CHAPTER IV.
MOSE.
Hesper was quite at a loss what to do, when she came to the great door of the Rolling Mill. The dress of the workmen—the red light shining on their faces—the dazzling brightness from the furnaces, and the deep, gloomy blackness of the more remote parts of the building, all appeared so wild and strange, that she dared not enter. Every few moments the doors of the furnaces would be raised, and a large, glowing mass of red hot iron taken out, which was drawn quickly between rollers of various sizes. Great showers of sparks flew in all directions, and the voices of the workmen had a strange, unnatural sound as they shouted to one another amid the roar and din of the ponderous machinery. Hesper quite despaired of ever finding Mose amid all this confusion, and she longed to see some one of whom she could inquire.
“What’s that, over in the corner yonder?” said one of the workmen to another, pointing towards Hesper.
“Well,” said his companion, after a moment’s pause, “I am not quite certain, but if it wasn’t so late, I should take it to be a little girl.”
“Some stray child, I suppose,” said the first—“I’ll go speak to her.”
“Do you wish for anything, my little maid?” he asked kindly.
“Please, sir,” said Hesper, curtseying, “can you tell me where my brother, Moses Greyson is?”
“I will see,” he replied, and he went to Mr. Brown, the overseer.
“Follow me, my little lady,” said Mr. Brown, “and I will point him out to you. The poor fellow was pretty well tired, and I told him he had better rest awhile.”
They went out of the mill, and passed along the borders of the stream, by which the machinery was turned.
“There he is, yonder,” said Mr. Brown, and as Hesper looked in the direction in which he pointed, she saw Mose sitting upon a log near the mill-dam. She thanked Mr. Brown as he left her, and then stole up softly behind her brother. He had an old coat thrown over his shoulders—his elbows rested upon his knees, and his face was covered with his hands.
“Poor fellow,” thought Hesper, “how tired and hungry he must be!” She gathered up her great shawl, and then clasped her arm closely about his neck.
“What are you thinking about, Mose?” she said cheerfully, as she laid her warm cheek against his.
“Why Hesper!” he exclaimed, in perfect astonishment, “in the name of all that is wonderful how came you here.”
“To bring you some supper, Mose,” she replied, as she displayed her little tin pail, and roll of bread and meat.
“That is just like you,” said Mose. “You are the most thoughtful girl in the world.” There was such a choking sensation in his throat, he could not say another word. If he hadn’t been a great boy he would have cried outright. A few moments before, he was feeling perfectly wretched for he thought that everybody in the world had forgotten him. But even then, that dear, good girl, was trudging all alone over the hills, to bring him some supper, and now was sitting upon the log beside him, with her sweet little face close to his. “Who wouldn’t love such a sister,” he thought, and he longed to say so, but just then he dared not trust his voice to speak.
“Do eat it now,” said Hesper, “and drink the tea while it is hot, it will do you so much good.”
He did not wait for a second invitation, but ate and drank with a good relish, for he was faint with hunger.
“There,” he said, as he swallowed the last morsel, “that has done my very heart good, and I cannot tell you how much better I feel than I did ten minutes ago. I am glad you came just as you did, Hesper, for I was thinking that if I should jump into the stream here, all my troubles would soon be over, and I should rest forever.”
“O Mose! Mose! what a dreadful thing!” exclaimed Hesper.
“Well,” he said, laughing, “I didn’t really mean to. I was only thinking about it. But I don’t feel so now. I want to talk to you, Hesper, now that I have the chance—I long to lay open my whole heart to you, but I am afraid you will think me very selfish if I do.”
“No, no Mose,” said Hesper, “I can never think that of you, for when I have seen you so good and patient, it has given me greater courage to persevere. You seem nearer to me, Mose, than any of the others, because you and I have a great many hard things to bear. But aunt Nyna tells me that if we are patient, we shall be all the stronger and better for it when we grow older, and I believe it, for she has met with a great many sorrows in life, and yet there is no one more cheerful.”
“Well,” said Mose proudly, “if a little girl like you has so much courage, I am sure I ought to, but when I see the advantages that other boys possess I can’t help longing for something better. I want to know more—I want to see more of the world, and I want to earn money enough to make us all comfortable, for it is killing me to drudge along so day after day, merely to get food and clothing, and not have one moment for thought or enjoyment. Hesper, it is too hard, though I never said so before.”
“I wish I knew what you could do,” said Hesper, sorrowfully. He drew an old book from his pocket. It looked very much worn and tumbled. The covers were loose, and the leaves soiled and torn down at the corners. It was the old Geography he had formerly studied in school.
