Mr. Allen had been so fortunate as to obtain regular employment in a nursery near his home. But still, with all their economy, Mrs. Allen could see it would be difficult to provide food and clothing for so many little ones. She had been so accustomed to have milk, butter, eggs, and cheese from the farm, besides vegetables, grain, and pork, that she scarcely knew how to cook, when every one of these must be bought with scanty means at the grocer's. There were five girls and four boys, beside herself and her husband, to provide with clothing. The house, poor as it was, with the little strip of land by the side of it, rented for eighty dollars; and then fuel and lights were to be bought for the approaching winter.
Mrs. Lovell was scarcely surprised that Mr. Allen should often be plunged in despondence. He went regularly to work, struggling day after day against the craving of appetite for drink, but seldom smiled. The sad contrast between the present and the past rose continually before his mind, while conscience, with a voice like thunder, seemed ever echoing in his ears,—
"This is your work!"
CHAPTER VI.
A RAY OF SUNSHINE.
AS I have before said, Mr. Allen was naturally mirthful; and the change in his temperament would have cast a gloom over all the family, had it not been for Lizzie, whose merry face and sunny smiles chased away many an hour of despondence.
Aunt Mercy was a shrewd observer of character. As she had before talked in the plainest terms to her nephew of the sin of pursuing a course which was not only ruining his own soul, but the peace of his family, so, now that she saw he was striving to amend, in her own frank way she strove to encourage him. Entirely ignoring his silence on all such occasions, she persevered in consulting him regarding the children. Lizzie, she said, as soon as times were a little more prosperous with them, must be sent to a Normal school, and prepared for a teacher.
"There is a vacancy now," she added, hopefully, "in our district. I wish she were ready, for she would be good company for me."
Joseph would not glance toward the bright eyes he was sure were asking his consent, but answered, in a hard tone,—
"Wife couldn't spare Lizzie; and money wouldn't tempt me to let her go back to N—, where she would be pointed at as the drunkard's daughter."
"That would not be true now, husband," murmured his wife, softly laying her hand on his shoulder.
"I have a plan for John too," the old lady went on, "but it is a secret as yet. There is no need of haste; he must get a better education first."
"Bread and butter is the first object with us," was the bitter retort. "You forget that we are poor."
"I know as well as you do that your money has all run away," she answered, smiling, "but I know, also, that you are all taking hold in earnest to stop the leak. And, as I have a little money lying idle in the bank, I suppose there is no one to forbid me the pleasure of helping those who are trying to help themselves."
Mr. Allen's chin quivered. "Wife and Lizzie will thank you," he said, in a subdued tone, "but my feeling is all gone."
"Not quite, father!" exclaimed Bell, throwing her arms around his neck. "For I heard you telling Mr. Grey last night that you would bear your own lot without a murmur, if your family need not suffer, and the tears glistened in your eyes."
Mrs. Lovell often noticed that Mary, when her husband entered the room, glanced shyly at him, to see whether the boisterous mirth of the children was likely to annoy him. They kept steadily at their task of seating chairs until near the hour in which he returned from his work, when they bounded out of doors, chasing each other all over their small enclosure, and making the air ring with their laughter.
She well remembered the time when, in the earlier years of their married life, Lizzie, John, and Bell used to run down the road as soon as they heard their father's carriage-wheels, when he good-naturedly stopped the horse and took them all in. Now for many years he had been so fretful and capricious under the influence of liquor that they had avoided him as much as possible, quietly stealing from the room when he was in it, so that Jamie and Fred., the younger boys, were almost strangers to him.
Aunt Mercy took occasion one day to call up the old reminiscences, and afterwards told her niece that she was quite sure it would please Joseph to be welcomed by the children as of old.
Lizzie, who was old enough and wise enough to be taken into the family counsels, entered into this proposal with her usual enthusiasm. Jamie, Fred., and even Baby Nelly, after this, each had his or her lesson, and the next afternoon, when the unsuspicious father came walking gloomily down the road, they all set out to meet him.
"See, pa!" cried Fred., reaching up, and pulling his father's coat to attract attention. "See what I've got for you!" And he held out a prettily-arranged bunch of wild wood flowers.
"Nelly, too!" lisped the baby, reaching her arms out toward him.
Jamie presented his offering with a quiet smile. He was the image of his mother in her happier days, and his upturned face reminded the husband so forcibly of her that, when he tried to speak, the words choked him.
"What does it mean?" he asked, presently, turning to Lizzie, whose kindling eye expressed volumes.
"Only that we have been telling the little ones how we used to run out and meet you, and they want to welcome you too."
He leaned forward and kissed her, saying, softly,—
"If I ever do become a good man, Lizzie, you will be the means of it."
"That is because I pray 'for Christ's sake,'" she answered, in the same tone.
Mrs. Allen was greatly delighted to see her husband come across the potato-patch with baby sitting on his shoulder. She stood in the doorway, with a smiling countenance, to receive him, Aunt Mercy and John pressing up behind her.
The meal which followed was the most cheerful one they had enjoyed since they came to G—, Mr. Allen exerting himself to talk, and telling them more about his business than they had ever known before.
BRIGHTER DAYS.
The next morning at breakfast, Aunt Mercy said, "I wish you had a barn, Joseph; for I think I could find you a cow. The little ones would grow fatter if they had plenty of milk."
"I like milk!" exclaimed Jamie, warmly.
"And we could make our own butter," said the practical John.
"I know Mr. Burrel, where I work, would be glad to let us pasture a cow with his, if one of the boys would drive both of them," added the father, "but we have no barn; so it is of no use to talk about it."
"I'll build one with the first money I earn teaching school!" exclaimed Lizzie, laughing, and there the subject was dropped.
But Mr. Allen thought of it again, as he walked back to his work. He thought, also, of a remark he had that very morning overheard his employer make to a neighbor in regard to himself, and this was,—
"He's the most faithful, energetic man I ever knew. If he only had more enthusiasm in his nature, I'd advance him at once to be head gardener; for I see he's well informed."
The neighbor answered, "He owned a fine piece of property once, I've heard, but was unfortunate, and lost everything."
For the first time, a feeling that there might be hope for him in the future quickened his steps, and almost brought a smile to his lips.
"If I could get that situation," he soliloquized, "I should have the pretty cottage on the grounds, and Mary could have the cow at once. A dozen quarts of milk in a day does make a vast difference in the expense of living."
Mrs. Lovell lengthened her visit from week to week, because she saw she could be a help to her niece. A few dollars well expended made a sensible improvement in the comfort of the family, and a few more bought cloth, which Aunt Mercy's own hands made into garments greatly needed.
