"Oh! mother," said Nannie, throwing her hood upon the table and brushing the hair off from her flushed forehead, "school's so nice! Miss Coit's one of the dearest ladies; and she says I'll be one of her best scholars if I keep on as I've begun; and we have such beautiful singing, and Christmas is 'most here, and then we are to have a tree hung all over with presents for the children! Won't it be grand, mother?" and she laid her hand on her mother's arm to force her to stop working and attend to her.
"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Bates, "it's glad I am for ye, Nannie; but what's that in your hand, child?" taking the paper and looking upon the little curl within.
"Oh! mother," replied Nannie in a sad tone, "it's May Minturn's, she that loved our baby, and she's gone where Winnie is; and her mother's such a pale sweet lady! She gave me this, because she said May and Winnie are as sisters up in heaven."
That was such a pleasant thought to Mrs. Bates. She was too sensible a woman to wish to do away with the distinctions which are productive of much good in this life,but it was a happiness to feel that in the other world, the good and pure could all mingle as brethren; that despoiled of the external marks of roughness which make so much difference here, the spirit could appear in its real loveliness so that it would be neither loathsome nor repulsive. She did not expect those who were fitted by the advantages of education and refinement for a high position in life, to stoop to an equality with those whose more humble stations were wisely allotted them. She appreciated their self-denial and kindness in seeking out the lowly ones, and aiding them in their efforts to struggle upward, and no taint of envy or hatred toward those whom God had chosen to place above her in this world, ever found its way to her heart. So with a meek and contented mind she pursued her quiet way, never murmuring because of blessings withheld, but grateful for the unmerited favors so richly heaped upon her. She had a great deal to be thankful for! Nannie was in a good way, and Pat was just like a son to her, doing her errands, and helping her about the wood and water as if she were his own mother. He had come to board with them now, for it had grown so bad in his own home, and he had vainly tried to make it better—so he left them altogether, and Mrs. Bates had a rough couch constructed, and she covered it with neat print; and there in the outer room Pat slept. He was up betimes in the morning, and had the fire made and the kettle on to boil, and then he heard Nannie study, while her mother got the breakfast ready; and by this means heacquired the same knowledge himself, for Pat was ready to learn, if he had been kept down all his life with no culture nor teaching.
His board helped them, and their kindness and affection helped him more than he had ever been aided since his birth, for he came to think he was of some consequence to somebody, and this makes a wondrous difference to a person. It made Pat particular in his manners and neat in his dress, and it brought a peculiar joy to his heart to know that the house was a gainer by his coming to it. Mr. Bond had got him a situation as porter in the establishment of one of his mercantile friends, and his employer thought every thing of the diligent and honest lad, and gave him good wages, so that he had a trifle to lay up, besides providing his board and clothing, and getting an occasional present for Mrs. Bates or Nannie. It was altogether a very thrifty household now, and Mr. Bond felt no uneasiness about going awhile to leave them.
He had had a lingering cough ever since his illness, and the doctor ordered change of air and a warmer climate, and so he must go. It was very hard to leave his snug room, and to turn away from the silent face that was ever looking upon him, and it cost him many a serious pang to give up the care of his favorite puss to the tender mercies of Mrs. Kinalden; but it would be wrong to tamper with his health, and he must crush all regrets and disinclinations, and perhaps he might return sooner than even his physician had hoped. He waited but onemoment—after the carriage came to bear him to the boat bound for Cuba—to take his farewell of the objects of his deepest regard, and then went more gravely down stairs than was his wont.
Mrs. Kinalden felt a sort of sorrow as she closed the blinds of his room, making all dark, and then turned the key in the lock, while puss preceded her to her own sitting-room, and she bestowed sundry endearing epithets upon the animal, even patting her back in a friendly sort of way as she stooped to smooth the rug for her to lie upon. It was something to miss the step that for years had been heard in the house, and to see the place that he had so longed filled at table occupied by another.
Mrs. Kinalden had a heart after all, so you would have thought had you seen how often the silk handkerchief was applied to her eyes in the course of that day.
Christmas came and went, and there were merry times in the parish school, and in Nannie's home, too. Her stocking was filled to overflowing by her mother and Pat, and there was a nice present from her kind teacher, too; but they did not have the tree until Epiphany, for that the minister said "was the Gentile Christmas, and he thought the good things and presents upon the tree would help the children to remember the great and glorious gifts that the Saviour's birth and manifestation brought to them all."
The little things could scarcely sit still during service in the church, but kept turning and twisting upon their seats and looking toward the chapel where the tree was. At last the moment came when they were to walk in procession around it, so as to have a good view of its beauty and promise before the articles were distributed.
The minister headed the procession with the parish children, and Nannie felt her importance materially increased as he took her hand and moved down the aisle. She had never seen any thing so pretty as the brilliant scene that had met her gaze when the doors were thrownopen, and the illuminated star and bush appeared to her delighted gaze. "Oh!" thought she, "the parish school's the school for me;" and she gave little Sammy Flin, who had come in out of curiosity, an exultant glance as she passed the pew where he was perched up to get sight of what was going on about him. "She didn't believe they had such times any where else, or that the minister led them along before so many people, just as if they were his own children." She could not see how he yearned for them in his heart, feeling a greater anxiety and care for them, than he did for his own offspring that had never been so much exposed to the temptations and snares of the world. All she felt about it was that she was a poor little child, weak and ignorant, and that he was a priest of the great God, and taught the people from the blessed Book, and that it was a great honor for her to stand by his side when so many other children would covet the place. When Nannie Bates' name was called he handed her her presents—a nice pair of warm mittens, and a new hood, and a book, besides a turkey for her mother; and he spoke to her of the little dead Winnie whose body he had committed to the earth, and told her to be gentle and good that she might some time go to her; and Nannie went home happier than ever, and filled up the evening pleasantly with the glowing description of the day's pleasure. Pat sat with his ears distended, and his arms upon the table, leaning over toward her as she talked, and Mrs. Bates almost forgot the light that had so latelybeen extinguished in her dwelling as the bright face before her shone out in the pleasant room.
It needed only one more interested one to complete the little circle, but he was bounding over the waves, and no desire could recall him until the appointed time. He had now been gone one week, and they could not hope to see him until the opening of the summer, so they contented themselves with the enumeration of his goodness to them all, and with a fervent prayer for his safe return. The moon gleamed upon the bay as Mrs. Bates and Nannie looked from their windows upon the sparkling waves, and they almost fancied they could descry afar off the beaming face of their kind friend; but he lay heart-sick and home-sick in the berth of the tossing ship, thinking of his cosey room, and of the attic where so many pleasant moments had been spent, and wondering if Nannie and Pat would come to no harm while he was away.