“Look here,” he continued, “every moment of my leisure time I have spent over this old book, until I can repeat almost the whole of it. Now, Hesper, if I could only go to sea, I could do all I wish. I long to be away on the broad ocean, where I can grow strong and healthy. I think of it all day and dream of it at night. Sometimes, when I have done work, I have gone away by myself far along the beach, where the waves came rolling in from the open sea. There I have seen the great merchant ships pass by with their sails all set, and their flags streaming in the breeze. I have watched them till they have been lost, quite lost in the distance, and then, as I have thought of the different ports to which they were bound, of the wonderful cities and strange people they visited, I have indulged in so many useless longings, that sometimes I have wept like a child. O, Hesper! if it were only possible!” Hesper was astonished, for she had never heard Mose say so much before. But he had quite taken her heart into his own, and now she felt there was nothing in the world so desirable as that Mose should go to sea. She did not once think of the sad loss it would be to the family, or of her own loneliness. It was enough that he wanted to go, and she felt that he must.
“I believe it is possible,” she said with the utmost confidence, though she was sure she couldn’t tell why. Mose shook his head sorrowfully—“I don’t see how, said he—father is not strong as he used to be—mother is sick, and Fred and Charlie are too young to do anything useful. I feel that I must stay at home, though I should die at my post. Besides, there is no one to help me.”
Hesper was silent, but her heart was full of sympathy. She glanced down at the foam-covered stream as it fell over the dam and dashed boldly over every obstacle. Then she raised her eyes to the cloudless heavens, where the stars were shining brightly and the full moon looked kindly down upon her.
“God will help us,” she said earnestly. Mose looked steadily in her face, and then as he, too, glanced upward, the same feeling of hopefulness and child-like confidence in the fatherly care of God came over him.
“Yes, God will help us,” he responded, “and we will trust in Him.”
That was enough—their hearts were at rest. Had they been older, the doubts and skepticism which often come with riper years, might have intervened to dim the brightness of their cheerful faith; but as it was, their child-like hearts leaned with unwavering confidence upon this great staff of hope, in the full assurance that it would not fail them.
“Good night,” whispered Hesper, as she held up her cheek for a parting kiss.
“Good night,” replied Mose, as he gave it, and the next moment she was gone.
CHAPTER V.
THE GREYSONS AND GRIMSBYS.
The Greysons lived in a long, low, double house, situated near the seashore, with nothing around it to render it attractive or agreeable. The other part was occupied by a family named Grimsby. The father was in California, and the mother went out washing. She was exceedingly sensitive on this point, however, and was so much afraid the neighbors would think less of her on account of it, that she never missed an opportunity of telling them they were no better than herself—that every cent she had, she earned honestly, and that was what everybody couldn’t say. Some were foolish enough to reply, but they usually suffered for it, as Mrs. Grimsby’s tongue was the terror of the whole neighborhood. She was quite sure, she said, that the time would come when she should be able to look down on those who despised her now, and make them feel it an honor to have their children associate with hers.
Juliana, the oldest of the family, was a great, slovenly girl—idle and disagreeable. Her long, black hair, of which she had a great profusion, was always in a heap, her dress torn and dirty, her stockings out at the heels, and to finish her appearance, she wore a pair of her mother’s shoes which were much too large for her. It was very easy to tell at what time Juliana arose in the morning, for the great shoes could be heard clattering down the stairs and shuffling through the entry. Then too, the quarrelling was louder, the baby cried oftener, and Mrs. Grimsby scolded at the top of her voice.
There were also two boys in this family, George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, who were a little older than Fred and Charlie Greyson. Their mother said they would prove themselves worthy of their name, for two such boys couldn’t be found anywhere, and in this last particular the neighbors perfectly agreed with her. As there was no public school within several miles, Hesper’s two brothers were obliged to remain at home, and as might have been expected of two little fellows, six and eight years of age, having nothing particular to do, they were very restless and uneasy. Their father had no time to attend to them, their mother was sick, and Hesper was always so busy that it was quite impossible for her either to amuse or instruct them. Accordingly they spent the greater part of their time in the back-yard where they kept a pair of beautiful white rabbits, which they had named Billy and Bunny. There was also a pigstye on their side of the yard, and in it a pig, so small and black that the children called him Coaly, and made quite a pet of him. Coaly was a knowing pig, and even Mose and Hesper liked occasionally to make him a visit.
The opposite side of the yard belonged to the Grimsbys. George kept ducks and Benny had a goat. There was but little grass for the poor creature to subsist upon, for the yard was small, and at all seasons there was always a large pile of wood or chips lying there, besides which, the boys had scooped out a broad, deep hole, to make a duck pond. Mrs. Grimsby threw all her slops and broken victuals into the yard, and when she washed at home she hung her clothes there. This was always sure to end in a great quarrel with the boys, who complained that she never minded where she went, but upset everything and spoiled all they did, just as though nobody had a right there but herself.
