Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
_[The Bouverie Series. No. 11.]_
How Little Bessie Kept the
Wolf from the Door
BY
Mrs. COATES
THE BOUVERIE SERIES OF POPULAR PENNY STORIES
1 PROBABLE SONS. By AMY LE FEUVRE. 41 JACK; OR, THE STORY OF A POCKET-
2 TEDDY'S BUTTON. By AMY LE BOOK. By H. F. CHARLES.
FEUVRE. 42 BENEDICTAS STRANGER. By K. E.
3 JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER. By VERNHAM.
HESBA STRETTON. 43 AUDREY. By Mrs. O. F. WALTON.
4 SAVED AT SEA. By Mrs. O. F. 44 CLIMBING THE LADDER; OR, BRAVE
WALTON. ROBERT DAWSON.
5 LITTLE FAITH; OR, THE CHILD OF 45 IT'S ALL REAL TRUE. By EGLANTON
THE TOY-STALL. By Mrs. O. F. THORNE.
WALTON. 46 THE MAKING OF TEDDY. By EVA
6 NO PLACE LIKE HOME. By HESBA JAMESON.
STRETTON. 47 KITTY AND TODDLES. By Mrs. PHILIP
7 NOBODY LOVES ME. By Mrs. O. F. BARNES.
WALTON. 48 A WAIF AND A WELCOME. By MABEL
8 LITTLE MEG'S CHILDREN. By HESBA QUILLER-COUCH.
STRETTON. 49 DOT'S PROMISE. By ADELA FRANCES
9 HUNGERING AND THIRSTING. By MOUNT.
AGNES GIBERNE. 50 DAVIE'S LEDDY. By GERTRUDE DOUGHTY.
10 CHRISTIE'S OLD ORGAN. By Mrs. 51 BELLE'S LITTLE EVANGEL. By P. A.
O. F. WALTON. BLYTH.
11 HOW LITTLE BESSIE KEPT THE WOLF 52 ENID DUNCAN. By EDITH E. RHODES.
FROM THE DOOR. By Mrs. COATES. 53 SID AND FIDO. By MARY CORBETT
12 CHARITY'S BIRTHDAY TEXT. By SEYMOUR.
AGNES GIBERNE. 54 CINDERELLA'S PRINCE. By MARIAN I.
13 HARRY'S WHALING ADVENTURES. By HURRELL.
G. E SARGENT. 55 MADE A MAN OF. By SARA M. HARDWICH.
14 MAGGIE'S MESSAGE. By EMMA 56 OLD BILLY THE SWEET-MAKER. By
LESLIE. GERTRUDE DOUGHTY.
15 THE VOYAGE OF THE "STEADFAST." 57 TWO BRAVE BOYS. By MARY E. ROPES.
By W. H. G. KINGSTON. 58 THE WRONG TWIN. By MARY E. ROPES.
16 ERIC'S GOOD NEWS. By AMY LE 59 HARRY'S MAGIC GLASSES. By A. C.
FEUVRE. MERCER.
17 THE BOY WHO NEVER LOST A CHANCE. 60 THE WIZARDS CAVE. By EGLANTON
By ANNETTE LYSTER. THORNE.
18 JOYCE'S LITTLE MAID. By NELLIE 61 THE LITTLE ORANGE-SELLERS. By
CORNWALL. SARAH M. FRY.
19 DIBS. A Story of Young London 62 HUMPTY-DUMPTY'S SILVER BELLS. By
Life. By JOSEPH JOHNSON. MARGARET SCOTT HAYCRAFT.
20 JESSICA'S MOTHER. A Sequel to 63 THE OLD WORCESTER JUG. By EGLANTON
"Jessica's First Prayer." By THORNE.
HESBA STRETTON. 64 UNDER THE OLD ROOF. By HESBA
21 POPPY'S PRESENTS. By Mrs. O. F. STRETTON.
WALTON. 65 LEFT ALONE; and A NIGHT AND
22 OUR STORY. By C. A. BURNABY. A DAY. By HESBA STRETTON.
23 ALONE IN LONDON. By HESBA 66 MAX KROMER. A Story of the Siege
STRETTON. of Strasburg. By HESBA STRETTON.
