Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "HOW OLD SHOULD YOU SAY HE IS, MA'AM?" _Frontispiece._]]
MRS. RULE'S FOUNDLINGS.
BY
ANNETTE LYSTER
AUTHOR OF
"A LEAL, LIGHT HEART," "THE WHITE GIPSY,"
"HATHERLEY'S HOMESPUNS," "FAITHFUL," "MIDSHIPMAN ARCHIE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY W. S. STACEY.
—————————————
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE GENERAL LITERATURE
COMMITTEE.
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LONDON:
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.;
43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.C.
BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET
NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG AND CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
I. QUESTIONS
II. PRACTICAL ANSWERS
III. ARMINE'S TRUST
IV. MAKING A CHOICE
V. THE FIRST MONTH
VI. MRS. ANSTRUTHER'S ADVICE
VII. HOW IT WAS FOLLOWED
VIII. THE BABY
IX. MRS. ANSTRUTHER
X. FANNY
XI. OWEN MORGAN'S VISIT
XII. MASTER HASTINGS
[Illustration]
MRS. RULE'S FOUNDLINGS.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
QUESTIONS.
SOME years ago there lived in a part of Clapham where the houses are
small, but the neighbourhood respectable, a solitary woman whose name
was Hannah Rule. She was no longer young; she had no relations living,
to the best of her knowledge, and almost no friends—none in her own
rank of life. All this sounds rather melancholy, yet Hannah was by no
means a melancholy person. She was a Devonshire woman, and had been a
servant in very good places. She was a first-rate cook, and so good a
laundress that the most delicate and priceless lace was often confided
to her, either by ladies who knew something of her, or by ladies' maids
who did not care to wash it themselves, and who heard of Mrs. Rule, as
she called herself, that she could both mend and wash it, and in some
cunning way give it the yellowish tinge which old lace ought to display.
Mrs. Rule had saved money while in service, and had laid out part
of her earnings in furnishing her small house in Wellington Row, of
which she let the first floor. But she never would let her lodgings
to a lady, or to any gentleman who did not engage to dine out every
week-day. Ladies, Mrs. Rule said she could not put up with; they were
always wanting tea at odd times, and were mostly at home all day
under your feet. And if she had to cook a dinner every day for her
lodger, how could she be free to go out to cook for people giving
dinner-parties, by which she made a pretty penny?
Moreover, to be always at home, cooking chops and potatoes, would soon
be the death of her with dulness! On Sunday she did not mind—one wanted
the rest; but on other days, she was always open to an engagement, and
was known far and near as a splendid cook, who sent up a really good
dinner for about half the outlay caused by an incompetent cook. The
five shillings which she charged for the day's work was saved over and
over again. Experienced matrons would aver, "and then the style of the
dinner, my dear! You might fancy you had spent 'pounds' upon it!"
"But," said young Mrs. Atkins, whose husband had decreed that a
dinner-party they must give, as they had dined out so frequently since
he had brought home his bride—"but she will want me to buy stew-pans
and bain-maries, and ever so many things that I could do just as well
without for the present."
"No, my dear child," replied the portly lady to whom she had applied
for advice, "I don't think Mrs. Rule ever asks for anything of the
kind. She brings things with her sometimes; but she takes quite a pride
in showing what she can do with an ordinary kitchen range, and such
pots and pans as your servant uses."
"Well," said Mrs. Atkins, preparing to depart, "I never could trust
poor Mary Jane to cook for eight people—it is hard enough to get a
dinner decently cooked for two! So, thank you, very much. I shall take
your advice, and go round to Wellington Row to secure Mrs. Rule before
I send out our invitations. Perhaps Mary Jane and I may learn something
from her—which would be a blessing!" she added, with a laugh.
"Now, my dear, don't expect that. Mary Jane will be turned out of her
kitchen for that afternoon; and if you go in to see what is going on,
you will see nothing. Mrs. Rule once told a friend of mine that she was
there to cook a dinner, not to give cooking lessons. She is perfectly
honest, and will do her very best for you, but she is not obliging."