Directly across the middle of the yard, forming a line of division between the two families, was planted a double row of sun-flowers, which had grown up very tall and close. This had been done by the young Grimsbys who were extremely jealous of the Greysons, and had often accused them of stealing. Even their mother had thrown out broad hints at times, to Hesper, about missing her wood and chips, which almost broke the poor girl’s heart, and roused her father’s indignation to the highest pitch. It so happened at one time, that she came in to make a complaint when Mr. Greyson was at home. She had scarcely commenced however, when to the great terror of the children, their father rose up, and with a look and tone that could not be mistaken, he commanded her to take herself out of his premises directly, or he would assist her in a way that might not be very pleasing. Mrs. Grimsby did not wait to finish her sentence, but beat a hasty retreat, and never ventured in again unless fully assured of the enemy’s absence.
The yard, however, was the great scene of action. Notwithstanding all Hesper’s persuasions and entreaties, Fred and Charlie would resent every injury, and sometimes provoke assaults. In fact the Greysons and Grimsbys were continually at war. Fred was a high-spirited boy, and it was entirely useless for Hesper to reason with him.
“You wouldn’t talk so about it, if it was yourself,” he would answer. “If they let out our rabbits, we will untie their goat, and if they worry Coaly we will let off their duck pond.”
Through that palisade of sun-flower stalks many a word of defiance was spoken which received an oyster shell for a reply, and many a challenge was given which ended in a desperate conflict. The Grimsbys being the oldest, were usually triumphant, and the Greysons would come off with scratched faces and bloody noses. When Hesper wept and their sick mother rose from her pillow to entreat and reason with them, as she only knew how to do, they would promise that they would try to do better; but at the next outbreak Fred’s excuse would be, “mother, I did try, but I couldn’t help it.”
This was the greatest trial of Hesper’s life. She would send them into the yard to get them out of the way, and would often have to bring them back again, to keep them out of trouble. At last she appealed to her father.
“Let them fight their own battles,” he said. “If our boys get beaten it will teach them a good lesson, but if they beat the Grimsbys, they will keep on their own premises.”
What could she do? her heart ached and her tears flowed freely, but she said no more. Poor children! they little thought how cruel it was to grieve so good a sister.
There was one other member of the Grimsby family, towards whom Hesper’s whole heart went out in one great flood of affection. This was little Tommy—an infant not a year old. There was something in his little innocent face and soft dark eyes, which appealed to her warmest sympathies. He was a neglected child, and therefore was often troublesome. His mother, with her daily employment, could not attend to him, and Juliana would not. Before his mother came home from work, he would get tired and hungry, and would scream with all his might. Juliana, by scolding, and shaking, and by various other unreasonable methods, endeavored to still him, but finding it useless, she would tumble him into his cradle or lay him down in the entry and run away up stairs. She well knew that if she did this Hesper would take care of him, for she never could bear to hear him cry. Little Johnny, too, was very fond of him, and they would play together for hours. It was very interesting to see how the poor simple child and the feeble infant loved one another.
“They are very much alike,” Mrs. Greyson would say, as she watched them. “One is an infant in mind, and the other in body. God help my poor boy! He will never know what it is to grow in knowledge and wisdom, till he is born unto a better life.” There was one person, however, who did not agree with her in this, and that one was Mr. Byers. He lived in an old tenant house, not far from the Greysons, where he occupied two rooms by himself, and did his own house work. He supported himself by doing light work, in the way of gardening and other odd jobs, as people chose to employ him, and at night he wrote little facetious articles or short sermons for the daily papers, which were usually very acceptable. He had taken a great fancy to simple Johnny, for he said there was more in that child than people imagined, and if the poor innocent could only put his silent thoughts into words, he would say some things that would astonish the world. Often when he was at work in the fields, simple Johnny would come to visit him, holding a corn-basket over his head as a protection from the sun, for the singular child had taken a great dislike to wearing a hat. Mr. Byers would help him through the fence with his basket, and provide him a seat on some old log or a large stone. Then he would go about his work again, while the child watched his progress with silent interest. Now and then the good old man would stop to gather a few berries or wild flowers for his little friend, or sing him a merry old song, with which the child seemed to be particularly delighted.
Mr. Byers was very fond of children generally, and nothing delighted him more than, after his day’s work was over, to wander along the seashore with a whole troop of little ones around him, joining in their sports, or telling them stories of such a marvellous and amusing character, that the children always listened with the deepest interest. At such times he usually carried Mrs. Grimsby’s baby in his arms, for he took a particular fancy to infants, and truly speaking, if nature had gifted Mr. Byers with another pair of arms, he would certainly have borrowed another baby, for he held to the maxim, that “the more of a good thing the better.” Simple Johnny clung to the skirt of his coat, and the rest of the company followed promiscuously, as they pleased.
