FOOTNOTE:[A]Reprinted, by permission, from "The Opposite House," published by T. Woolmer, 2 Castle Street, E.C.
[A]Reprinted, by permission, from "The Opposite House," published by T. Woolmer, 2 Castle Street, E.C.
[A]Reprinted, by permission, from "The Opposite House," published by T. Woolmer, 2 Castle Street, E.C.
"W
HERE'S mother, Mrs. Warren?" inquired a girl of about seven or eight years of age, with pallid face, and dress hanging in tatters about her bare feet, as she slowly dragged up the broken stairs to the one room where her father and mother, herself, and four younger children lived and slept.
"You needn't ask me, child. She's locked her door, and the little uns are inside; and here's the key. I 'spect she's off on a spree." The child took the key, and sighing heavily, proceeded on her way. Two of the children were screaming loudly, but ceased their cries as she entered the room, and began, one to crawl, and the other to toddle, towards the only being in their little world who never struck or kicked them, but tended them with the love and gentleness which, but for her, they would never have known.
"Mammie's left us all alone, Mattie; and Fan and baby has been crying all the morning, and Bob and me's been doing all we can, and they won't do nothingbut scream," exclaimed the eldest of the four children in wearied tones.
"That's right, Melie; you're good children; but I've come home, and 'll look after the lot of you. What's for dinner? Did mammie say?"
"There's some crusts left up on the mantel," answered Melie.
"Bob, you just climb up and fetch 'em down, and I'll nurse the baby, and, Fan, you come right away and sit by me." Mattie picked up the dirty, tear-stained baby, and seated herself on the only chair in the room. She had been to school all the morning, and, while ostensibly puzzling her little brain with the mysteries of "the three R's," her heart had been full of fear for those little ones in the house. What if her mother should leave them with the door unlocked, and Fan and baby should find their way headlong down those dark, steep stairs? Or, suppose the window in their room should by any means become unfastened, and one of them should fall to the pavement beneath; for Mattie remembered that, only the week before, a drunken mother had let her baby drop from her arms out of the window at the top of the house into the court below, from whence it had been picked up a shapeless, bleeding mass. So she was greatly relieved that everything had gone well in her absence. As for Fan's and baby's crying, that was to be expected while she was away.
"I shan't go to school this afternoon; 'taint to beexpected as I can, although teacher'll be just mad, being as it's near 'xamination time," declared Mattie.
"That's prime, Mattie! What'll we do? Not stay up here all the time?" cried Bob.
"In course not. We'll have our dinner, and then we'll just get a breath of air in the park. It'll do baby good; won't it, darling?" said Mattie, stooping over her puny charge as fondly as if he were the bonniest baby in the land, instead of a feeble, wan-faced infant, upon whom, as indeed upon each of the group which surrounded him, there was stamped the unmistakable imprint of an inherited curse.
"I'm glad mammie's out, Mattie. I wish you was our mammie, and could take us clean away," said Bob, hanging about Mattie's chair.
"When I get bigger and can earn money, that's what I'm going to do, you know, Bob. Me, and Melie, and you'll just work and keep the children, and we won't have 'em knocked about, poor little mites, will we?"
"No, we won't, but I wish we was big enough now," sighed Bob, to whom the tempting prospect was sufficiently familiar and delightful to help him to bear bravely the privation of his daily lot.
"Well, we ain't, so it's no use wishing we was," responded matter-of-fact Mattie; "but I'll tell you what I do wish, and that is as mammie and daddie'd just turn over a new leaf, and stop the drinking. Then we'd never need to be talking of running awayand leaving 'em; for I tell you, we'd all pretty soon know the difference."
"Tell us what a nice home we'd have afore long, and what jolly things we'd get to eat," said Bob.
"Don't you be so greedy, Bob. 'Tain't the want of good things to eat as troubles me so much. It's the rows, and the swearing, and the kicking, and beating, as takes the life out of one," and Mattie's face grew dark as she spoke.
"Mattie," asked Melie, as she munched away at her crust; "do all mammies get drunk like ourn?"
"They do about here, I b'lieve," answered Mattie, somewhat dubiously; "but lor, no, child, in course they don't. There's the lady in the shop where we buy our penn'orths of bread, as allers is as kind and pleasant spoken to her little uns as—as—"
A comparison was not speedily forthcoming, but Bob finished his sister's sentence by saying: "Like you are to all of us, Mattie."
"I'd hate to speak cross to bits of things like you," answered Mattie loftily, but with a little glow at her heart because of the spontaneous tribute to her sisterly care. "We'd better be off, I'm thinking," she said presently, and tying an old rag under the baby's chin by way of head-gear, she passed her own battered straw hat to Melie, saying:
"You can wear it this afternoon; I'll be quite hot enough carrying baby, without putting anything on, I guess."
As for Bob and little Fan, the lack of outdoor apparel troubled them not at all; indeed, the trouble would have been if any such unusual and uncomfortable addition to their scanty wardrobe had been forthcoming.
Rejoicing in their liberty, and strong in the protection of the elder sister, they slowly threaded their way through crowded thoroughfares, until they came to the outskirts of the great manufacturing town, where the park of which Mattie had spoken was situated.
