could not have conquered yourself as you did the moment you remembered
you were displeasing your heavenly Father. If you forgot for a moment,
and your temper overcame you, I think he knew how you had struggled
with it this morning, and so pitied and forgave, sending the grace and
strength you needed as soon as you saw your own want of it."
"It's all Aunt Patty's fault, anyhow," said Maggie. "She provoked us,
hateful old thing! I know I ought not to say that about the rain, Aunt
Bessie, 'cause it's God's rain, and he can send it if he chooses; but
it was not her business to meddle about, and I am a great deal more
sorry for your speaking so kind than for all the scolding. I just
wish--I wish--"
"I would not wish any bad wishes for Aunt Patty, dear," said Miss Rush.
"That will not help any of us to feel better."
"I don't know about that," said Maggie, gravely shaking her head. "I
think I'd feel more comfortable in my mind if I wished something about
her. I think I'll have to do it, Aunt Bessie."
"Then wish only that she were a little more amiable, or did not speak
quite so sharply," said Miss Rush, smiling at Maggie's earnestness.
"Oh, pooh! that's no good," said Maggie. "She never will learn to
behave herself. I'll tell you, I just wish she was a Lot's wife."
"Lot's wife?" said Miss Rush.
"I mean Lot's wife after she 'came a pillar of salt, and then maybe
she'd be all soaked away in this pouring rain, and no more left of her
to come back again and bother us."
There was never any telling where Maggie's ideas would carry her, and
at the thought of the droll fate she had imagined for Aunt Patty, Miss
Rush fairly laughed outright, and even Bessie smiled, after which she
said she would go up-stairs and talk a little to her mother, which
always did her good when she was in trouble.
This shower proved the last of the rain for that day, and by twelve
o'clock the clouds had all rolled away and the pavements were drying
rapidly, giving fresh hope to Maggie and Bessie that they would be able
to go over to the policeman's house; but before that Aunt Patty had
returned. She was very silent, almost sad, and the many troubled looks
she cast towards the little girls made Mrs. Bradford think that she was
sorry for her unkindness of the morning.
This was so, but there was more than that to trouble the old lady,
for her errand to Dr. Dawson had been fruitless. When she reached his
house, he was out, but she sat down to wait for him. He soon came in
and without waiting for her to speak, told her that, having an hour to
spare, he had just been up to the police-station to give Richards the
good news.
So it was too late after all, for now that the policeman knew of her
gift, Mrs. Lawrence could not make up her mind to ask it back. Then
the doctor asked her if she had any further business with him, to which
she answered "No," and walked away, leaving him to think what a very
odd old lady she was, and to say indignantly that he believed "she had
not trusted him, and had come to see that he kept faith with her."
"Bradford," said Mr. Stanton, as he stood in his brother-in-law's
office that morning, "those dear little girls of yours have put me to
shame with their lively, earnest desire to do good to others. Here
have I been leading this lazy, useless life ever since I came home,
looking only to my own comfort and happiness; and in my want of thought
for others scarcely deserving the overflowing share of both which has
fallen to me. Your little ones have given me a lesson in their innocent
wish to extend to others the benefits which God has heaped upon them;
now cannot you help me to put it into practice? I am still so much of
a stranger in my own city that I should scarcely know where to begin
the task of carrying help to those who need it; but you were always a
hand to know the claims and deserts of the poor. I have, thank God, the
means and the time; can you show me where I can best spend them?"
"Doubtless, my dear fellow," answered Mr. Bradford. "I think you are
rather hard upon yourself; but I can show you where both time and money
can be laid out with a certainty of doing good and bringing happiness
to those who deserve them. Just now--But how far do your benevolent
intentions go?"
"Tell me the necessities of your _protegée_ or _protegées_," said Mr.
Stanton, smiling, "and I will tell you how far I am inclined to satisfy
them. I had not thought much about it, having just been roused to a
sense that it was time I was doing somewhat for the welfare of those
who are not as well off as myself."
