ackerman an ogress, who dines on little girls? Come, tell me, Percy?" she added, sitting down on the bed; "what do you know about this dreadful aunt of yours? What has she ever done to you?"

"She—she—sent me a box of candy—and a doll—and—a stereoscope!" sobbed Percy. "And she is very rich and—and fashionable, and she lives on FIFTH AVENUE!" concluded Percy, bringing out these words as if they formed the climax of all her woes. Neither of the girls could help laughing.

"What a dreadful aunt, to be sure!" said Blandina, "To send you boxes of candy. My aunt in New York never sends me anything but dreadfully stupid and instructive books. But, Percy, all ladies who live on Fifth Avenue are not heathens nor cannibals. I have known some quite respectable people from that part of the city."

Percy giggled rather hysterically among the pillows.

"The long and the short of the matter is, that Percy has been tormenting herself for nothing, as usual," said Jenny Merton. "I must say, I don't think she is very gracious or very grateful. Why do you suppose your aunt took the trouble of inviting you to visit her, except to give you pleasure and do you a kindness? I wish I had somebody to spend my holidays with. When you have spent your whole life at school, holidays and all, as I have done, ever since I was six years old, you won't cry because any one sends you an invitation."

"Why, Jenny, don't you ever go home for holidays? Why not?" asked Percy, forgetting her own troubles for the moment and sitting up.

"Principally because I have no home to go to. My mother is dead, and my father is a merchant at Shanghai; and I have no near friends in this country. I'll tell you what it is, Percy, it is time you left off making such scarecrows for yourself out of nothing at all. You keep yourself in a perpetual worry about things more than half of which never come to pass after all. I should think you had had enough of real troubles to be contented, without making imaginary ones. Come now, wipe your eyes and wash your thee, and go out for a walk with Florry before tea, and you will be better able to meet this great calamity."

Percy was a little afraid of Jenny, who, though very kind, was not so indulgent to her humours as Blandina. She made a great effort to swallow her sobs, and presently was ready for her walk.

"Did you think I was very silly, Florry?" asked Percy, when they were alone together.

"Well, I really couldn't see anything to make such a fuss about," replied Flora, frankly. "Why don't you want to go to your Aunt Ackerman's? I am sure it was very kind in her to ask you."

"I suppose it was," said Percy, dolefully. "But then you see, Florry, don't know her the least bit: I have never even seen her."

"Well, you had never seen me only a little while ago. It doesn't follow that people are bad because you don't know them. Your Aunt Zoe is acquainted with Mrs. Ackerman, and she thinks her a nice woman, you see."

"And, besides, she isn't my real aunt—not my aunt at all," pursued Percy. "Her husband's first wife was my mother's sister. Miss Ackerman is my cousin; but that doesn't make her stepmother my aunt, does it?"

"No; but it doesn't make her a monster, either. I think it is all the more kind in her to ask you."

"And then she is so rich, and lives in a grand house; and I am sure she and my cousin will think me a silly little goose!"

Flora thought they might have had some grounds for their opinion, if they had seen Percy in her present mood.

"But I shall have to go, of course, if Aunt Zoe thinks it best," continued Percy, with mournful resignation. "Oh, dear! I thought I was going to have such a nice time in holidays, and now—"

"Well, there, don't cry in the street," said Flora, rather alarmed. "How do you know that you won't have a nice time, as it is? I am sure I think it will be very nice. Does your aunt keep a carriage?"

"Yes!" said Percy, as though Flora had asked, "Does your aunt keep a tame dragon?"

"I dare say she will take you to Central Park, and Greenwood, and everywhere," continued Florry; "and you will see the pretty holiday things in the shops; and I dare say have plenty of nice presents. And oh, Percy, perhaps you can match my worsted for me. Will you try? I do hate to give up my work," said Flora, alluding to a wonderful camp-chair which could not be completed for the want of certain "dead-leaf" greens, which were not to be had even in Millby.

"Of course I will; I like to match worsted," replied Percy, brightening up a little at the prospect of doing something for somebody. "Perhaps Jenny will like to have me do some errand for her."

Percy returned from her walk in a somewhat more cheerful frame of mind, and, by dint of schooling herself severely, was able to be at least resigned, and even cheerful, when Aunt Zoe came up in the stage the next day, to look over her clothes and see what she was likely to want.

"It happens nicely that Aunt Ackerman should have asked you just at this time," remarked Miss Devine; "because I really did want very much to visit Cousin Julia's family once more before they went away West. I should have taken you with me, and Julia would have made you welcome, I am sure; but their house is small; and I don't know how you would have got on with all their noisy big boys."