24 NOBODY CARES. By CRONA TEMPLE. 67 THE COTTAGE BY THE LYNN. By
25 ERIC, A WAIF. By EMMA LESLIE. EGLANTON THORNE.
26 PANSY. A Story for Girls. 68 SAM AND SAMMIE. By JESSIE
27 BEN HADDEN'S ADVENTURES; OR, DO ARMSTRONG.
RIGHT WHATEVER COMES OF IT. 69 NOEL AND HIS STAR. By KATE M.
By W. H. G. KINGSTON. JOHNSON.
28 TAKEN OR LEFT. By Mrs. O. F. 70 A LITTLE CRUSADER. By MARY E.
WALTON. MURRAY.
29 LOST! STOLEN! OR STRAYED! By 71 RUTH ARNOLD. By J. BYERLEY.
JESSIE ARMSTRONG. 72 A SHAM PRINCESS. By EGLANTON
30 LOST GIP. By HESBA STRETTON. THORNE.
31 KATIE BRIGHTSIDE. By RUTH LAMB. 73 NORAH'S STRONGHOLD. By L. C.
32 TWO BRIGHT SHILLINGS. By EVELYN SILKE.
EVERETT-GREEN. 74 AUNT SELINA'S LEGACY. By EMMA
33 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND. By C. J. LESLIE.
HAMILTON. 75 SARAH, A PRINCESS. By FAITH
34 WHEN HEARTS ARE YOUNG. By DEAS CHILTERN.
CROMARTY. 76 WHEN THE SWALLOWS COME AGAIN. By
35 FIVE LITTLE BIRDIES. By AGNES M. F. WILSON.
GIBERNE. 77 BRAVE FRED; OR, FROM ERRAND BOY
36 CASSY. By HESBA STRETTON. TO PROFESSOR.
37 DAD'S DOROTHY. By M. B. 78 SOLDIER FRITZ. By EMMA LESLIE.
MANWELL. 79 HOW DICK FOUND HIS SEA LEGS. By
38 THREE LITTLE GREAT LADIES. By MARY E. PALGRAVE.
W. PERCY SMITH. 80 GATTY'S ADVENTURES. By Mrs.
39 MR. HATHERLEY'S BOYS. By EVELYN FORREST GRANT.
EVERETT-GREEN. 81 SIR ROLAND'S HEIR. By MARIAN
40 ANGEL'S CHRISTMAS, AND LITTLE ISABEL HURRELL.
DOT. By Mrs. O. F. WALTON. 82 A LITTLE SEA KING. By JESSIE
M. E. SAXBY.
LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. The Dwellers in the Old House
II. The Children's Friend
III. The Wolf
IV. Coming Shadows
V. The Old Clerk
VI. The King's Messenger
VII. Good News
VIII. Kate Donaldson
IX. The Worn-Out Copying Machine
X. The Wonderful Book
XI. Dark and Cloudy Days
XII. Going Home
XIII. Turning Over a New Leaf
XIV. The Ravens
XV. The Wolf at the Door
How Little Bessie Kept the Wolf
from the Door.
—————————
CHAPTER I.
THE DWELLERS IN THE OLD HOUSE.
NOT many years ago, in the vicinity of Lincoln's Inn Fields, stood
an old house, which has only recently been swept away, together with
several others, in order to make room for a block of modern buildings
which have since been erected on its site. It was said, and there
appears to be little doubt of the fact, that it had once been a noble
and princely mansion; but at the time of which we write, it was let
out in separate tenements to the poor of the surrounding district. And
thus it came to pass that up and down that wide staircase, where silken
robes were wont to sweep and rustle, pale scantily-clad men and women
might be seen passing to and fro to their various rooms, or homes, as
they called them, gathered together under that spacious roof. It is of
one of these homes that we are about to write.
Matthew Reardon had been at one time engaged on a daily newspaper,
but at the period to which we refer, he was endeavouring to earn a
precarious livelihood by copying law papers, or any other writing he
could manage to procure.
He was a tall, pale, gaunt-looking man, with thin cheeks, and long thin
hands, and large hollow eyes, and hair that seemed to have grown grey
less from age than trouble; a man who had evidently seen better days,
but so long ago that he had well-nigh forgotten them.
