"Come, buy my flowers; flowers fresh and fair. Come, buy my flowers.
Please ma'am, buy a nice bunch of flowers, very pretty ones, ma'am.
Please, sir, to have some flowers; nice, fresh ones, miss; only just
gathered; please look."
Thus spoke, or sometimes sung, a little girl of perhaps eight years
old, holding in her hand a neat small basket, on the top of which lay a
clean white cloth, to shade from the sun the flowers which she praised
so highly, and a little bunch of which she presented to almost every
passer-by, in the hope of finding purchasers; while, after one had
passed rudely on, another had looked at her young face and smiled,
another had said, "What a nice child!" but not one had taken the
flowers, and left the penny or the half-penny that was to pay for them
the little girl, as if accustomed to all this, only arranged again the
pretty nosegays that had been disarranged in the vain hope of selling
them, and commenced anew in her pretty singing tone, "Come, buy my
flowers; flowers fresh and fair."
"Your flowers are sadly withered, my little maid," said a kind,
country-looking gentleman, who was buying some vegetables at a stall
near her.
"Oh, sir! I have fresh ones, here, sir; please look;" and the child
lifted up the cover of her basket, and drew from the very bottom a
bunch of blossoms on which the dew of morning still rested.
"Please to see, sir; a pretty rose, sir, and these pinks and
mignonette, and a bunch of jessamine, sir, and all for one penny."
"Bless thee! pretty dear!" said the old lame vegetable-seller, "thou'lt
make a good market-woman one of these days. Your honor would do well to
buy her flowers, sir, she has got no mother or father, God help her,
and works for a sick grandmother."
"Poor child!" said the old gentleman. "Here, then, little one, give me
three nice nosegays, and there is sixpence for you."
With delight sparkling in every feature of her face, and her color
changed to crimson with joy, the little flower-girl received in one
hand the unusual piece of money; and setting her basket on the ground,
began hastily and tremblingly to pick out nearly half its contents as
the price of the sixpence; but the gentleman stooped down, and taking
up at random three bunches of the flowers, which were not the freshest,
said,
"Here, these will do; keep the rest for a more difficult customer. Be a
good child; pray to God, and serve Him, and you will find He is the
Father of the fatherless."
And so he went away; and the flower-girl, without waiting to put her
basket in order, turned to the old vegetable-seller, and cried,
"Sixpence! a whole sixpence, and all at once. What will grandmother say
now? See!" and opening her hand, she displayed its shining before her
neighbor's eyes.
"Eh!" exclaimed the old man, as he approached his eyes nearer to it.
"Eh! what is this? why thou hast twenty sixpences there; this is a
half-sovereign!"
"Twenty sixpences! why the gentleman said, there is sixpence for thee,"
said the child.
"Because he didn't know his mistake," replied the other; "I saw him
take the piece out of his waistcoat-pocket without looking."
"Oh dear! what shall I do?" cried the little girl.
"Why, thou must keep it, to be sure," replied the old man; "give it to
thy grandmother, she will know what to do with it, I warrant thee."
"But I must first try to find the good gentleman, and tell him of his
mistake," said the child. "I know what grandmother would say else; and
he cannot be far off, I think, because he was so fat; he will go slow,
I am sure, this hot morning. Here, Mr. Williams, take care of my
basket, please, till I come back."
And without a word more, the flower-girl put down her little basket at
the foot of the vegetable-stall, and ran away as fast as she could go.
When she turned out of the market-place, she found, early as it was,
that the street before her was pretty full; but as from the passage the
gentleman had taken to leave the market-place, she knew he could only
have gone in one direction, she had still hopes of finding him; and she
ran on and on, until she actually thought she saw the very person
before her; he had just taken off his hat, and was wiping his forehead
with his handkerchief.