"I was about to say," continued Mr. Bradford, "that at present I know
of no more worthy case than that of the father of the blind boy in whom
my children are so much interested. If an honest, God-fearing heart,
a trusting, cheerful, yet submissive spirit, can give him a claim
upon our help and sympathy, he certainly possesses it. I have watched
him and talked to him during the last few months with considerable
interest, and I honestly believe his troubles have not arisen through
any fault of his own, but through the dealings of Providence. He has
been sorely tried, poor fellow, and I should like to see him set right
once more with the world, free from the pressure of debt, and able to
save his earnings for the comfort of his family. I had intended to
undertake the payment of Dr. Dawson for the treatment of Willie's eyes,
but since you have done this, I shall hand to Richards the sum I had
intended for that purpose. Whatever you may choose to add to this, will
be so much towards relieving him from his debt to this Schwitz."
"And how much is that?" asked Mr. Stanton.
Mr. Bradford named the sum, and after hearing all the circumstances,
Mr. Stanton drew a check for the amount needed to pay the rest of the
debt to Dr. Schwitz, and gave it to his brother-in-law, asking him to
hand it to the policeman with his own gift.
"You had better come with us this afternoon, and see for yourself,"
said Mr. Bradford. "It is going to be fine, and I have promised those
dear little things that they shall carry their prize to the blind
boy's home. I believe we are likely to find Richards there about three
o'clock, and I should like you to know him."
So Mr. Stanton was persuaded; and as Maggie and Bessie were watching
eagerly from the window for the first glimpse of papa, they saw him
coming up the street with Uncle Ruthven.
When they were ready to go, those three precious notes, the price
of Willie's sight, were brought by Maggie to her father, with many
prayers that he would take the best of care of them. She was not
satisfied till she had seen them in his pocket-book, where she herself
squeezed them into the smallest possible corner, next thrusting the
pocket-book into the very depths of his pockets, and ramming in his
handkerchief on top of that, "to be sure to keep it all safe."
But there was a sore disappointment in store for these poor children.
As they were leaving the house, and before Mr. Bradford had closed
the door behind them, who should appear at the foot of the steps but
Sergeant Richards himself, with his broad, honest face in a glow of
happiness and content.
"Ah! Richards, how are you?" said Mr. Bradford.
"At your service, sir," answered the policeman, politely touching his
cap. "I just came round to say a word to you, but I see you are going
out. I sha'n't detain you two moments, though, if you could spare me
that."
"Willingly," said Mr. Bradford. "We were on our way to your house, but
our errand will keep;" and he led the way back to the parlor, followed
by the whole party.
Mrs. Bradford and Miss Rush were there also, just ready to go out;
while Aunt Patty sat in the library, where every word that passed in
the front room must reach her ears.
"No, I'll not sit down, thank you, sir," said the policeman, "and
I'll not keep you long. You have been so kind to me, and taken such
an interest in all my difficulties, that I felt as if I must come
right up and tell you of the good fortune, or, I should say, the
kind Providence, which has fallen to me. I have been furnished with
the means to pay my debt to Dr. Schwitz; and more, thank God! more
than this, Dr. Dawson has received the amount of his charge for the
operation on Willie's eyes. I shall be able to hold up my head once
more, and that with the chance of my boy having his sight again."
"And how has this come about?" asked Mr. Bradford.
"I cannot say, sir. Some unknown friend has done it all; but who, I
know no more than yourself, perhaps not so much;" and the policeman
looked searchingly into Mr. Bradford's face.
"And I know absolutely nothing," said the gentleman, smiling. "I see,
Richards, you thought I had some hand in it, and expected to find me
out; but I assure you, it is not my doing. These little girls of mine
had, through the kindness of their uncle, hoped to place in your hands
the sum needed for Dr. Dawson, and it was for this purpose that we were
on our way to your house; but you say some one has been beforehand with
us."
"That's so, sir," said Richards; "but none the less am I most grateful
to you and the little ladies and this kind gentleman for your generous
intentions. I am sure I don't know what I have done that the Lord
should raise me up such friends. But it is most strange as to who could
have done this, sir, and about that old lady."
"What old lady?" asked Mr. Bradford.
"Why, sir, she who either has done this or has been sent by some one
else. If I don't keep you too long, I should just like to tell you what
I know."
"Not at all," said Mr. Bradford. "Let us have the story."
