It was hard to hurry him off so and to cover him up from the face of his own wife, even if he was a loathsome drunkard! But they couldn't keep him there long, for new victims were constantly arriving, and he must give place to them, and so they hustled him off in a deal box, without pall, or procession, or priest, and they did not mind the woman and child that followed on and stood side by side at the place of his burial; but they covered him over with the damp earth, and never a prayer above his head; and so they went away again, perchance to repeat the office for another miserable one.
"Mother," says Nannie, as the hardened band moved away leaving the one mourning heart by itself, "mother, come home now, 'tis no use staying here, and baby'll be crying for ye, ye know."
Baby!—oh! what a link to earth was that!
"Where is the child?" said the mother, with a frantic start, as if just awakened from a frightful dream. "Isn't she dead, Nannie? Didn't they just bury her with your father?" and she cast herself upon the moist turf, and tore her disheveled hair until the very wildness of her sorrowcalmed her. Then she suffered Nannie to lead her away. It was a long distance; but they reached it at last, and the mother rushed quickly up the stairs, not seeming conscious of the change, as she heard the child's cries; for the poor little thing, unused to such long neglect, made all ring again with its screams.
"Did you say this was home, Nannie, or is it heaven, child?" said the woman, as her babe was hushed, and she became somewhat awake to her new position.
The sun was streaming upon the floor, and wall, and the snowy curtains were fluttering in the pure breeze, and the blue waves were dancing and sparkling in the bay, and white sails were moving rapidly about, and from the windows two beautiful islands were visible with their summer verdure, and the bewildered mother pressed her hand to her forehead, as if trying to unravel the mystery, when Mr. Bond's fat and merry face peered in at the door.
"All right," said he, with a glad smile, "how are you getting along here, eh? Rather better than the old cellar, isn't it, Nannie?" and helping himself to a chair, he took the baby from its mother, pinching its cheeks and chirruping to make it laugh, until even Mrs. Bates was forced into a more cheerful mood. But the tears would not stay long away, and as the memory of her loss came from her from time to time, she burst forth in a bewailing strain to her kind benefactor,
"Ye's too good to me, sir, and it's thankful to ye I amfor it all; but it's my own husband that's taken suddenly from me, and ye'll not be minding the grief."
"I know all about it, my good woman," said he, the muscles about his mouth quivering with emotion. He was thinking of a green grave afar off, with a maiden name upon it, and a true heart moldering beneath. "But don't tell me any more, think of the living that have got to be cared for, and you'll have no time to lament the dead," and he chucked the baby under the chin, and dandled it upon his fat knees, as if he had been used to it all his life.
"It's the Lord will reward ye, sir, for looking after the fatherless and widowed," said the woman, as she cast a thankful glance about the cheerful room, and then upon the benevolent face before her. "There'll be three witnesses for ye if ever we get to the blessed land, and sure ye'll not need them either, I'm thinking!"
"Never mind, never mind," said the kind man; "I like to help them that are trying to get up in the world, and you'll know where to find a friend whenever you are in trouble—I'll look in upon you once in a while to see how the children get on," and he handed her a card with the number of his lodging upon it, saying as he went out the door,
"Don't forget to send for Peter Bond, when you need any thing."
"Blessings on his big soul!" says the poor woman, as his retreating footsteps die upon the stairs. "It is like taking away the light, to lose sight of his merry countenance!"
"Wake up, child," said the mother, giving Nannie a gentle shake; "the sun's high in the heavens, and it's lazing we are in our blessed bed."
No wonder they pull the nice spread over them, and sink down again upon the soft pillows, feeling that there could be no greater luxury on earth. "But it must not make them idle," Mrs. Bates says, and so Nannie jumps up and dresses the baby, while her mother prepares the breakfast.
Was there ever stove like that! There's a pleasant smell to the polish as it burns off, and the wood has such a crackling, cheery sound; and the hot steam from the Indian cakes sends forth an inviting odor as the brown sides are turned upward.
Never mind if it is midsummer! the windows are open, and the superfluous heat escapes, and the fresh air mingles with and tempers the warmth of the room, so that it is nice and comfortable; it is so much better and more wholesome than the damp, dark basement. There is a slight tinge upon baby's cheek already, and Nannie doesn't look quite so pale and sickly as she stands before the little mirrorto brush her hair. "Oh! an attic's the place, mother! isn't it?" says she, as she danced about the room with Winnie. "We can breathe better up here, and Winnie'll grow stout and healthy, for the sun comes in here," and she smoothed her tiny palm over a bright beam that lay upon the child's head, and kissed it as if it were a living, grateful presence. Winnie, too, crowed, and jumped, and twisted her wee fingers in the warm rays, and seemed quite conscious that something great and good had happened to her. The mother participated in the joy, but as they sat down to a comfortable breakfast, and she missed the red features that had so long been opposite, her knife and fork dropped from her hands, and the food was salted with bitter tears.
"Mother," said Nannie, putting down her untasted cake, "ye'll be breaking your heart for the dead father, and then what'll Winnie and me do? I'll not eat a morsel till ye dry your tears and help me!" and she folded her hands and sat gazing upon her mother, with the drops in her own eyes, until she saw her make an effort to eat. It was a quiet meal, though, and soon over, and the child was left to tidy the house, while the mother went forth to sell her wares. She did not mind so much being repulsed now, for even if she failed to profit by her day's labor, there was a willing friend to fall back upon, so that there was no fear of starving; so, with a light step, she trudged along, and the people wondered what had come over the poor huckster woman.
There was such a winning, cheerful sound in her voice as she tapped at the window and said, "Any thing to-day, ma'am?" they could not let her go without purchasing something—a piece of tape, or a few pins, or a bunch of matches. It did not matter if they were at breakfast, father could wait a minute for his coffee, and mother would write an excuse for the children to take to school, so they open the window, and make their bargains, and hand out the pennies, and the happy woman goes tripping along, lighter both in basket and heart, and the breakfast has an uncommon relish, so all think as they gather around the table again. Charity is a capital seasoner.
Mr. Bond sits beside his center-table with his legs crossed and his eyes fixed upon the portrait. He wonders what Betty Lathrop would advise him to do about the poor girl if she could speak. He hears a great deal about spiritual manifestations and communications, but he has no faith in them, and even if he had he wouldn't be guilty of disturbing a departed soul unless for something of great moment.
He thinks he reads her approbation of his conduct, thus far, in the mild eyes that seem to look encouragingly upon him. Good old man, it would puzzle the saints to find fault with any of thy pure impulses!