No, she was not obliging; about that there was no doubt. She thoroughly
enjoyed contending with difficulties, and saying to herself that when
she was cook at Sir Barton Yeo's, she had had a very different kitchen
at her command. But she seldom exchanged a word with the servant whose
kitchen she occupied for the time being, and no amount of hints ever
coaxed her into telling how one of her dainty dishes was prepared. One
lady thought she had hit on quite a clever plan. She asked casually—
"Oh, Mrs. Rule, what do you call that 'pretty' dish with the white
thing piled up on it? I want to look it up in my cookery-book."
"I don't hold by cookery-books, ma'am," was all the answer she received.
Her neighbours of her own rank in life had the same story to tell. Mrs.
Rule would scarcely go to the trouble of knowing them. Fine ladies'
maids would come to No. 3, and sit talking for an hour or so to Mrs.
Rule. Mrs. Rule would take delicate lace or fine muslin embroidery home
to grand houses in town, where she was a welcome visitor, and would
be asked to tea in the housekeeper's room, and must then hear news
that her less-favoured neighbours would have greatly rejoiced to hear
from her. But not a syllable did she ever tell to any one, even to old
Mrs. Collins, who truthfully averred that it was not for want of being
asked! Mrs. Collins lived at No. 6, and she also let lodgings, which
she thought ought to evoke a fellow-feeling in Mrs. Rule, but this
fellow-feeling did not make Mrs. Rule "wondrous kind," and poor Mrs.
Collins fished for gossip all in vain.
"And she knows what I want, well enough," Mrs. Collins mournfully
declared; "but not a word nor a syllabub does she ever say. I
doubt she's a selfish piece. And never goes to church—nor even
prayer-meeting, if her lodger won't permit of church. Ah, well! Though
I am 'not' a first-rate cook, nor yet can darn lace so that you'd never
see it, nor wash it to look as good as new, yet I'm a better Christian
than Hannah Rule!" Then she wagged her ancient head, and added, "That's
my consolation."
For several years Mrs. Rule led this life; people had given up
expecting anything more of her. Mrs. Collins had had misfortunes, and
been obliged to part with some of her furniture, when she had had
her first floor vacant for months together because her lodger had
inconsiderately died of an infectious fever. She had been ill herself
too, and, not having saved money, was really feeling the pinch of
poverty, but she would as soon have thought of going to Windsor Castle
and asking the Queen to sympathize with her woes, as of knocking at the
door of No. 3 and confiding them to Hannah Rule.
"Not but she knows all about it, and looks down on me now I'm in
trouble; for it's my belief she knows everything! I know it by her eye."
It was rather clever of Mrs. Collins to find this out by Mrs. Rule's
eye (to guard against mistakes let me state that she had two), but,
however Mrs. Collins found it out, it was true. Mrs. Rule had a
singular gift, which she called "putting that and that together," and,
without asking questions, she generally knew all about her neighbours.
She knew most things, too, about the families she worked for. She
made no bad use of her knowledge, and never even talked of it; but it
afforded her great satisfaction, and constituted at once her study and
her recreation.
When Mrs. Collins made that remark about her neighbour's eye, she
was sitting dejectedly in the window of her parlour, whence her last
lodger had departed a few days previously, and she saw Mrs. Rule in the
window of her parlour, which was a bay window, and in which there was a
flower-stand, full of geraniums in beautiful bloom. Mrs. Rule watered
these carefully, and then stood looking out for a minute or so.
"You and your geraniums," muttered poor Mrs. Collins, "and not a bit do
you care that I had no tea for breakfast, very little but dry bread for
dinner, and here's six o'clock coming near and I don't see what to have
for supper!"
