PAVEMENT WASHING IN WINTER.
TWO weeks of spring-like weather in mid-winter, and then the
thermometer went hurrying down towards zero with alarming rapidity.
Evening closed in with a temperature so mild that fires were
permitted to expire in the ashes; and morning broke with a cold
nor-wester, whistling through every crack and cranny, in a tone that
made you shrink and shiver.
"Winter at last," said I, creeping forth from my warm bed, with a
very natural feeling of reluctance.
"Time," was the half asleep and half awake response of Mr. Smith, as
he drew the clothes about his shoulders, and turned himself over for
the enjoyment of his usual half hour morning nap.
It was Saturday--that busiest day in the seven; at least for
housekeepers--and as late as half past seven o'clock, yet the house
felt as cold as a barn. I stepped to the register to ascertain if
the fire had been made in the heater. Against my hand came a
pressure of air--cold air.
"Too bad!" I murmured fretfully, "that girl has never touched the
fire."
So I gave the bell a pretty vigorous jerk. In a few minutes up came
Nancy, the cook, in answer to my summons.
"Why hasn't Biddy made the fire in the heater?" I asked.
"She has made it, mum."
"There isn't a particle of heat coming up."
"I heard her at work down there. I guess she's made it up, but it
hasn't began to burn good yet."
"Tell her that I want her."
"She's washing the pavement, mum."
"Washing the pavement!"
"Yes, mum."
"What possessed her to wash the pavement on a day like this?"
"It's the right day, mum. It's Saturday."
"Saturday! Don't she know that the water will freeze almost as soon
as it touches the ground? Go and tell her to come in this minute,
and not throw another drop on the pavement."
Nancy withdrew, and I kept on speaking to myself--
"I never saw such creatures. No consideration in them! Washing the
pavement on a morning like this! Little do they care who falls on
the ice; or who has a broken arm, or a broken leg."
Just as I had said this, I heard a crash, and an exclamation
without, and hurrying to the window looked forth. Biddy's work was
done, and well done, for the pavement was one sheet of ice, as hard
and smooth as glass, and as slippery as oil. Prostrate thereon was a
grocer's boy, and just beyond the curb stone, in the gutter, lay the
fragments of a jug of molasses.
Stepping back quickly to where the bell rope hung against the wall,
I gave it a most determined jerk. Scarcely had I done this, ere the
door of the adjoining room, which was used as a nursery, opened, and
Biddy appeared therein.
"Why, Biddy!" I exclaimed, "what possessed you to throw water on the
pavement this morning?"
"Faix! And how was I to get it clane, mim, widout wather?" coolly
returned Biddy.
"Clean!"
"Yes, mim, clane."
"There was no crying necessity to have it clean to-day. Didn't you
see--"
"It's Sathurday, mim," interrupted Biddy, in a voice that showed the
argument in her mind to be unanswerable. "We always wash the
pavement on Sathurday."
"But it doesn't do to wash the pavement," I returned, now trying to
put a little reason into her head, "when it is so cold that water
will freeze as soon as it touches the ground. The bricks become as
slippery as glass, and people can't walk on them without falling."
"Och! And what hev we till do wid the paple. Lot 'em look 'till
their steps."
"But, Biddy, that won't do. People don't expect to find pavements
like glass; and they slip, often, while unaware of danger. Just at
this moment a poor lad fell, and broke his jug all to pieces."
"Did he! And less the pity for him. Why did'nt he walk along like an
orderly, dacent body? Why didn't he look 'till his steps?"
"Biddy," said I, seeing that it was useless to hold an argument with
her,--"Do you go this minute and throw ashes all over the pavement."
"Ashes on the clane pavement! Mrs. Smith!"
"Yes, Biddy; and do it at once. There! Somebody else has fallen."
I sprung to the window in time to see a woman on the pavement, and
the contents of her basket of marketing scattered all around her.
"Go this minute and throw ashes over the pavement!" I called to
Biddy in a voice of command.
The girl left the room with evident reluctance. The idea of
scattering ashes over her clean pavement, was, to her, no very
pleasant one.
It seemed to me, as I sat looking down from my windows upon the
slippery flags, and noted the difficulty which pedestrians had to
cross them safely, that Biddy would never appear with her pan of
ashes.
"Why don't the girl do as I directed?" had just passed, in an
impatient tone, from my lips, when two well dressed men came in
view, one at each extremity of the sheet of ice. They were
approaching, and stepped with evident unconsciousness of danger,
upon the treacherous surface. I had a kind of presentiment that one
or both would fall, and my instinct was not at fault. Suddenly the
heels of one flew up, and he struck the pavement with a concussion
that sprung his hat from his head, and sent it some feet in the air.
In his efforts to recover himself, his legs became entangled in
those of the other, and over he went, backwards, his head striking
the ground with a terrible shock.
I started from the window, feeling, for an instant, faint and sick.
In a few moments I returned, and looked out again. Both the fallen
ones had regained their feet, and passed out of sight, and Biddy,
who had witnessed the last scene in this half comic, half tragic
performance, was giving the pavement a plentiful coating of ashes
and cinders.
I may be permitted to remark, that I trust other housekeepers, whose
pavements are washed on cold mornings--and their name, I had almost
said, is legion--are as innocent as I was in the above case, and
that the wrong to pedestrians lies at the door of thoughtless
servants. But is it not our duty to see the wrong has no further
repetition?
It has been remarked that the residence of a truly humane man may be
known by the ashes before his door on a slippery morning. If this be
so, what are we to think of those who coolly supply a sheet of ice
to the side walk?