"That is him," said the little flower-girl, "I am certain;" but just as
she spoke, some persons came between her and the gentleman, and she
could not see him. Still she kept running on; now passing off the
foot-path into the street, and then seeing the fat gentleman still
before her; and then again getting on the foot-path, and losing sight
of him, until at last she came up quite close to him, as he was walking
slowly, and wiping the drops of heat from his forehead.
The poor child was then quite out of breath; and when she got up to him
she could not call out to him to stop, nor say one word; so she caught
hold of the skirt of his coat, and gave it a strong pull.
The gentleman started, and clapped one hand on his coat-pocket, and
raised up his cane in the other, for he was quite sure it was a
pickpocket at his coat. But when he turned, he saw the breathless
little flower-girl, and he looked rather sternly at her, and said,
"Well, what do you want; what are you about? eh!"
"Oh, sir!" said the girl; and then she began to cough, for her breath
was quite spent. "See, sir; you said you gave me sixpence, and Mr.
Williams says there are twenty sixpences in this little bit of money."
"Dear me!" said the gentleman; "is it possible? could I have done such
a thing?" and he began to fumble in his waistcoat pocket.
"Well, really it is true enough," he added, as he drew out a sixpence.
"See what it is to put gold and silver together."
"I wish he would give it to me," thought the little flower-girl; "how
happy it would make poor granny; and perhaps he has got a good many
more of these pretty gold pieces."
But the old gentleman put out his hand, and took it, and turned it over
and over, and seemed to think a little; and then he put his hand into
his pocket again, and took out his purse; and he put the half-sovereign
into the purse, and took out of it another sixpence.
"Well," he said, "there is the sixpence I owe you for the flowers; you
have done right to bring me back this piece of gold; and there is
another sixpence for your race; it is not a reward, mind, for honesty
is only our duty, and you only did what is right; but you are tired,
and have left your employment, and perhaps lost a customer, so I give
you the other sixpence to make you amends."
"Thank you, sir," said the flower-girl, curtseying; and taking the two
sixpences into her hand with a delighted smile, was going to run back
again, when the old gentleman, pulling out a pocket-book, said, "Stay a
moment; you are an orphan, they tell me; what is your name?"
"Fanny, sir."
"Fanny what?"
"Please, I don't know, sir; grandmother is Mrs. Newton, sir; but she
says she is not my grandmother either, sir."
"Well, tell me where Mrs. Newton lives," said the gentleman, after
looking at her a minute or so, as if trying to make out what she meant.
So Fanny told him, and he wrote it down in his pocket-book, and then
read over what he had written to her, and she said it was right.
"Now, then, run away back," said he, "and sell all your flowers, if you
can, before they wither, for they will not last long this warm day;
flowers are like youth and beauty--do you ever think of that? even the
rose withereth afore it groweth up." And this fat gentleman looked very
sad, for he had lost all his children in their youth.
"O yes! sir; I know a verse which says that," replied Fanny. "All flesh
is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of grass--but
good morning, and thank you, sir," and away Fanny ran.
And now, before going on with my story, I must go back to tell who and
what Fanny, the flower-girl, was.
Mrs. Newton, whom she called her grandmother, was now a poor old woman,
confined to her bed by a long and trying illness, that had nearly
deprived her of the use of her limbs. But she had not been always thus
afflicted. Some years before, Mrs. Newton lived in a neat cottage near
the road-side, two or three miles from one of the great sea-port towns
of England. Her husband had good employment, and they were both
comfortable and happy.
Just eight years from this time, it happened that one warm summer's
day, Mrs. Newton went to look out from her cottage door down the road,
and she saw a young woman standing there, leaning against a tree, and
looking very faint and weak.
She was touched with pity and asked the poor traveller to walk into her
house and rest. The young woman thankfully consented, for she said she
was very ill; but she added, that her husband was coming after her,
having been obliged to turn back for a parcel that was left behind at
the house where they had halted some time before, and therefore she
would sit near the door and watch for him.