"Yesterday morning," said the policeman, "Mrs. Granby was sitting by
the window, when she saw an old lady going to 'most all the houses,
and seeming to be asking her way or inquiring for some one. So Mrs.
Granby puts out her head and asks if she was looking for any one. 'I
want Mrs. Richards, the policeman's wife,' says the old lady. Mrs.
Granby told her that was the place and opens the door for her. Well,
she walked in, but a stranger she was, to be sure; neither my wife nor
Mrs. Granby ever set eyes on her before, and they did not know what to
make of her. All sorts of questions she asked, and in a way Mary did
not like at all, never telling who she was or what she came for. Well,
after a while she went away, but never letting on what she had come
for, and Mrs. Granby and Mary set it down that it was only for spying
and meddling. But last night when I took up the Bible to read a chapter
before we went to bed, out drops a sealed packet with my name printed
on it. I opened it, and there, will you believe it, sir, were two one
hundred dollar bills, and around them a slip of paper with the words,
printed, too, 'Pay your debts.' No more, no less. You may know if we
were astonished, and as for my wife, she was even a bit frightened.
After talking it over, we were sure it could have been no one but the
old lady that had put it there. But who was she, and how did she know
so much of my affairs? Mrs. Granby said she remembered to have seen her
fussing with the leaves of the Bible, sort of careless like, as it lay
upon the table, and she must have slipped it in then. But whether it
was her own gift, or whether she was sent by some one else, who does
not care to be seen in the matter, I don't know. The women will have
it that it was the last, and that she did not like her errand, and so
eased her mind by a bit of fault-finding and meddling, and I must say
it looks like it."
"And you have no possible clew to who this person was, Richards?" asked
Mr. Bradford.
"None, sir. I might track her easy, I suppose, but since she didn't
seem to wish it to be known who she was or where she came from, I
wouldn't feel it was showing my gratitude for the obligations she's
laid me under, and you see by the printing she don't wish to be tracked
even by her handwriting. Nor was this all. Early this morning, round
comes Dr. Dawson to the station, asking for me; and he told me that an
old lady had been to his house yesterday, and after asking a lot of
questions, had paid him a hundred and fifty dollars for undertaking
the operation on Willie's eyes, and took a receipted bill from him.
By all accounts, she must be the same person who was at my place
yesterday, and if ever a man was as mad as a hornet, he's the one.
When he asked if he might take the liberty of inquiring what interest
she had in my family, she asked if it was necessary to Willie's cure
that he should know that; and when he said, 'No, of course not,' she
said it _was_ a great liberty, and as good as told him to mind his own
affairs. He quite agrees with my wife and Mrs. Granby that she was only
a messenger from some unknown friend, and that she was not pleased
with the business she had in hand. The doctor is very much occupied
just now, and told her he could not well see me before this evening;
but he found he could make time to run over and tell me this morning,
and kindly did so. So, you see, sir, I do not rightly know what to do,
joyful and grateful as I feel; and I thought I would just run over and
tell you the story at once, and ask if you thought I might safely use
this money without fear of getting into any difficulty. You see it's
such a strange and mysterious way of doing things that I won't say but
I would think it odd myself if I heard another person had come by such
a sum in such a way."
"I see no possible objection to your using the money," said Mr.
Bradford. "It certainly has been intended for you, however singular
the way in which it has been conveyed to you, or however disagreeable
the manner of the messenger. It has probably been the work of some
eccentric, but kind-hearted person who does not choose to have his good
deeds known."
"I can't say but I would feel better to know whom it came from, Mr.
Bradford, grateful from my very soul as I am. I shouldn't have been too
proud to take such a favor from one who I knew was a friend to me, with
the hope, maybe, of one day making it up, but it's not so comfortable
to have it done in this secret sort of way, and as if it were something
to be ashamed of."
"Do not look at it in that way, Richards, but believe that your friend
has only acted thus from a wish that his left hand should not know
what his right hand has done. Look at it as a gift from the Lord, and
use it with an easy heart and a clear conscience, as I am sure your
benefactor intended."
"Well, may God bless and prosper him, whoever he is," said the
policeman. "I only wish he knew what a load is lifted from my heart.
And thank you too, sir, for your advice and for all your interest in
me."