He wonders if Nannie ever went to school, and if she has read the Pilgrim's Progress? He'll take it round there some day, her education mustn't be neglected, and she can't be spared from Winnie to go to school now. He hasn't any body to care for, and why shouldn't he make those children his especial charge! Puss rises slowly from the rug, where she has been lying curled up this long time, shakes herself, and puts her two fore paws on Mr. Bond's knees, as if to remind him that he has something tocare for and cherish, and then walks back again and puts herself in the old position, while her great orbs are rolled up at the master.
"It will not make any difference to you, puss," says Mr. Bond, leaning over and stroking the warm fur; "there's milk enough for you and Winnie too, and she'd have done it, I know," pointing upward to the portrait, as if the cat understood it all; then he took his hat and cane in his hand and went down stairs, stopping at his landlady's room to tell her "if a poor little girl with a baby should come to see him, not to send her away, but to let her go to his room and rest."
"Pretty piece of business!" said Mrs. Kinalden, as he left the house; "tisn't any beggars' brats I'll have tracking the dirt up my stair-ways, I'll warrant ye!" and she flourished her soup-ladle as if in defiance of all such encroaches upon her blessed domain.
Mr. Bond didn't hear nor see it, though, for his elastic step was away down the street, and if he had he would have thought it only Mrs. Kinalden's way, and would not have taken offense at it. There was so much that was bright and good in his own heart that he could not feel the ill that was in other people's natures, and his life passed as smoothly as if he were not continually subjected to petty annoyances from those about him who imposed upon his forbearance and amiability.
Earth was beautiful to him, and so was life; there had been but one dark spot in his whole existence, and thatwas when Betty Lathrop twined her young arms around his great neck and told him she must die.
Her grave was very green, though, and there were roses of his own planting around it, and a pure white lily; and there was a holy light always visible to him just above it, as of an angel with glorious wings hovering. He didn't feel as if she had departed wholly from him because he could not see her bodily presence, for he knew that the love was still with him, and this it was that shed such a halo all about his pathway, and there can not be sadness nor gloom where such a consciousness exists.
There are not many Peter Bonds in the world though!
Oh! what a gleesome time Nannie had all the long summer day up so near the blue heavens! There was a rapturous sort of joy in watching the fleecy clouds as they played in the pure ether, and, while baby slept, she would kneel down by the window with her head turned side-way upon her arm, and look into the depths of the sky until she fancied she saw the spirits beyond; and then her little soul would try to dream out the mystery of being and immortality. She didn't think so much of this in the damp dark cellar—every thing there seemed to draw her earthward; but it was exalting, and refining, and purifying, to be up so near the angels, and the change was manifested even in her face, which grew more spiritual, and was really quite winning now.
Her happiness was almost perfect as she contrasted the sad past with the bright present. There was only one thing more to long for, and that was books. She could read very well, but all the literature she possessed was Robinson Crusoe, which one of the ladies at the school had given her, and that she had learned almost by heart,so that she sung page after page to Winnie as she lulled her to sleep, and now she craved something more. She was thinking so earnestly about it that she did not hear Mr. Bond's knock, nor perceive that he had entered the room and seated himself by the other window, until he touched her shoulder with his cane across the table.
"Nannie," said he, as she started and asked his pardon for not noticing him, "I've brought a book to lend you; would you like to read it?"
A book! Who could have told him that of all things in the world that was what she most desired?
"Oh! thank you, sir," said she, as her eyes glistened for joy; "I'm so glad of it, sir!" and she turned the leaves and looked at the illustrations, while he watched her with a deep interest.
"She would know all that she need to know when she had read the Bible and Pilgrim's Progress." So Mr. Bond thought. He had not noticed that there was no Bible there. He forgot that there could be a person in the world destitute of the precious Word of Life, and he would have gone off without finding out Nannie's great need, if she had not reminded him of it as she turned to the explanation of the allegory appended to the work in her hand. "Oh! it tells about Heaven! doesn't it?" said she, looking at her kind friend with a sparkling eye.
"Haven't you a Bible, Nannie?" asked he, seeking vainly for one about the room.
"No, sir," replied the child. "We haven't had onefor a long time. Miss Earl gave me one at the school, but my father took it."
Poor soul! no food for thee, while the world is teeming with the blessed Book! Tear off the gilt clasps, and the velvet bindings, and scatter the healing leaves that are hidden within, all about among the people. Let not one hungry one perish for lack of Heaven's bread while there is enough and to spare lying all about useless! "Her father took it!" What for? to learn the way to Paradise? Ah! no—to pawn for the hot liquid that must drown him in perdition. And the dealer in the dreadful traffic took it—dared to snatch from his fellow man the comforting words sent unto him by a loving God, and to substitute instead the poisonous and damning cup! Even Satan himself must loathe him! Mr. Bond sees it all—he knows where the Book has gone. But Nannie shall have another, and she must promise to study it every day.
"I'll send you one, Nannie," said he, "and a little stand to keep it on—d'ye hear?" and the kind man hurried off to get the holy volume. To think that he had not seen to that before! It was a moment of penitence to good Mr. Bond.
It was nice for Winnie to sleep so sweetly! Now Nannie could look over the book. It was far before Robinson Crusoe! She went with Christian every step of his journey, and experienced the same joys, and suffered the same terrors. Oh! it was so good of Mr. Bond to lend her this book! She sat by the cradle with one hand upon it, so that if Winnie stirred she could hush her; and she did not see the long shadows in the room, nor remember that the fire must be made, and the table prepared for tea, and the water brought, before her mother came, until it was too dark to read any longer. Then she started up and got the pail. She was almost afraid to go to the pump, for there were some very rude boys in its vicinity, and she had never ventured out so late before. But she must go; she was very wrong to put it off so, and she ran as quick as she could with a beating and timid heart.
"That's the new gal, as lodges in Mrs. Flin's house where the fat man goes so often," said a rough-looking lad to a ragged and dirty group, that huddled about the walk.
"Let's have at her," returned another, and suiting the action to the word, he flew along the street after the frightened child, with the whole troup following him.
The little thing tried hard to out-run them; but 'twas in vain; they were close upon her, and one had kicked the pail from her hand, while another was about to tear the string from her neat sun-bonnet which he had snatched from her head.
"Be off, or I'll bate the life out of every mother's son of ye, an' my name's Pat Rourke," said a tall Irish boy who came up that moment, laying about him right and left among the little brutes, who scampered in every direction, not without a few wholesome bruises as witnesses to Pat's bravery. "Come on, my little girl," added he, taking Nannie's trembling hand, "I'll get the wather for ye;" and taking up the pail, he filled it, and carried it quite to the child's room. "It's a purty place ye have here," said he, looking from the windows, "and a nice little sister," as Nannie took the waking child from the cradle. "Here let me make the fire for ye," continued he, seeing the awkwardness of working with a baby in her arms, "and don't go to the pump again, Pat Rourke's the boy as'll get the wather, when he comes from the coal-yard o' nights; ye may put the pail down by the door in the enthry, an' its quickly ye'll find it filled;" and the noble-hearted boy stubbed out of the room, with his heavy boots clumping down, down, down.