Before, however, the husband came, the poor woman was taken dreadfully
ill; and when he did arrive, good Mrs. Newton could not bear to put the
poor creature out of the house in such a state; she became worse and
worse. In short, that poor young woman was Fanny's mother, and when
little Fanny was born, that poor sick mother died, and Fanny never saw
a mother's smile.
The day after the young woman's death, kind Mrs. Newton came into the
room where her cold body was laid out on the bed; and there was her
husband, a young, strong-looking man, sitting beside it; his elbows
were on his knees, and his face was hid in his open hands.
Mrs. Newton had the baby in her arms, and she spoke to its father as
she came in; he looked up to her; his own face was as pale as death;
and he looked at her without saying a word. She saw he was in too much
grief either to speak or weep. So she went over silently to him, and
put the little baby into his arms, and then said, "May the Lord look
down with pity on you both."
As soon as the unhappy young man heard these compassionate words, and
saw the face of his pretty, peaceful babe, he burst into tears; they
rolled in large drops down on the infant's head.
Then in a short time he was able to speak, and he told Mrs. Newton his
sad little history; how he had no one in the whole world to look with
pity on him, or his motherless child; and how God alone was his hope in
this day of calamity. His father had been displeased with him because
he had married that young woman, whom he dearly loved; and he had given
him some money that was his portion, and would do nothing else for him.
The young man had taken some land and a house, but as the rent was too
high, he could not make enough of the land to pay it; so he had been
obliged to sell all his goods, and he had only as much money left as
would, with great saving, carry him to America, where he had a brother
who advised him to go out there.
"And now," said he, looking over at the pale face of his dear wife,
"What shall I do with the little creature she has left me? how shall I
carry it over the wide ocean without a mother to care for it, and nurse
it?"
"You cannot do so," said Mrs. Newton, wiping her eyes; "leave it with
me; I have no children of my own, my husband would like to have one;
this babe shall lie in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter. I will
nurse it for you until you are settled in America, and send or come for
it."
The young man wept with gratitude; he wanted to know how he was to
repay Mrs. Newton, but she said for the present she did not want
payment, that it would be a pleasure to her to have the baby; and it
would be time enough to talk about payment when the father was able to
claim it, and take it to a home.
So the next day they buried the poor young woman, and soon after the
young man went away and sailed off to America, and from that day to
this Mrs. Newton had never heard anything of him.
As she had said, that poor little motherless babe lay in her bosom, and
was unto her as a daughter; she loved it; she loved it when it was a
helpless little thing, weak and sickly; she loved it when it grew a
pretty lively baby, and would set its little feet on her knees, and
crow and caper before her face; she loved it when it began to play
around her as she sat at work, to lisp out the word "Ganny," for she
taught it to call her grandmother; she loved it when it would follow
her into her nice garden, and pick a flower and carry it to her, as she
sat in the little arbor; and she, holding the flower, would talk to it
of God who made the flower, and made the bee that drew honey from the
flower, and made the sun that caused the flower to grow, and the light
that gave the flower its colors, and the rain that watered it, and the
earth that nourished it. And she loved that child when it came back
from the infant school, and climbed up on her lap, or stood with its
hands behind its back, to repeat some pretty verses about flowers, or
about the God who made them. That child was Fanny, the flower-girl; and
ah! how little did good Mrs. Newton think she would be selling flowers
in the streets to help to support her.
But it came to pass, that when Fanny was nearly six years old, Mrs.
Newton's husband fell very ill; it was a very bad, and very expensive
illness, for poor Mrs. Newton was so uneasy, she would sometimes have
two doctors to see him; but all would not do; he died: and Mrs. Newton
was left very poorly off.
