SCENES.
THAT very evening, strange to say, father came home the worse for
drink. I had never seen him so bad, except the one night after
grannie's death.
Somebody brought him to the door, and pushed him in and went away. I
was almost sure it was Mr. Simmons, but I could not quite see in the
dark, and he did not answer when I spoke.
I had to help father along the passage, and into the parlour; for he
staggered and stumbled, and could not walk steadily. It was dreadful to
me to have to do this. Such a feeling of shrinking and loathing came up
in my heart, that I was frightened at myself. For it was my father—the
father whom I had once loved so much, and who had been so good to us
all. O what a change! To put himself down lower than a brute! All this
was in my mind, as he came along, clutching at me for support, with his
blood-shot eyes telling their tale.
And he was my own father. Such a great agony seemed to come up in my
heart, that I felt as if I must rush away, and never see him again. But
mother looked so frightened, standing apart, that I could not leave her.
"Phœbe! why, Phœbe, he has been drinking," she said quite loud. I
wanted to silence her, but she said it again, and father heard. He had
sense enough to understand, and he spoke angrily, using bad words, with
his thick utterance.
It was no time for finding fault, but poor mother never was very wise
in that way, and what was in her head came out at her lips. She burst
into tears, and said, "Then it's all true, what Mrs. Raikes said; and
he's been gambling too, I don't doubt. O Phœbe, Phœbe! what shall we
do?" and she clung to me, as if for help; and I, poor helpless child
that I was, with sobs half choking me, though I kept them down, did not
know what to do.
Father heard the words, and he asked fiercely what they meant. Mother
would not listen to me, when I begged her not to speak. She repeated
what Mrs. Raikes had said, and then she told him he made her miserable,
and was breaking her heart with his ways. She almost screamed out the
words between her sobs, and father shouted back at her in a rage,
though he could scarcely speak so as to be understood. It was a sad and
grievous scene. Many and many a time I have envied those children who
are so happy as not to know what it is to feel shame at their parents'
actions.
I think I was praying in my heart, and a sort of calm seemed to come
over me. I thought of what grannie would have done in my place. And
I went to mother, and told her she must please not say another word,
she must wait till next day. She left off then, and I told father he
must go to bed. He stared at me, and then he went. I had to help him
upstairs, and I thought we should never reach the top. He threw himself
down all across the bed, with his clothes and boots on, and was asleep
directly.
Mother would not go near him She came to my room, and crept into the
bed with me. Neither of us could sleep much. I was very unhappy and
cried a great deal; and yet I had a sort of pleasure in the thought
that mother seemed to cling to me for help, in a way she had never done
before.
The next day father was ill and miserable. He came downstairs late, and
would take no breakfast, and sat crouching over the fire, and looked
nobody in the face. Mother would not speak to him. It was a sad change
from what our home had once been, and oh, I did feel thankful that dear
grannie had not lived to see it.
Father got up after a while, and began to move off in a kind of
slouching way. Mother spoke then. She called out in a sharp shrill
voice which quite startled me, "Are you going back to your gambling?"
"Who told you I gambled?" said he angrily.
"Mrs. Raikes did," mother said. "And about your drinking too. I didn't
believe neither; but now one's true, I suppose the other is true
too. You'll just bring us all to the workhouse by-and-by, and that's
what it'll be. That's how it is you never have a penny to spare for
anybody's wants."
"Nor for squandering about your gewgaws of finery," growled he.
"A few shillings is nothing," said she. "But I know what it is, when a
man takes to gambling. Haven't I seen it? And Mrs. Raikes says that man
Simmons will fleece you of every penny; and I believe it too."
"Mrs. Raikes may attend to her own concerns," father said roughly.
"It's my concern too, though," mother said. "I should like to know how
much you owe to Mr. Simmons."
"More than I'm like to be able to pay," father said in a sullen tone.
"And I'd advise you to do nought to offend him, or he'll be down on us
pretty sharp."
"Oh, that's the sort of friendship is it?" said she scornfully. "That's
all it is worth. If I was you, I'd pay him back, and get rid of him,
and never see him no more."
"O yes, you women are uncommon wise," said he, with a sneer. "A nice
lot of finery you'd be able to get yourself, if I did that."
"Mother would sooner do without the finery, and have you free from Mr.
Simmons," I said. "Wouldn't you, mother?"
"Yes, I would," said she.
Father went off without another word, and mother and I talked things
over together. She seemed to find it a comfort, and I think she was at
last willing to be careful, and to spend less on herself. But if father
was really gambling away money to Mr. Simmons, nothing we could do
would stop him.
So for the second time father had come home, the worse for drink. The
first and second times had been far apart, but the second and third
were near together, and the third and fourth nearer still; and soon we
knew that it was getting to be a common event.
Things looked sad indeed, as Christmas once more came slowly round.
Mother seemed so shocked and sobered, as to put aside her flightiness
and to want to be different. She clung to me a good deal, and was
willing to do anything I thought best. We sent away the servant, and
had quite a young girl instead; and mother and she and I managed all
between us. If the house had been smaller, we could have done without a
girl even, only I don't think father would have been willing.
Mother was far from strong that winter. The damp tried her again, and
her cough was often very bad.
It was strange to me to see how all this seemed to be taking effect
on her, and how much less she cared about dress and show than she had
done. One Sunday she suddenly said she thought she would go to Church
again, and when she came back she had been crying. After that she
scarcely ever missed going: once each Sunday. And sometimes at night,
when we were waiting and watching for father to come home, she would
let me read the Bible to her.
I was so glad that Asaph was away at school, and I did dread his coming
home at Christmas, and seeing what father was come to. It would be so
terribly bad for him, I thought. But a change came before Christmas,
sudden and unexpected.