The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe; Or, There's No Place Like Home

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER XVI.

  ALMOST DISCOURAGED.

  Charlie was really tired on Friday, and did not feel equal to makingany effort; so she assisted Mrs. Wilcox with the housework, and tidiedup Mary Jane's room until one would hardly have known it. But everything seemed so strange and new.

  Late in the afternoon she gained courage to say,--

  "Did Mary Jane tell you, Mrs. Wilcox, that--I'd like to stay?"

  "Yes. And so you _really_ came to York to get something to do! I s'posethere's such a host of you at home!"

  Charlie swallowed over a lump in her throat. Perhaps she was not alittle glad that Mrs. Wilcox did not suspect her unorthodox manner ofleaving Madison.

  "I mean to find something to do. And if you would board me"--

  "Now, Charlie Kenneth! first you stay and make a visit, and see whatyou can find, before you talk of payin' board. Thank Heaven! I neverbegrudged any one a meal's vittles or a night's sleep. Your poor oldgrandmother's slaved herself half to death for you, and I'm glad to seeyou have some spunk."

  "Then, you'll let me stay?" and a soft flush of relief stole overCharlie's face.

  "Stay!" rather indignantly. "No one ever heard of Hannah Wilcox turnin'people out o' doors. Your Granny has done more than one good turn forme."

  "But I've saved some money to pay my board"--

  "I won't take a cent of it till you get to work, there, now! Jest younever fret yourself a word. It'll all come right, I know."

  "I'm very much obliged," said Charlie, feeling as if she would like tocry.

  "Mary Jane spoke of a chance of getting you at the flowers. It's light,easy work,--I tell her jest like play. But you must have a visit first."

  On Saturday Mary Jane came home at noon.

  "I do think Charlie Kenneth's earned a holiday," said Mrs. Wilcox. "Icouldn't begin to tell the things that girl's done this mornin'. Sweptand dusted, and helped me clean the closet"--

  "Then you're in clover, mother;" and Mary Jane laughed. "I never couldbear to do housework."

  "A great kind of a wife you'll make."

  "That will be some one else's look out;" and Mary Jane tossed her headin a curiously satisfied manner.

  They took a promenade on Broadway in the afternoon. Charlie wasdelighted; and the shop-windows entertained her beyond description.They bought some trifles,--a pair of gloves, a collar, and a ribbonor two,--and Charlie found that money absolutely melted away. She hadspent four dollars.

  She summoned courage to question Mary Jane a little, but found herexceedingly ignorant on the great topic that absorbed her.

  "I believe girls do color photographs in some places, but then you'dhave to know a good deal to get a situation like that. I guess onlyrich girls have a chance to learn drawing and painting."

  "But when it comes natural," said Charlie slowly.

  "Well, I'll ask _him_;" and Mary Jane smiled, and nodded her head."_He_ knows most every thing."

  "Are you going to marry him?" Charlie asked innocently, understandingthe pronoun.

  "Oh, I don't know!" with a toss of the head. "I mean to have some funfirst. Some girls have lots of beaux."

  Charlie colored. She had not the judgment or the experience to assisther in any sort of analysis; but she _felt_ that these Wilcoxes werevery different from their household. They had always been poor, livedin an old tumble-down cottage, with a bed in the parlor; were a noisy,frolicksome, romping set; given to slang, Flossy's great abhorrence;and yet--there was a clean, pure element in them all,--a kind ofunconscious refinement. Florence's fine-ladyisms had not been entirelyuseless or wasted.

  Refinement was the idea floating so dimly through Charlie's brain. Inafter years she understood the force of Hal's example, and the manytraits Joe had laughed at as being girlish. But now she could only feelthat there was a great gulf between her and Mary Jane; that the lattercould _not_ enter into her hopes and ambitions.

  However, Charlie's drawings were brought to Mr. Brown for inspection.

  "Why, you're a regular genius!" he exclaimed in surprise.

  Charlie colored with delight, and every nerve seemed to expand withprecious hope.

  "It is a great pity that you are not a man."

  "Why?" and Charlie opened her large eyes wonderingly.

  "Because then you could do something with your talent. All these comicpictures in papers are designed by men; and they sometimes travelabout, writing descriptions of places, and drawing little sketches togo with them. It is capital business."

