THE ICE-CREAM.
"OH, Aunt Delight, do let us go in and have some ice-cream," said
Lolla, as they came opposite a pleasant-looking shop on Washington
Street, where she had several times been with her aunt. "We have not
had any for ever so long."
"How long?" asked Aunt Delight.
"Not since last week."
"And how long is that?"
Lolla was obliged to confess that it was no longer ago than the day
before yesterday.
"I cannot buy ice-cream every time we come into town. It is too
expensive."
"I thought you were rich enough to afford to get whatever you liked,
aunt," said Lolla; "and it only costs twenty-five cents."
"Well, I come into town, on an average, three times a week. Suppose I
were to spend twenty-five cents every time: how much would that come to
in a month?"
"Three dollars, exactly," replied Lolla, after a little consideration.
"Yes: enough to buy a nice Testament in large print for old Mrs.
Prince, and a 'Silent Comforter' to hang on the wall for poor Jessie
McMillen, who you know has not strength to hold a heavy book in her
hand."
"You might buy the book too," said Lolla. "I am sure you have money
enough."
"Perhaps you do not know just how much money I have; but, if I were as
rich as the richest man in the world, it would not be right to spend
money foolishly. Besides, it is a very bad habit to be constantly
buying nice things to eat. It leads to selfishness, gluttony and
extravagance. I am willing to indulge you to a reasonable extent;
but if you tease me for ice-cream or candy every time you see a
confectioner's shop, I cannot bring you to town with me any more."
Lolla was silent. She knew by experience that when Aunt Delight
said no, that was all that was to be said; but she felt very much
dissatisfied, and she was really provoked when Aunt Delight bought a
pretty photograph of some cliffs and boats, and some fishermen's huts
upon the sea-shore.
"That cost more than the ice-cream would have cost,—fifty cents more,"
said Lolla; "and what is it good for, after all?"
"Good to look at," replied Aunt Delight. "The ice-cream is eaten and
gone, and that is the end. The photograph may be looked at every day
for ten years, and be just as good at the end of the time. But this
picture is not for myself, but for Jessie McMillen."
"That is queerer yet," said Lolla. "I thought when people bought things
for the poor they got somethings useful."
"That depends upon circumstances, and also upon what you call useful,"
replied her aunt. "Jessie's father can buy her the clothes and the food
that are absolutely necessary for her; but he has no money to spare for
any thing else. This picture will hang on the wall opposite her bed,
and be a new pleasure to her every time she wakes up and looks at it,
and all the more because it will remind her of the shores of Scotland,
which she will never see again. I have had a long illness myself,
and I know very well how pleasant is any thing which reminds one of
out-of-doors and fresh air."
"Come, Lolla," said Aunt Delight, after tea; "let us go up and carry
Jessie her picture."
Jessie McMillen was a Scotch girl who was dying slowly of a painful
disease. Her father had come from Scotland not many months before,
with his wife and his only daughter. He was a sober, steady man,
who had been injured by an accident in a coal-mine, so that he was
unable to work very hard; but his wife was skilful in fine washing and
clear-starching, and Jessie understood housework and sewing: so there
seemed every probability that they would be able to support themselves
nicely.
They took rooms in a little cottage near Savin Hill, and for a time
did very well; but misfortune fell upon them. Mrs. McMillen took cold
while hanging out her clothes one biting winter's day, and went into a
quick consumption. It was while waiting upon her sick and dying mother
that Jessie was seized with a pain in her chest. She thought little
of the matter at first; but, between hard work and watching, the pain
grew more and more severe; and when, after her mother was buried, she
went to the doctor, he told her, as gently as he could, that there was
nothing to be done for her. Since then she had gradually but surely
grown worse, till she was now nearly helpless.
Her father obtained work as a gardener, in which business he was
very skilful, and some kind people of the neighbourhood interested
themselves in the daughter, so that Jessie wanted for nothing. She had
failed very much through the spring, and was now unable to sit up.
Lolla could not regret the loss of her ice-cream when she saw how
Jessie's eyes brightened at the sight of the photograph, and heard the
little cry of joy which she uttered as she examined it.
"It is just my grandfather's house in Scotland," said she. "I have
been there a hundred times. And that woman is Maggie Lawlor, the old
fishwife, who used to carry me on her back. I've often seen them make
pictures of it when I was a little girl; but I never thought to see it
again.
"Many artists came to our village in summer to draw the rocks and the
boats. One of them painted my picture when I was a wee thing like Miss
Lolla, there. I mind well how I would have putten on my fine Sunday
gown and hat; but he would have me in my old stout red petticoat. Oh,
how pleased my father will be!"
