To obtain possession of the hymn-book she desired, was not so very difficult in Tidy's estimation. The numerous visitors at the house, pleased with her bright face, her gentle manners, and ready attentions, often dropped a coin into her hand, and these little moneys were carefully treasured for the accomplishment of her purpose. She calculated that by Christmas-time she should have enough money to buy it, and Uncle Simon she knew would procure it for her. Her greatest anxiety now was to be ready to use it.
But how could she make herself ready? How was she to learn without a teacher or a book?
There had been an old primer for some time tossing about the play-room—its scarlet cover looking more gorgeous and tempting in Tidy's eyes, as they fell upon it day after day, than any trinket or gewgaw she could have seen; yet she dared not touch it. She was too honest to appropriate it to herself without leave, and she was afraid to allude to the forbidden lessons by asking Amelia or Susan for it. Several times she tried to draw their attention to the neglected book, and to give them some hint of her own longing for it,—but all to no avail. One day, however, she had orders from the children to clear up the room thoroughly.
"Make every thing neat as a pin," said Amelia, "while we go down to dinner, for we are going to have company this afternoon; and if it looks right nice, I'll give you an orange."
"What shall I do with dis yer book, then, Miss Mely?" hastily asked Tidy, as she stooped to pick up the book, and felt herself trembling all over that she had dared to put her fingers upon it.
"That? Oh, that's no good; throw it away,—we never use it now,—or keep it yourself, if you want to," said she, after a second thought.
It was done. The book was quickly deposited in a safe place, and the clearing up proceeded rapidly. The orange was a small consideration; for had she not got a book, her heart's desire, and now she could learn to read.
She could learn all alone; she would be her own teacher. If she got into a very narrow place she would get Uncle Simon to help her out. No one else on the estate knew how to read, and he didn't know much, but no doubt he could be of some assistance. Such was Tidy's inward plan.
After this, the little girl might have been seen every evening stretched at full length on the cabin floor, her head towards the fireplace, where the choicest pine knots were kindled into a cheerful blaze, with her spelling-book open before her. She was "clambering" up the rough way of knowledge.
Did she accomplish her purpose? To be sure she did. Little reader, did you ever make up your mind to do any thing and fail? There's an old proverb that says, "Where there's a will there's a way;" and this is true. Resolution and energy, patience and perseverance, will achieve nearly every thing you set about. Try it. Try it when you have hard lessons to do, puzzling examples in arithmetic to solve, that long stint in sewing to do, that distasteful music to practice, those bad habits to conquer. Try it faithfully, and when you grow up, you'll be able to say, from your own experience, "Where there's a will there's a way."
You must not expect, however, that Tidy learned very rapidly or very perfectly under such discouragements. Think how it would be with yourself, if you only knew your letters. You might read quite easily m-a-n, but how do you think you could find out that those letters spelled man?
Tidy advanced much more expeditiously after she had obtained possession of her hymn-book. Some of the hymns were quite familiar to her from her having heard them sung so often at the meetings, and she determined to study these first; and you may well imagine how proud she felt,—not sinfully, but innocently proud,—when she seated herself one afternoon by Mammy Grace's side, and pulling her hymn-book out of her bosom, asked if she might read a hymn.
"Yes, chile, 'deed ye may, ef ye can. Specs 'twill do yer ole mammy's heart good to hear ye read de books like de white folks."
And the child opened the book, and in a clear, pleasant, happy voice she read slowly, but correctly,—
"My God, the spring of all my joys,
The life of my delights,
The glory of my brightest days,
And comfort of my nights.
"In darkest shades if he appear,
My dawning is begun;
He is my soul's sweet morning star,
And he my rising sun."
"Look dar, chile," cried the old nurse, springing to her feet, "Massa George's jess a'most out ob de door. Ef he SHOULD fall and break his neck, what WOULD 'come of us. Dis yer chile 'd neber hab no more peace all de days of her life. Yer reads raal pooty, honey; but ye mus'n't neglect duty for de books, 'caus ef ye do, ye isn't worthy of de prevelege."
So Tidy had to forego her hymns till the children were put to bed.
After this, in the long winter evenings, in Mammy Grace's snug cabin, what harvests of enjoyment were gathered from that precious book. Uncle Simon was the favored guest on such occasions, and always "bringed his welcome wid hissef," he said, in the shape of pitch-pine fagots, the richest to be found, by the light of which they read and sung the songs of Zion, which they dearly loved; the pious old slave in the mean time commending, congratulating, and encouraging Tidy in her wonderful intellectual achievements.
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