And the poor old soul began to cry; for of late things had gone very
badly with her. But now she saw something that made her dry her eyes
hastily in order to stare hard. Mrs. Rule's hall door, with the
aggressively bright knocker and knob, opened, and out came Mrs. Rule
herself, without shawl or bonnet, a sight not previously seen by any
one in the row.
"Where on earth—? Goodness! She's coming here! Well, to be sure!"
Mrs. Rule knocked at the door. Mrs. Collins went into the hall and
opened it.
"Good afternoon," said Mrs. Rule, in her soft Devonshire drawl. "Will
you come to my house and take tea with me?"
"Will I—what did you say?" inquired Mrs. Collins, blinking at her.
Hannah reddened a little; she had a fresh pink and white complexion,
even yet; and an altogether comely and pleasant face when she spoke or
smiled.
"Will you come to tea with me? I thought, as your rooms are empty, that
you could spare the time."
"Empty! So they are, indeed; but I've a lady coming to the parlour
to-morrow, and I was thinking of dusting, and settling the fire. But
I'll come, with pleasure. Just let me wash my hands."
"Well, I'll run back, and do you come when you are ready; I've
something baking," answered Mrs. Rule, as she walked briskly home.
"You might knock me down with a feather," remarked Mrs. Collins to an
imaginary listener; "but a cup of tea won't hurt me, anyhow."
In five minutes she had put on a fresh cap and apron, and washed her
hands, which would have looked cleaner had she washed them oftener. Ten
times, at least, she declared aloud that wonders would never cease, and
that you might knock her down with a feather, but she lost no time;
for, between hunger and curiosity, she was in a hurry for the promised
tea.
Mrs. Rule opened the door, and, with something of an effort, said—
"You're kindly welcome, Mrs. Collins. Just sit here while I go to the
kitchen for the tea."
And she led the way into her tidy little parlour, where a small round
table was neatly set forth with cups and saucers, and, moreover, as
hungry Mrs. Collins did not fail to perceive, with knives, forks, and
salt. And there was a very savoury smell. The kitchen was not far off,
and in a trice Mrs. Rule returned with a tray. She set on the table a
teapot, milk, sugar, bread and butter—finally, a smoking dish.
"I hope you like a relish with your tea," she said, still with that odd
air of making an effort: "I do."
"There's nothing I enjoy more," replied Mrs. Collins, trying not to
look as hungry as she felt. "What lovely flowers you have in the
window! I had some—but they died."
"You forgot to water them," Mrs. Rule said—not offering this as a
possible explanation, but mentioning it as an undoubted fact; for she
had noticed those poor geraniums.
The tea was good; the mutton pie—Mrs. Rule said it was a mutton pie,
but it was like no other of its kind that Mrs. Collins had ever
tasted—was excellent. Mrs. Rule ate a little, but helped her guest
generously; and though Mrs. Collins would have given a good deal to
leave some on her plate, human nature was too strong for her, and she
finished the pie. Also, she did well by the bread and butter.
"Take another cup of tea—'tis good still, Mrs. Collins," said Hannah,
rousing herself from a brown study into which she had fallen.
"Tea is what I never can refuse," replied Mrs. Collins.
Hannah poured it out, and was silent again until it had disappeared.
Then she looked over at her guest, and said quickly—
"I'm wondering can you tell me something?"
"I will tell you anything I have knowledge of," was the genial reply.
Mrs. Collins felt very comfortable, and inclined for a chat.
"You're a woman that goes to church and to prayer-meetings. Do you find
them do you any good?"
"Why, laws! Mrs. Rule, of course they do. I always did hold by being a
good Christian. Besides, it's respectable."
"Well, but 'I'm' respectable, though I don't go, not very often. You
see, Mrs. Collins, I'm in a maze. I didn't mean to speak of it, but I
can't get away from it, and so I began without thinking. It's along
of a book that Mrs. Anstruther gave me. I was in her dressing-room,
waiting for her, and it lay on her table, you know; I knew she wouldn't
mind, so I took it up, idle-like—though I'm no reader. But the first
words I read seemed to give me a slap in the face. 'Twas 'What do you
live for?' and it went on to say that no one can live—Stay! Here's the
book; I'd better read the bit, or I could not make you understand.