In his presence alone could the young Greysons and Grimsbys remain for any length of time, upon amicable terms, and if any disagreement did occur, which could not be settled by moral suasion, he had such a summary manner of seizing the offender by the convenient parts of his garments, and threatening him with a dip in the water, that they were very careful not to provoke his indignation. George Grimsby, however, being usually the largest boy of the party, had the audacity to question in his mind whether this threat would ever be put into execution. Accordingly, one night, he waxed so bold that in his play he threw Fred Greyson’s cap into the water and tumbled Johnny into a mud-hole. Quick as thought Mr. Byers laid the baby upon a heap of sea weed, and seizing George by the collar, sprang upon a big rock near by, with wonderful agility. In he plunged him at once, and, to use familiar terms, he soused him up and down and swaddled him about like a big dish cloth. Then, standing him upon his feet, and giving him a smart shaking to start the circulation again, he ordered him off home in such a decided manner that George obeyed without a moment’s hesitation. Mr. Byers was greatly exhausted with this performance, nevertheless he reflected upon it with great satisfaction. Out of this, however, grew a long continued feud between the worthy gentleman and Mrs. Grimsby, to which time alone was able to afford the least modification.
CHAPTER VI.
AUNT BETSEY.
Aunt Betsey was sister to Hesper’s father. Her husband was comfortably situated, and they had no children. They lived in a large, old-fashioned house, where everything was convenient, and there was no one to trouble them. She was one of the most precise, prudent, pains-taking women in the world, and was also very peculiar. Every part of her house was as neat as possible, and she never allowed any one, not even her husband, to change the place of a single thing. On the floor of her sitting room was a handsome, home-made carpet, of aunt Betsey’s own manufacture. The hearth rug, also, was her handiwork, and from its originality, is worthy of particular description. The pattern was a great yellow flower-pot, containing a huge bouquet on a dark ground. In the centre of the flowers was a monstrous white rose, and around it a profusion of leaves, buds and blossoms, among which might also be seen a bird, a butterfly, and a bunch of cherries. She was very proud of this, first, because she had planned and made it all herself; and second, because it had won a prize at an Industrial Exhibition, several years previous.
In this room, directly across the wall overhead, was a great wooden beam, such as is often seen in old-fashioned houses. In this beam was inserted a stout iron hook, and upon this hook hung a large cage, containing several canaries. The reason why this cage was placed so high, was because aunt Betsey was also very fond of cats, and kept quite a number. She allowed them to sleep on her rug, to chase each other about the room and frolic over the tables and chairs just as they pleased; but when some of them came bounce into her work basket and upset everything, she would scold in good earnest. Besides her birds and cats she also kept a great many flowers, and her plants were the admiration of the whole village. On account of the leaves and dirt she kept them all in her kitchen. The windows were towards the south, and in the winter she kept a fire burning all night, lest they should freeze. Her flower-stand was constructed in the form of a pyramid, each shelf being filled with rare plants, while upon the very top was a splendid cactus in full bloom. People said that aunt Betsey had nothing to do but to make herself comfortable and happy, but she thought quite differently. What with her birds, cats, flowers and housework, she was always busy. All the time she could spare from these she devoted to fancy needle-work, which consisted of bead-bags and purses, needle-books and pin-cushions, lamp-mats and embroidery. She was also engaged upon a satin bed-quilt, which had occupied her at intervals for several years. It was made from bits of satin, cut into a diamond shape, not more than an inch across; these were basted upon paper, and then the edge of a sufficient number sewed together in the form of a star. There were stars of all colors, filled in between with others of black satin. Even to aunt Betsey this seemed an almost endless undertaking, but she was determined to persevere, for she was quite sure that when it was completed it would win the first prize at the Exhibition.
One morning, as she sat by her open window, busily engaged in matching her stars together, she chanced to see aunt Nyna coming up the street, leading simple Johnny, who, as usual, carried Fido under his arm, while Bose followed behind.
“Good morning,” she said, as they came near, “What’s the news?”
“Good morning,” replied aunt Nyna, “I have just been down to see thy brother, and find him much worse.”
“Worse! why, what’s the matter?”
“Why, two or three days since, he hurt his foot very badly, and I suppose he went out again too soon, for he has worried it into such a state that now he is quite sick.”
“Mercy me! Do tell!” said aunt Betsey. “Well they are always in trouble. Almost every day I drop in there, just by way of encouragement and to tell them how things ought to go, but of late I have been so busy with my bed-quilt I haven’t had time for anything else. Well, I suppose that now I must go or they will think hard of me.”
