A CHANGE OF OPINIONS AND OF HOUSEMAIDS.
"I CAN'T think what's come to Ruth," said Mr. Groombridge one day, at
dinner-time, about six months after John Greenwood had sailed for
Australia; "she's lost all her brightness, and goes about the house as
white and silent as a ghost."
"She is greatly changed, poor girl, and though I cannot get her to
confess it, cook tells me there was some misunderstanding between her
and John, and that she has not heard from him since he sailed," replied
his wife.
"She told me the other day he had arrived safely and was doing well in a
store," said Harry.
"She would hear all that from his parents; but, my dear, you had better
try and win the girl's confidence, and see if you can do anything. It's
a thousand pities for a young thing to mope and pine away her best
years, when a little advice may set matters right, and make two people
happy."
"I'll do what I can, but I'm afraid it will not be of much use," said
Mrs. Groombridge.
"Ruth," she said, when retiring that evening, "I want you to do one or
two little things in my room."
"Yes, ma'am," replied Ruth, and followed her mistress upstairs. As she
was flitting about the bedroom Mrs. Groombridge suddenly asked:
"By the bye, Ruth, when did you last hear from John?" Ruth turned away
to hide the painful flushing of her face.
"I--I--what did you say, ma'am?"
"When did John last write to you?"
A silence ensued, and then Ruth said: "He's written to his parents,
ma'am, and not to me."
"Why, how is that, Ruth? Surely you expected to hear from him."
"Not much, ma'am," Ruth forced herself to say.
"But, Ruth, if you are going out to marry him, he ought to write to you,
and you ought to expect him to do so." Ruth's apparent apathy gave way
as the remembrance of all her happy dreaming swept over her at her
mistress's words. She buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly.
Mrs. Groombridge laid a kindly hand upon her shoulder. "Sit down, my
poor child, and tell me all about your trouble. Something is wrong
between you and John, and perhaps I can help to make it right."
"Oh, no, no, ma'am, it's past any one's help," sobbed Ruth, and by
degrees her sorrowful story was told. "And, ma'am, I know that his
brother will be the ruin of John; he'll go downhill fast, as many a fine
young fellow has done."
Mrs. Groombridge looked grave. She was no abstainer, as we know; but she
could not help seeing the danger that menaced John, if he could be so
easily persuaded to overstep the limits of prudence and sobriety.
"Yes, Ruth, I think there is cause for anxiety about John, but you must
not lose heart. I think you acted unwisely in letting him go as you did;
at least you might have gone out to him if you knew he was keeping sober
and doing well, and the very anticipation of your coming might have
given him a motive and impetus that nothing else could. Men dislike to
be forced into anything, and have a great objection to be bound by a
pledge. You should have been more careful in urging that."
"But, ma'am, John was one of those who needed to promise, for he's
good-tempered and obliging, and doesn't know how to refuse a friend."
"Still, I think you were too hasty in cutting away the hope he had of
your going out to him. What has he to look forward to?"
"Perhaps you are right, ma'am. I might have waited; but I was frightened
to think of what might lie before me. I know the misery of a home cursed
by drink."
"Ruth, will you write and say as much to John? Tell him you'll come out
to him as soon as he has a home ready for you, and he can assure you
that he is leading a sober life."
A hard, almost defiant look passed into Ruth's eyes for a moment. She
thought how cruelly John had left her, without a word of tenderness, and
she said coldly: "Oh, no, ma'am, I couldn't do that; if John would write
and ask me, I might; but I will never humble myself to him, for he has
been wrong and unkind all through, and I dare say he's glad to be free."
She had said the same to herself many a time since the morning when John
had said good-bye to her with as much composure as if he were going to
return in a few hours, and she had almost grown to believe they must be
true. Nevertheless, her heart leaped to hear her mistress say:
"You should not try to think that, Ruth, for I believe you wrong John by
doing so; he is true and manly, and probably he would be only too happy
to receive a letter from you."
"Well, ma'am, I don't feel as if I could write first," was the obstinate
reply; and Ruth presently left the room with a still heavier heart than
she had entered it.
"It's a sad case, George, and my conscience is not at rest about the
part we have played in it," was Mrs. Groombridge's remark to her
husband, after retailing her conversation with Ruth.
"How are we to blame, my dear?" was the surprised question.
"I can't help remembering how we laughed at Ruth for her fanatical whims
as we called them, and encouraged John to do the same. Events have
proved she was right. Perhaps if we had taken another stand, John might
have followed Ruth's example, and all this unhappiness been spared to
both."
"Perhaps," was the curt response.
"Harry, my boy," said his father the following morning, "how many cases
did I hear you say you had at the hospital the other day which were the
result of drink?"
"About three-fourths, father; of course, not all caused by the drinking
habits of the patients themselves: but when a child is brought in badly
burned because its mother was off on a drinking spree, or when a man has
been run over because a driver is the worse for drink, or even when a
woman is dying of disease, the result of want and neglect which drink
has brought about, I suppose it's quite fair to credit the drink as the
indirect cause of such cases."
"Oh, decidedly! Good gracious! I wish the Government would let all other
questions go to the wall, Ireland included, while they did something to
mend matters!"
"My dear, how would you like Government to step in and stop your
supplies?"
"I'd be content they should do that, if it were for the public good,"
warmly replied Mr. Groombridge.
"I have heard of private individuals not waiting for the interference of
Government; but who, believing it to be for the public good, have
themselves banished all intoxicants from their homes," said Mrs.
Groombridge, in a meaning tone.
Mr. Groombridge looked thoughtfully at his wife across the table, but
said nothing, and the subject dropped.
That evening Jane the housemaid bounced into the kitchen, and flung
herself into the nearest chair.
"What's the matter now?" asked cook, glancing at her disturbed face.
"A very good matter indeed! I'm going to make a change. I've had enough
scolding and faultfinding, as I told mistress a minute ago."
"I suppose she's given you a month's notice, and you deserve it richly
for your saucy tongue."
"You're a fine one to talk, for I couldn't hold a candle to you! Yes,
she told me I had better look out for another place, and I told her it
was just what I had thought of doing."
"Well, I hope you'll be taught a lesson, for I tell you there aren't
many mistresses as kind and considerate as Mrs. Groombridge, and you'll
find it out to your cost, I'm afraid," said Ruth.
"You've got no cause to complain, for every one of them pets you up to
the skies," replied Jane.
"Ruth's earned all she gets, and so have you, Jane, for the matter of
that. She's obliging and respectful, and you're disagreeable and pert
half your time," said cook.
"I ought to be flattered, I'm sure," retorted Jane, tossing her head as
she sat down to continue her work of trimming a hat with some
particularly smart ribbons and flowers. The month passed and Jane left,
a new housemaid coming in the same day.
"A different sort to Jane, I can see," whispered cook to Ruth, as the
new-comer went upstairs to take her bonnet off. It was a pretty, modest
face that presently showed itself in the kitchen; but there were traces
of sadness about the eyes and mouth, and the new housemaid's dress was
trimmed with crape.
"Poor thing! perhaps she's lost her mother," thought Ruth, and cook's
usually sharp voice softened as she asked the girl her name.
"Alice Martin," was the timid reply.
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