Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 21

I said, giving Mr. Winthrop a humorous glance.

"Another case of widowers," Mr. Winthrop whispered, as he bent his head near to mine; but I saw that he too was not unmoved, and the look he bestowed upon me was equal to a caress.

"I am going to speak to that poor man myself." Mrs. Flaxman said very energetically, after she had got her eyes dried.

She went, but very soon I saw her handkerchief in active service again.

They sat chatting a long time, while all the pa.s.sengers seemed to have a growing interest in their fellow traveller and his little charge. The latter wakened while Mrs. Flaxman was still lingering beside the bereaved father. It cried at first; but she soon got him so comfortable and content, that he was laughing and cooing into the wintry looking faces of his father and new nurse. I wanted to have the dear little fellow in my own arms, he had such a bright, intelligent face, and his smile was so sunny; but I could not muster courage to go and ask for him.

Mrs. Flaxman probably noticed my wistful look, for she presently returned to her own seat bringing him with her. She had scarcely left the father's side when a white-haired, kindly-faced old gentleman at the farther end of the car got up and came stumbling along, and took a seat beside him.

The poor fellow winced. He shrank, no doubt, from opening his wound afresh for another stranger to probe. But there was something so sympathetic in the old man's face, and the hearty shake of the hand that he gave without even speaking, that I concluded he would do more good than harm. After sitting a little while in silence, I overheard him telling how he had heard of his trouble through the conductor. I had not asked him anything about his wife's death, that seemed a grief too sacred to explain to a perfect stranger; but he had told Mrs. Flaxman all, and I sat listening with a strong desire to cry while she repeated the story to us.

"His wife died very suddenly," she said, "and they were all strangers where they lived; but every one, he said, was so kind. He is taking his baby home to his mother. They live a little way out of Cavendish. He said he knew us; and was never so surprised at anything in his life as when a beautiful young lady, like you, traveling, too, with Mr. Winthrop, came and took his baby. Everybody was looking so crossly at the baby, he had just begun to feel as if there was no sympathy for him in all this world full of strangers; but, when you came, there was a great load taken off his heart. I mean after this to be more on the watch to help others."

"Why, Mrs. Flaxman, I thought that was one of your strongest characteristics."

"Don't ever say such a thing to me again, when if it had not been for a tender-hearted child, with the very poorest possible opinion of herself, we might have, amongst us, finished breaking that poor fellow's heart."

"You will make her vain if you continue praising her so much," Mr.

Winthrop remonstrated.

"She has not a natural tendency that way, and we have not helped to foster her vanity; if we have erred, it has been in the other direction."

"Please let us cease talking personalities. Why don't you admire and talk about this lovely boy? Wouldn't you like to have us adopt him at Oaklands, Mr. Winthrop?"

"I expect you will not be quite satisfied until you get the position of matron in some huge asylum for widows and orphans, with a few widowers thrown in for variety."

"I should enjoy such a position, I believe. It never occurred to me before. Only think! Gathering up little bits of motherless humanity like this, and training them into n.o.ble men and women. They would go on perpetuating my work long after my eyes were sleeping under the daisies.

Why that would be next thing to the immortality most of us long for."

"Do you really think you would like such a career?"

"Yes, really. If you would only help me to begin now, in a small way at first, and build a pretty cottage in one of the Glens around Oaklands."

"Have you no higher ambition than to take care of children?"

"But what could be higher, at least within my reach? I am not clever enough to write books--at least not good ones, and there are too many fifth and sixth rate ones now in the market. My painting and music won't ever amount to anything more than my book-writing could do; so what remains for me but to try and make the world the better for having lived in it? And the only way any of us can do that is to work for human beings."

I was in such real earnest, I forgot for the time Mr. Winthrop's possible sarcasm.

"You are not very moderate in your demands. Possibly I would be permitted to share in the posthumous honors you mention, which would be some recompense for the outlay. Of course, I would be called on to feed and clothe, as well as shelter, your motley crowd."

"I forgot about that. Would it cost very much?"

"The expense would depend largely on the numbers you received, and it might not be safe to trust to your discretion in limiting the number.

Your sympathies would be so wrought on, Oaklands would soon swarm with blear-eyed specimens of humanity, and Mrs. Flaxman and I would be compelled to seek some other shelter."

"If I were only rich myself," I said, with a hopeless sigh.