Then the thoughtful old lady had begged a number of articles from Lawrence, which she had foreseen would help replenish the wardrobe of Mr. Allen against the coming winter, and enable him to accompany his wife to church; for it was her earnest desire that the whole family should be under the influence of faithful religious teaching. But at last, the alterations necessary in these were completed, and Mrs. Allen could find no excuse for urging her aunt to prolong her visit. Mrs. Lovell's trunk was packed, and she only waited for a letter she expected that morning from Lawrence before she started for home.
At last Jamie, the news-carrier, as he called himself, came in sight, holding up an envelope, and shouting,—
"It's for you, Aunt Mercy; the letters are always for you!"
Though the old lady did not read it to the eager lookers-on, but mysteriously folded and placed it in her pocket, we will take the liberty to peruse it.
"DEAR AUNT,—If the boy is what you describe, I will give him a start,
as you call it, but he must be very honest, active, and go-ahead,
in order to succeed here, where there are so many competitors for
fortune. He ought to be well grounded in arithmetic, and have a general
idea of bookkeeping, though he may never advance beyond a runner, or
errand-boy. I think well of your keeping him with you for the winter.
"As to our own affairs, I suspect I made a mistake when I gave the
reins so completely into the hands of our kitchen functionaries. To
speak within bounds, they are four times as extravagant as when you
left. Indeed, the way they manage to treat their own guests, and cheat
ours of everything that is eatable, would furnish abundant material
for a modern novel-writer to publish a book entitled 'High Life below
Stairs.' Where all this tends, I am beginning seriously to inquire.
In the mean time, Lady-bird is just as sweet and beguiling as ever,
singing and smiling in the most delightful unconsciousness that
everything is not proceeding in the most approved manner. It is barely
possible that I may be obliged to go to France for a month or two in
the winter. If I do,—but I will write you further at another time.
"Yours most gratefully,
"LAWRENCE EVERETT."
CHAPTER VII.
POLICE AND CRIMINALS.
"OH, Lawrence, what do you think has happened?" exclaimed Lily, one day in early autumn, running to the door, as she heard his familiar ring.
"Perhaps I can guess," he answered, with a sad smile.
"Did papa tell you? I have been waiting so impatiently to ask you about it! To think of mamma being willing to start off in such a hurry, and then to sell the house and furniture! She thinks we had better take the carriage and servants, since ours are beginning to be troublesome, but it is all so strange and sudden, it quite takes away my breath."
He took her hand and led her to the sofa. Then, carefully closing the doors, he seated himself beside her, and said,—
"Don't excite yourself, Lily, and I will tell you why it is necessary that either he or I should go. I would have told you before, only that I hoped the news by yesterday's steamer would have been such that all danger to our firm would be averted. Your father, you know, has had dealings with a large house in Paris for many years. We sold goods for them on commission, and a very profitable business it has been for both. Last month we heard that they were greatly embarrassed, but hoped, in a few weeks, to be relieved by the payment of large sums due them from India. Yesterday the news was so far from encouraging that it becomes necessary for one of the partners to be in Paris at once to prevent immense loss."
Mr. Everett spoke calmly, but with deep seriousness, and Lily, who was closely watching him, said,—
"And was it this which prevented you from sleeping last night, and made you look so very sober?"
"Yes, darling, I cannot deny it. I fear a great crisis is before us."
"Why don't you go yourself then? Papa says he confides greatly in your judgment."
"He proposed it, but he is better acquainted with the business there than I am; and then I could not leave you, Lily. I might be detained six months or a year. We talked it over last night, but it was not fully decided till this morning."
"But why does papa sell his house? He can never get another that he will like so well, and the beautiful furniture that mamma has taken so much pains to select."
He drew her closer to him, as he said, "Because it is certain that our loss will be great, though we hope to save something from the wreck. It is a terrible misfortune that has come upon us, darling. I look to you to help me bear it patiently."
Oh, what a beaming smile she gave him! But he sighed deeply, as he said to himself,—
"Poor child, she little knows the trials before her!"
"If all happens in Paris that you fear, shall we be very poor?" she asked, innocently.
"Yes, Lily; we shall have to leave this beautiful home. I can no longer surround you with luxuries, or buy you freedom from care. I shall have to begin life anew, and how will you endure the change?"
He leaned his head on her shoulder, that brave Christian man, and sighs that not all his trouble had caused, now made his breast heave as he thought of her.
For a moment, the news was overpowering. Lily had, from her birth, been surrounded by every elegance that wealth could create. She could not quite realize what all this change would be. But she was a true wife, and the first thought, after the stunning blow, was pleasure that she had it in her power to comfort her husband. She looked in his face with a smile, though her lips were tremulous and her eyes dewy, and said, softly,—
"But you will have your Lady-bird still, and I can learn to work and help you."
Oh, how he pressed her to his heart, and told her she was worth more to him than a thousand fortunes! How he thanked her for bearing it so nobly!
"You have stolen away my burden," he said again and again. "My greatest fear was for you."
They talked a long time, unmindful of the repeated summons to dinner, and then Lily, who had been trying to comprehend the detail of business, whispered,—
"I read yesterday how the disciples, when they sorrowed, went and told Jesus. I thought it so beautiful! Wouldn't he hear us if we told him now, and asked him to help us do right?"
They knelt together side by side, while the husband poured their sorrows into the ear of a sympathizing Saviour. Then they arose and were comforted.
"Can you spare time to go round through the square with me?" inquired Lily, as they arose from the mere form of eating. "I must be with mamma all I can before she goes."
"Yes, Lily, but before that, I propose Aunt Mercy should come back and help you get rid of the servants. She is a great manager. If I had taken her advice, I should have been some richer than I am now."
"I will write a note asking her."
He nodded assent, and brought her portfolio from the library, waiting with some curiosity to see what she would say. The note began:—
"You will wonder, Aunt Mercy, when you read this. Lawrence and I are
no longer rich. We are quite poor. We are to leave this house, but
it is not decided where we shall live. Mamma goes with papa to Paris
immediately, to try to save some of the money there. Will you come
and help me learn to be economical? I cannot be grateful enough that
Lawrence has told me all about it, and lets me comfort him. I feel very
happy, but Lawrence says it is because I don't realize what is before
me. We shall see who is right. Please come as quickly as you can. Your
loving niece,
"LILY."
