I.
_JENNIE'S HOME._
"Morher," said little Jennie Richards, "isn't it 'most time for farherto be home?"
"Almost time, Jennie," answered Mrs. Richards, looking up from the faceof the baby upon her lap to the clock upon the mantel-piece. A verypale, tiny face it was; so tiny that Sergeant Richards used to say hehad to look twice to be sure there was any face there; and that of themother which bent above it was almost as pale,--sick, anxious, andworn; but it brightened, as she answered Jennie. "It is five minutesbefore six; he will be here very soon now."
Away ran Jennie to the corner, where stood a cane-seated rocking-chair,and after a good deal of pushing and pulling, succeeded in drawing itup in front of the stove; then to a closet, from which she brought apair of carpet slippers, which were placed before the chair.
"I wish I was big enough to reach farher's coat and put it over hischair, like you used to, morher."
"That will come by and by, Jennie."
"But long before I am so big, you'll be quite well, morher."
"I hope so, dear, if God pleases. It's a long, long while to sit herehelpless, able to do nothing but tend poor baby, and see my dear littledaughter at the work her mother ought to do."
"Oh, morher, just as if I did not like to work! I don't like 'e reasonwhy I have to do it, but it's right nice to work for you and farher.And I wouldn't like to be lazy, so I hope I will always have plenty todo."
"Dear child," said Mrs. Richards, with a sigh, "you're like enough tosee that wish granted."
"'At's good," said Jennie, cheerfully, taking her mother's words inquite a different spirit from that in which they were spoken; "it's sonice to be busy."
And indeed it would appear that this small maiden--small even for hersix years--did think so; for as she talked she was trotting about theroom, busying herself with arranging half a dozen trifles, which herquick eye spied out, and which, according to her way of thinking,were not just in proper order. First, the hearth, on which no spotor speck was to be seen, must be brushed up anew; next, the cornerof the table-cloth was to be twitched into place, and a knife laidmore exactly into straight line; then a ball, belonging to one of theyounger children, was picked up and put in the toy-basket, with thereminder to little Tommy that father was coming, and the room must bekept in good order. One would have thought it was already as neat ashands could make it. Plain enough it was, certainly, but thoroughlycomfortable. The carpet, though somewhat worn, and pieced in more thanone place, was well swept and tidy, and the stove and the kettle whichsang merrily upon its top were polished till they shone. The table inthe centre of the room was ready set for tea, and, though it held nosilver or cut glass, the most dainty lady or gentleman in the land neednot have hesitated to take a meal from its white cloth and spotlessdelf ware. The only pieces of furniture which looked as if they hadever cost much were a large mahogany table with carved feet, whichstood between the windows, and a bookcase of the same wood at the sideof the fireplace; but both of these were old-fashioned, and althoughthey might be worth much to their owners, would have brought little ifoffered for sale. Not a speck of dust, however, was to be seen uponthem or the rest of the furniture, which was of stained pine; while atthe side of Mrs. Richards' arm-chair stood the baby's wicker cradle,covered with a gay patchwork spread. And that tiny quilt was the prideand delight of Jennie's heart; for had she not put it all togetherwith her own small fingers? after which, good Mrs. Granby, who livedup-stairs, had quilted and lined it for her.
On the other side of the mother, sat, in a low chair, a boy about nineyears old. His hands were folded helplessly together, and his pale facewore a sad, patient, waiting look, as if something were coming uponhim which he knew he must bear without a struggle. One looking closerinto his eyes might notice a dull film overspreading them, for WillieRichards was nearly blind, would be quite blind in a few weeks, thedoctors said.
Between Jennie and the baby came three little boys, sturdy, healthychildren, always clamoring for bread and butter, and frequent callsfor bread and butter were becoming a serious matter in the policeman'shousehold; for provisions were high, and it was not as easy to feedeight mouths as it had been to feed four. This year, too, there hadbeen severe sickness in the family, bringing great expenses withit, and how the wants of the coming winter were to be provided for,Sergeant Richards could hardly tell.
With the early spring had come scarlet fever. The younger children hadgone through it lightly, Jennie escaping altogether; but poor Williehad been nigh to death, and the terrible disease had left its mark inthe blindness which was creeping upon him. Then, watching her boy atnight, Mrs. Richards had taken cold which had settled in her limbs, andall through the summer months she had lain helpless, unable even tolift her hand. And what a faithful little nurse Jennie had been to her!Then two months ago the baby sister was born, whose coming Jennie hadhailed with such delight, but whose short life had so far been all painand suffering.
