MORE THINGS "PUT OUT" THAN THE BRICK.
FOR a long time Mrs. Hill cleaned, dusted, and straightened without
noticing the absence of her husband. But when she had finished her
task and there was no one to say, "How nice and clean everything looks
again!" And the baby had followed the other children to sleep and she
felt alone, a fear came over her, and each tick of the clock seemed to
warn her of worse troubles than a brick down the chimney. She guessed
too truly where her husband must be.
She knew how he had been tempted before; she knew that he could not
take much to drink without speedily losing his self-control; she knew,
too, deep down in her secret heart, that she had driven him from home
that night, and that if she had controlled her temper, allowed him
to help in the sudden confusion, and made the best of a temporary
annoyance, he would have been at his own fireside now, to enjoy the
comfort her exertions had in a measure restored. We say in a measure,
for, after all, if kindness and forbearance and affection be wanting,
the brightest hearth looks cheerless, and the tidiest room feels
forlorn and chill.
Many a time did Mrs. Hill stir the fire and slide her hand in and out
of the stocking she was mending without knowing exactly why, for she
never wasted her coals, nor left a thin place undarned. But she was
restless and disquieted, and tried to persuade herself that she was
very tired, and very ill-used, and ought to feel very much offended.
Eleven o'clock, and Matthew not returned! Such a thing had not
happened for more than a year, during which time he had resisted many
a temptation to spend an evening at "The Crown," and had borne with
many a rude and hasty speech from lips that should ever be graced with
humility and breathe "the law of kindness."
Fear began to mingle with pride and displeasure, and Mrs. Hill went to
the door to look out and listen. The rain pattered down and the night
was cold and dreary, and, glancing at a peg in the wall of the lobby,
she noticed that Matthew must have gone out in his thin house-jacket,
for his comfortable coat hung where he usually placed it on coming home.
Suddenly she heard sounds as of laughter and singing, and the tramp of
feet approaching.
"He was safe, at any rate," she thought, and should not have the
satisfaction of finding that she had watched and waited for him, so she
took her candle and went quietly upstairs.
But it was some time before Matthew Hill found his own door, and
when he did so at last, he stumbled into darkness, and after a few
ineffectual calls and complaints, lay down on the floor as the safest
place for a man who did not quite know whether he stood on his head or
his feet.
He had a confused notion of something having gone wrong, and that, not
feeling sure of being altogether in the right himself, it was as well
to keep out of Mrs. Hill's way.
But, notwithstanding her pride in concealing the fact, Mrs. Hill "was"
watching and listening with anxious interest. Alas! What wife could
help it, when she had any regard for her husband, or any apprehension
of the consequences of his intemperance? A drunkard! Who would not
shudder with horror at the thought of a drunken husband and father?
After listening for some time, disgusted and indignant, Mrs. Hill heard
nothing but a low growl occasionally, which subsided into a snore,
and bursting into a passionate fit of tears, she threw herself on the
bed and sobbed herself to sleep, leaving her wretched husband to his
deserts, as she thought, in wet clothes and a tight neckcloth. The neck
cloth nearly choked him, and the wet clothes gave him a fever.
How long she slept she knew not, but her candle had burnt almost into
its socket, when a strange sound below seemed to arouse her. She rushed
downstairs in time to save her husband's life; he was already black in
the face, and a few minutes more would have sent him all unprepared
into eternity.
She succeeded, however, in arousing him, and getting him to bed. And it
was well she did, for in a few hours he was prostrate with rheumatic
fever and unable to move at all.
About half-past eight o'clock came a gentle tap at the house door, and
a man engaged on some work with Matthew Hill looked in.
"Hope there's nothing the matter," said he, kindly, "but Hill hasn't
been with us this morning."
"No, he isn't likely," said Mrs. Hill, in a disagreeable tone; "getting
drunk at night isn't the way to be at work in the morning."
"Well, well, I 'am' sorry!" replied the man. "Sure something must have
happened to turn him, for it was only yesterday he was saying he had
tried keeping sober so long now, that he didn't believe he would ever
be in liquor again, and he cared for nothing but to make you and the
children comfortable."