In twenty-four hours after receiving the above, the old lady landed at her nephew's door. She was received with open arms by Lady-bird, who, excepting that she was pale from a headache the previous day, looked bright and cheerful as a May morning.
Presently Lawrence came in with a clouded brow, and, after saluting his aunt with a kiss, exclaimed,—
"There is some rascality in this! Here is another bill from the grocer's. We have never consumed this amount! Aunt Mercy, I wish you had shipped the whole pack when you were here before."
"I don't imagine Tom was overjoyed to see me," she said, quietly. "He scowled when he opened the door."
"We must get rid of them all at once, but take off your bonnet, and we will talk about our arrangements. Mr. and Mrs. Percival sail to-morrow, leaving me to dispose of their house, furniture, horses and carriages, to the best advantage the times will allow. I suppose the whole may bring thirty thousand dollars,—perhaps a third or quarter of what they cost; and that is every cent they will have to live upon, unless our affairs in France terminate more favorably than we dare to expect."
"It's a pity they didn't lay by something against a time of need like the present," remarked the old lady, with her usual frankness.
"Papa was very rich, and he had no idea that French house would fail," urged Lily, earnestly.
"It's a very common thing, child, for riches to take to themselves wings and fly away. But, Lawrence, I hope, when you were in the floodtide of success, you settled something on your wife."
Mr. Everett colored. "No," he answered; "we talked it over, Mr. Percival and I. He said Lily would be the heir to all they were worth; and he thought I had better put my money into the business, where it would yield a large profit. I'm sorry now I didn't do it."
"If you had merely put by what your servants have wasted or dishonestly got rid of, you could have taken out a life-annuity that would have kept her from want. But experience must be bought, and now you've earned it; so we'll leave the past, and talk of the future. Have you intimated to the servants that they must leave?"
"No, but I think they have a suspicion of it."
While they had been talking, Aunt Mercy noticed two or three times a slight noise near the door; and now, without giving any notice of her intention to do so, suddenly threw it open, when Tom, who was leaning against it, fell sprawling into the room.
Darting a cautionary glance toward her nephew, she exclaimed to the discomfited fellow,—
"Oh, Tom you're just the one I want! I wish you'd take my trunk up-stairs; or, wait a minute till I've been up myself."
"I was just going to ask you if I shouldn't carry it there," muttered Tom, in so grieved a tone that Lily, though trying to control herself, nearly laughed aloud.
As the old lady came through the hall on her entrance, she remembered to have seen Ann hurrying up the stairs with a conscious-blush crimsoning her cheeks. Accustomed to watch every expression, she saw that something unusual was going on, and, calling Lily one side, she asked,—
"Have you examined your jewel-box lately?"
"No, but Ann says one of my pearl earrings is missing. I was going to give her the other, as one was useless, but I remembered it was a gift from a schoolmate."
"Have you any idea how many handkerchiefs, laces, or collars you have? I mean could you tell if any were missing?"
Lily arched her eyebrows. She could not imagine to what these questions were tending.
"I don't know," she answered, hesitating, "but Ann can tell."
"Perhaps so. We will ask her presently. Now I want you to stay in the parlor, where you can keep watch of Tom while I speak with Lawrence. Don't let him out of your sight a minute; talk to him if he leaves the hall. I wont be long."
Calling her nephew into the back-parlor, she said, calmly,—
"The servants have found out that they will be dismissed, and are preparing to go. Did you see how guilty Tom looked when discovered listening? Ann, I have no doubt, is up-stairs selecting for her own use articles from her mistress' wardrobe and jewel-box; and I dare say cook is equally export in her department."
Lawrence started angrily toward the door.
"Stop!" said Aunt Mercy, authoritatively. "What are you going to do? If you go out and charge it upon them, you have no proof; and they will escape you. Now hear my plan. I was sure it would come to this, and am only glad I am here now. Send Tom across the street for your friend Mr. Dix. I saw him go in with his night-key when I came. Watch the fellow closely that he goes nowhere else. Ask Mr. Dix to send for a couple of police-officers. You will need two. In the mean time, keep Tom employed under your eye without exciting his suspicion if you can, and take yourself the key to the door. I will go below and see that no one goes out there or comes in till the officers arrive. I have proof enough of their purloining to have their trunks examined."
"I see, I see!" he said. "But poor Lily! I'm afraid the excitement will be too much for her."
"Lily is not such a baby as you think her."
CHAPTER VIII.
DETECTION AND ARREST.
THEY parted, Mrs. Lovell with rather more caution than usual descending the stairs to the basement, while her nephew returned carelessly to the parlor. The kitchen was vacant, but a sound of voices in angry dispute came from the pantry beyond. She advanced softly behind the door, where she could distinctly hear all that passed.
"I'll take my oath I gave you three forks and two spoons the last time you came. I remember I hid them in with the butter, and you said you'd have to lump it over."
"I lost them then. I never saw them."
"I guess 'twouldn't take me long to find them!" was the angry retort. "If you don't pay up handsome, as you promised, I'll confiss, and have you put in jail."
"You daren't do it; you're too deep in for that."
The old lady peered through the crack behind the door, trying to get a view of the speaker, but she could not, as he was standing outside the window in the side passage.
"I will, I will! You've had more of the profits than we have. Tom and I both agreed upon that. Feth, a good business you've made of it these six months."
"Not more than you have. It's for our interest to keep friendly," said the man, in a soothing tone. "Have you got anything for me to-day? If it's my mistake about the spoons, I'll make it up, of course. Where's Ann's bundle?"
"It's like a man of sinse, ye're talking now. Ann is packing some finery of my lady's; and sure she's long about it. Give me the basket, and I'll fill it while yer waiting. We must make the most of it; for Tom says they're breaking up intirely, and we'll have to quit. Feth, and I'm not sorry either; we couldn't go on much longer without those detective gintlemen paying us a visit. I know 'em."
Cook now occupied herself with packing into the basket sundry articles such as she had prepared for the occasion. Rich frosted cake was taken from the drawer,—the woman's dress almost touching Aunt Mercy's as she passed in and out of the pantry,—sugar, tea, coffee, napkins, towels, two shirts of Mr. Everett's hanging on a clothes-frame; a large platter of butter was brought forward. But the basket was already so full the man promised to come again at night for it; and cook, laughing, said, "I'll find something more against that time."
Mrs. Lovell in her retreat now began to be anxious for the arrival of the police. She had seen through the front window Mr. Dix run up the steps, and go away again, walking off at a rapid pace; and she knew that they might be momentarily expected. Up-stairs, all was perfectly quiet; and she hoped it would remain so for the present; for in case Ann made her appearance in the kitchen, she would be discovered. Cook would give the alarm, and the man outside take his flight.