While the policeman had been telling his story, Maggie and Bessie had
stood listening eagerly to him. At first they looked pleased as well
as interested, but when it was made plain to them that some stranger
had done the very thing on which they had set their hearts, a look of
blank dismay and disappointment overspread their faces. By the time
he had finished, Bessie, with her head pressed against her mother's
shoulder, was choking back the tears, and Maggie, with crimson cheeks
and wide-open eyes, was standing, the very picture of indignation.
"Papa," she exclaimed, as Mr. Richards said the last words, "does he
really mean that woman went and paid that money for blind Willie to be
cured?"
"Yes, my darling," said her father, with a feeling of real pity for the
disappointment of his two little daughters, "but I think--"
"It's too bad," said Maggie, without waiting for her father to finish
his sentence; "it's as mean, as mean as--Oh! I never heard of anything
so mean; the horrid old thing! something ought to be done to her. I
know she just did it to make a disappointment to Bessie and me. Oh,
dear! It's too bad!" She finished with a burst of tears.
"My dear little girl," said her father, "I know this is a great
disappointment to you; but you must not let it make you unreasonable.
This person is probably an entire stranger to you; and any way, she
could know nothing of your purpose."
"You will find plenty of uses for the money," said Uncle Ruthven,
catching Bessie up in his arms. "Put it away till you find another
blind boy, or lame girl, or some old sick body, who would be glad of a
little help. Papa will find you ways enough to spend it."
"But," said Bessie, mournfully, as she wiped her eyes, "we wanted to
use it for Willie, and we thought so much about it, and we were so
glad when we thought how pleased he would be! Oh! we are very much
_trialed_; are we not, Maggie?"
"Now the Lord love you for your thought of my boy," said the policeman,
"and I'm sure I wish, for your sake, that the old lady had stopped
short of Dr. Dawson's door, keeping her money for some other folks that
had need of it, and leaving it to you two dear little ones to do this
kind turn for my child. But Willie will think just as much, as I do, of
your meaning to do it, as if you'd done it out and out; and if you'll
allow it, madam,"--here he turned to Mrs. Bradford, "I'd like to bring
him over, that he may say so."
Mrs. Bradford said she would be very glad to see Willie, and asked Mr.
Richards to bring him and Jennie over the next day, and let them spend
an hour or two with the children. This she did, thinking it would be a
pleasure to her little girls to see the blind boy and his sister, and
wishing to do all she could to console them for their disappointment.
The policeman promised to do this, and then, once more thanking Mr.
Bradford and his family for all their kindness, he went away.
[Illustration: decoration, end of chap. 13]
[Illustration: Title decoration, chap. 14]
XIV.
_AUNT PATTY._
But Maggie and Bessie, especially the former, were quite determined not
to be consoled. They thought such a terrible disappointment deserved to
be sorrowed over for some time to come, and sat with tearful faces and
a very mournful manner, quite unable to do anything but grieve.
"I hope I shall have strength to bear it, but I don't know," said
Maggie, with her pocket-handkerchief to her eyes.
Mamma told her that the way to bear a trial was not to sit fretting
over it and thinking how bad it was, but to look at its bright side,
and see what good we or others might gain from it.
"But _this_ has no bright side; has it, mamma?" asked Bessie.
"I think so," replied her mother. "This unknown friend has done much
more for the policeman and his family than you could have done, and she
has not only given the money for Dr. Dawson, but has, also, paid the
debt to Dr. Schwitz; while your uncle is kind enough to allow you to
keep your money for some one else who may need it."
"But, mamma," said Maggie, with her eyes still covered, "Uncle Ruthven
was going to pay the debt himself; papa told us so. So it would have
been just as good for the policeman."
"I declare," said Mr. Stanton, "I had quite forgotten that I was
disappointed too! Well, well;" and he leaned his head on his hand,
and put on a very doleful air. "Bradford," he continued, in the most
mournful tones, "since we are not to go over to the policeman's this
afternoon, I had thought we might have some other little frolic; but of
course, none of us are in spirits for the visit to the menagerie I had
intended to propose."
At this, Maggie's handkerchief came down, and Bessie raised her head
from her mother's shoulder.
