CHAPTER IV.
BECKY SLEEPER’S CHARITY.
“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy,” was a precept by nomeans religiously observed at the little brown house on the hill.Mrs. Sleeper had never been a regular attendant at divine service,even in her happiest days, and, since her peculiar misfortune, hadalmost entirely neglected the church. A part of the day was regularlyspent in poring over the letters of her husband, the effect of whichwas to set her weeping for the balance. The young people, left totheir own devices, amused themselves by pitching “quates” behind thehouse, playing tag in the barn, or by indulgence in other equallyindecorous sports endeavored to wear out the long day. Aunt Huldagenerally brought forth from their resting-place at the bottom of hertrunk “The Family Physician,” or “Every Woman her own Doctor,” twostandard works for the cure of all diseases, and faithfully consultingthem for remedies to meet her infirmities, or, from old habit, tookthe ponderous family Bible into her lap, and in its pages soughtconsolation, the Book of Job, however, being the portion which reallysoothed her perturbed spirit.
On the Sunday following the disaster on the hill, the afflictedspinster, in the sitting-room, was groaning over a treatise on cancer,in “The Family Physician,” that disease being the order of the day inher system of complaints. It was near the middle of the afternoon,and Becky, having exhausted the supply of out-door sports, was lyingupon the sofa, and, with a very dissatisfied look upon her face, waswatching Aunt Hulda. Teddy, who seldom lost sight of his sister, wasflattening his nose against the window-pane.
“Aunt Hulda,” said Becky, suddenly, “don’t you think Sunday is an awfullong day?”
“I do, by hokey!” blurted out Teddy. “Can’t get up no fun, nor nothin’.I’d like to go a fishin’ first rate; but jest as you git a nibble, longcomes some the meetin’-house folks, and begin to talk about breakin’the Sabbath. And that jest scares off all the fish.”
“And the fishermen, too, Teddy. My sakes, how you did run last Sundaywhen Deacon Hill caught you fishing down at the fore side!” said Becky,with a laugh.
“Plague take him! he jest marched off with my line and bait, too,”growled Teddy. “It’s none of his business, anyhow.”
“All days are long to a poor, afflicted creeter,” groaned Aunt Hulda.“But when I was a girl of your age, I did think Sunday was as longas six week-days beat into one; but then it’s the Lord’s day, and Is’pose, after all, we can make it long or short, just as we try to dowhat he wants us to.”
“Well, I’d like to know what he wants me to do, for I can’t find outany way to make it short. It’s just hateful, and I wish there wasn’tany such day,” replied Becky, turning restlessly about.
“Why, Rebecca Sleeper, how can you talk so? One of the things he wantsfolks to do is to go to meetin’ regular. You ought to know that wellenough.”
“Does he?” said Becky, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Seems tome, Aunt Hulda, you don’t mind very well.”
“Lor, child, I’m a poor, afflicted creeter. He don’t expect me to domuch but bear my troubles patiently; and I’m sure I do that,” said AuntHulda, forcing a look of resignation into her face.
“Don’t think much of goin’ to meetin’ anyhow,” said Teddy. “They alwayspokes us up in the gallery, and won’t let us go to sleep; and if oldFox, the sexton, ketches a feller firin’ spitballs, he jest whacks himon the head.”
“Then there are other ways to make the day short--readin’ the Bible andother good books.”
“Yes; ‘Family Physician,’ I s’pose,” said Teddy. “I jest wish I hadRobinson Crusoe: that’s a first rate one.”
“Then a goin’ to see sick folks, and carryin’ ’em little dainties, isanother; and that makes the day short, I tell you,” continued AuntHulda. “When I was a helpin’ Mrs. Lincoln, years and years ago, sheused to say to me Sunday afternoons, ‘Hulda, don’t you want to clap onyour bonnet and run over to the widder Starns with the basket?’ or,‘Hulda, don’t you want to carry this jelly round to Mr. Peters? He’sterrible sick.’ And I used to go and go, and never feel a bit tired,because it was charitable work; and Sundays used to go quicker thanweek-days, and I was glad when they come round again. Now there’spoor Mr. York, Silly York’s father; poor man, he’s most gone with theconsumption; now, if you only had a nice little bit of somethin’ goodto take over to him, you don’t know how good you would feel, and howthe time would fly! O, dear, if I was only strong and well! But what’sthe use of talkin’? Here I’ve got the rheumatics so I can’t walk, andthe neuralogy so I can’t sit still, and I’m afraid there’s a cancercomin’ on the end of my tongue, and then I can’t talk.”
