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THE
PANSY
EDITED
BY “PANSY”
MRS. G. R. ALDEN.
D. LOTHROP & CO.
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO., and entered at the Boston P. O.
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_Volume 13, Number 40._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_August 7, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: “AUNT MARY SHOWED ME HOW TO FEED IT.”]
MORE ABOUT THE “INDUSTRY BAND.”
IT was with a sad look upon her wrinkled old face and a heavy weight
tugging at her heart, that Grandma Frink unlocked the door of her
little cottage one September morning. There came over her the feeling
that perhaps she would not go in and out that door many more times.
She had heard bad news that morning; the basket of clothes which she
brought from the Kingsleys was the last she would have to “do up” for
them. They had been her best customers, and now they were all going
to Europe for two years at least. Two other families for whom she had
worked had already gone away, and with the winter approaching what was
the poor lone woman to do! The little cottage was her own; it had been
free from debt until two years before the expenses of her husband’s
long illness had used up their little savings; and when at length
he died, the poor woman was obliged to mortgage her home to pay the
doctor’s bill and funeral expenses. Thus far she had been able to keep
up the interest, but now work had grown scarce, and pay-day was near
at hand, but she had not a cent with which to meet it! Many tears fell
into the suds that day, and more fell upon the dainty ruffles which she
fluted for the last time. It was while she was putting the finishing
touches to Minnie Kingsley’s ruffled and tucked and lace-trimmed dress,
that Satie Howe came in, and seeing the tears soon had the whole sad
story. And that was the way the “Industry Band” got hold of Grandma
Frink’s trouble. With the same energy with which they set about buying
a cow for Mrs. Peters, two years before, they now set about lifting
another burden from off shoulders too weak to bear it.
“You see,” said Satie, telling it to the band, “her heart was just
_full_ yesterday, and she told it all out to me. I do not believe
anyone would have got it out of her at any other time. It seems that
she has a small annuity, which, with the work she can do, makes her
very comfortable; but this interest money comes hard, especially as she
has less work this summer than usual. Now I thought that if we could
pay the interest, perhaps she would get on, and another year she may
get more work.”
“That would be a good thing to do,” said Lou Brandt, “but it would be
better if we could pay the mortgage, then there would be no interest.”
“Pay the mortgage!” exclaimed two or three at once in tones which
indicated that they thought Lou had taken leave of her wits.
“Why not? It is only seventy-five dollars, and it is a great pity if
twenty-five boys and girls cannot raise that amount! Satie told me
about the trouble, last night, and when father came home I asked him
about it and he said that the interest would not help matters, for the
mortgage will be due this fall, and Major Grimes means to foreclose if
it is not paid up. Granny has lived in that little house forty years;
if she were turned out now, she would not know what to do. She has not
a relative in the world.”
“Let’s do it! We can get the money, somehow, I know!” said one of the
boys. “I suppose Major Grimes thinks he will get the cottage into his
own hands, for little or nothing, but we will show him the _Industry
Band_ mean business!”
“If we cannot raise the money in two months I am sure we can find
somebody who will advance it and hold the mortgage as security until we
can pay it,” said Lou.
“O Lou! what a business head you have on your shoulders!” said John
Baker.
“Well, let’s proceed directly to business, and see if there are not
others with equally good heads. We will meet Thursday afternoon at four
o’clock and bring in our pledges. We can each think it over between now
and then and decide how much we can give right out of our own pocket
money.”
To this plan all agreed; then they separated.
Annie Williams was the youngest member of the band. She had not much
money of her own, and this plan which Lou proposed, presented serious
difficulties to the child. Just a few days before, she had spent her
last penny, and she did not know how she was to get any money to give
toward this fund. That night she added to her evening prayer this
petition: “Dear Jesus, if thou would’st have me do something to help
poor Mrs. Frink out of her trouble, wilt thou show me the way? If I can
earn any money, please tell me where the work is for me to do.” Then
she went to bed, content to leave it all with Jesus.
When they met according to appointment on Thursday afternoon, Lou who
was treasurer of the band was ready with book and pencil to put down
the names and pledges. Tom Mason was there, money in hand. “I can give
three dollars; I sold some ducks yesterday, and father gave me a dollar
for doing the meanest job on the farm.”
“What is that?” asked one of the boys.
“As if you didn’t know that there is nothing a boy hates like picking
up stones all day!”
Another could give a dollar and fifty cents, another, two dollars;
and the girls, when were they ever behind in giving? Laura Kline had
concluded to wear her last year’s hat, and give what a new one would
cost. Nell Blake had agreed to wash the breakfast dishes for a month,
so that her mother could do more of the family sewing, and the money
saved was to be hers, to give to the fund. Lou Brandt said, “Well, I
think I have taken the hardest job of you all; I have agreed not to use
a single slang phrase for a whole year, and I am to have five dollars
a month! I will give the money for the first two months towards paying
off the mortgage, and if we do not raise it all in that time perhaps I
will give another month’s pay.”