“So I would for poor Hesper’s sake,” said aunt Nyna. “She has just as much as she can attend to, and it is hard work where there is so much to do and nothing to do with. I am taking Johnny home with me to keep him awhile, and if thou wouldst just take the other two boys a few days, it would be a great help to Hesper.”
“Mercy me!” exclaimed aunt Betsey, raising her hands in astonishment, “I should as soon think of taking two wild Indians into my house—besides I should never get my bed-quilt done in the world.”
“Well, and what if thee shouldn’t? It would be of little consequence compared to helping the poor girl.”
“Really!” replied aunt Betsey, very tartly, “I should like to know!” She commenced sewing again very diligently, without looking up or speaking another word, so aunt Nyna turned away.
“There, I am glad she’s gone!” said aunt Betsey. “Somehow or other I never could bear that woman, with her theeing and thouing.” She tried to settle down to her work and feel as quiet and comfortable as before, but her conscience troubled her sorely.
“Well, if I must, I must,” she said at last, starting up. “I’ll go and bring them home with me, and bear it like a martyr.” She rolled up her bits of satin, drove all her cats out of the room, and then put on her bonnet and shawl.
“It won’t do,” she said, “to go into such a family empty-handed, though where their wants are so many, it seems almost entirely useless to give them anything.”
She gathered together some broken victuals—tied up a bundle of old cast-off garments, and with this under her arm, she set out.
CHAPTER VII.
A FAIR ATTEMPT.
“O Fred! Here comes aunt Betsey, with a great budget,” said Charlie, who was looking out of the window. “Let’s hide under the bed till she is gone. She never stays long;” and without another word under they went.
“What do you want to hide for?” asked Hesper.
“O, because we know she don’t like us,” and Fred drew his head back quickly, for she was just opening the door.
“Well-a-day, Hesper!” said aunt Betsey, with a doleful countenance, “I hear you are in trouble again, and I have come down to see what I can do for you. How is your father, this morning? I declare I never knew he had hurt him till just now. Where is he?”
“In there,” said Hesper, pointing to the little bed-room where Mose and Johnny usually slept. “He has been restless all night, but he is asleep now.”
“Well, then I won’t disturb him, for I am so hurried with work that I can’t stop a minute. I left everything in a heap and came down directly, when I heard of your trouble. I declare I am all out of breath with hurrying,” and she threw herself into a chair by the bed.
“Well, Susan,” she said to Hesper’s mother, “I should think you would get all tired out with being sick so long, but I think Hesper looks almost as frail as you, and I shouldn’t wonder at all if she should give out.”
“I am afraid she will,” said her mother, and she sighed deeply.
“O, no!” replied Hesper, cheerfully, “I haven’t the least idea of it. I didn’t sleep much last night, and am rather tired to-day, but I don’t feel sick at all.”
“Well,” said aunt Betsey, “there’s no use in undertaking too much, and I have really come down with the intention of doing something to help you.”
Here she hesitated, for she really dreaded to make the proposition.
“You, Charlie;” whispered Fred—“if I should catch at her foot how she would jump.”
The thought of aunt Betsey’s surprise quite overcame Charlie, and in spite of his efforts he could not restrain a laugh.
“Mercy me!” exclaimed aunt Betsey. “What’s that?” and she looked directly under the bed. Her expressions of wonder, and the angry manner in which she eyed them over her spectacles, was perfectly irresistible, and laughing with all their might, they crept out.
“Well, I declare!” said she, “you act as though you weren’t half civilized, and I almost repent of my resolution. As I was just saying to Hesper, I came down to take you home with me, to spend a few days. It will be a great relief to your mother and sister, for I know you are bad boys, and are dreadfully troublesome.”
The boys were sober in a moment. Fred looked at Charlie and Charlie at Fred, but neither of them spoke a word. Now that aunt Betsey had given the invitation, she was quite determined they should go.
“Well, what is the matter?” said she, “I don’t want you to work for me. I only want you to behave yourselves, if you can, and I will do all I can to please you. You shall have some apples to roast, and if your Uncle Nathan is willing, I will give you one of his great pumpkins for a jack-o’lantern.”
It was evident that she had touched the right chord, for the boys assented immediately. Hesper was much pleased, and began to prepare them as soon as possible. Soon all was ready, and they set out, with the parting injunction from Hesper, to be good boys.
It was so quiet and peaceful after they were gone, and Hesper’s mind was so much relieved, that after making some gruel for her father’s dinner, she sat down in the great rocking chair, and in a few moments was fast asleep. Poor Hesper was almost sick. Mose watched her from day to day, and when he saw her cheek grow pale, his heart failed him. He sat very often upon the old log by the mill-dam, but it was not to think over his own troubles. They were all forgotten in his care for Hesper, and knowing not what else to do, he prayed for her most earnestly.