In a short time she found she could not keep on her pretty cottage; she
was obliged to leave it; and the church where she had gone every Sunday
for so many years; and the church-yard where her husband was buried,
and little Fanny's mother; and the infant school where Fanny learned so
much; and the dear little garden, and the flowers that were Fanny's
teachers and favorites. Oh! how sorry was poor Mrs. Newton. But even a
little child can give comfort; and so little Fanny, perhaps without
thinking to do so, did; for when Mrs. Newton for the last time sat out
in her garden, and saw the setting sun go down, and told Fanny she was
going to leave that pretty garden, where she had from infancy been
taught to know God's works, the child looked very sad and thoughtful
indeed, for some time; but afterwards coming up to her, said,
"But, grandmother, we shall not leave God, shall we? for you say God is
everywhere, and He will be in London too."
And oh! how that thought consoled poor Mrs. Newton; she did not leave
God,--God did not leave her.
So she left the abode of her younger years--the scene of her widowhood;
and she went away to hire a poor lodging in the outlets of London; but
her God was with her, and the child she had nursed in her prosperity
was her comfort in adversity.
Matters, however, went no better when she lived with little Fanny in a
poor lodging. She had only one friend in London, and she lived at a
distance from her. Mrs. Newton fell ill; there was no one to nurse her
but Fanny; she could no longer pay for her schooling, and sometimes she
was not able to teach her herself.
All this seemed very hard, and very trying; and one would have been
tempted to think that God was no longer with poor Mrs. Newton; that
when she had left her cottage she had left the God who had been so good
to her.
But this would have been a great mistake. God was with Mrs. Newton; He
saw fit to try and afflict her; but He gave her strength and patience
to bear her trials and afflictions.
One afternoon her friend came to pay her a visit: she was going out a
little way into the country to see a relation who had a very fine
nursery-garden, and she begged Mrs. Newton to let little Fanny go with
her own daughter. Mrs. Newton was very glad to do so for she thought it
would be a nice amusement for Fanny.
The nurseryman was very kind to her; and when she was going away gave
her a fine bunch of flowers. Fanny was in great delight, for she loved
flowers and knew her dear grandmother loved them too. But as she was
coming back, and just as she was entering the streets, she met a lady
and a little boy of about three years old, who directly held out his
hands and began to beg for the flowers. His mamma stopped, and as Fanny
was very poorly dressed, she thought it probable that she would sell
her nosegay, and so she said,
"Will you give that bunch of flowers to my little boy, and I will pay
you for it?"
"Please, ma'am, they are for grandmother," said Fanny blushing, and
thinking she ought to give the flowers directly, and without money to
any one who wished for them.
"But perhaps your grand-mother would rather have this sixpence?" said
the lady. And Mrs. Newton's friend, who had just come up, said,
"Well, my dear, take the lady's sixpence, and let her have the flowers
if she wishes for them."
So Fanny held the flowers to the lady, who took them and put the
sixpence in her hand. Fanny wished much to ask for one rose, but she
thought it would not be right to do so, when the lady had bought them
all: and she looked at them so very longingly that the lady asked if
she were sorry to part with them.
"Oh! no, ma'am," cried her friend, "she is not at all sorry--come now,
don't be a fool, child," she whispered, and led Fanny on.
"That is a good bargain for you," she added as she went on; "that
spoiled little master has his own way, I think; it would be well for
you, and your grandmother too, if you could sell sixpenny worth of
flowers every day."
"Do you think I could, ma'am?" said Fanny, opening her hand and looking
at her sixpence, "this will buy something to do poor granny good; do
you think Mr. Simpson would give me a nosegay every day?"
"If you were to pay him for it, he would," said her friend; "suppose
you were to go every morning about five o'clock, as many others do, and
buy some flowers, and then sell them at the market; you might earn
something, and that would be better than being idle, when poor Mrs.
Newton is not able to do for herself and you."
So when Fanny got back, she gave her dear grandmother the sixpence.
"The Lord be praised!" said Mrs. Newton, "for I scarcely knew how I was
to get a loaf of bread for thee or myself to-morrow."
And then Fanny told her the plan she had formed about the flowers.
