a new england girlhood-第22节

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our　old　home；　I　had　heard　a　neighbor　condoling　with　my　mother　because　there　were　so　many　of　us；　and　her　emphatic　reply　had　been　a　great　relief　to　my　mind：

〃There　is　isn't　one　more　than　I　want。　I　could　not　spare　a　single　one　of　my　children。〃

But　her　difficulties　were　increasing；　and　I　thought　it　would　be　a　pleasure　to　feel　that　I　was　not　a　trouble　or　burden　or　expense　to　anybody。　So　I　went　to　my　first　day's　work　in　the　mill　with　a　light　heart。　The　novelty　of　it　made　it　seem　easy；　and　it　really　was　not　hard；　just　to　change　the　bobbins　on　the　spinning…frames　every　three　quarters　of　an　hour　or　so；　with　half　a　dozen　othe

little　girls　who　were　doing　the　same　thing。　When　I　came　back　at　night；　the　family　began　to　pity　me　for　my　long；　tiresome　day's　work；　but　I　laughed　and　said；

〃Why；　it　is　nothing　but　fun。　It　is　just　like　play。〃

And　for　a　little　while　it　was　only　a　new　amusement；　I　liked　it　better　than　going　to　school　and　〃making　believe〃　I　was　learning　when　I　was　not。　And　there　was　a　great　deal　of　play　mixed　with　it。　We　were　not　occupied　more　than　half　the　time。　The　intervals　were　spent　frolicking　around　around　the　spinning…frames；　teasing　and　talking　to　the　older　girls；　or　entertaining　ourselves　with　the　games　and　stories　in　a　corner；　or　exploring　with　the　overseer's　permission；　the　mysteries　of　the　the　carding…room；　the　dressing…　room　and　the　weaving…room。

I　never　cared　much　for　machinery。　The　buzzing　and　hissing　and　whizzing　of　pulleys　and　rollers　and　spindles　and　flyers　around　me　often　grew　tiresome。　I　could　not　see　into　their　complications；　or　feel　interested　in　them。　But　in　a　room　below　us　we　were　sometimes　allowed　to　peer　in　through　a　sort　of　blind　door　at　the　great　water…wheel　that　carried　the　works　of　the　whole　mill。　It　was　so　huge　that　we　could　only　watch　a　few　of　its　spokes　at　a　time；　and　part　of　its　dripping　rim；　moving　with　a　slow；　measured　strength　through　the　darkness　that　shut　it　in。　It　impressed　me　with　something　of　the　awe　which　comes　to　us　in　thinking　of　the　great　Power　which　keeps　the　mechanism　of　the　universe　in　motion。　Even　now；　the　remembrance　of　its　large；　mysterious　movement；　in　which　every　little　motion　of　every　noisy　little　wheel　was　involved；　brings　back　to　me　a　verse　from　one　of　my　favorite　hymns：

〃Our　lives　through　various　scenes　are　drawn；　And　vexed　by　trifling　cares；　While　Thine　eternal　thought　moves　on　Thy　undisturbed　affairs。〃

There　were　compensations　for　being　shut　in　to　daily　toil　so　early。　The　mill　itself　had　its　lessons　for　us。　But　it　was　not；　and　could　not　be；　the　right　sort　of　life　for　a　child；　and　we　were　happy　in　the　knowledge　that；　at　the　longest；　our　employment　was　only　to　be　temporary。

When　I　took　my　next　three　months　at　the　grammar　school；　every…　thing　there　was　changed；　and　I　too　was　changed。　The　teachers　were　kind；　and　thorough　in　their　instruction；　and　my　mind　seemed　to　have　been　ploughed　up　during　that　year　of　work；　so　that　knowledge　took　root　in　it　easily。　It　was　a　great　delight　to　me　to　study；　and　at　the　end　of　the　three　months　the　master　told　me　that　I　was　prepared　for　the　high　school。

But　alas！　I　could　not　go。　The　little　money　I　could　earnone　dollar　a　week；　besides　the　price　of　my　boardwas　needed　in　the　family；　and　I　must　return　to　the　mill。　It　was　a　severe　dis…　appointment　to　me；　though　I　did　not　say　so　at　home。　I　did　not　at　all　accept　the　conclusion　of　a　neighbor　whom　I　heard　talking　about　it　with　my　mother。　His　daughter　was　going　to　the　high　school；　and　my　mother　was　telling　him　how　sorry　she　was　that　I　could　not。

〃Oh；〃　he　said；　in　a　soothing　tone；　〃my　girl　hasn't　got　any　such　head…piece　as　yours　has。　Your　girl　doesn't　need　to　go。〃

Of　course　I　knew　that　whatever　sort　of　a　〃head…piece〃　I　had；　I　did　need　and　want　just　that　very　opportunity　to　study。　I　think　the　solution　was　then　formed；　inwardly；　that　I　would　go　to　school　again；　some　time；　whatever　happened。　I　went　back　to　my　work；　but　now　without　enthusiasm。　I　had　looked　through　an　open　door　that　I　was　not　willing　to　see　shut　upon　me。

I　began　to　reflect　upon　life　rather　seriously　for　a　girl　of　twelve　or　thirteen。　What　was　I　here　for？　What　could　I　make　of　myself？　Must　I　submit　to　be　carried　along　with　the　current；　and　do　just　what　everybody　else　did？　No：　I　knew　I　should　not　do　that；　for　there　was　a　certain　Myself　who　was　always　starting　up　with　her　own　original　plan　or　aspiration　before　me；　and　who　was　quite　indifferent　as　to　what　people；　generally　thought。　Well；　I　would　find　out　what　this　Myself　was　good　for；　and　that　she　should　be！　It　was　but　the　presumption　of　extreme　youth。　How　gladly　would　I　know　now；　after　these　long　years；　just　why　I　was　sent　into　the　world；　and　whether　I　have　in　any　degree　fulfilled　the　purpose　of　my　being！