CHAPTER VIII.
POOR SUCCESS.
Aunt Betsey did not find the boys so much of a hindrance as she had expected. They sat very quietly by the fire, looking at the pictures in a book of Natural History, while she continued sewing upon her bed-quilt as before. She soon had occasion though, to stir up the fire, and as she did so, she spied a great muddy foot-mark directly across the white rose in the centre of her rug. “O dear!” she exclaimed, “did I ever see such dirty children?” She was just beginning to scold, when she checked herself, for she thought that she was most to blame, for not telling them to clean their feet well when they came in. Charlie said he was very sorry, and Fred proposed that they should go out and scrape their boots directly. Meanwhile Aunt Betsey took the rug into the kitchen, and after a little drying and brushing it looked as well as ever.
“Well,” said she, “it isn’t so bad after all, and if I don’t meet with anything worse, I’ll not complain.”
When she went back she found that the boys after they had cleaned their boots, had left them in the entry, which pleased her very much. She gave them some apples to roast, and then she concluded to go down to her husband’s store of an errand.
“Be very careful,” said she, as she went out, “and behave yourselves properly till I come back.”
When the boys had roasted their apples, they set them aside to cool, and began to play with the cats.
“Fred,” said Charlie, “shouldn’t you think that Aunt Betsey would be afraid that her cats would eat the birds?”
“O no,” said Fred, “for they hang so high they cannot get at them.”
“But,” continued Charlie, whose curiosity was always wide awake, “I wonder what the birds would do if they should see this old grey cat close to the cage?”
“Let’s try;” said Fred. “I’ll hold her tight,” and the “next moment he was standing up in a chair, under the cage, with the cat in his arms.
“I can’t reach,” said he. So he got down and looked about for something higher. Now that he had undertaken, he was quite determined to see the result of the experiment. While Charlie looked out for Aunt Betsey, Fred rolled the dining table into the middle of the floor, placed a chair on top, and then climbed up again with the cat. Of course the birds fluttered about in a great fright, and as might have been expected, the cat sprang at them. In his struggle to hold the cat, Fred lost his footing. He grasped at the cage to save himself, but the hook gave way, and down they all came together. Charlie opened the door and rushed out into the entry, followed by all of the cats. At first he thought he would take his cap and start for home immediately, and then he concluded to go back and see what had become of Fred. There he sat among the ruins looking very much bewildered.
“Are you hurt?” asked Charlie.
“No;” replied Fred, “but I expect I shall be, when Aunt Betsey comes.”
He got up quickly, and with Charlie’s assistance, they rolled the table into its place again.
“O dear! what shall we tell her?” said Charlie.
“Tell her the truth,” replied Fred, and then they both stood still and looked at the cage. Some of the birds were clinging to the wires, panting for breath, and one poor little fellow had his head thrust out, and his legs hanging down, perfectly helpless. The cage was bent all out of shape, and the glass cups for the seed and water were dashed in pieces.
“I wish that little bird would take his head in,” said Charlie. He put his finger gently against the bill to push it back, and the bird dropped motionless on the floor of the cage.
“He is dead!” said Charlie, and both boys burst into tears. They could have borne Aunt Betsey’s anger, they could have borne punishment, or anything that might have come because of this, without being deeply moved, but the sight of that little dead bird was heart-rending.
“Do you suppose that God sees it?” said Charlie.
“Yes,” replied Fred, “for it was only last night, Hesper told me that not a sparrow fell to the ground without His notice.” And as this thought came home to them with full force, they were wholly overcome, and burst into loud lamentations.
“Mercy me!” said Aunt Betsey, as she opened the door, “what is the matter?” and then she stood still in astonishment. “How did this happen?” she asked.
Fred tried to summon moral courage enough to tell the whole truth, but his heart failed him.
“O dear!” he sobbed, “the cage fell down, and one of the birds is dead.”
“How sorry I am;” said Aunt Betsey. And she looked more grieved than angry. “I am sure I thought the hook was strong enough.” She took the cage, and was about placing it on the table, when she observed the seed and the water scattered all over the cloth.
“Why! how is this?” she asked, and then she minded Fred’s jacket was in the same plight.
“I don’t know how to understand it,” she said—“did the cage fall upon you?”
“No,” stammered Fred, “I fell on to the cage.”
She shook her head and looked very serious. “It is plain,” said she, “that there is something wrong about this, and now I want you to tell me the whole truth. I am sorry for the injury done my carpet—I am sorry for the loss of my bird, but don’t tell a lie Fred, for that would be worse than all.”
Fred took his old calico handkerchief from his pocket, and after he had wiped his eyes, he looked up to Aunt Betsey with an honest face, and told her the whole truth.
