IN WHICH A FAIRY IN A COTTON-PRINT DRESS IS INTRODUCED.
The next day was Saturday, and my mother went out early in the
morning, and returned at two o'clock with the saddest of faces.
'No work, mother?' I asked.
'No, my dear,' she replied; 'but come, my child, you must be hungry.'
There was little enough to eat, but my boy's appetite, and the cunning
way my mother had of placing our humble fare before me, made the plain
food as sweet as the best.
I noticed that she ate nothing, and I tried to persuade her to eat.
'I have no appetite, my dear,' she said, and added in reply to my
sorrowful look, 'My little boy doesn't know what I've had while I was
out this morning.'
Deeper thought than usual seemed to occupy her mind during the
afternoon, and she suddenly started up, and hurriedly threw on her
bonnet and shawl.
'Are you going to try again, mother?'
'Yes, my darling; I must try again.'
She did not return until late, but she returned radiant, and said, as
she took my face between her two hands, and kissed me:
'Child, dear child! God bless those who help the poor!'
She did not bid me repeat the words; but some deep meaning in her
voice impelled me to do so, and I said in a solemn tone, what the
words seemed to demand,
'God bless those who help the poor!'
She nodded pensively as she knelt before me, and as I looked at her
somewhat earnestly, her face flushed, and she rose, and bustled about
the room, putting things in order. I think she tried to hide her face
from me, and that her bustling about was a pretence.
'And now, Chris,' she said presently, drawing her breath quickly, as
though she had been running, 'let us go out and get something nice for
supper, and for dinner to-morrow. Put on your cap, dear; you must be
hungry.'
I was; and I was glad, indeed, to hear the good news, and to accompany
her on such an errand. She consulted me as to what she should buy, and
made me very proud and happy with her 'What do you say to this, dear?'
and 'Would you like this, my darling?' We returned home loaded with
meat, potatoes, and one or two little delicacies. I was in a state of
great satisfaction, and we made quite merry over the trifling incident
of a few potatoes rolling out of my mother's apron down the stairs in
the dark. Bump, bump, bumping,' I said, as I scrambled down after
them, 'as if they knew their way in the dark, and could see without a
candle.'
'Potatoes have eyes, my dear,' said my mother; and we laughed blithely
over it.
My mother's mood changed after supper. We always said a very simple
grace after meals. It was, 'Thank God for a good breakfast!' 'Thank
God for a good dinner!' or whatever meal it was of which we had
partaken. Our 'Thank God for a good supper!' being said, most
earnestly by my mother, she cleared away the things, and said,
'Now we will see how rich we are.'
We sat down at the table, side by side, and my mother took out of her
pocket what money it contained. I thought that our all had been
expended in our frugal purchases, but I was agreeably mistaken. There
were still left two sixpences and a few coppers. My mother selected a
battered halfpenny, and regarded it tenderly--so tenderly, and with so
much feeling, that her tears fell on it. I wondered. A battered
halfpenny, dented, dirty, bruised! I wondered more as she kissed it,
and held it to me to kiss.
'Why, mother?' I asked, as I kissed.
In reply, she told me a story.
'My dear, there lived in a great forest a poor woman who had no friend
in the world but one--a bird that she loved with all her heart and
soul, and who, not being big enough or strong enough to get food for
himself, depended, because he couldn't help it, upon what this poor
woman could provide for him. There were other birds that in some way
resembled the bird that belonged to this poor woman, and that she
loved so dearly, and many of these were also compelled to wander about
the great forest in search of food; but they found it so difficult to
obtain sufficient to eat, and they met with so many sad adventures in
their search, that their wings lost their strength, and their hearts
the brightness that was their proper heritage--for they were young
birds, whose time for battling with the world had not arrived. The
poor woman did not wish her dear bird to meet with such sad
experiences until he was strong and able to cope with them. I can't
tell you, my dear, how much she loved her bird, and how thoroughly her
whole heart was wrapped up in her treasure. Once she had friends who
were good to her; but it was the will of God that she should lose
them, and she and her bird were left alone in the world. She had many
difficulties to contend with, being a weak and foolish woman----'
I shook my head, and said, 'I am sure she wasn't; I am sure she
wasn't!' My mother pressed me closer to her side, and continued, her
fingers caressing my neck:
----'And the days were sometimes very dark for her, or would have been
but for the joy she found in her only treasure. A time came when her
heart almost fainted within her--for her bird was at home hungry, and
there was no food in the nest, and she did not know which way to turn
to get it. She wandered about the forest with rebellious thoughts in
her mind--yes, my dear, she did!--and out of her blindness and
wickedness--hush, my dearest!--out of her blindness and wickedness,
she began almost to doubt the goodness of God. She thought, foolish
woman that she was! that there was no love in the forest but the love
which filled _her_ breast; that pity, compassion, charity, had died
out of the world, and that she and her bird were to be left to perish.