Here Aunt Hulda ran out her tongue, and commenced exploring it with herfinger to find a small pimple which had made its appearance that day.Becky lay very quiet on the sofa, watching Aunt Hulda, who, after theexamination of her tongue, plunged into “The Family Physician” withanxious interest.
“Did she ever delight in doing good?” thought Becky, as she studiedAunt Hulda’s face with renewed interest. “Everybody calls her anuisance, and everybody laughs at her complaints. She take nice thingsto sick folks, and feel good in doing it! And she says this is theLord’s day--this long, weary day,--and can be made short and pleasantlike the other six! Why, she talks like a minister!”
Aunt Hulda was a new being in the girl’s eyes. She began to reverencethe afflicted spinster. She lay there so quiet that Teddy looked roundin astonishment. His sister had been lying perfectly still for fifteenminutes. Such an occurrence startled him.
“Becky, what’s the matter? Sick--hey?”
“No, Teddy,” replied Becky, startled in turn; “I’m thinking--that’sall.”
“Don’t do it. ’Twill make you sick--see if it don’t.”
“I guess not, Teddy,” replied Becky, jumping up. “I’m going into thekitchen.”
Teddy followed her as she left the room.
“Teddy,” said Becky, solemnly, after she had softly closed the kitchendoor behind them, “I expect we’re awful wicked.”
“Do you, though?” said Teddy, with staring eyes. “What for?”
“Because Sunday’s such a long day. Didn’t you hear what Aunt Huldasaid? It’s the Lord’s day, and we can make it short or long, just as wetry to do what he wants us to.”
“Well, what’s he want us to do?”
“To go to church, and not stay at home and pitch quates.”
“How are we goin’ to church without clo’es? My elbows are all out; so’smy knees. They’d send us home quick, I tell you.”
“I suppose they would,” replied Becky, thoughtfully. “Well, there’s onething we might do--carry something nice to sick folks.”
“We ain’t got nothin’ nice, and don’t know any sick folks,” repliedmatter-of-fact Teddy, who failed to see anything time-shortening inBecky’s project.
“We know Mr. York, who’s got the consumption.”
“Well, we might go and catch some fish and take to him--only I’ve lostmy line.”
“No; something better than that, Teddy. Now you run and get a basket. Iknow what to take.”
Teddy went into the wood-shed and soon returned with a very dilapidatedbasket.
“That will do nicely. Now let’s see what we can find to put into it,”said Becky, as she opened the door of the cupboard. “Here’s a bottle ofcurrant wine; I guess that’s good for consumption; we’ll take that.And here’s a jar of preserves; they always give them to sick folks;we’ll take that. And here’s a box of sardines. I don’t know about that.Well, we’ll take it, any way.”
“Why, Becky, these things are what Mrs. Thompson sent to Aunt Hulda,”said Teddy, a little alarmed at Becky’s proceedings.
“So they are;” and Becky wavered a moment. “No matter; she’ll send hersome more, I guess. Besides, Aunt Hulda won’t care, for we’re going todo good with them. There’s a pair of chickens, too; but I guess they’remost too hearty for sick folks. Now let’s be off.”
/> With the basket between them, they crept into the wood-shed, fromthere into a pasture behind the house, crossed that, climbed a fence,and struck into the Foxtown road. The Yorks lived upon this road, agood mile and a half from Mrs. Sleeper’s. The basket was a heavy,unwieldy affair, in which the “good things” bounced about in a veryunsatisfactory manner; and the couple “changed hands” many times beforethey reached their destination.
In answer to Becky’s knock, the door was opened by Mrs. York, a short,buxom woman with a very pleasant face.
“Becky Sleeper--of all things! What in the world brought you here? andwhat have you got there?”