The winter was well-nigh gone, and it had brought but little trouble to Mrs. Bates and her small family until now; just as the new quarter commenced she was short of funds. Pat was confined to the house with rheumatism, and his wages had stopped, and of course that stopped the board-money, for what he had saved went for the doctor and the medicines, and so Nannie had to leave school and take to the basket again. It was a pity, for she was making such rapid progress in her studies, and would soon be promoted, but there was no help for it, the pantry was quite empty of stores, and it could not be replenished without means. Mrs. Flin was urgent for the rent, too, and threatened to let the rooms to more prompt tenants. She forgot that she had never been put off before, and that good Mr. Bond would be sure to make up all arrearages on his return from his voyage.
It was not that she needed the money at all, for there was plenty of silver in her coffers, but she loved to look at the shining bits; and it did not matter to her if they did cheat some hungry one out of the necessary morsel. Her ambition was to be equal with the Airlys in point of establishment,therefore she toiled on to lay up the glittering heap, and every little while she sat down by it to build up imaginary fabrics of splendor and show. There was a house to let near her friends, with the same external marks of gentility, and she was negotiating for it, and it was to be furnished as nearly like her neighbor's as possible, and she and Sammy were to emerge from the lowly obscurity that had so long shrouded them, into the magnificence and grandeur of the next street. It was for this important step that Mrs. Bates was to be turned out into the chilly air, with the sick boy and the fatherless girl. The poor woman would not have stooped to entreat for permission to remain one moment were it not for the danger consequent on removing Pat in his present situation; but her pleadings availed nothing with Mrs. Flin any way, and so they went out, with the weak and suffering boy hobbling between them, and had their things put in a basement-room, which they called home again. It was not well for Pat down there in the cold and wet; and they missed the bright sun, and the pure air, and the cheering prospect, and altogether, what with the physical troubles incident to their depression of spirits, and the struggle they had for bread, they were getting on very ill, when a letter reached them from Mr. Bond.
"I'm coming on finely, my child," he said—it was to Nannie—"and look quite like Peter Bond again. The sea-voyage made me hearty, and a good appetite, freely indulged, plumped me up to my usual size, so that you wouldscarcely believe me the same man who left you two months ago, with the skeleton limbs losing themselves in the folds of my wide garments. Every thing is so new and strange to me, too, that I have plenty of amusement in watching my neighbors; and I often forget that I am as great a lion to them, until I meet their inquisitive gaze."I should like for you to be here for a little while to get some of the delicious fruits that are so common and abundant, and to see the negroes working among the sugar-cane and tobacco. I can not tell you all I would like to in a letter, but we shall have very nice times when I get back again, talking about what I have seen and heard. I send you a few leaves of plants which I picked while walking in the garden of the Bishop's palace. They are unlike any you have at home, and I know your fancy for such things. I want very much to hear how you are getting along; if you are as attentive as ever to your lessons and school, and if Pat is doing well in the store, and if the attic looks just as it used to? and Nannie, you must go to Mrs. Kinalden's before you write and see puss for me; and don't suffer for any thing, d'ye hear? I send your mother a little money to help her along while I am away, for fear the work has failed. Shall come in June, if permitted."Your friend,"Peter Bond."
"I'm coming on finely, my child," he said—it was to Nannie—"and look quite like Peter Bond again. The sea-voyage made me hearty, and a good appetite, freely indulged, plumped me up to my usual size, so that you wouldscarcely believe me the same man who left you two months ago, with the skeleton limbs losing themselves in the folds of my wide garments. Every thing is so new and strange to me, too, that I have plenty of amusement in watching my neighbors; and I often forget that I am as great a lion to them, until I meet their inquisitive gaze.
"I should like for you to be here for a little while to get some of the delicious fruits that are so common and abundant, and to see the negroes working among the sugar-cane and tobacco. I can not tell you all I would like to in a letter, but we shall have very nice times when I get back again, talking about what I have seen and heard. I send you a few leaves of plants which I picked while walking in the garden of the Bishop's palace. They are unlike any you have at home, and I know your fancy for such things. I want very much to hear how you are getting along; if you are as attentive as ever to your lessons and school, and if Pat is doing well in the store, and if the attic looks just as it used to? and Nannie, you must go to Mrs. Kinalden's before you write and see puss for me; and don't suffer for any thing, d'ye hear? I send your mother a little money to help her along while I am away, for fear the work has failed. Shall come in June, if permitted.
"Your friend,
"Peter Bond."
The letter brought much joy, as well as the money that could reinstate them in their old quarters again; butthe times were still pinching, and poor Nannie almost sunk down in the pitiless streets sometimes from fatigue and exhaustion. She had got very weary one day, and had sold but few of her wares, when she bethought her of May Minturn's mother, and wondered if she would buy something for May's sake; so she sought the house and went timidly in at the basement door. It wasn't Biddy who opened it for her, but a strange girl who told her they didn't want any thing; and she had not the courage to ask for the mistress, so she was turning sadly and despondingly away, when she saw the pale sweet face at the window and the white hand beckoning her to come up the front steps, and a moment after, Mrs. Minturn herself admitted her into the hall.
"I thought you were at school, Nannie," said she, looking over the articles in the basket, and selecting a goodly number, "and that you no longer needed to go out in the cold and tire yourself with this heavy thing," and she tried to lift the basket which her delicate arm could scarcely uphold. "I'm sorry for you," continued she, as Nannie told her of their misfortunes, "but come in here, I have something to propose to you;" and she led the way to the nursery where a lovely little girl of ten months old was amusing herself upon the floor with her playthings. "Would you like to come and live with me, and take care of Dora?" asked she, as Nannie stooped to caress the child, "I need Biddy as seamstress, and you love babies and know how to please them, do you not?"
Nannie looked earnestly at the young child, and as she thought of Winnie, it almost seemed as if she were back again, and she replied with tears in her eyes, "Oh, ma'am, it would be so much better than that!" pointing to the basket, "but perhaps I wouldn't suit you even if mother will let me come!"
"Never mind that, Nannie," said Mrs. Minturn, "you will suit if you try, I am sure; and I will give you more than you could get by trudging day after day with your small wares; so run home and ask your mother, child, and come to me on Monday, if you can."