"Every body's good to me," thought Nannie, the illusage of the moment before quite forgotten in the joy at finding so kind a champion.
The room looked nice and cheery when Mrs. Bates returned. The new stand was in the corner, with the new Bible upon it, and the table was spread with a frugal, but wholesome meal; and Nannie seemed so bright, and the baby so sprightly and well. Besides she had sold all her wares, at a good profit, so that she was free from care for the time, at least. Nannie had a great deal to tell about Mr. Bond, and the book he had brought her, and of Pat Rourke, her manly protector; and the mother began to think the bright days were dawning upon them indeed! She didn't forget the sorrow that had so lately come to her; but there was a joy in the children that was infectious, and her smiles were more frequent than her tears.
Mrs. Flin seemed to her new lodgers to be a quiet kind of body, keeping her own house without minding much about her neighbors. The truth of it was she held herself a good deal above them, for she was well to do in the world. Besides she visited in the next street at the large white house with green blinds, where they kept a hired girl, and to be sure she didn't care for the people that took one or two rooms of her, and lived in a small way, save for the money they paid her; she was pretty sure to make them all a call once a quarter at least, and woe betide them if the rent-money was not forthcoming! She didn't call herself a hard-hearted woman; but she must look out for her own rights since Mr. Flin was off at sea the greater part of the time, and there was nobody to take the responsibility from her.
One thing troubled her considerably, and that was that such a gentlemanly-looking man as Mr. Bond should lavish all his favors and visits upon her poor lodger's children. She thought he might as well stop sometimes on the first floor and notice her little Sammy; but he never did—although she often met him in the entry, and invited himto walk in and rest before going up the long flights of stairs—but went panting upward with his gold-headed cane in his hand, and the ruffles to his shirt rising and falling at every ascent.
Sammy was a sad little rascal, and would throw apple-skins on the entry floor, and lay round pebbles on the lowest stair, hoping to trip the old man up as he came in or went out, and Mr. Bond caught him at it, so that he was always careful afterward to keep an eye to his feet. But the boy stood in his own light, for there were no favors for him after that. Mr. Bond never patronized wicked children.
His mother would manage to stand in the door, whenever she saw the gentleman coming, with Sammy by her side, and she would ask him if he wasn't fond of children, and tell him what a good boy Sammy was at school, and how well he got on with his lessons; and then Sammy must speak his last piece to Mr. Bond. But it would not do; he stood it all very patiently, and when she had the grace to leave space enough for him to pass her, he would make his bow and walk gravely on, glad to reach the shelter of the pleasant attic. Mrs. Flin laid it up against him, though, and threw out many an innuendo concerning his frequent visits to the poor children, when gossiping with her friend of the white house, and so it reached his landlady, Mrs. Kinalden, who knew Mr. and Mrs. Airly very well.
"A strange how d'ye do it is," said she to Mr. Bond,one evening on his return from Nannie's, "that I must keep my doors open till half past nine o'clock, for you to be out on your untimely visits to a poor widder! It isn't any sich doings Susan Kinalden'll countenance, you'd better believe!"
Mr. Bond did not think her worth one moment's excitability, so he calmly told her she could find another occupant for his room if she was dissatisfied with his conduct, and he would seek a home elsewhere.
It was wonderful how changed she was when he went down to breakfast the next morning. There were hot eggs beside his plate, and a dish of warm toast, and the landlady was full of her compliments. "She didn't see how Mr. Bond managed to look so fresh and young! She was on the sunny side of fifty, and anybody would take him to be her brother!" and when he asked her what time he should remove his furniture, she wondered he had lived so long in the house with her and never yet found out her jesting propensities. She's sure she couldn't desire a nicer or more circumspect boarder than Mr. Bond! And so the matter passed over. She knew her own interest too well to venture on forbidden ground again. And he had got attached to the room, and did not care to leave it. The portrait had occupied that same space for more than ten years, and there was a sacred sort of feeling about the place that he could not find elsewhere. Puss liked her quarters too, and it was not worth while to seek a change so long as she didn't complain. Mr. Bond thought himselfvery foolish to have proposed such a thing, and he went from his breakfast and settled himself in his chair by his center-table, with a self-gratulation that he hadn't got to move after all. As for Mrs. Kinalden, she could scarcely forgive herself for incurring the risk of losing one of her best and most permanent boarders, and her night had been spent in bitter self-reproaches and regrets. The morning, however, compensated for the night of grief, when she felt that Mr. Bond—good soul!—overlooked it all, and was willing to stay. "It stands you in hand to mind your tongue, though, Susan Kinalden," soliloquized she, as she wiped the last dish and stood it up end-wise in her pantry. "It isn't the first time you've come nigh biting your own head off!"
"Come in, Pat; mother'll be glad to see ye," said Nannie, as he put the pail softly within the door, and was about retreating.
"Faith and that I will," said the woman warmly, opening the door wide, and setting a chair for the boy, who seemed nothing loth to enter.
It was pleasant to find a clean spot to sit down in after his day's labor, and the happy faces in that room had haunted him as a dream, too good to be real, since he had first seen Nannie and Winnie. His home was a disagreeable, shabby place, and his mother did not care to make it otherwise, and Pat felt it a great privilege to go occasionally to see his new friends. "It wasn't for nothing," thought he, "that I did the good deed by the girl; it's many a pleasant hour I've had here since that blessed night!" and he drew his chair up to the table where Nannie had the big Bible open reading aloud to her mother.
"I'll keep right on here where I was reading, Pat," said she, "because it's so beautiful," and she finished the description of the new Jerusalem in the Revelation of St. John.
"That isn't for such as me, Nannie—is it?" asked the poor boy, who had sat with his chin in his hand listening intently while the child was reading.
"Oh! yes," answered Nannie; "you should hear Mr. Bond talk about it, Pat. I couldn't believe that any of us would ever live in such a beautiful place; but he says 'tis just as we have a mind; that if we are good in this world, and do every thing that we know to be right, and try to keep from what we feel is wrong, and love God, we shall go there when we die; and I'm sure it is worth trying for—isn't it, Pat?" and Nannie closed the Book, and placed it reverently upon the stand in the corner.
