Part 31 (2/2)
”Because my mother would not let me quit it--in fact, sir, I do not see how we could live if I did quit, for I make about three dollars a week, and that is more than my mother can make with her needle, and work every day till midnight; and then she is sick sometimes, and so I must do something, for mother is very feeble and says she is almost worn out, and that I shall soon have n.o.body but myself to work for. I am sure I don't know what will become of me then; do you, sir?”
I thought, but dared not give it utterance. And I almost wept at the certainty of her sad fate, if she remained in the city; a fate she could not escape from, without abandoning her helpless mother, one of the poor sewing women of this pandemonium.
”Now, will you buy the gloves, for I have answered all the questions you asked?”
”One more. What is your mother's name?”
”May--Mrs. May. If you should want any s.h.i.+rts made, sir, there is her name and number on that little card.”
”Is that your mother's writing?”
”Yes, sir; don't she write pretty? I can write too, but not like that.”
”Well, I shall call and see your mother, if I want work. Here is the money for the gloves.”
”I cannot make change; have you got the change, or shall I run out and get it changed? I will if you will keep my basket.”
”No, no; I do not wish any change. You may keep it all.”
”Oh, that is just the way that good old gentleman said last night--keep it all. Ah, me!”
And she gave a little start of surprise as she looked at the individual who seemed to be standing behind my chair.
”Why, here he is now. I do wonder if he has heard me talking all about him? I hope I have not said anything wrong.”
”No, no, nothing that you need to blush for. I am glad you have found another friend to talk with; one who is willing to pay you for the time--time is money--that he keeps you from your business.”
It was my turn to start now. I had heard that voice before. In a moment I could fix it in my memory, though it was a good many years since I had heard it, and then it was in the wilds of the West. I offered him my hand, and said:
”We have shaken hands before. Your name is--”
”Lovetree. And now I know you. I thought it was some one whom I had seen before. I saw you in such earnest conversation with this little pedlar girl, that I could not help drawing nigh to hear; I must own I wished to see if she would tell you the same story she did me. I think now she is a girl of truth. What can we do for her? Shall we go and see her mother?”
”I wish you would to-morrow. She is not at home to-night. She has gone--at any rate she told me she would go to see a lady, a real good lady, who is worse off than my mother, for she is in a bad house, and she wants to get away; she told me so to-day, and they will not let her.
She is one of the best women in the world. She is a dress-maker, and she used to live so nice in Broome street, close by my mother, with another good girl, and that girl got married and moved away off out West, I don't know how many thousand miles; and this girl got married too; and, oh dear! her husband used to get so drunk, and go to bad places, and his wife used to work and work; my mother used to work for her, and she was good to my mother, and that is what makes me so sorry for her now.”
”How came she in the bad house you tell of, and how did you come to find her there?”
”Oh my, I cannot tell you all about it, I don't know; I know she had an auction, and she went away in a carriage, and I felt so sorry, and I did not know where she went; but to-day, I saw that same carriage, and saw her with that same woman, and I followed it home, and then I went up to the door, and I told the girl I had come to see Mrs. Morgan; that was no lie, for I had, if I did not know before that she was there; and that Mrs. Morgan wanted to buy some needles; that was a lie; but what should I say, I wanted to see her so bad; and then the girl said, she was not there, that there was no Mrs. Morgan in the house, and then I felt bad, because I knew she was there, and I was afraid something was wrong, and I began to cry, indeed, sir; don't laugh at me, I could not help it, I would have cried my eyes out to see her, but the girl said, she was not there, and I said, I saw her come there in the carriage, just a minute ago; and then another girl told the servant girl, it was Lucy, Lucy Smith, that I wanted to see; but I knew it was not, but I thought I would go up and see Lucy Smith, and may be she would tell me about Mrs.
Morgan; and so I went to Lucy Smith's room, and I rapped on the door, and somebody said, come in; I thought I should go off, for I knew the voice in a minute, and I opened the door, and then it was not Lucy Smith, they only called her so for sham, and so that n.o.body would know her; it was Mrs. Morgan. How glad I was to see her, and how glad she was to see me; how she did hug me and kiss me, and call me her little pet; and then she told me--but you don't want to hear--why did you not stop me before--my mother says I always talk too much when I get a-going; I am sorry that I have talked so much, but, oh, how I do wish you would go and see Mrs. Morgan, and help her to get away from there; I will give you all the money I have made to-day, to help you, and I am sure my mother would give it as soon as I would, for she cried and took on so when I told her. Oh dear! I know well enough she never would be a bad woman, unless they made her.”
”I do not understand this matter at all; do you?”
”Oh, yes, I replied, perfectly. Some poor unfortunate woman, with a miserable, drunken husband, has been driven by necessity, probably to take up her abode in some house of sin, where she finds her life miserable, and is anxious to escape; I suppose that is it.”
”Anxious to escape! Why, sir, you confuse me worse than ever. No one is obliged to stay in such houses, are they? If she wished to go away, she could go; it is her own sinful choice that she is there.”
”Friend Lovetree, how long have you lived out West?”
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