FROM BAD TO WORSE
"What bliss is born of sorrow!
'Tis never sent in vain--
The heavenly Surgeon maims to save,
He gives no useless pain."
--Watt.
Something more than six years had passed since the departure of Mrs.
Fischer from the county poor-house, but still the place was little changed.
Mr. Engler was once more in the office of the institution. This time he was
there to interview a stranger concerning the child Edwin. There was still
the same strong odor of nicotine in the room, and the furniture and the
condition of the walls and the floor still told of much want and
wretchedness, as well as of habits that were unclean; but apparently as
little heed was given to the fact by the stranger as had been manifested by
the selfish mother.
It seems that the word that Mrs. Fischer was receiving generous pensions
both for herself and for the support of her children had been carried to
the board that governed the affairs of the poorhouse. Finding that none of
the amount had been paid into that institution, orders had been issued to
the effect that Mrs. Fischer must either pay for the support of her child
or take him away from the almshouse. Having received a notice from Mr.
Engler of the board's decision, she had decided to have him brought to her
own home, and the stranger was no other than the boy's own uncle. He had
come with horse and buggy, at the mother's request, he had told Mr. Engler,
and he would appreciate having the child brought to him as quickly as
possible, as he had no time to lose.
"And so the heartless woman's sent for her child at last, has she?" Mr.
Engler said in a tone that might have inferred several things.
"Yes, that was her order," was the reply, and Mr. Engler left the room at
once to bring the fatherless and worse than motherless boy. The steward
smiled as he thought of the contrast between Edwin and his uncle. The
latter, a large, powerful man, was well-dressed and was apparently of a
strong will, and the peculiar light within his eye and the hard lines about
his mouth revealed the same characteristics that had been so prominent in
the mother. Edwin, on the other hand, was small for his age and hollow-eyed
from lack of sufficient food to satisfy his hunger, and his clothes were
ragged and soiled. The honest, straightforward expression of the large
brown eyes and the marks of refinement around his mouth made up, however,
for what he otherwise lacked.
In a room where several other children were playing Edwin was found, but he
was taking no part in the games. In fact, many things were done by the
children in the poorhouse day after day that he did not enjoy and in which
he would take no part. If questioned he could not have explained why he
felt as he did about their actions, but he preferred turning to the window,
where he could look out upon God's creation. The little birds that had
charmed him in his rambles had long been his friends, and as he gazed
through an open window, he could see a nest full of small fuzzy heads
waiting for the parent birds to bring them a meal of worms. Many times the
bills had been raised and the mouths opened wide because of the rustling of
the leaves above or below them, and the boy was glad when they could
realize that their expected meal was there.
In answer to Mr. Engler's order to come at once to the office, Edwin
followed, but before he entered the room, Mrs. Engler saw to it that his
clothing was changed, so that he would be a little more respectable to
appear in public.
It was evident that, when Edwin, clad in a pair of faded blue overalls and
shirt, entered the presence of his uncle, the latter was greatly surprized
at the slight figure before him, but he sought to conceal his thoughts and
said, "Edwin, I'm your uncle and have come to take you home to your
mother."
Very pleasantly these words fell upon Edwin's ears, but he associated them
with his rambles; for he knew nothing at all about his father or mother,
not even that any such relation was necessary in life. He therefore was
glad, but said nothing, for he knew not what to say. Mistaking the meaning
of his silence for timidity, the uncle spoke again.
"Come on now, boy; I am here with a horse and buggy to take you to your
mother's home. Will you be glad to see your mother?"
But again Edwin was at a loss to know what to say, but his thoughts were
that the man before him was very large. It was not until his uncle said
impatiently, "Come along!" that he understood, and this command he
instantly obeyed.
A moment later the two were standing beside a large noble-looking brown
horse that was hitched to an open buggy. Next he felt a pair of strong
hands placed upon his shoulders, and then he was lifted high in the air to
a seat that was so different from the bed of the old ox-wagon that he had
to examine and rub his hand over the soft cushion. When his uncle took the
seat beside him, everything about him began to move, and he thought of the
few times when the children had been taken for rides behind the large team
of oxen. But he had never been away from the poorhouse farm, and when they
passed from the driveway on to the public highway, he remembered that the
children had been forbidden to leave the place, and he wondered what it all
meant. He was not troubled, however, for Mr. Engler knew of his going, and
he reasoned that since he was not going of his own accord, it must be all
right.
As there was nothing else for him to do as he and his uncle rode along, he
began to look about at the many interesting things. The herds in the large
meadow-lands reminded him of the poorhouse cattle, and as he saw the little
"jumper-men" skipping about in the tall grass, so many pleasant
recollections were brought to his mind that he laughed aloud. They met
other horses and buggies similar to their own as well as covered carriages,
and passed some horses quite like his uncle's tied to hitching-racks in
front of houses or running about in the rich pasturelands.