Mrs. Newton was very sorry to think her dear child should be obliged to
stand in a market place, or in the public streets, to offer anything
for sale; but she said, "Surely it is Providence has opened this means
of gaining a little bread, while I am laid here unable to do anything;
and shall I not trust that Providence with the care of my darling
child?"
So from this time forth little Fanny set off every morning before five
o'clock, to the nursery garden; and the nursery-man was very kind to
her, and always gave her the nicest flowers; and instead of sitting
down with the great girls, who went there also for flowers or
vegetables, and tying them up in bunches, Fanny put them altogether in
her little basket, and went away to her grandmother's room, and spread
them out on the little table that poor Mrs. Newton might see them,
while the sweet dew was yet sparkling on their bright leaves.
Then she would tell how beautiful the garden looked at that sweet early
hour; and Mrs. Newton would listen with pleasure, for she loved a
garden. She used to say, that God placed man in a garden when he was
happy and holy; and when he was sinful and sorrowful, it was in a
garden that the blessed Saviour wept and prayed for the sin of the
world; and when his death had made atonement for that sin, it was in a
garden his blessed body was laid.
Mrs. Newton taught Fanny many things from flowers; she was not a bad
teacher, in her own simple way, but Jesus Christ, who was the best
teacher the world ever had, instructed his disciples from vines and
lilies, corn and fruit, and birds, and all natural things around them.
And while Fanny tied up her bunches of flowers, she would repeat some
verses from the Holy Scriptures, such as this, "O Lord, how manifold
are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of
thy riches." And afterwards she would repeat such pretty lines as
these:--
"Not worlds on worlds, in varied form,
Need we, to tell a God is here;
The daisy, saved from winter's storm,
Speaks of his hand in lines as clear.
"For who but He who formed the skies,
And poured the day-spring's living flood,
Wondrous alike in all He tries,
Could rear the daisy's simple bud!
"Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin;
And cut the gold-embossed gem,
That, shrined in silver, shines within;
"And fling it, unrestrained and free,
O'er hill, and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where'er he walks, may see,
In every step the trace of God."
"And I, too, have had my daisy given to me," poor Mrs. Newton would
say, with tearful eyes, as she gazed on her little flower-girl; "I too
have my daisy, and though it may be little cared for in the world, or
trodden under foot of men, yet will it ever bear, I trust, the trace of
God."
But it happened the very morning that the gentleman had given Fanny the
half-sovereign in mistake, Mrs. Newton's money was quite spent; and she
was much troubled, thinking the child must go the next morning to the
garden without money to pay for her flowers, for she did not think it
likely she would sell enough to buy what they required, and pay for
them also; so she told Fanny she must ask Mr. Simpson to let her owe
him for a day or two until she got a little money she expected.
Fanny went therefore, and said this to the kind man at the garden; and
he put his hand on her head, and said, "My pretty little girl, you may
owe me as long as you please, for you are a good child, and God will
prosper you."
So Fanny went back in great delight, and told this to Mrs. Newton; and
to cheer her still more, she chose for her morning verse, the advice
that our Lord gave to all those who were careful and troubled about the
things of this life "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow;
they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you that
Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore,
if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow
is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, oh ye of
little faith?"
And then she repeated some verses which both she and Mrs. Newton liked
very much.
"Lo! the lilies of the field,
How their leaves instruction yield!
Hark to nature's lesson, given
By the blessed birds of heaven.
"Say with richer crimson glows,
The kingly mantle than the rose;
Say are kings more richly dressed,
Than the lily's glowing vest!
"Grandmother I forget the next verse," said Fanny, interrupting
herself; "I know it is something about lilies not spinning; but then
comes this verse--
"Barns, nor hoarded store have we"--
"It is not the lilies, grandmother, but the blessed birds that are
speaking now--
"Barns, nor hoarded store have we,
Yet we carol joyously;
Mortals, fly from doubt and sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow."
Poor Mrs. Newton clasped her thin hands, and looked up, and prayed like
the disciples, "Lord, increase our faith!"