The thought of the noisy big boys did something to reconcile Percy to the New York visit, and she was able to tell Aunt Zoe with truth that she thought she should like it better than going to Cousin Julia's.

"Oh, you will have a very nice time, you'll see," said Aunt Zoe. "I know Mrs. Ackerman and her daughter; and I think they will make their house very pleasant for you."

Percy was to have gone down to New York with Mr. and Mrs. Hausen, but something occurred at the last moment to change their plans; and she was committed to the care of Miss Baldwin, one of the lady teachers, who was going home to New Haven for the holidays. Percy was, as usual, afraid that she should be late, and quite sure that they should miss the train at A—; for, as Round Springs is not on any railroad, they were obliged to go to a neighbouring city to take the cars for New York.

"Well, if we are late, we will wait for the next train," said Miss Baldwin.

"But, then, my aunt would not be there to meet me; and what shall I do, if she isn't?"

"You have the address, haven't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, well, you won't have any trouble: I shall ask somebody to find us a carriage, and we can drive straight to your aunt's door."

"But suppose the driver should be a bad man, and should carry us to some lonely place, and rob us," said Percy. "I have read of such things, Miss Baldwin; haven't you?"

"And suppose the city should have been sunk by an earthquake or overflowed by a deluge?" answered Miss Baldwin, laughing. "I have heard of such things: haven't you?"

"But I am sure I have read of dreadful things being done in New York. It was only the other day—"

"My dear child," interrupted Miss Baldwin, "I have passed through New York on an average six times a year for the last six years, and I have never yet met with the least annoyance or unpleasant adventure. Nobody has ever robbed or murdered me, or ever wished to do so, as far as I know. Why should we meet with anything now? New York might be better, no doubt; but it is not such a dreadful place after all, and a great many nice people live there. Do put all these worries out of your head, and think about something else. You will not enjoy your journey at all, at this rate; and I am sure I shall not."

Percy was nervously sensitive about annoying other people, and she at once resolved that, however much frightened she might be, she would not show it nor speak of it. This was a very good resolution, and Percy kept it all the way to New York. The train was behind time, and there was nobody to meet the little girl.

"What shall we do now?" asked Percy, trying to speak cheerfully, though her heart sank very low.

"I shall get a carriage and take you to Mrs. Ackerman's, and then go and stay at my sister's till to-morrow morning," answered Miss Baldwin. "I am not very sorry after all, that I have an excuse for stopping a day in New York. Oh, you need have no fears; we shall do perfectly well."

Nothing seemed to Percy more unlikely than that they should do perfectly well, when she saw the crowds of people in the streets, and realized what a great city she had come into. Nevertheless, she could have wished the ride to be longer; and her heart began to beat very fast when the carriage drew up at a very handsome brown house on Fifth Avenue.

"Here we are, all right," said Miss Baldwin. "See there the name on the door. Good-by, dear; I hope you will have a very nice time. The expressman will bring your trunk before long."

It seemed a dreadful thing to Percy to have to go alone up those stone steps and pull the bell; but she did it; and between the ringing and answering of the bell, she had time to think that probably her aunt would not be at home, and that perhaps she had come to the wrong house after all. The door was opened presently by a very stylish-looking, elderly coloured man, who looked at Percy in some surprise.

"Is—is my aunt at home? Mrs. Ackerman, I mean," Percy managed to say at last.

"Oh, yes!" replied Sylvester, all smiles, directly. "Missy will be the young lady that was expected to-morrow morning. Let me take your things, Miss, and please walk up-stairs. How you do favour your dear ma, to be sure. This way, Miss. Mrs. Ackerman is in her room, but she will be down directly. Take a seat by the fire."

Percy sank into the depths of the comfortable arm-chair placed for her by a bright, open fire in the handsomest room she had ever seen; and she waited what seemed to her an hour before anybody came—though in reality it was not more than ten minutes. The house seemed wonderfully still. The drawing-room opened into a beautiful conservatory, where there were plants in flower and birds in cages; there were handsome books on the tables and pictures on the walls, which Percy would have liked to look at, if she had not been too much scared. A solemn clock in the hall ticked loudly, and she could hear somebody moving over her head. Percy began to think about enchanted castles and the palace of the White Cat, when her reveries were interrupted by the entrance of a very handsome and handsomely dressed lady, whom Percy guessed at once to be her cousin Margaret.