“But suppose you fail?” said Satie Howe. “I think you will have to give
security.”
“Agreed!” said Lou laughingly, and as she spoke she took off her heavy
gold bracelets which had been her last birthday present, and laid them
beside Tom’s three dollars. They all laughed and Satie said, “Well,
Lou, I guess we can trust you to redeem those!”
When Annie Williams’ name was called she said, “I do not know how much
I can give. I am sure to have something, but I have not found out yet
how much He wants me to give.”
“Who wants you to give?” asked Lou.
“Why, Jesus; I asked him, but he has not told me yet.” The girls were
hushed and awed; how many of them had thought to ask Jesus about it!
Lou laid down her pencil and her voice trembled with emotion as she
said,
“Girls, boys, we have made a mistake! We have begun wrong! Let us pray
about this too!” Dropping upon her knees, while the others followed her
example, Lou’s voice led them in a prayer for God’s direction in this
matter which they had been considering, and for his blessing upon all
their efforts as well.
“That was what they call ‘a new departure,’” said Tom Mason. Another
boy remarked,
“It is queer that with so many of us belonging to the church, we should
have band meetings without an opening and closing prayer! but that
little mouse stirred us up, so that I reckon we shall do better after
this.”
Annie Williams came to the next meeting with a bright face; when her
name was called she walked over to the treasurer and laid down a bit of
paper which read after the usual form of bank checks: “Pay to the order
of Annie Williams five dollars;” and was signed “John Williams.”
“Papa showed me how to write on the back—‘endorse it,’ he called it,”
and turning the paper over she brought to view, “Pay to the order of
Louise Brandt. Annie Williams.” And she added, “Papa said if you took
that to any bank they would give you the money, only you would have to
put your name under mine.”
“What business women we are getting to be!” said Tom Mason.
“Do you want to hear about it?” asked Annie when the laugh at Tom’s
remark subsided.
“Of course we do!” said Lou.
“You know I staid a long time out at uncle John’s last spring; one day
uncle brought in a little lamb and said ‘See here, Annie, if you will
save this lamb’s life you may have it. The poor thing’s mother will not
own it, and unless you feed it it will die.’ Aunt Mary showed me how
to feed it, and it grew; and before I came away it was a big lamb. I
used to feed it with a spoon out of a bowl, and I grew real fond of it.
The other day uncle John wrote to me that he was going to sell all his
flock, and that he was sorry, but he thought he must sell my lamb too.
He is going to Florida next winter, and there would be no one at the
farm who could take care of it, so he sent me five dollars! You can’t
think how glad I was; I knew right away that Jesus had answered my
prayer.”
I cannot describe all the ways by which the money came in, but you will
not be surprised when I tell you that when the money on the mortgage
came due, the “Industry Band” were ready to become the purchasers,
and that Grandma Frink was made the happiest woman in the village of
Danvers.
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
SIX O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING.
HOSANNA: BLESSED IS THE KING OF ISRAEL THAT COMETH IN THE
NAME OF THE LORD.
AND I, IF I BE LIFTED UP FROM THE EARTH, WILL DRAW ALL MEN
UNTO ME.
IF YE KNOW THESE THINGS, HAPPY ARE YE IF YE DO THEM.
WHEREFORE LET HIM THAT THINKETH HE STANDETH, TAKE HEED LEST
HE FALL.
LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED; YE BELIEVE IN GOD, BELIEVE
ALSO IN ME.
“HERE is another chance to fit my story to two of your verses,” said
Grandma, and all the young Burtons looked glad.
“It was the summer I was twelve,” said Grandma, “and I spent it at
Grandfather Holland’s. He was a minister, you know. We used to have
very pleasant Sunday evenings, talking over the sermon, and reciting
the catechism; there wasn’t any Sunday-school in those days; not in our
part of the country.
“One night we had the story of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet.
Cousin Mercy said she didn’t see how he _could_ do it; to think of his
washing Judas’ feet, too! She thought it was wonderful!
“I said it was wonderful, but I could see how he could do it, and in a
sense like to do it; that it showed how truly noble he was, and that
I should like a chance to treat an enemy kindly, because I thought it
would be a splendid thing to do. But I added, rather mournfully, that I
did not suppose I should ever have an enemy. Grandfather did not make
much reply; he only smiled on me, a curious sort of smile, and repeated
this third verse of yours: ‘If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye
do them.’
“Then what did cousin Stephen do, but repeat, with his eyes fixed on
me, this next verse: ‘Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest
he fall.’
“I felt my cheeks grow red. I wished I could have a chance to show
Steenie how truly noble I was; for I saw he didn’t believe it.
“The very next week something happened which made me think of those two
verses again.
“I went to the little village school, while I was at grandfather’s; and
Priscilla Howe went too. Priscilla was a bound girl whom my grandfather
was bringing up.”