The mother was better now, able to sit all day in the cushioned chair,where the strong arms of her husband would place her in the morning.But there she remained a prisoner, unable to move a step or even tostand, though she could so far use her hands as to tend her baby. ButMrs. Richards had not felt quite discouraged until to-day. Now a freshtrouble had come, and she felt as if it were the last drop in the cupalready too full.
The children knew nothing of this, however, and if mother's face wassadder than usual, they thought it was the old racking pain in herbones. The three little boys were at the window, their chubby facespressed against the glass, peering out into the darkness for the firstglimpse of father. His duty had kept him from home all day, and wifeand children were more than usually impatient for his coming.
It was a small, two-story, wooden house, standing back from the street,with a courtyard in front, in the corner of which grew an old butternuttree. It bore but few nuts in these latter days, to be sure, but itgave a fine shade in the summer, and the young occupants of the housetook great pride and comfort in it. The branches were almost bare now,however, and the wind, which now and then came sighing up the street,would strip off some of the leaves which still remained, and scatterthem over the porch or fling them against the window.
"You couldn't do wi'out me very well; could you, morher?" said Jennie,as she straightened the corner of the rug, "even if good Mrs. Granbydoes come and do all the washing and hard work."
"Indeed, I could not," answered Mrs. Richards. "My Jennie has beenhands and feet to her mother for the last six months."
"And now she's eyes to Willie," said the blind boy.
"And eyes to Willie," repeated his mother, tenderly laying her hand onhis head.
"And tongue to Tommy," added Willie, with a smile.
Jennie laughed merrily; but as she was about to answer, the click ofthe gate was heard, and with shouts of "He's coming!" from Charlie,"Poppy, poppy!" from the younger boy, and a confused jargon from Tommy,which no one but Jennie could understand, the whole three tumbled downfrom the window and rushed to the door. A moment later it opened, and atall, straight figure in a policeman's uniform appeared.
"Halloa, you chaps!" said a cheery voice. "Suppose two or three dozenof you get out of the way and let me shut the door; it won't do to keepa draught on mother."
He contrived to close the door, but as for getting farther with threepair of fat arms clasping his legs, that was quite impossible. Thefather laughed, threw his cap upon a chair, and catching up first oneand then another of his captors, tossed them by turns in the air, gaveeach a hearty kiss, and set him on his feet again.
"There, gentlemen, now let me get to mother, if you please. Well, Mary,how has it gone to-day? Poorly, eh?" as he saw that in spite of thesmile which welcomed him, her cheek was paler and her eye sadder thanthey had been when he left her in the morning.
"The pain is no worse, dear,--rather better maybe," she answered; buther lip quivered as she spoke.
"Then that monstrous baby of yours has been worrying you. I
am justgoing to sell her to the first man who will give sixpence for her."
"No, no, no!" rose from a chorus of young voices, with, "She didn'tworry scarcely any to-day, farher," from Jennie, as she lifted her facefor his kiss.
Willie's turn came next, as rising from his chair with his handoutstretched, he made a step forward and reached his father's side.One eye was quite dark, but through the thick mist which was over theother, he could faintly distinguish the tall, square figure, though,except for the voice and the sounds of welcome, he could not have toldif it were his father or a stranger standing there.
Then began the grand amusement of the evening. Mr. Richards pulled downthe covering of the cradle, turned over the pillow, looked under thetable, peeped into the sugar-bowl, pepper-pot, and stove, and at lastpretended to be much astonished to discover the baby upon its mother'slap, after which the hunt was carried on in search of a place bigenough to kiss. This performance was gone through with every night, butnever lost its relish, being always considered a capital joke, and wasreceived with shouts of laughter and great clapping of hands.
"Father," said Jennie, when Mr. Richards was seated in therocking-chair, with a boy on each knee, "we have a great surprise foryour supper to-night."
If Jennie did not resemble her father in size, she certainly did infeature. In both there were the same clear, honest gray eyes, the samecrisp, short curls, the same ruddy cheeks and full red lips, the samelook of kindly good-nature, with something of a spirit of fun andmischief sparkling through it.
"You have; have you?" he answered. "Well, I suppose you know it takesa deal to surprise a member of police. We see too many queer folks andqueer doings to be easy surprised. If you were to tell me you weregoing to turn a bad, lazy girl, I might be surprised, but I don't knowas much short of that would do it."
Jennie shook her head with a very knowing look at her mother, and justthen the door opened again and a head was put within.
"Oh, you're home, be you, Sergeant Richards?" said the owner of thehead. "All right; your supper will be ready in a jiffy. Come along,Jennie."
