“Would you like teaching?”
“I have thought of that. That is what I am, perhaps, best fitted for; but I don’t know how to go about it.”
“Would you be willing to go into the country?”
“I should prefer it. I wish to go somewhere where I am not known.”
“Then it might do,” said Mary, musingly.
“What might do?”
“Let me tell you. I was born away up in the northern part of New Hampshire, in a small country town, with no particular attractions except that it lies not far from the mountains. It has never had more than a very few summer visitors. Only yesterday I had a letter from Granville, and they mentioned that the committee were looking out for a teacher for the grammar school, which was to begin in two weeks.”
“The very thing,” said Mabel quickly. “Do you think I could obtain the place?”
“I don’t think any one has been engaged. I will write if you wish me to, and see what can be done.”
“I wish you would,” said Mabel promptly.
“Do you think, Miss Fairfax, you could be content to pass the summer in such a place, working hard, and perhaps without appreciation?”
“I should, at all events, be at work; I should feel, for the first time in my life, that I was of use to somebody.”
“There is no doubt of that. You would find a good deal to be done; too much, perhaps.”
“Better too much than too little.”
“If that is your feeling I will write at once. Have you any directions to give me?”
“Say as little as possible about me. I wish to be judged on my own merits.”
“Shall I give your name?”
“Only in part. Let me be Mabel Frost.”
Thus was the way opened for Mabel’s appearance in Granville. Mary Bridgman’s recommendation proved effectual. “She was educated here; she knows what we want,” said Squire Hadley; and he authorized the engagement.
When the matter was decided, a practical difficulty arose. Though Mabel had an abundant wardrobe, she had little that was suited for the school mistress of Granville.
“If you were to wear your last season’s dresses — those you took to Newport,” said Mary Bridgman, “you would frighten everybody at Granville. There would be no end of gossip.”
“No doubt you are right,” said Mabel. “I put myself in your hands. Make me half a dozen dresses such as you think I ought to have. There is only a week, but you can hire extra help.”
The dresses were ready in time. They were plain for the heiress, but there was still reason to think that Miss Frost would be better dressed than any of her predecessors in office, partly because they were cut in the style of the day, and partly because Mabel had a graceful figure, which all styles became. Though Mary Bridgman, who knew Granville and its inhabitants, had some misgivings, it never occurred to Mabel that she might be considered overdressed, and the two trunks, which led Mrs. Slocum to pronounce her a “vain, conceited sort,” really seemed to her very moderate.
At half past eight in the morning after Miss Frost’s arrival in Granville Ben Hadley called at the hotel and inquired for the new school teacher.
“I guess you mean Miss Frost,” said the landlord.
“I don’t know what her name is,” said Ben. “Dad wants her to come round and be examined.”
Ben was a stout boy, with large capacities for mischief. He was bright enough, if he could only make up his mind to study, but appeared to consider time spent over his books as practically wasted. Physically and in temperament he resembled his father more than his mother, and this was fortunate. Mrs. Hadley was thin lipped and acid, with a large measure of selfishness and meanness. Her husband was pompous, and overestimated his own importance, but his wife’s faults were foreign to his nature. He was liked by most of his neighbors; and Ben, in his turn, in spite of his mischievous tendencies, was a popular boy. In one respect he was unlike his father. He was thoroughly democratic, and never put on airs.