It was some days before Ethel’s prayers seemed to be answered or the
kind plans of Mrs. Keith and her mother could be carried out, for the
children were forbidden to go over there. They were permitted to be out
for only a short time each day for exercise, and were under strict
orders to keep to the side of the parsonage grounds farthest from Mr.
Keith’s, though no reason was assigned.
But at last, it having occurred to Mrs. Coote that the very fact of the
children being so suddenly and entirely deprived of the privilege of
paying frequent visits to the home of little Mary—their favorite
resort—would tend to confirm any evil report that might have reached the
Keiths, she gave them leave, one afternoon, to go over there for an hour
or two; a permission of which they promptly availed themselves.
They received a hearty welcome from both, the ladies and little Mary,
accompanied with kind enquiries in regard to their health and why they
had stayed away so long.
“We weren’t allowed to come,” replied Harry; “they ordered us to stay
over there in their yard ever since that horrid man gave me such an
awful beating for just nothing at all ’cept that I couldn’t study; ’twas
so hot, you know, and I wanted to be out-doors under the trees.”
“Ah, you were lazy, were you, Harry?” said Mrs. Weston, with difficulty
repressing an inclination to smile.
“Yes, ma’am, I s’pose so,” returned the little lad, “but boys can’t help
that sometimes when it’s warm and they’re tired of lessons and the birds
are singing and the bees humming and all the little creatures out-doors
having such a good time.”
“Ah, but the bees are gathering honey and the birds building their
nests, hatching their eggs, or rearing their young; they catch worms and
insects for them to eat, don’t you know? I think all the creatures God
has made have something to do.”
“But they don’t work all the time, do they?” he queried. “And oughtn’t
boys to have some time to play?”
“Oh, yes, indeed! some time—after the lessons have been learned and
recited.”
“Well, I believe I’ll go and play now with the girls out there under the
trees,” he said, and ran out whistling and laughing.
But Ethel lingered behind. She had brought no work with her, but seemed
inclined to stay with the ladies.
“Sit down in this low rocking-chair, dear, and tell us what you have
been doing with yourself for the last week or two, that you have not
been in to see us,” said Mrs. Keith, in a kindly, caressing tone.
“Oh, thank you, ma’am, I have wanted to come over here so badly! But it
is just as Harry said, we weren’t permitted,” said Ethel, taking the
offered chair. “Mrs. Coote always ordered us to stay on the other side
of the garden. She didn’t say why, and we are never allowed to ask that
question.”
“And that has been ever since the day we heard such dreadful screams
from Harry and saw people running to the parsonage door and windows to
find out what ailed him,” said Mrs. Keith. “We were told that Mr. Coote
was beating him, and it seems it was true?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ethel, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, I thought
he was just killing him! and for next to nothing. He’s such a little
fellow, and wanted to play when he was told to study his lesson. It was
hot and close in the house, you know, and looked so pleasant out of
doors!”
“Yes. The little fellow ought to have attended better to his work, it is
true, and taken his recreation when school hours were over,” said Mrs.
Keith, “but I cannot think he deserved treatment so severe as was given
him, and if I were in your place, Ethel, I should write to my uncles and
tell them all the facts. I think they would manage in some way to
prevent a repetition of such severe punishment, especially for so slight
an offence.”
“Yes, ma’am, I have been wanting to write to my uncles and tell them
everything about it, but I couldn’t, because I have no pen, ink, or
paper, no postage stamp, no money to buy anything with, and even if I
had I wouldn’t be permitted to send a letter without Mr. or Mrs. Coote
reading it first. And if they found I’d written all that to my uncles
they’d whip me for doing it and tear my letter up instead of sending it,
or maybe put it in the fire.”
“Well, dear child, if you want to write such a letter, I will furnish
you now with all the materials needed, and mail it for you when it is
done; because your uncles ought to be informed of the cruel treatment
received by their nephew and nieces.” Mrs. Keith rose as she spoke,
opened her writing desk, took from it pen, paper, and stamped envelope,
and made Ethel seat herself at the table.
Ethel’s eyes sparkled. She took from her pocket the envelope containing
the address of the Eldon brothers, and was about to seat herself before
the desk; but a sudden thought seemed to strike her.
“Oh, Mrs. Keith,” she exclaimed, “I can’t write fast, and I’m ever so
afraid that Mrs. Coote will call us to come home before I could possibly
get the letter done!”
“Well, then, suppose I write it at your dictation, and you sign it when
finished,” said the lady.
Ethel gave a joyful assent, dictated quite rapidly, telling of Harry’s
sore punishment for his slight fault, and the severity to which they
were all subjected more or less, and begging that they might be taken
from the care of those who treated them so ill; adding that she was
almost sure Harry would be a good boy if he were with someone who would
be kind and patient with him; but Mr. Coote was never that.