“Bound!” exclaimed little Sarah, in startled tone; Grandma had to stop
and explain to her what that meant. Then she continued her story.
“I didn’t like Priscilla very well; I hardly knew why; she was a still,
cold, little thing, a trifle sullen, perhaps; at least I thought so,
and I didn’t have much to do with her. On Wednesday afternoons we had
an exercise in school which I always liked.
“The afternoon before, the teacher would read to us a certain article,
generally a description of something; a great meeting, maybe, or a
fire, or a storm; we were to take what notes we pleased, while the
reading was going on. Then the next day we were to bring in our written
account of that same thing; using as few words, and as short ones, as
we could, to get in all the facts; and the scholar who brought in the
best paper, with the fewest mistakes in spelling, and punctuation, wore
home the medal for composition. Now I had a good memory, and it seemed
to come natural to me to write out things; so I liked this exercise.
But poor Priscilla hated it; she could not remember half a dozen things
in the article; and couldn’t express them. Tuesday evening grandfather
let me sit in his study while I wrote out my exercise. The story was a
very nice one, and I felt sure of getting the medal.
“The next morning, when I went to get ready for school, my exercise
was nowhere to be found; I made a great noise about it, and every one
in the house helped me look; but the exercise was gone. I tried to
get time to write another, but I couldn’t, and I missed the medal of
course; and cried bitterly. The next day I found the exercise; where,
do you think?”
“Where?” asked all the Burtons at once, in tones of eager interest and
sympathy.
“Down in the bottom of Priscilla’s mending basket, all torn into little
tiny bits, less than half an inch square!”
You should have heard the murmur of indignation which ran through the
audience then!
“I can’t tell you how I felt,” said Grandma. “I went down to the
sitting-room where the family were gathered, but I was too angry to
trust my voice to tell the story. They were all busy, and I crept into
a corner with my dark little face, and kept still. My cousin Mercy was
at the piano. I ought to tell you about that piano, children,” said
Grandma, breaking from her story. “It was the only one in that part of
the world; pianos were scarcer in those days than they are now; and
Mercy’s was a great curiosity; it had been sent to her by a rich uncle,
who went away off to foreign parts and made a fortune.
“It would look very queer and old-fashioned to you, but it was a great
wonder and delight to me.
[Illustration: MERCY AT THE PIANO.]
“Mercy called me to come and sing a hymn, but dear me! I couldn’t have
sung if they had promised me a piano of my own for doing it. Just then,
my aunt Martha, who was grandfather’s housekeeper, said, as she looked
from the window, ‘There comes Priscilla with three lighted candles in
her hands; how often I have told that child not to carry three candles
at once! Run, Ruthie dear, and open the door for her; she will burn
herself, or set the house on fire.’
“But ‘Ruthie’ did not run. I sat as still as a stone. ‘Ruth!’ said my
grandfather, astonished, while my cousin Stephen laid aside his book,
and went toward the door: ‘I can’t open doors for her!’ I burst forth;
‘not if she burns herself up! She tore my exercise into little bits,
and I hate her!’
“Children, don’t you feel ashamed of your Grandma? Was ever such a
wicked and at the same time silly little burst of rage? It ended with
a perfect flood of tears. Grandfather was a wise man, and felt that
this was no time for explanations, but as I hurried from the room, I
heard cousin Stephen’s mocking voice saying: ‘Let him that thinketh he
standeth, take heed lest he fall.’
“It dried my tears in a minute, that verse did. All the Sunday evening
talk, and my boastful words, came back to me, and I just _hated_
myself, as I sat in my own little room in the dark, and went over the
whole thing. How angry I had been with Priscilla; and yet, only three
days before, I had wanted an enemy, that I might show everybody how
noble I was! After awhile I cried again; but I don’t think there was
any anger in those tears. I did feel so _ashamed_, and so disappointed
in myself. To think that the Lord Jesus could wash the feet of Judas,
and I could not open a door for a little girl who had torn my paper!
I did want to be a good girl, and follow my Saviour’s example; and it
seemed so dreadful to have failed!
“It was a very meek and miserable little girl who stole around to
grandfather’s side that evening, in answer to his gentle call. In a low
voice, and with a few tears dropping quietly, I told him the whole sad
story; and I can seem to hear his voice yet, as he said, sorrowfully,
after a few minutes: ‘Yes poor little girl; you are learning how much
easier it is to resolve, than to _do_. ”If ye know these things, happy
are ye if ye do them,“ the Saviour said.’
“Mercy was at the piano again, touching the keys softly; she began to
sing in a low voice:
Arise, my soul, arise;
Shake off thy guilty fears;
The bleeding sacrifice
In my behalf appears;
Before the throne my surety stands,
My name is graven on his hands—
“‘Yes,’ said my grandfather, and he placed his dear old hand on my
head, ‘little Ruth must try again; He knows all about it, and will
forgive her; it was because He knew she couldn’t be gentle, and
forgiving, and loving, all alone, that He came down here, and lived,
and died.’