In the pantry she heard the sound of silver coin; and presently cook, in some indignation, exclaimed,—
"It's too little. Why, the shirts alone is worth all this!"
"But just think of my risk," he remonstrated.
"Give 'em back then! I wont be risking my soul to save ye for such a trifle. Feth, it wouldn't pay the praist for confissing me. Give 'em back! I'd no idea of yer maneness. It's absolute chating, it is."
To expedite his departure, the man had left the gate through which he entered ajar. He saw an officer walking slowly past, gazing up toward the house, and, much to the surprise of cook, with one bound, sprang through the window, basket and all. Greatly to Mrs. Lovell's relief, at this moment she saw a man in the dress of a police officer, walk deliberately up the front-stops, his companion stationing himself outside the gate.
"Howly Mary, help me!" shrieked the guilty cook, as she caught a glimpse of Aunt Mercy, who was hastily crossing the kitchen to report to her nephew, and have the man arrested. "Wait till ye hear me confiss. It's the rogue of a Tom who stole these things and was disposing of 'em to this rascal. I'll confiss everything, and bless you as long as I live."
"You shall have a chance to confess," answered Mrs. Lovell, "but it must be in the presence of Mr. Everett and the officers above stairs."
A perfect howl of rage came from the man in the pantry, while cook began to cry aloud,—
"It's all your doings tempting me, when I had a dacent character."
Mr. Everett was talking earnestly in the hall when his aunt made her appearance, pale with excitement, and told him what she had seen. The officer nodded complacently. It was plain he liked the job. Walking to the door, he sprung his rattle, and presently half a dozen men in blue coats and brass buttons obeyed the call. To one of these he committed the arrest of the man below, while he told the others to be on hand in case any assistance was needed.
In the mean time, poor Lily sat trembling on the stairs, wondering what Lawrence was doing with the stranger, and why Mr. Dix did not go into the parlor instead of standing in the hall.
Making a sign of caution, Aunt Mercy went past her on to the chamber already described, where Ann stood with an armful of clothes as usual, waiting for the way to be cleared, so that she could convey them to the kitchen. Wondering whether it would be best to call Lily and examine the jewel-casket, the old lady stood a moment just before Ann, who nervously strove to conceal something by covering an embroidered wrapper over it.
"What have you there?" she asked, thrown off her guard by catching a glimpse of silver.
"Nothing but what belongs to me!" was the angry retort.
"Let me see."
She threw back the wrapper and discovered an elaborately-chased bouquet-holder, which the artful girl was carrying to her trunk.
"Mrs. Everett gave it to me! It's mine!" she screamed, forgetting for a moment that her master was below.
Lily, hearing her name mentioned, came running in. Her cheeks were a bright crimson, and her eyes had such a frightened stare that the old lady determined at whatever cost to prevent farther excitement.
"You had better go to your room and put away your things," she said to Ann, in a tone as calm as if nothing had occurred. "I will get your mistress' hat; she is going out for a walk."
The girl gladly left the room, though she wondered not a little at being allowed to do so, when Mrs. Lovell urged her niece to go to her mother's until the dishonest servants were out of the house.
Mr. Everett, for the first time in his life, was pleased to have her leave him, as he dreaded the coming scene for her sake. As soon as she had gone, he went into the kitchen accompanied by Mr. Dix and an officer, and sending for Ann and Tom, told them they had been detected in stealing from him, and he should give them up at once to the officers. The basket, packed to its utmost capacity, was brought in, and Aunt Mercy was witness that the man who was in league with them had implicated all the three. Cook shrieked and offered to confess, while Ann tried to escape, and would have done so, but for the officer still at the gate, who brought her back, saying,—
"No, no, you are too old for that. I think I've seen you before, my lovely jail-bird."
Tom sat sullenly scowling at Aunt Mercy, believing her to be the one who had brought this trouble upon them,—the only one in the family, as he had often boasted to his companions, who had any sense. Mr. Everett then ordered Tom to accompany them to his room while they examined his trunk, but this he doggedly refused; nor would he give up the key until loudly threatened with handcuffs by the officer.
I need not go into detail. In Tom's trunk, as well as in the cook's, were found stolen garments, silver, and other things too numerous to mention, while Ann's was a sight to behold. There was nothing too rare or costly in her mistress' establishment for her to lay her hands on. Wrought pocket-handkerchiefs, fine as a spider's web, laces, ornaments, ribbons, underclothes, two flounced dresses, books, etc., etc., etc., were found rolled in her own coarse garments, and carefully hidden under her common dresses.
Aunt Mercy stood with her hands uplifted in horror, while Ann burst into a louder cry at every fresh discovery. At last, she shrieked in a rage,—
"It's yerself as is to blame for it all. I was an honest girl till I came here, where everything was open to my hand; and even after yees knew that yer old aunt suspected us, ye bid us never to spake of laving."
"Don't you believe it, Mr. Everett," said the officer, shrugging his shoulders. "She's been caged before."
But he did believe it, and regretted, then and afterwards, that he had sinned in placing temptation in their way. And he resolved, then and there, whenever he had servants, to watch over them and labor for their good. He was intensely relieved when the house was rid of the wicked creatures, and he could have an hour or two before summoned to court to appear against the grocer, Nolan, who had carried on so successful a business with them. On the trial, it appeared so plain that this man had been an accomplice from the beginning that his whole bill was forfeited, and Mr. Everett finally recovered from Nolan between three and four hundred dollars for provisions, besides table-linen, napkins, and silver.
It was not until a late hour that Mr. Everett was at liberty to go for Lily, who was with her mother. The articles taken from the servants' trunks, and rescued from the clutches of Nolan, lay on the hall table and scattered about the back-parlor. Mr. Everett calmly explained what had happened to the astonished listener, taking the opportunity to explain the duty of master and mistress to their servants, which, he said, he was too conscious of having neglected.
"And where are they? What will become of them?" murmured poor Lily, with blanched cheeks.
"Safe in jail, my dear, where they await their trial."
She gave a cry of horror, and trembled so excessively that they saw the wisdom of having her away during the excitement. Aunt Mercy persuaded her to retire at once, which she did, after wondering how they could get along without breakfast.
"I'll send to the intelligence office the first thing," said Mr. Everett.
"And have the same scene over again," rejoined Aunt Mercy. "No, I'll go myself. 'Tisn't the first time I've been in search of servants. I flatter myself I can tell an honest girl."