“Thought we’d come over and bring something to Mr. York. He’ssick--ain’t he?” answered Becky.
“Why, you good little soul! Come right in; my poor man will be dreadfulglad to see you.”
Becky and Teddy accepted the cordial invitation, and were usheredinto the presence of the “poor man.” Mr. York was by no means so fargone as people imagined. True, there were about him symptoms of thedread disease which New England makes a specialty; but he was a verylazy man, and took advantage of any slight cold to house himself andbe nursed by his wife. Mrs. York was not an idle woman; she washed,ironed, and scrubbed in the neighborhood, when her husband worked athis trade; the moment he “felt bad” she dropped all outside labor, andgave her attention to him, magnifying his troubles by her sympathy,and thus making a “baby” of a man who was strong enough to support hisfamily, had he the inclination. Of course, in this state of affairs,there was no income, and the active charity of Cleverly had a loud callin that direction.
The room was neat and tidy; the “poor man” lay upon a sofa; two of thefive children with which this couple were blessed were playing aboutthe room; two were at church; the eldest, Silly, was in the next room,putting away her things, having just returned from Mrs. Thompson’s.
“Only think, father, here’s Becky and Teddy Sleeper come all the wayalone to bring you something nice. Of all things! Why, Becky, I thoughtyou didn’t care for anything but getting into scrapes and out again.You’ve got a good heart, any way--ain’t she father?”
Father raised himself on his elbow, with a faint “Yes, indeed,” andfastened his eyes on the basket, somewhat more interested in the goodthings than in the good heart.
“Empty your basket right on to the table, Becky. Did your mother send’em?”
“No; mother’s sick,” replied Becky, a little defiantly, for theallusion to scrapes had struck her as not exactly polite under thecircumstances. “No, Mrs. York; I thought I’d pick up something myself.Here’s a bottle of wine, a jar of preserves, and a box of sardines,”placing them upon the table. “If they will do Mr. York any good, you’rewelcome to them.”
“Why, they’re real nice, and we’re ever so much obliged to you, Becky.Where did you get them?”
Becky was silent a moment. She had not expected such a question, wasnot prepared to tell the truth, and would not lie, lying being aninfirmity which she detested; not, however, from any prompting of hermoral nature, but because she thought it a cowardly way of getting outof a scrape.
“Do you think it polite, Mrs. York, to ask so many questions whenpeople take the trouble to bring you things?” she said, at last, withan abused look in her eyes.
“No, I don’t, Becky,” replied Mrs. York, with a laugh. “It’s realmean, and I’ll say no more. You’re a dear, good girl, and you deservea better bringing up than you’re getting now. Here’s Silly,--Silly, dolook here; see what these dear children have brought your father--wine,preserves, sardines! Ain’t they kind?”
Silly stopped short in the doorway, and looked in astonishment first atthe table then at Becky.
“Wine, preserves, sardines! Becky Sleeper, where did you get thosethings?”
“It’s none of your business,” replied Becky. “I didn’t come here to beasked questions.”
“O, you didn’t!” sneered Silly. “I know where you got ’em: you stole’em!--Mother, they’re the very things Mrs. Thompson sent over to HuldaPrime yesterday afternoon; and I took ’em.”
“Land of liberty sakes! You don’t mean it!” cried Mrs. York, withuplifted hands.
“Now, you young ones, take them things right back!” cried Silly,stamping her foot and jerking her arms about in an extraordinary manner.
“I wouldn’t send them back, Silly,” said her father, with a faint hopeof retaining the delicacies, the sight of which had made his mouthwater. “Perhaps Hulda Prime sent ’em!”
“Hulda Prime, indeed! Ketch her parting with her things; she’s toomean. No; they shall go back, quick, too. What would Mrs. Thompson say?Don’t you feel mean, Becky Sleeper?”
From the color of Becky’s face it was evident she was not contentedwith the situation. As for Teddy, he was terrified, expecting everymoment the swinging arms of Silly would be attracted to the vicinity ofhis ears.
