Domestic fiction; New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
A slender girl, very plainly dressed, stepped out first--a girl with
grave dark eyes and a firm mouth, which yet trembled a little as she
answered her companion's greeting.
"Faithful! my Faithful! you are coming home with me after all?"
"No, dear; I am going home to my Eunice. I thought I had better."
"Have you heard again? Is she not well?"
"I have not heard again; but she is not very well, I am afraid. I must
go and see."
"But you will come back again? You will never, never think of not
coming back!"
"Oh, yes, I hope so! I think so--unless she is really sick."
"Oh, she is not so very sick, or you would have heard! What should I
ever do without you? Now you must sit with me as far as I go. Here are
the cars!"
There was no time to lose. The "cars" had come which were to carry the
schoolgirls home for a fortnight's rest and holiday. From the windows a
good many people looked out with interest on the group of girls, and one
said to his friend--
"They are from the seminary over the river yonder. We saw it as we came
on."
"Schoolgirls? No; they don't look like schoolgirls. The greater part
of them must be out of their teens, I should say."
"Possibly, but all the same they are schoolgirls, though there may be a
teacher or two among them."
"Well, friend, after all that you have been telling me about your
wonderful common school system, I should have supposed that the
education of these sedate young persons might have been finished before
the age of twenty."
"Oh, I have no doubt that these young persons have had the benefit of
common school and high school too, before they aspired to a place in the
seminary over yonder; and the chances are that some of them since then
have earned, either with hands or head, the means to carry them further
on; and for these there can be no better place than the plain brick
seminary on the other side of the river!"
"Well," said his friend, "I can only repeat what I have said to you more
than once already--you are a curious people in some ways--with your boys
who are men, and your prim grave-faced young women who are schoolgirls.
I should like to put a question or two to some of them, if I might."
His friend shook his head.
"You may have a chance to do so before you leave the country, but not
to-day, I think. You have no grown-up schoolgirls in _Old_ England?
Out of _New_ England I don't suppose we have so very many even in this
country; and there are probably more in the seminary over there than in
schools generally among us. It was built by special means for a special
purpose. A woman built it--a woman who never owned a dollar that she
had not first earned--a great and good woman. She gave herself, body,
soul, and spirit, to the work of helping her countrywomen--her sisters,
she called them all--who were hungering and thirsting, as she herself in
her youth had hungered and thirsted, for knowledge."
"With a view to making learned ladies of them all?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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