Mrs. Hill felt a terrible prick in her conscience, but she made no
remark to palliate her husband's fault, and chose rather to excite pity
for herself as an injured person.
In less than an hour came another tap at the door. This time it was a
messenger from Mrs. Oakland's—where she went occasionally to give a
little assistance, and where she still received much kindness.
"Please, if it's quite convenient, and if the children are going to
school this morning, missus will be glad to speak to you; and you are
to bring the baby with you," said the errand-boy.
"Here, stop, boy! Is it anything particular, do you know?" inquired
Mrs. Hill.
"I rather think it is," said the boy, "for the cook looked in a great
fuss, and bade me run directly."
"What's the matter, I wonder!" grumbled Mrs. Hill to herself. "She
hasn't got a brick down 'her' chimney, I suppose; such things don't
happen to them as can afford it."
But being curious to know all about it, she dressed her baby very
nicely, and, leaving the two older children at the infant school on her
way, and without giving any explanation to the miserable sufferer in
bed, she hastened to Mrs. Oakland's.
One of the young ladies seized the baby, and carried it off to
the nursery, bidding Mrs. Hill go for pity's sake to mamma in the
drawing-room.
There was Mrs. Oakland, with a little look of trouble in her face, but
no ill-temper. Mrs. Hill took in the cause at a glance. All over the
hearth, over the rug, over the beautiful carpet for at least two yards
round, over the pretty furniture, the ornaments, the ottomans, over
everything, more or less, that stood within range, lay a black cover of
soot.
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Hill. "Has a brick come down the chimney?"
"I don't know," said the lady; "but the soot has, and spoiled all the
covers that you did so nicely for me. I thought you could take them
off, and see what can be done with them, before allowing any one else
to touch them."
"The carpet's quite spoiled," said Mrs. Hill, inwardly glad that 'her'
soot had found only a flagged floor. "Those ornaments will never come
clean again," said she, pitifully; "and the new ottomans, with the
young ladies' work, and the beautiful table-cover. Dear, dear! What a
pity it is! What can be done?"
"We must make the best of it," said Mrs. Oakland, cheerfully. "I want
to get the most delicate things away and shaken out before the carpet
is touched. How thankful we should be that we had comfortable shelter
last night. I suppose you felt the storm, Jane. How are your husband
and children?"
Jane had then to tell what had happened, and Mrs. Oakland turned
towards her with an earnest, anxious look.
"What made him go out last night, Jane?" she asked.
Mrs. Hill said she didn't know; she was cleaning up after the nasty
brick had come down the chimney, and did not miss him until it got late.
"And did you ask him not to go out? Did you beg him to help you a
little? Did you put your dear baby into his arms, and make it plead
with him to keep from temptation?"
Jane's countenance fell before the appeal, and Mrs. Oakland guessed too
truly how the miserable climax had been reached.
"Jane, Jane," said she, forgetting even the soot in her fear for the
foolish woman before her, "you are deliberately ruining your own
happiness, and helping your husband to add the ruin of home and family.
Will nothing induce you to control that tongue and temper? Must you be
taught your duty by terrible lessons in your own experience, such as
I have often described to you from the experience of others? I do not
wish to clear your husband of blame at your expense; his fault is very
great, but I am sure his sorrow and shame will be great too. Pray go
home at once, and attend to him kindly, and I will come and see him as
soon as possible. Let us trust that all is not lost, and may God help
you to fulfil the duty of a forgiving, loving wife."
Mrs. Hill was angry, and rudely replied that "she was not going to coax
her husband to be good; that he knew his duty as well as she did, and
was as much bound to do it; and she would not be dictated to by any one
who could not see her side of the case; that he deserved to suffer, and
she hoped he would;" and more to the same purpose.
But Mrs. Oakland took no notice, and following to the nursery whither
the mother went for her child, she kissed the little bright face, and
breathed over it a prayer that its baby life might be shielded from
discords of home, and love and peace still unite the parents.
Jane was silenced but not softened, and went home to be as wilful and
disagreeable as she considered the occasion required. Poor creature,
she was very miserable too, as most people will be, and deserve to be,
who forget "the beams" in their own eyes.