LOOKING FOR A PLACE.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear, I am so tired, and here I've traveled all day,
and my feet are so sore that I can hardly step at all."
"What is the matter, and what is your name?"
"Well, the matter is that I am just tired to death, and my name is
Mrs. Morris."
The lady who asked the question smiled and drew nearer to the woman,
who had taken a seat on the steps of her neat residence. It certainly
was no very uncommon thing to find a tired old lady in the streets of
New York, but there was something in the appearance of the old lady
which attracted the attention of the young and beautiful woman in the
doorway.
"Oh, dear; oh, dear," she sighed again, and then the tears began to
drop slowly upon the bundle she held in her lap.
She was dressed in a plain brown wool dress, and a black shawl and
bonnet. She had a sweet, pleasant face, and it was that which caused
the young lady to pause and take the second look, and to ask the cause
of her trouble.
"If I only had a cup o' tea," the old lady said, "I could go on
better, but my money is well nigh gone, and I can't afford it."
"Oh," said the young lady to herself, whom we shall call Miss
Elsworth. "Oh, I wish I could turn them away when they come, but I
can't. I might just as well try to stop my own hunger as to try to
turn one away that is hungry, and I'll just slip in and get her a cup
of tea to help her on her way. It will rest her, I am sure."
Miss Elsworth touched the woman lightly on the shoulder, saying: "Come
into the kitchen and I will give you a lunch; I know a cup of tea will
do you good."
The old lady arose, and wiping the tears away, said:
"God bless you, miss; I am sure you will get your reward some day for
doing so great a favor."
"It is no favor," Miss Elsworth said, as she led the way to the
kitchen. "Only I shall be obliged to ask you to be as quick as
possible, for I am about to go out to look for a housekeeper, and I
wish to find her before she is otherwise engaged. It is so hard to
find a trusty one."
"Is it?"
"Yes; one has to be cautious."
Miss Elsworth hurried about and soon had a steaming cup of fragrant
tea and a tempting lunch prepared for the old lady.
"Sit down, now, and perhaps you will be better able to walk after you
have eaten your lunch," said Miss Elsworth.
Mrs. Morris took her seat by the table, and as she sipped her tea and
broke a fresh bun she said:
"What a terrible place New York is. I hadn't no idee it was so big."
"Have you just arrived here?" Miss Elsworth asked.
"Yes; I jest come from the country. I've got to get a place to work."
"What can you do."
"I was cooking in a hotel in the village before I came here."
"Why did you come to such a place as New York?"
"Well, I'll tell you. I was working in Ghent in a hotel, and the other
night I had an awful dream. I dreamed about a span o' black horses. It
worried me considerable, but I thought p'r'aps 'twas foolish to think
about it, but the next night I dreamed about a lot o' mud fallin' down
on my head, and then I knew somethin' had happened to my poor boy. You
see, I've got a boy here in New York somewhere, and you never can
begin to guess how I do love that boy. He is the purtiest boy in the
whole world."
Miss Elsworth looked at the old lady, thinking that her son might be
pretty, as she said, for she herself must have been a very handsome
woman in her youthful days. Her features were finely chiseled, and the
dark hair streaked with gray was as smooth and as soft as a piece of
satin. But there were lines of care around the delicate mouth and
across the broad forehead, and though she might have been pure at
heart, there was a lack of education and a manner that caused Miss
Elsworth to pity rather than ridicule her.
"Is your son very young?" Miss Elsworth asked.
"Oh, no; he's nigh on to thirty, but you see he's sorter wild, and
I'm jest afraid in a big place like this he'll git into something
awful. They say they's so much mischief goin' on here."
"How did you expect to find him? Have you his address?"
"Oh, dear, no; all I've got to go by is his picture."
Miss Elsworth smiled.
"That is rather a slim guide. How did you expect to find his place of
residence by that?"
"Why, I jest thought I might show it to folks now and then, and
perhaps they'd know him."
Miss Elsworth smiled again. The idea of coming to New York to hunt up
a prodigal son, with simply a photograph to aid her, seemed extremely
ludicrous.