Her mother had been busy getting the supper, but she heard the words of the blessed volume, and wiped away a tear with the corner of her apron as she thought of him who could have no part in that glorious city. But she mustn't let the children see her weep, so she put away her sorrow, and stirred about, talking cheerfully the while, and Pat felt that there was no place in the world like that neat cosey attic, and that Nannie Bates's lot was one to be envied indeed.
He didn't know how long she had pined in the damp and dreary cellar with nothing bright nor pretty near her, and how bitter all her days had been until just before he had befriended her—after Mr. Bond had provided her new home—for she had never told him any thing of the past. Indeed she scarcely ever dwelt upon it herself, for there was so much gladness for her now that she forgot all aboutany other time, and so her cheeks grew round and ruddy, and nobody would have thought her the same child that sat upon the steps of the great house in —— street one sunny day, some time before, with a pinched-looking little baby in her arms. Pat thought her the prettiest girl he had ever seen, and she fairly worshiped his great Irish face and the yellow hair that hung straight over his forehead. Winnie, too, would cling to him, and lay her little soft cheek to his red coarse face, and clasp her tiny arms about his neck, and play with the yellow locks as if they were the sunbeams themselves; and then she would jump and crow as he played bo-peep with her, and stretch out her wee hands and cry as he turned away and went tramping down the stairs. Pat knew how to win young hearts—there was always a cake of gingerbread in his pocket, or a stick of candy for Winnie, or a new rattle or something for Nannie, and both learned to watch for his coming with glad emotions.
He brought a rose-bush and a petunia for Nannie, and made a shelf for them by the window, and the beauteous buds came thick and fast, shedding out their fragrance in the sunny room, and making it still more delightful to Nannie. She would sit where the breeze wafted the pleasant odor to her, and, closing her eyes, fancy herself in Paradise, and she would watch the sun that she might catch every one of its warm rays for her plants.
She had never dreamed of getting so high up in theworld as to have real flowers blooming in their own room. She thought such things were only for the rich; but she had yet to learn that there are many comforts and blessings that all may freely enjoy if they have only the taste and disposition, and that the poorest habitation may, at least, be made to bring forth the precious blossoms of hope and joy at the will of its inmates.
"Oh! there's the poor girl with the baby, that lives in the cellar, Biddy!" said little May Minturn, a few weeks after she had given her the blanket. "See how fat the baby's grown!" and the child ran after Nannie, who was walking at a quick pace to avoid her, for she would gladly have hidden from her the fate of her gift; but May was not to be shunned, and she pulled at Nannie's shawl as she came up with her, and said, "Don't carry the baby away, I want to see her. Oh! she looks more like my sissy now, for she's got a little pink in her cheeks; but what have you done with the blanket? this isn't half so pretty as the one I gave you," and she looked inquiringly at Nannie, who had seated herself upon some steps to rest, and pulled aside the flannel that enveloped the babe, thus exposing its naked feet.
"Don't be offended, miss, and I'll tell you what became of it," said Nannie; "before Winnie had time to wear it once, some one took it from her and sold it. I sorrowed for it a great deal, but that wouldn't bring it back, and now Winnie must wear this one; 'twill keep her warm, but I know it isn't pretty."
"Are not you afraid in that dark room?" asked May, sitting down on the step beside the girl, and taking hold of the baby's hand.
"Oh! we don't live there now," said Nannie, in a gleeful tone. "We have a beautiful home way up close by heaven!" and she gazed up into the sky and felt how much further off she then was than in her new home.
"May I go there to see you?" said the little girl, "and will you go with me to heaven to see my brother a little while? Mamma says he's there, and I'd like so much to play with him!"
"But we can not go there till we die," replied Nannie. "I look up from my window sometimes until I think I see the angels, and then I almost want to fly right away to them; but Mr. Bond says God will take us when he wants us, and that it is wicked to be impatient."
"Did you see my Georgie up there?" asked May, drawing closer to Nannie, and looking still more earnestly at her. "He had on a white frock, with a satin ribbon around his waist, and he had curls just like mine and sissy's. If you say Georgie, Georgie, perhaps he'll answer you as he used to mamma. Don't you think God will take us pretty soon?" continued she, patting the baby's head, and leaning over to kiss its brow, "I'm all ready to go, and Georgie wants me, too."
"Shure, and the child'll be an angel before long, I'm thinking!" said Biddy, as May arose and took her hand togo home; "the misthress would be greeting sair if she heard all her little prattle."
Nannie gazed after the wee figure as it went up the street beside the nurse, and then she looked at the baby that was nestling its tiny head upon her bosom, and she felt that there was a sort of mysterious link between Winnie and the sweet child whose kiss was fresh upon her forehead. The feeling made her shudder, and she hugged her little sister closer to her breast, as she thought,
"Mayhap both may soon be wanted above!"
Home did not look so bright to her that evening. Something seemed to be threatening evil, and she sat listless and abstracted, when her mother came home, looking from the window. She did not even see her mother, until she put a hand upon each of her shoulders and asked her "if she was napping?"
"Oh! no, mother, I'm not dozing, and I'm not ill; but there's something coming to Winnie, I know there is. It isn't long that she'll brighten the house!" said Nannie, trembling with emotion.
"Don't be foolish, child," said her mother, after she had ascertained that her precious babe was sleeping sweetly in its cradle, "Winnie's growing stout and healthy, and it's thankful we should be, instead of fretting for fear there'll be sorrow to come."
Nannie shook her head mournfully, and took her knitting from the table, but her heart was more busy with its sad reflections than were her fingers with the youngbabe's sock. She did not even notice Pat much that evening; but merely took the great apple that he handed her with a quiet "thank ye;" and then relapsed into her silent and thoughtful mood.
Pat would not stay to sit down, for Nannie had not seconded her mother's invitation, and the disappointed boy only lingered to take one peep under the curtain of the cradle of Winnie, and then went home to his abode with a downcast mien, and a slow gait.
Mr. Bond had not been to see them for a great while, and the cold weather was coming, and there were hard times in store for them, if they did not manage to get some sewing, or something to do. It was the first of November, and the breeze was no longer soft and bland, as it came from the blue waters upward into the little room, but it was fresh and chilly, and had a mournful tone, and Nannie got cotton and stuffed the windows tight to keep it out. There was but little fuel in the house, and scarcely any money for their next quarter's rent, and Mrs. Flin had been up a day or two before to warn them that they must leave if the funds were not ready by a certain time. Mrs. Bates had fallen down stairs by means of one of Master Sammy's round pebbles, and lamed herself, so that she was no longer able to trudge about with her basket, and where she had applied for sewing, they told her there were more applicants than work, and so she did not know what to do.