  "That is what I should like;" and Charlie's face glowed.

  "But girls and women never do it. It's altogether out of their sphere.You see, that is one of the disadvantages."

  Mr. Brown uttered this dogmatically.

  "But if they know how, and can do it"--

  "They couldn't travel about alone, running into dangers of all kinds.And it is just here. Now, some of these sketches are as good as yousee in the papers; but no one would think of buying them of a woman,because it is men's work."

  Charlie winked the tears out of her eyes. The argument was crushing,for she could not refute the lameness of the logic; and she had alwaysfelt sore about being a girl.

  "They teach women to draw and paint down here at Cooper Institute," hesaid presently.

  "But I suppose it costs a good deal?" and Charlie sighed.

  "Yes."

  "These things are for rich people," said Mary Jane with an air ofauthority.

  Charlie could not summon heart to question further: besides, she hadsome ideas in her brain. Maybe she _might_ sell her pictures to somenewspaper. Any how, she would try.

  She began the week with this determination. On Monday she dressedherself carefully, and gave her face a rather rigorous inspection. It_did_ look very little-girlish. And somehow she wished her hair wasn'tshort, and that she could be handsome. Who ever heard of such dark eyesand light hair, such a peculiar tint too,--a kind of Quaker-drab; notgolden nor auburn nor chestnut. Well, she was as she grew, and shecouldn't help any of it.

  By dint of inquiring now and then, she found her way about pretty well.Her first essay was in the office of an illustrated paper.

  The man listened to her story with a peculiar sharp business air, andmerely said,--

  "No: we don't want any thing of the kind."

  Charlie felt that she could not say another word, and walked out.

  She stood a long while looking in the window of a print-shop, and atlast ventured again.

  This person was less brusque.

  "My little girl," he said, "we never do any thing with such matters. Webuy our pictures, printed or painted, or engravings, as the case maybe, from all parts of the world. Many of them are copies from differentartists well known to fame. It costs a great deal for the plate of apicture."

  Which explanation was quite unintelligible to Charlie.

  She rambled on until she came to a bookstore. There being only a boywithin, she entered.

  "Do you ever buy any pictures for books?" she asked.

  "Books allus have pictures in 'em," was the oracular reply.

  "But who makes them?"

  "Why, engravers, of course;" with supreme astonishment at her ignorance.

  "And they--do the thinking,--plan the picture, I mean?"

  "What?" asked the boy, as if Charlie had spoken Greek.

  "Some one must have the idea first."

  He could not controvert it, and stared about helplessly.

  "Are there any lady engravers?"

  "No, I guess not;" scratching his head.

  "And who makes these little pictures of children like this girlteaching the dog to read, and this one with the flowers?"

  "Oh, I know what you want!" exclaimed the boy. "We gets 'em down in AnnStreet. There's some girls working in the place. Do you know where AnnStreet is?"

  Some of Charlie's old humor cropped out.

  "No, nor Polly Street, nor Jemima Street."

  The boy studied her sharply, but preserved a sullen si
lence, stronglysuspecting that he was being laughed at.

  "Will you please tell me?" quite meekly. "And--the man's name."

  The boy found a card, and directed her. Charlie trudged on with a lightheart.

  The place was up two flights of very dirty steps. Mr. Balcour had goneout to dinner, and she was rather glad of an excuse to rest. In theadjoining room there were three girls laughing and chatting. Now, ifshe could come here to work!

  When Mr. Balcour entered, Charlie found him a very pleasant-lookingman. She made known her errand with but little hesitation.

  "It is something of a mistake," was the smiling answer. "My business iscoloring prints, flower-pieces, and all that. Sometimes they are sentto me, but these little things I buy by the hundred or thousand, andcolor them; then picture-dealers, Sunday-schools, &c., come in here topurchase."

  With that he displayed cases of birds, flowers, fancy scenes, and tinylandscapes.

  "Oh, how beautiful they are!" and she glanced them over with delight."I should like to do them!"

  "Do you know any thing about water-coloring?"

  "No;" rather hesitatingly, for she was not at all certain as to theprecise nature of water-coloring.

  "I keep several young ladies at work. It requires taste, practice, anda certain degree of genius, artistic ability."