"That's right! we've got here at last! But you're real heavy, baby, I do declare," said Mattie, as she sank exhausted on the first seat with her burden; and although any one else would have considered that, judging from the said baby's appearance, such a statement was decidedly unfounded, Mattie being small for her own not very advanced age, might, for obvious reasons, have been excused for making the rash charge.
"Now, be sure and behave yourselves. Don't get wild, or touch them pretty flowers, or that man in the buttons there'll be down on us in a jiffy, and turn us out quicker than we comed in," said Mattie, when they had rested and recovered themselves after their weary trudge. The afternoon waned at last, and the children turned their steps homeward.
"I wonder whether mammie's comed home; we'll catch it if she has," said Melie apprehensively.
"Don't you be a bothering of your head about that," replied Mattie sharply, turning upon the child, who was lagging behind with her little sister. "Mammie's safe enough, I'll be bound, somewheres till midnight, and she'll be too dead drunk when she comes in to do anything but tumble into a corner like a pig; that's a mercy!"
Melie looked cheered at the information, and trudged on bravely. Just as they were about to enter their dingy court, Bob caught sight of a man who was walking slowly down the road with a placard in front of him and another behind.
"Mattie, just look at that funny man," he exclaimed.
"Oh, haven't you ever seen the likes of him afore? Wait a minute,—and I'll see what it says on them boards," and Mattie read,—as what girl of her tender years, however destitute and forlorn, in this age of educational advantages could not?—"A Band of Hope Meeting will be held at the —— Road Board Schools this evening, at half-past six. All children will be welcome."
"Why, that's my school," said Mattie; "I declare I should like to go, though what on earth a Band of Hope Meeting is, goodness knows, for I don't."
"Don't leave us again, Mattie," urged Melie; "we'll be so lonesome by oursel's."
"Let's see," said Mattie thoughtfully; "it says, 'all children will be welcome.' I've a good mind totake the lot of you; and if they won't let us in with baby, why, we can come back again, I s'pose."
"What a heap of treats we are having, Mattie! You're a real good 'un!" cried Bob, cutting a somersault in view of the unusual and delightful combination of events.
"You, Bob," called Mattie, somewhat ungraciously it might seem, "stop that, and help Melie along with Fan."
Tea, which had consisted of the remains from dinner, being over, a neighbouring church clock chimed the hour, and Mattie prepared for the evening entertainment. Baby was sleeping, and resented Mattie's attempts to remove the worst of the grime from his face; but she persevered, for she felt that the credit of the family was entirely in her hands, and she was not going to risk losing it for the sake of sundry struggles and tears from its youngest member. They were all ready at last, and Mattie surveyed the effect of her handiwork with satisfaction.
"Now, you all jest keep behind me, and don't be grinning, or up to any of your larks, or they won't let you in," said Mattie, as they neared the building.
She presented herself before the door with the baby asleep in her arms, the other children tremblingly bringing up the rear. A gentleman with a kindly face was standing near the entrance.
"Do you think you can manage your baby, my little woman?" he asked, stooping to Mattie.
"Bless you, yes, sir. He's better with me than his own mammie, and'll sleep like a top all the time; and," she added, glancing behind, "these 'ere little uns belong to me too, and if you'll let us all in, I'll see as they behave theirselves."
"I'm very glad to see you all, my dears, come in;" and, with his heart aching at the revelation of the misery which was written in unmistakable characters on the faces of these young children, the gentleman led them to prominent places near the platform.
Oh, the rich enjoyment of the next hour! The wonderful music, the fine singing, and the simple words from the two or three gentlemen who were there, fell upon Mattie's ears with telling effect, and after the meeting was over, she exchanged a few hurried words with Melie and Bob, and then they all went forward to the table in front of the platform.
"Please, sir," said Mattie to the secretary who sat there, "you said as any as wanted to sign against the drink was to come to you after you'd finished talking; and me, and Melie, and Bob here wants to sign, only they can't write yet."
"We'll manage that, my dear; but have you thought about this signing and what it means?"
"Oh, yes, sir; it means as we're never to put our lips to mammie's drops when we fetch 'em from the public, and never to touch the drink at all."
"Yes, that's quite right," said the secretary, with a half smile. "I see you know all about it, and willdoubtless keep your own pledge; but what about these little ones? Will they understand and remember that they mustn't touch the drink when once they've signed against it?"
"Don't you be a-troubling of yourself about them, sir; they're little, but they're sharp enough, and I'll look after 'em," replied the elder sister.
"I suppose you're mother, then?" said the secretary, glancing compassionately down at the sleeping child in Mattie's arms.
"Pretty nigh," answered Mattie, concisely. "Tell me where I've to put my name; and, Melie, you sit down and hold the baby a minute."
The name was carefully written, and the other children made crosses in due form, each receiving a bright pledge-card, which they were told to hang up in their room; then, after receiving an invitation to attend another meeting of the same kind the following week, they left the place.
"Well, we've done something now," said Mattie, as they emerged into the street. "I'll tell you what, if we stick to it, as in course we shall, we'll have a jolly home one day, with no drinking and no beating; and, Bob, you'll be able to stuff away on the fat of the land yet."