"I would like it indeed!" thought Nannie, as she went homeward with a light step. "It would be quite like minding dear Winnie!"
They had got nicely settled again in the attic, and Pat lay upon his couch making shadows on the wall with his well arm to amuse himself, for the hours lagged heavily; and he longed to be tugging at the great bales and boxes again. He thought it would do well enough for women to be ill and confined to the house week after week; but he would rather work ever so hard than to be hived up in one particular spot so long, even with the tender nursing and care bestowed upon him. It did not occur to him that he needed occasionally such a convincing remembrance that he was mortal, which he perhaps often forgot in his accustomed health and strength. But he came to think of its object after awhile, and the discipline worked to a charm, making him patient and gentle, and awakeninga deeper interest in the home where there is no more sickness, so that when he felt himself growing robust again, he looked back upon the trial with gratitude. It took a great while though to regain what he had lost, and he had to sit for many a day in the easy-chair with his swollen feet upon a pillow, before his limbs would perform their accustomed office. Oh! how glad was he for the power of locomotion, as his halting feet moved even slowly over the floor; and it was like a recreation to him when he could walk down to the corner with the aid of a crutch. But the limbs grew flexible at last, and he went bounding off to his labors, thanking God that He had not made him a cripple. The poor old man who hobbles about Broadway upon one leg, owed many a penny to Pat's rheumatic siege, and Pat acknowledged it to himself as he lifted his free steps and took the way to the store.
Mrs. Bates was very lonely after Nannie went to nurse Dora, but she could not decline so good an offer, and hardly thought of herself as she felt what a nice home it would make for the child. Mrs. Minturn permitted Nannie to go often to see her mother, for she felt a parent's sympathy for the forlorn woman who was bereft of all her children, and she would herself go and sit beside Dora's little crib, when the babe was wakeful, rather than deprive Nannie of her visit to her home. She knew how bitter a thing it was to be separated from the little ones that shed such a halo over the house, and she could easily spare the girl one hour an evening to cheer the lonely and widowed. Dora would object, and cling to the young nurse that she had so soon learned to love; but the clasp would grow weaker and weaker, until the non-resisting form could be placed upon the bed, and Nannie always hastened back before there was any real need. It was a happy hour for her mother and Pat—the one Nannie spent with them. The table was drawn out and the books were upon it, and the low voice read or chatted, and a merry ringing laugh was often heard in the attic—andthen Pat would go back with the child to see that she was safe, and woe betide the boy that dared an insulting word or look.
"Wasn't he a brave lad, though?" said Nannie, as she told Biddy about the water, and the beating Pat gave the impudent troop of boys.
Biddy didn't dispute it, but she always went off into some rhapsody about a "bonnie lad she had left in ould Ireland, jist the boy that would be afther breaking the heart of ye, Nannie!"
Nannie had not reached that point yet, though, and was quite as contented watching the sleeping babe, as if there were no such trysting places as sidewalks, and no enamored boys and girls talking over the black railings about an Erin of their own yet to be established in the new country. She knew what it was to love her mother and the dead child, whose memory would never die out of her warm heart, and good Mr. Bond, who had always seemed to her so far above all other mortals—and Pat, too, who was, she thought, the impersonation of all that was beautiful and good; but the "breaking of the heart of ye" was a dead language to her, saving when it referred to some terrible affliction. Don't talk to Nannie about that, yet, Biddy. You're both better off with the kind mistress, and the nice home, and the warmth and comfort all about you, than you would be with a close room and crying children, and a husband who couldn't support you. It isn't theloveI'm talking against. Oh! no—thank heaven for that; but waituntil you can see the prospect clear for a comfortable living before you enter into a compact that may bring much misery with it, and don't think that to be breaking your hearts after the boys is of more importance than doing your duty in the house of your employers. Nannie is growing to be quite a stout girl, and perhaps Pat has a faint idea that she will make him a good wife one of these days; but she does not dream of it, and only looks upon him as Pat, yet. She never had a brother, so she can not estimate her regard for him as a sister would; indeed she does not care to measure it any way—why should she? the time has not come for this.
Pat looks at her rosy face as she sits across the table reading to them evenings, and he can compare it to nothing excepting the beautiful waxen figure he saw at some museum, a long time ago, and which has haunted him ever since. He paid something for seeing that, but this is a free blessing, which comes to him every evening, and the thoughts of it lightens the toil through the day, and quickens the step homeward. No wonder that he begins to feel that he must some day make sure that it will always be so, and that he studies over it after the light is out and the room is quiet, as he lies musing upon his restless couch. Doesn't he see that she is prettier and prettier every day and doesn't he know that there's many a boy that would be glad to call her "wife;" and isn't he sure there'll be bloody times if any of them attempt to take her from him! And as the sleep gets a faint mastery over him, and hedreams of a tussle with Mike Dugan—all on Nannie's account—the brawny arms strike outward, and the doubled fists come with such force against the innocent plastering, as to bring Mrs. Bates's nightcap to the bedroom door to see if thieves are breaking into the house.
Mrs. Flin has got into her new home, and there is quite a rejoicing among her tenants. There is no fear now from Master Sammy's apple-skins and pebbles, and the landlady's bombazine dress has done sweeping its ample folds across Mrs. Bates' floor. You don't catch Mrs. Flin in that vile street any more! She has an agent now to collect her rents for her, and she does not even recognize Nannie, whom she meets walking with little Dora in her arms. She has as much as she can do to keep an account of the number of calls Mrs. Airly has in the course of a day, and to ascertain what stylish-looking young lady is visiting there, and what mustached gentleman it is who raises his eye-glass so gracefully as the three drive past. Then she must stroll forth every morning at a certain hour, which she has learned is etiquettical, with a card-case in her hand, for that is the way Mrs. Airly—who has not wit enough to keep her own counsel—told her she took to give people an idea that she was greatly sought after. Mrs. Flin's time is wholly occupied. It is not strange that she never has an hour to spare Mrs. Bates now. Sammy doesnot exactly understand it all, and wonders why she pulls him by the hand as they pass Nannie, whispering him not to stop in the street to talk with that girl, when she used to send him up stairs to play with her, as often as she could get him out of her way, when they lived down there.