“I’ve never forgotten it, children; but I can tell you one thing; it
was a long time before I did any more boasting. It was a long time
before cousin Stephen could see me, without beginning, ‘Let him that
thinketh,’ and laughing a little.”
There was silence in the audience for a few minutes after Grandma’s
voice ceased; then Ralph made his speech: “Well, I think Priscilla was
a bad, wicked girl; and ought to have been punished.”
PANSY.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
“WHO are those oddly dressed children?” asked Miss Vinton. She was
reclining in her invalid’s chair, which was drawn up before the window
looking out upon the street. “I have seen them pass several times
lately and I think they must be new-comers in the neighborhood.”
“They are,” replied Emma Copeland, her companion; “they belong to
a German family that have moved into the little house back of Mr.
Swift’s.”
“Do you know anything about them?”
Emma smiled; she had been waiting for this question. She knew that
sooner or later Miss Vinton would find them out and would want to know
all about them, not from curiosity, but from a desire and purpose to
aid, if in any way they needed help that she could give.
“The family consists of the father and mother and these two children,
besides the baby. The baby is sick, and I think they are quite poor.
The children sell flowers; you remember there is a garden attached to
that house. They go past every morning with baskets of flowers which
they take to town. The father means to raise fruit and vegetables, but
as this is the beginning, they are poorly prepared for sickness.”
“I see!” replied Miss Vinton thoughtfully. Presently she said, “Emma, I
think you will have to go out upon an errand for me.”
“Down to the Rutgers?” asked Emma.
“Yes; your German will enable you to understand enough to find out
their needs. Who is their physician, do you know?”
“I saw Doctor Prince pass this morning, perhaps he was going there.”
“There he is coming up the street now!” exclaimed Miss Vinton; “Emma,
ask him to come in for a moment, if he is not in too much haste.”
He came in smiling, saying without being questioned, “You want to know
about the Rutgers, I suppose?” he understood Miss Vinton.
“Yes; do they need anything that I can supply?”
“So far as I can judge they would do very well if it were not for this
sickness. If you can send comforts for the sick child, it would help.
I would suggest the loan of a cot-bed, a soft pillow, and something in
the way of a child’s wrapper, besides nourishing, easily digested food.
Milk, beef extract—you know what to send?”
“Do you think the child will get well?”
“There is no reason why, with proper care and plenty of nourishing
food, the child should not recover. If the family could be relieved so
that the mother could give her whole time to the care of the child all
would be well, so far as I can see.”
“I understand. I will see what I can do.”
Then the doctor bowed himself out, and as he went down street he said
within himself, “I declare! to look at that girl and know what her
sufferings are, one would feel that if any one could be excused for
letting other people take care of themselves she would be the one. Yet
she does more to help the poor, and smooth the beds of the sick and
suffering than any other five women in this whole town! The Rutgers
will find their path brightening, I am thinking!”
This was a true prophecy. Emma Copeland knew just how to carry out the
wishes of her friend, and before noon the sick child lay in a clean
white wrapper upon a fresh cot-bed. A little stand stood near with a
white napkin spread upon it and a tray with a cup of beef tea, a glass
of milk, a tiny saucer of nourishing jelly, a silver spoon on the
tray, another beside the glass of medicine, and the mother had been
made to understand that she was to give her whole time to the care of
her sick child. A loaf of bread, and a piece of meat, and other things
from the Vinton larder emphasized this injunction. The children, Carl
and Gretchen, moved softly about; Conrad himself peeped in now and
then to look upon the little one lying now so comfortably in the white
bed, going back to his work with a lighter heart, saying in his native
tongue, “God bless the kind lady!” One morning a visitor said to May
Vinton:
“I am afraid you trouble yourself too much about other people. I
hear you have taken up a poor German family. Why do you not let the
authorities take care of the town’s poor?”
“Well, I am egotistical enough to think that I can do some things
better than the authorities! They do not give sympathy, nor advice;
and this is what some people need most of all. Then again Christ was
not speaking of the public authorities when he said, ‘Inasmuch as ye
have done it unto one of the least of these ye have done it unto me.’
Besides a little help to these people, such as we would give to any
friend in the time of sickness, does not degrade them in their own eyes
nor in the estimation of their neighbors, as help from a public charity
might. They only needed tiding over a deep place, now they will do well
enough.”
And so they did. A few weeks later the cot-bed was again in its place
in Mrs. Vinton’s store-room. The sick child was every day putting on
flesh and strength. The mother could now care for her household, and
the whole family rejoiced, with hearts full of love and gratitude to
their new friend. Carl and Gretchen came now and then to visit Miss
Vinton, always bringing some little token. The children were shy little
things, but it was a great treat to them to go into that handsome room
and talk with its fair, though suffering occupant. In their gratitude
they treasured every word she uttered, and carried away many useful
lessons.