"Prime!" ejaculated Bob, smacking his lips in gleeful anticipation of the good time coming.
"We'll get Fan and baby to bed, and then we'll see about hanging our cards somewheres. They'll notfetch anything at the pop-shop, so mammie won't be carrying 'em off, that's one comfort."
The three cards were presently hung up, affording a strange contrast to the begrimed and broken walls; and then the wearied children crept into their corners, and, on the rags which alone separated them from the floor, they slept the sleep of innocence and childhood.
There was a staggering step on the broken stairs at midnight, and at the familiar sound Mattie woke, and drew her baby brother closer to her protecting arms. The door was pushed noisily open, and some one stumbled across the room, muttering:
"Where's them brats, I wonder?"
Mattie held her breath, and a moment later she heard a roll on the floor, and knew that her miserable mother would lie where she had fallen in drunken slumber until the morning. As for her father, he was seldom able to mount the stairs; but, if he came home at all, lay at the foot, until aroused in the morning by his landlady's shrill tones, and ordered to seek his own room. So Mattie composed herself to sleep again; as, under such happy circumstances, what drunkard's child might not?
She was awoke next morning by the baby's fretful wail, and, the others beginning to stir, she sat up and pointed with a warning finger to her still sleeping mother.
"If you wake her, you'll catch it, you know,so hold your noise now, and I'll see if I can't get something for you to eat," she hoarsely whispered.
With stealthy movement she crept to her mother's side, and, finding her way to the pocket of her dress, she put her hand in and drew out a solitary penny. Holding it up, and nodding delightedly over her prize, she picked up the baby and disappeared down the stairs. When she returned there was a good-sized piece of steaming bread in her hand, and baby was already ravenously devouring his share.
"Eat it up, quick now, afore she wakes," whispered Mattie; and the children, nothing loth, soon left not a crumb to be seen.
"We don't often get such luck as that," chuckled Mattie, thinking of other times when the need had been as great, and not even a penny loaf wherewith to satisfy the cravings of her hungry charge had been forthcoming.
"Mammie's waking up," whispered Bob, shrinking back into his corner; and the little group in silence fixed their fascinated gaze upon the woman to whom they owed their being, as she yawned and stretched, and, finally, with a succession of groans, turned over, and faced her children.
Can it be the same? Are we not doing Susan Dixon a cruel injustice as we fancy that in yonder bloated face, with its bleared eyes and framework of dishevelled hair, we can discover a resemblance to the bright, happy wife, who, seven years before, had been sounsparing in her condemnation of those who, for the sake of indulging a degraded appetite, wrecked their own prospects, and blasted the young life and future happiness of their helpless offspring? Ah, no! for she, who so proudly had boasted of her own strength, had also been overcome and laid low by the mighty tyrant.
Little by little, with many a struggle at first, and many a fair-sounding promise, did she turn from the beaten track she had marked out for herself, and in the security of which she had prided herself, until now the very desire for a better life seemed hopelessly crushed with every trace of womanly feeling. She looked about in a half-stupified fashion for a while, then raised herself on her elbow, still continuing to groan.
"What's the matter, mammie?" Mattie ventured to ask.
"My head's fit to burst, child; you must fetch me a drop or I shall just go crazy," replied Susan, in thick, husky tones.
"Where's the money, mammie?" tremblingly asked the child, well knowing that the last coin had been spent in their frugal breakfast.
Susan felt in her pocket, and, to Mattie's intense relief, withdrew her hand, simply saying: "Drat it, every penny gone again! Just like my luck!"
Her glance went round the room, but there was absolutely nothing within those four walls which wouldfetch the price of a morning dram. Presently her eyes rested upon those three bright patches hanging against the discoloured wall, with a curious expression of wonder.
"What's them?" she asked at length.
"They're pretty cards as was given us by a gent yesterday, and he said we was to hang 'em up," answered Mattie, wondering what the effect of her reply would be, and devoutly hoping that, whatever untimely fate awaited the cards, she and the little ones might escape with no more than their usual share of rough and ready treatment.
"Let's look, can't you?" were the next impatient words; and Mattie took down the three pledges, and, handing them to her mother, stood patiently by, awaiting the result of the prolonged investigation. She was never more surprised than when it came. Tossing the cards aside, Susan threw her hands over her face, and rocked herself backwards and forwards in an agony of shame and remorse, while floods of tears poured through her fingers.
Mattie bore the sight as long as she could, and then said: "Don't cry, mammie; if you're bad, I'll run and fetch the doctor."
But Susan took no notice, and probably had not heard her child's words. By and bye her tears ceased, and she staggered to her feet, saying: "Oh, God! that I should have come to this, while he—"
What did her grief, her broken words mean? Thechildren stood aghast; and, at that juncture, heavy footsteps were heard on the stairs, and directly the husband and father entered the room; his clear brow, fearless eye, and manly bearing all gone, and in their stead, darkness, sullenness, and feebleness.
"What's these?" he asked, for the gaudy cards had been thrown to the very entrance of the room, and in another moment his foot would have rested upon them.