In　the　older　times　it　was　seldom　said　to　little　girls；　as　it　always　has　been　said　to　boys；　that　they　ought　to　have　some　definite　plan；　while　they　were　children；　what　to　be　and　do　when　they　were　grown　up。　There　was　usually　but　one　path　open　before　them；　to　become　good　wives　and　housekeepers。　And　the　ambition　of　most　girls　was　to　follow　their　mothers'　footsteps　in　this　direction；　a　natural　and　laudable　ambition。　But　girls；　as　well　as　boys；　must　often　have　been　conscious　of　their　own　peculiar　capabilities；must　have　desired　to　cultivate　and　make　use　of　their　individual　powers。　When　I　was　growing　up；　they　had　already　begun　to　be　encouraged　to　do　so。　We　were　often　told　that　it　was　our　duty　to　develop　any　talent　we　might　possess；　or　at　least　to　learn　how　to　do　some　one　thing　which　the　world　needed；　or　which　would　make　it　a　pleasanter　world。

When　I　thought　what　I　should　best　like　to　do；　my　first　dream　almost　a　baby's　dreamabout　it　was　that　it　would　be　a　fine　thing　to　be　a　schoolteacher；　like　Aunt　Hannah。　Afterward；　when　I　heard　that　there　were　artists；　I　wished　I　could　some　time　be　one。　A　slate　and　pencil；　to　draw　pictures；　was　my　first　request　whenever　a　day's　ailment　kept　me　at　home　from　school；　and　I　rather　enjoyed　being　a　little　ill；　for　the　sake　of　amusing　myself　in　that　way。　The　wish　grew　up　with　me；　but　there　were　no　good　drawing…　teachers　in　those　days；　and　if　there　had　been；　the　cost　of　instruction　would　have　been　beyond　the　family　means。　My　sister　Emilie；　however；　who　saw　my　taste　and　shared　it　herself；　did　her　best　to　assist　me；　furnishing　me　with　pencil　and　paper　and　paint…box。

If　I　could　only　make　a　rose　bloom　on　paper；　I　thought　I　should　be　happy！　or　if　I　could　at　last　succeed　in　drawing　the　outline　of　winter…stripped　boughs　as　I　saw　them　against　the　sky；　it　seemed　to　me　that　I　should　be　willing　to　spend　years　in　trying。　I　did　try　a　little；　and　very　often。　Jack　Frost　was　my　most　inspiring　teacher。　His　sketches　on　the　bedroom　window…pane　in　cold　mornings　were　my　ideal　studies　of　Swiss　scenery；　crags　and　peaks　and　chalets　and　fir…trees；and　graceful　tracery　of　ferns；　like　those　that　grew　in　the　woods　where　we　went　huckleberrying；　all　blended　together　by　his　touch　of　enchantment。　I　wondered　whether　human　fingers　ever　succeeded　in　imitating　that　lovely　work。

The　taste　has　followed　me　all　my　life　through；　but　I　could　never　indulge　it　except　as　a　recreation。　I　was　not　to　be　an　artist；　and　I　am　rather　glad　that　I　was　hindered；　for　I　had　even　stronger　in…　clinations　in　other　directions；　and　art；　really　noble　art；　requires　the　entire　devotion　of　a　lifetime。

I　seldom　thought　seriously　of　becoming　an　author；　although　it　seemed　to　me　that　anybody　who　had　written　a　book　would　have　a　right　to　feel　very　proud。　But　I　believed　that　a　person　must　be　exceedingly　wise　before　presuming　to　attempt　it：　although　now　and　then　I　thought　I　could　feel　ideas　growing　in　my　mind　that　it　might　be　worth　while　to　put　into　a　book；if　I　lived　and　studied　until　I　was　forty　or　fifty　years　old。

I　wrote　my　little　verses；　to　be　sure；　but　that　was　nothing；　they　just　grew。　　They　were　the　same　as　breathing　or　singing。　I　could　not　help　writing　them；　and　I　thought　and　dreamed　a　great　many　that　were　ever　put　on　paper。　They　seemed　to　fly　into　my　mind　and　away　again；　like　birds　with　a　carol　through　the　air。　It　seemed　strange　to　me　that　people　should　notice　them；　or　should　think　my　writing　verses　anything　peculiar；　for　I　supposed　that　they　were　in　everybody's　mind；　just　as　they　were　in　mine；　and　that　anybody　could　write　them　who　chose。

One　day　I　heard　a　relative　say　to　my　mother；

〃Keep　what　she　writes　till　she　grows　up；　and　perhaps　she　will　get　money　for　it。　I　have　heard　of　somebody　who　earned　a　thousand　dollars　by　writing　poetry。〃

It　sounded　so　absurd　to　me。　Money　for　writing　verses！　One　dollar　would　be　as　ridiculous　as　a　thousand。　I　should　as　soon　have　thought　of　being　paid　for　thinking！　　My　mother；　fortunately；　was　sensible　enough　never　to　flatter　me　or　let　me　be　flattered　about　my　scribbling。　It　never　was　allowed　to　hinder　any　work　I　had　to　do。　I　crept　away　into　a　corner　to　write　what　came　into　my　head；　just　as　I　ran　away　to　play；　and　I　looked　upon　it　only　as　my　most　agreeable　amusement；　never　thinking　of　preserving　anything　which　did　not　of　itself　stay　in　my　memory。　This　too　was　well；　for　the　time　did　lot　come　when　I　could　afford　to　look　upon　verse…　writing　as　an　occupation。　　Through　my　life；　it　has　only　been　permitted　to　me　as　an　aside　from　other　more　pressing　employments。　Whether　I　shoul