One day, long afterward, when Gretchen had grown to be a young lady
and Carl was studying in the High School, some one remarked, “How that
family have risen in the world! It is only a few years since they came
here, poor and friendless, now they have a home and circle of friends.
There’s the Ketlers who came over at the same time. They have not
prospered nearly so well; the children have grown up in comparative
ignorance. I do not understand what has made the difference.”
“I can explain it,” said another, “there’s an influence going out
from that front corner room of the Vinton homestead which has power
to revolutionize hearts and lives and to build up families; when the
Rutgers first came they fell under that influence, and it is this which
has made the difference. I suppose a small sum would cover all the
money Miss Vinton expended for the family, but there is a great deal in
doing things at the right time and in giving your money and sympathy
when most needed.”
“But there must be something back of what we see,” said the first
speaker.
“Yes; a consecrated life lies behind the work.”
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
[Illustration: GRANDMA FRINK. (_See page 314._)]
_Volume 13, Number 41._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_August 14, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: “SHE PANTED AND STRUGGLED ON.”]
REACHING OUT.
(_A further Account of Nettie Decker and her Friends._)
BY PANSY.
CHAPTER X.
AS a matter of fact there wasn’t a cake left. Neither doughnut nor
gingersnap; hardly a crumb to tell the successful tale. Nettie surveyed
the empty shelves the next morning in astonishment. She had been too
busy the night before to realize how fast things were going. Naturally
the number and variety of dishes in the Decker household was limited
and the evening to Nettie was a confused murmur of, “Hand us in some
more cups.”
“Can’t you raise a few more teaspoons somewhere?” “Give us another
plate,” or, “More doughnuts needed;” and Nettie flew hither and
thither, washed cups, rinsed spoons, said, “What did I do with that
towel?” or, “Where in the world is the bread knife?” or, “Oh! I smell
the coffee! maybe it is boiling over,” and was conscious of nothing but
weariness and relief when the last cup of coffee was drank, and the
last teaspoon washed.
But with the next morning’s sunshine she knew the opening was a
success. She counted the gains with eager joy, assuring Jerry that they
could have twice as much gingerbread next time.
“And you’ll need it,” said Norm. “I had to tell half a dozen boys
that there wasn’t a crumb left. I felt sorry for ’em, too; they were
boarding-house fellows who never get anything decent to eat.”
Already Norm had apparently forgotten that he was one who used
frequently to make a similar complaint.
There was a rarely sweet smile on Nettie’s face, not born of the chink
in the factory bag which she had made for the money; it grew from the
thought that she need not hide the bag now, and tremble lest it should
be taken to the saloon to pay for whiskey. What a little time ago it
was that she had feared that! What a changed world it was!
“But there won’t be such a crowd again,” she said as they were putting
the room in order, “that was the first night.”
“Humph!” said that wise woman Susie with a significant toss of her
head; “last night you said we mustn’t expect anybody because it _was_
the first night.”
Then “the firm” had a hearty laugh at Nettie’s expense and set to work
preparing for evening.
I am not going to tell you the story of that summer and fall. It was
beautiful; as any of the Deckers will tell you with eager eyes and
voluble voice if you call on them, and start the subject.
The business grew and grew, and exceeded their most sanguine
expectations. Mr. Decker interested himself in it most heartily, and
brought often an old acquaintance to get a cup of coffee. “Make it
good and strong,” he would say to Nettie in an earnest whisper. “He’s
thirsty, and I brought him here instead of going for beer. I wish the
room was larger, and I’d get others to come.”
In time, and indeed in a very short space of time, this grew to be the
crying need of the firm: “If we only had more room, and more dishes!”
There was a certain long, low building which had once been used as a
boarding-house for the factory hands, before that institution grew
large and moved into new quarters, and which was not now in use. At
this building Jerry and Nettie, and for that matter, Norm, looked with
longing eyes. They named it “Our Rooms,” and hardly ever passed, that
they did not suggest some improvement in it which could be easily made,
and which would make it just the thing for their business. They knew
just what sort of curtains they would have at the the windows, just
what furnishings in front and back rooms, just how many lamps would
be needed. “We will have a hanging lamp over the centre table,” said
Jerry. “One of those new-fashioned things which shine and give a bright
light, almost like gas; and lots of books and papers for the boys to
read.”
“But where would we get the books and papers?” would Nettie say, with
an anxious business face, as though the room, and the table, and the
hanging lamp, were arranged for, and the last-mentioned articles all
that were needed to complete the list.
“Oh! they would gather, little by little. I know some people who would
donate great piles of them if we had a place to put them. For that
matter, as it is, father is going to send us some picture-papers, a
great bundle of them; send them by express, and we must have a table to
put them on.”
So the plans grew, but constantly they looked at the long, low building
and said what a nice place it would be.
One morning Jerry came across the yard with a grave face. “What do you
think?” he said, the moment he caught sight of Nettie. “They have gone
and rented our rooms for a horrid old saloon; whiskey in front, and
gambling in the back part! Isn’t it a shame that they have got ahead of
us in that kind of way?”