“There, I believe that is all I need to say, Mrs. Keith,” concluded the
little girl.
“Well, dear child,” said Mrs. Keith, “suppose you sit down here and add
in your own handwriting that this has been, written at your dictation,
and sign your name to it.”
Ethel did so, Mrs. Keith directed an envelope, enclosed the letter in
it, and sent it by a trusty messenger directly to the post-office.
“Oh,” asked Ethel, “do you think, Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Keith, that my
uncles can be angry with me for doing this?”
“No, dear, I am very sure they would never be willing to have their
brother’s orphan children so ill treated,” said Mrs. Weston, “and I
think they will not let many days pass before they come to see about
it.”
Mrs. Keith expressed the same opinion and the little girl gave a sigh of
relief; then her face clouded.
“But oh, I shall be so sorry to go away where I can never see you dear
ladies!” she exclaimed, looking lovingly into their faces, while tears
gathered in her eyes—“or little Mary again.”
“Don’t worry about that, dear child,” said Mrs. Keith kindly; “we are
not so very far from Philadelphia, and I think your uncles will let you
come sometimes to see us.”
That comforted Ethel and she grew quite cheerful.
The Eldon brothers entered their office together the next morning and as
usual found a pile of letters, brought by the early mail, awaiting them.
“Ah, where does this come from, I wonder!” remarked Mr. George, taking
up one directed in a delicate female hand.
He broke the seal and glanced over the contents. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “a
post-script signed by our little niece Ethel. The letter was written by
her dictation, she says, because she cannot write very fast, and every
word in it is true. Dear, dear, what a wretch is that Coote!” Then he
read the missive aloud to his brother.
“The scoundrel! the unfeeling monster!” exclaimed Mr. Albert in hot
indignation. “He shall not be allowed another opportunity to abuse those
poor little ones. I’ll go for them at once and have them safe in my own
house before night. I shall take them out of his clutches without a
moment’s delay.” He drew out his watch as he spoke, and glancing at it,
“There is barely more than time for me to catch the first train,” he
said, “but I need no preparation.”
“Except some money, I presume,” said his brother, handing him a roll of
bank-bills which he had just taken from the safe.
“Ah, yes! that is very essential!” he returned, pocketing them and
taking up his hat. “Good-by; you may look for my return this afternoon
with the four children.”
“Yes, I hope so,” said his brother, “and in the meantime I shall do what
I can to prepare our wives to receive the poor little things and give
them a kind and cordial welcome.”
Ethel and her little brother and sisters had just finished their dinner
when the door bell rang and their Uncle Albert’s voice was heard in the
hall asking for them.
Ethel’s heart beat fast with mingled hope and fear. Had he come in
response to her letter? and if so was it in anger toward her oppressors?
Her eyes turned enquiringly upon the face of Mrs. Coote, where she read
both surprise and suppressed wrath.
“Is this some of your doing?” she muttered menacingly; but before the
frightened child could reply the door opened and Mr. Coote put in his
head, saying:
“Mr. Eldon is here, asking to see the children. Let them come right in.
No help for it, Sarah,” he added in a lower tone and with a look of
suppressed anger and apprehension. “I can’t say yet whether it’s any
tale-telling that’s brought him; but if that’s the case somebody’ll have
to suffer for it.” And he too looked menacingly at poor trembling little
Ethel.
“There then, go along all o’you,” said Mrs. Coote, who had just finished
wiping their hands and faces, “and mind what you say and do, or you may
get yourselves into trouble.”
Then Ethel spoke up bravely, “Don’t be afraid, Nan,” for the little one
looked sadly frightened and ready to cry; “we needn’t any of us be
afraid of our own dear kind Uncle Albert,” and with that they all
hastened into his presence.
He received them most affectionately, hugging and kissing them in turn.
“I have come to take you home with me,” he said, “and we will start just
as soon as you and your luggage can be got ready. You may go and pack
all your belongings, for you shall never spend another night in this
house.”
Then turning to Coote:
“And you, sir, may be thankful that after your brutal treatment of my
little nephew I allow you to escape with no greater punishment than the
loss of the salary that is due you for the care—such care as it has been
too! of these poor little helpless children—my deceased brother’s
orphans. My blood boils with indignation when I think of it, and I feel
that it would be a satisfaction to thrash you within an inch of your
life. But I have decided simply to take the children where it will be
out of your power to torment and ill-use them as you have been doing,
leaving your punishment to Him who has said: ‘Ye shall not afflict any
widow or fatherless children. If thou afflict them in any wise, and they
cry at all unto me, I will surely hear their cry; and my wrath shall wax
hot and I will kill you with the sword.’ I wonder you are not afraid of
God’s judgments lighting upon you, for in His Word He is called the
deliverer of the fatherless, their judge, their helper, and their
father. And you who profess to be His minister ought to be well
acquainted with His Word.”