Mattie sprang forward and placed them, without a word, in his hands. Susan crossed the room, and came to her husband's side.
"Who's been putting the brats up to this?" he asked, half angrily, turning to her.
"I don't know," she answered; "but, oh, George, look at the signature, and think what that man used to be, and how we couldn't find a name bad enough for him; and now he's respectable and well-to-do, and me and you's sunk lower than ever he did. Oh, dear! oh, dear!" and again Susan's sobs shook the room.
"Timothy Morris, as I live!" exclaimed George Dixon, dropping the cards in sheer amazement, while upon his mind there rushed a score of memories, some joyous and bright; others, and these of later days, sad and sin-shadowed.
"Don't carry on so, Susan," he said; "it makes me feel bad, for I've been as much in the wrong as you."
"Look at the signature, and think what that man used to be."—Page 76."Look at the signature, and think what that man used to be."—Page 76.
"Oh, George, I wouldn't care if I'd only cursed and ruined myself; but look there!" and she pointedto the five children, who, half terrified at the scene, were huddling together in the corner.
"Come here, Mattie," she said; "go to your father, child, and ask him if he remembers the golden-haired, bonnie baby who sat on his knee and pulled his hair when he came home, nigh upon eight years ago, and told me that the drunken sot, whose name is on your pledge-card, had turned teetotal. Ask him if you look like that baby at all. Oh, you needn't turn away, George, for you know there's but one answer. And what's made the difference between that happy home, and this beastly place? and what's made me and you more like brutes than the loving couple we were, eh, George?"
With streaming eyes Susan stood before her husband, waiting for the answer to her questions.
Gnashing his teeth, as if in despair, he hissed out: "It's the moderate drinking as has worked all the mischief, woman, if you want to know; and may God's curse rest upon it!"
Mattie began to understand at length the meaning of her parents' distress, and hastened to proffer the only advice that was in her power to give.
"Daddie, mammie," she said, "won't you come and sign the pledge too? Then you won't never touch the drink again, and we'll have a nice home; and me, and Melie, and Bob'll stay with you, and never run away as we've been a talking of."
Then Melie and Bob came and said: "Oh, pleasedo! We're so hungry and miser'ble all the time; and if you'll only give up the drink we'll be so good, and never want any beating."
George looked at Susan across the upturned faces of the children, and Susan looked back at him wistfully, earnestly.
"Susan," said George, in low, troubled tones; "if I promise now, can I ever keep my word? for I'm raging for a drop this minute."
Susan might have answered, "So am I," but, with a touch of returning womanliness, she hid her own suffering that she might minister to the need of the man who thus confessed his weakness.
"George," she answered steadily, "I had a praying mother once, and so had you. I once knew how to pray myself, and so did you; and if ever our mothers' prayers for us are going to be answered, it'll be now; and if ever we begin to pray for ourselves again, it'll be this very minute, or we shall be lost for ever!" And Susan fell on her knees, and passionately poured out her whole soul that forgiveness might be granted to herself and her erring husband, and that to their weakness and feebleness there might descend the almighty power and perpetual help of an Omnipotent Saviour.
Was that prayer answered? Could two souls so bound and tied by Satan's strongest fetters be loosed and set free, no longer slaves of a tyrant but children of a King? Let the new home in a new land, andthe subdued brightness of their faces, and the happy abandonment of their children's glee answer, and say that once again the captives of the mighty have been taken away, and the prey of the terrible delivered.
In his own land, Timothy Morris hears, from time to time, of the well doing of his former neighbours; and rejoices that he has been the humble instrument of bringing light and succour to a household which had been darkened and degraded for years through the insidious advances of moderate drinking.
Flowers
T
HE weekly Band of Hope meeting had been carried on through the long winter months with vigour and success, and now on the evening of one of the first spring days, its committee had met to decide upon the all-important question as to whether the meetings should be discontinued through the summer months.
"I certainly think it would be a pity to hold the meetings on the long bright evenings," said Mr. Jones, and, judging from the expression on many of the faces, his opinion was shared by several.
"It would be a downright shame to coop up the children in a close school-room when they might be enjoying themselves in the bright sunshine," said Mr. Gale.
It may be here stated that the committee wascomprised of equal numbers of abstainers and non-abstainers, to which latter class the afore-mentioned speakers belonged. From a corner, a nervous little man summoned up courage to suggest the possibility of the younger members of the Band of Hope breaking their pledge, if they had not a constant reminder in the shape of their attractive weekly meeting.
"That goes to prove what is my firm conviction, that these kind of affairs, popular as they have become, accomplish little of what they profess to, for although pledges of total abstinence are taken from the young folks who attend in large numbers, it only needs a trivial pretext such as a change of residence, or the suspension of their meetings, and they become forgetful of the pledge which they have signed," said a prominent member of the committee.
"You are quite right, my dear sir," replied a middle-aged gentleman beside him; "as I can testify by my own experience. When I was a lad of seven or eight, I attended a Band of Hope meeting. Like all children, I was readily influenced by others, and as most of the little folks who attended signed the pledge, I did the same. Two or three years afterwards my parents moved out of the neighbourhood, and it never occurred to my childish mind that I was just as much bound to keep my pledge as though I had still been attending the meeting where I signed it. So I partook with my brothers and sisters of thedaily stimulant which found its way to our table, to the amusement of my father, who had looked upon my previous self-denial as a boyish whim."