“Oh dear me!” said Nettie, drawing out each word to twice its usual
length, and sitting down on a corner of the woodbox with hands clasped
over the dish towel, and for the moment a look on her face as though
all was lost.
But it was the very same day that Jerry appeared again, his face
beaming. This time it was hard to make Nettie hear, for Mrs. Decker
was washing, and mingling with the rapid rub-a-dub of the clothes was
the sizzle of ham in the spider, and the bubble of a kettle which was
bent on boiling over, and making the half-distracted housekeeper all
the trouble it could. Yet his news was too good to keep; and he shouted
above the din: “I say, Nettie, the man has backed out! Our rooms are
not rented, after all.”
“Goody!” said Nettie, and she smiled on the kettle in a way to make it
think she did not care if everything in it boiled over on the floor;
whereupon it calmed down, of course, and behaved itself.
So the weeks passed, and the enterprise grew and flourished. I hope
you remember Mrs. Speckle? Very early in the autumn she sent every
one of her chicks out into the world to toil for themselves and began
business. Each morning a good-sized, yellow-tinted, warm, beautiful
egg lay in the nest waiting for Jerry; and when he came, Mrs. Speckle
cackled the news to him in the most interested way.
“She couldn’t do better if she were a regularly constituted member of
the firm with a share in the profits,” said Jerry.
The egg was daily carried to Mrs. Farley’s, where there was an invalid
daughter, who had a fancy for that warm, plump egg which came to her
each morning, done up daintily in pink cotton, and laid in a box just
large enough for it. But there came a morning which was a proud one
to Nettie. Jerry had returned from Mrs. Farley’s with news. “The sick
daughter is going South; she has an auntie who is to spend the winter
in Florida, so they have decided to send her. They start to-morrow
morning. Mrs. Farley said they would take our eggs all the same, and
she wished Miss Helen could have them; but somebody else would have to
eat them for her.”
Then Nettie, beaming with pleasure, “Jerry, I wish you would tell Mrs.
Farley that we can’t spare them any more at present; I would have told
you before, but I didn’t want to take the egg from Miss Helen; I want
to buy them now, every other morning, for mother and father; mother
thinks there is nothing nicer than a fresh egg, and I know father will
be pleased.”
What satisfaction was in Nettie’s voice, what joy in her heart! Oh!
they were poor, very poor, “miserably poor” Lorena Barstow called them,
but they had already reached the point where Nettie felt justified in
planning for a fresh egg apiece for father and mother, and knew that
it could be paid for. So Mrs. Speckle began from that day to keep the
results of her industry in the home circle, and grew more important
because of that.
Almost every day now brought surprises. One of the largest of them was
connected with Susie Decker. That young woman from the very first had
shown a commendable interest in everything pertaining to the business.
She patiently did errands for it, in all sorts of weather, and was
always ready to dust shelves, arrange cookies without eating so much as
a bite, and even wipe teaspoons, a task which she used to think beneath
her. “If you can’t trust me with things that would smash,” she used to
say with scornful gravity, to Nettie, “then you can’t expect me to be
willing to wipe those tough spoons.”
But in these days, spoons were taken uncomplainingly. Susie had a
business head, and was already learning to count pennies and add them
to the five and ten cent pieces; and when Jerry said approvingly: “One
of these days, she will be our treasurer,” the faintest shadow of a
blush would appear on Susie’s face, but she always went on counting
gravely, with an air of one who had not heard a word.
On a certain stormy, windy day, one of November’s worst, it was
discovered late in the afternoon that the molasses jug was empty, and
the boys had been promised some molasses candy that very evening.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE HOUSE ORGAN.]
“What shall we do?” asked Nettie, looking perplexed, and standing jug
in hand in the middle of the room. “Jerry won’t be home in time to get
it, and I can’t leave those cakes to bake themselves; mother, you don’t
think you could see to them a little while till I run to the grocery,
do you?”
Mrs. Decker shook her head, but spoke sympathetically: “I’d do it in a
minute, child, or I’d go for the molasses, but these shirts are very
particular; I never had such fine ones to iron before, and the irons
are just right, and if I should have to leave the bosoms at the wrong
minute to look at the cakes, why, it would spoil the bosoms; and on the
other hand, if I left the cakes and saved the bosoms, why, they would
be spoiled.”
This seemed logical reasoning. Susie, perched on a high chair in front
of the table, was counting a large pile of pennies, putting them in
heaps of twenty-five cents each. She waited until her fourth heap was
complete, then looked up. “Why don’t you ask me to go?”
“Sure enough!” said Nettie, laughing, “I’d ‘ask’ you in a minute if it
didn’t rain so hard; but it seems a pretty stormy day to send out a
little chicken like you.”
“I’m not a chicken, and I’m not in the leastest bit afraid of rain; I
can go as well as not if you only think so.”