The next morning Lily made her appearance just as her husband was pouring a cup of coffee of his aunt's manufacturing to carry to her chamber. She was full of wonder at the idea of breakfast being ready. And when she tasted the delicious waffles, in which delicacy Mrs. Lovell prided herself that she excelled in, declared that nothing had ever tasted so good.
CHAPTER IX.
A PLUG IN THE LEAK.
THE winter had passed; and the first breath of spring found our family at the hut moving to the neat cottage on Mr. Burrel's grounds. Finding his new gardener had boasted of skill he did not possess, the gentleman, late in the winter, dismissed him, and advanced Allen to the place.
They had been in their new home but a short time when it was ascertained at the great house that Mrs. Allen was an experienced dairywoman; and henceforth the care of making butter and cheese for the family was committed to her. Aunt Mercy remembered her promise to find a cow, which the new gardener had easily obtained permission to keep in his master's barn.
Prosperity now seemed to dawn upon them, and they prized every comfort far more than when they had never known what it was to be deprived of it.
As soon as the light began to dawn in the east, the family were all astir. The gardener's duties commenced early, and he wished, before he left home, to give Mary all the assistance in his power. For an hour or two in the morning, Lizzie, too, was able to help her mother,—skimming the cream or preparing breakfast, but she had begun to attend a high school in the village, which, as it was more than a mile from her home, kept her away through the entire day.
John was absent at an academy, where Aunt Mercy had sent him for one quarter, in preparation for his business in his cousin's store. Bell and Carrie also attended school near by with Sarah and Ned, though they still had their daily tasks at the chairs, at which business they had become very skilful; and the proceeds of which helped greatly in clothing them. Every dollar which Mr. Allen earned, he gave into the hands of his prudent wife, and she knew what to do with them,—setting aside for necessary family purposes a part, and laying by a certain sum every week toward the accomplishment of a secret object very dear to the heart of her husband.
Every month Mr. Allen regained more of his former cheerfulness. He was often heard whistling at his work; and came home with a glad smile to be welcomed by a whole troop of children, who needed now no prompting in order to present their little offerings. On the Sabbath, quite a procession from the cottage walked down the wide avenue on their way to church. First Mr. Allen, with his wife leaning on his arm, the mother leading restless Fred.; then Lizzie, leading another little one; and Bell, a third,—all with that cheerful sobriety which proved that to them church-going was not only a duty, but a pleasure.
Yes, Mr. Allen had learned the truth of the inspired writer,—"Be not high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God who giveth us richly all things to enjoy," and had come at last to depend on almighty help for guidance in the right path. He was now earnest in teaching his children the Scripture, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall," illustrating the doctrine by a reference to his own fall; while his wife reminded them how ready God is to hear and answer prayer for the conversion of dear friends.
Mr. Burrel showed his approval of his gardener's industry and skill by constantly adding to their comforts. At one time he visited his cottage, and remarked that there was a fine opportunity behind the barn for raising chicken's. The very next day Jamie came home with a fine pair of fowls, a present from Mrs. Burrel. Later in the season, when the farmer was ploughing the garden, his master laid off an acre of ground, well fertilized, and told Allen he might plant it with vegetables for his family.
As soon as the fruit ripened, Bell, Carrie, Jamie, and even little Fred were busily employed in picking it for the use of their employers. Strawberries, currants, raspberries, blackberries, each in their season, together with peas and beans from the garden, were nicely boxed and carried to the kitchen of the great house ready for use. Mrs. Burrel often remarked that she had never before taken so much comfort in her garden. In former years, when fruit was ordered for the table, there was often the excuse that the servants were too busy to pick it, or that it was not fully ripe.
"And the Allen children are so well brought up," she said, "so respectful and attentive when addressed, and so thankful for any favors!"
In this way, and by always being ready to oblige, the little ones won many friends. The partly-worn garments of their friends were given to Mrs. Allen, who astonished the donors by making them up for herself or children so as to appear almost as well as new.
In Lizzie's vacation, Mrs. Burrel invited her to the mansion to assist in a sudden emergency, and found her possessed of so much good sense, and withal so lovely in disposition, that she determined to befriend her. Aunt Mercy, when informed of all this, was not at all surprised. She had always insisted that there was something about Lizzie better than beauty, though the young girl had enough of that, which would interest all those who knew her.
She had just passed her sixteenth birthday; her clear hazel eyes beaming brightly upon one convinced the beholder that there was both intellect and soul in the possessor. Her complexion was of that exquisite fairness usually the accompaniment of auburn hair, the abundant tresses of which were rolled off from her broad forehead in a style peculiar to herself. Her mouth was rather wide, but finely shaped, and disclosed a set of even teeth of pearly whiteness. Add to this that Lizzie had a straight nose and tiny ears, the lower tips of which were just visible beneath her hair, that her hands and feet were small and well shaped, that her figure was slight and graceful, and the reader can form a tolerably correct fancy in regard to her appearance. With all this, she was exceedingly modest and diffident with strangers, though her bright eyes would often sparkle with intelligence or mirth when her shyness prevented any other display of her feelings.
With her father and brothers Lizzie had a wonderful influence. Indeed, the only weakness he displayed on the point of expense, was in urging his wife to subtract something from their treasured hoard and purchase his favorite a silk dress for Sunday wear. But this Mrs. Allen wisely refused. A white muslin for summer and a thibet for winter were quite becoming enough and far more suitable for a girl in her circumstances.
Lizzie's heart was set on teaching, and as her father now not only withdrew his objection to her returning to her native place, but for some reason greatly wished it, she applied for a situation there in one of the public schools.
It was a disappointment to all, and especially to Mrs. Allen, that Aunt Mercy was still with her nephew in the city. But the family who had moved into a part of her house readily agreed to take the young teacher to board, in case her application was successful. The school was to commence the third week in September, and the first Monday in that month Lizzie was requested to meet the committee for examination. Her heart beat painfully as she, in company with the daughter of her old minister, went before them. But they were nearly all friends who had known her from the cradle, and who wished to put the best construction on her timidly-spoken replies. There was, however, one stranger present who, though greatly interested in the applicant, feared she was too youthful to maintain order in a district-school. He was the gentleman who had recently purchased from the liquor-dealer her father's old estate, and who had also been elected in his place on the school committee.
"What do you say, Miss Lizzie?" smilingly inquired one of the gentlemen. "Do you think you could keep the little ones to their lessons?"
"I don't know, sir, but I should like to try," was the eager answer, with so beaming a face that, as another friend remarked, "Lizzie has always been in an orderly family."
