Mary's Stepping Aside

BY

EDITH C. KENYON

 'How very foolish of you! So unbusinesslike!' cried Mrs. Croft angrily.

'I could not do anything else, Hetty. Poor Ethel is worse off than we are. She has her widowed mother to help; they are all so poor, and it was such a struggle for Mrs. Forrest to pay that L160 for Ethel's two years' training in the Physical Culture College. You know, when Ethel and I entered for training, there was a good demand for teachers of physical culture, but now, alas! the supply exceeds the demand, and it has been such a great trouble to Ethel that she could not get a post, and begin to repay her mother for the outlay. She failed every time she tried to secure an appointment; the luck seemed always against her. And now she was next to me, and I had only to step aside to enable her to receive the appointment.'

'And you did so! That is just like you, Mary. You will never get on in the world. What will people say? They are already wondering why my clever sister is not more successful.'

'Does it really matter what people think?' questioned Mary, and there was a far-away look in her blue eyes, as she glanced through the window at the wide stretch of moorland to be seen from it.

She had been to London to try to secure an appointment as teacher of physical culture at a large ladies' college. There were several applicants for the appointment, which was worth L100 a year and board and lodging, not bad for a commencement, and she was successful.

The lady principal came out to tell her so, and mentioned that Ethel Forrest, her college friend, was the next to her, adding that the latter appeared to be a remarkably nice girl and very capable. In a moment, as Mary realised how terrible poor Ethel's disappointment would be, she resolved to step aside in order that her friend might have the appointment.

The lady principal was surprised, and a little offended, but forthwith gave Ethel Forrest the post, and Mary was more than repaid by Ethel's unbounded gratitude.

'I can't tell you what it is to me to obtain this good appointment,' she said, when they came away together. 'Poor mother will now cease to deplore the money she could so ill afford to spend on my training. You see, it seemed as if she had robbed the younger children for me, and that it was money thrown away when she could so ill spare it, but now I shall repay her as soon as possible out of my salary, and the children will have a chance.'

'Yes, I know. That is why I did it,' Mary said. 'And I am happy in your happiness, Ethel darling.'

'But I am afraid it is rather irksome for you, living so long with your sister and brother-in-law, although they are so well off,' Ethel remarked, after a while.

'That is a small matter in comparison,' Mary said lightly. 'And I am so happy about you, Ethel, your mother will be so pleased.'

It seemed to Mary afterwards, when she left Ethel and went by express to York, where she took a slow train to the little station on the moors near her sister's home, that her heart was as light and happy as if she had received a great gift instead of surrendering an advantage. Truly it is more blessed to give than to receive, for there is no joy so pure as 'the joy of doing kindnesse.'

But on her arrival at the house which had been her home since her parents died, she found herself being severely blamed for what she had done.

In vain Mary reminded her sister that she was not exactly poor, and certainly not dependent upon her. Their father had left a very moderate income to both his daughters, Hetty the elder, who had married Dr. Croft, a country practitioner, and Mary, who, as a sensible modern young woman, determined to have a vocation, and go in for the up-to-date work of teaching physical culture.

Finding she could make no impression upon her sister, Mrs. Croft privately exhorted her husband to speak to Mary about the disputed point.

That evening, therefore, after dinner, as they sat round the fire chatting, the doctor remarked: 'But you know, Mary, it won't do to step aside for others to get before you in the battle of life. You owe a duty to yourself and--and your friends.'

'I am quite aware of that,' Mary replied, 'but this was such an exceptional case. Ethel Forrest is so poor, and----'

 'Yes, yes. But, my dear girl, it is each for himself in this world.'

'Each for Himself!'

'Is it?' Mary asked, and again there was a wistful, far-away look in her blue eyes. With an effort, she pulled herself together, and went on softly: 'Shall I tell you what I saw as I returned home across the moor from the station? The day was nearly over, and the clouds were gathering overhead. The wind was rising and falling as it swept across the moorland. The rich purple of the heather had gone, and was succeeded by dull brown--sometimes almost grey--each little floret of the ling, as Ruskin said, folding itself into a cross as it was dying. Poor little purply-pink petals! They had had their day, they had had their fill of sunshine, they had been breathed on by the soft breezes of a genial summer, and now all the brightness for them was over; they folded their petals, becoming just like a cross as they silently died away. You see,' she looked up with a smile, 'even the heather knows that the way of self-sacrifice is the only way that is worth while.'

There was silence for a few minutes. The crimson light from the shaded candles fell softly on Mary's face, beautiful in its sincerity and sweet wistfulness.

The doctor shook his head. 'I should never have got on in life if I had acted in that way,' he said.

'You are quite too sentimental, Mary,' remarked her sister harshly. 'Why, the world would not go on if we all did as you do. All the same,' she added, almost grudgingly, 'you are welcome to stay here till you get another appointment.'