But she received such a lesson, my dear, as she will never forget till
her dying day. While these despairing thoughts were in her mind, and
while her rebellious heart was crying against the sweetest attributes
with which God has endowed His children, a fairy in a cotton-print
dress came to her side----'
Mother!'
'It is true, my dear. A fairy in a cotton-print dress came to her
side, and with a sweet word and a sweeter look put into her hand a
talisman--call it a stone, my dear, if you will--a common, almost
valueless piece of stone; and the touch of the pretty little fairy
fingers to the poor woman's hand was like the touch of Moses's rod to
the rock, when the waters came forth for the famished people. And she
prayed God to forgive her for doubting His goodness, and the goodness
of those whom He made in the image of Himself. Then, as she looked at
the common piece of stone which the fairy had given to her, she saw in
it the face of an angel, and she kissed it again and again, as I do
this.'
After a little while my mother wrapped the halfpenny in a piece of
paper, and put it by, saying she hoped she would never be compelled to
spend it.
During the whole of the following week my mother was unsuccessful in
obtaining work. It was not from want of perseverance that she did not
succeed, for she came home every day weary and footsore.
'The sewing-machines are keeping many poor women out of work,' she
said.
'Then they are bad things,' I exclaimed; 'I wish they were all burnt!'
'No, my dear; they are good things; they are blessings to many poor
creatures. Why, Chris, if I had one, we should be quite rich!'
But she did not have one, and her needles were at a discount, so far
as earning bread for us was concerned. On the Saturday she went out
again early, and did not come home until late at night. Good fortune
had again attended her, and she brought home a little money.
'Have you seen the fairy in the cotton-print dress?' I asked gaily. My
mother nodded sorrowfully. Saturday's a lucky day, mother,' I said,
rubbing my hands.
'Yes, my child,' she answered, with a heavy sigh.
She added another halfpenny to the one she had kissed and put by last
week, and we went out again to make our purchases. Another week
followed, and another, with similar results and similar incidents.
Then my mother fell sick, and could not, although she tried, keep the
knowledge of her weakness from me; a sorrow of which I was not a
sharer was preying on her heart. I did not know of it; but I saw that
my mother was growing even paler and thinner, and often, when she did
not think I was observing her, I saw the tears roll down her cheek,
and her lips quiver piteously. Friday night found us with a cupboard
nearly empty, and with but one halfpenny in our treasury--the first
battered and bruised halfpenny, which my mother hoped she would never
be compelled to spend. Those she had added to it had gone during the
week. She looked at it wistfully:
'Must we spend it, Chris?'
'Is the angel's face there?' I asked.
'Yes, I see it.' And she kissed the battered coin again.
'Then we must keep it,' I said stoutly.
When I awoke the next morning, my mother was kneeling by my bedside,
and when she saw my eyes resting on her face, she clasped me in her
arms, and so we lay for fully half an hour, without a word being
spoken. There was a little milk left for breakfast, and this my mother
made into very weak milk-and-water. The bread she cut into four
slices. One she ate, two she gave to me, and one she put into the
cupboard. She laid the battered halfpenny on the mantelshelf.
'Now, Chris,' she said, as she put on her poor worn bonnet, 'when you
are hungry you can eat the slice of bread that's in the cupboard; and
if I am not at home before you are hungry again, you can buy some
bread with that halfpenny. Kiss me, dear child.'
'But, mother,' I remonstrated, you are too ill to go out. You ought to
stay at home to-day.'
I dare not, child. I _must_ go out. Why, doesn't my Chris want his
supper to-night, and his dinner to-morrow? And don't I want my supper
and dinner, too?'
'Are you going to the workshop, mother?'
'I am going that way, child.'
But I begged her to promise that she would try and be home early, and
she was compelled to promise, to satisfy me. With faltering steps she
left the room, and walked slowly downstairs. I felt that there was
something wrong, but I did not understand it, and certainly would have
been powerless to remedy it. I was soon hungry enough to eat the slice
of bread; and then I went out, and strolled restlessly about the
streets. It was a cold day, and I was glad to get indoors again,
although there was no fire. In the afternoon I was hungry again, and
mother had not returned. Should I spend the halfpenny? I took it from
the mantelshelf. The gift of a fairy in a cotton-print dress! I turned
it this way and that, in the endeavour to find some special charm in
it. It was as common a halfpenny as I had ever looked upon. I saw no
angel's face in it. But my mother said there was, and that was enough.