"To-morrow's rent-day, Nannie," said she with a sigh, "and I have but a dollar put by toward the twelve. I shall have to send you round to see Mr. Bond, child, and it's me that's ashamed to do that after all he's done forus; but it can't be helped! It's unfortunate we've been the last month, and shure he'll not be blaming the Providence as brought it to us!"
So Nannie put on her old hood and cloak, and went timidly up to Mrs. Kinalden's door. The old lady's aspect was rather forbidding, as she answered the bell, and found only a beggar child had summoned her from her dinner-pot, and she was about to slam the door in her face, when Nannie said,
"It's Mr. Bond I'm wanting to see, ma'am, if you please."
Mrs. Kinalden would have been glad to send the child away; but she remembered the past, and dared not venture; so she told her to be sure and wipe her feet clean, and then she ushered her up stairs to the bachelor's-room. Nannie knocked softly, and as she heard a faint voice say "Come in," she opened the door and entered. One glance revealed it all. Mr. Bond had been sick—very ill—and she had never once been to inquire about him. He sat propped up in his easy-chair, with a flowered dressing-gown about him, and his head against a pillow, and there was a warm fire in the fire-place, and bowls standing about with bread-water, and gruel, and arrow-root in them—and labeled vials were upon the table, so that she felt he had really been in some danger. Besides, his face was thin and pale and wrinkled, and she would scarcely have recognized him as the fat jolly old man who used to have hardly a lap for little Winnie to perch upon.
"Oh! it's you, Nannie, is it?" said he, with the same pleasant tone as of old, and with one of his broad, beaming smiles that played over his hollow cheeks mockingly. "Didn't come to see your old friend all these three weeks, and he too ill to get off from his bed. He wouldn't have served you so, Nannie, that he wouldn't!" and he looked half reproachfully, half jestingly at the serious face of the young girl.
"And we were all the time wondering if ye'd deserted us, sir," said Nannie, as she stood by the table twisting her apron over her finger; "and never a word of your illness did we hear, or the days would not have slipped away and we not have been to ye! Maybe ye were needing somebody to nurse ye, and ye lying alone here with no hand to give the medicines?" and she looked inquiringly at him.
"Mrs. Kinalden has been as attentive as she could be with her cares, Nannie," replied the patient old man; "but the pillows would have lain a little easier if a little girl that I know of had come in sometimes to shake them up for me, and perhaps the bed would have been softer for making over once in a while." How quickly the old hood and cloak went off, and the nimble hands shook and beat the sick man's bed until it was as plump as a partridge—and she put on the clothes so smoothly that there was not a wrinkle in them; then she arranged the glasses and vials nicely upon the table, and washed the spoons, and warmed him some gruel, and she read a psalm to him,and then donned her things again to go; but she hadn't said a word about the need at home, and perhaps she would not have remembered it until she had returned to her mother had not Mr. Bond said, "Nannie, how are you getting along now? Let's see, to-morrow's rent-day, isn't it? and hard times, too. Hand me the wallet out of that desk there, child, I must see you through this cold weather," and he counted out twelve dollars and tied them in a corner of her handkerchief. "So your mother's not able to go out any more," said he, as Nannie told him of the trouble. "Well, we'll see what can be done; you mustn't suffer, d'ye hear? and mind you come every day to make my bed while I'm sick, 'twill save Mrs. Kinalden some work—and I guess 'twill suit me better," added he, as he glanced at the inviting-looking nest that had not before shown its proper proportions since his illness. "Here, take this orange to Winnie," said he, as the child moved toward the door; "I'll be round there in a few days," and he looked brighter than he did a half hour before. "I wonder what there is in a child's presence to make things so sunny," thought Mr. Bond, as the young girl left the room. "Her little hands seem to have glossed over every thing they touched, and the gruel had a relish that that old woman could never give."
It was willing hands that made the difference, good Mr. Bond. A sick bed's a hard place for one who has no kind and voluntary attention. Call in experienced nurses and skillful physicians—pay them more than the half ofyour substance—send out for all the luxuries a diseased palate may crave—it won't do, Mr. Bond, it won't do; there needs a loving heart to anticipate all your wants, and a tender hand to bathe the fevered brow and smooth the uneasy pillow, and a low sweet voice to whisper soothing words in your ear; then it's a sort of pleasure to lie so languid and careless, and watch the gliding motions of your quiet nurse, and feel that you are getting on so comfortably.
Mr. Bond didn't need to be told all this; he felt it, as day after day, during his convalescence, the little feet came tripping up the stairs, and the child's glad hands ministered unto him; and, after she had made all tidy and had gone out and closed the door softly behind her, he would lie gazing at the youthful features of the bonnie lassie upon the wall, and wonder how many more times he should be so near her, and yet not be permitted to go. "Mustn't be impatient," that's what you told Nannie, isn't it, Mr. Bond? there's a great deal for you to accomplish yet in your master's vineyard before the reward comes; the walls are broken down all about, and there's many a tender vine exposed to the wild boar and the beasts of the field, and it is for you to help repair the breaches before you go hence to rest from your labors.
Pat had not seen his old friends for many days, for Nannie was a good deal out with the basket now her mother was confined to the house, and, somehow, her manner toward him the last time he was there made him feel shy, as if he was not wanted there any more. Still the pail was filled as usual, and stood beside the door, with many a nice and pretty thing for the baby. Mrs. Bates wondered why she never heard him come up the stairs now, and if he had got tired of playing with Winnie, and if his own home had grown more pleasant. She didn't know how often he had put his ear to the key-hole to see if he could hear one of baby's gleesome laughs, or the sound of Nannie's voice reading aloud, or talking to her mother. Nannie caught him this time, though, as she returned from her labors, and the boy's face grew redder still, as if he had been detected in some mean act, but her good-natured smile reassured him, and he found his tongue.
"It's listening for Winnie I am," said he, "and I've not seen her swate face the week."
"But, Pat, why haven't you been here this long time?" asked Nannie, opening the door and leading him in as if he were a child.
Pat felt that she would think him very foolish if he told her the reason of his absence, so he kept silent, but he was happier than he had been for many a day, as he sat in his old seat with Winnie snuggled close to his breast. Winnie reciprocated the delight, but her demonstrations were very violent; she slapped Pat's face with her rosy palms, and pulled his hair, and bit his fingers with her aching teeth, forgetting the while the painful gums that had made her so wearisome all the day.