"And to think that I am here, all alone, without hardly any money.
Why, I don't believe I'd 'a' dared to come to New York if I'd 'a' had
forty dreams, if I'd knowed what a terrible big place it was."
"What did you intend to do while you are here?"
"Why, I thought as like as not I could get a chance to work. You see,
I'm a awful good cook. Perhaps you know of some one that wants one?"
"Can you do other work besides, such as dusting and cleaning?"
"Oh, yes; I can do any kind of work."
"I had just started to look for a housekeeper, and as you are looking
for a place, you might try it here for a while. Your duties will not
be arduous, as I am alone, though you will be required to take charge
of all the work, as I am not wealthy, and am not able to keep other
help."
"Oh, oh, I am so glad. I am sure I can suit you. I'll show you my
boy's picture, and if you should ever meet him you can tell me."
She drew from her pocket a photograph carefully wrapped in a piece of
newspaper, and, unfolding it, she handed it to Miss Elsworth. She
started as she gazed at the features.
"How very handsome he is," she said. "He should be very good."
"Oh, my, that's the trouble. I'm afraid he gets into bad company, for
along at first he uster send me some money now and then, but for a
year or two he don't ever write to me."
"Are you sure he is in New York?"
"Oh, la me, no. I tracked him from one place to another, and the last
time I heard from him they told me he was in New York, but didn't know
whether he was going to stay there or not."
"I am afraid you will be obliged to give up the search, but if I can
aid you I will do so."
"Oh, thank you. I am so glad that I have got a place to stay, anyway,
for a while, and p'r'aps when I find Charley he'll provide for me."
"I hope he will at least treat you as a son should treat a mother; but
tell me how old you are, and if you are able to work."
"Well, you see, I ain't so old as I look, but Charley has worried me a
lot, and that makes me look old, but I ain't quite fifty, and I am
sure I'm as strong and able to work as I was when I was twenty; but I
was thinkin' just now that p'r'aps Charley has got married, and his
wife is proud and won't let him take care o' me. Charley didn't like
to work very well, anyhow, but he might take care of us two, for he
was a good enough carpenter and jiner. But I know if he's got wild
it's all owin' to the tricks of this awful big city."
"The city is a bad place for a person out of employment."
"Well, I'm dreadful glad I've found a place," said Mrs. Morris,
arising from the table.
"And if everything proves satisfactory, I shall be glad that I have
found a housekeeper," said Miss Elsworth.
A less courageous person might have been shocked at the idea of taking
a stranger into her house, as Miss Elsworth took Mrs. Morris, but she
knew enough of city life to know that there was no great safety in
dealing with strangers. But Mrs. Morris had an honest look and a
simple, honest way, and Miss Elsworth was very much in need of a
housekeeper, and so she decided to accept Mrs. Morris on trial.
The people across the way wondered why it was so very quiet about the
place opposite. They saw a beautiful young lady come and go, but they
knew neither her name nor occupation. Indeed, she did not seem to have
any, for she was seldom seen on the street, and when she was seen she
was closely veiled, as one afraid of being recognized, and was always
neatly, though plainly dressed. There was any amount of mail left at
her door, which fact gave rise to much speculation by gossiping and
curious neighbors. They thought it very strange that a handsome young
woman, seemingly without occupation, should live there with only a
housekeeper. But they were none the wiser, when several months had
elapsed and still she remained, coming and going in the same strange
manner.
Mrs. Morris had proved herself a very trusty and efficient housekeeper,
and though she was possessed of rather a peculiar disposition, she was
never ill tempered.
* * * * *
"Oh, if Charley would only come back! I've often thought since I've
been here what a nice thing it would be if only you could see him. You
couldn't help loving him, he is so handsome; and I've often thought of
what a beautiful couple you would be. La me, wouldn't you shine,
though, goin' out together? But, la me, maybe he's married afore this,
or he may be dead. Oh, if I jest knew. What do you think? Do you
suppose he's dead?"
"Really, I have no way of knowing anything at all about it. He may be
dead, or he may come back to you and make you happy the rest of your
days."
