IT was house-cleaning time, and I had an old coloured woman at work
scrubbing and cleaning paint.
"Polly is going, ma'am," said one of my domestics, as the twilight
began to fall.
"Very well. Tell her that I shall want her tomorrow."
"I think she would like to have her money for to-day's work," said
the girl.
I took out my purse, and found that I had nothing in it less than a
three-dollar bill.
"How much does she have a day?"
"Six shillings, ma'am."
"I haven't the change this evening. Tell her that I'll pay for both
days to-morrow."
The girl left the room, and I thought no more of Polly for an hour.
Tea-time had come and passed, when one of my domestics, who was
rather communicative in her habits, said to me:
"I don't think old Polly liked your not paying her this evening."
"She must be very unreasonable, then," said I, without reflection.
"I sent her word that I had no change. How did she expect I could
pay her?"
"Some people are queer, you know, Mrs. Graham," remarked the girl
who had made the communication, more for the pleasure of telling it
than any thing else.
I kept thinking over what the girl had said, until other suggestions
came into my mind.
"I wish I had sent and got a bill changed," said I, as the idea that
Polly might be really in want of money intruded itself. "It would
have been very little trouble."
This was the beginning of a new train of reflections, which did not
make me very happy. To avoid a little trouble, I had sent the poor
old woman away, after a hard day's work, without her money. That she
stood in need of it was evident from the fact that she had asked for
it.
"How very thoughtless in me," said I, as I dwelt longer and longer
on the subject.
"What's the matter?" inquired my husband, seeing me look serious.
"Nothing to be very much troubled at," I replied.
"Yet you are troubled."
"I am; and cannot help it. You will, perhaps, smile at me, but small
causes sometimes produce much pain. Old Polly has been at work all
day, scrubbing and cleaning. When night came, she asked for her
wages, and I, instead of taking the trouble to get the money for
her, sent her word that I hadn't the change. There was nothing less
than a three-dollar bill in my purse. I didn't reflect that a poor
old woman who has to go out to daily work must need her money as
soon as it is earned. I am very sorry."
My husband did not reply for some time. My words appeared to have
made considerable impression on his mind.
"Do you know where Polly lives?" he inquired at length.
"No; but I will ask the girl." And immediately ringing the bell, I
made inquiries as to where Polly lived; but no one in the house
knew.
"It cannot be helped now," said my husband, in a tone of regret.
"But I would be more thoughtful in future. The poor always have need
of their money. Their daily labour rarely does more than supply
their daily wants. I can never forget a circumstance that occurred
when I was a boy. My mother was left a widow when I was but nine
years old--and she was poor. It was by the labour of her hands that
she obtained shelter and food for herself and three little ones.
"Once, I remember the occurrence as if it had taken place yesterday,
we were out of money and food. At breakfast-time our last morsel was
eaten, and we went through the long day without a mouthful of bread.
We all grew very hungry by night; but our mother encouraged us to be
patient a little and a little while longer, until she finished the
garment she was making, when she would take that and some other work
home to a lady who would pay her for the work. Then, she said, we
should have a nice supper. At last the work was finished, and I went
with my mother to help carry it home, for she was weak and sickly,
and even a light burden fatigued her. The lady for whom she had made
the garment was in good circumstances, and had no want unmet that
money could supply. When we came into her presence, she took the
work, and, after glancing at it carelessly, said,
"'It will do very well.'
"My mother lingered; perceiving which, the lady said, rather rudely,
"'You want your money, I suppose. How much does the work come to?'
"'Two dollars,' replied my mother. The lady took out her purse; and,
after looking through a small parcel of bills, said,
"'I haven't the change this evening. Call over anytime, and you
shall have it.'
"And without giving my mother time more earnestly to urge her
request, turned from us and left the room. I never shall forget the
night that followed. My mother's feelings were sensitive and
independent. She could not make known her want. An hour after our
return home, she sat weeping with her children around her, when a
neighbour came in, and, learning our situation, supplied the present
need."
This relation did not make me feel any the more comfortable.
Anxiously I waited, on the next morning, the arrival of Polly. As
soon as she came I sent for her, and, handing her the money she had
earned on the day before, said,
"I'm sorry I hadn't the change for you last night, Polly. I hope you
didn't want it very badly."
Polly hesitated a little, and then replied,
"Well, ma'am, I did want it very much, or I wouldn't have asked for
it. My poor daughter Hetty is sick, and I wanted to get her
something nice to eat."
"I'm very sorry," said I, with sincere regret. "How is Hetty this
morning?"
"She isn't so well, ma'am. And I feel very bad about her."
"Come up to me in half an hour, Polly," said I.
The old woman went down-stairs. When she appeared again, according
to my desire, I had a basket for her, in which were some wine,
sugar, fruit, and various little matters that I thought her daughter
would relish, and told her to go at once and take them to the sick
girl. Her expressions of gratitude touched my feelings deeply. Never
since have I omitted, under any pretence, to pay the poor their
wages as soon as earned.