No; I could not spend it. Then I thought that it was unkind of me to
let my mother, ill and weak as she was, go out by herself. I
reproached myself; I might have helped her on. She promised to return
soon; perhaps she was not strong enough to return. These reproachful
thoughts and my hunger grew upon me, and my uneasiness increased,
until I became very wretched indeed. As dusk was falling, I made up my
mind that a certain duty was before me. I must walk into the City to
the shop for which my mother used to work, and seek for her. I had
been to the place two or three times to take work home, and I knew my
way pretty well. Perhaps I should meet my mother on the road. Off I
started on my self-imposed task. My increasing hunger made the
distance appear twice as long as it really was, and I could not help
lingering and longing for a little while at a fine cook-shop, the
perfume which pervaded it being more fragrant to me at the time than
all the perfumes of Arabia would have been. When I arrived at the
workshop, it was closed. There was nothing for it but to turn my face
homeward. Weary, hungry, and dispirited, I commenced my journey back;
I was anxious to get home quickly now, to lessen the chance of my
mother returning while I was absent. In my eagerness and confusion I
missed my way, and it was quite ten o'clock at night when I found
myself in a street which was familiar to me, and which I knew to be
about two miles from the street in which we lived. The neighbourhood
in which I was now was a busy one; a kind of market was held there
every Saturday night, in which poor people could purchase what they
required a trifle cheaper than they could be supplied at the regular
shops. There were a great glare of lights and a great hurly-burly of
noise which in my weak condition confused and frightened me. I
staggered feebly on, and stumbled against a man who was passing me in
a great hurry. He caught hold of my arm with such force as to swing me
round; and without any effort on my part to escape, for I was almost
unconscious, I slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. I think
I heard the words, Unmanly brute uttered in a female voice; but my
next distinct remembrance is that I was standing on my feet, swaying
slightly, and held up by the man I had run against. He spoke to me in
sharp tones, and demanded to know where I was running to. I begged his
pardon humbly, but in tones too faint to reach his ear, for he
inquired roughly if I had a tongue in my head. There were a few
persons standing about us, and one or two women told the man he ought
to be ashamed of himself, and asked him what he meant by it, and why
he didn't leave the boy alone. In sneering reply he called them a
parcel of wise women.
'Did you ever see a thief of his size?' he asked.
'I am not a thief,' I said, in a faint tone. 'Let me go. I want to get
home.'
I raised my eyes to his face as I spoke. I could not distinguish his
features, for everything was dim before me, but he seemed to see
something in my face that occupied his attention, for he looked at me
long and earnestly.
'Have you been ill?'
'I am tired and hungry. Let me go, please,' I implored.
He released his hold of me. Glad to be free, and intent only on
getting home as soon as I could, I walked from him with uncertain
steps. But I did not know how weak I really was; and I was compelled
to cling to the shop-fronts for support. I must have stumbled on in
this way for fifty or sixty yards, when stopped to rest myself. Then,'
without raising my eyes, I knew that the man against whom I had
stumbled was standing by me again; he must have followed me out of his
course, for when we first met his road was different from mine.
'Did you see me following you?' he asked.
I was frightened of him; his voice seemed to hurt me. I had scarcely a
comprehension of the meaning of his words; and I was fearful that, if
I disputed anything he said, I might arouse his anger, and that he
would detain me again. He repeated his question; and I answered,
almost without knowing what I said,
'Yes, sir.'
My reply appeared to dissatisfy him.
'Then you have been shamming weakness?'
'Yes, sir.'
I looked about me timidly and nervously for a means of escape.
Standing in the road, close to the kerbstone, and facing a portion of
the pavement which was partly in shade, was a beggar-woman, with her
face hidden on her breast. One hand held her thin shawl tightly in
front of her; the other hand was held out supplicatingly. What it was
that caused me to fix my eyes on her I cannot tell; perhaps it was
because I recognised in her drooping form and humble attitude
something kindred to my own pitiable condition. As I gazed at her, a
little girl, very poorly dressed, and with a basket on her arm,
stopped before the woman, and put a coin into her outstretched hand.
The woman curtseyed, and stooped and kissed the little girl. As the
child, her act of charity performed, walked away, I saw her face; and
it was so sweet and good, that my mother's words with reference to the
battered halfpenny came to my mind: 'I see an angel's face in it.' I
watched her until she was lost in the throng; and then I turned to the
beggar-woman again, and saw, as in a flash of light, my mother! Was it
shame, was it joy, that convulsed me, as crying, 'Mother! mother!' I
ran and fell senseless at her feet?