The musical birds also added much to the boy's enjoyment when he heard them
now and then singing in some tree-top or bower, but all that he thought
about any of the beautiful things around him was unexpressed and securely
fastened within his little mind for future meditation. His small store of
knowledge had been gained in this way, but it seemed to be God's method of
teaching him the lessons that in later years would be the most useful to
him.
Occasionally he turned to look at the "big man" by his side, and each time
beneath the poverty-branded garments there throbbed a heart full of the
deepest esteem, and his desire to do his very best to win the confidence
and friendship of his new companion was strong. This was not a new impulse
in Edwin, for he had always endeavored to please every one, and in doing
this he had found real pleasure.
The afternoon was rapidly passing away, and as the sun sank in the western
horizon, the blue sky above him became streaked with crimson and gold. Then
Edwin noticed that the houses were closer together, but he did not know
that it was because he was entering a village and was close to his mother's
home.
During the entire journey from the poorhouse the uncle had been silent, but
suddenly Edwin saw the right line tightening, and in answer to the uncle's
command, "Whoa there, Bill!" they stopped close beside a hitching-post.
Without a word of explanation the uncle sprang lightly to the ground and
after tying the horse grasped Edwin's shoulders and roughly placed him upon
the ground. Again the boy's decision to endeavor to please was
strengthened, and when the uncle started toward the pretty brown house just
inside the picket fence and repeated the words he had used at the
poorhouse, "Come along," Edwin instantly obeyed.
As they passed in through the open gateway, Edwin noticed pretty
flower-bushes. His uncle told him that it was his mother's home. As they
stepped upon the porch, Edwin could not refrain from sniffing in some of
the delicious fragrance of the honey-suckle blossoms dangling so gracefully
here and there from the pillars of the porch, but he was hurried on.
When they entered the house, Edwin looked about in amazement, for
everything seemed so very beautiful. Then he saw a woman sitting near a
window with a piece of sewing in her hands and three children--a boy about
his own size, a girl, and a boy younger--playing on the floor.
"This is your mother," he heard his uncle say.
Without rising or giving the child a word of welcome, the unfeeling woman
said to the uncle:
"What do you think of him?"
"I don't know what to think," was the uncle's answer. "He hasn't said a
word since Engler turned him over into my care, and I certainly tried hard
to get something out of him. All he did until I told him to come along was
to stare at me with those large brown eyes of his. While we were riding
along, though, he seemed to see everything there was to see, and by the way
he kept smiling to himself one would have supposed he was looking at a
circus."
Ah, could they have known the deep thoughts that had been passing through
the childish mind even upon that trip, they would have understood better
how to encourage him. With no consideration for the manner in which Edwin
had been shut away from the better class of society and the proper helps
that are usually thrown about the young, they at once gave him a low and
degraded place in their estimation and pronounced him dull, stupid, and
idiotic. All commands were given in a harsh tone and in such a manner that
he could not comprehend them.
Before going farther into the life of Edwin, it might be well to explain
that the uncle and his three small children were making their home with
Edwin's mother. The house in which they were living, although rented,
contained many comforts and even luxuries; for the mother, aside from her
pension-money, was being liberally paid by the uncle for keeping him and
his family. And Edwin's ignorance, as has already been inferred, was due to
his lack of training and to the fact that everything in his mother's house
was so new and different from what he had been used to in the poorhouse.
"Go and wash yourself and get ready for supper," he heard his mother say;
but he had not been taught that this was necessary, and because he did not
understand and so failed to obey, he was scolded and abused.
"You worthless thing!" his mother said. "I'm sorry I didn't leave you at
the poorhouse now and let you grow up with the cattle if you don't know
enough to wash before you eat."
When supper was ready, she ordered Edwin to get around behind the table in
a corner where he would be the farthest from her, and added, "Any place in
my home is too good for the like of you, and you shall stand while you eat.
Do you hear?"
Evidently Edwin understood this command, for he had been used to eating his
meals under just such trying circumstances, and he went at once to the
place assigned him. The good food upon the table was very tempting, and
when he had eaten all that was on his plate, he watched the other children
to see what they would do when more was wanted, and when he saw them
passing plates, he did the same.
He did not repeat this, however, for he found that he was not expected to
share with the rest or to eat until his hunger was satisfied. Without a
murmur he did without the dainties that were given freely to the other
children, and with a dry crust he finished his meal in silence.
When bedtime came, Edwin was given a place to sleep in an unused part of
the house, and there alone in the darkness he could repeat the words that
the kind old lady at the poorhouse had taught him. Then while the rats and
mice played hide-and-seek in the room about him, his eyelids closed in
peaceful slumber.
We have heard that "there is nothing so bad that it could not have been
worse." For Edwin life seemed to be constantly growing more serious and
dark, but "man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh upon
the heart" (I Sam. 16:7).