If Mrs. Jemima Crook happened to be in a very good temper, when taking
a cup of tea with some old acquaintance, she would sometimes allude to
her private affairs in these words: "I don't deny it; Crook has left
me comfortable." This was not much to tell, for Mrs. Crook was not
given to confidences, and a frequent remark of hers was: "I know my
own business, and that is enough for me. I don't see that I have any
call to fill other people's minds and mouths with what does not
concern them."
Seeing, however, that Mrs. Crook's own mind and heart were entirely
filled by Mrs. Crook herself, it was, perhaps, as well that she should
not occupy too much of the attention and affection of her neighbors.
It is a poor, narrow heart, and a small mind, that find self enough to
fill them; but these sorts are not unknown, and Mrs. Crook was a
sample of such.
When she spoke of having been left "comfortable" by her deceased
partner, there was a look of triumph and satisfaction on her face, and
a "No-thanks-to-any-of-you" kind of tone in her voice, that must have
jarred on the ear of a listener.
No one ever saw a tear in Mrs. Crook's eye, or heard an expression of
regret for the loss of "Crook" himself. He had been dead and out of
sight and mind almost these ten years past. He was merely remembered
as having done his duty in leaving his widow "comfortable." People
were left to speculate as they chose about the amount represented by
the expression. It would not have been good for the man or woman who
had ventured to ask a direct question on the subject, but everybody
agreed that Mrs. Crook must have something handsome. Surely
"comfortable" means free from care, both as regards to-day and
to-morrow: not only enough, but a little more, or else anxiety might
step in and spoil comfort. If Mrs. Crook had more than enough, she
took care not to give of her abundance. Neither man, woman nor child
was ever the better for the surplus, if such there were. One of her
favorite expressions was, "I don't care for much neighboring; I prefer
keeping myself to myself."
"And you keep every thing else to yourself," muttered one who had
vainly tried to enlist her sympathy for another who was in sickness
and trouble.
Mrs. Crook had a pretty garden, well-stocked with flowers, according
to the season. She was fond of working in it, and might be seen there
daily, with her sun-bonnet on, snipping, tying and tending her plants.
Children do so love flowers, and, thank God, those who live in country
places have grand gardens to roam in, free to all, and planted by His
own loving hand. But in town it is different, and Mrs. Crook lived
just outside one; far enough away from its smoke to allow of
successful gardening, not too far to prevent little feet from
wandering thither from narrow courts and alleys, to breathe a purer
air, and gaze, with longing eyes, at the fair blossoms. It always
irritated Mrs. Crook to see these dirty, unkempt little creatures
clustering around her gate, or peeping through her hedge.
"What do you want here?" she would ask, sharply. "Get away with you,
or I will send for a policeman. You are peeping about to see if you
can pick up something; I know you are. Be off, without any more
telling!"
The light of pleasure called into the young eyes by the sight of the
flowers would fade away, and the hopeful look leave the dirty faces,
as Mrs. Crook's harsh words fell on the children's ears. But as they
turned away with unwilling, lingering steps, heads would be stretched,
and a wistful, longing gaze cast upon the coveted flowers, until they
were quite lost to sight.
There was a tradition amongst the youngsters that a very small child
had once called, through the bars of the gate: "P'ease, Missis, do
give me a f'ower." Also that something in the baby voice had so far
moved Mrs. Jemima Crook, that she had stooped to select one or two of
the least faded roses among all those just snipped from the bushes,
and given them to the daring little blue eyes outside, with this
injunction, however:
"Mind you never come here asking for flowers any more."
This report was long current among the inhabitants of a city court,
but it needs confirmation.
Mrs. Crook objected to borrowers also, and perhaps she was not so much
to be blamed for that. Most of us who possess bookshelves, and once
delighted in seeing them well filled, look sorrowfully at gaps made by
borrowers who have failed to return our treasures. But domestic
emergencies occur even in the best regulated families, and neighborly
help may be imperatively required. It may be a matter of Christian
duty and privilege too, to lend both our goods and our personal aid.
Mrs. Crook did not think so. Lending formed no part of her creed. If
other people believed in it, and liked their household goods to travel
up and down the neighborhood, that was their look-out, not hers.
"I never borrow, so why should I lend?" asked Mrs. Crook. "Besides, I
am particular about my things. My pans are kept as bright and clean as
new ones, and if my servant put them on the shelves, as some people's
servants replace theirs after using, she would not be here long. No,
thank you. When I begin to borrow, I will begin to lend, but not until
then."
Mrs. Crook's sentiments were so well known that, even in a case of
sickness, when a few spoonfuls of mustard were needed for immediate
use in poultices, the messenger on the way to borrow it, passed her
door rather than risk a refusal, whereby more time might be lost than
by going farther in the first instance.
Many were the invitations Mrs. Crook received to take part in the work
of different societies. One lady asked her to join the Dorcas meeting.
"You can sew so beautifully," she said. "You would be a great
acquisition to our little gathering."
The compliment touched a tender point. Mrs. Crook was proud of her
needlework, but to dedicate such skill in sewing to making
under-clothing for the poorest of the poor: The idea was monstrous!
Mrs. Crook answered civilly, that she could not undertake to go
backwards and forwards to a room half a mile off. It would be a waste
of time. Besides, though it was probably not the case in that
particular meeting, she had heard that there was often a great deal of
gossip going on at such places. The visitor was determined not to be
offended, and she replied, gently, that there was no chance of gossip,
for, after a certain time had been given to the actual business of the
meeting, such as planning, cutting out, and apportioning work, one of
the ladies read, whilst the rest sewed. "But," she added, "if you are
willing to help us a little, and object to joining the meeting at the
room, perhaps you would let me bring you something to be made at home.
There is always work for every willing hand."
Then Mrs. Crook drew herself up and said she did not feel inclined to
take in sewing. She had her own to do, and did it without requiring
assistance, and she thought it was better to teach the lower classes
to depend upon themselves than to go about pampering poor people and
encouraging idleness, as many persons were so fond of doing
now-a-days. No doubt they thought they were doing good, but, for her
part, she believed that in many cases they did harm.
The visitor could have told tales of worn-out toilers, laboring almost
night and day to win bread for their children, but unable to find
either material for a garment or time to make it. She could have
pleaded for the widow and the orphan, if there had seemed any feelings
to touch, any heart to stir. But Mrs. Crook's hard words and looks
repelled her, and she went her way, after a mere "Good-morning. I am
sorry you cannot see your way to help us."
No chance of widows weeping for the loss of Mrs. Crook, or telling of
her almsdeeds and good works, or showing the coats and garments made
for them by her active fingers!
It was the same when some adventurous collector called upon Mrs. Crook
to solicit a subscription. She had always something to say against the
object for which money was asked. If it were for the sufferers by an
accident in a coal mine or for the unemployed at a time of trade
depression:
"Why don't they insure their lives like their betters? Why don't they
save something, when they are getting good wages? I am not going to
encourage the thriftless, or help those who might help themselves, if
they would think beforehand."
At length every one gave up trying to enlist her services, or to
obtain contributions from her, for the support of any good cause. And
Mrs. Crook bestowed all her thoughts, her affections, her time and her
means, on the only person she thought worthy of them all--namely Mrs.
Crook herself.