“Now, off with you,” continued Silly, tossing the articles into thebasket; “and don’t you ever show your faces here again. Purty capersyou cut up, Becky Sleeper,” picking up the basket. “Here, take hold ofit,” opening the door. “Now, start yourselves, quick, or I’ll know thereason why.”
Bang went the door, and the charitable party were in the road, with therejected offering still upon their hands. They stood a moment lookingat each other and the closed door behind them, Becky’s face crimsonwith shame, Teddy’s eyes, now that he was out of danger, blazing withanger.
“Well, well,” sputtered Teddy, “here’s a purty kettle of fish. Nicescrape you’ve got us in now, Becky Sleeper! You ought to know better.”
“Aunt Hulda said this was the Lord’s work,” answered Becky, meekly. “Iwas only trying to make the day short and pleasant.”
“Well, if it’s the Lord’s work, you’ve made a botch of it; and if hesent you here, he made a mistake in the house.”
“Don’t talk so, Teddy; it’s wicked.”
“It’s wickeder to have to lug that basket way round home again. Iwon’t do it. Let’s chuck it in the water.”
“No, no, Teddy; let’s take it home. I wouldn’t have believed Silly Yorkcould be so mean. Poor as they are, too!”
“I should think so! Folks don’t get sardines and currant wine everyday.”
“Come, let’s go the shortest way, Teddy.”
They took up the basket, and started homeward. The shortest way wasby the main street, and as they entered it they met the people comingfrom church. So, with down-cast faces, the disappointed almoners ranthe gantlet of wondering eyes, attracted by the uncommon sight of twopoorly-dressed youngsters lugging a heavy basket on Sunday.
For the first time in her life Becky was mortified at the condition inwhich she found herself. As she passed neatly-dressed girls of her ownage, and heard the laughter which they took no pains to suppress, herold, defiant manner failed to assert itself, and she hung her head inshame. To add to her humiliation, when they reached the church, CaptainThompson was standing on the steps talking with the sexton.
“Heavens and earth! What new caper’s this?” he shouted, making a dashat the culprits.
Becky, having her head down, had not seen the captain, but she heardhis voice and recognized it. She gave one startled look, dropped thebasket, and ran. Teddy was not slow in following her example. Thecaptain made a motion as if to follow them, but giving a thought to theday, and perhaps another to the steepness of the hill they were rapidlydescending, changed his mind, picked up the basket, and entered hishouse.
Becky and her accomplice made no stops until they reached home. Theydashed into the sitting-room, breathless and frightened.
“Massy sakes! do you want to take the house down?” cried Aunt Hulda.“What on airth’s the matter now?”
“Aunt Hulda, I don’t believe you know a thing about making Sunday shortand pleasant,” said Becky, indignantly. “I’ve tried it, and it’s justas hateful a way of having a good time as ever I saw.”
“Tried it! Tried what?” cried Au
nt Hulda.
“Carrying nice things to sick folks, and getting snubbed for yourpains,” said Becky.
“Yes, and gittin’ yer shins barked with plaguy big baskets,” addedTeddy.
“Carrying things! What have you carried? Where have you been?”
“Currant wine, preserves and sardines!” sputtered Teddy.
“Yes, to Mr. York; and got turned out of doors,” added Becky.
“Currant wine! Heavens and airth!” screamed Aunt Hulda, jumping up anddarting into the kitchen with an activity she seldom displayed.
She flew to the cupboard, gave one look, uttered a dismal groan, anddarted back to the sitting-room.
“You hateful young one, you’ve stolen my things! What do you mean?” shecried, seizing Becky by the shoulder, and shaking her. “Is that the wayyou rob a poor, afflicted creeter? What have you done with them? Whereare they?”
“Don’t care where they are! Wish they were at the bottom of the river!Quit shaking me!”
“Guess they’re safe, Aunt Hulda,” said Teddy, with a grin. “Cap’nThompson’s got ’em.”
“Cap’n Thompson!” gasped Aunt Hulda, staring at Teddy. In his handsshe felt they were indeed safe. It was too much. She dropped Becky,tottered to the sofa, and added a fit of hysterics to the catalogue ofher numerous ailments.
Running to Waste: The Story of a Tomboy Page 4