"I believe your experience is by no means an isolated one," added another member, complacently stroking his beard; "I myself joined at least two Bands of Hope when I was a youngster; but I don't belong to the cold-water ranks to-day."
"Come, gentlemen, we are not here to discuss whether the Band of Hope answers the end it has in view; but whether it is advisable to give its juvenile members a long summer vacation. Will one of you make a proposition? and we will take the vote of the meeting," said the chairman.
The nervous member made an uneasy movement, and looked anxiously around, but before he could summon up courage to open his mouth, a gentleman, who had hitherto remained silent, rose, and commenced to speak.
"Mr. Chairman," he began, "I had no intention of making my voice heard when I came into this meeting, but my soul is too deeply stirred to allow me to preserve silence. Sir, it has been suggested that Bands of Hope accomplish little of what they profess to do, and in proof of that, two of our non-abstaining friends have readily confessed that in their boyhood they were associated with Bands of Hope. Sir, there doubtless is a percentage of children who carelessly or ignorantly take upon themselvesthese solemn vows, and fail to fulfil them. I may add that to my knowledge, many a drunkard has gone down to his dishonoured grave uttering the impotent wish that he had kept the pledge of his childhood. But, sir, I am in a position to say that such percentage is very small, and that the juvenile temperance movement in this country is doing a mighty work. We are saving the children, and sending into many a sin-darkened home, the little ones as messengers of hope and salvation. And not alone into poverty-stricken courts and alleys, but into abodes of the better classes where the drink demon has asserted his supremacy, do our youthful members find their way. Yet, sir, I am not ashamed to say, that these children need the reminder of their weekly meeting. They are but weak, and temptation is oftentimes strong, whether conveyed to them by the sight and smell of the intoxicants which many of them have to fetch, or, as in the case of our friend who has spoken, placed upon the well-spread table within their easy reach. Sir, if for the summer months we could compel the publicans, and all who are licensed to sell alcohol in any shape or form, to close their premises, and take a long vacation, and could we during that time banish from the homes of our land every temptation to strong drink, then we might afford to give up our meetings for the next few months; but while the monster Intemperance is ceaselessly devastating homes and blighting lives in all classes andcommunities, let us not dream of giving our endeavours to meet and vanquish the strong man armed a summer holiday."
The speaker wiped his brow and sat down, and significant glances went round the room. When a minute later the votes were taken, there were found to be only two members who did not cordially agree with the proposal that the meetings of the Band of Hope should be continued all through the year.
Flowers
"E
H, lass, but thou'rt a bad un ter be talkin' o' turnin' a new leaf; with t' cursin', swearin' toongue, and t' drinkin' waays, dost think it's gooin' ter be so foine and eaasy ter gi'e t' all o'er in sich a moighty hoory?"
The question was addressed by a stalwart labouring man to his wife, as he stood in the doorway of his little cottage, one of a few that nestled at the foot of one of the Yorkshire hills, and from which could be seen stretching yet further below, the smoky chimneys of a large manufacturing town, in such as which England's wealth and commercial prosperity are so largely centred.
"Lad, thee moight well woonder at a wicked wench loike thy lass talkin' o' gettin' saaved; ay, and theemay sneer as mooch as thee loikes; aw mun reeap as aw ha' sowed, and aw deserve thy haard woords, and thee'll't not foind me makkin' ony raash booast; but aw mun saay ter thee 'at, He who saaved t' thief on t' cross caanst saave a big sinner loike me; ay, and keep me from t' swearin' and t' drinkin'," answered his wife, who was busily engaged in sweeping a filthy floor, preparatory to bestowing upon the blackened stones a hearty scrubbing.
"Weel, aw'll not heender thee, loike some 'ud do, if thee'll't see ter my comforts as thou hast t' mornin'," replied John Ibbetson, thinking with satisfaction of the unaccustomed luxury of a well-prepared breakfast, which had been awaiting him on his arrival from his work close by, at an early hour, that same morning. Pursuing his way thither again, he thought of the strange events that had been crowded into a short space of time. The invitation to the preaching of an evangelist in the Mission Room on the hill-side, that had been given to his wife yesterday morning; the call of a kindly-disposed neighbour, who herself regularly attended the little room, just before the evening service commenced; and then the sight he had witnessed of the neat, respectable neighbour, and his ill-clothed, dirty wife, going up the hill together. He thought of the strange scene that met his view on his return to his home after spending the evening hours as usual with a neighbour, smoking and conversing on the topics of the day, for John pridedhimself that his figure had never darkened the doorway of the wretched tavern that was his wife's continual resort.
