Part 15 (1/2)
Hodgson said--”Mary, love, I almost fancy from Jenkins's way of speaking (so much civiler than I expected), he guesses I wrote that 'Pro Bono'
and the 'Rose-bud,'--at any rate, I've no objection to your naming it, if the subject should come uppermost; I should like him to know I'm a literary man.”
Well! I've ended my tale; I hope you don't think it too long; but, before I go, just let me say one thing.
If any of you have any quarrels, or misunderstandings, or coolnesses, or cold shoulders, or shynesses, or tiffs, or miffs, or huffs, with any one else, just make friends before Christmas,--you will be so much merrier if you do.
I ask it of you for the sake of that old angelic song, heard so many years ago by the shepherds, keeping watch by night, on Bethlehem Heights.
HAND AND HEART.
”Mother, I should so like to have a great deal of money,” said little Tom Fletcher one evening, as he sat on a low stool by his mother's knee.
His mother was knitting busily by the firelight, and they had both been silent for some time.
”What would you do with a great deal of money if you had it?”
”Oh! I don't know--I would do a great many things. But should not you like to have a great deal of money, mother?” persisted he.
”Perhaps I should,” answered Mrs. Fletcher. ”I am like you sometimes, dear, and think that I should be very glad of a little more money. But then I don't think I am like you in one thing, for I have always some little plan in my mind, for which I should want the money. I never wish for it just for its own sake.”
”Why, mother! there are so many things we could do if we had but money;--real good, wise things I mean.”
”And if we have real good, wise things in our head to do, which cannot be done without money, I can quite enter into the wish for money. But you know, my little boy, you did not tell me of any good or wise thing.”
”No! I believe I was not thinking of good or wise things just then, but only how much I should like money to do what I liked,” answered little Tom ingenuously, looking up in his mother's face. She smiled down upon him, and stroked his head. He knew she was pleased with him for having told her openly what was pa.s.sing in his mind. Presently he began again.
”Mother, if you wanted to do something very good and wise, and if you could not do it without money, what should you do?”
”There are two ways of obtaining money for such wants; one is by earning; and the other is by saving. Now both are good, because both imply self-denial. Do you understand me, Tom? If you have to earn money, you must steadily go on doing what you do not like perhaps; such as working when you would like to be playing, or in bed, or sitting talking with me over the fire. You deny yourself these little pleasures; and that is a good habit in itself, to say nothing of the industry and energy you have to exert in working. If you save money, you can easily see how you exercise self-denial. You do without something you wish for in order to possess the money it would have cost. Inasmuch as self-denial, energy, and industry are all good things, you do well either to earn or to save.
But you see the purpose for which you want the money must be taken into consideration. You say, for 'something wise and good.' Either earning or saving becomes holy in this case. I must then think which will be most consistent with my other duties, before I decide whether I will earn or save money.”
”I don't quite know what you mean, mother.”
”I will try and explain myself. You know I have to keep a little shop, and to try and get employment in knitting stockings, and to clean my house, and to mend our clothes, and many other things. Now, do you think I should be doing my duty if I left you in the evenings, when you come home from school, to go out as a waiter at ladies' parties? I could earn a good deal of money by it, and I could spend it well among those who are poorer than I am (such as lame Harry), but then I should be leaving you alone in the little time that we have to be together; I do not think I should be doing right even for our 'good and wise purpose' to earn money, if it took me away from you at nights: do you, Tom?”
”No, indeed; you never mean to do it, do you, mother?”
”No,” said she, smiling; ”at any rate not till you are older. You see at present then, I cannot _earn_ money, if I want a little more than usual to help a sick neighbour. I must then try and _save_ money. Nearly every one can do that.”
”Can _we_, mother? We are so careful of everything. Ned Dixon calls us stingy: what could _we save_?”
”Oh, many and many a little thing. We use many things which are luxuries; which we do not want, but only use them for pleasure. Tea and sugar--b.u.t.ter--our Sunday's dinner of bacon or meat--the grey ribbon I bought for my bonnet, because you thought it prettier than the black, which was cheaper; all these are luxuries. We use very little tea or sugar, it is true; but we might do without any.”
”You did do without any, mother, for a long, long time, you know, to help widow Black; it was only for your bad head-aches.”
”Well! but you see we can save money; a penny, a halfpenny a day, or even a penny a week, would in time make a little store ready to be applied to the 'good and wise' purpose, when the time comes. But do you know, my little boy, I think we may be considering money too much as the only thing required if we want to do a kindness.”
”If it is not the only thing, it is the chief thing, at any rate.”