Mary rose and kissed her. 'You shan't regret it, Hetty,' she said. 'I will try to help you all I can while I stay, but I may soon get another appointment.'

       *       *       *       *       *

Fifteen months afterwards there was great rejoicing in Mrs. Forrest's small and overcrowded house in Croydon, because her youngest brother had returned from New Zealand with quite a large fortune, which he declared gallantly that he was going to share with her.

'Half shall be settled on you and your children, Margaret,' he said, 'as soon as the lawyers can fix it up. You will be able to send your boys to Oxford, and give your girls dowries. By the by, how is my old favourite Ethel? And what is she doing?'

'She teaches physical culture in a large ladies' college in the West End. It is a good appointment. Her salary has been raised; it is now L130, with board and lodging.'

That did not seem much to the wealthy colonial, but he smiled. 'And how did she get the post?' he said. 'I remember in one of your letters you complained that her education had cost a lot, and that she was very unlucky about getting anything to do.'

 'Yes, it was so, Max. But she owed her success at last to the kindness of a friend of hers, who won this appointment, and then stepped aside for her to have it.'

'Grand!' cried Max Vernon heartily. 'What a good friend that was! It is a real pleasure to hear of such self-sacrifice in this hard, work-a-day world. I should like to know that young woman,' he continued. 'What is she doing now?'

'I don't know,' replied his sister. 'But here comes Ethel. She will tell you.'

Ethel had come over from the college on purpose to see her uncle, and was delighted to welcome him home. He was not more than ten years older than herself, there being more than that between him and her mother. His success in New Zealand was partly owing to his charming personality, which caused him to win the love of his first employer, who adopted him as his son and heir some six years before he died, leaving all his money to him. Ethel had pleasant memories of her uncle's kindness to her when a child.

When hearty greetings had been exchanged between the uncle and niece, Margaret Forrest said to her daughter: 'I have been telling your uncle about your friend Mary Oliver's giving up that appointment for you, and he wants to know where she is now, and what she is doing.'

'Ah, poor Mary!' said Ethel ruefully. 'I am really very troubled about her. Her sister and brother-in-law lost all their money through that recent bank failure, and Dr. Croft took it badly. His losses seemed to harden him. Declaring that he could not carry on his practice in the country without capital, he sold it and arranged to go to New Zealand, though his wife had fallen into ill-health and could not possibly accompany him. He went abroad, leaving her in London in wretched lodgings. Then Mary gave up her good situation as teacher of physical culture in a private school, and took a less remunerative appointment so that she might live with her poor sister, and look after her, especially at nights. I believe there is a lot of night nursing. It's awfully hard and wearing for Mary, but she does it all so willingly, I believe she positively enjoys it, though I cannot help being anxious lest her health should break down.'

'She must not be allowed to do double work like that,' said the colonial. 'No one can work by day and night as well without breaking down.'

'But what is she to do?' queried Ethel. 'She is obliged to earn money for their maintenance.'

'We might put a little in her way,' suggested Vernon.

Ethel shook her head. 'She is very sweet,' she said, 'but I fancy she would not like to accept money as a gift.'

Max Vernon assented. 'Exactly,' he said, 'I know the sort. But she could not object to take it if it were her right.'

Margaret Forrest smiled, scenting a romance. 'I will have her here to tea on her next half-holiday,' she said; 'then you will see her.'

But Vernon could not wait till then. He and Ethel made up a plan that they would go to Mrs. Croft's rooms that very evening, in order that he might personally thank Mary for her goodness to his niece.

Mary thought she had never seen such a kind, strong face as his, when he stood before her expressing his gratitude for what she had done for Ethel, and also his sympathy with her troubles, of which Ethel had told him.

That was the beginning, and afterwards he was often in her home, bringing gifts for the querulous invalid, and, better still, hope for the future of her husband, about whom he interested a friend of his, who was doing well out in New Zealand, and looking out for a partner with some knowledge of medicine.

It was at a picnic, under a noble tree, that Max asked Mary to marry him, and learned to his great joy how fully his love was returned.

Not so Foolish after all!

Mary thought there was no one like him. So many had come to her for help, but only he came to give with both hands, esteeming all he gave as nothing if only he could win her smile and her approval.

So it happened that by the time Mrs. Croft had so far recovered as to be able to join her husband, her departure was delayed one week, in order that she might be present at her sister's wedding.

'After all, Mary,' she said, when at last she was saying goodbye, 'your happiness has come to you as a direct result of your kindness to Ethel Forrest in stepping aside for her to have that appointment. You were therefore not so foolish after all.'

Mary laughed joyously. 'I never thought I was,' she said. 'There's an old-fashioned saying, you know, that 'it is more blessed to give than to receive.''