Poor Cinderella.
Then commenced a new life for the girl; she became a drudge, and was
made to do servants' work, and to feel that there was no love for her
beneath the roof that sheltered her. She accepted the position
unmurmuringly, and slaved and toiled with a willing spirit. Early in
the morning, while her tyrants were snug abed, she was up and doing,
and though she never succeeded in pleasing them and was conscious that
she had done her best, she bore their scolding and fault-finding
without a word of remonstrance. They gave her no schooling, and yet
she learned to read and write, and to speak good English. There were
hidden forces in the girl which caused her to supply, by unwearying
industry, the deficiencies of her education. Hard as was her life she
had compensations, which sprang from the sweetness of her nature.
Her early acquaintance with errand boys and tradesmen's apprentices
led her into the path strewn with lowly flowers. She became familiar
with the struggles of the poor, and, sympathizing with them, she
performed many acts of kindness which brought happiness to her young
heart; and though from those who should have shown her affection she
received constant rebuffs, she was not soured by them.
The treatment she and her brother met with in the home in which they
each had an equal right, and should have had an equal share, was of a
painfully distinctive character. Nothing was good enough for him;
anything was good enough for her. Very well; she ministered to him
without repining. He and his mother took their pleasures together, and
Charlotte was never invited to join them, and never asked to be
invited. There was no interchange of confidences between them. They
had secrets which they kept from her; she had secrets which she kept
from them. Those shared by Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother savored of
meanness and trickery; Charlotte's were sweet and charitable. They did
not open their hearts to her because of the fear that she might rebel
against the injustice which was being inflicted upon her; she did not
open her heart to them because she felt that they would not sympathize
with her. They would have turned up their noses at the poor flowers
she cherished, and would have striven to pluck them from her--and,
indeed, the attempt was made, fortunately without success.
Charlotte's practical acquaintance with kitchen work, and the
economical spirit in which she was enjoined by her mother to carry out
her duties, taught her the value of scraps of food, a proper
understanding of which would do a great many worthy people no harm.
Recognizing that the smallest morsels could be turned to good account,
she allowed nothing to be thrown away or wasted. Even the crumbs would
furnish meals for birds, and they were garnered with affectionate
care. She was well repaid in winter and early spring for her kindness
to the feathered creatures, some of which she believed really grew to
know her, and it is a fact that none were frightened of her. Many
pretty little episodes grew out of this association which was the
cause of genuine pleasure to Charlotte, and she discovered in these
lowly ways of life treasures which such lofty people as her mother and
brother never dreamed of. If she had authority nowhere else in her
home she had some in the kitchen, so every scrap of food was looked
after, collected, and given to pensioners who were truly grateful for
them. These pensioners were all small children, waifs of the gutters,
of whom there are shoals in every great city. Thus it will be seen
that the position assigned to Charlotte by her mother and brother
ennobled and enriched her spiritually; it brought into play her best
and sweetest qualities.
Her charities were dispensed with forethought and wisdom, and Mr.
Fox-Cordery took no greater pains in the adornment of his person than
Charlotte did to make her scraps of food palatable to the stomachs of
her little pensioners. With half an onion, nicely shredded, and the
end of a stray carrot, she produced of these scraps a stew which did
her infinite credit as a cook of odds and ends; and it was a sight
worth seeing to watch her preparing such a savory meal for the
bare-footed youngsters who came at nightfall to the kitchen entrance
of her home.
When these proceedings were discovered by her mother she was ordered
to discontinue them, but in this one instance she showed a spirit of
rebellion, and maintained her right to give away the leavings instead
of throwing them into the dustbin. That she was allowed to have her
way was perhaps the only concession made to her in her servitude.
For an offense of another kind, however, she was made to pay dearly.
She obtained permission one evening to go out for a walk, an hour to
the minute being allowed her. On these occasions, which were rare, she
always chose the poorer thoroughfares for her rambles, and as she now
strolled through a narrow street she came upon a woman, with a baby in
her arms, sitting on a doorstep. Pity for the wan face, of which she
caught just one glance, caused Charlotte to stop and speak to the
woman. The poor creature was in the last stage of want and
destitution, and Charlotte's heart bled as she listened to the tale of
woe. The wail of the hungry babe sent a shiver through the
sympathizing girl. She could not bear to leave the sufferers, and yet
what good could be done by remaining? She had not a penny to give
them. Charlotte never had any money of her own, it being part of the
system by which her life was ruled to keep her absolutely penniless.
She learned from the poor woman that every article of clothing she
possessed that could with decency be dispensed with had found its way
to the pawn-shop.
"See," said the wretched creature, raising her ragged frock.
It was all there was on her body.
The pitiful revelation inspired Charlotte. She had on a flannel and a
cotton petticoat. Stepping aside into the shadow of an open door she
loosened the strings of her petticoats, and they slipped to the
ground.
"Take these," said the young girl, and ran home as fast as she could.
