Chapter I: Grandma Frost

"I'm glad that old woman don't live at our house," exclaimed Helen Dobbs, in a petulant tone. "Is she any relation of yours, or what is it makes you wait on her so?"

"Oh, there's a sad story about her," answered Jane. "I must get mother to tell you about her son."

"Well, I know I wouldn't be bothered with her. Just think how often she calls you to do something, when we're having such a good time at our play."

"Yes, I know; and I'm sorry to say that often I am angry to be interrupted. Then she is sometimes cross herself; and I have to think of all we owe her before I can readily oblige her. But mother says, instead of hurting me, all this discipline will do me good, if I keep my own heart right."

"I'm sure, Jane, I don't know what you mean."

"Well, perhaps I don't explain it right. But I'll try to tell you. One day, Grandma Frost—we always call her grandma, though she's no relation to us—was sick, or nervous, or cross, and as I was going down stairs I heard her speak quite sharply to mother. I was real angry; you know, I have naturally a very passionate temper, though I do try to control it, so I ran right into the room with my face as red as fire."

"'I shouldn't think you would speak so,' I exclaimed, 'when mother does nothing but wait upon you from morning till night.'"

Helen laughed aloud. "That's right! What did the old woman say?"

"No. I knew I was doing wrong; at least as soon as I had spoken. And when mother fixed her eyes upon me in such a grieved way, I was sorry enough to bite my lips off. 'Go out of the room,' grandma said. I ran to my chamber, and had a great cry. Then mother came in and sat down by me, and talked, oh, so beautifully! I cried harder than ever, but I wasn't angry then; and ever since, when she asks me to do something which I dislike I have only to stop a moment and call to mind what mother said, to be ready to do anything grandma asks."

"Well, you may do it if you like," cried Helen, her nose turned up in a most contemptuous manner; "but I shan't be such a fool as to humor all her whims. All I can say is, that if such an old woman were at our house I'd soon make her mend her manners or I'd contrive some way to be rid of her."

"You wouldn't say so, if you knew how she came to be here," was the tremulous reply. "I can't tell you, for I always begin to cry, but mother will; I'll ask her this very evening."

Company called, however, which prevented this; and a day or two of Helen's visit passed, without her learning the reason for Mrs. Dobbs's great kindness and forbearance with a woman, evidently from a low station in life, and who exhibited no gratitude for such favors.

One morning Mrs. Dobbs accompanied her husband to the city, about four miles distant, and Jane was away on an errand. Helen, therefore, was left to amuse herself as she pleased. She read in the library until she was tired, and then sauntered through the hall up-stairs to her own chamber.

As she passed Mrs. Frost's room she heard a querulous voice, calling, "Miss Dobbs!" "Jane! Jane!"

Helen, naughty girl that she was began to laugh. "Now I'll have some fun," she thought.

She kept quiet, and the calling ceased; but the moment she began to make her boots squeak, the old lady cried, "Jane!" "Miss Dobbs! I want yer."

"I have a great mind," said Helen to herself, "to go in and give her a real blowing up. I'm sure she deserves it, and it's somebody's duty; for she does abuse, Mrs. Dobbs shamefully." She started to go into the room just as the old lady began to sob out, "I might as well be dead and laid by the side of Jotham; for nobody cares for me now."

"What are you crying for?" inquired Helen, walking toward the bed.

"Where's Miss Dobbs?"

"Gone to the city."

"And Jane, too?"

"No; Jane has gone down to the store."

"They might have told me they were going," faltered the old woman, beginning to cry again.

"'Tisn't very likely Mrs. Dobbs would ask your leave every time she wished to go out," answered Helen, her anger getting the better of her prudence. "I think 'twould appear much better in you to be thankful that you have a good home here, instead of finding fault all the time as you do. I'm sure everybody sees how Mrs. Dobbs and Jane make slaves of themselves to put up with your whims."

Mrs. Frost grew deadly pale, and caught her breath with difficulty; but without noticing it, Helen went on;

"Even the servants complain of your ill temper; and Hannah gave notice yesterday that she must leave if she couldn't get better rest, for what with your scolding and whining she didn't sleep half the night. I'm sure if they have to keep you here, I don't see what you want to make yourself so disagreeable for."

The old woman threw up her hands, as if her distress was beyond her power to express, and then sank back on the pillow, with such unmistakable marks of suffering that Helen became alarmed.

She flew to the bell-rope and pulled it violently, and then dashed a tumbler full of water in the sick woman's face.

"What is it? What's the matter?" cried Hannah, rushing into the room.

"I was only talking to her, and she fell right back," responded the young girl.

"Well, let me come, for you look about as pale as she does. Why, I declare! I do believe she's dead or in a swoon. Ring again, miss; will you, for the cook? I'm sure, I don't think mistress can blame me, for I only ran down to do some little chores; and I left her asleep, too."

Mrs. Peasely, the cook, now made her appearance; and a moment after Jane came running gaily up the stairs.

"Why, Helen, what are you crying about?" she said putting her arms round her friend's neck.

"Don't speak to me now!" was the impatient response. "I'm frightened almost to death."

"Jane," called out Mrs. Peasely, coming to the door, "Do run and find somebody to go for the doctor. I do wish your mother was here."

The young girl darted to the side of the bed, gave one lingering glance at the pale form lying there, and then sprang forward exclaiming, "I'll go myself; I saw him riding down the street."

Before the doctor came, Mrs. Dobbs returned from town. Mrs. Frost, under the vigorous measures of the cook, had revived from her long swoon, and was lying quiet and apparently asleep, while Helen was in her room writing a request to her mother to send for her to go home.

Jane came in and began to expostulate. "Why!" said she, "your mother gave you leave to stay all summer."

Helen burst into tears. "I wouldn't stay here when that old woman dies; no, not for the world." She shuddered as she added, "I don't like to be in the house when there are death and funerals."

"We must all die, sometime," murmured Jane, in a thoughtful tone. "But," she added after a minute, "mother doesn't think she will die at present; she says she has been subject to these faint turns ever since Jotham died; only she staid in this longer than usual."

"I heard her speak of Jotham," said Helen, growing very red. "Was he her son?"

"Yes, but I can't bear to think about him." Tears gushed to Jennie's eyes; but she put her hand on her friend's letter, and saying, "Don't send it!" left the room.