The Lamplighter. Maria S. Cummins
We do not pay any salary to our young clerks, and are overrun with applications at that rate; but I have heard good accounts of you, my boy (I shan't tell you where I had my information, though I see you look very curious), and, moreover, I like your countenance, and believe you will serve me faithfully. So, if you will tell me what you received from Mr. Bray, I will pay you the same next year, and after that increase your salary, if I find you deserve it; and you may commence with me on the first of January."
Willie thanked Mr. Clinton and departed. The merchant was reminded of the time when he too, the only son of his mother, and she a widow, had come alone to the city, sought long for employment, and finding it at last, had sat down to write and tell her how he hoped soon to earn enough for himself and her. And the spirits of those mothers who have wept, prayed, and thanked God over similar communications from much-loved sons, may know how to sympathise with good Mrs. Sullivan, when she heard from Willie the joyful tidings. True exclaimed, "Ah! Master Willie, they needn't have worried about yon, need they? I've told your grandfather more than once, that I was of the 'pinion 'twould all come out right at last."
CHAPTER XIV.
THE MINISTERING ANGEL.
"I wonder," said Miss Peekout, as she leaned on the sill of the front window, and looked up and down the street—"I wonder who that slender girl is that walks by here every morning, with that feeble-looking old man leaning on her arm? I always see them at just about this time, when the weather permits. She's a nice child, and seems to be very fond of the old man—probably her grandfather. I notice she's careful to leave the best side of the walk for him, and she watches every step he takes; she needs to do so, for he totters sadly. Poor little thing! she looks pale and anxious; I wonder if she takes all the care of the old man!" But they are now quite out of sight.
"I wonder," said old Mrs. Grumble, as she sat at her window, a little further down the street, "if I should live to be old and infirm—(Mrs. Grumble was over seventy, but as yet suffered from no infirmity but that of a very irritable temper)—I wonder if anybody would wait upon me, and take care of me as that little girl does of her grandfather! No, I'll warrant not! Who can she be?"
"There, look, Belle!" said one young girl to another, on their way to school; "there's the girl that we meet every day with the old man. How can you say you don't think she's pretty? I admire her looks!"
"You always do manage, Kitty, to admire people that everybody else thinks are horrid-looking."
"Horrid-looking!" replied Kitty; "she's anything but horrid-looking! Do notice, now, Belle, when we meet them, she has the sweetest way of looking up in the old man's face, and talking to him. I wonder what is the matter with him! Do see how his arm shakes—the one that's passed through hers!"
The two couples are now close to each other, and they pass in silence.
"Don't you think that she has an interesting face?" said Kitty, eagerly, as soon as they were out of hearing.
"She's got handsome eyes," answered Belle. "I don't see anything else that looks interesting about her. I wonder if she don't hate to walk in the street with that old grandfather; trudging along so slow, with the sun shining in her face, and he leaning on her arm, and shaking so that he can hardly keep on his feet! Catch me doing it."
"Why, Belle!" exclaimed Kitty, "how can you talk so? I'm sure I pity that old man dreadfully."
"Lor!" said Belle, "what's the use of pitying? If you are going to begin to pity, you'll have to do it all the time. Look,"—Belle touched her companion's elbow—"there's Willie Sullivan, father's clerk: an't he a beauty? I want to speak to him."
But before she could address a word to him, Willie, who was walking very fast, passed her with a bow, and a pleasant "Good morning, Miss Isabel;" and ere she had recovered from the surprise and disappointment, was some rods down the street.
"Polite!" muttered the pretty Isabel.
"Why, Belle! do see," said Kitty, who was looking back over her shoulder, "he's overtaken the old man and my interesting little girl. Look—look! He's put the old man's other arm through his, and they are all three walking off together. Isn't that quite a coincidence?"
"Nothing very remarkable," replied Belle, who seemed a little annoyed. "I suppose they are persons he's acquainted with. Come, make haste; we shall be late at school."
Reader! Do you wonder who they are, the girl and the old man? or have you already conjectured that they are Gerty and Trueman Flint? True is no longer the brave, strong, sturdy protector of the lonely child. True has had a paralytic stroke. His strength is gone, his power even to walk alone. He sits all day in his arm-chair, or on the old settle, when he is not out walking with Gerty. The blow suddenly struck down the robust man, and left him feeble as a child. And the little orphan girl who, in her weakness, her loneliness, and her poverty, found in him a father and a mother, she now is all the world to him—his staff, his comfort, and his hope. During four or five years that he has cherished the frail blossom, she has been gaining strength for the time when he should be the leaning, she the sustaining power; and when the time came, she was ready to respond to the call. With the simplicity of a child, but a woman's firmness; with the stature of a child, but a woman's capacity; the earnestness of a child, but a woman's perseverance—from morning till night, the faithful little nurse and housekeeper labours untiringly in the service of her first, her best friend. Ever at his side, ever attending to his wants, and yet most wonderfully accomplishing many things which he never sees her do, she seems, indeed, to the fond old man, what he once prophesied she would become—God's embodied blessing to his latter years, cheering his pathway to the grave.
Though disease had robbed True's limbs of their power, the blast had spared his mind, which was clear and tranquil as ever; while his pious heart was fixed in humble trust on that God whose presence and love he had ever acknowledged, and on whom he so fully relied, that even in this bitter trial he was able to say, in perfect submission, "Thy will, not mine, be done!"
Only about two months previous to the morning of which we have been speaking had True been stricken down. He had been in failing health, but had still been able to attend to his duties until one day in June, when Gerty went into his room, and found, to her surprise, that he had not risen, although it was much later than his usual hour. On going to the bedside and speaking to him, she saw that he looked strangely, and had lost the power of speech. Bewildered and frightened, she ran to call Mrs. Sullivan. A physician was summoned, the case pronounced one of paralysis, and for a time it was feared that it would prove fatal. He soon, however, began to amend, recovered his speech, and in a week or two was well enough to walk about with Gerty's assistance.
The doctor had recommended as much gentle exercise as possible, and every pleasant morning, before the day grew warm, Gerty presented herself equipped for those walks, which excited so much observation. At the same time she made such little household purchases as were necessary, that she might not go out again and leave True alone.
On the occasion alluded to, Willie accompanied them as far as the provision shop; and, having seen True comfortably seated, proceeded to the Wharf, while Gerty stepped up to the counter to bargain for the dinner. She purchased a bit of veal suitable for broth, gazed wistfully at some tempting summer vegetables, turned away and sighed. She held in her hand the wallet which contained all their money; it had now been in her keeping for some weeks, and was growing light; it was no use to think about the vegetables; and she sighed, for she remembered how True enjoyed the green peas last year. "How much is the meat?" asked she of the butcher, who named the sum. It was so little that it almost seemed to Gerty as if he had seen into her purse, and her thoughts too, and knew how glad she would be that it did not cost any more. As he handed her the change, he leaned over the