Captain Flin has returned from sea, and he scarcely knows his own wife, she has grown so grand. He does not feel at home in the new place; and while she walks out with the card-case, he takes his pipe, and goes down to sit on Jerry Doolan's steps and smoke with him, and he goes into the house (Jerry occupies the rooms vacated by the ambitious Mrs. Flin), and sits before the window, with his boots in the seat of it, wishing it was his home still, and that these women wouldn't get such plaguy notions in their heads!
Fie, fie! Captain Flin, will you let the weaker vessel go ahead of you in ambition and enterprise, and you rest content with such humble attainments! Knock the ashes out of your pipe, man, and go up to your own door as if you had always belonged there. What if you do step on the carpets as if they were eggs, and take up every thing as if it were not made to touch, and run to the door every time you hear the bell, as if it were not the maid's place. What if you do insist upon performing your ablutions at the kitchen sink, and using the same towel with the servants, and help yourself of the edibles 'way across the table, though Sally does her best to get your plate so as to wait upon you? Watch your wife, Jerold Flin. Don'tyou see how easy this gentility sits upon her; and were you not born and bred in as good a station as she? You scorn it all, do you! Notwithstanding, I'll warrant me you'll not know Jerry Doolan this day twelve months! Mark my words!
Nannie's gone up to Mrs. Kinalden's to get some messages for the letter to Mr. Bond. What has happened to the old lady? She has grown so very gracious, and places a chair for Nannie, and offers her a warm doughnut which she has just fried, and then she sits down with the cat on her lap, while she talks to the girl about the old gentleman. There's a good-natured smile upon her face, and somehow Nannie forgets how old and disagreeable she thought her when she used to come to see the sick man; and puss feels quite at home on the kind lap that no longer gives her a spiteful toss upon the hard floor.
There's something come over Mrs. Kinalden, surely! Perhaps the letters that occasionally reach her from the amiable bachelor have something contagious in them, and may be they awaken in her mind a faint hope that the address, "My dear Mrs. Kinalden," may mean a little more than appears upon the surface. He says "how much he misses the comfort of his home!" too, and "what delight it will give him to be once more settled in his quiet room;" and he tells her to "take good care of puss for his sake;" and isn't that almost equal to a declaration? Theold lady often draws a crumpled paper from her pocket, and carefully adjusting her spectacles upon her nose, goes over the manuscript with the forefinger of her right hand, stopping at "For my sake," and pondering the words very seriously. She doesn't know how it would do to change her situation at her time of life, although she does not feel a bit older than when she was married to Mr. Kinalden! She wonders if he, poor dear man! would rise from his grave if she should ever suffer herself to be called Mrs. Bond! He used to say that he should not lie peacefully beneath the sod if she were to drop his name for another. She was always afraid of "sperits," and if he should appear to her! and she crumples the paper up again, and thrusts it hastily into its secret receptacle, and chides herself for forgetting for one moment her buried lord, for the night is coming on, and she is not particularly courageous in the dreamy hours of darkness, and she is not sure but Mr. Kinalden's ghost will punish her for thought as well as deed.
Nannie has gone a long time ago. She only staid a moment to get news for the letter, and the old lady was quite alone when she suffered herself to embrace so important a subject as good Mr. Bond. The boarders drop in one by one and Mrs. Kinalden's thoughts are concentrated in her cups and saucers, and the hot tea that goes steaming round the table, and the query whether "Mr. Viets is the gentleman who takes sugar?" and "if it is Mr. Ballack that doesn't take milk?" and "which of the gentlemen it is that likes both sugar and milk?" and "which that takesneither?" And so all her aspirations after the Cuban bachelor are hushed for the present, amid the sober realities of her responsible station. It is not very remarkable that she sometimes dreams that it would be very agreeable to make a different arrangement! To be sure her boarders are as good as other boarders; but there's this person does not like beefsteak, and is very fond of mutton chops, and that one can not endure mutton chops, but delights in beefsteak; and fresh pork is too gross for such a one's appetite, and veal cutlets are disagreeable to Mr. So and So. Graham bread is the peculiar diet of one, and another never touches any thing but dry toast; and some like pastry, and some puddings; and what with them all and their likes and dislikes, the poor woman is almost distracted with the worriment and care.
No wonder then that she often sighs to be free from such a bondage! Her absent lodger never gave her any trouble; she can see it now that he is away, and she only wishes that his fat merry face would soon show itself again at her table. It would make her quite contented with her station at the big waiter.
It is a pity your mind's on that train, Mrs. Kinalden. Mr. Bond's heart is not made of wax, and is a terribly unimpressible object, so far as the ladies are concerned. There is only one other heart to whose pulsations it has ever responded, and that one has ceased to beat. Yours may throb and throb beneath the waist of your dove-colored merino, but his will never answer it, be sure of that!
Nannie wrote such a long letter to Mr. Bond, in her childish, unformed way. She told him every little thing concerning their own household, and the Flins', and Pat's misfortunes, and their ejectment from, and reinstalment in, their attic home; and she dwelt a great while upon Mrs. Flin's metamorphosis, and upon her own new abode with the Minturns. And the worthy bachelor read it all with as much delight as if it had been his pet-newspaper. Wasn't it just what interested him, and he so far away from the spot where all his joys centered alone, and among a strange people! What if it was a child's composition—wasn't that child Nannie Bates! and hadn't he determined to make something of her in the world! and couldn't he see an uncommon degree of intelligence even in that unfinished epistle!
How he frowned when he learned of Mrs. Flin's cruel treatment toward the sick boy and the straitened family; and how he congratulated himself upon being rid of the woman's importunities in behalf of the precocious Sammy; and how he laughed at the vision of Jerold Flin treading cat-like over the soft carpets, and sending his jets of liquidtobacco all over his ambitious wife's new furniture! Oh! there was fun in that childish letter to merry Mr. Bond.