"T' lass knows all about t' inside o' t' beastly plaace, and 'at's enoogh for me," he would say in reply to any invitation from its many frequenters to join them in their social evenings. He never went nearer than when compelled. Occasionally he waited at some little distance for the stumbling figure of his wife, in order to help her along the solitary path that led to their miserable dwelling. But no such task lay before him when he left his neighbour's cheerful fireside; neither was his wife lying in a state of helpless intoxication across the bed; nor was she even sitting muddled and stupified, waiting his arrival to make the cottage resound with her oaths, when he should refuse to supply her with the means for further revelry and drunken debauch. In the usually empty grate a glowing fire shed its warmth and radiance through the room; on the table there was a jug of steaming coffee, and a pile of bread and butter; and, strangest of all, on the well-swept hearth were his dilapidated slippers warmed and ready, and close beside them his chair, evidently drawn from its corner in expectation of his arrival. Half suspicious of some new design against his peace, he looked dubiously around, and only ventured to say: "Thou'rt home early, lass, t' neaght?"
"Ay, lad, thou sayest it; and more's t' shame, 'ataw've ever been aught but hoom ter greeat thee; aw've gotten good oop at yond meetin' hoose t' neaght, and aw've proomised t' Looard and t' fouks 'at aw'll gie oop t' alehoose and t' drink; aw've been a bad woife ter thee, and a weecked mother ter t' childer; but t' Looard in mercy ha' forgi'en me all my seens; and aw'm 'at happy aw could daance for t' joy. Dost heear me, lad?" she continued, as her husband stared in dumbfounded fashion at her.
"Thee may weel stare thee een oot wi' wonner, for aw waalked streeaght ter t' tap yonder, and thinkin' ter mysen, now t' Looard ha' weshed my blaack heaart t' least aw could do 'ud be t' wesh my blaack faace, aw didn't gi'e o'er rubbin' and scrubbin' till aw left thee little enoogh sooap t' wesh thysen coom t' mornin', and t' floor 'lt ha'itsturn t' morrow."
"Lass, if 'at thee's been saayin' be true, then aw mun saay t' Looard, aboot whom thee taalks so glib, 'll ha' His haands full to keeap thee oot o' meescheef for a while; it's a seaght more nor aw could do," said John, at length finding his voice.
"Thou'rt reaght enoogh, lad; but His hands are aye poowerful, so aw'm toold. Maybe, thee 'ud goo ter t' chapel wi' me to-morrow neaght, and hear t' preachin'; it's wonnerful and foine," and then Jane handed a steaming cup of coffee to her husband, and waited his reply with some trepidation, for, in her simple soul, there had already sprung up the desire, sure proof of the reality of the Spirit's work in any heartthat another should partake of the new life that had come to her.
"See thee, lass; thee'lt just stop 'at koind o' taalk: aw'll not goo to yond plaace coom a greeat while; thee'lt have ter show t' work's reeal wi' thee, afore thee sees me walkin' oop t' hill aside o' thee; aw've no drinkin', swearin' waays ter gi'e o'er, thee knows," said John.
"Ay, ay, John, 'at's true, and thou'st been paatient and forbearin' wi' me, and wi' God's help, aw'll mak' thee a better woife in t' future, and mebbe when thou see'st what religion's done for me, thou'lt tak' thy waay wi' me oop to yond little room," hopefully replied Sarah.
Well might John Ibbetson pursue his way as in a dream, with such a new experience of domestic comfort to engage his thoughts; yet, reaching the farm on which he worked, he drew a deep sigh as he turned to his ploughing, and muttered: "Ay, it proomises fair, but t' lass'll never hoold oot aw'm feared."
"Lad," said his wife, as they sat at tea before the shining grate; "thou'lt not saay aught agaainst me gooin' to t' meetin' to-noight; aw'm but weeak, and t' seaght o' t' happy faaces oop yonder'll do me a power o' good; aw'll settle doon to spend t'neaghts wi' thee, if thou wilt, by and bye."
"Go where thou wilt, and welcoom, lass, if 'twill help thee to keeap from t' alehouse," replied John, toowise to utter the surprise that nearly overwhelmed him on hearing his hitherto unmanageable wife appeal to him for permission to spend the evening away from her home, the claims of which had been so completely disregarded by her in the past.
As the weeks went by John's fears respecting his wife's steadfastness seemed likely to be unrealised; for, under the inspiration of her new life, the home, her children, and herself underwent a thorough reformation, and her husband began to breathe freely as he marked the visible signs of the change in his wife's heart. But many a wise head was significantly shaken, and many a sage tongue whispered: "Bide a while, and ye'll see it 'll all end i' smooke; Saarah Ann Ibbetson's looved her coops too weel to gi'e un oop in sooch a hurry."
It was Sunday evening, and Mrs. Ibbetson was seated beside her fireside, spelling out with great pains the last part of the chapter which had been read before the sermon at chapel that night. It was the ninth chapter of St. Mark's Gospel, and she had commenced at the thirtieth verse, but had not found the passage which had troubled and surprised her whilst hearing it read; but travelling down the verses with her forefinger pointing to each line, lest her eye, unaccustomed to the task, should mislead her, and some of the sacred words be passed over unread, at last she reached the forty-third verse.
"It's un!" she triumphantly exclaimed.
"Eh, but it's a haard un!" was her verdict when she had finished it; "Aw 'll raad un agaain;" and she read: "And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched."
