THE POOR-RICH CHILD.
“I never saw such a little torment as that child, never; he’s just the mischievousest little monkey that ever was made; nothing in the house will stand before him. I wish his mother would take a little care of him, and make him behave. I should like to whip him an hour without stopping. I do believe he is the worst boy who ever lived.”
No—Eddy was not the worst boy who ever lived; I am sure he does not look like it. He hears what Betty says, about wanting “to whip him an hour without stopping:” but he does not pout, or kick out his foot, or throw his ball after her; he picks up a bit of string, and begins to play horse with a chair, as good-humoredly as if Betty had said he was the best boy in the world. No—Eddy was not a bad boy; but, like a great many other children who did not deserve it, he got that name. I will tell you about it. Eddy’s mother did not like the care of children; she liked to go shopping, and buy handsome dresses, and spend agreat deal of time in talking with dressmakers about trimming them; and after she got them finished, she liked to sit down in her handsome parlors, and fold her white hands, and admire herself, till somebody or other called to admire her; or else she liked to walk out in the street, and hear people say—“Splendid! beautiful! what taste Mrs. Van Wyck always shows in her dress!” Then she was happy! that repaid her for all the pains she had taken to make a doll of herself; but when she came home, and her little boy, whom perhaps she had not seen before that day, ran into the hall and said, “Mamma!” Mrs. Van Wyck caught her beautiful dress quickly up in her hand, and said, “Martha! do take that child away; I am sure he will ruin my dress.” Then Martha would take Eddy up into the nursery, and shut the door, and call him a little plague; and Eddy would stand at the nursery window, and look out into the neighbors’ yards; and see, for the hundredth time, a long row of wooden sheds, with clothes dangling on the lines, and a long row of tall brick houses and tall brick chimneys; and then he would turn away and take up his top, and then his cart, and then his marbles; and then he would look at Betty, who had thrown herself down on the bed to read a novel; and then Eddy would say, timidly, “Betty?” and Bettywould answer, “Be quiet, can’t you?” and then Eddy would wander round the small, hot nursery again; and then he would say, “Betty, won’t you please take me out to walk? I am so tired and hot, Betty;” and Betty would say, “No, there’s no need of your walking; go draw your cart, and let me alone; what a plague you are!” and then Eddy would pick up a pair of scissors on the floor, and seeing a piece of white cloth lying on the table, he would begin to cut it—because the poor tired child didn’t know what else to do; and by-and-by Betty would get through with her novel, and the first thing Eddy knew she would shake him half out of his jacket, and scream out, “You little torment! you have cut my night-cap into inch pieces;” and when Eddy said, “I did not know that piece of cloth was a night-cap, Betty,” she would say, “Don’t you tell me that, you little fibber; you did it on purpose, I know you did.”
After a while Eddy’s father would come home, and Eddy would run out in the hall, and say, “Papa, here’s Eddy;” and his father would say, “So I see, and I suppose you want a top or a ball, don’t you?” and Eddy would say, “No, I want you, papa;” and then his father would say, “Not now, Eddy, by-and-by.” But “by-and-by” never came to poor Eddy, for his fatherwas a very long time eating dinner, and then came wine, and then came cigars, and then came company; and Eddy was hurried off to bed, only to begin another day just like it, on the morrow. You see how it was; he was an active little fellow; he could not keep still; nobody talked to him, they gave him nothing to do; and when he got into what they called “mischief,” then they said he was a bad boy. Oh how many such little suffering, rich people’s children I have seen; a thousand times more to be pitied than the children of poor parents.
One night Eddy awoke and said, “Betty!” Betty wanted to sleep, so she pretended she did not hear him; Eddy tossed about his little bed, a while longer; and then his throat felt so bad he said again, “Betty!” but Betty never spoke, and it was all dark; so little patient Eddy lay back again on his pillow—lay there all night without any one to take care of him. In the morning, Betty roused up and said, “Get up, Eddy;” but Eddy did not move; then Betty went to his little bed, and shook his arm; then she peeped into his face; she had never seen Eddy look that way before. Every body in the house now came to look at Eddy; then the doctor came and looked at him; but death had stepped in before him; that poor little throat was filling, filling; thedoctor could do nothing. He said Eddy died of croup. You and I know he was murdered. Died as hundreds of children die every year, of wicked neglect. Oh, there is room for children in Heaven; they are never “in the way” there—that’s one comfort.