Mr. Greenough withdrew his objection, and the young lady was duly informed that the school would commence three weeks from that day. How she succeeded, or whether she succeeded at all, will best be learned by a letter she wrote her parents after a week's experience in her new business.
"DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,—This is Saturday afternoon, and I have
resolved to devote part of it to writing you a long letter.
"I scarcely think Fred. or Nelly would know me, I have become so
dignified. Indeed, I scarcely know myself.
"Though I have been in school only five and a half days, yet I have had
some exciting events, which I will relate, but first I must say that I
have thirty-four scholars, their ages varying from eight to fourteen
years. They are generally obedient and attentive to their studies, with
the exception of one boy, a black-eyed urchin, who began at once to
defy my government, and said openly that he would not have a chit of a
girl ordering him about.
"On Tuesday morning, while the scholars were reading the Scriptures in
turn, he whistled aloud, and tried to make his companions laugh, but
I am glad to say they only seemed distressed for me. I know I looked
anxious, and my cheeks burned like fire, but I thought it best to take
no notice of his bad conduct for the time. In the afternoon, while I
was hearing a class recite in grammar (he had refused to come out of
his seat), he began to throw slate-pencils and wads of paper toward the
desk.
"I looked at him as calmly as could and said,—
"'I am sure there is no pupil here who wishes to disturb the
recitations. We can do nothing without order.'
"'I shall do as I please, here or anywhere else,' he answered,
defiantly, and he whistled louder than ever.
"Willie Greenough, a fine boy twelve years old, came directly to my
side, and stood there, as if he meant to defend me from insult, while
both girls and boys cried, 'Shame!'
"During the remainder of the morning I had no trouble.
"In the afternoon, Mr. Greenough came to visit the school. I saw Willie
smile when his father took the great chair on the platform, and judged
at once that he had been notified of our disturbance. At recess the
gentleman talked with me about Thomas Brown, the unruly boy. He said I
should not be troubled with him, for he ought to be expelled.
"'Oh, no, sir,' I answered, quite forgetting my fear of the gentleman.
'I hope to make him one of my best friends and scholars yet. If I
cannot manage the school, I will resign it to somebody who can do so.
I feel quite confident Thomas will be a comfort to me by and by. It is
only a work of time.'
"He smiled pleasantly.
"'Well,' he said, 'I see you understand governing. I'll leave him with
you for the present, on condition if you have trouble, you will send
for me at once.'
"'Thank you, sir,' I answered, 'but Willie is so stout a defender of my
rights, I have no doubt I shall get along very well.'
"'Ah, yes,' he said, warmly. 'You have made a friend of Willie.'
"I watched a chance for two days of talking with Thomas, but until
Thursday night I did not succeed. Then I came upon him suddenly, and
asked him to walk home with me.
"At first he would scarcely speak. I tried to convince him I was his
friend, and at last, he said, sullenly,—
"'I never could bear partial teachers.'
"'How have I been partial?' I asked.
"'You let Willie Greenough do just what he's a mind to; and you smile
at him ever so much. I saw you this morning when he gave you the
flowers.'
"I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing, but I said,—
"'Did you know, Thomas, I used to live where Willie does now? I had a
pretty garden then, and my father planted a rose-bush for me close by
the window. It bore beautiful blush roses; and it was a rose from that
very bush Willie brought me. When I smelled it, I was carried back to
the time I was a little girl, and used to pluck them for myself. Do you
wonder I was pleased with his little gift?'
"'Well, you let him walk home with you 'most every day.'
"'Of course I don't refuse his company, but I should have preferred
yours, because I wanted to talk with you.'
"I then conversed with him about his studies and at last said, 'If
I can't teach you, I must leave; for I never shall consent to your
growing up ignorant on my account.'
"We came at last to Aunt Mercy's gate. He stood a moment awkwardly
waking figures in the dirt with his foot, and his face as red as fire,
and then burst out,—
"'You sha'n't leave for me. I like you tip-top, now!' And then he ran
off as fast as he could go.
"This morning he brought me a large bunch of dahlias of a dozen
varieties, and I think he was satisfied by the way I received them that
I was not partial, unless it was to him.
"He has recited in every lesson since, and has not missed one word.
"This noon as I came by our old home, Mr. Greenough came out. I was
surrounded with girls and boys, who took turns in holding my hand. He
laughed heartily as he saw us, and said,—
"'I congratulate you, Miss Allen, on your success.'"
"I don't think I shall have any more trouble, though my rules are
stricter than they were at first, but I explain everything, and ask who
will help me. Thomas's hand was raised twice to-day, the first of any
one.
"Mrs. Russell, where I board, is very kind, but I miss Aunt Mercy
dreadfully. Please send me John's letters as soon as you receive them.
"Your affectionate daughter,
"LIZZIE."
CHAPTER X.
A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.
"I WONDER what is the reason some folks are always poor," muttered Robert Carter, a neighbor of the Allens, and also employed by Mr. Burrel on the farm. "I work as hard as anybody, but somehow I never get along."
His wife, to whom the remark was made, thought it more prudent to remain silent, having learned from painful experience that it is not always wise to speak one's thoughts.
"There's Allen," the man went on. "He was as poor as poverty when he came into town little more than a year ago. His expenses must be more than mine, for he has two children to my one; yet he's prospered and laying up money, besides sending off his children to school. I don't see how it is. Sometimes I get to thinking about it and I'm clear down at the heel."
"Why don't you ask Allen?" inquired his wife, seeing he expected her to speak. "I'm sure I should be more'n glad to know their secret."
"'Tisn't no use; it's all luck. Some folks are born to prosper and some isn't, that's it."
"Perhaps if we saved up a little money, husband, and sent Bob and Susan to school, and kept Warren from robbing Mr. Burrel's garden, they might get the job of picking fruit. I knew the Allen children earn a good deal that way."
"What nonsense you talk, wife! All the fixing up and schooling you could give our young uns would not alter it a hair. Mrs. Burrel's prejudiced against 'em, and wouldn't let 'em among her vines for nothing."
"It's worth making the trial, then; four cents a box for strawberries and six cents a quart for shelled peas or beans, is something when it comes every day. Mrs. Allen told me she'd speak to the mistress for them if I wished. Even her little Fred. is trusted to weed, and he only five years old."
"'Twould be worth all that to keep our boys at it," said the husband, only half convinced. "They'd rather be off bird-nesting, or sitting with their feet in the water."
