The reigning belle

John Smith had done his best to obey these confused demands. He brought water, and held it in a stone pitcher, while Mrs. Smith thrust her hand to the bottom and sprinkled little Jimmy’s face; but this failed to bring a sign of life back. So he put down the pitcher, and brought a little tin measure half-full of brandy, from some secret corner back in the store, which his better half snatched from him and held to those pale lips. Some drops trickled through the teeth that had fallen slightly apart, and, after a little, the boy began to stir. Then the good woman burst into tears that came in a torrent, deluging all the full-blown roses in her cheeks, and shaking her bosom with sobs.

“There,” she cried holding the lad out on her lap as he struggled to life again; “take him, heft him, make sure what a shadow he is; then down upon your knees, John Smith, and thank God that you’re not quite a murderer! Your meanness will be the death of me yet. Now I warn you. Me and the children, your duty to take care of us? John Smith, John Smith, now don’t get me out of patience.”

“Well, then, what if I say that I am sorry—right down sorry?”

“In that case, John Smith——”

“That I will let them have anything they want, without charging till better times come round,” continued the grocer, soaking a cracker in brandy, and feeding it in fragments to the boy.

“John—John Smith, I always did say——”

“And what we haven’t got, I’ll go right out and buy with our own money—sausages, beef-steak, mutton-chops. Will that pacify you, Mary Jane?”

So the two set to work in earnest, while little James looked on, somewhat faint still, and pleasantly bewildered, with a strong taste of brandy in his mouth, and a warmth in his whole system that he had not felt for months.

“Don’t take too much of that, Jimmy dear,” said Mrs. Smith, looking up from the basket she was packing. “Dried-beef, crackers, tea, bread; just stuff in a codfish, Smith, edgeways down this side, and fill up the chinks with apples—them red ones are the best. As I was saying, Jimmy, one cracker can soak up no end of moisture, and your cheeks are getting red. Now, Smith, run out, and hurry back with the other things.”

Smith went out, and his wife, in her rich benevolence, began to fill innumerable paper bags with dried prunes, raisins, loaf-sugar, and other little dainties, which, in her eager haste to pack up substantials, had escaped her mind till then. These she pressed down into the basket, and stuffed into her own pocket, which were quite full when her husband returned with three or four paper parcels in his hand, looking more radiant than any man who had bribed his wife’s forgiveness with a diamond bracelet could have done.

“Now, wife, you are ready?”

“Stop a minute. John Smith, you are an angel, coat, boots, and all; but I’ve thought of something. Any fire in your kitchen, Jimmy, dear?”

“No, ma’am. We haven’t had any use for a fire lately!”

“Exactly. No wood, no coal?”

James shook his head. Mrs. Smith opened a side door, and called to some one in the upper rooms, in which her family dwelt.

“Kate! Kate Gorman!”

“Well, marum, what’s to the fore now?”

“Come down stairs, Kate—but no matter. Is there a good fire in the range?”

“Never a better!”

“Then take this, and this; broil the steak, fry the ham, slice up the cold potatoes left after dinner, and fry them; then heat some tin pans, and put them in.”

“Thin I’m not to set the table, marum?”

“No. Make a strong pot of coffee, and one of tea, bring ’em hot; pickles, mustard; and don’t forget some of them strawberry preserves, too.”

“But what am I to do with the same, Mistress Smith?”

“Bring them all over to the little white house, with the morning glories. Open the gate softly, and come round to the back door. Step down here, Kate, and I will tell you.”

Kate stepped down, and in the darkness of the stair-case received very particular instructions, which she obeyed implicitly.

Then Mrs. Smith returned to the store, took up the heavy basket, and called James.

“Run on first, now,” she said, “and keep them all busy about something; take half a dozen apples, and give them each one; then step back and let me into the kitchen. It is sure to be ready and neat as wax. I’ve got matches here; then keep them all busy, and be a little boisterous till I get things ship-shape.”

Little James obeyed; and a few moments after burst in upon the mournful silence into which his mother and sisters had fallen, with eyes as bright as stars, and a heap of red apples in his arms.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he cried out, pouring the apples into Eva’s lap. “One, two, three, four, five. One a piece, and another to spare. Here, mother, the biggest for you, plump and rosy as Mrs. Smith’s cheek, and smelling luscious. There, Ruthy, darling, I’ll get a knife and peel yours.”

With this the artful little rogue ran into the kitchen, unbolted the door, and seizing on a knife, was back again in an instant.

“No, no, James, dear! We must not waste good things like that,” said Ruth, holding out her slender hand for the fruit which she regarded with longing eyes. “Put away your knife—I am in a hurry for my apple.”

James sprang to her couch, held the apple to her mouth, and laughed aloud as her teeth sunk into its crimson side.

“Eva, why don’t you pitch into yours?” he said. “Just watch Ruth, then see how mother is going it.”

“I do not need it. These two will keep over.”

“Oh, yes! Keep over, of course. Well, just as you like. But I say, let to-morrow take care of itself. ‘Hi diddle diddle, the cat’s in the fiddle, the cow——’ No, that’s all nonsense; the animal couldn’t do it, but I could. There, now, what do people have foot-stools lying about loose for. One step more, and the only gentleman of this family would have been full length at your feet. Mother!”

The boy sprung to his mother, and kneeling before her, pulled down the hand she had lifted to her face, and kissed it tenderly.

“Oh, mother! I thought nothing could make you cry.”

“I am growing childish, James; sickness weakens one so,” answered the woman, who was usually firm as iron. “Besides, gratitude brings tears easy.”

“Yes,” said Ruth, thoughtfully; “for rain, there must be some warmth; the cold, bitter days only bring down hail and sleet.”

“Tell us,” said the mother, wiping her eyes, “where did you get these?”

“From Mrs. Smith, mother. Isn’t she splendid?”

“But you did not ask her again?”

“Yes, I did; not for them, but to let me work for something to keep us alive; so these apples were handy, you see, and I’m going lots of errands—never you fear!”

“How they set one craving for more,” said the old lady, who had the great hunger of a past fever on her, which was maddening—and she eyed the two apples in Eva’s lap ravenously.

Eva reached forth one of the apples, but James put it back, shaking his head playfully at the mother’s greed.

“Not healthy to eat too much at once. Wait a little, and then——”

That instant the door leading into the kitchen was flung open, and the delicious scent of hot beef-steak and steaming coffee filled the little parlor. Eva and Mrs. Laurence started up, and cried out in their joyful amazement, for there, lighted by two lamps, was a table, well spread with all their scarcely-used dishes, on which was a repast such as they had not tasted for months.

“Take your place, mother — the armed-chair for you. Pour out the coffee, Eva, while I roll Ruthy up to the table. Want help? Well, yes, you may lend a hand this once, for a cracker or so, soaked in bitterness, don’t make giants of boys all at once. There, Miss Ruthy, what do you think of that?”

Miss Ruthy, the moment her chair was drawn close to the table, folded her hands on the white cloth, and bowed her face upon it, thanked God as he is seldom thanked at any meal. Then the bowed heads were lifted, and this little household, so downcast an hour before, came out into the sunshine of this marvellous plenty; and those sad faces grew bright with smiles of thankfulness, while two eager faces peeped in through the morning glories at the window, enjoying it all, as if the grocer’s wife and her servant had been good fairies.