She did not speak, but she sat down and thought a long time. It seemed to her that she must send them home directly—that she could not have them in the house another minute. Then she thought of poor Hesper—of her sick father and mother, and the disappointment it would be to all.
“I will try to be patient a little longer,” she said. She took up the cage and began to sweep the pieces of glass together.
“Don’t you mean to do anything to me?” asked Fred. “I think I deserve it.”
“No;” said aunt Betsey, looking very sober. She opened the cage, and taking out the dead bird, laid it in his hand—-
“There,” said she, “if that don’t make you feel sorry, I don’t know what will.” Both of the boys burst into tears again, and cried so loud that aunt Betsey was right glad to pacify them. She put the dead bird out of sight, and told them they had best sit down by the fire, while she spread the table. They did as she desired, but they did not speak or stir from their chairs, and she knew by their deep sobs that their sorrow was unaffected. After dinner she asked them to wind some silk for her. They were glad to do anything she wished, and while Charlie held the skein, Fred wound it very carefully. When they had finished this, they asked her to let them do something else. She said she had a great basket of unshelled beans in the kitchen, and if they wished they might go out and shell them. She went with them, and after giving them some low seats, and a great basin to put the beans in, she went back to her work. For a long time she heard them chatting together and the beans dropping into the pan very fast. “I am glad,” she thought, “that I did not send them home. They seem to be very good hearted boys, only a little mischievous.” Then her thoughts became so much occupied with matching her pieces, that she forgot all about them.
Suddenly there came a terrible crash, and then a scream. She rushed into the kitchen as quickly as possible. There was her flower-stand completely overturned—the plants, pots and earth, scattered all about the floor, and Charlie lying in the midst. His nose was bleeding, and as he got up he was a most pitiful looking object. Fred stood by, pale with terror.
“He only went up the steps “—stammered Fred by way of explanation—“to smell of the flower on top, and it all broke down together.”
Aunt Betsey gave way to her feelings in tears, for this was indeed a little more than she could bear.
“There, now,” said she, “that is enough. Get your caps and boots this minute, for I mean to take you straight home. I don’t know what will be done with you for this, but you can’t expect much mercy.”
The boys obeyed in silence. They dreaded to go home, but they dared not say a word against it. As they went along, accompanied by aunt Betsey, Fred looked up to the hills and woods beyond, longing for a chance to slip away and hide; for, as aunt Betsey said, he didn’t know what would be done with them, but she held their hands tightly and walked very fast, for she was much excited.
“There!” she exclaimed, as she threw open the door and made her appearance before Hesper, “I have brought them back. I would have kept them longer, but”—and she burst into tears—“they pulled down my cage and killed my bird, and broke my flower-stand all in pieces. I will sew for you—I will wash or bake, or do anything else to help you, but as to keeping these boys I can’t. If I were in your place I would send them to the House of Correction directly.” She waited for Hesper to reply, but she did not. The poor girl sat with her hands folded and her eyes fixed upon the floor. Her silent look of sorrow was more touching than words. Aunt Betsey could not bear it.
“I will come again,” said she, “when I feel better,” and she went away. Tick, tick, tick, went the old clock in the corner, and that was the only sound to be heard. Fred wished that she would scold, or beat him, or do anything but sit and look so sorrowful. Simple Johnny, who had come in to get his basket of playthings to take to aunt Nyna’s, knew that something unusual had happened. He looked from one to the other, and when he saw the tears rolling down Hesper’s cheeks, he stole softly up to her. He put his arm around her neck and laid his head on her bosom.
“Dear Johnny,” said Hesper, as she clasped him closely to her—“though you are a poor, simple child, yet you never make your sister’s heart ache.” That was enough. The silence was broken, and moved as by one impulse, both boys rushed towards her and hid their faces in her lap.
“Don’t cry, Hesper,” sobbed Fred, “don’t cry! and we will do all we can to help you. We do want to be good boys, but we don’t know how.” Hesper took their hands in her own, and looked steadily in their faces. She was very earnest, and her voice trembled, but she talked to them as only a loving and gentle hearted sister could. She told them, in simple words, of their father’s and mother’s sickness—of the weariness and hard labor of Mose, of the helplessness of little Johnny, of her own heavy trials, and then she told them very kindly, but so plainly they could not misunderstand, that now they were old enough to think of these things, and if they could not be of any assistance, they might, at least, try not to add to the trouble. Her words were fitly spoken, and they went down to the deep places of the children’s hearts. She had appealed to reason and affection, when they expected nothing but punishment and reproof.
“I wish we could do something,” said Charlie. His little childish face was the picture of anxious care, and his eyes were swollen with weeping. Poor children! for them it had been a day of hard, but salutary experience.