His landlady was growing amiable! that was the best of all; but he guessed the secret of it, and feared it would not prove lasting. "It wasn't for nothing, Peter Bond," soliloquized he, "that she was so willing to be burdened with the care of thy favorite puss! It wasn't for nothing that so many goodies were stuffed into thy already crowded valise! It wasn't for nothing that her communications have been so frequent, and contained such tender inquiries after thy health, and such pathetic injunctions to be careful of thyself!" You must be a simpleton, man, to imagine that a benevolent disposition prompted so many manifestations all of a sudden, when the past was so different. "But why not?" thought he, as his charitable heart sought for a better motive in the woman than selfishness. "Isn't there such a thing as an immediate turning from the evil to the good? It does not take long to change the current of one's actions, if one is determined and energetic. But we shall see, we shall see;" and the good man leaned back in his chair, with his spectacles between his thumb and forefinger, and suffered himself to be carried away into a brighter past. He was not long in forgetting Mrs. Kinalden, and Mrs. Flin, and even his youngprotégée, and, looking off upon the surging ocean, he dreamed of a distant land where his spirit loved to linger with the soul that was hidden from other eyes. His reveries were very soothing and pleasant, and the people would wonder, asthey passed through the covered gallery where the old man sat musing, what it could be that imparted such a radiance to his ingenuous and winning face. They could not tell how a true affection may hallow the whole of life, investing it with a secret and mysterious charm. They were absorbed in other interests: some had their merchandise out upon the treacherous waters, and their souls were in their ships; and some had their traffic in a foreign land, and their hearts went after it; and some were only pursuing a passing pleasure, with no definite object or plan in existence.
Oh! how much they lost of true good, while the loving spirit, unperturbed by the trifles that so deeply affected them, sought its fellow, and with it held a sweet and refining communion.
It was a great wonderment to Mr. Bond what happiness there could be in crowding together in a saloon, and smoking, and drinking, and card-playing, and low and boisterous conversation. He forgot that it would be quite impossible for some minds to think, and that such need a continual excitement to make the hours endurable.
Tell them to walk down upon the wondrous beach, and interest themselves in the beauties of a sublime nature, or to sit gazing upward with delight at a heavenly creation, or to look within themselves and strive after a higher and more perfect development, and how many would not turn sneeringly away, and empty the brimming glass, or light a fresh cigar, or begin a new game at faro, with the evident feeling that their own ideas of pleasure were far before your unfashionable and strange notions.
What with Nannie's wages, and her own work, and Pat's board, besides an occasional perquisite from their kind friend, Mrs. Bates was quite looking up in the world. She had been able to cover the floor with a nice list carpet, and to add a few comfortable and pretty articles of furniture from time to time, so that the little family began to feel that their humble abode was the most luxurious place they had ever seen. Their hearts were so filled with gratitude for even these homely comforts, that there was no room in them for envious feelings toward those who were possessed of more bounteous gifts. A little stand by the window now held Nannie's plants, that were ever green and flourishing, and there was scarcely a week but some sweet bud peeped out from the fresh leaves of the one, or pure blossom burst forth from the other to greet them. The big Bible occupied its accustomed place in the corner, and a couple of neat shelves, the work of Pat's ingenuity, held the few books and little ornaments that had been accumulating since their good fortune commenced. Winnie's cradle was put away in her mother's bedroom with the rag-baby still lying beneath the small counterpane, and inits place was Pat's couch newly covered with a gay flowered chintz. A bright oil-cloth was nailed beneath the stove, and in the center of the room stood a table, around which was gathered a loving trio every evening when Nannie could be spared from her little charge.
Mrs. Minturn's house, to be sure, was grand and magnificent, and abounded in every thing that was costly and elegant, and yet, to Nannie, the square attic room with its modest apurtenances was far more beautiful and attractive. The eye of a stranger could see only the bare objects that served to fill the vacant nooks; but the heart's strong affections, and the devotion that counts nothing a toil that can bring blessings to another, and the motives of love and purity that dictated this or that offering, were the hidden associations that manifested themselves to Nannie's vision and made their inestimable value, so that could she have chosen between them and the wealth of her employers, she would gladly have taken the simple home.
Wasn't it here that peace had first spread its soft wings to shelter her long-time troubled being! Was it not here that she had learned what it was to be smiled upon and beloved; and was it not hallowed to her by the visits of her kind friend and the noble Pat; and, more than all, was it not consecrated by the footsteps of the death angel that came for dear little Winnie? Oh! there is no space there for a murmuring, grasping spirit, to take the good gifts handed out by a wise and loving father, and to use them with a grateful feeling is all that the righteous poorcan wish. Even in their lowliness are they often the objects of envy to the harassed and care-ridden rich, who would willingly forego all their superfluous gains for one hour of contented ease.
Mrs. Minturn went frequently to Nannie's home when the girl took little Dora out for a walk, for she wished to accustom her child to the sight of the various conditions of life, so that if she were spared to womanhood she might not be so far removed from her fellow-creatures as to hesitate to enter any abode, however humble, and to minister to the needy; and the gentle lady sat with her silken robes falling over the home-spun carpet, and her soft features exposed to the glare and steam of that common room, looking with a happy heart upon the joyous group before her. The poor widow, with her gown of print and checked apron, laid down her weary needle to attend to the sweet voice that ever sounded so soothingly in her ear, and the delighted child shook its rough toys, holding them up to the view, first of one, and then the other, and laughing aloud in her boisterous glee.
Mr. Bond was coming home! the glad news was in Nannie's hand, and he was even then bounding over the waters toward his lowly friends.
The room looked very sunny that morning, and the hearts of the expectant ones danced for joy. He would be there the next week, and they must all be there to meet him on Friday—that seemed so like a reality, to name the very day. Pat could request a holiday of his employers, and, as for Mrs. Minturn, she was sure to participate in all of Nannie's pleasures, and would be ready with the permission to spend the important day at her mother's. The greatest trouble was the intervening hours; how could they be comfortably disposed of! they had duties enough to perform, and yet the time went slowly and wearily; but it had an end, and a happy one—for the kind face was before them, as fat and merry and amiable as ever, and the immense corporosity moved about the room with as much gravity as so jolly a person was capable of. Nobody would have suspected that he had ever been ill, or that the shadow of a sorrow had ever troubled him. Seated beside the window with the June air playing blandly upon hisforehead, he congratulated himself that he was once more among his friends. What if they were humble and poor! there was a depth and richness in their love for him that neither comes of station nor wealth, and it sunk soothingly and gratefully into his glad heart, making it fruitful in a pure joy.
"It is not quite so pleasant bouncing up and down at the will of the angry waves, Nannie," said he, "as to sit quietly in this lolling-chair with your friends all about you, I can tell you, my girl!" and he looked at Nannie with a twinkle and a laugh, as if to say, "I'm well out of it, though. The ocean doesn't have any mercy on a body's bones, but tosses you about as if you were an India-rubber ball made on purpose;" added he, bursting into a hearty roar as he caught Mrs. Bates' eye fastened upon his rotund proportions, as if to ascertain where the bones were. "Oh! well, my good woman," continued he, "even a porpoise couldn't stand the bumping and thumping that we poor mortals are subject to when we trust ourselves on shipboard. Why, I solemnly protest that I've been pitched from my berth, many a time, quite across the cabin into my neighbor's and back again, in a trice, and that without ceremony, too!"
