_The Practical and Theoretical Christian._
“Why what have you done with Nelly to-day?” asked Mrs. Humphreys, of her
washerwoman, who came every Monday morning, regularly attended by a
little ragged, half-starved girl of four years old, whose province it
was to pick up the clothes-pins, drive the hens off the bleach, and keep
the kittens from scalding their frisky tails—receiving for her reward a
thin slice of bread and butter, or maybe, if all things went right, and
no thunder-squalls brewed, or sudden hurricanes swept over the
clothes-fold, a piece of gingerbread or a cookey. “What, I say, have you
done with Nelly?”
“O, ma’am, she has gone to school—only think of it, my poor little
Nelly has gone to _school_! It does seem,” continued Mrs. White, resting
her arms on the tub, and holding suspended by her two hands a
well-patched shirt of the deacon’s, “it does seem as if the Lord had
sent that Mrs. Norton here to be a blessing to the poor!”
“Humph!” ejaculated Mrs. Humphreys, spitefully rattling the dishes.
“Only think,” continued Mrs. White, “she has given up one whole room in
her house to Miss Grace, who has been round and got all the children
that can’t go to school because their parents are too poor to send them,
and just teaches them herself for nothing! God bless her, I say!”
exclaimed the washerwoman, strenuously, her tears mingling with the
soap-suds into which she now plunged her two arms so vigorously as to
dash the creaming foam to the ceiling.
Mrs. Humphreys was at once surprised and angry. She could not conceive
why a lady like Mrs. Norton should do such a thing as to keep a ragged
school, and that, too, without pay or profit. She had forgotten the
words of our blessed Lord, “_Whoso shall receive one such little child
in my name, receiveth me_,” or, “_Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one
of the least of these, ye have done it unto me._” Charity alone, she
argued in her selfish nature, could not have influenced Mrs. Norton to
put herself to so much trouble for a troop of noisy, dirty, half-clothed
children! No, there must be some deeper motive—some sectarian object,
perhaps, to be gained; and, impressed with this idea, she said tartly,
“I think it is a pretty piece of presumption in Mrs. Norton to come here
and set herself up in this way, telling us as it were of our duty. She
is a stranger, and what business is it of hers, I should like to know,
whether the children go to school or not!”
“O, Mrs. Humphreys, indeed, I think the spirit of the Lord guides her!”
said Mrs. White. “Miss Grace came and asked me so humbly like, if I
would let her teach my Nelly, and then kissed the little fatherless
child so, so—that—that—O, I could have worshiped her!” and fresh
tears streamed down the cheeks of the washerwoman.
“Worship a fiddle-stick!” exclaimed Mrs. Humphreys, out of all patience,
“I know what she wants—an artful creature; yes, she wants to make Nelly
go to her meeting!”
Poor Mrs. White could not help smiling at the idea of attempting to form
the religious creed of a child scarce four years old.
“Well, if she will only make her as good as she is, I don’t care!” she
answered, “for the Bible says, ‘_By their fruits ye shall know them!_’”
Mrs. Humphreys was more and more shocked at this. She whispered it to
Mrs. Smith, who whispered it to Mrs. Jones, who told Mrs. Brown, who
told all the society, that the Nortons were wicked, designing people,
come into the village to stir up schism in the church! Yet all sensible
persons applauded the good deed of the widow, and cheerfully aided her
efforts. The little school prospered even more than she had dared to
hope; the children were cheerful and happy, and those whose parents
could not afford them decent clothing, were generously supplied by Mrs.
Norton—and many a heart blessed the hour which brought her among them.
As the thunder which suddenly rends the heavens, when not a cloud on the
blue expanse has heralded the coming storm, was the calamity which now
as suddenly burst over the head of Mrs. Norton.
She retired at night to her peaceful slumbers, supposing herself the
mistress of thousands. With the early dawn there came letters to the
cottage, telling her that all her worldly possessions were swept from
her. The man to whose care her fortune was entrusted, had basely
defrauded her of every cent, and now a bankrupt, had fled to a foreign
land.
The stroke was a severe one. She must have been divine to have resisted
the first shock which the tidings caused her. But that over, like a
brave and noble spirit she rose to meet it. Her treasures were not all
of earth—in heaven her hopes were garnered; and, although henceforth
her path in life might be in rougher spots, and through darker scenes
than it had yet traversed, to that heaven she trusted to arrive at last.
It happened, unfortunately, that the half-yearly rent of the cottage
became due that very week; and Mrs. Norton, thus suddenly deprived of
her expected funds, had no means to meet it. Where should she raise two
hundred dollars! Her courage, however, rose with her trials. A little
time to look into her affairs—a little time to form her plans for the
future, and she doubted not she should be able to liquidate the debt.
Unused to asking favors, she yet courageously went to Mr. Humphreys, and
stating candidly her inability to meet the rent, requested a few weeks
indulgence.
The deacon was not caught napping. Evil news always travels with
seven-league boots—and long ere Mrs. Norton knocked at the door of the
farm-house, it was known throughout the village that her fortune was
gone.
Now the deacon, good man that he was, was “_given to idols_,” and Mammon
was one. Moreover, he owed the widow a grudge, as we already know, and
the old leaven of sin was at work _beneath_ the crust of piety.
He was accordingly well prepared to receive her. And sorry, very sorry
was the worthy deacon, but he had just then a most pressing necessity
for the rent—he really must have it, if not in cash, perhaps Mrs.
Norton might have some plate to dispose of; he would be happy to oblige
her in that way, for the Lord forbid he should deal hard with any
one—_but_, the amount _must_ be paid when due. Wait he could not—and
if the rent was not forthcoming on the day stipulated in the
contract—why—why—he was very sorry—but he should be obliged to take
other measures, that was all!
Mrs. Norton soiled not her lips by making any reply to this Christian
Shylock—no expostulation or entreaty—but coldly bowing, she took her
leave.
As soon as she reached home she sent for a silver-smith, brought out her
valuable tea-set—doubly so from having been the marriage gift of her
father, requested its appraisal, and then duly attested as to its weight
and purity, it was forwarded to the clutches of the deacon.
Mrs. Norton met with a great deal of sympathy in her misfortunes. During
the few months she had resided among them, the villagers had all learned
to love and respect her. Even the poor came from their humble homes, and
with looks of sympathy and out-stretched hands tendered their
offerings—their hard-earned wages to the kind lady who had taught their
little ones; they would work for her—they would do any thing to serve
her. With a sweet smile Mrs. Norton put back their grateful gifts, and
thanked them in gentle tones for their love—to her a far more
acceptable boon than gold could buy.
Again Silver-Fall cottage fell back on the hands of its owner.
Dismissing her attendants, Mrs. Norton took a smaller and cheaper house.
Her choice and beautiful furniture she sold, only retaining sufficient
to render her now humble residence comfortable. The avails of the sale
amounted to several hundred dollars—enough at any rate, she deemed, for
present necessities, while she trusted in the meantime to find some
means of subsistence by which she and Grace might support themselves.
What more noble spectacle, than an elegant, refined woman thus meeting,
uncomplaining and cheerfully, the storm of adversity.
And Grace, too—sweet Grace—sang like a skylark, and made her little
white hands wonderfully busy in household matters. Hubert Fairlie was
yet absent, though his long and frequent letters brought joy to the
heart of his beloved.
And had Naomi forgotten her friend in this season of trial! Not so; yet
forbidden as we have seen from the society of Grace, all she could do
was to sympathize deeply in spirit, happy when a chance opportunity
brought them together; and those meetings although rare, only served to
strengthen the friendship which united these two lovely girls.