"'Tis called 'Questions that ought to be answered.' Miss
Geraldine—that's Mrs. Anstruther, I mean—came back and found me
reading, and says she, 'You may have that book if you like, Hannah—I'll
give it to you; I never saw you reading before.' Said I, ''Tis full of
questions, seemingly—and I should like to see the answers, so if you
don t want it, ma'am, I'll take it, and thank you;' so I fetched it
home. But the queer thing is, it asks questions, but it don't answer
them!"
"You don't say so?" replied Mrs. Collins, comfortably. "But, after all,
it's no matter, if they're all like that one. We've 'got' to live,
that's certain—and hard work some of us find it."
"Well, but listen now:
"'My friend, what do you live for? I take it for granted that
you are decent and respectable, and hardworking; this book is meant
for such as you. I want a little talk with you. We all live for
something or for some one—some for their children, some for wife or
husband, mother, father, sister, or brother. That is all well, to a
certain extent. Those whom we love are given us by God, and it is
our duty to love and care for them. And this love softens our hearts
and makes us more likely to love God. But some live for themselves
alone. They work hard, they pay their way honestly, they lay by
money,—all for themselves. The Son of God made Himself poor for
their sakes, but they never think of Him. They never give a penny
to His poor, or to spread the knowledge of His grace. They live
altogether for themselves. If this meets the eye of any such person,
I ask him or her to consider—"Is this right? How will it look when I
come to die?"'"
"Them are heart-searching words," said Mrs. Collins, in a still more
comfortable—in fact, a drowsy tone, if the truth must be told. "Ah,
we're all miserable sinners, the best of us."
"I never did anything very bad that I know of," answered the other
woman, too much in earnest to perceive that she failed to interest her
visitor, "but I certainly have done just that—lived, since mother died,
and I lost Fanny, for myself alone. And, come to think of it, it can't
be right. Another question is, 'Whom do you love?' and I'm not sure I
love any one but Miss Geraldine."
"Well, now, you're like myself, I take it; you've none to care for but
yourself. I'm a lone widow. My fine boys that might be keeping me in
comfort are both dead; but I don't murmur, Mrs. Rule. They were both
very wild, and maybe would have brought me to the poorhouse by this."
"And I never married, and am alone now. I always gave mother all I
could spare; then when she died, I thought I'd lay by against I was
old, as it was plain I had none but myself to look to."
"And I'll be bound you've laid by a nice little sum; for everything
seems to prosper with you. 'Tis so, sometimes, with them that are not
Christians, just to try them that are! Now, look at me. Scrape as I
would, I never could save money beyond a pound or so; and it just
melted away when I was ill, and I had to pawn some of my best furniture
to get nourishing food that the doctor said I must have, and so I can't
let my first floor now, till I can release it. And I must have parted
with more to-day, only when the lady came and took my parlours—for 'I'
never could afford to live in my parlours—I said to myself,—
"'No, Sally Collins, not if you starve for it shall you part with
another stick; and once Miss Hallam is in, she's to pay in advance, and
then you'll have enough to get along with.'
"But tight and pinching work 'twill be to live on my parlours, and
save enough to keep my good furniture from being sold. See, now, the
difference there is between us! But there, the Christian must have
trials; while them that live for this world have all they want."
Mrs. Collins was wide awake now, and spoke with much energy. Her
inclination for a quiet nap had quite deserted her.
Mrs. Rule looked thoughtful.
"I don't know much about such things, 'tis true," she said presently,
"but it seems to me that if you worked as hard, and spent as little as
I do, you'd be as well off as I am. I don't see how being a Christian
would prevent that. Besides, I am a Christian—at least, I'm nothing
else."
"Ah, my dear soul, you're in darkness!" remarked Mrs. Collins, with a
long-suffering wag of her head.