She was a few minutes behind her time, and her mother was on the watch
for her. Upon Charlotte making her appearance she was informed that
she would never be allowed out again, and she stood quietly by without
uttering a word of expostulation. The scene ended by Charlotte being
ordered instantly to bed, and to secure obedience Mrs. Fox-Cordery
accompanied her daughter to her bedroom. There, on undressing, the
loss of the two petticoats was discovered. Mrs. Fox-Cordery demanded
an explanation and it was given to her, and the result was that every
article of Charlotte's clothing was taken from her room, and locked in
her mother's wardrobe. There was not so much as a lace or a piece of
tape left. But, stripped as she was of every possession, Charlotte, as
she lay in the darkness and silence of her dark room, was not sorry
for her charitable deed. She thought of the poor woman and her babe,
and was glad that they had something to eat; and she was sure, if the
same thing occurred again, that she would act as she had already done.
The next morning early, Mrs. Fox-Cordery unlocked the door of her
daughter's bedroom, and entered with a bundle of clothes in her arms.
Though it was imperative that Charlotte should be punished for her bad
behavior, there was work in the kitchen to do, and the girl was not to
be allowed to dawdle all day in bed because she had misconducted
herself. That would be a reward, not a punishment.
"Your brother and I have been talking about you," said Mrs.
Fox-Cordery. "He is shocked at your behavior. If you have the least
sense of what is right you will beg him to forgive you."
"Why should I do that?" asked Charlotte, pondering a little upon the
problem presented to her. "I have not hurt him in any way."
"Did you not hear me say," exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery, frowning, "that
he is shocked at your behavior? Is that not hurting him?"
"Not that I can see, mother," replied Charlotte. "I cannot help it if
he looks upon what I have done in a wrong light."
"In a wrong light, Miss Impertinence!" cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery. "The
view your brother takes of a thing is always right."
"If you will give me my clothes," said Charlotte, with pardonable
evasion, "I will get up."
"You will get up when I order you, and not before. I am speaking to
you by your brother's instructions, and we will have this matter out,
once and for all."
Charlotte lay silent. It did not appear to her that she had anything
to defend, and she instinctively felt that the most prudent course was
to say as little as possible.
"Will you tell your brother that you are sorry for what you have done,
or shall I?"
"I am not sorry, mother."
Mrs. Fox-Cordery was rather staggered by this reply.
"There is an absence of moral perception in you," she said severely,
"that will lead to bad results. If you were not my daughter I should
call in a policeman."
Charlotte opened her eyes wide, and she shivered slightly. She was
neither a theorist nor a logician; she never debated with herself
whether a contemplated action was right or wrong; she simply did what
her nature guided her to do. A policeman in her eyes was a
blue-frocked, helmeted creature who held unknown terrors in his hand,
which he meted out to those who had been guilty of some dreadful
action. Of what dreadful action had she been guilty that her mother
should drag a policeman into the conversation? It was this reflection
that caused her to shiver.
"You gave away last night," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, regarding the
symptom of fear with satisfaction, "what did not belong to you."
"My clothes are my own," pleaded Charlotte.
"They are not your own. They represent property, and every description
of property in this family belongs to me and to your brother. The
clothes you wear are lent to you for the time being, and by disposing
of them as you have done you have committed a theft. You are sharp
enough, I presume, to know what a theft is."
"Yes," said Charlotte. Monstrous as was the proposition, she was
unable to advance any argument in confutation.
"That we do not punish you as you deserve," pursued Mrs. Fox-Cordery,
"is entirely due to your brother's mercy. We will take care that you
do not repeat the offense. Such clothes as you are permitted to wear
will be given to you as occasion requires; and everything will be
marked in my name--you shall do the marking yourself--in proof that
nothing belongs to you. Dress yourself now, and go to your work."
"Mother," said Charlotte, getting out of bed, opening her little chest
of drawers, and looking round the room, "you have taken everything
away from me."
"Yes, everything."
"But something is mine, mother."
"Nothing is yours."
"Father gave me his picture; let me have that back."
"You will have nothing back. We will see how you behave in the future,
and you will be treated accordingly. Before you go downstairs pray for
a more thankful heart, and for sufficient sense to make you appreciate
our goodness. Have you any message to send to your brother?"
"No, mother."
"As I supposed. It is a mystery to me how I ever came to have such a
child."
Charlotte said her prayers before she left her bedroom; her father had
taught her to do so, night and morning; but she did not pray for a
more thankful heart, nor for sense to make her appreciative of the
goodness of the family tyrants. Perhaps she was dull; perhaps she
failed to discover cause for gratitude; certain it is that she was
selfish enough to pray for her father's picture back, a prayer that
was never answered. And it is also certain that she had a wonderful
power of endurance, which enabled her to bear the heavy burden of
domestic tyranny, and even to be happy under it.
From that morning she was practically a prisoner in her home, and the
course of her daily life was measured out to her, as it were, from
hour to hour. And still she preserved her cheerfulness and sweetness
and snatched some gleams of sunshine from her gloomy surroundings.
A brighter gleam shone upon her when, a woman of twenty-five, she made
the acquaintance of John Dixon, who for twelve months or so came
regularly to the house on business of a confidential nature with Mr.
Fox-Cordery. This business connection was broken violently and
abruptly, but not before the star of love was shining in Charlotte's
heart; and when her lover was turned from the door she bade him
good-by with a smile, for she felt that he would be true to her
through weal or woe.