"Yes, I suppose so, but they'll have to learn to work sometime, and, as Mrs. Allen says, 'it's easier to form the habit when they're young.' I was telling her what a sight of work there was in her children, and she said they were like all children, fonder of play than of work, but the habit was the thing. She had to drill them into it. 'So much must be done, and then your time's your own.'"
"I never had a fancy for taming children down that way. If you have, you're welcome to try, but don't bother me with it."
"Mrs. Allen says she'd rather have her children work, even if they get nothing for it; and then she repeated off the prettiest verse. I can't justly remember it, but it was about Satan finding work for the idle hands. I thought of it all the way home, and I believe, Robert, if our boys were made to work, they wouldn't bring us into disgrace with their mischief."
"Wont you tell Mrs. Allen to mind her own business? I have enough bother with her young ones jumping into the cart every time I go back empty from the field."
"But you said, Robert, they were such mannerly little things it was a pleasure to oblige them. There was always, a 'Thank you, sir,' or a 'Please, Mr. Carter, do I trouble you?'"
"Well, well! You've talked enough about it. Give me down my pipe, and I'll smoke awhile before I go to bed."
"How much do you suppose your tobacco costs you?" asked Mr. Allen, pleasantly, as his neighbor came walking toward him one day with a piece of broken pipe in his mouth.
"Only the merest trifle. I don't smoke much."
"Well, how much—ten cents a week?"
"Rather more than that. I generally get two papers when I go to the store."
"Say twenty-five, then, which is a low estimate. Have you ever reckoned that in a year that sum would be thirteen dollars,—enough to buy a suit of working clothes?"
"I don't see what you're driving at. I could sooner do without food than without my pipe."
"So I thought once, but I haven't touched a cigar for fifteen months. I was thinking of what you said about times being hard with you. It's these superfluities that count up with us working men. You or I would think it hard if our wives insisted every day on having a dainty meal which they couldn't share with the family. But we men, who work no harder than they do, spend money for what is no advantage to any one; for I'm sure we're better off without it."
"I don't. I tried quitting it once, and I declare I was cross enough to bite a board nail. There's difference in people, you see."
Mr. Allen laughed heartily.
"I know exactly how you felt," he said. "I grew thin and lost my appetite, but I persevered, and now I wouldn't touch the vile weed for the brightest guinea you could give me. You see, neighbor," he said, warming with the subject, "smoking or chewing, and you do both, creates a thirst that water don't satisfy. You may drink and drink, but there will be a terrible craving still. Little by little, one is tempted to try stimulants until the night and morning drams are thought as necessary as the tobacco."
This was a sore subject to Carter; for his score at the oyster saloon, where he went as regularly as to his meals, swallowed more than a third of his wages. He felt inclined to resent this plain talk from his fellow-laborer, but Allen had always been kind to him, and had it in his power to befriend him farther.
"I think I know your thoughts," the gardener said, good-naturedly. "I heard your wife talking to mine the other night, and wondering how we got along so much better than our neighbors; and I thought then that I'd have a little talk with you. I feel an interest in your family, Carter, and in you, too, and I would be glad if I could help you to better days."
"I can't say I like very well to have neighbors meddling in my affairs," was the somewhat surly reply. "I think I'm as competent to manage my business as most common men. I dare say you mean well, but it's no use to argue about smoking and chewing and all them things, for I never shall give 'em up."
"Well, Neighbor Carter, I'm glad you acknowledge that my motive is good." And so they parted.
But Mrs. Allen did not cease her efforts for the benefit of her neighbors. She encouraged Bell and Carrie to be kind to the children; and herself often called in Bob, Warren, and Susan to eat a bowl of bread and milk with her little flock.
Mrs. Carter now often came to her for advice. She was beginning to be dissatisfied with her own way of living, and, under her neighbor's judicious instruction, had commenced a reform in her housekeeping. She exerted herself to the utmost to make their poor home appear pleasant to her husband, and refrained from detailing the constant annoyances to which her children subjected her by their thieving propensities. From Mrs. Allen, too, she learned to cook a number of relishing dishes at little expense, which, though he did not acknowledge it, went farther toward convincing him that he might possibly do without his dram than all else had done.
"So you've had a call from the great folks," he said, one evening on his return from work. "I should think it was time they came, when I've worked on the farm two years before they ever heard of Allen. But some folks has the luck of attracting notice."
"It was Mrs. Allen asked her to call," urged Mrs. Carter, warmly, "and she'd be a good friend to me and to you, if you'd let her. She spoke very pretty to the lady for me, and I'm to go up for washing, to try if I can do it to please the great folks."
"That's because she didn't want the washing herself. I aint so easily taken in."
Mrs. Carter felt her blood boil with anger, but resolved, if possible, to curb it. So taking a heaping platter of potatoes and a johnny-cake from the oven, she proceeded to place them on the table.
Her husband sat down to eat in silence, the children as usual being off on some frolic. But curiosity to hear about their visitors at length prevailed over his ill-humor, and he said,—
"What did you find to talk about to the ladies?"
"I was after scouring the floor, and she praised me for keeping it neat. She said, 'if a house was ever so poor or plainly furnished, neatness might make it attractive.' Those were her very words. I minded them well."
"Yes, Betsey," the man said, gazing about him with a condescending air, "you do keep your room a great deal smarter than you used to."
Even this poor praise made her heart quite light, and she went on frankly to say,—
"I have been thinking how I wish we owned this place. If we did, I could paper the walls,—I learned when I was a girl,—and with the money I earn at the great house, I could buy paint for the outside. Then I'd add green blinds,—they make a house look so genteel, you know,—and have a pretty patch of flowers in front. I do believe, husband, if we had a tidy place of our own, the children would be proud to stay in it."
Her eyes beamed with pleasure at the picture she had drawn, but she was suddenly let down from her heights of fancy by her husband, who said,—
"Wife, if you aren't too much lifted up by your green blinds, wont you light my pipe? I'm going to the store."
"Oh, husband, if you will only stay with me! I know it hurts you to go there so much. I'll fix me up, and we'll take a walk together, as we used to. I made your tea real strong, so you wouldn't miss your drink. Say, wont you?"
Whether it was the strong tea, or a newly-awakened desire to try the effect of abstinence, Mr. Carter did consent to stay at home, and cut wood for the rest of the evening, which concession so much elated his wife's spirits that she planned a number of additional improvements if the house were only their own.
Taking in washing, as she hoped to do, involved the buying of a new clothes-line and pins. How to obtain them was the question, since, if she asked her husband for money to go to the store, he would be likely to say she had better give up at once, since it cost more to get ready than the work was worth. The berries were now in their prime, and at last, a lucky thought occurred to her.
