Part 22 (1/2)

But he must go prepared to do something. However sweet and consoling may be the sympathy of others to those in distress, it will not warm the chilled limbs or feed the hungry mouths; and Harry thanked G.o.d then that he had not spent his money foolishly upon gewgaws and gimcracks, or in gratifying a selfish appet.i.te.

After a.s.suring himself that no one was approaching, he jumped on his bedstead, and reaching up into a hole in the board ceiling of the room, he took out a large wooden pill box, which was nearly filled with various silver coins, from a five-cent piece to a half dollar.

Putting the box in his pocket, he went down to the stable, and inquired more particularly in relation Joe's house.

When he had received such directions as would enable him to find the place, he told Abner he wanted to be absent a little while, and left the stable. He had no difficulty in finding the home of the drunkard's family. It was a little, old wooden house, in Avery Street, opposite Haymarket Place, which has long since been pulled down to make room for a more elegant dwelling.

Harry knocked, and was admitted by the little lame girl whom he had seen at the stable.

”I have come to see if I can do anything for you,” said Harry, as he moved forward into the room in which the family lived.

”Have you seen anything of father?” asked the little girl.

”I haven't; Abner says he hasn't been to the stable to-day. Haven't you any lights?” asked Harry, as he entered the dark room.

”We haven't got any oil, nor any candles.”

In the fireplace, a piece of pine board was blazing, which cast a faint and fitful glare into the room; and Harry was thus enabled to behold the scene which the miserable home of the drunkard presented.

In one corner was a dilapidated bedstead, on which lay the sick woman.

Drawn from under it was a trundle bed, upon which lay two small children, who had evidently been put to bed at that early hour to keep them warm, for the temperature of the apartment was scarcely more comfortable than that of the open air. It was a cheerless home; and the faint light of the blazing board only served to increase the desolate appearance of the place.

”Who is it?” asked the sick woman, faintly.

”The boy that works at the stable,” replied the lame girl.

”My name is Harry West, marm; and I come to see if you wanted anything,” added Harry.

”We want a great many things,” sighed she. ”Can you tell me where my husband is?”

”I can't; he hasn't been at the stable to-day.”

”Oh, G.o.d! what will become of us?” sobbed the woman.

”I will help you, marm. Don't take on so. I have money! and I will do everything I can for you.”

When her mother sobbed, the lame girl sat down on the bed and cried bitterly. Harry's tender heart was melted; and he would have wept also if he had not been conscious of the high mission he had to perform; and he felt very grateful that he was able to dry up those tears and carry gladness to those bleeding hearts.

”I don't know what you can do for us,” said the poor woman, ”though I am sure I am very much obliged to you.”

”I can do a great deal, marm. Cheer up,” replied Harry, tenderly.

As he spoke, one of the children in the trundle bed sobbed in its sleep; and the poor mother's heart seemed to be lacerated by the sound.

”Poor child,” wailed she. ”He had no supper but a crust of bread and a cup of cold water. He cried himself to sleep with cold and hunger. Oh, Heaven! that we should have come to this!”

”And the room is very cold,” added Harry, glancing around him.

”It is. Our wood is all gone but two great logs. Katy could not bring them up.”

”I worked for an hour trying to split some pieces off them,” said Katy, the lame girl.