She put the Bible away, and gazing into the fire, mused aloud: "Aw'm daazed aboot yond text; aw never heeard loike on't; but aw'm thinkin' it's only fair; if t' reet hand offeends cut un off, and serve un reet too. T' blessed Looard, He knows all about it, He does, and He'd raather see His childer waalk inter t' glory wi' one hand than know they'd gone doon inter yond daarkness wi' their two seenful hands ter burn ter all 'ternity; ay, it's plaain enoogh for a poor eegnorant lass loike mysen to get un," and having settled the difficult question to her own satisfaction, without the aid of commentators, Sarah Ann rose and bustled about getting her husband's supper.
John Ibbetson was hurrying home one night shortly after the above occurrences pleasantly anticipating the now usual sight of a clean hearth, a waiting supper, and a welcoming wife; but pushing open the door he found the room in total darkness, and on striking a light he saw it was unoccupied.
"Maybe t' lass 'as grown weary and gone ter bed," said John to himself, resolutely turning from a horrible fear that fell coldly on his heart. Taking upthe candle he stepped into the sleeping room, but the bed was undisturbed, and he came back into the kitchen, muttering: "T' chapel's all daark and cloosed, where can t'lass be? anyhow aw'll gi'e a look roound," and taking up his hat, John passed into the darkness without. Shrieks and shouts, alas! too well known to be mistaken, fell on his ear. Hastening forward he took his wife from the hands of those who were bringing her towards her home; but she broke from him, and staggering on with uncertain footsteps, entered the cottage first. He relit the candle, then facing her with folded arms and a stern brow, as she dropped into a chair, he said: "So thee'st been at t' cursed drink agaain, after all t' foine proomises, and thee a-foolin me, poor daft un 'at I be, to a' gi'en ear ter all thou'st had ter say. What deevil has been temptin' thee, lass, to-neet, to forget all t' chapel goin' and t' friends who ha' looked after thee so weel?"
But the only answer that Sarah Ann seemed capable of making was the reiteration: "Aw've got ter cut un off, lad; aw'll cut un off, t' wicked haand;" and the poor woman struck at the offending member with such savage force, that her husband interfered and dragged her in sullen despair to her bed.
He awoke the next morning with a burden on his heart that he could not account for, until the recollection of the events of the previous night flashed into his mind.
"Eh, but she's a reet down bad un; what's t' use o' me pullin' one waay, and her t' other; t' poor childer's just dragged oop by t' hair o' t' head; aw'll ha' no more on't, aw've gi'en her her chances o'er and o'er, but she's coom ter t' end o' tether at laast; t' wicked hussy shaal goo," the poor fellow groaned; and with this resolve firmly fixed in his mind, he turned out of bed, and betook himself to the kitchen. There, to his unbounded astonishment, was his wife, whom he had missed, sitting beside the fire, with her arms folded in her apron, and bearing on her face the impress of keen suffering. On the table there was a cup and saucer placed for him, and the kettle was hissing and steaming on the glowing coals.
"Tak' summat afore thee goos to woork, lad; aw caan't help thee mysen, till t' pain's a bit o'er," said Sarah Ann in a trembling voice, watching her husband's face in evident fear.
"Aw want nought ter eat; thou'lt not soft sooap me so eaasy," replied John, gruffly; but looking at her again, he said: "What's the maatter wi' thee noo?"
"See thee, lad," and the woman uncovered her apron, and revealed a sickening sight; a right hand, blackened, shrivelled, and quivering with the torture of the fiery ordeal through which it had been made to pass.
Strong man though he was, John Ibbetson staggered back in horror.
"Lass," gasped he, with his eyes yet riveted, spell-bound,on the hideous spectacle; "lass, what hast thee done wi' t' poor haand?"
"Fetch yond Bible from t' shelf, lad, and read t' neanth chaapter o' Maark, and t' forty-third verse."
John obeyed, and read aloud the verse which had been the subject of his wife's meditations a few Sabbath evenings before.
"Noo, lad, aw'll tell thee all aboot it. Thee'd just goon ter woork yester morn, when Emma Ward stepped in, and 'Lass,' she said, 'thee mun coom oop t' hill wi' me, for Jim Green's little un's deein', and t' mother's well nigh craazed;' thee knows aw couldn't be unneeboorloike, so aw good, and gi'ed a helpin' haand, and they o'er persuaded me ter tak' a glass o' waarm speerit to keep t' cold oot, and I set my faace against it at first, but it looked so temptin', at aw stretched oot t' reet haand and finished glaas cleean off, and coomin' hoom, deevil, he saaid: 'thee ud best feenish oop at t' ale-hoose,' and aw were paarched for more o' cursed stoof, and t' knows t' rest; and coom t' morn, aw saaid, 'Aw'll cut un off, t' reet haand 'at took glaass, for aw'll goo inter t' kingdom maimed sooner aw'll goo to yond plaace o' daarkness wi' my two haands,' and aw'd gotten t' axe ter chop un off, when aw thowt o' thee and the childer, and how thee and them 'ud miss t' haand, and aw coomd baack ter kitchen, and said: 'Aw'll gi'en a good lesson, anyhow; aw'll gi'en a taaste o' t' fire as'll mind un o' t' fire 'at burns for aye', and aw put un in and held un in, and thee 'lt ha'e ter seeter thy own meals coom a while, and if t' nasty thing offends again aw'll cut un off, and thee'lt ha' ter do t' best thee can for thysen, for aw've promised to mind all t' Book says;" and Sarah Ann turned the apron carefully over the poor maimed hand, and rocked herself to and fro, in her cruel pain.