"If Robert will consent for once to eat a cold dinner, I will take the children and go into the woods for the day."
Robert did consent, though not very graciously.
"I can do it," he answered, "but I'm sick of improvements, as you call them, since I must be shut out of my own house, and left to eat dinner like a dog from a pail."
But at night, when she returned laden with the fruits of her industry, and even Bob in possession of a large basket of berries, which he eagerly declared he could sell for ten cents a quart, the man acknowledged they had made a good day of it, and recommended them to follow the business.
Mrs. Allen had many times urged her neighbors to send their children to the Sabbath-school, but had always been met by the excuse that they had no suitable clothes. Now, by means of much coaxing, she persuaded them to go berrying day after day, until, besides the new line and two dozen of pins, they had earned enough to buy cloth for two calico dresses, two jackets, and a pair of pants. These her kind adviser gladly cut for her, explaining, meanwhile, that, in the families of the poor, many a penny may be saved by making one's own garments instead of buying them at the shops.
It was quite an era in the Carter family when, one fine Sabbath morning in September, Bob, Susan, Warren, and Nora started off together for Sabbath-school.
Even Mr. Carter was conscious of some degree of pride as he saw them walk away from the house neatly dressed, while the passers-by turned again and again to gaze at them.
"Why didn't you buy yourself a gown?" he asked, suddenly turning to his wife, who was standing in the doorway, shading her eyes to see the last of the children.
"Me? Oh, my turn will come by and by. I want to fit you out next."
He said no more, but on Saturday night brought her a silver dollar, the exact sum he had saved by going without his morning and evening dram,—the exercise of which self-denial cost him more than he cared to acknowledge.
The woman was in raptures, declaring it was worth more to her than a dozen new gowns; that she'd be willing to wash day and night, to go without new dresses, if he would only give up his visits to the saloon.
In truth, Mr. Allen's friendly warnings and his wife's hopeful visions were not without their effect, though not for his little finger would he acknowledge it to any one. He began to doubt whether it was all luck, as he had so often declared, and whether his own habits might not have something to do with it.
The first step he took toward reform was to seize Bob and Warren, as they lay sunning themselves in front of the house, and give them a smart flogging for their laziness, assuring the astonished youngsters that they were old enough to earn their own living, whereas they now didn't earn the salt to their porridge.
CHAPTER XI.
ONE LEAK STOPPED.
AND now, dear reader, I will invite you to accompany me to a tasteful cottage in the suburbs of the great commercial city in which the early scenes of our story are laid.
Descending from the omnibus in the great thoroughfare passing directly by the house, we turn into a rustic gate and enter a narrow path, so shaded by shrubbery that the walls of the cottage are scarcely visible. The building is of rough stone, of Gothic architecture, a wide portico running along in front of the door far enough to take in the long window on either side. Over the parlor window at the end, a pretty balcony is thrown out, giving expression, as Downing says, to the house. The other end, which is the sunny one, the windows are almost concealed by a luxuriant growth of woodbine, which is trained on trellises and then runs up to the roof.
Glancing from side to side, as we pass on to the door, we see that the walk is lined with ornamental shrubs, smoke-trees, and a few plants, among which the scarlet geranium and a fine growth of verbenas are prominent. In the front portico hangs a bird-cage, from which comes a gush of song to welcome our arrival, but a far prettier scene than that without awaits us as we enter. The rooms below—a parlor on one side and library on the other—are open, but vacant. The hum of voices from the chamber arrests our attention, and we softly advance up the black walnut staircase, past the beautiful statue of a flower-girl in the niche, on toward the door of the room. It is a sacred picture. Dare we intrude?
In the foreground, stands a tall gentleman, receiving from the arms of an old lady his first-born son, while the beautiful mother, pale as the lilies whose name she bears, looks on with mingled tears and smiles.
"Don't be afraid of the little creature!" exclaims Aunt Mercy, her countenance showing how fully she enters into the scene. "He's neither sugar nor salt, and wont melt in your hands."
"But it does seem so very small!"
"Bigger by a couple of pounds than you were, Lawrence. He's a good stout fellow, considering."
A feeble wail from the infant caused the father to press his lips softly on the tiny cheeks, and resign it quickly to the more experienced arms of his aunt.
"Perhaps he's hungry," murmured Lily, with an anxious glance at the roll of flannel. "Oh, I wish babies could talk!"
A holier, deeper light beamed from her eye as her husband took his customary seat near her.
"Only think," she said, with a smile, "the doctor says I shall be able to ride out in a week. I wish mamma could see baby. Oh, I never knew babies were such little darlings!"
"Aunt Mercy is in her element now," he exclaimed, laughing. "I suppose that is the way she used to fondle me."
She drew his head down to the pillow and whispered,—
"Oh, Lawrence, my heart is full of love and thanks to Him for this precious gift! I never knew before what happiness was. How can I best show my gratitude?"
"We will try to train our child for his service," was the low-spoken rejoinder.
Weeks flew by with rapid wings. A happy household was that where God was loved and honored. Lily's heart was full of joy. Every morning, with her own hands, she washed and dressed her babe, murmuring soft words of endearment, and then she folded his tiny hands in hers, and offered sweet, earnest petitions in his behalf.
"He shall never remember when he learned to pray," she said one day to her husband; "for he might not have one so tender and patient to teach him as I had; and then I lost so many years of happiness."
Lady-bird had become a full convert to Aunt Mercy's opinion that every wife should know how to order her own family. At first, indeed, she begged the old lady to do it for her, at least while she was with them, but the answer was,—
"'Twont do to transfer your responsibility to my shoulders. I'll help you all I can, but you are mistress here."
It was trying to the young mother to tear herself away from the nursery, even though Master Harry lay sound asleep in his cradle, but she was convinced Aunt Mercy was right. So, tucking up her dainty white cuffs, and donning an apron, she ran laughing to the kitchen to take lessons in bread and cake making.
Little by little, with the judicious advice of an experienced hand over at her side, Lady-bird learned to cook and oversee Maggie, a ruddy-faced Scotch girl, who had come to them directly after the exit of cook and Ann. Step by step, she gained an insight into the mysteries of soups, roasts, puddings, and waffles, until one day, when Lawrence brought a guest unexpectedly home to dine, she told him, with a smile, and a blush, that the dinner was entirely cooked by her own hands, while Aunt Mercy sat by holding Harry in her arms.