A child of seven, with her mission marked out for her, and her future
predestined to fall in hard places. Her childhood was to end at the age
of ten, and she was to enter into the duties of a woman. Poor little
Bernice, how my heart ached for her. But she was as happy as a child of
seven could be. She had not forgotten the caresses of her dead mother,
but they now seemed to be a long way back in the gloomy past—a year ago.
There were four children younger than she: Albert, Lottie, Addie and
Mary; and Leonard was a year older. But he was only a boy, and boys are
no good at keeping house. Little Bernice had heard her father tell her
Aunt Maud that Bernice would soon be old enough to keep house, and then
he would gather all the children in again and keep them together. Aunt
Maud took little Addie and baby Mary to care for, and Bernice was sent
to live with her grandmother, who had lately become a widow in very poor
circumstances.
Bernice seemed to realize the situation and was perfectly satisfied. Her
father was working in the lumber woods, and her brothers and sisters were
scattered like autumn leaves. She was so anxious to become ten years old
and gather them all under her little wings. What a laudable ambition!
Dear God, what an age to feel such motherly cares! Where would there be
room to crowd in a few years of innocent childhood?
I wish this was only a story. I wish the child I am writing about was
only a creature of my imagination. But it is all too painfully true. She
sat in that chair over yonder only yesterday, and told me all about it.
Told of it all in gladness and with the sunshine of hope beaming on her
little child soul. But every word sent a pang of regret to my heart. This
child was giving herself as a willing sacrifice to love and duty. Dear
God, what an age to entertain such great resolutions—only seven years!
“Yes,” she said, childishly, “I must not lose a day at school, ’cause I’m
goin’ to quit at ten and go to keepin’ house for papa. I kin read now,
and kin write purty good, only I forgit how to spell the big words. But
I kin learn a hull lot before I’m ten. It’s three long years off. I wish
it wasn’t so long, ’cause I want to git the children all together and be
their little mother. Mary isn’t quite two years old yit, but she’ll be
five when I git to be her mother, and she’ll know how to do a hull lot
of work for me. We’re going to live out in the country—out on a mountain
farm, and there’ll be cows to milk and pigs and chickens to feed, but
the children will all help. Maybe we’ll take grandma along, but she says
she’ll have to keep house for Uncle Jim and Uncle Herman, unless they git
married and set up for themselves.
“Yes, I must be goin’. Grandma will be waitin’ supper for me. No, sir,
I haven’t seen brother Albert and Leonard and sister Lottie for over a
year. But it won’t be long until we all git together. Grandma is goin’
to teach me how to bake next summer. She talks to me about keepin’ house
for papa, and she cries about it, and kisses me and says, ‘God bless you,
child!’ Do you s’pose God will?”
She took her books and went off, singing as happily as though she were
the child of a millionaire father; and I sat and looked out of the
east window to where the ice lay gorged along the banks of the river,
and I tried to think about the ways of Providence. I knew of scores
of children twice the age of little Bernice, who never took a single
thought of tomorrow, who never expected to keep house until they grew
to full womanhood and married a rich husband, who would employ servants
and furnish everything the heart could desire. But this child of seven
already had her life mapped out for her—a life of toil and care and
hardships, and her only pay was to be with those she loved.
And down the road hurried the child, skipping hipperty-hop, her soul as
happy as a blue-bird in May, her little red hood tilted to one side and a
lock of escaped hair dancing in the wind. Unconsciously the tears welled
into my eyes as I looked after her, and the words came again into my
mouth: “Dear God, what an age to give up child-life for those she loves!”