The old gentleman did not seem very indignant, but smiled upon his auditors as placidly as if there had been nothing but calm on his homeward journey, and he did not even mind their merriment as they pictured to themselves his robust figure bounding about like a foot-ball.
You are in the right of it, Mr. Bond. If you are the object of an innocent glee, it is better to join in the merry laugh, rather than to don a severe and offended dignity. It is quite a funny thought, though, that, amid such pitiless peltings you should escape with not even the slightest impression upon your fleshless bones! well, there's some comfort in being fat, you have that to console you. He doesn't look as if he ever needed to be consoled, but I can tell you that even Mr. Bond is not wholly exempt from the annoyances and trials of life! He has learned how to make the best of every thing, and that is more than half toward averting a trouble. Put a cheerful face upon the matter, it will but make it worse to fret and frown and keep your neighbors uncomfortable about it, besides working yourself into a teapot! Mr. Bond crowded all the evils down into the deepest corner of his heart and turned the key upon them, and that was the end of them. Nobody ever got hold of and magnified them, until he felt that they were too painful for any mortal to bear, for he kept them so close that they had not room to breathe, and so suffocated, and he knew nothing more about them.
It was a way of Mr. Bond's—there, couldn't every body do it—there's a certain process to go through before one can learn, and he had tried it thoroughly, and was really a proficient in the thing. It isn't every body that cares to learn—it is very pleasant to draw a friend into a corner and pour into a willing and sympathizing ear all that affects one depressingly, but it is a question whether either isbenefited by the confidence—the gloom may not only be deepened upon your own face, but it may reflect itself upon the countenance before you also. Better imitate the amiable and wise bachelor, and impart nothing but that which will bring a bright gleam with it.
Mrs. Kinalden was in a terrible flutter. Her lodger's "traps" had come, and were well disposed in his silent room; she had every thing in order to receive him. The light and the sun were admitted into the long-time darkened space, and puss was curled up upon the rug as if she had never known another resting-place. The dove-colored merino went up and down the stairs, and the clean cap-border flew backward with every agitated movement.
"It was very strange that he didn't come! Hadn't the boat been in since ten o'clock in the morning? so the truckman told her, and here were the hands at two in the afternoon! There was no accounting for it after all that had passed between them!" However, it couldn't be helped, and as the hour of three struck, and no Mr. Bond appeared, the despairing woman betook herself to her green moreen rocking-chair, and, what else could she do?—wept. Yes, wept! and while the red silk handkerchief hid her disappointed face, a heavy step sounded in the hall, and a familiar voice came through the half-open door of the little parlor. "Heigh-ho! what's the matter here? I thought I'd escaped the terrors of the briny deep; but bless my heart! here I am in the midst of it again!" andMr. Bond's plump hand was extended to greet his landlady, who quickly wiped away the offending drops, and grew calm. "Couldn't come before, madam," said he, in reply to her question as to what had detained him so long. "Had to go first and see how Nannie and Pat got on, you know!" That was rather overwhelming—so inconsistent with "My dear Mrs. Kinalden."
The shocked widow looked indignant and muttered something about "professions of regard," and "affectionate epistles," etc.; but it was all lost upon the obtuse man who talked on, about what especially concerned him, and then went gleefully up the stairs.
What wonder if his heart did beat quicker as his hand touched the knob of his room-door! Isn't it like meeting a dear friend, after a long absence, to cross the threshold of a cherished locality? The very inanimate things seemed invested with a silent joy at his return, and the face from the portrait beamed out a glad welcome. There are tears in the bachelor's eyes as they meet the blue orbs so fondly fastened upon him, for his thoughts are upon the gentle and confiding embrace that was once his. Woe unto you, Mrs. Kinalden! If there were a single impregnable spot in the good man's bosom, that tear would never have found its birth.
Puss, awakened by the heavy foot-falls, leaps about her master's legs, and gives a spring into his narrow lap, as he takes his chair, maintaining her precarious position by fastening her claws tightly in his broadcloth, to the nosmall danger of the limbs beneath, and purrs her perfect satisfaction. Oh! it's a good thing to get home! There's not so comfortable a place on the face of the earth, as the spot we call our own, with the objects that meet our daily touch strewn all about in their accustomed places. It's a pleasant thing to go out into the wide world too, and gather up a noble stock of incidents and experience, and thoughts, to expand the ideas that get pent-up and contracted by a narrow and confined position; but it is far better to turn about with one's face toward the dearer haunts and the best loved friends, and the familiar pleasures!
So thought the weary old man, as he sat in his big arm-chair, while his vision roved from one thing to another in his cosey room, and the warm breath of his favorite puss touched his hand.
It was all like a dream to him—the path he had trodden upon the deep, and the wanderings amid tropical scenes, and the transition from place to place within the last few months! He arose and looked into the garden below. When he had left, a white covering was spread over every thing and the sun's rays fell coldly upon snow and ice. Now there was fresh foliage upon trees and shrubs, and the perfume from newly-blown roses came up to greet his willing senses, and the little girls were playing under the thick shade. They looked up with a merry shout, as a shower of bon-bons fell upon their heads, and clapped their hands for very rapture, as the happy face peered out upon them through the half-closed blinds.
Captain Flin and his wife are coming down the street in full gala attire. The pipe has vanished, but the card-case is still conspicuous amid the folds of a stiffly-starched embroidered handkerchief. They have been to see the Airlys, and have posted themselves up in all their affairs, and they are nowen routeto return the numerous visits that have been paid to their new house and furniture. If that could have been put upon rollers and trundled about to drop its card, it would have been quite an acceptable deputy, and would have saved a world of embarrassment to the unsophisticated couple.