"You would very soon be poor," Mrs. Flaxman interjected, turning to Mr.

Winthrop. "I could scarcely restrain her from buying one of the most expensive pieces of broadcloth for her blind friend."

"He may never have had a genuine suit of West of England broadcloth in his life, and I wanted him to have the best. The difference in price would only amount to a few dollars; and if we were getting ourselves a satin or velvet gown we would not have hesitated a moment over the difference of five or six dollars."

"My ward will need some severe lessons in economy before she can be entrusted with a house full of children. Paris dolls and becoming dresses for her prettiest children would soon drain the pocket."

I said no more. My enthusiasm, viewed in the light of my guardian's cold criticism, seemed exceedingly Utopian, and I concluded that my best plan was to do the work that came in my way cheerfully and lovingly, without sighing hopelessly after the impossible. To make the motherless little fleck of immortality happy that now nestled confidingly in my arms for a brief hour, was the work that just then lay nearest to me; and I set myself about doing it with right good will.

As we neared Cavendish, the kindly faced old gentleman started for his own seat, but paused on the way at my side, and shook my hand cordially as he said: "I want to thank you, Miss, for giving us all such a wholesome lesson. I am an old man now, and can look back over the deeds of more than three score and ten years; and I tell you there's none gives me more real satisfaction than the acts of kindness I've done to others.

If I were beginning the journey again, I'd set myself to do such work as that, rather than trying to pile up money that at the last I'd have to leave to some one that mightn't thank me. I've a fancy, too, that the kindnesses follow us into another life. If I don't mistake, when you get old like me, you'll have many pleasant memories of the kind to look back upon; and then you may remember the old man's words long after he has crumbled to dust."

I smiled brightly up into his strong, wholesome face and would really have liked to know more about him, but like many a person we meet on the journey of life, as s.h.i.+ps on some wide sea, signal briefly to each other and then pa.s.s out of sight, so I never saw or heard of him afterward. He stood a moment stroking the baby's curly head, and then with a murmured "G.o.d bless the little lad," he pa.s.sed on to his own seat. I felt instinctively that all this sentiment would be exceedingly distasteful to Mr. Winthrop, and was amused at the look of relief that pa.s.sed over his face when our own station was reached. As I returned the baby to his father, he grasped my hand with a pressure that pained me and said, scarce above a whisper:

"I will pa.s.s your kindness along to some other desolate one some day. It is the only recompense within my power to make you."

"What I did has been a genuine pleasure. This little fellow has far overpaid me."

"It was a great deal you did for me just at that bitter moment."

"I wish I could do more to lighten your sorrow," I said, with tears of sympathy in my eyes as I said my final good-bye, and hastened after Mr.

Winthrop, who was waiting, I knew impatiently, on the platform. I saw Samuel a.s.sisting Thomas to control the horses, who were always in awe of the snorting engine; and near them stood a lumbering express, into which the men were putting the long box that I knew contained the rigid body of the dead mother. Presently the poor husband with his baby crowing gleefully in his arms, climbed up to the seat beside the driver, and they started out on their lonely journey. Mr. Winthrop was singularly patient with me, although I kept them waiting some time while I stood watching the loaded express pa.s.s out of sight. As I leaned back in our own luxurious carriage, I tried to picture the poor fellow's home going, and hoped that a welcome would be given that would help to lighten his burdened heart.

CHAPTER XIV.

HUMBLE CHARITIES.

Mr. Winthrop had telegraphed Reynolds that morning that we were coming home, and when we came in sight of Oaklands, just in the dim twilight, we found the house brilliantly lighted. There was such a genial warmth and comfort when we entered the door that I exclaimed joyously:

"After all, there is no place like home."

"Is Oaklands better than New York, do you say?" Mr. Winthrop questioned.

"This is home. To every well regulated mind that is the sweetest spot on earth."

"Without any reservation?"

"We do not need to make any when it is such a home as Oaklands."

"Possibly you may think very differently when you get better acquainted with the fascinations of city life."

"One might enjoy both, don't you think, Mr. Winthrop? The contrast would make each more delightful."

"You must try the experiment before you will be able to give a correct decision."

"It seems to me to-night one must be hard to please to want a better home than this, especially with an occasional change to city life. I cannot understand why I have so much more to make life beautiful than others--so many others--have."