  "I meant the first thought of the picture," said Charlie, blushing."Some one must know how it is to be made."

  "Yes, certainly."

  "If you would look at these"--

  She opened her parcel, and spread them before him.

  "Did you do them?"

  He asked the question in astonishment.

  "Yes," was Charlie's simple reply.

  He studied her critically, which made her warm color come and go, andshe interlaced her fingers nervously.

  "My child, this first thought, as you call it, is designing. You have avery remarkable genius, I should say. How old are you?"

  "Fifteen."

  "You have had some instruction!"

  Charlie concluded it would be wiser to say that she had, for there wasthe drawing-book and Hal.

  "You wish to do this for a living?" he asked kindly.

  "Oh, if I could! I like it so much!" and there was a world of entreatyin Charlie's tone.

  Mr. Balcour had to laugh over some of the drawings, for the faces wereso spirited and expressive.

  "I will tell you the very best thing for you to do. Enter the School ofDesign for women. The arrangements, I believe, are very good; that is,there is a chance to earn something while you are studying."

  "Oh!"

  Charlie's face was fairly transfigured. Mr. Balcour thought her awonderfully pretty girl.

  "It is at Cooper Institute, Third Avenue and Seventh or Eighth Street.I really do not know any thing about it, except that it does profess toassist young students in art."

  "I am so much obliged to you;" and Charlie gave him a sweet, gratefulsmile.

  "I should like to hear a little about you!" he said; "and I hope youwill succeed. Come in some time and let me know. Do you live in thecity?"

  "No; but I am staying with some friends on Fourteenth Street."

  "Not far from Cooper Institute, then."

  "No, I can easily find it."

  They said good-by; and Charlie threaded her way up to City Hall with aheart as light as thistle-down, quite forgetting that she had missedher dinner. Then, by car, she went up to Cooper Institute.

  And now what was she to do? I told you that Charlie had a great deal ofcourage and perseverance. And then she was so earnest in this quest!She inquired in a china-store, and was directed up stairs.

  It was very odd indeed. First she stumbled into a reading-room, and wasguided from thence to the art-gallery by a boy. The pictures amusedand interested her for quite a while. One lady and two gentlemen weremaking copies.

  By and by she summoned courage to ask the lady which was the school, orstudy-room.

  "School of Design?"

  "Yes," timidly.

  "It is closed."

  Charlie's countenance fell.

  "When will it be open?"

  "About the first of October."

  The child gave a great sigh of disappointment.

  "Were you thinking of entering?"

  "I wanted to see--if I could."

  "Have you painted any?"

  "No: but I have been drawing a little."

  "You are rather young, I think."

  Then the lady went on with her work. Charlie turned away with tears inher eyes. A whole month to wait!

  Mrs. Wilcox plied her with questions on her return, but Charlie was notcommunicative.

  After a night's rest she felt quite courageous again. She would seewhat could be done about engraving.

  Poor Charlie! There were no bright spots in this day. Everybody seemedcross and in a hurry. One man said coarsely,--

  "You needn't tell me you did them things by yourself. You took 'em fromsome picturs."

  So she came home tired and dispirited. Mary Jane had a crowd of gaycompany in the evening, and Charlie slipped off to bed. Oh, if shecould only give Dot a good hug, and kiss Hal's pale face, and hearGranny's cracked voice! Even the horrible tuning of Kit's fiddle wouldsound sweet. But to be here,--among strangers,--and not be able to makeher plans work.

  Charlie turned her face over on the pillow, and had a good cry. Afterall, there never could be anybody in this world half so sweet as "Theold woman who lived in a shoe!"

  On Wednesday it rained. Charlie was positively glad to have a goodexcuse for staying within doors. She helped Mrs. Wilcox with hersewing, and told her every thing she could remember about the people atMadison.

  "How strange it must look,--and a railroad through the middle of it!There wa'n't no mills in my time, either. And rows of houses, Mary Janesaid. She'd never 'a' known the place if it hadn't been for the folks.Dear, dear!"

  Mary Jane came home in high feather that night.

  "I found they were taking on some girls to-day, Charlie; and I spokea good word for you. You can come next Monday. I don't believe you'llmake out much with the pictures."

  "You were very good;" but Charlie's lip quivered a little.

