Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 28

"I dunno about that. I guess he most looks to see an angel," Mrs. Blake remarked dryly. In the ripple of laughter that followed, I turned to little Freddie who was crying softly with his face hidden in a chair.

"What is the matter, my little man?"

"Why you see, Miss Selwyn, Grandad's going away, and they're going to put a sharp knife in his eyes; and maybe he will die." He burst into a louder fit of weeping. His mother drew him hastily into her bedroom and shut the door--her own face pale, and almost as sorrowful as the little lad's.

"You must tell them there is no danger, doctor."

I followed Mrs. Lark.u.m into her room and found that she shared Freddie's fears and grief.

"There is not the slightest danger to life or health in the operation," I a.s.sured her, when her countenance began to brighten.

"You see we've had so much misfortune I can't sense that father may get his sight, and we be comfortable as we used to be."

"You must have faith in G.o.d. The darkest time has been with you 'the hour before the dawn.' Now I will give you money for present necessities for your father. If more is required, it will be provided when necessary." I took out my purse which, now that I was earning money of my own, I carried about with me quite recklessly, and gave her ten crisp notes that would buy her father a good many necessaries, beside his car fare. She did not try to thank me but her look was enough to a.s.sure me she appreciated my efforts for their well-being.

That evening, as I sat chatting by the dining-room fire with Mrs.

Flaxman, waiting for the dinner-bell to ring, I told her of the beautiful surprise I had met that day, and how I had given them the money for him to start the following morning in search of sight.

"Why, where did you get the money? I thought you spent every cent except your weekly allowance when we were in New York."

I hesitated, flus.h.i.+ng rather guiltily; for this was the first real secret of my life.

"You have not been selling your jewelry, I hope," she said, quite sternly. "Mr. Winthrop would not easily forgive such an act, after you had been entrusted with it too."

"I have not sold anything that belonged to anyone but myself."

She looked at me closely, and my eyes fell before her gaze. "It is not idle curiosity, believe me, Medoline, that makes me so insistent. I wish you would explain how you got the money. You are unacquainted with the habits of this country, and may have been unwittingly led into some indiscretion."

"What I have done is a very common thing in Europe even among the best of people."

"Do you mean selling your cast-off garments?"

"Why, Mrs. Flaxman, you have as poor an opinion of me as Mr. Winthrop. I wonder what is the reason my friends have so little confidence in me?" I said, despairingly.

"But, dear, there is some mystery; and young ladies, outside of tragic stories, are expected to live lives of crystal clearness."

"I will tell you, for fear you imagine I have done some terrible thing.

When we were in New York, I hunted up a picture-dealer and submitted a number of my sketches, that I had hidden away in my trunk, to him, and he consented to act as my agent. For one good sized painting of Oaklands he has given me fifty dollars. Perhaps that Mr. Bovyer bought it, I have felt afraid that he did; but any way the money will do good; be the indirect means of giving sight to one of Christ's own followers. All the afternoon, like the refrain of some beautiful melody, those words have been sounding in my ears: 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.'" Over my burning cheeks a few bitter tears were falling, while a mad desire seized me to leave Oaklands, and the cold, selfish life it imposed, and try in some purer air to live as conscience urged. I walked to the farthest end of the long room without waiting for Mrs. Flaxman's reply, and stood looking out into the bright moonlit air. Far away I could see the moonbeams dimpling on the waters, making a long, s.h.i.+mmering pathway to the distant horizon, while in the frosty sky a few bold stars were s.h.i.+ning, scarce dimmed by the moon's brightness. The thought came to me that, in a few weeks, Mr. Bowen might be thrilled by just such a vision of delight. I turned abruptly to tell Mrs. Flaxman I could never go back to the old life of selfish ease, when such opportunities for helpfulness were given me, when I met her face to face. She gave me a look I will never forget.

"Medoline, can you forgive me those unjust suspicions?"

"Yes, if you won't interfere with my picture selling," I said joyously.

"Hus.h.!.+ Mr. Winthrop may hear you. I think he is coming. But you may sell all the pictures you can, only don't speak of it now."

Mr. Winthrop was waiting for us. As he looked at me he said:--"You seem to have more mental suns.h.i.+ne than your share--your face is so bright.

Possibly you have been having a specially happy season with your bereaved ones."

"With one of them I have been more than happy."

"May I ask the name of this favored individual?"

"It is Mr. Bowen, the blind man."

"Ah, then, you are finding the widowers most congenial. They do not dissolve into tears so readily as the widows; and there may be other fascinations. Really, I shall be compelled to forbid such intimacies."

"He is going to New York to-morrow morning, with the expectation of having his sight restored, after being blind nearly twelve years."

"I presume he is very poor, else you would not take such strong interest in him."

"He has no money. In other respects he is the richest person I ever knew."

"Ah, he is a most remarkable individual. However, I dare say a little money will not come amiss to him, notwithstanding his wealth. You will want another quarter's instalment."

"Is my quarter up?" I caught Mrs. Flaxman's warning look, and spoke rather guiltily.

"Not quite, but this is a peculiarly urgent case. Probably he is wholly dependent on your bounty."

"Doctor Mackenzie told me that the doctor in New York won't charge anything for removing the cataract from his eyes."

"I see you have gone about it, in a very businesslike manner. Does MacKenzie charge for his advice?"

"Why, no, indeed; surely all men are not heartless."

"In money matters they are, more or less; possibly widowers should be excepted."

"It is a pity some others should not lose a wife or two. A few might require to lose half a dozen, at least."

"That would be cruel. Think what an upsetting of one's plans and business arrangements generally that would entail."

"It might prove an excellent discipline. Nothing short of an earthquake, I believe, would teach some men kindliness and their brotherhood with pain."

He received my remark with such unruffled serenity that I was angry with myself for engaging in a wordy warfare with him, when he was sure to be victorious. He sat with us for a short time after dinner, chatting so graciously that I came to the conclusion he was not, after all, so out of sympathy with my little benevolent projects as his words often implied.

When he rose to go he came to me, and, taking out his pocket-book counted out fifty dollars and laid them in my hand. He paused a moment with the pocket-book still open.

"This is a special case, little one," he said, kindly. "May I be permitted to contribute something for your friend?"

He laid another note in my hand, but I did not wait to see the amount. I started to my feet impulsively.

"Oh, Mr. Winthrop, I must confess to you. I have not been real honest.

Won't you forgive me?"

I felt the tears rush to my eyes, and my lips quivered like some frightened child's, making me feel sadly ashamed of myself. He looked startled.

"What is it, Medoline?"

"I earned the money myself. I have been selling pictures."

"Is that the worst offense you have to confess?" he asked, with a keen look into my upturned face.