The English Orphans; Or, A Home in the New World. Mary Jane Holmes
Ida. She, however, insisted upon a description, and that evening when tea was over, the lamps lighted, and Mr. Selden reading the paper, George told her of Mary, who had watched so kindly over him during the weary days of his illness. Contrary to his expectations, she did not laugh at the picture which he drew of Mary's face, but simply said, "I know I should like her." Then after a moment's pause, she continued; "They are poor, you say, and Mr. Howard is a music teacher. Monsieur Duprês has just left me, and who knows but papa can get Mr. Howard to fill his place."
When the subject was referred to her father, he said that he had liked the appearance of Mr. Howard, and would if possible find him on the morrow and engage his services. The next morning Ida awoke with an uncomfortable impression that something was the matter with the weather. Raising herself on her elbow, and pushing back the heavy curtains, she looked out and saw that the sky was dark with angry clouds, from which the rain was steadily falling—not in drizzly showers, but in large round drops, which beat against the casement and then bounded off upon the pavement below.
All thoughts of Mr. Howard were given up for that day and as every moment of Mr. Selden's time was employed for several successive ones, it was nearly a week after George's arrival before any inquiries were made for the family. The hotel at which they had stopped was then found, but Mr. Selden was told that the persons whom he was seeking had left the day before for one of the inland towns, though which one he could not ascertain.
"I knew 'twould be so," said Ida rather fretfully, "father might have gone that rainy day as well as not. Now we shall never see nor hear from them again, and George will be so disappointed." But George's disappointment was soon forgotten in the pleasures and excitements of school, and if occasionally thoughts of Mary Howard came over him, they were generally dispelled by the lively sallies of his sprightly little cousin, who often declared that "she should be dreadfully jealous of George's travelling companion, were it not that he was a great admirer of beauty and that Mary was terribly ugly."
CHAPTER II.
CHICOPEE.
It was the afternoon for the regular meeting of the Ladies Sewing Society in the little village of Chicopee, and at the usual hour groups of ladies were seen wending their way towards the stately mansion of Mrs. Campbell, the wealthiest and proudest lady in town.
Many, who for months had absented themselves from the society, came this afternoon with the expectation of gaining a look at the costly marble and rosewood furniture with which Mrs. Campbell's parlors were said to be adorned. But they were disappointed, for Mrs. Campbell had no idea of turning a sewing society into her richly furnished drawing-rooms. The spacious sitting-room, the music-room adjoining, and the wide cool hall beyond, were thrown open to all, and by three o'clock they were nearly filled.
At first there was almost perfect silence, broken only by a whisper or under tone, but gradually the restraint wore way, and the woman near the door, who had come "because she was a mind to, but didn't expect to be noticed any way," and who, every time she was addressed, gave a nervous hitch backward with her chair, had finally hitched herself into the hall, where with unbending back and pursed up lips she sat, highly indignant at the ill-concealed mirth of the young girls, who on the stairs were watching her retrograde movements. The hum of voices increased, until at last there was a great deal more talking than working. The Unitarian minister's bride, Lilly Martin's stepmother, the new clerk at Drury's, Dr. Lay's wife's new hat and its probable cost, and the city boarders at the hotel, were all duly discussed, and then for a time there was again silence while Mrs. Johnson, president of the society, told of the extreme destitution in which she had that morning found a poor English family, who had moved into the village two or three years before.
They had managed to earn a comfortable living until the husband and father suddenly died, since which time the wife's health had been very rapidly failing, until now she was no longer able to work, but was wholly dependent for subsistence upon the exertions of her oldest child Frank, and the charity of the villagers, who sometimes supplied her with far more than was necessary, and again thoughtlessly neglected her for many days. Her chief dependence, too, had now failed her, for the day before the sewing society, Frank had been taken seriously ill with what threatened to be scarlet fever.
"Dear me," said the elegant Mrs. Campbell, smoothing the folds of her rich India muslin—"dear me, I did not know that we had such poverty among us. What will they do?"
"They'll have to go to the poor-house, won't they?"
"To the poor-house!" repeated Mrs. Lincoln, who spent her winters in Boston, and whose summer residence was in the neighborhood of the pauper's home, "pray don't send any more low, vicious children to the poor-house. My Jenny has a perfect passion for them, and it is with difficulty I can keep her away."
"They are English, I believe," continued Mrs. Campbell. "I do wonder why so many of those horridly miserable creatures will come to this country."
"Forgets, mebby, that she's English," muttered the woman at the door; and Mrs. Johnson added, "It would draw tears from your eyes, to see that little pale-faced Mary trying to wait upon her mother and brother, and carrying that sickly baby in her arms so that it may not disturb them."
"What does Ella do?" asked one, and Mrs. Johnson replied, "She merely fixes her curls in the broken looking-glass, and cries because she is hungry."
"She is pretty, I believe?" said Mrs. Campbell, and Rosa Pond, who sat by the window, and had not spoken before, immediately answered, "Oh, yes, she is perfectly beautiful; and do you know, Mrs. Campbell, that when she is dressed clean and nice, I think she looks almost exactly like your little Ella!"
A haughty frown was Mrs. Campbell's only answer, and Rosa did not venture another remark, although several whispered to her that they, too, had frequently observed the strong resemblance between Ella Howard and Ella Campbell.
From what has been said, the reader will readily understand that the sick woman in whom Mrs. Johnson was so much interested, was our old acquaintance Mrs. Howard.
All inquiries for her sisters had been fruitless, and after stopping for a time in Worcester, they had removed to Chicopee, where recently Mr. Howard had died. Their only source of maintenance was thus cut off, and now they were reduced to the utmost poverty. Since we last saw them a sickly baby had been added to their number. With motherly care little Mary each day washed and dressed it, and then hour after hour carried it in her arms, trying to still its feeble moans, which fell so sadly on the ear of her invalid mother.
It was a small, low building which they inhabited, containing but one room and a bedroom, which last they had ceased to occupy, for one by one each article of furniture had been sold, until at last Mrs. Howard lay upon a rude lounge, which Frank had made from some rough boards. Until midnight the little fellow toiled, and then when his work was done crept softly to the cupboard, there lay one slice of bread, the only article of food which the house contained. Long and wistfully he looked at it, thinking how good it would taste; but a glance at the pale faces near decided him. "They need it more than I," said he, and turning resolutely away, he prayed that he "might sleep pretty soon and forget how hungry he was."
Day after day he worked on, and though his cheek occasionally flushed with anger when of his ragged clothes and naked feet the village boys made fun, he never returned them any answer, but sometimes when alone the memory of their thoughtless jeers would cause the tears to start, and then wiping them away, he would wonder if it was wicked to be poor and ragged. One morning when he attempted to rise, he felt oppressed with a languor he had never before experienced, and turning on his trundlebed, and adjusting his blue cotton jacket, his only pillow, he again slept so soundly that Mary was obliged to call him twice ere she aroused him.
That night he came home wild with delight—he had earned a whole dollar, and