With this the head disappeared, and Jennie, obeying orders, followed.In five minutes they both returned, the head this time bringing therest of the person with it, carrying a tray. Jennie held in her handsa covered dish, which she set upon the edge of the table with an airof great triumph. She was not tall enough to put it in the proper spotbefore her father's place; but she would by no means suffer him to helpher, although he offered to do so. No, it must wait till Mrs. Granbyhad emptied the tray, and could take it from her hands.
What the policeman's family would have done at this time without Mrs.Granby would be hard to tell. Although a neighbor, she had been almosta stranger to them till the time of Willie's illness, when she had comein to assist in the nursing. From that day she had been a kind andfaithful friend. She was a seamstress, and went out to work by the day;but night and morning she came in to see Mrs. Richards and do what shecould to help her, until one evening she had asked Mr. Richards if shemight have a talk with him. The policeman said, "Certainly," though hewas rather surprised, for Mrs. Granby generally talked without waitingfor permission.
"I guess things ain't going just right with you; be they, SergeantRichards?" she began.
Richards shook his head sadly. "I suppose if it wasn't right, itwouldn't be, Mrs. Granby; but it's hard to think it with Mary lyingthere, bound hand and foot, my boy growing blind, and the poor littlebaby more dead than alive; with me away the best part of the day, andnobody but that green Irish girl to do a hand's turn for them all,unless yourself or some other kind body looks in. Jennie's a wonderfulsmart child, to be sure; but there's another sore cross, to see herworking her young life out, when she ought to be thinking of nothingbut her play. And then, how we're going to make both ends meet thisyear, I don't know."
"So I thought," answered Mrs. Granby; "and it's the same with me aboutthe ends meetin'. Now just supposin' we helped one another along a bit.You see they've raised my rent on me, and I can't afford it no way;besides that, my eyes is givin' out,--won't stand sewin' all day likethey used to; so I'm not goin' out by the day no more, but just goin'to take in a bit of work and do it as I can. That Biddy of yours ain'tno good,--a dirty thing that's as like as not to sweep with the wrongend of the broom, and to carry the baby with its head down and heelsup. She just worries your wife's life out; and every time she goeslumberin' over the floor, Mary is ready to screech with the jar. Nowyou just send her packin', give me the little room up-stairs rent freefor this winter, and the use of your fire for my bits of meals, andI'll do all she does and more too,--washin', scrubbin', cookin', andnussin'. You won't have no wages to pay, and though they mayn't cometo much, every little tells; and Mary and the babies will be a sightmore comfortable, and you, too, maybe, if I oughtn't to say it. You'rejust right, too, about Jennie. It goes to my heart to see her begin toput her hand to everything; she's more willin' than she's able. Pityeverybody wasn't the same; it would make another sort of a world, Iguess. What do you say to it? Will it do?"
Do! The policeman thought so indeed, and was only too thankful. But itwas a one-sided kind of a bargain, he said, all on their side, and Mrs.Granby must take some pay for her services.
This she refused; she was not going to give them all her time, onlypart of it, and the room rent free was pay enough. But at last sheconsented to take her meals with them, though somehow she contrived toadd more to the rather slender table than she took from it. Now shehad a chicken or tender steak for Mrs. Richards, "it was so cheap shecouldn't help buying it, and she had a fancy for a bit herself," but itwas always a very small bit that satisfied her; now a few cakes for thechildren, now a pound of extra nice tea or coffee. "Sergeant Richardsneeded something good and hot when he came in from duty, and he nevertook nothin' stronger, so he ought to have it."
From the time that she came to them, Mrs. Richards began to improve;there was no longer any need to worry over her disorderly house,neglected children, or the loss of comfort to her husband. The babyceased its endless wailing, and with Jennie to keep things trim afterthey had once been put in order, the whole household put on its oldair of cosy neatness. Truly she had proved "a friend in need," thischeerful, bustling, kind-hearted little woman.
"Now you may uncover the dish, farher," said Jennie, as having broughta little stand and placed it at her mother's side, she led Willie tothe table.
Mr. Richards did so. "Broiled ham and eggs!" he exclaimed. "Why, thebreath is 'most taken out of me! I know where the ham came from wellenough, for I bought it myself, but I'd like to know who has beenbuying fresh eggs at eight cents apiece."