  "It will be ever so nice to have company up and down! and you'll likeit, I'm sure."

  Mary Jane, being of a particularly discursive nature, was delighted tohave a constant listener.

  "Well, that was better than nothing," Charlie thought. She might worka while, and perhaps learn something more definite about the School ofDesign.

  "For I'll never give it up, never!" and Charlie set her resolute redlips together, while her eyes glanced into the future.

  The following morning was so lovely, that she felt as if she must havea walk. She put on her white dress and sacque, and looked as fresh asa rose. She would go over on Broadway, where every thing was clean andlovely, and have a delightful time looking at the shop-windows and thebeautiful ladies.

  It was foolish to take her pictures along, and yet she did it. Theyreally appeared a part of her life. On and on she sauntered, enjoyingevery thing with the keenest relish. The mellow sun, the refreshingair that had in it a crisp flavor, the cloudless sky overhead, and thebright faces around, made her almost dance with gladness.

  She stood for a long while viewing some chromos in a window,--two orthree of children, which were very piquant and amusing, and appealedto her love of fun. Obeying her impulse she entered, and stole timidlyaround. Two gentlemen were talking, and one of the faces pleased herexceedingly. A large, fair, fresh-complexioned man, with curly brownhair, and a patriarchal beard, snowy white, though he did not appearold.

  A young fellow came to her presently, and asked if there was any thinghe could show her.

  "I should like to see the gentleman--when he is--disengaged."

  That speech would have done credit to Florence.

  The youth carried the message, and the proprietor glanced around. Notthe one with the beautiful beard, and Charlie felt rat
her disappointed.

  They talked a while longer, then he came forward.

  "You wished to see me?"

  Charlie turned scarlet to the tips of her fingers, and stammeredsomething in an absurdly incoherent fashion.

  "Oh! you did not interrupt me--particularly," and he smiled kindly."What can I do for you?"

  "Will you tell me--who made the first design--for--those pictures inthe window,--the children, I mean?"

  "Different artists. Two, I think, are by ladies."

  "And how did they get to do it? I mean, after they made the sketch, whopainted it?"

  "Those are from the original paintings. The artist had the thought, andembodied it in a sketch."

  "But suppose no one wanted to buy it?"

  "That _has_ happened;" and he smiled again. "Why? Have you been tryingyour hand at pictures?"

  "Yes," answered Charlie in great doubt and perplexity. "Only mine aredone in pencil. If you would look at them."

  Charlie's eyes were so beseeching, that he could not resist.

  She opened her small portfolio,--Hal's handiwork. The gentleman glancedover two or three.

  "Did you do these yourself?"

  "Yes;" and Charlie wondered that she should be asked the question sofrequently.

  "Who taught you?"

  "My brother, a little; but I think it comes natural," said Charlie inher earnestness, knowing no reason why she should not tell the truth.

  "Darol, here is a genius for you!" he exclaimed, going back to hisfriend.

  Charlie watched them with throbbing heart and bated breath. She wasgrowing very sensitive.

  "That child!" "Come here, little girl, will you?" said Mr. Darol,beckoning her towards them.

  "Who put the faces in these?"

  "I did;" and the downcast lids trembled perceptibly.

  "How long have you been studying?"

  "Oh! I could always do that," answered Charlie. "I used to in school.And some of them are just what did happen."

  "This,--Mr. Kettleman's troubles?" and he scrutinized her earnestly.

  "There was a man working in the mill whose name was Kettleman, and healways carried a dinner-kettle. But I thought up the adventures myself."

  Charlie uttered this very modestly, and yet in a quiet, straightforwardmanner, that bore the impress of sincerity.

  The first picture was Mr. Kettleman purchasing his kettle. A scenein a tin-shop; the seller a round, jolly fellow, about the shape ofa beer-cask; and Mr. Kettleman tall and thin, with a long nose, longfingers, and long legs. He was saying, "Will it hold enough?" The faces_were_ capital.

  In the second Mrs. Kettleman was putting up her husband's dinner. Therewere piles and piles of goodies; and his cadaverous face was bent overthe mass, the lips slightly parted, the nose longer than ever, andasking solemnly, "Can you get it all in, Becky?"