There's a worthy man upon the walk at a short distance from them. He shuffles along with his heavy gait and home-spun dress, but there is a good honest frankness in his face that commends him to the passers-by. He has almost reached them, and is about to give some token of recognition, when they whisk across the street with averted looks. Didn't I tell you so, Captain Flin? The twelvemonth lacks a week, and Jerry Doolan has gone to his home with downcast mien and a heavy heart, because his old friend has purposely avoided him. Don't I know somethingof human nature, and how contaminating heaped-up coppers are? It is not every body that will bear even a moderate degree of wealth, particularly among those who have no other foundation to build their consequence upon. You are not wholly given over yet, Captain Flin, for there are evidences of self-accusings in your confession. "I'm sorry we cut poor Jerry, wife! It wouldn't hurt us to speak to him!" You'll come right again, man; we're sure of that. Mrs. Flin thinks it is well enough to show Jerry that their position in life is different from what it used to be, and she is afraid that if she condescends to notice him, even casually, it will be an excuse for him to send Duggy up to play with Sammy; and isn't she trying as hard as she can to make Sammy forgetful of the past, and mindful only of their present exaltation! The Captain acknowledges that it is a good idea to try to make something of Sammy, but he feels as if he is himself rather too old to remodel into a polished gentleman, after so long a probation of hardening and roughening too. He considers it a real trial to sit by with his great hands hanging by his side, while his wife talks to her grand acquaintances with a volubility that he never before imagined her possessed of; and he only misses still more the quid that used to keep his own tongue occupied. It is such a relief when the last call is made, and their steps are bent toward their own door. Mrs. Flin goes to her room to divest herself of some of her superfluous finery, and her husband quietly takes the opportunity to don his shaggy coat and light his pipe, andwhile she fancies him safe within their own walls, he is striding swiftly toward Jerry Doolan's to tell him what an old fool he made of himself in the morning, and to remove the heaviness from his friend's heart by an hour of familiar chat.
"Fact is, Jerry," says he, "wife may as well hang up her fiddle about me; can't make a whistle out of a pig's tail, man, I tell ye! She may fuss up the young'un as much as she's a mind to, but it'll be labor lost over an old chap like me. I feel more at home down here in the old place, and a plaguy sight more comfortable, than I do with all the nice fixins she's got together up yonder; and I'll tell you what it is, Jerry, we'll have many a smoke and talk yet, while the women folks do up their callin'. I've been once, and that's once too many, and it will take a taut pull to get me at that business again;" and the old sailor puffed away at his pipe, and congratulated himself in his firm resolution not to be whiffled about so easily as heretofore by his wife's ambitious whims.
A pretty time there was of it, though, when he reached home again, and Mrs. Flin pumped out of him where he had been. "It's all of no use, Jerold Flin," said she, "for me to be a strivin' and a strivin' to keep up the honor of the house, and you continually running back to your low associates." But seeing that her husband was not much affected by any of her appeals she turned her aspirations to the boy, whose life she almost teased out with her injunctions not to do this, for James Airly didn't, and to besure to do that, because James Airly did. You need not exert yourself, Mrs. Flin, the boy's a "chip off the old block," and you can not make him otherwise. If you'll only try to implant within him good principles, and teach him that kindness of heart that always results in a true courtesy, it will benefit him more than all the fashionable notions you can gather from the external example of your neighbor Airly's children, I can assure you. This life is too noble and too dignified to be frittered away in vain attempts after a worthless outside. There is a genuine refinement and polish that comes from a strict adherence to the golden rule; this is what I would have you impress upon Master Sammy.
"How d'ye do, Nannie?" said young Flin, as he met the girl walking with Dora. Sammy was on his way to school with his satchel on his arm, and could only stop a minute; but he always did like Nannie Bates, and he was glad to get an opportunity to tell her that he would see her sometimes if his mother would let him go down to the old house. "You see I have to study very hard, now," said he, with a disdainful toss of his books to the walk; "and I don't love it, Nannie, but mother says she wants me to be a great man one of these days, and that's the way to bring it about. I don't see though how it will do it, if I study all my life and don't learn any thing!"
"But," said Nannie, "you ought to try to improve since you have the means to get a good education; I wish mother was rich enough to send me to school all the time!" and she took the satchel and looked over the books with a wistful air, while Sammy amused himself with the child.
"There's the old bell," said he, as the first faint tones came gratingly to his ear, "and I suppose I must go; I'm sure I'd rather play than sit bending over my desk all day,but good-by, Nannie, when I'm bigger I'll come to see you as often as I've a mind;" and away he ran, while Nannie stood looking after him and wishing for the very privilege that he spurned.
It would have done her some good, but Mr. Bond thought "she knew enough already. She could read, write, and cipher, and didn't she know Pilgrim's Progress from beginning to end; that was all he had ever learned, and hadn't he gone through life well enough so far!"
You are a nice good-hearted jolly old man, Peter Bond, and your merry happy face and amiable temper will compensate for any deficiency in intellectual attainment; but Nannie Bates has a craving mind, and it must have nourishment. You don't know how early she is out of her bed, stowed away in Mrs. Minturn's attic with a book in her hand, nor how many pages she devours while nursing Dora. She does not neglect her little charge, but invents a thousand ways to keep her pleased and contented, while she gleans a little more knowledge every day. It's astonishing how much the girl has gained already, and she has a double motive in it, too; there's another mind waiting to have it imparted, and the two expand, night after night, as they give their gathered ideas to each other in the one short hour. It's not much time, but it accumulates, in one year, thirty days! think of it! Supposing it were spent in foolish talking and jesting, or in parading the walks with the other boys and girl! there would be thirty days wasted, and two minds robbed, and twointelligent faces despoiled of their chief attractions. Pat has grown quite fine-looking since the obtuse look has given place to such a sensible inquiring expression, and a soul speaks out from Nannie's eyes now that she bestows more culture upon the mental part.
You're right, Mr. Bond. It is not necessary for Nannie Bates to go to school! she will come out quite as bright as thousands who are kept at their books by a rod over their backs. She can not help acquiring, wherever she is! She appears very modest and very attentive to the child as she stands in the drawing-room of her mistress while Dora is exhibiting to the many guests; but her ear is becoming accustomed to a pure language, and her imitative powers soon adopt it. She will make a very lady-like little wife for somebody! Pat sees it, and does what he can to keep up with her. There'll be a struggle for her, though. Mike Dugan goes to Mrs. Minturn's very often, and whenever Nannie is sent to the kitchen on any mission there's a paper of candy for her, or a kind pleasant word, or a fond look, and she begins to think Mike a very nice sort of lad; when Pat finds how things are going, "he doesn't think he would put himself in Mike Dugan's way if he were Nannie! He's a great rough, red-headed, ugly fellow, and wouldn't make much of a husband for any girl!"
Nannie isn't thinking of husbands, and only wonders why Pat dislikes Mike so much when he is as kind to her as a brother would be. She doesn't think him ugly at all. She remembers that he has red hair. It doesn't strikeher that Pat's is, if possible, a shade more fiery. She has never thought of comparing them, Mike is a clever fellow, and all the girls like him; but Pat, is Pat, and she would not have him like anybody else for all the world!