It was hard work, writing as he did from morning till evening, and
often far into the night; but it would have been harder still if he had
not had the writing to do, in which case, he and his family must have
starved. As it was, the weary "bread winner," with all his toil, could
often earn barely sufficient for their maintenance. It seems strange
that knowing this, and with the cares of life pressing so heavily upon
him, the old familiar Christ-taught prayer, "Give us this day our daily
bread," should have remained unuttered by him. From generation to
generation, for eighteen hundred years, this has been the cry of God's
children in all ages to their Heavenly Father: but he knew it not.
Mrs. Reardon was several years younger than her husband. Like him, she
was always employed. She was a clever needle-woman, and worked for a
baby-linen warehouse in the City. The delicate children's garments
which she made formed a striking contrast with the coarse although
neatly-mended clothes of her own little girls, who used to regard them
with profound admiration, sometimes longing to be old enough to help
her, and pricking their tiny fingers in the vain attempt; and, at
others, wondering what the children were like who were destined to wear
these beautiful things, and where they lived, and what they did all day
long. Little Bessie, the youngest, used to dream about them as clothed
in fine linen, with crowns on their heads, and each carrying in her
hand a small golden harp.
If Mrs. Reardon was less silent than her husband, it was not because
she had any more heart for conversation, but in the hope of cheering
him; and because she remembered what a dull life it must be for those
two neglected little children, with no one to talk to or play with
them, and nowhere to play but that one room: for she never permitted
them to associate with the other children in the house, and had no time
to take them out for a walk.
Once or twice during the summer months they had gone with her to the
Gray's Inn Gardens, she taking her needlework, and sewing while they
wandered about beneath the green trees to their great delight. The
children called it "going into the country." But somehow the delicate
work got soiled and their mother did not venture again.
It was at Mrs. Reardon's suggestion that Polly and little Bessie
regularly attended a Sunday school which had been established in the
neighbourhood. It would be a change for the poor children, she said,
and might help to amuse and give them something to think and talk of.
She liked hearing them repeat their hymns and texts, just as she used
to do at their age, although she had forgotten them all long since. But
oftentimes of late, they seemed to come echoing back like a pleasant
tune learned years ago. More particularly upon one occasion, when she
heard little Bessie singing softly to herself:
"How sweet the name of Jesus sounds!"
She remembered how sweet it had seemed to her in the happy days gone
by, before sin and sorrow, and neglect of that blessed Saviour, had
dimmed the brightness of her first love. While her thoughts still
wandered in the past, Bessie had finished her hymn and begun another,
the words of which sounded strangely appropriate:
"What peaceful hours I once enjoyed,
How sweet their memory still!
But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill."
Too well did Mrs. Reardon know the weary feeling of that "aching void."
The neighbours mistook her reserve for pride. She was, as we have said,
a quiet woman, keeping herself to herself, and neither associating or
suffering her children to associate with the people of the house. Even
the district visitor, as she went to and fro on her labour of love,
failed to gain admission.
Upon one occasion, Mrs. Reardon came to the door herself in answer to
her gentle knock, and, holding it half-closed in her hand, respectfully
declined to receive the offered tract.
"Thank you," said she, "but neither my husband nor myself have got any
time for reading."
"On Sunday, perhaps," quietly suggested the visitor.
"On Sunday we are too tired. You had better take the book away, ma'am,
if you please. It will save you the trouble of calling again."
"It is no trouble to me," said the lady, with a smile; "I like coming."
"But it is a trouble to me to open the door," replied Mrs. Reardon. "To
poor people like us, time is money."
"Forgive me," said her visitor, gently; "I will not detain you any
longer. You will allow me to leave the book; I shall not want it."
"Neither do we, thank you all the same," replied Mrs. Reardon. And
wishing the lady "Good morning," she quietly shut the door, thereby
shutting out one who would have been a kind friend in the hour of trial.
"Mother," said little Bessie, "I wish you had taken the lady's book; I
wanted to look at the pictures."
"Poor child!" replied her mother. "I wish now that I had, for your
sake."