Part 2 (2/2)

They said he had got crazy while I was in the room with another old friend, and when--when I--I--”

”Yes, I see; he is dead.”

”Yes; he is dead. When I came back he was about gone, but he was just as rational as I am now. 'Oh, Jim,' said he, 'Jim Reagan, if I had only taken the pledge when you did, I should have been a man now. But I am glad I am going. My folks will be a great deal better off without me.'”

”Oh, no, no, no! he was my husband--their father--he might have reformed.”

”Tell them,” said he, ”that I am dying, and that for the first time in ten years I feel as though I had my senses. If I could see them and know they forgave me all the wrongs I have inflicted upon them! Do you think my wife could forgive--”

”Yes, yes; everything, everything.”

”So I told him, and that seemed to quiet him. And then I begged him to forgive me for what I had done towards making him a drunkard. 'Oh,' says he, 'I can forgive everybody--even those who used to sell it to us, who used to take the bread out of our children's mouths for liquor, but I never can forgive those who made the law, or licensed them to murder us.

I forgive everybody else that ever injured me, and I die in peace. Tell my wife I die loving her. G.o.d bless her and my poor children, what will become of them? Good bye, Jim; go and see my wife, and tell her good bye, and that I die as I wish I had lived; but it is too late, too late.

G.o.d bless my wife!'

”I could not speak, I turned my eyes away a minute, looked again, and poor Bill Eaton was gone--gone to Heaven, I am sure, if sincere repentance would take him there. Well, you see, I could not do anything more for poor Bill, for he was gone where we must all go pretty soon, and so I come down and waked up Maggie.”

There was a start--a sudden wakening up to consciousness on the part of Sally, she had recognised the name.

”And says I, Maggie, daughter, come get up, and go with me to see a poor widow and children in distress. Oh, I wish you could have seen how she bounded out of bed--we sleep in beds, good clean beds, now, and how quick she dressed herself, and how neat, and cheerful, and pretty she looked, and how sweetly she said, 'now, father, I am ready, who is it?'

and when I told her, how her heart bounded with joy, and then she told me she knew Sally, but had not seen her for a long time, and so, arm in arm, we went out, and you know the rest. Poor Bill!”

”Oh, that I could have seen him--could have heard him speak soberly and affectionately once more--I think I could have given him up without a murmur.”

”No. You would not have been willing to give him up to die, just as he had begun to live. Be content, you must not murmur. Who knows but all this overwhelming affliction will work together for your good, and your children's good.”

”Yes, mother, I am sure it will for mine. It has already, for I will be like Maggie; don't you remember Maggie?”

”No. I don't recollect but one Maggie--'Wild Maggie of the Five Points'--the most mischievous, ragged, dirty little beggar in all that dreadful neighborhood; and her father, the most filthy drunkard I ever saw. Why he was a great deal worse than----.”

”Your husband. Speak it out, I am not ashamed to own it, now I have reformed.”

”You--you, not you; this is not Maggie.”

”Yes, mother, this is 'Wild Maggie,' and this is her father. This nice young lady, that said so sweetly, 'Come with us,' this is 'Wild Maggie,'

and this is--is--”

”Old Jim Reagan, the miserable old drunkard, that used to live in a miserable cellar, in Centre street, and finally got turned out of that, and this is Maggie, and this is our home.”

And he looked around proudly upon the comforts of this home, and contrasted them with the miseries of that.

Now Margaret--Mag or Maggie, no longer--began to ”fly around.” Breakfast was to be got, and what was much more difficult, a full-sized woman, a half-grown girl, and a quarter-grown boy, were to be clothed. How was it to be done? One of her dresses, ”with a tuck,”--tucks are fas.h.i.+onable in these days--was soon made to fit Sally. The father said, he would go out and get some clothes for Mrs. Eaton and little Willie, for, thank G.o.d, he was able to do it, for what he saved by soberness, not only enabled him to live and clothe himself, but to fulfil that best of all Christian injunctions, to be kind to the widows and fatherless, and he did not know of any that he was under more obligations to than the wife and children of Bill Eaton, and, G.o.d willing, he was going to clothe them, and then he was going to go with them to Mr. Pease, the man that had been the means of reclaiming him, and get them a home in the House of Industry, until they could find some other one, or a way to earn a living.

Apparently it was not willed that he should spend his scanty store to clothe the naked at this time; the will to do so was equally acceptable to the great Will, as though the deed were done, for just now there was a rap at the door, indicating an early visitor. Who could it be?

Margaret ran down to see. A boy from a second-hand clothing store, entered with a large bundle.

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