“I’ll tell you!” exclaimed Fred, who was quick for a thought—“let’s take the great basket and go down where Capt. Clark’s ship is building, and ask him to give us some chips.” Both boys made a rush for the basket at once.
“Hush! hush!” whispered Hesper. That was enough; they checked themselves in an instant, and stole softly out of the house. That night, if aunt Betsey could have looked into the old shed, and seen the great pile of chips there, she would have been astonished. The ship-yard was a far better place than the House of Correction.
CHAPTER IX.
HESPER’S NEW FROCK.
“Hesper,” said Mose, one morning, just as he was going to his work—“how much does it take to make you a frock?”
“O, never mind,” she replied, “I don’t want a new one. But there is one thing I do want, Mose, and that is that you should get you a good warm coat for winter. You will feel the need of it bitterly, when you come out of the hot mill into the cold, north wind, or perhaps a driving snow-storm.”
“I can’t have a coat till you have a new frock,” said Mose decidedly.
“Well then,” said she, “I shall try to get one as soon as possible. Perhaps the fairies are weaving one now, and will bring it along the next time the moon fulls. We will wait and see.”
It happened very strangely, that not long after this conversation, aunt Betsey came in. She was very sorry that she had not been able to help Hesper by keeping the boys, and now she was determined to make amends in some other way.
“Hesper,” said she, “I have been thinking I would make you a new frock. I looked about the house and found an old black, bombazine dress, which will do very well to alter for you. I have come down now to take your measure, but I must be very quick, for I am still in a great hurry with my bed-quilt, and I wish to get the dress done to-night.”
Hesper thought she should not like a black bombazine dress, but she would not say so, lest she should wound aunt Betsey’s feelings. So she let her take the measure as she desired.
Before night aunt Betsey made her appearance again, with the dress all finished. She helped Hesper put it on, and then viewed it with great satisfaction.
“There,” said she, “it fits nicely. I’m glad I’ve done you some good at last, though I don’t want to boast of it. You needn’t try to be saving of it, but wear it just as much as you please,”—and then she went away, before Hesper had a chance to say how she liked it. The skirt of the dress was very scanty, and so long that it came almost to her feet. The waist was short, and the sleeves large, and it was made so high in the neck that she could scarce bend her head. It felt very uncomfortable, but Hesper tried not to think of it, though she found it very hard to do so, for when she sat down to her work, she had to turn her head this side and that, to keep it from choking her, and almost the first thing she did, was to step on the skirt and fall. It was a real vexation, but she thought that aunt Betsey had taken a great deal of pains, and therefore she ought to be very grateful.
“Bless me! Hesper,” said her father, as soon as he saw her—“is that you? Why you look like some of the strange, black shadows I see in my dreams.”
“O! dear child!” said her mother, when she awoke, “you are all dressed in mourning. It makes me feel gloomy.”
Mose expressed his disapprobation in very strong terms, and as for Fred and Charlie, they laughed with all their might at Hesper’s strange appearance. Even simple Johnny pushed away the dress when it touched him, with a look of great dislike. She felt awkward and uneasy, and longed to slip on her old frock again, but she thought of aunt Betsey’s kindness, and determined to persevere.
After Fred and Charlie had gone to bed that night, they began, in low whispers, to talk over matters and things. By making a few inquiries, they had found out the whole history of Hesper’s new frock, and now they were considering the possibility of getting her another.
“How much money do you suppose we could get for our rabbits?” asked Charlie.
“O, not much,” replied Fred. “They aren’t good for anything but to eat.”
“To eat!” exclaimed Charlie, “I would not sell Billy and Bunny for people to eat, not for all the money in the world.”
“And I don’t want to,” said Fred, “but that’s the only thing we can do.”
“Well,” replied Charlie, as he drew a long breath, “then we will, though I wish we could think of something else.”
The next morning they went out bright and early to get their rabbits, resolved to make the sacrifice, but one was missing. They searched all about the yard, and peeped into every crack and corner, but it was nowhere to be found. Charlie cried, and Fred scolded.
“There,” said he, “the Grimsby boys have stolen him, and I’ll call them thieves every time I see them. If it wasn’t for Hesper, I would tumble them both into the duck pond. I’ll call them thieves though, anyhow.”
“No, no,” said Hesper, who stood close behind them. She had heard the crying and came out to see what it meant. “If you begin with hard names, you will soon come to blows. Leave it to me, and see if I can’t get your rabbit again, without any trouble. Perhaps the Grimsby boys know nothing about it, and then you would have no reason whatever for calling them thieves.”
Fred was just beginning to argue the case, when Hesper said, “Now don’t,” in such a pleasant, persuasive way, that he gave it up and went off, but it was a great disappointment.