"No, Sergeant Richards, you needn't look at me that way," said Mrs.Granby, holding up the tea-pot in one hand; "I ain't been doin' nosuch expenses. I brought them home, to be sure; but they was a present,not to me neither, but to your wife here. Here's another of 'em forher, boiled to a turn too. Fried eggs ain't good for sick folks.'Twasn't my doin' that you got some with your ham neither; I wanted tokeep 'em for her eatin', but she said you was so fond of 'em, and shecoaxed me into it. She does set such a heap by you, she thinks nothin'ain't too good for you. Not that I blame her. I often says there ain'ta better husband and father to be found than Sergeant Richards, lookthe city through; and you do deserve the best, that's a fact, if itwas gold and diamonds; not that you wouldn't have a better use forthem than to eat 'em; diamonds fetches a heap, they tell me, but neverhavin' had none of my own, I can't rightly tell of my own showin'.Come, eat while it's hot. I'll see to your wife. No, thank you, nonefor me. I couldn't eat a mouthful if you was to pay me for it. Don'tgive the little ones none, 'taint good for 'em goin' to bed. Jenniemight have a bit, she's been stirrin' round so all day, and Willie,too, dear boy." Mrs. Granby's voice always took a tenderer tone whenshe spoke of Willie. "Well, I'll just tell you how I come by them eggs.This afternoon I took home some work to an old lady, a new customerMrs. Howard recommended me to. When I was let in, there she stood inthe hall, talki
n' to a woman what had been sellin' fresh eggs to her.There they was, two or three dozen of 'em, piled up, lookin' so freshand white and nice, enough to make your mouth water when you lookedat 'em and thought what a deal of nourishment was in 'em. So when thelady was through with the woman, says I, 'If you'll excuse the liberty,ma'am, in your house and your presence, I'd just like to take a coupleof eggs from this woman before she goes.'
"'Certainly,' says the lady, but the woman says, 'I can't spare nomore, there's only a dozen left, and I've promised them to anotherlady;' and off she goes. Well, me and the old lady settles about thework, and she tells me she'll have more in a month's time, and then shesays, 'You was disappointed about the eggs?'
"'Yes, ma'am,' says I.
"So, thinkin', I s'pose, 'twasn't for a poor seamstress like me to beso extravagant, she says, 'Eggs are high this season,--eight centsapiece.'
"I didn't want to be settin' myself up, but I wasn't goin' to have hertake no false notions about me, so I says, 'Yes, ma'am, but when abody's sick, and ain't no appetite to eat only what one forces one'sself to, I don't think it no sin to spend a bit for a nice nourishin'mouthful.'
"And she says, very gentle, 'Are you sick?'
"'Not I, ma'am,' says I, 'but a friend of mine. Bad with the rheumaticsthese six months, and she's a mite of an ailin' baby, and don't fancynothin' to eat unless it's somethin' delicate and fancy, so I justtook a notion I'd get a couple of them eggs for her.'
"And she says, 'I see you have a basket there, just let me give youhalf a dozen of these for your friend.' I never thought of such athing, and I was took all aback, and I said would she please take itout of the work. I couldn't think of takin' it in the way of charity,and she says, 'If I were ill, and you had any little dainty you thoughtI might like, would you think it charity to offer it to me?'
"'No, ma'am,' says I; 'but then there's a difference.'
"'I see none in that way,' she said; 'we are all God's children. Toone he gives more than to another, but he means that we shall helpeach other as we find opportunity, and I wish you to take this littlegift for your friend as readily as you would offer it to me if I werein like need.' Now wasn't that pretty? A real lady, every inch of her.And with her own hands she laid half a dozen eggs in the basket. Shewas askin' some more questions about my sick friend, when somebodypulls the door-bell as furious, and when it was opened, there was aservant-gal lookin' as scared as anything, and she tells the old ladyher little granddaughter was lost, and couldn't be found nowhere, andwas she here, and did they know anything about her? Well, they didn'tknow nothin', and the old lady said she'd be round right away, andshe herself looked scared ready to drop, and I see she hadn't no morethought for me nor my belongin's, nor couldn't be expected to, so Ijust takes my leave. And when I come home and shows Mary the eggs,nothin' would do but you must have a couple cooked with your ham forsupper."
All the time Mrs. Granby had been telling her story, she was pouringout tea, waiting on Mrs. Richards, spreading bread and butter for thechildren, and now having talked herself out of breath, she paused. Atthe last part of the story, the police-sergeant laid down his knife andfork, and looked up at her.
"What is your lady's name?" he asked.
"Mrs. Stanton," answered Mrs. Granby.
"And who is the child that was lost?"
"I don't know, only a granddaughter; I don't know if it's the samename. Why, have you seen the child?"
"I can't tell if it's the same," answered Richards, "but I've got astory for you to-night. I have been thinking all the afternoon I had atreat for Jennie."
"Is it a duty story, farher?" asked his little daughter.
"Yes, it is a duty story."
"Oh, that's good!"
Whenever her father had a story to tell of anything which had happenedto him during his daily duties, Jennie always called it a "duty story,"and she was very eager for such anecdotes.
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Bessie and Her Friends Page 2