"Eh!" said she, afterwards, "is it not strange that we can trust our
Lord and Saviour with the care of our souls for eternity, and we cannot
trust Him with that of our bodies for a day."
Well! this was poor Mrs. Newton's state on that day, when the gentleman
gave Fanny the half-sovereign instead of sixpence, for her flowers.
When the little flower-girl came back from her race with her two
sixpences, she found the old vegetable-seller had got her three or four
pennies more, by merely showing her basket, and telling why it was left
at his stall; and so every one left a penny for the honest child, and
hoped the gentleman would reward her well. The old man at the stall
said it was very shabby of him only to give her sixpence; but when she
went home with three sixpences and told Mrs. Newton this story, she
kissed her little girl very fondly, but said the gentleman was good to
give her sixpence, for he had no right to give her anything, she had
only done her duty.
"But, grandmother," said Fanny, "when I saw that pretty half-sovereign
dropping down to his purse, I could not help wishing he would give it
to me."
"And what commandment did you break then, my child?"
"Not the eighth--if I had kept the half-sovereign I should have broken
it," said Fanny, "for that says, thou shalt not steal--what commandment
did I break, grandmother; for I did not steal?"
"When we desire to have what is not ours Fanny, what do we do? we
covet; do we not?"
"Oh! yes--thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods," cried Fanny,
"that is the tenth commandment; and that half-sovereign was my
neighbor's goods, and that fat gentleman was my neighbor. But,
grandmother, it is very easy to break the tenth commandment."
"Very easy indeed, my dear," said Mrs. Newton, with first a faint
smile, and then a deep sigh, "therefore," she added, "we ought always
to pray like David, 'Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity.'"
There is a very common saying, that when things are at the worst they
mend. It is hard to say when matters are at the worst; poor Mrs. Newton
knew they might yet be worse with her; but certainly, they were very
bad; and a few days after this, as Fanny was tying up her flowers as
usual, she lay on her bed thinking what she was to do, and praying that
God would direct her to some way of providing for the poor child.
While she was thinking and praying, tears stole down her face; Fanny
saw them, and stopped her work, and looked sorrowfully at her--
"Now you are crying again, grandmother, she said," and that's what
makes me break the tenth commandment, for I can't help wishing the
gentleman had given me that half-sovereign. But I will say the verses
again to-day about the lilies and birds; for you know I said that
morning--
'Mortals fly from doubt and sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow,'
and when I came back with my three sixpences, you said God _had_
provided for the morrow, for you had only two or three pennies in the
house when I went out."
"And how many pennies, pray, have you in the house to-day?" said a
rather gruff voice at the door.
Mrs. Newton and Fanny started; but there, standing at the door, Fanny
saw the fat gentleman who had given her the half-sovereign.
"So you have been wishing for my gold, you little rogue," he said,
looking as if he meant to frighten her. "Never mind," he added,
smiling, "you are a good child, and did what was right; and I always
meant to bring it back to you, but I have been kept rather busy these
few days past. There it is for you, and try not to break the tenth
commandment again." Then turning to Mrs. Newton, he said, "We should
not expect rewards, ma'am, for doing our duty, but if children do not
meet with approbation when they do right, they may be discouraged, and
perhaps think there is no use in being good: for they are silly little
creatures, you know, and do not always recollect that God will reward
the just one day if men do not."
"Oh! sir!" said poor Mrs. Newton, but the tears streamed down, and she
could not say a word more. And there Fanny sat gazing on the
half-sovereign, as if she was half stupefied.
"Well, take up that bit of gold, and do what you like with it," said
the fat gentleman; "and then run off to sell your flowers, for we must
not be idle because we have got enough for to-day. But do what you like
with that money."
Fanny rose up from her seat, and looking very much as if she was moving
in her sleep, with her wondering eyes fixed on the shining piece that
lay in her hand, she walked slowly over to Mrs. Newton, and putting it
into hers, said,--
"May I go to the grocer's now, grandmother, and get you the tea for
your breakfast?"