“I don’t believe it will hurt her!” said Mrs. Decker, glancing
doubtfully out at the sullen sky. “It doesn’t rain so hard as it did,
and she has such a nice thick sack now.”
It was nice, made of heavy waterproof cloth, with a lovely woolly
trimming going all around it. Susie liked that sack almost better than
anything else in the world. Her mother had bought it second-hand of a
woman whose little girl had outgrown it; the mother had washed all day
and ironed another day to pay for it, and felt the liveliest delight in
seeing Susie in the pretty garment.
The rain seemed to be quieting a little, so presently the young woman
was robed in sack and waterproof bonnet with a cape, and started on her
way.
Half-way to the grocery she met Jerry hastening home from school with a
bag of books slung across his shoulder.
“Is it so late as that?” asked Susie in dismay. “Nettie thought you
wouldn’t be at home in a good while; the candy won’t get done.”
“No, it is as early as this,” he answered laughing; “we were dismissed
an hour earlier than usual this afternoon. Where are you going? after
molasses? See here, suppose you give me the jug and you take my books
and scud home. There is a big storm coming on; I think the wind is
going to blow, and I’m afraid it will twist you all up and pour the
molasses over you. Then you’d be ever so sticky!”
Susie laughed and exchanged not unwillingly the heavy jug for the
books. There had been quite wind enough since she started, and if there
was to be more, she had no mind to brave it.
“If you hurry,” called Jerry, “I think you’ll get home before the next
squall comes.” So she hurried; but Jerry was mistaken. The squall came
with all its force, and poor small Susie was twisted and whirled and
lost her breath almost, and panted and struggled on, and was only too
thankful that she hadn’t the molasses jug.
Nearly opposite the Farley home, their side door suddenly opened and a
pleasant voice called: “Little girl, come in here, and wait until the
shower is over; you will be wet to the skin.”
It is true Susie did not believe that her waterproof sack _could_ be
wet through, but that dreadful wind so frightened her, twisting the
trees as it did, that she was glad to obey the kind voice and rush into
shelter.
“Why, it is Nettie’s sister, I do believe!” said Ermina Farley, helping
her off with the dripping hood.
“You dear little mouse, what sent you out in such a storm?”
Miss Susie not liking the idea of being a mouse much more than she did
being a chicken, answered with dignity, and becoming brevity.
“Molasses candy!” said Mrs. Farley, laughing, yet with an undertone of
disapproval in her voice which keen-minded Susie heard and felt, “I
shouldn’t think that was a necessity of life on such a day as this.”
“It is if you have promised it to some boys who don’t ever have
anything nice only what they get at our house; and who save their
pennies that they spend on beer, and cider, and cigars to get it.”
Wise Susie, indignation in every word, yet well controlled, and aware
before she finished her sentence that she was deeply interesting her
audience! How they questioned her? What was this? Who did it? Who
thought of it? When did they begin it? Who came? How did they get the
money to buy their things? Susie, thoroughly posted, thoroughly in
sympathy with the entire movement, calm, collected, keen far beyond her
years, answered clearly and well. Plainly she saw that this lady in a
silken gown was interested.
“Well, if this isn’t a revelation!” said Mrs. Farley at last. “A young
men’s Christian association not only, but an eating-house flourishing
right in our midst and we knowing nothing about it. Did you know
anything of it, daughter?”
“No, ma’am,” said Ermina. “But I knew that splendid Nettie was trying
to do something for her brother; and that nice boy who used to bring
eggs was helping her; it is just like them both. I don’t believe there
is a nicer girl in town than Nettie Decker.”
Mrs. Farley seemed unable to give up the subject. She asked many
questions as to how long the boys stayed, and what they did all the
time.
Susie explained: “Well, they eat, you know; and Norm doesn’t hurry
them; he says they have to pitch the things down fast where they board,
to keep them from freezing; and our room is warm, because we keep the
kitchen door open, and the heat goes in; but we don’t know what we
shall do when the weather gets real cold; and after they have eaten all
the things they can pay for, they look at the pictures. Jerry’s father
sends him picture papers, and Mr. Sherrill brings some, most every day.
Miss Sherrill is coming Thanksgiving night to sing for them; and Nettie
says if we only had an organ she would play beautiful music. We want
to give them a treat for Thanksgiving; we mean to do it without any
pay at all if we can; and father thinks we can, because he is working
nights this week, and getting extra pay; and Jerry thinks there will
be two chickens ready; and Nettie wishes we could have an organ for a
little while, just for Norm, because he loves music so, but of course
we can’t.”
Long before this sentence was finished, Ermina and her mother had
exchanged glances which Susie, being intent on her story, did not see.
