Days and weeks flew by. Katy and Nettie were never weary of comparing
notes, and relating experiences. Nettie thought gloomy attics, scant
fare and cross landladies, the climax of misery; and Katy considered a
score of mile-stones, with Nettie and a loving mother at one end, and
herself and a cross grandmother at the other, infinitely worse.
"Why, you can't tell anything about it," said Katy. "Grandma took away
a little kitty because I loved it, and burned up a story-book mamma
brought me, and tore up a letter which mamma printed in big capitals on
a piece of paper for me to read when I was lonesome; and she wouldn't
let me feed the little snow-birds when they came shivering round the
door; and she made me eat turnips when they made me sick; and she said I
must not run when I went to school, for fear it would wear my shoes out;
and she put me to bed _so_ early; and I used to lie and count the stars
(I liked the seven little stars all cuddled up together best); and
sometimes I looked at the moon and thought I saw faces and mountains in
it, and I wondered if it was shining into mamma's window; and then I
thought of you all snug in mamma's bed; and then I cried and cried, and
got up and looked out into the road, and wondered if I could not run
away in the night, when grandmother was asleep. Oh, Nettie, she was a
_dreadful_ grandmother! She tried to make me stop loving mother. She
told me that she loved you better than she did me; and then I wanted to
die. I thought of it every night. I knew it was not true, but it kept
troubling me. And then she said that very likely mamma would go off
somewhere without letting me know anything about it, and never see me
again. And she always said such things just as I was going to bed; and
then you know I could not get to sleep till almost morning, and when I
did, I dreamed such dreadful dreams."
"You poor little thing!" exclaimed Nettie, with patronizing sympathy,
to her elder sister, and laying her cheek against hers, "you poor
little thing! Well, mamma and I had a horrid time, too. You can't
imagine! The wind blew into the cracks of the room _so_ cold; and the
stove smoked; and I was afraid to eat when we _had_ any supper, for
fear mamma would not have enough. She always said 'I am not hungry,
dear,' but I think she did it to make me eat more. And one night mamma
had no money to buy candles, and she wrote by moonlight; and I often
heard her cry when she thought I was asleep; and I was so afraid of
mamma's landladies, they screamed so loud, and scowled at me so; and
the grocer's boy made faces at me when I went in for a loaf of bread,
and said 'Oh, ain't we a fine lady, aint we?' And the wheel was off my
old tin cart--and--oh--dear--Katy--" and Nettie's little voice grew
fainter and fainter, and the little chatterbox and her listener both
fell asleep.
Ruth, as she listened in the shadow of the further corner, thanked God
that they who had had so brief an acquaintance with life's joys, so
early an introduction to life's cares, were again blithe, free, and
joyous, as childhood ever should be. How sweet to have it in her power
to hedge them in with comforts, to surround them with pleasures, to make
up to them for every tear of sorrow they had shed,--to repay them for
the mute glance of sympathy--the silent caress--given, they scarce knew
why, (but, oh, how touching! how priceless!) when her own heart was
breaking.
And there they lay, in their pretty little bed, sleeping cheek to cheek,
with arms thrown around each other. Nettie--courageous, impulsive,
independent, irrepressible, but loving, generous, sensitive, and
noble-hearted. Katy--with veins through which the life-blood flowed
more evenly, thoughtful, discriminating, diffident, reserved, (so proud
of those magnetic qualities in her little sister, in which she was
lacking, as to do injustice to her own solid but less showy traits;)
needing ever the kind word of encouragement, and judicious praise, to
stimulate into life the dormant seeds of self-reliance. Ruth kissed them
both, and left their future with Him who doeth all things well.
* * * * *
Twelve o'clock at night! Ruth lies dreaming by the side of her children.
She dreams that she roves with them through lovely gardens, odorous
with sweets; she plucks for their parched lips the luscious fruits; she
garlands them with flowers, and smiles in her sleep, as their beaming
eyes sparkle, and the rosy flush of happiness mantles their cheeks. But
look! there are three of them! Another has joined the band--a little
shadowy form, with lambent eyes, and the smile of a seraph. Blessed
little trio. Follows another! He has the same shadowy outline--the same
sweet, holy, yet familiar eyes. Ruth's face grows radiant. The broken
links are gathered up; the family circle is complete!
With the sudden revulsion of dream-land, the scene changes. She dreams
that the cry of "fire! fire!" resounds through the streets; bells
ring--dogs howl--watchmen spring their rattles--boys shout--men whoop,
and halloo, as they drag the engine over the stony pavements. "Fire!
fire!" through street after street, she dreams the watch-word flies!
Windows are thrown up, and many a night-capped head is thrust hastily
out, and as hastily withdrawn, when satisfied of the distant danger.
Still, on rush the crowd; the heavens are one broad glare, and still the
wreathed smoke curls over the distant houses. From the doors and windows
of the doomed building, the forked flame, fanned by the fury of the
wind, darts out its thousand fiery tongues. Women with dishevelled
locks, and snow-white vestments, rush franticly out, bearing, in their
tightened clasp, the sick, maimed, and helpless; while the noble
firemen, heedless of risk and danger, plunge fearlessly into the heated
air of the burning building.
* * * * *
Now Ruth moves uneasily on her pillow; she becomes conscious of a
stifling, choking sensation; she slowly opens her eyes. God in heaven!
it is not all a dream! With a wild shriek she springs from the bed, and
snatching from it her bewildered children, flies to the stairway. It has
fallen in! She rushes to the window, her long hair floating out on the
night-breeze.
A smothered groan from the crowd below. "They are lost!" The showering
cinders, and falling rafters, have shut out the dreadful tableau!
No--the smoke clears away! That portion of the building still remains,
and Ruth and her children are clinging to it with the energy of despair.
Who shall save them? for it were death to mount that tottering wall.
Men hold their breath, and women shriek in terror. See! a ladder is
raised; a gallant fireman scales it. Katy and Nettie are dropped into
the outstretched arms of the crowd below; the strong, brave arm of
Johnny Galt is thrown around Ruth, and in an instant she lies fainting
in the arms of a by-stander.
* * * * *
The butchering, ambitious conqueror, impudently issues his bulletins of
killed and wounded, quenching the sunlight in many a happy home. The
world shouts bravo! bravo! Telegraph wires and printing-presses are
put in requisition to do him honor. Men unharness the steeds from his
triumphal car, and draw him in triumph through the flower-garlanded
streets. Woman--gentle woman, tosses the slaughtering hero wreaths and
chaplets; but who turned twice to look at brave Johnny Galt, as, with
pallid face, and smoky, discolored garments, he crawled to his obscure
home, and stretched his weary limbs on his miserable couch? And yet the
clinging grasp of rescued helplessness was still warm about his neck,
the thrilling cry, "save us!" yet rang in the ears of the heedless
crowd. God bless our gallant, noble, but _unhonored_ firemen.