Nannie was uncommonly cheerful, for all was right now, and Mr. Bond was well enough to visit them on the morrow, and Pat was back again, and they were to remain in the pleasant attic for another quarter at least, and mother had some work that promised a good profit, so there was no pressing want upon them just now. Mr. Bond had sent some shirts to be made against the summer. He did not like the common way of bestowing charity. He always required an equivalent for what he handed out. He would not have Nannie grow up with the feeling that she was a beggar, so he found something to be done, and paid good round prices for the work. Mrs. Bates stitched so busily, thinking he needed the garments all the while. She didn't quite understand Mr. Bond, though! It didn't matter to him if there were piles on piles of pure white linen in his great trunks. What if somebody did get the good of them after his death! he did not care to take his worldly treasure with him, but was quite willing to leave a goodly portion for the benefit of others; besides, many aworthy man owed his prim Sunday suit to those same heaped-up chests, and it would have done you good to see the broad ruffles bedecking the sons of Erin as they escorted their sweethearts to vespers. They would cross themselves, and murmur a prayer for the "masther," heretic though he was, and they knew they would get him out of Purgatory, if masses and penances would avail. As for Nannie and her mother, it was dangerous to say a word against their benefactor in their presence. Nobody had ever dared the thing excepting Mrs. Flin, and she would not encounter such a belaboring of tongues again for all the bachelors in the world. Pat, too, was his most enthusiastic admirer, for he had encouraged his going to spend his evenings in the neat attic rather than crawl to his own miserable abode to be contaminated with the fumes of rum and tobacco, and the scurrilous example of his abandoned parents.
It was a wonder to the good man that there could be a spark of virtue in the boy's character, and that he had been so far preserved from the taint of his vile home as to care for the purity of his gentle neighbor's. He did not remember how beautiful the contrast must be to Pat as he came from his mother's den of infamy, where rags and dirt prevailed, to the neat and cleanly dwelling, and the pure, bright, happy faces of Mrs. Bates and her two children.
It wasn't his fault that the woman who had dared to take upon herself the sacred name of mother, had spurned the terrible responsibility consequent upon thatassumption, and cast her children from her bosom out into the wicked world, with never a care, nor a blessing, nor a prayer; it wasn't his fault that his infant soul had been even more pitiably neglected than the uncared-for body; it wasn't his fault that the little hands were taught to fight and steal rather than lift themselves up toward a gracious father to invoke His love and blessing, or that the words of blasphemy were frequent on the lips that were made for prayer and praise. He could think of a time when his childish knees had bent before the good God, of whom a kind friend had told him, and his own mother—who should have been prostrate beside him in penitence for her sins both against him and her Maker—shouted her ribald songs even in his unwilling ears. No wonder Mr. Bond thought it strange that Pat had any yearning left for the good and the exalted. But his heart did heave mightily beneath the mass of corruption that his own parents had heaped above it, and he felt it gradually loosening, so that the Sun of righteousness gleamed upon it, though dimly. It was something to have even that faint light to show him the loathsomeness of his condition, and it helped him wonderfully in his efforts to cast the burden wholly from him. It was no mystery to him that "Christian" felt such a relief when it was quite gone, and that he hastened onward toward the end of his journey with a light and free step. It was not for nothing that the poor boy helped Nannie Bates in the hour of her need, the blessing was coming, life was just beginning for him.
It was a bitter cold day, and the winds whistled through the cordage of the shipping and came moaning up, beating against the corked windows; but it was of no use they could not get in, for Nannie had stuffed the cotton in all the cracks as tight as she could, so that there was not even a crevice left, and they had to go whirling back again to play their old tricks among the rigging of the vessels. Oh! it was so pleasant to watch the dark waves as they tossed and foamed, while the boats bounded buoyantly over them. Nannie did not care for the frost, nor for the fresh chill breeze, for the stove was red with warmth, and she had not to go out that day. Mr. Bond was coming, and she had a holiday. Now and then her face grew a little long as she thought "perhaps it might be too cold for him to venture out;" but it was round and cheery again as the sound of his well-known step was upon the stairs.
"Heigh-ho, here!" said he, as little Winnie crept toward him and clasped her tiny arms around his leg; "hasn't forgotten its old friend, has it?" and he lifted the child up, seating it upon his shoulder as he moved toward a rocking-chair. "Not quite well, yet, ma'am," replied he to Mrs.Bates' inquiry after the state of his health. "This north-wester's rather too strong for me now;" and he panted, and put Winnie down while he took off his mufflers. "Had to wrap up well this cold day, you see, but couldn't disappoint these little folks;" and he patted Winnie's head and re-instated her upon his knee. She did not keep slipping off as she used to do before Mr. Bond's illness, but had a very comfortable seat now, and her hands remembered the full pockets they had so often rifled, and went rummaging about to see if the times were unchanged.
The goodies came tumbling all about the floor, and the old man was as merry as the children who scrambled after the sugar-plums—Winnie cramming her little mouth until they tumbled out again for want of room. "How do the shirts get on, my good woman?" said Mr. Bond, as he watched the needles flying through the snowy cloth.
"I'll have 'em for ye before long, sir," replied Mrs. Bates, hastening her stitches as fast as she could; "I'd spare the time from my sleep rather than ye should be wanting them, sir."
"Oh! never mind, never mind," said the kind man; "I'm not in any great need, only there's plenty more work when that's done. Where's Pat, Nannie?" continued he, addressing the girl who was minding Winnie; "does he come often to see you, and do you read to him, too?"
"He'll be here the day to see ye, sir," answered Nannie, with a joyous expression; "we've got mostthrough the Progress, and we read in the Bible, too, every day, and Pat's as good a boy now as ye'd wish to see."
"He's got a sad home, Nannie," said Mr. Bond, "and his father and mother'll pull him down again if they can, but we must help him to stand upright. I depend upon you, Nannie," and he looked at her as if he thought there was great might in her aid.
"It's little I can do, sir, save the reading," said she, looking slightly grave, as if too much was expected of her.
"But you can keep him from bad associates," replied her benefactor, "and the half is done then. He loves this quiet place, and you can make it pleasant to him here, so that he will see how much happier it is to live peacefully and Christianlike than to be carousing and drinking as they do in his own home. Poor Pat!" continued he, gazing thoughtfully into the fire, "it's been a sad life to him, but the good is to come."
Nannie thought it had been a sad life to them all until Mr. Bond found them out, but she felt that the future would be bright enough if they might see his kind face once in awhile, and she did not trouble herself with the past now, that was all over, and the days were as merry as merry could be. To be sure her basket was heavy, and her feet weary almost every day, but what cared she for that so long as she could come to so glad a home, and have only kind words and loving faces about her. Mr. Bond did not worry much about Pat after he saw his frank face peeringin at the door. "Come in, Pat," said he, as the lad shuffled forward to greet him. "I'm glad to see you, my boy!"
"It's much changed ye are with the sickness," said Pat; "but ye're the same in your heart, I'll ever believe."