"Yes, my love," said Mrs. Newton, kissing her, "and take care of this,
and bring back the change carefully." Then turning to the gentleman,
she said, "I am not young, sir, and I am very, very poorly; I find it
hard to go without my tea, but it is a luxury I have been obliged
latterly to forego."
"But could you not get tea on credit, from the grocer?" said the
gentleman.
"Oh! yes, I believe so; but there would be no use in getting credit;"
said Mrs. Newton, "for I am not certain of being better able to pay
next week than I am this week; and when I have not the money to pay for
what I wish to get, it is better to do without it, than to add to one's
anxieties by running in debt. Do you not think so, sir?"
"Ma'am," said the old gentleman, sitting down, and resting his large
silver-topped stick between his knees, "it is of very little
consequence what I think; but if you wish to know this, I will tell you
that I think very well both of you and your little girl, who, as I have
heard, for I have made inquiries about you both, is a dependant on your
bounty. You have trained her up well, though I wouldn't praise the
child to her face; and so take as much tea as you like till you hear
from me again, and your grocer need be in no trouble about his bill."
So after the fat gentleman had made this rather bluff, but
honest-hearted speech, and poor Mrs. Newton had wept, and thanked him
in language that sounded more polite, the good old gentleman told her
his whole history.
He began the world very poor, and without relations able to assist him;
he was at last taken into the employment of a young merchant in the
city; he had a turn for business, and having been able to render some
important services to this young man, he was finally, to his own
surprise, and that of every one else, taken into partnership.
"During all this time," said he, "I was attached from my boyhood to the
daughter of the poor schoolmaster who first taught me to read; I would
not marry her while I was poor, for I thought that would be to make her
wretched instead of happy; but when I was taken into partnership I
thought my way was clear; I went off to Bethnal Green, and told Mary,
and our wedding-day was settled at once. Well, we were glad enough, to
be sure; but a very few days after, my partner called me into the
private room, and said he wanted to consult me. He seemed in high
spirits, and he told me he had just heard of a famous speculation, by
which we could both make our fortunes at once. He explained what it
was, and I saw with shame and regret, that no really honest man could
join in it: I told him so; I told him plainly I would have nothing to
do with it. You may think what followed; the deeds of partnership were
not yet signed, and in short, in two or three days more I found myself
poor Jack Walton again--indeed, poorer than I was before I was made one
of the firm of Charters and Walton, for I had lost my employment.
"Often and often I used to think that David said, he had never seen the
righteous forsaken; yet I was suffering while the unrighteous were
prospering. It was a sinful, and a self-righteous thought, and I was
obliged to renounce it; when, after some time of trial, a gentleman
sent for me--a man of wealth, and told me his son was going into
business on his own account; that he had heard of my character, and of
the cause of my leaving Mr. Charters; that he thought I would be just
such a steady person as he wished his son to be with. In short, I began
with him on a handsome salary; was soon made his partner; married Mary,
and had my snug house in the country. Mr. Charters succeeded in that
speculation; entered into several others, some of which were of a more
fraudulent nature, failed, and was ruined. He ran off to America, and
no one knows what became of him. I have left business some years. I
purchased a nice property in the country, built a Church upon it, and
have ever thanked God, who never forsakes those who wish to act
righteously.
"It pleased God to take all my sweet children from me--every state has
its trials--the youngest was just like your little flower-girl."
Mrs. Newton was much pleased with this story; she then told her own,
and little Fanny's. The fat gentleman's eyes were full of tears when
she ended; when he was going away he put another half-sovereign into
her hand, and saying, "The first was for the child," walked out of the
house.
A short time afterwards, a clergyman came to see Mrs. Newton--she was
surprised; he sat and talked with her some time, and seemed greatly
pleased with her sentiments, and all she told him of herself and Fanny.