Mrs. Kinalden's face has grown long again, and the sour look has returned. It is strange what a gutta-percha capacity it has! Not so very strange though since she has not attended to the direction to purge herself from all internal sources of disquiet.
There isn't a person in the world that could maintain an equable temperament and expression, if every little outward vexation were suffered to penetrate him. Mrs. Kinalden has never learned to look within for her chief pleasure and enjoyment. Poor soul! it is little she would find to attract her in its present aspect, and that is the reason she does not care to enter the recesses of her heart; but depends upon the things that surround her for her delight; and they can not but fail to bring her any peace. If she would only consent to sweep and garnish the hidden chambers, and adorn them with the beauteous and goodly things which all may possess, she would find it very comforting to withdraw from other things, and spend her sweetest moments there, and the bright cheerful expression would be permanent then.
It is not easy to take this advice, however, and we givethe landlady up as a hopeless case. Mr. Bond is the only person whose arguments weigh any thing with her, and he, indifferent man, does not even perceive his influence; but goes about his own business, as if there were no disconsolate widow pining away her desolate being for him. The boarders recognize the fact, and they enjoy the fun, and flatter her into the belief that the bachelor is willin', but too diffident to propose, and they tell her that she must not be shy—that she can reveal the state of her feelings in a delicate way—and, when they have every thing in a right train, they withdraw from the little parlor, as Mr. Bond comes in for a moment's conversation with the old lady. She is terribly perturbed now that the moment has really come, and the innocent man seeing her distress, and fearing that some serious evil has happened to occasion it, begs her to tell him what troubles her, assuring her of his sympathy and aid. He even places a chair near her, and seats himself so close to her that his hand rests upon the arm of the sofa where she is sitting.
She loses her fear then, and says, in a tremulous tone, she has been thinking of Mr. Kinalden. Mr. Bond appreciates that. Is not there a kindred spirit in his own thoughts every moment of his life? Mrs. Kinalden begins to rise in his estimation, and he chides himself for ever imagining her untrue to her husband's memory; so he sighs, and listens as she goes on to say that she used to have scruples about throwing off her widowhood; but her days are very lonely, and she might be induced "to changeher mind". Mr. Bond puts her down a peg again; but feeling that he must congratulate her if she has really determined to marry, he tells her he is really very happy! and this encourages her to speak openly of him as the object of her affectionate designs.
There is a suppressed giggle in an adjoining room as the quick tread of the bachelor is heard upon the stairs; but he does not feel like laughing. He is shocked! he is indignant, that any one should ever dream of his being faithless to his early love!
How he came face to face with the cherished portrait, he does not know! That something strange has occurred he is sure; yet he stands there in his bewildered mood, a long, long time, wondering whether he is in or out of the body, and why Betty Lathrop could not have been spared to cheer his declining years? What! Peter Bond is not sad!
Isn't it enough to depress any one to be surprised by such a novel and unwelcome announcement when his own heart is dead to all but the one beloved?
Of course Mr. Bond could not remain in Mrs. Kinalden's house after this, and so he took a room in the same house with his young friends, and Nannie's mother went in every day to keep it in order, and it soon grew to be as dear as the old spot, for the same furniture was there, and the same face upon the canvas.
The good man can now make one of the party that assembles every evening in the pleasant attic. He has not the distance to keep him away, nor the weather, nor a feeble state of health, and right glad he is that every obstacle to so welcome a privilege is removed. A stranger, used to the polish and luxury of a different sphere, would wonder how such content and happiness could reign amid apparent lowliness and effort, for although things present a neat and thrifty aspect in the little room, it is evident that much toil is necessary in order to maintain even this degree of prosperity. The busy fingers of the mother are ever engaged with the needle, and the child is separated from her home by a needful economy; yet there is a real joy in every moment spent together, which might well excite the envy as well as the curiosity of a spectator. People are so long a time learning that harmony is of more value in a household than thousands of gold or silver—that "a dinner of herbs, where love is, is better than the stalled ox and hatred therewith." Perhaps if they could look in upon some of their wealthy neighbors, who are rich in every thing but the blessed element that money can not purchase, and thenreturn to the humble place that overfloweth with love and peace, they would be ready to acknowledge wherein true happiness consists, and to search for it with as much ardor as they now do for an increased treasury or a higher station. Mrs. Bates never troubled herself as to who was better off than she in point of tangible good, but she perfectly reveled in the sunny atmosphere of her pleasant home, endeavoring so to fix its present blessedness that no outward vicissitudes would be able to affect it.
She had no verbal eloquence with which to commend a contented and glad disposition to the members of her household, but her example was more forcible than precept, and there needed no other adviser. It was not always so; Nannie can look back to a sorrowful period, when even the hope-light was hidden from them, and they all feel that the leaven of the kind, and Christian, and benevolent heart has exercised its changing and salutary power among them.
Well may you look about upon the group before you with a placid feeling, Peter Bond. Isn't it worth a few more years severance from the spirit that awaiteth thee elsewhere, to see so noble a work—the result of thy instrumentality? It was a strange Providence to thee that raised thee up from the jaws of death and set thee upon thy strong feet again; but to question its wisdom was perfect folly—that thou feelest now as thy usefulness becomes apparent even to thy humility.
Nannie wonders what subject is agitating her friend, as his face grows thoughtful and serious; but she does not interrupthis meditations, for she has many a moment of quiet reflection that she wouldn't have broken for all the world, so she keeps very still until her hour has expired, and then says "good-night," so gently that he is not disturbed.
Mr. Bond goes to his room, with puss sauntering after, and Mrs. Bates indulges herself in a cat-nap in her chair, while Pat is enjoying the moonlight walk to Mrs. Minturn's with Nannie. He is as happy as happy can be until they reach the house, and Mike Dugan confronts them with a gift for Nannie. It's all spoiled now! Pat frowns upon Mike, and making a gruff adieu to Nannie, walks back again, with an uncomfortable feeling as if all the world is against him; and Nannie puts the unopened parcel upon the table, and cries herself asleep, with Pat's daguerreotype under her pillow and his rough adieu in her heart.
Poor children! it's the same the world over—smiles and tears, and smiles again; heart-breakings and heart-mendings; quarrels and reconciliations. There's no help for it; you must have your own experience!