"Yes, somehow I feel that; but I need not be always so, I hope."
She turned over the leaves of the little book, and presently began to
read again.
"'My friend, have you ever done anything to help or comfort others,
just for the sake of the Lord Jesus Christ, who has done so much for
you? You have worked for your parents, your children, or others to whom
you owed that duty so plainly that you could not help seeing it. But
have you ever done anything for the simple love of God? If not, may
it not be that you do not love Him at all? Yet He loves you. Consider
well. Is this right? How will it look when you come to die?'"
Mrs. Rule sat silent, evidently in deep thought.
Mrs. Collins, who, being now wide awake, had heard more of this
quotation than of the last, remarked tartly that it seemed to her that
the book was "most discouraging;" for, after all, what could the like
of them do for others? Hadn't they hard work to do for themselves?
Mrs. Rule was so deep in thought that she did not hear this, or several
self-righteous platitudes that followed. She presently broke in upon
her guest's remarks by saying—
"I'll do it. It's best to make a beginning. I can leave off any time.
Mrs. Collins, how much would take your furniture out of pawn? If you
have the tickets handy, just show them to me, and I'll add them up.
I'll lend you the money, and then you can let your first at once, and
pay me when you're all right again. 'Tis a pity you should have the
rooms empty."
Mrs. Collins stared, and her eyes grew rounder and rounder, and her
mouth opened more and more widely, while she almost thought she was
taking leave of her senses, or that Mrs. Rule had taken leave of hers.
At last she stammered out—
"Mrs. Rule, do you mean it? Do you know what you're saying?"
"I do. You see, you've heard only a word here and there, but there's a
deal more in the book that seems worth minding, and the fact is, if God
really loves the like of me, and asks me to love Him, and to act like
Him, it's a shame not to try. I know all that is in the Bible, for I
used to read it to my mother long ago, but it had clean slipped out of
my memory. But I have mother's Bible, and I have been looking at it.
"But I'm always for beginning at once. If it's a room to be washed, or
a dinner to be cooked, there's no use in talking—just begin at once. So
I began by having you up to tea. I didn't mean to talk about the book,
but I am just that full of it that I began. However, I'll lend you this
money. Have you the tickets here?"
Mrs. Collins belonged to the order of Christians who talk much, and do
not get any further. She had many cut-and-dry remarks that would have
been much in their right place now, she thought, but perhaps if she
convinced Mrs. Rule that her ideas were sadly mistaken ones, that loan
might not be forthcoming! So she swallowed her wisdom, and produced the
pawn tickets, which of course she had in her pocket; for did any one
ever know a woman, who had some of her possessions in pawn, who did
not carry the tickets about with her, and frequently look them over in
a melancholy manner? The sum she had received amounted to a few pence
over four pounds, and Hannah lent her five pounds, saying it was well
to have a little in hand.
Then Mrs. Collins said good night, with many expressions of gratitude,
which made Hannah get crimson in the face, and in a hurry to be rid
of her. So she trotted home with a cheerful countenance, locked up
her house, and repaired to her own little attic, where she tied up
the money in a piece of calico, hid that in an old shoe, and put the
shoe under her pillow. As she completed this arrangement, which she
considered an excellent precaution in case of burglars, she said to
herself—
"I was in luck for once in my life; for 'tis not to be expected that
she'll be in the same mind long. Books are all very well—but, dear me,
she's in great darkness, with her beginnings, and her 'doing' something
at once! It isn't that sort of thing that makes a Christian."
And she sighed in a superior way. But had any one asked her what "did"
make a Christian, she could have given no distinct answer. Only she was
sure that lending money to a neighbour in distress had nothing to say
to it.
"'That's' not religion; besides, I'll pay her honest, and she knows it.
But I 'was' in luck. To think of any one being so excited about a book
of questions! It would be long before you'd 'question' five pounds out
of 'my' pocket!"
[Illustration]