"You hain't forgot what you promised, have you," she said one day,
"that you would try to help me to find him?"
"No, I have not forgotten."
"P'r'aps you better keep his picture, or you might forget how he
looks."
"No, I shall not forget; I never forget a face which once I have
seen."
"And do you think you would know him if you should see him?"
"If he looks like his picture I shall certainly know him."
"Well, he does, for all the world."
"I have been thinking, Mrs. Morris, that when Spring comes you and I
will change our place of abode, and perhaps go into the country, at
least for a while."
"But maybe I wouldn't find my boy there."
"You would be just as likely to find him there as anywhere."
"Oh, I s'pose I would," said Mrs. Morris, dropping her work and
looking steadily down at the carpet. "Here is your letters," she said,
as a violent ring of the bell brought her to the door. "My, what a lot
of 'em."
Miss Elsworth tore open the seals, one by one, perusing their
contents. There was evidently something very pleasing in the last one
opened, for Miss Elsworth, after reading it carefully twice through,
folded and replaced it in its cover, smiling, and with sparkling
eyes.
"I am very glad," she said.
"Of what?" Mrs. Morris asked.
"My last work is meeting with a very rapid sale, so my publisher tells
me, and I shall no doubt make a snug little sum."
"So you're gettin' rich, are you? Well, I hope you will. P'r'aps you
might look around a little for my boy. You're sure you'd know him?"
"Quite sure."
"Oh, I wish you could find him, and I can't help thinkin' how nice it
would be if you two was to get married."
"I shall probably never get married," said Miss Elsworth, while a
strange light came into her eyes. "But I shall be glad to help you to
be happier, if I can."
"You are an angel, anyway."
"A very wicked angel," said Miss Elsworth, as she turned to her desk.
Blanche Elsworth finished her writing, and turning to Mrs. Morris she
said:
"Mrs. Morris, I shall expect you to keep very quiet in regard to my
business. I am really obliged to entrust to your knowledge some things
which I must ask you to keep entirely to yourself."
"La me, I don't know anybody to tell anything to, and I'd never tell
if I did. I'm sure I wouldn't do anything mean, when you've took such
an interest in my son. Whereabouts in the country do you think you'll
go?"
"I am not certain of going at all yet."
"Well, when you do get ready, it'll be all right; but I do hope
you'll find my poor Charley somewhere. You an' him would make the
beautifulest lookin' couple on top o' ground."
"Please do not say anything more about that, and when we find him, we
will see what he has to say about it himself."
"It's awful to write books for a livin'. It jest seems to me I'd
die."
"Why?" asked Blanche.
"La me, I couldn't live and not have a chance to talk to anybody."
"I believe it," said Blanche.
"Why, it jest seems to me it must be awful to sit all day and think.
Why, I'd ruther wash every day in the week."
"Every one has his taste," said Blanche, "and play becomes work when
monotony steps in; but gaining a living by the pen is by no means
play. It has its toil, and also its charms. There are hours when it is
only a beautiful pastime, and there are hours of the most incessant
toil. It is neither all pleasure nor all pain."
"Well, for my part I wouldn't never want to be a writer. I never see
one afore, and I always thought it was something awful nice, but, la
me, I never would want to tear my brains to pieces in that way."
Blanche arose and looked out of the window. The evening was coming on,
and the street lamps were just beginning to light up the city. Shop
girls, with white, tired faces, men and women of toil, even children,
worn and weary, were hurrying along through the cold. Everything
looked like toil to Blanche Elsworth at that moment. What a long, long
weary round of toil she had just completed. Her first novel had been
set afloat upon the world to fall into the hands of the lover of
fiction or to be scanned by the scathing eye of the critic. She
remembered how, when she started, that looking before her it seemed
like a long lane that had no turn. How would she ever reach the end?
she had thought. Could she? Others had, but had they the difficulties
to overcome that she had? She did not believe they had, but she would
try it at least. She had published several small books of poems, but
the work on which she was about to start out was so much broader, so
much more toilsome.