Part 3 (1/2)
”I wants to know as how if the woman that was burnt out is here?”
”Yes.”
”And a little boy and gal?”
”Yes.”
”This is the place then. Are you the gal what was at the fire and said, 'come with us?'”
”Yes, why do you ask that?”
”'Cause the gentleman told me to ask, and when I was sure I was right, to give the gal these three gold pieces, one for each word, and the bundle of clothes and the letter to the woman. That's all. So here they are. I am sure I is right for you don't look as though you could tell a lie if you tried. Why what ails the gal? I'll be blamed if I see anything to cry about. Why, hang me, what does it mean? I feel just so I should cry too if I stayed in this house long. So good bye. I am sure it is all right?”
And the door closed behind him, and he was gone. What could it mean? Was she dreaming? No! There lay the bundle, there glistened the half eagles in her hand. It could not be a dream, yet it was a mystery. How could any one know so soon that her roof contained one so needy? Who had heard those words, those three little words, every one of which had turned to gold? Yes, and will yet turn to fruit more precious.
How she wished she had asked the boy who it was, who had been so suddenly raised up, so mysteriously sent to visit the widow in her affliction. Perhaps the letter would tell. So she took it and the bundle up stairs and opened both. One contained full suits for the mother, daughter, and little boy, all black--the other was a letter to Mr.
Pease.
”Can this be the work of man?” said Mrs. Eaton; ”who knew, who could know, that I must wear the widow's weeds, so soon?”
”There is a spirit of intelligence which maketh known secret things. How could any one without such spiritual aid know that you was a widow, that you was dest.i.tute, that we had bid you come with us, that I was just going out to buy clothes, and here they come like manna in the wilderness to Israel's host. Who will deny spiritual influence and special interposition now?”
Who will believe it, when they are told how all this seeming mystery will melt away with the shades of the night which brought it into the minds of these simple people?
”But what is in the letter, my child, does that tell anything?”
”Nothing, father; it is addressed to the Rev. Mr. Pease, at the Five Points House of Industry, requesting him to give a home to a poor woman and two children, and says the writer will see him about it soon.”
”Ah, that is just where I intended to take them, after the funeral.”
”Yes, and see how nicely these clothes fit them, just as well as though made on purpose. How could anybody guess so well?”
”It is no guess work. There is something more than guess work about this.”
So there was.
”Breakfast is ready, father.”
”Then let us eat it in thankfulness and then.”
And then!
CHAPTER II.[A]
LITTLE KATY.--A MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW.
What is said in this, will apply to everything similar.
”Here's your nice Hot Corn, smoking hot, smoking hot, just from the pot!” Hour after hour one evening, as I sat over the desk, this cry came up in a soft, plaintive voice, under my window, which told me of one of the ways of the poor to eke out means of subsistence in this over-burdened, ill-fed, and worse-lodged home of misery--of so many without means, who are constantly crowding into the dirtiest purlieus of this notoriously dirty city, where they are exposed to the daily chance of death from some sudden outbreaking epidemic like that now desolating the same kind of streets in New Orleans, and swallowing up its thousands of victims from the same cla.s.s of poverty-stricken, uncomfortably-provided for human beings, who know not how, or have not the power, to flee to the healthy hills and green fields of the country.