"I do not know but I might go, if I could make up a pleasant, happy
party to take with me," said Mr. Stanton. "_You_ could not think of it,
I suppose, Maggie?"
"I don't know," said Maggie, half unwilling to be so soon comforted,
and yet too much pleased at the thought of this unexpected treat to be
able to refuse it. "Perhaps I might. I think maybe it would do me good
to see the animals." But she still sat with the air of a little martyr,
hoping that Uncle Ruthven would press her very much, so that she might
not seem to yield too easily.
"I thought perhaps it might bring _me_ a little comfort to see the
monkeys eat peanuts, and then make faces at me, while they pelted me
with the shells," said Mr. Stanton, in the same despairing tone.
At this Bessie broke into a little low laugh, and the dimples showed
themselves at the corners of Maggie's mouth, though she pursed up her
lips, and drew down her eyebrows in her determination not to smile. But
it was all useless, and in two moments more Uncle Ruthven had them both
as merry as crickets over this new pleasure. Mamma and Aunt Bessie were
coaxed to give up their shopping and go with them, and the three boys,
Harry, Fred, and Franky, being added to the party, they all set off in
good spirits.
The blind boy and the terrible disappointment were not forgotten, but
the children had made up their minds to take mamma's advice,--bear it
bravely, and look on the bright side.
Aunt Patty saw them go, and was glad to be left to herself, although
her own thoughts were not very pleasant company. She had done a kind
and generous action in an ungracious way, causing those whom she had
benefited to feel that they would rather have received the favor from
another hand, bringing a real trial upon these dear children, and
vexation and regret to herself. She could not look upon her work or
its consequences with any satisfaction. What though she had done a good
deed, she had not done it quite in the right spirit, and so it seemed
it had not brought a blessing. Self-will and temper had been suffered
to overcome her once more. Bessie had shamed her by the self-control
which she, an old woman, had not shown, and she had been outdone by
both these little ones in patience and submission. The policeman's
family would have been quite as well off as they were now, and she
might still have had the long-desired grove, the object of so many
thoughts and wishes, had she never taken up the matter, or had she even
allowed her intentions to be known. She had really had an honest desire
to keep her generous self-sacrifice a secret, that it should not be
published abroad to all the world; but there was, also, an obstinate
little corner in her heart which made her determine to keep it from her
nephew, lest he should oppose it. "For I want none of his advice or
interference," she said, to herself; it being generally the case that
those who deal most largely in those articles themselves are the most
unwilling to receive them from others.
So the poor old lady sadly thought, taking shame and repentance to
herself for all the peevishness and ill-temper of the last two days,
seeing where she had acted wrongly and unwisely, and making new
resolutions for the future. Ah, the old besetting sin, strengthened
by long habit and indulgence, what a tyrant it had become, and how
hard she had to struggle with it, how often was she overcome! Yes,
well might little Bessie be thankful that wise and tender teachers had
taught her to control that passionate temper, which later might have
proved such a misery to herself and her friends. Then came back to her
the dear child's trusting words, "Jesus knows," bringing with them a
comforting sense of his near love and presence, and a feeling that
his help and forgiveness were still open to her, though she had again
so sadly given way. Oh, that she had little Bessie's simple faith!
that this feeling of the Saviour's nearness, this constant looking to
him for help and guidance, which were shown by this little one, were
hers also! She bethought herself of a hymn, which she had heard Mrs.
Bradford teaching to her children during the last week, and which they
had all sung together on Sunday evening. She could not recollect the
exact words, but it seemed to her that it was the very thing she needed
now. She searched for it through all the hymn-books and tune-books on
which she could lay her hands, but in vain; and, as was Aunt Patty's
way, the more she could not find it, the more she seemed to want it.
Should she ask the children for it when they came home? To do so, would
be the same as confessing that she had done wrong, and that was the
hardest thing in the world for the proud old lady to do. But yes, she
would do it! Nay, more, she would no longer be outdone by a little
child in generosity and humility. She would tell the children that she
was sorry for her unkindness of the morning.
It did Aunt Patty no harm, but a great deal of good, that long
afternoon's musing in the silent house, where no patter of children's
feet, nor any sound of young voices was heard; for baby had gone to her
grandmamma, so that even her soft coo and joyous crow were missing for
some hours.