Ethel Hollisters Second Summer as a Campfire Girl | Page 6

despise me."
"No, Mamma, I shall not do a thing to put you in any awkward position.
Keep on. Give your teas for me if you wish,--even have the two extra
maids. It costs very little and we have a social time; it cheers
Grandmamma and there's no need to stop them. But this is what I shall
not do: First I shall tell Harvey Bigelow that Aunt Susan was once a
millionaire but that she lost all of her money. I shall tell of her
wonderful gifts to Akron,--of her charities, and how well she is beloved,
but that I shall inherit no money from her. Harvey will tell his mother
and she'll spread the news. If people care any the less for us after
hearing it, let them go; but I don't propose to tell what Papa's salary is,

or that you--poor dear--sit until morning sewing for me,--a thing that
I'm not going to allow you to do any longer.
"Then I shall give up attending Madam's. Yes, don't start. Every bill
Papa pays is a nail in his coffin, I know. Tomorrow I shall go to
Barnard and try to pass an examination, and for one quarter what
Madam charges I can get a sound and solid education, and were Papa to
die I can leave with my teacher's diploma knowing something that will
be of use to me. I could help support you and Grandmamma. What
could I do were I forced to support myself after leaving Madam's. Why,
an education such as her girls receive is of no earthly account unless for
music or such accomplishments; but with a degree from Barnard I can
earn good money. I am so glad that I am young and that I shall have a
chance. You'll be proud of me, Mamma,--just wait and see," and she
kissed her mother affectionately.
They went down to breakfast. Archibald Hollister listened to his
daughter's plans. He was proud of her and his face showed it.
"You see, Papa," continued Ethel, "every penny is spent on me. Do you
and Mamma ever go to a theatre? No. Do you ever take a drive?
Never,--why? Because you can't spare the money. Now at least we
shall be able to go to the moving picture shows and take Grandmamma.
I bet you'd enjoy it, wouldn't you, Grandmamma? And, do you know,
the best people go, and a quarter is the highest priced seat."
The girl chatted on until the postman delivered the mail.
"Oh! a letter from Kate. Let's see what news she has written," and she
gave a gasp as she read the first page.
"Poor Mrs. Casey died Saturday from pneumonia. Nora is heartbroken,
and poor Pat Casey acts as though he knew not which way to turn.
Nora looks really refined in black,--almost handsome. She loved Mrs.
Casey, who in spite of her peculiarities was a good wife and mother.
Later: Mr. Casey wishes to take Nora away. He suggested New York,
so you may see her, etc."

Then Ethel described Honora.
"It is strange but I can never like that girl. There's something about her
that's antagonistic to me, and yet when she comes here I must be polite
and ask her to visit me."
"If she's in mourning she'll not expect to meet people," said Mrs.
Hollister quickly, "nor to go to any places of amusement, thank
heavens."
"Oh, she's very generous. Probably she'd invite us, Mamma. Well, poor
Nora, she loved her mother. I'm sorry for her."
CHAPTER II
ETHEL ENTERS COLLEGE
The next morning Ethel Hollister walked up to Barnard and put in her
application for admittance. The following week upon her first
examination she failed, but she entered the class with conditions. The
girl studied hard and soon made good.
She liked the girls of her class. They were intelligent, athletic, and
agreeable.
Her former friends and companions from La Rue's declared that of
late--in fact, since she had become a Camp Fire Girl--Ethel Hollister
had developed fads. This Barnard was one. But as Ethel kept on
steadily progressing in college, and she was so very young--not yet
seventeen--people began to consider her a girl of great ability and
intelligence. Mrs. Hollister grew to be proud of hearing her praised on
every side and Archibald seemed less worried over money matters. She
was rather glad that things had changed. Perhaps it was all for the best,
and people would respect them no less.
Grandmother never wearied of hearing her grandchild tell of her visit.
"And to think," she'd say, "that Susan has had all the trouble she tells of
and has made no sign. How gladly would I have helped her. Still, had I

done so we would have had no house. Well, the Lord knows what's best.
We