Pat was greatly changed, too, his friend could plainly see that as he scanned the boy's features. He had grown so manly, and seemed to feel such a self-respect—not a bold, disagreeable assurance, but a sort of rough, unassuming dignity that was both pleasant and becoming. He did not sit down with his hat on, and his chair tilted backward, and chatter and jabber as if he were of quite as much importance as his benefactor, but stood respectfully, with uncovered head, and answered Mr. Bond's questions modestly and politely, and waited to be asked before he made himself at home in the presence of his superior.
A very pleasant time they all had in the nice attic, and they dwelt upon it for many days afterward with a peculiar pleasure. It was not often that Mr. Bond could come to see them now, for he was not as strong as before his illness, and the snow came early to keep him in also, and Nannie consoled herself by enumerating his virtues to Pat, who quite agreed with her that "he was fit to be a saint."
You need not step softly to-night, Pat, though the baby is sleeping. She will not hear your heavy boots, tramp they never so loudly up the stairs. Never mind the doll you have in your hand for her—her eyes will not open to look upon it. Lift the latch quietly, though, for there is grief in the room, and noise comes harshly and gratingly upon a sorrowing ear. Nannie can not look up to greet you, neither can her mother welcome you now, though your silent presence may be grateful to them both. Winnie does not spring up in her cradle, with her merry laugh, and stretch out her little hands toward you. She will not twine her wee fingers in your yellow locks any more, nor try to pick the big moles off your hard hands. She is lying very still upon her soft pillow. Her nicest white dress is smoothed down on her tiny form, and her hair is parted upon a marble brow. There's a little coffin on the table, and you know who is to occupy it; but it is too sudden, too dreadful for you to realize at once! Do not try to take her up, nor warm the cold cheek against your own burning face. The blood is quite chilled in the blue veins, and the limbs fall passively down. There's a bud fromNannie's bush in one hand, but she does not hold it first to your nostrils and then to her own, with her cunning little ways, as she used to do. Do not ask them how it all happened; how can they tell you, and their hearts almost breaking? They did not even hear the angel's wings as he came to bear away the sweet babe. All they knew was, that there was a convulsive movement of the little limbs, and then they were rigid forever.
There's a terrible gloom all about, and it oppresses them with its strange weight; but they hardly know that the baby is gone from them. Is she not there in the cradle, as she is every day at this hour, and are they not all very quiet for fear of disturbing her? Or, are they all dreaming, and is a horrible nightmare upon them, from which they vainly strive to arouse themselves? Pat can not see Nannie so listless, and so white, with the vacant stare, and not speak to her; so he goes round by the side of the cradle where she is, and hands her the doll. "It's for Winnie," said he, and the big drops fell from his full eyes upon her hand. There's great power in sympathy, and Nannie can weep now; so can the mother, and there comes a sort of peace over the group, that was not there before. Nannie gets up and gathers all the little playthings together and puts them away with the doll; but it is too much! it gives the place such a forlorn aspect; and she takes them out again and scatters them, as if it would bring Winnie back, too. The night is very sad, and so is the morrow; and the next day Mr. Bond comes with aminister. Winnie is lifted into the narrow coffin, and a fresh bud graces her breast. Mr. Bond stands a long time gazing upon her white, white brow, and he fancies he sees a hallowed impress there, as of a Divine hand. He can not help his strong emotion. Wasn't Winnie getting deeper and deeper down into his heart every day, and can he see the little head that lay so often upon his bosom, covered with the cold earth! The minister thinks her very lovely, as she lies there so free from spot of sin, and he almost wonders they can weep over her early release from a world of effort, and toil, and care; but he knows what a struggle it is to give up a parent's richest possessions, for there are little ones that used to call him father, now lying beneath the snow, and he weeps with the afflicted, as he reads the burial-service over their darling.
There needs but one carriage for the mother and Nannie, and Mr. Bond, and Pat; and the little coffin is placed on a seat in the middle. They can not leave it until it is hidden from their sight.
"Nannie must go to school," said Mr. Bond to himself the day after the child's burial. "It won't do for her to stay there moping and pining after little Winnie! The baby's gone, and it won't bring her back again."
And so it was settled that she was to begin the next Monday. Mr. Bond thought it better that she should go to the parish school immediately in her vicinity, and connected with the church which he attended—not that he wished to free himself from the slight tax demanded by private teachers, for many a comfortable donation ten times the worth of so small a pittance, found its way into the parish treasury from his liberal purse. Oh! no, that wasn't Mr. Bond's reason. He knew that the child would be under a good and religious influence there, for besides being well taught, she would be daily gathered with the rest of the little lambs into the consecrated chapel, and be made to feel that her moral culture was of still greater importance than the mental. Besides he liked to know that she was under the eye of some good shepherd who would lead her safely on to the great and ever green pasture.It would be so pleasant to him, too, to see the object of his benevolence and care Sunday after Sunday, pattering up the broad aisle to her seat, and joining in the solemn and beautiful worship. He didn't believe she had ever been to church in her life; he ought to have inquired into that before. Poor Mr. Bond! here was another subject for penitence. So much as he thought of such privileges and blessings for himself, too! He was afraid he was not fit for such a responsibility as the one he had assumed! Well, the minister would help him; that was a comforting thought.
Nannie was delighted at the idea of studying. She had a quick and inquisitive mind, and she looked at the little parcel of books that her good friend brought her with a glad eye, and when Monday came she took her satchel, and long before the hour, was on her way to school, with a quick step and a buoyant expression.
There was no task in getting her off to her books, as there is in many a case where advantages come more lavishly. She felt that the blessing was too great to be sufficiently estimated. Her teacher long ago had told her that whatever of knowledge was gained in this world would not be lost, but that if rightly applied, it would make her spirit brighter, and fit it for a continually increasing and glorious expansion in the life to come; and she had wisdom enough to know that every intellectual acquirement was adding to the talent intrusted to her, and thus honoring the gracious Giver. So she determined to strive earnestlyto improve her new privileges, and thus repay her benefactor as well as adorn her own mind.
The morning was very beautiful as she tripped along in the pure snow. The flakes had fallen thick and fast the day before, and now lay in feathery heaps all over the trees and fences and trellises, and there was but just a narrow path for her feet to tread upon. Men and boys were all about with their shovels, busily working, and the pure mass was tossed quickly from the walks. Snow-balls were flying at the peoples' heads, and many parties were already moving briskly over the smooth surface, and the bells were jingling gayly, and there was a healthful glow upon every body's face.