"I am very glad," said Aunt Delight. "I thought you would be pleased
with a Scotch scene; but I had no idea that you would know the place."
"It just seems like a gift from God," said Jessie, reverently. "Oh, I
have so tried and prayed to dream of it all, but I never could; and now
he has sent me this."
"He is always good," said Miss Delight. "You will find that out more
and more to all eternity, Jessie. And now about your eating: have you
been able to take any food to-day?"
"No, ma'am. I canna eat, though I try. Every thing turns against
me,—especially every thing warm."
"Do you like ice?"
"Very much, ma'am; and Mrs. Tuttle was very good to send me some
several times. I often fancy if the broth was frozen I could eat it."
"I will see if something cannot be prepared," said Aunt Delight.
The next morning, while Lolla was at her lessons, she heard a sound
in the kitchen like the turning of an ice-cream freezer, which so
distracted her attention that she missed half the questions in her
arithmetic lesson, and had to study it over again. At last, however,
she accomplished her task, and hurried down-stairs to see what was
going on; and, behold! there was Philly, in a cool recess which opened
out of the kitchen, turning the freezer as busily as possible.
"What are you making, Philly?" asked Lolla.
"I don't know. Something for Jessie McMillen," answered Philly, pausing
in her work for a minute, and then beginning again with new vigour.
"Pshaw! Always Jessie McMillen!" said Lolla, half to herself. "I wonder
why I can't have something decent to eat, as well as that beggar."
"Why, Lolla!" said Philly. "I don't see how you can talk so. I wish you
could live where I did before I came here, for about three weeks. You
would know what it is to have something good to eat. Jessie isn't a
beggar, either; and you should not call her so."
"Just like you, Philly!—Always contradicting every word I say. I should
think Aunt Delight might teach you not to be quite so impudent. Just
like niggers! I can't bear them."
"Lolla," said Sarah, "if you call Philly a nigger again, I shall tell
your aunt. I don't think that is much like a little lady, for my part."
"Never mind, Sarah," said Philly. "Lolla will be sorry by-and-by. After
all, I 'am' a nigger," she added; "and I needn't care about being
called one. This stuff is all frozen now."
"I'll tell Miss Delight," said Sarah. "I don't know whether she wants
you to carry it to Jessie now or not."
"Miss Delight," she asked, going to the door of the breakfast-room,
"the milk porridge is frozen. Shall Philly carry it over directly?"
"I will see," replied Aunt Delight, coming into the kitchen. She
examined the contents of the freezer and put them into a small tin
pail, which she set into another larger pail. She then packed the
outside pail full of finely-powdered ice, and sprinkled in a little
salt.
"Now, Lolla," said she, "I want you to put on your things and carry
this over to Jessie directly, that she may have it for her dinner. The
sun is clouded over, and you can keep in the shade nearly all the way.
When you come back, stop at the shop and bring me half a dozen lemons."
"What is Philly going to do?" asked Lolla.
"She is going to be busy at home. Don't waste any time. You can leave
the pails, and tell Jessie to have them set in the cellar."
Lolla set out on her errand in no very good humour. She had hoped
when she saw the freezer that she was going to have ice-cream for her
dinner; and it was a great disappointment to find that Philly was only
making something for poor Jessie.
Lolla was growing more and more fond of eating every day. She cared a
great deal more for nice things than she used to do at home, where no
one objected to her eating them every day and all day long. The fact
of being obliged to indulge her appetite in secret gave a zest to her
stolen feasts,—literally stolen, many times, I am sorry to say; for
she fell more and more into the habit of pilfering from the pantry and
from the store-room at every opportunity. She had heretofore been so
sly and careful that Sarah had not been able to detect her in the act;
but she was growing bolder every day. Nor was this the worst of it. She
had spent all the money she had brought from home upon ginger-cakes,
raisins, and other things of the kind. She could hardly believe it when
she found her purse empty, and in her heart she accused some one of
having robbed her; but, however that might be, it was all gone.
It was a fault of Miss Delight's that she was rather careless of money.
She was somewhat apt to leave her purse in her work-box or on her desk;
and she had a habit of keeping loose pennies and small change in the
corner of drawers and on the edges of shelves. Sarah often remonstrated
with her about the matter, especially since Philly came to live at the
cottage,—and Miss Delight had been more careful for a time; but, as her
confidence in the child's honesty became established, she gradually
fell into her old habits.
It was with fear and trembling that Lolla first took to herself a penny
to spend in molasses-candy; but, as she was not discovered, she grew
bolder; and now it was a regular thing for her to look-out for the
waifs and strays from her aunt's purse. At that very time she had five
cents in her pocket which she was intending to spend at the store.