He then told her that he was the clergyman whom Mr. Walton, on the
recommendation of the bishop of the diocese, had appointed to the
church he had built; that Mr. Walton had sent him to see her, and had
told him, if he was satisfied with all he saw and heard, to invite Mrs.
Newton and the little flower-girl to leave London, and go and live in
one of the nice widows' houses, which good Mr. Walton had built, near
the pretty village where he lived.
Then there was great joy in poor Mrs. Newton's humble abode; Mrs.
Newton was glad for Fanny's sake, and Fanny was glad for Mrs. Newton's
sake, so both were glad, and both said--
"Mortals fly from doubt and sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow."
But the only difference was, that Mrs. Newton said it with watery eyes
and clasped hands, lying on her bed and looking up to heaven; and
Fanny--merry little thing!--said it frisking and jumping about the
room, clapping her hands together, and laughing her joy aloud.
Well, there was an inside place taken in the B---- coach, for Mrs.
Newton and Fanny; and not only that, but kind Mrs. Walton sent up her
own maid to London, to see that everything was carefully done, as the
poor woman was ill, and help to pack up all her little goods; and, with
her, she sent an entire new suit of clothes for the flower-girl.
They set off, and when they got near to the village the coachman
stopped, and called out to know if it were the first, or the last of
the red cottages he was to stop at; and Mrs. Walton's maid said, "The
last,--the cottage in the garden." So they stopped at such a pretty
cottage, with a little garden before and behind it. Mr. Walton had
known what it was to be poor, and so, when he grew rich, he had built
these neat houses, for those who had been rich and become poor. They
were intended chiefly for the widows of men of business, whose
character had been good, but who had died without being able to provide
for their families. He had made an exception in Mrs. Newton's case, and
gave her one of the best houses, because it had a pretty garden, which
he thought others might not care for so much.
They went inside, and there was such a neat kitchen, with tiles as red
as tiles could be; a little dresser, with all sorts of useful things; a
nice clock ticking opposite the fire-place, and a grate as bright as
blacklead could make it. And then there was such a pretty little room
at one side, with a rose tree against the window; and a little shelf
for books against the wall; and a round table, and some chairs, and an
easy couch. And there were two nice bedrooms overhead; and, better than
all these, was a pretty garden. Oh! how happy was the little
flower-girl; and how thankful was poor Mrs. Newton! The first thing she
did was to go down on her knees and thank God.
Then Fanny was to go to the school, for Mrs. Walton had her own school,
as well as the national school; but Fanny did not know enough to go to
it, so she was sent to the national school first, and afterwards she
went to the other, where about a dozen girls were instructed in all
things that would be useful to them through life--whether they were to
earn their bread at service, or to live in their own homes as
daughters, wives, or mothers.
But every morning, before she went out, she did everything for her
dear, good grandmother. She made her breakfast; she arranged her room;
and she gathered some fresh flowers in the garden, and put them on the
table in the little parlor. Oh! how happy was Fanny when she looked
back, and saw how nice everything looked, and then went out singing to
her school--
"Barns, nor hoarded store have we,
Yet we carol joyously;
Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow."
But God will not provide for the morrow, where people will do nothing
to provide for themselves; and so Fanny, the flower-girl, knew, for
surely God had blessed the labor of her childish hands.
Thus passed time away; and Fanny, under the instruction that she had at
church, at school, and at home, "grew in grace, and in the knowledge
and love of God, and of Jesus Christ our Lord."
Good Mrs. Newton was much better in health, and used to walk about
sometimes without any support but Fanny's arm, and so time went on till
Fanny came to be about fifteen; and then Mrs. Newton, who was not
always free from "doubt and sorrow," began to think what was to become
of her if she were to die.
So one day, when kind Mr. Walton, whom Fanny used once to call the fat
gentleman, came in to see her, Mrs. Newton told him that she was
beginning to feel anxious that Fanny should be put in a way of earning
her own bread, in case she should be taken from her.