Nannie couldn't feel very joyous, for she thought of the little form that lay so still and breathless under the tiny mound; but the scene before her inspired her with cheerfulness, and she trudged on trying to be happy with the rest. She was just before May Minturn's door—she could not forget the house—hadn't she sat on those steps with dear Winnie, and hadn't little May spoken kindly to her, and kissed baby, too? It recalled her sister to her so vividly that the tears would not be stayed, and she let them flow. Just then the door opened, causing her to look up; there was a black crape tied to the bell, with a white ribbon, and she knew that either May, or the little sissy that she used so often to speak of, was dead.
"Is that for May," asked she, as Biddy spoke softly to her from the top step; and she pointed to the funeralemblems that were floating in the wintry breeze. "And may I see her, Biddy?"
"Shure, and that ye may," said Biddy, "and it's Winnie she was calling the day she died, jist before the life left her swate body; and how is the babby?" asked she, as Nannie followed her to the drawing-room.
"She's gone where May is," replied the sister, suppressing her sobs as far as she was able; "I knew they'd be wanted there!" and she stopped for the nurse to admit a little more light into the darkened room.
How beautiful little May was in her quiet repose! She lay upon the sofa with her soft curls falling over the calm forehead, and flowers covered the pillow, and her hands were folded upon her gentle breast as if they had done all their little work on earth.
Mrs. Minturn had seen Nannie enter the room, and she knew her as the child May had so often spoken about, and she went softly in where they were and stood beside the sofa, so pale and calm in her sorrow that Nannie was almost frightened. She noticed Nannie as she kissed the still sleeper, and smoothed down the silken hair lovingly, and she severed one beautiful lock and laid it in the poor girl's hand. Biddy had told her mistress of Winnie, and she had felt that the two children were as sisters in that Spirit land, and so she spared the precious curl. Oh! how Nannie treasured it. It seemed such a sacred thing to her to possess something that the finger of death had hallowed, and when she went home she folded it in a softpaper and put it within the cover of the big Bible, and often she drew it reverently forth, in after years, as she dwelt upon the two seraphs whose forms she could distinguish amid the angel band.
Mrs. Bates sat alone in the quiet room, sewing all the day, while Nannie was at school. It was so very still that it was oppressive to her. Winnie's cradle occupied the same spot as when the babe was in it—she could not put it out of sight; and the little garments hung about the room on the pegs in the corners. The wintry sun came faintly in and shone upon the pillow of the tiny bed, and the mother, ever and anon, cast her tearful glances to the spot that was consecrated by the sweetest of memories. A rag-baby, that had shared Winnie's affections as well as her pillow, still lay within the sheets, as the child's hands had often placed it. The tin cup and spoon were upon the mantle, and the playthings were gathered into an old willow basket, their wonted receptacle when Winnie was there to use them. How often had she pulled them, one by one, from their resting-place, and then restored them with an untiring interest, only needing occasionally an encouraging glance from mother to keep her contented by the hour together! It seemed to Mrs. Bates as if she must still look up from her needle to give the child some frequent sign of her care and love, but as her eye fell upon the vacantspace, it was almost too much for the overcharged heart, and it required all her energies to master her grief sufficiently to keep about her accustomed duties.
The poor have little leisure to nurse their sorrows: there was Nannie left to toil for, and it was unfitting her for her necessary labors to give vent to the rising anguish, therefore she choked back the bitter sighs and tears, and plied her needle diligently, trying to think only of the mercies left her. She had still plenty of work. It was wonderful how many friends Mr. Bond had who could supply her with employment. There were little dresses, and pinafores, and numerous other small articles of clothing, always ready for her. She did not know how many a needy household owed its replenishing to this same stock of ready-made clothing which good Mr. Bond kept constantly on hand. He did not wait to see whether such and such a thing would be needed before he had it made, but wherever he found a ragged child he sent a suit from his well-stocked wardrobe, and an abundant blessing flowed back upon him, repaying him an hundredfold for clothing the naked and destitute.
Mrs. Kinalden once in awhile caught sight of the miniature suits through the brown paper envelops that, somehow, got torn on their way to the batchelor's room, and her indignation knew no bounds.
"It's a shame and a disgrace," said she to herself, "that he should tarnish my house with such things, and then have the boldness to look me in the face!" But luckilyfor her, she only said it to herself, and Mr. Bond, conscious of his own integrity, kept on his even way, scattering blessings wherever he went, and never imagining that his very Christian deeds were the occasion of many an unjust query on the part of his curious and suspicious landlady.
She, poor soul! fumed and fretted inwardly until the gloss and shine were quite gone from her widowed cheeks, leaving them really sallow and wrinkled. There's nothing like a contented, happy disposition, Mrs. Kinalden, to preserve one's youth and beauty. You need not brush up your fading charms before your tell-tale mirror, and try to restore your lost luster by artificial means; it won't effect any thing. The fact is, the trouble is internal. You must cleanse first the inner man of the heart, and you will be surprised at the reflection of your own face then, it will change into such a mysterious winsomeness! Never mind Mr. Bond's actions—they can not lie at your door, but take care that your own are as free from taint as your inexplicable neighbor's. It is not for you to see the hidden motives that govern those about you; the best way for you is to think favorably of every body, and you have no idea how much peace and comfort it will bring to your own soul.
Mrs. Bates had never dreamed of questioning her benefactor's deeds, they showed their uprightness upon the very face of them, and she had no fellowship with her gossiping neighbors, to whose flings she could not always be deaf. Mrs. Flin began to be more social, much to her regret, forshe had little sympathy with her loquacious guest. What was it to her if the Airly's did keep a span, and drive out every day? she was willing Mrs. Flin's friends should accumulate riches, and enjoy them, too, if she did live in an humble attic, and stitch from morn till night for her daily bread. What if Mrs. Airly had a new silk, spring and fall, and was getting in with such good society? It did not make her a whit the less thankful for her scanty yet neat wardrobe, nor for the few friends it was her fortune to possess. She didn't mind if Master Sammy was to go to a select school! She had all confidence in Mr. Bond's judgment concerning Nannie, and rejoiced that she could feel so easy as to the child's moral culture. She didn't care for Mrs. Flin's foolish prattle about her great acquaintances, and her own future anticipations of a higher station. It was not half of it that she heard; but if one sly innuendo was sent at the good man to whom she was so much indebted, there was a determined look that cowed the slanderous tongue before it could speak out its full meaning. Oh! what a relief was it to the poor widow to see the last of Mrs. Flin's bombazine gown floating out the door, and to be sure that she was free from a repetition of the annoyance of her company, for the day at least.
The thought of her angel child, and the solitude of her quiet home accorded better with her sad and contemplative mood, than the foolish clatter of her simple neighbor's gossiping member, and right glad was she that her acquaintance extended no further than to her kind benefactor, and to the noble and honest Pat.