Early in the morning, before it was light, and while the twilight
gleamed through the curtainless windows, Lettice was up dressing
herself by the aid of the light which gleamed from the street lamp
into the window. She combed her hair with modest neatness, then opened
the draw with much precaution, lest she should disturb poor Myra, who
still slumbered on the hard mattrass--drew out a shawl and began to
fold it as if to put it on.
"Alas!" said Lettice, "this will not do--it is thread-bare, time-worn,
and has given way in two places." She turned it, and unfolded it, but
it would not do. It was so shabby that she was actually ashamed to be
seen with it in the street. She put it aside and took the liberty of
borrowing Myra's, who was now asleep. She knew Myra would be awful
cold when she got up, and would need it. But she must go with the work
that morning. She thought first of preparing the fire, so that Myra,
when she arose, would only have to light the match; but as she went to
the box for coal, she saw, with terror, how low the little store of
fuel was, and she said to herself, "we must have a bushel of coal
to-day--better to do without meat than fire such weather as this." But
she was cheered with the reflection that she should receive a little
more for her work that day than what she had from other places. It had
been ordered by a benevolent lady who had been to some trouble in
getting the poor woman supplied with needle work so that they should
receive the full price. She had worked for private customers before,
and always received more pay from them than from the shops in London,
where they would beat down the poor to the last penny.
Poor Lettice went to the old band-box and took out a shabby old
bonnet--she looked at it, and sighed, when she thought of the
appearance she must make; for she was going to Mrs. Danvers, and her
work was some very nice linen for a young lady about to be married.
Just at this moment she thought of the contrast between all the fine
things that young lady was to have, and her own destitution. But her
disposition was such as not to cause her to think hard of others who
had plenty while she was poor. She was contented to receive her pay
from the wealthy, for her daily needle work. She felt that what they
had was not taken from her, and if she could gain in her little way by
receiving her just earnings from the general prosperity of others, she
would not complain. And as the thought of the increased pay came into
her mind, which she was to receive that day, she brightened up, shook
the bonnet, pulled out the ribbons, and made it look as tidy as
possible, thinking to herself that after buying some fuel she might
possibly buy a bit of ribbon and make it look a little more spruce,
when she got her money.
Lettice now put on her bonnet, and Myra's shawl, and looking into the
little three-penny glass which hung on the wall, she thought she might
look quite tidy after all. The young lady for whom she made the linen
lived about twenty miles from town, but she had come in about this
time, and was to set off home at nine o'clock that very morning. The
linen was to have been sent in the night before, but Lettice had found
it impossible to finish it. This was why she was obliged to start so
early in the morning. She now goes to the bed to tell Myra about the
fire, and that she had borrowed her shawl, but Myra was sound asleep,
so she did not disturb her, but stepped lightly over the floor and
down stairs, for it was getting late, and she must be gone. Read the
next story, and you will be deeply interested in the result.
* * * * *
LETTICE AND CATHERINE,
OR THE UNEXPECTED MEETING.
I must tell you who were Lettice and Myra. They were the daughters of
a clergyman, who held the little vicarage of Castle Rising. But
misfortune, which sometimes meets the wise and good, reduced the
family to poor circumstances. After the parents' decease, Lettice and
Myra located in London, for the purpose of doing needle work for a
living.
We said in the last story, that Lettice had entered the street and was
on her way with the work she had finished for the young lady. It was
a cold morning, the snow blew, and the street was slippery. She could
scarcely stand--her face was cold, and her hands so numbed that she
could scarcely hold the parcel she carried. The snow beat upon her
poor bonnet, but she comforted herself with the idea that she might be
supposed to have a better bonnet at home. She cheerfully trudged
along, and at last entered Grosvenor Square, where the lamps were just
dying away before the splendid houses, while the wind rushed down the
Park colder than ever. A few boys were about the only people yet to be
seen about, and they laughed at her as she held her bonnet down with
one hand, to prevent its giving way before the wind, while she carried
her bundle and kept her shawl from flying up with the other.
At last she entered Green Street, and came to the house of the kind
lady who had furnished her and many others with work; raised the
knocker, and gave one humble knock at the door. She had never been at
the house before, but she had sometimes had to go to other genteel
houses where she had been met with incivility by the domestics.
But "like master, like man," is a stale old proverb, and full of
truth. The servant came to the door. He was a grave old man about
fifty. His countenance was full of kind meaning, and his manners so
gentle, that before hearing her errand, observing how cold she looked,
bade her come in and warm herself at the hall stove.
"I have come," said Lettice, "with the young lady's work--I had not
time to come last night, but I hope I have not put her to any
inconvenience--I started before light this morning.'
"Well, my dear, I hope not," said the servant, "but it was a pity you
could not get it done last night. Mrs. Danvers likes to have people
exact to the moment. However, I dare say it will be all right."
As Reynolds, the servant-man, entered the drawing-room, Lettice heard
a voice, "Is it come at last?" And the young lady, who thus enquired,
was Catherine Melvin, who was then making an early breakfast before a
noble blazing fire.
"Has the woman brought her bill?" asked Mrs. Danvers.
"I will go and ask," said the servant. "Stay, ask her to come up. I
should like to enquire how she is getting along, this cold weather."
Reynolds obeyed, and soon Lettice found herself in a warm,
comfortable breakfast room.
"Good morning," said Mrs. Danvers. "I am sorry you have had such a
cold walk this morning. I am sorry you could not come last night. This
young lady is just leaving, and there is barely time to put up the
things." Catherine (for this was the young lady's name) had her back
turned to the door quietly continuing her breakfast, but when the
gentle voice of Lettice replied:
"Indeed, madam, I beg your pardon, I did my very best"--Catherine
started, looked up and rose hastily from her chair; Lettice, advancing
a few steps, exclaimed--"Catherine."
And Catherine exclaimed: "It is--it is you!" and coming forward and
taking her by the hand, she gazed with astonishment at the wan face
and miserable attire of the work-woman. "You," she kept repeating.
"Lettice! Lettice Arnold! Good Heavens! Where is your father? your
mother? your sister?"
"Gone," said the poor girl, "all gone but poor Myra!"
"And where is she? And you, dear Lettice, how have you come to this?"
Such was the unexpected meeting of these two persons, who were once
children of the same village of Castle Rising. Lettice had been
working for her schoolmate, Catherine Melvin. The result was a happy
one, and it was not long before, by the kindness of Catherine, that
the two orphan girls were situated pleasantly in life. But as you will
wish to know how all this came about, I will give you the
circumstances in another story.
* * * * *