“And you who are only a layman, should not dare to so accuse and abuse
me—one of the clergy!” exclaimed Coote wrathfully, yet paling visibly as
he spoke. “Pray, sir, what proof can you bring of your insulting
accusations? which I declare to be false, for I have—according to
promise—treated these ill-behaved, rebellious children with all the
lenity and fatherly kindness I should had they been my own offspring.”
The children were still lingering in the room listening in round-eyed
wonder to the strange and excited colloquy between the two men.
“Ethel, dear child,” said her uncle turning to her, “do not fear to
speak out and tell me in the presence of this man how he has beaten and
abused you all, particularly your brother.”
“You are going to take us away, uncle?” she asked, with a timid glance
at the wrathful countenance of Coote.
“Yes, at once; so that he will never again have an opportunity to
ill-use any one of you.”
“He has been very cruel to us, uncle,” Ethel said in reply; “to poor
Harry most of all. I’m afraid he would have killed him that last time if
the people hadn’t come to the doors and windows and made him stop. Poor
Harry could hardly walk for days afterward,” she added with a burst of
sobs and tears.
“Yes, uncle, he ’most killed me, and I’ve got some of the marks on me
yet,” said Harry, pulling up his coat-sleeve and displaying some marks
on his arm. “Guess he would have killed me if folks hadn’t come and
stopped him. But I’m going to pay him back well when I’m a big man. I’ll
just thrash him till he can’t stand.”
“I think you’ll forget about the smart and be willing to forgive him
before that,” returned Mr. Eldon with a half smile, drawing the little
fellow to him and smoothing his hair caressingly.
Coote was striding angrily to and fro across the floor, clenching his
fists, grinding his teeth, and scowling at the little group as though
fairly aching to knock them all down.
Mrs. Coote was not there; she had lingered but a moment in the hall,
then, having heard the announcement of Mr. Eldon that he had come to
take the children away, had hastened to their room and set to work with
much energy and despatch to gather together and pack up all that
belonged to them.
“There now, my dears, go and get ready for your journey,” said Mr.
Eldon, releasing Harry from his embrace and smiling kindly upon all
four. “Gather up all your possessions—at least all that you care to
keep. No doubt Mrs. Coote will help you with the work, and as soon as
you are ready we will start for the station.” Then noting the look of
apprehension on each young face, he said: “Harry and Nannette may as
well stay here with me; so many of you would only be in Mrs. Coote’s
way, and their hats and coats can be put on here.”
“But they don’t look so very well dressed, uncle,” said Ethel
hesitatingly; “and wouldn’t you like them to have their best clothes
on?”
“Ah, yes; that is well thought of,” he replied. “Well, get them ready
first and send them down here to me; then follow as soon as you and the
trunk are ready.”
At that all four hurried obediently from the parlor and up to the room
in which most of their time had been passed since their coming to the
house. Mrs. Coote was there, down on her knees, packing their trunk with
great expedition. She turned her head and looked grimly at them as they
entered.
“Somebody’s been telling tales, I reckon,” she remarked gruffly. “Well,
it’ll rid me of a good deal of care and bother. I shall breathe freer
when you’re gone, for you’ve been no end of trouble.”
“I’m sorry if we have, ma’am,” said Ethel. “I’ve really tried to be good
and helpful.”
“Yes, you have, Ethel, and I’ve been fonder of you than I ever thought
to be of any child,” returned Mrs. Coote, her voice softening. “But I’ve
got to give you up now, and there’s no use fretting. There, children,
I’ve laid out all your best clothes on the bed. Get into them as fast as
you can while I finish packing your trunk.”
They made haste to obey, Ethel and Blanche helping the younger two, and
in a very short time they and their trunk were ready.
In the meanwhile Mr. Eldon had settled with Mr. Coote in full for all
that was owing on the children’s account; a carriage was waiting at the
gate, and the moment they appeared for their journey, he rose, told them
to say good-by, then took his leave, leading Nannette, while the other
three followed.
Mrs. Weston, Mrs. Keith, and little Mary were out on their own porch,
watching with interest what was going on next door, fearing they were
about to lose their little friends.
“Oh,” cried Blanche, “there are our friends who’ve been so good to us
and whom we love dearly. Uncle Albert, mayn’t we run over and say
good-by to them before we go?”
“Yes, certainly,” he said. “I will go too and thank them for helping
Ethel to send me word that you were not well treated or happy here.”
It had been a hasty farewell, as it was near train time, and some tears
were shed, but Mr. Eldon tried to comfort them all with the hope that
the separation need not be for so very long, inviting the ladies and
little Mary to visit his nephew and nieces at his house, and promising
some day to bring Ethel, Blanche, Harry, and Nannette to see them.