"Thee's a braave lass; and if thou'rt gooin' ter turn t' faace from t' drink agaain, aw'll hould on ter thee, and help thee; but thee'st been reeadin' t' Bible oopside doon, aw reeckon; aw never heeard tell o' fouks maimin' theirsens in looike faashion; thee'ud best get paarson ter mak' t' verse reet;" and John walked away to his work with new thoughts stirring in his breast; and a tenderness, to which it had long been a stranger, swelling within his heart at the remembrance of his suffering wife, who was so earnest in her purpose of breaking through the power of evil habit, and, at all costs, finding her way into the kingdom of heaven.
"T' lass shall not goo alone," was his decision at length, and John Ibbetson made up his mind that next Sabbath he and his wife would walk up the hill in company, and for the first time since their marriage, enter the house of God together.
The news spread like wildfire through the village that "John Ibbetson's lass had well-nigh burned her hand ter t' bone for tamperin' wi' t' drink agaain;" and in the forenoon of the same day, the neighbour who had persuaded Sarah Ann to accompany her to thatspecial service where a new life had dawned for her some months before, called to see what truth there was in the tale.
As soon as she had entered the door Mrs. Ibbetson greeted her.
"Aw thowt thee 'ud coom, Jane; hast t' heard aw got at t' drink last een? but," she said, holding up her mutilated hand in triumph, "Aw've gi'ed un a good waarmin' for its sen."
"Eh, but it's an awfu' burnin'!" exclaimed the neighbour; "dost think, thou poor lass, at 'll keep thee from t' drink?"
"If it doesn't, then aw mun cut un off, for t' Book saays it, and aw'm bound to mind what t' Book saays," answered Mrs. Ibbetson.
"Saarah Ann," said her startled neighbour; "If thee thinks 'at t' good Looard bids thee hurt and maim thysen, thou'st maade a mistaak."
"Nay, Jane, didn't preacher saay t' other neet from t' Book: 'If t' reet haand offeend thee, cut un off'? ay, and aw foound un, and reead un mysen when aw coomed hoom, and it's no mistaake, lass," said Mrs. Ibbetson eagerly.
"But thee hast maade an awfu' mistaake, Saarah Ann; t' wooards be there, sure enoogh, but they doan't mean fowks mun goo cuttin' and hackin' at their own flesh. T' blessed Looard were poonished for t' sin o' t' world, and we've no reet ter be thinkin' we mun poonish oursen for our fro'ard waays."
Puzzled and dumbfounded, poor Sarah Ann looked at her visitor for a while, and then asked despondingly:
"And what do yond woords mean, Jane?"
"Aw'll mak' it plaain ter thee, Saarah Ann; see here! t' knows t' good o' t' reet haand; thee never puts t' left ter aught if t' reet 'll do t' wooark, and t' Looard knows there be many a sin 'at's loike t' reet haand ter His fouks, and there's many a fouk as 'ud saay o' t' drunkin', swearin' waays: 'Aw can't gi'e un oop; aw mun ha'e a drop, or rap oot t' oath soom while, and t' good Looard 'll forgi'e un and let un inter t' kingdom by and bye;' but what does t' good Looard saay?"
"Cut un off, cut un off," called out Sarah Ann, who had been hanging on her neighbour's interpretation with open mouth.
"Ay, lass, thee sees it, and thee mun be willin' to cut un off before t' Looard 'll gi'e thee His forgiveness, and let thee inter t' kingdom o' His graace below; thee knows now 'at He never meant t' poor haand ter suffer for t' sin o' t' soul; if thee sins thee 'lt suffer; but thou mun never tak' t' poonishment o' thysen agaain; thou'lt cut off t' drink, lass; thou mun promise 'at ter t' Looard and t' fouks."
"Ay, ay, Jane, aw'll promise 'at! aw'm not loike to forget coom a greeat while wi' t' hand ter mind me," said Sarah Ann, looking regretfully down at the useless member.
"Aw'll see to curin' un; aw've soom rare ointment oop at hoom; aw'll fetch un, and then aw'll coom and redd oop for thee;" and so saying Jane left the house, and sore as her bodily anguish was, Sarah Ann knelt and thanked the Lord that He had borne the punishment for all her sins; and once more, in a very ignorant fashion, doubtless, but in earnestness and singleness of purpose, she gave herself to Him to be kept from her besetting sins; promising, in His strength, to "cut un off," now and for ever, and we are glad to say the promise was faithfully kept.
When her neighbour returned with healing appliances, she listened with heart-felt praises on her own lips to the song of praise that was being raised, and joined in words that to her had long been sweetly familiar: