Part 95 (1/2)
”I know that, Miss Sarah, and that's why I want you to go in. But if you don't go in, I will, so there, now!”
”Well, just wait a little bit, and I'll go.”
The child, but half satisfied, slowly went away, but lingered about the pa.s.sages to watch the housekeeper. Night, however, came on, and he had not seen her going. All were now busy lighting up, and making the more immediate and active preparations for the reception of company, when he met her in the hall, and to his, ”Look here, I say, Miss Sarah,” she hurried past him unheeding.
The company at last a.s.sembled, and the hours had pa.s.sed away until it was nine o'clock. Without, all was cold, bleak, and cheerless.
Within, there was the perfection of comfort.
Little William had been absent for some time, but no one missed him.
Just as a large company were engaged in the various ways of pa.s.sing time, dancing, chatting, and partaking of refreshments, the room door opened, and in came Master Billy, dragging in by the hand, a little barefoot fellow about his own age, with nothing on but a clean, well-patched s.h.i.+rt, and a pair of linen trowsers. Without heeding the company, he pulled him up to the glowing grate, and in the fulness of his young benevolent heart, cried out,
”Here's fire, Charley! Warm yourself, old fellow! Hurrah! I guess I've fixed Miss Sarah now.” And the little fellow clapped his hands as innocently and as gracefully, as if there had been no one in the room but himself and Charley.
All was agreeable and curious confusion in a few minutes, and scores crowded around the poor child with a lively interest, who, an hour before would have pa.s.sed him in the street unnoticed.
”Why, w.i.l.l.y! what does all this mean?” exclaimed the father, after something like order had been restored.
”Why, pa, you see, this is Charley Warburton,” began the little fellow, holding the astonished Charley by the hand, and presenting him quite ceremoniously to his father. ”Doctor H--came here to-day, and told ma that his mother was sick next door, and that they had no wood. So ma tells Sarah to send John in with some wood, and to go in herself and see if they wanted anything. So Sarah goes and tells John to go and take some wood in. But John he wa'nt going to go, till I told him that if he didn't go I would, and if I went to carrying in wood, I'd dirty all my clothes, and then somebody would want to know the reason. So John he carried in some wood. Then I watched Sarah, but she didn't go in. So I told her about it. And then she promised, but didn't go. I told her again, and she promised, but didn't go. I waited and waited until night, and still Sarah didn't go in. Then you see, awhile ago I slipped out the front door, and tried to go in to Mrs. Warburton's. But it was all so dark there, that I couldn't see anybody; and when I called 'Charley,'
here, his mother said, softly, 'who's there,' and I said 'it's only little w.i.l.l.y. Ma wants to know if you don't want nothing.' 'Oh, it's little w.i.l.l.y--it's little w.i.l.l.y!' says Charley, and he jumps on the floor, and then we both came in here. O! it's so dark and cold in there--do pa go in, and make John build them a fire.”
During the child's innocent but feeling recital, more than one eye filled with tears. Mrs.--hung down her head for a moment, in silent upbraidings of heart, for having consigned a work of charity to neglectful and unfeeling servants. Then taking her child in her arms, she hugged him to her bosom, and said,
”Bless you, bless you, my boy! That innocent heart has taught your mother a lesson she will not soon forget.” The father felt prouder of his son than he had ever felt, and there were few present who did not almost wish him their own. Little Charley was asked by Mr.--if he was hungry, on observing him wistfully eyeing a piece of cake.
”We haint had nothin' to eat all day, sir, none of us.”
”And why not, my little man?” asked Mr.--in a voice of a.s.sumed calmness.
”'Cause, sir, we haint got nothin' to eat in the house. Mother always had good things for us till she got sick, and now we are all hungry, and haint got nothin' to eat.”
”Here, Sarah, (to the housekeeper, who came in at the moment)--no, not you, either--do you, Emma, (to his wife,) give this hungry child some nouris.h.i.+ng food with your own hands. He has a claim on you, for the sake of our little w.i.l.l.y.”
Mrs.--was not slow in relieving Charley's wants and then, after excusing herself to the company, she visited, with John and Sarah, the humble, uncomplaining child of humanity, who had been suffering, so painfully, in the next house to her comfortable dwelling.
The light carried by John revealed, in the middle of the floor, the armful of wood, in large logs, almost impossible to kindle, which the servant had thrown down there without a word, or an offer to make a fire. Mrs.--'s heart smote her when she saw this evidence of her neglect of true charity. Enveloped in the bed-clothes, she found Mrs. Warburton and her little child, the former suffering from pain and fever, and the latter asleep, with tears glistening on her eyelashes. The room was so cold that it sent chills all over her, as she had come in without throwing a shawl around her shoulders.
”I am sorry to find you so sick, and everything around you so cold and comfortless,” she said, addressing Mrs. Warburton.
”I don't feel so very sick, ma'am, only when I try to sit up, I grow so faint, and have to lie down again. If my little things had anything to eat, I wouldn't mind it much.”
Just then, aroused by the voice of her mother, the little girl awoke, and began moaning and crying. She could not speak plain, and her ”bed and mik, mamma”--”O, mamma, bed and mik,” thrilled every heart-string of Mrs.--, who had never before in her life witnessed the keen distress of a mother while her child asked in vain for bread. She drew the child out of bed, and kissing it, handed it to Sarah, whose feelings were also touched, and told her to take the little thing into her house, and give it to the nurse, with directions to feed it, and then come back.
By this time, John, rather more active than usual, had kindled a fire, the genial warmth of which began already to soften the keen air of the room. Some warm drinks were prepared for Mrs. Warburton; and Mrs.--had the satisfaction to see her, in the course of half an hour, sink away into a sweet and refres.h.i.+ng slumber. On glancing around the room, she was gratified, and somewhat surprised, to see everything, though plain and scanty, exhibiting the utmost order and cleanliness. The uncarpeted floor was spotless, and the single pine table as white as hands could make it. ”How much am I to blame,” was her inward thought, ”for having so neglected this poor woman in her distress and in her poverty!”
On returning to her company, and giving a history of the scene she had just witnessed, the general feeling of sympathy prompted immediate measures for relief, and a very handsome sum was placed in the hands of Mrs.--, by the gentlemen and ladies present, for the use of Mrs. Warburton. Rarely does a social company retire with each individual of it so satisfied in heart as did the company a.s.sembled at Mrs.--'s, on that evening. Truly could they say, ”It is more blessed to give than to receive.”
The incident just related, possessing a kind of romantic interest, soon became noised about from family to family, and for awhile it was fas.h.i.+onable to minister to the wants of Mrs. Warburton--whose health continued very delicate--and to her young family. But a few months pa.s.sed away, and then one after another ceased to remember or care for her. Even Mrs.--, the mother of little Billy, began to grow weary of charity long continued, and to feel that it was a burdensome task to be every day or two obliged to call in or inquire after the poor invalid. Finally, she dismissed the subject from her mind, and left Mrs. Warburton to the tender mercies of Sarah, the housekeeper.
From a state of deep despondence to one of hope, had Mrs. Warburton been raised, by the timely aid afforded through the persevering interference of the little playmate of her son. But she soon began to perceive, after a time, that the charity was only spasmodic, and entered into without a real consideration of her peculiar case. The money given her was the best a.s.sistance that could have been rendered, for with this she obtained a supply of wood, flour, meal, potatoes, and some warm clothing for her little ones. But this would not last always, and the mult.i.tude of little nice things sent from this one and that, were of but little service.
The month of March, so trying to a weak and shattered const.i.tution, found her just well enough to venture out to seek for employment at her old business of cigar-making. She readily obtained work, and again sat down to earn for herself and children, the bread that should nourish them. But she was soon made to feel keenly that her health was not as it had been. A severe pain in the side was her daily companion, and she had to toil on, often sick and faint, from daylight until long after others had sought the grateful repose of their pillows. Painfully alive to a sense of dependence, she was ready at any time to work beyond her strength rather than to eat the bread of charity. This kept her steadily bending over her work until nature again became exhausted, and she was forced, from direct debility, to suspend her labours for at least the half of every day.