Beautiful Joe. Saunders Marshall
I invested in a pair of rabbits for Jack, a pair of canaries for Carl, pigeons for Ned, and bantams for Willie. I brought these creatures home, put them into their hands, and told them to provide for them. They were delighted with my choice, and it was very amusing to see them scurrying about to provide food and shelter for their pets, and hear their consultations with other boys. The end of it all is, that I am perfectly satisfied with my experiment. My boys, in caring for these dumb creatures, have become unselfish and thoughtful. They had rather go to school without their own breakfast than have the inmates of the stable go hungry. They are getting a humane education, a heart education, added to the intellectual education of their schools. Then it keeps them at home. I used to be worried with the lingering about street corners, the dawdling around with other boys, and the idle, often worse than idle, talk indulged in. Now they have something to do, they are men of business. They are always hammering and pounding at boxes and partitions out there in the stable, or cleaning up, and if they are sent out on an errand, they do it and come right home. I don’t mean to say that we have deprived them of liberty. They have their days for base-ball, and foot-ball, and excursions to the woods, but they have so much to do at home, that they won’t go away unless for a specific purpose.”
While Mrs. Morris was talking, her visitor leaned forward in her chair, and listened attentively. When she finished, Mrs. Montague said, quietly, “Thank you, I am glad that you told me this. I shall get Charlie a dog.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” replied Mrs. Morris. “It will be a good thing for your little boy. I should not wish my boys to be without a good, faithful dog. A child can learn many a lesson from a dog. This one,” pointing to me, “might be held up as an example to many a human being. He is patient, quiet, and obedient. My husband says that he reminds him of three words in the Bible ‘through much tribulation.’”
“Why does he say that?” asked Mrs. Montague, curiously.
“Because he came to us from a very unhappy home.” And Mrs. Morris went on to tell her friend what she knew of my early days.
When she stopped, Mrs. Montague’s face was shocked and pained. “How dreadful to think that there are such creatures as that man Jenkins in the world. And you say that he has a wife and children. Mrs. Morris, tell me plainly, are there many such unhappy homes in Fairport?”
Mrs. Morris hesitated for a minute, then she said, earnestly: “My dear friend, if you could see all the wickedness, and cruelty, and vileness, that is practiced in this little town of ours in one night, you could not rest in your bed.”
Mrs. Montague looked dazed. “I did not dream that it was as bad as that,” she said. “Are we worse than other towns?”
“No; not worse, but bad enough. Over and over again the saying is true, one-half the world does not know how the other half lives. How can all this misery touch you? You live in your lovely house out of the town. When you come in, you drive about, do your shopping, make calls, and go home again. You never visit the poorest streets. The people from them never come to you. You are rich, your people before you were rich, you live in a state of isolation.”
“But that is not right,” said the lady in a wailing voice. “I have been thinking about this matter lately. I read a great deal in the papers about the misery of the lower classes, and I think we richer ones ought to do something to help them. Mrs. Morris, what can I do?”
The tears came in Mrs. Morris’ eyes. She looked at the little, frail lady, and said, simply: “Dear Mrs. Montague, I think the root of the whole matter lies in this. The Lord made us all one family. We are all brothers and sisters. The lowest woman is your sister and my sister. The man lying in the gutter is our brother What should we do to help these members of our common family, who are not as well off as we are? We should share our last crust with them. You and I, but for God’s grace in placing us in different surroundings, might be in their places. I think it is wicked neglect, criminal neglect in us to ignore this fact.”
“It is, it is,” said Mrs. Montague, in a despairing voice. “I can’t help feeling it. Tell me something I can do to help some one.”
Mrs. Morris sank back in her chair, her face very sad, and yet with something like pleasure in her eyes as she looked at her caller. “Your washerwoman,” she said, “has a drunken husband and a cripple boy. I have often seen her standing over her tub, washing your delicate muslins and laces, and dropping tears into the water.”
“I will never send her anything more she shall not be troubled,” said Mrs. Montague, hastily.
Mrs. Morris could not help smiling. “I have not made myself clear. It is not the washing that troubles her; it is her husband who beats her, and her boy who worries her. If you and I take our work from her, she will have that much less money to depend upon, and will suffer in consequence, She is a hard-working and capable woman, and makes a fair living. I would not advise you to give her money, for her husband would find it out, and take it from her. It is sympathy that she wants. If you could visit her occasionally, and show that you are interested in her, by talking or reading to her poor foolish boy or showing him a picture-book, you have no idea how grateful she would be to you, and how it would cheer her on her dreary way.”
“I will go to see her to-morrow,” said Mrs. Montague. “Can you think of any one else I could visit?”
“A great many,” said Mrs. Morris; “but I don’t think you had better undertake too much at once. I will give you the addresses of three or four poor families, where an occasional visit would do untold good. That is, it will do them good if you treat them as you do your richer friends. Don’t give them too much money, or too many presents, till you find out what they need. Try to feel interested in them. Find out their ways of living, and what they are going to do with their children, and help them to get situations for them if you can. And be sure to remember that poverty does not always take away one’s self-respect.”
“I will, I will,” said Mrs. Montague, eagerly. “When can you give me these addresses?”
Mrs. Morris smiled again, and, taking a piece of paper and a pencil from her work basket wrote a few lines and handed them to Mrs. Montague.
The lady got up to take her leave. “And in regard to the dog,” said Mrs. Morris, following her to the door, “if you decide to allow Charlie to have one, you had better let him come in and have a talk with my boys about it. They seem to know all the dogs that are for sale in the town.”
“Thank you; I shall be most happy to do so. He shall have his dog. When can you have him?”
“To-morrow, the next day, any day at all. It makes no difference to me. Let him spend an afternoon and evening with the boys, if you do not object.”
“It will give me much pleasure,” and the little lady bowed and smiled, and after stooping down to pat me, tripped down the steps, and got into her carriage and drove away.
Mrs. Morris stood looking after her with a beaming face, and I began to think that I should like Mrs. Montague, too, if I knew her long enough. Two days later I was quite sure I should, for I had a proof that she really liked me. When her little boy Charlie came to the house, he brought something for me done up in white paper. Mrs. Morris opened it, and there was a handsome nickel-plated collar, with my name on it Beautiful Joe. Wasn’t I pleased! They took off the little shabby leather strap that the boys had given me when I came, and fastened on my new collar and then Mrs. Morris held me up to a glass to look at myself. I felt so happy. Up to this time I had felt a little ashamed of my cropped ears and docked tail, but now that I had a fine new collar I could hold up my head with any dog.
“Dear old Joe,” said Mrs. Morris, pressing my head tightly between her hands. “You did a good thing the other day in helping me to start that little woman out of her selfish way of living.”
I did not know about that, but I knew that I felt very grateful to Mrs. Montague for my new collar, and ever afterward, when I met her in the street, I stopped and looked at her. Sometimes she saw me and stopped her carriage to speak to me; but I always wagged my tail, or rather my body, for I had no tail to wag, whenever I saw her, whether she saw me or not.
Her son got a beautiful Irish setter, called “Brisk.” He