She was a wise little woman of business; what if Mrs. Farley should
say: “Well, I will give you a chicken myself for the Thanksgiving
time, and a whole peck of apples!” then indeed, Susie believed that
their joy would be complete; for Nettie had said, if they could only
afford three chickens she believed that with a lot of crust she could
make chicken pie enough for them each to have a large piece, hot; not
all the boys, of course, but the seven or eight who worked in Norm’s
shop and boarded at the dreary boarding-house; they would so like to
give Norm a surprise for his birthday, and have a treat say at six
o’clock for all of these; for this year Thanksgiving fell on Norm’s
birthday. The storm held up after a little, and Susie, trudging home, a
trifle disgusted with Mrs. Farley because she said not a word about the
peck of apples or the other chicken, was met by Jerry coming in search
of her. The molasses was boiling over, he told her, and so was her
mother, with anxiety lest the wind had taken her, Susie, up in a tree,
and had forgotten to bring her down again. He hurried her home between
the squalls, and Susie quietly resolved to say not a word about all the
things she had told at the Farley home. What if Nettie should think
she hadn’t been womanly to talk so much about what they were doing! If
there was one thing that this young woman had a horror of during these
days, it was that Nettie would think she was not womanly. The desire,
nay, the determination to be so, at all costs had well nigh cured her
of her fits of rage and screaming, because in one of her calm moments
Nettie had pointed out to her the fact that she never in her life heard
a _woman_ scream like that. Susie being a logical person, argued the
rest of the matter out for herself, and resolved to scream and stamp
her foot no more.
Great was the astonishment of the Decker family, next morning. Mrs.
Farley herself came to call on them. She wanted some plain ironing done
that afternoon. Yes, Mrs. Decker would do it and be glad to; it was
a leisure afternoon with her. Mrs. Farley wanted something more! she
wanted to know about the business in which Nettie and her young friend
next door were engaged; and Susie listened breathlessly, for fear it
would appear that she had told more than she ought. But Mrs. Farley
kept her own counsel, only questioning Nettie closely, and at last she
made a proposition that had well nigh been the ruin of the tin of
cookies which Nettie was taking from the oven. She dropped the tin!
“Did you burn you, child?” asked Mrs. Decker, rushing forward.
“No, ma’am,” said Nettie, laughing, and trying not to laugh, and
wanting to cry, and being too amazed to do so. “But I was so surprised
and so almost scared, that they dropped.
“O Mrs. Farley, we have wanted that more than anything else in the
world; ever since Mr. Sherrill saw how my brother Norman loved music,
and said it might be the saving of him; Jerry and I have planned and
planned, but we never thought of being able to do it for a long, long
time.”
Yet all this joy was over an old, somewhat wheezy little house organ
which stood in the second-story unused room of Mrs. Farley’s house, and
which she had threatened to send to the city auction rooms to get out
of the way.
She offered to lend it to Nettie for her “Rooms,” and Nettie’s
gratitude was so great that the blood seemed inclined to leave her face
entirely for a minute, then thought better of it and rolled over it in
waves.
POEM FOR RECITATION.
WHAT THE LECTURER TOLD THE BOYS.
KIT and I (he’s Christopher, but it’s pretty hard to speak)
Had been talking about the lecture, the better part of a week.
I was fourteen last Wednesday, and Kit is twelve and a half—
We’re getting to be big fellows; folks call us “twins” for chaff.
One of the famous lecturers was to lecture in our town hall—
Our father used to know him, when both of them were small.
We are the minister’s boys, you know, and live in the house on the
hill;
The rest of us is mother, and Susie, and little Will.
[Illustration: “THE SCHOOLROOM WAS PACKED AND CROWDED.”]
Father went to the station, to bring the lecturer home,
And mother had supper ready, waiting for him to come—
He was what Sue calls “splendid!” talked lots to Kit and to me,
And took up little Willie, and held him on his knee,
And while he was eating supper said a good many funny things,
And joked with mother and Susie—it seemed as if time had wings—
But O, that grand, grand lecture was the best we ever heard!
Folks held their breaths to listen, for fear they should lose a word.
They cried, and they applauded, and then they laughed outright—
Kit and I decided to lecture before we went home that night.
He was going back in the morning, on the early morning train,
And father let us sit up that night, said “it wouldn’t happen again.”
One of us sat each side of him, as near as we could to his chair,
And then Kit noticed, and so did I, a scar near the edge of his hair.
He saw us looking, and then he said, “My boys, you see that scar,
It isn’t a wound of honor, but something different far.
“I am going to tell you about it. I got it on a day
When I was young as you are, and that isn’t so far away.
You think it easy to move a crowd as breezes sweep the sea,
It may be easy for some men, it never has been for me.
“I was the timidest, awkwardest youth that ever fished in a pool,
Or ever on Wednesday afternoons ran away from school—
That was the day we ‘spoke pieces,’ but that I never did,
I stayed at school and was punished, or ran away and hid.
“But I honored the boys who did it, in particular the one who told
‘How well Horatius kept the bridge, in the brave days of old!’
I admired the high heroic style, I longed to do the same,
And watched the others with beating heart, and cheeks that were all
aflame.