  The third showed a group of laughing men round a small table, which wasspread with different articles. One fellow held the pail up-side-down,saying, "The last crumb." The head of Mr. Kettleman was just in sight,ascending the stairs.

  Lastly the kettle tied to a dog's tail. Mr. Kettleman in the distance,taller, thinner, and exceedingly woebegone, watching his beloved butunfortunate kettle as it thumped over the stones.

  There were many irregularities and defects, but the faces wereremarkable for expression. Mr. Darol laughed heartily.

  "How old are you?" asked Mr. Wentworth, glancing curiously at theslender slip of a girl.

  "Fifteen."

  "You don't look that."

  "You have a wonderful gift," said Mr. Darol thoughtfully.

  "Oh, that is real!" exclaimed Charlie eagerly, as they turned toanother. "My brother was in a store once, and sold some pepper forallspice. The woman put it in her pie."

  "So I should judge from her husband's face;" and they both laughedagain, and praised Charlie to her heart's content.

  By degrees Mr. Darol drew Charlie's history from her. She did notconceal her poverty nor her ambition; and her love for her one talentspoke eloquently in every line of her face.

  "My child, you have a remarkable genius for designing. The school atCooper Institute will be just the place for you. Wentworth, I think Ishall take her over to Miss Charteris. What is your name, little one?"

  "Charlie Kenneth."

  "Charlie?" in amaze.

  "It was Charlotte, but I've always been called Charlie."

  "Just the name for you! Miss Charlie, you have a world of energyand spirit. I know you will succeed. And now it would give me greatpleasure to take you to the studio of an artist friend."

  The tears came into Charlie's eyes: she couldn't help it, though shetried to smile.

  "Oh!" with a tremulous sob, "it's just like a dream. And you are sogood! I'd go with one meal a day if I could only draw pictures!"

  And Charlie was lovely again, with her face full of smiles, tears,and blushes. Earnest, piquant, and irregular, she was like a pictureherself.

  It seemed to Charlie that in five minutes they reached Miss Charteris'sstudio; and she stood in awe and trembling, scarcely daring to breathe.For up to this date she had hardly been able to believe that any womanin the world besides Rosa Bonheur had actually painted pictures.

  "I have brought you a new study, Miss Charteris. A romance and a smallyoung woman."

  "Well, Paul Darol! I don't believe there is your equal in the worldfor picking up the lame and the halt and the blind, and the waifs andstrays. What now?" and Miss Charteris laughed with such a musicalripple that Charlie turned and answered her with a smile.

  "First look at these, and then let me tell you a story."

  "Very fair and vigorous sketches;" and Miss Charteris glancedcuriously at Charlie.

  Then Mr. Darol began with the story, telling his part first, andcalling in Charlie to add sundry helps to the other.

  "And so, you see, I ventured to try your good temper once more, andbring her to you."

  "What shall I do,--paint her? She might sit for a gypsy girl now, butin ten years she will be a handsome woman. What an odd, trustful child!This promises better than some of your discoveries."

  "Well, help me to get her into the School of Design, and make asuccessful genius of her. She is too plucky for any one to refuse her ahelping hand."

  Miss Charteris began to question Charlie. She had a vein of drollery inher own nature; and in half an hour Charlie was laughing and talkingas if she had known her all her lifetime. What pleased Mr. Darol mostwas her honesty and unflinching truth. She told of their poverty andstruggles, of the love and the fun they had shared together; but therewas a little tremor in her voice as she said, "We had one sister whowas adopted by a rich lady."

  The matter was soon settled, being in the right hands. Charlie wasregistered as a pupil at the school; and Miss Charteris taught her tore-touch photographs, and found her an opportunity to do a little work.It was something of a hardship to go on boarding with Mrs. Wilcox;but they were so fond of her, and so proud of what they could notunderstand!

  So you do not wonder, I fancy, that Charlie's letter should be such ajubilate. Ah, if she could only earn a little money to take back withher!

  She saw Miss Charteris and Mr. Darol quite often. He was like a father,but sweeter and dearer than any one's father she had ever known. Whenshe went home, she meant to coax Hal to return with her, just for thepleasure of meeting such splendid people; "for he is the best of all ofus," she used to say to Miss Charteris.

  Ah, Charlie, if you dreamed of what was happening in the Old Shoe!