Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 30

"If you hadn't fell in with me that day in the cars, and got helping us here on the Mill Road you'd a found some other good work to do. Most young ladies like you would a turned up their noses at a plain old creature like me, skeered most out of their wits, talking so bold like as I did; but you answered me so kind like, I never thought you were anything but common folks like myself."

"I am very thankful to G.o.d you did meet her that day. Most like I would have been dead by this time, and father and the children on the parish,"

Mrs. Lark.u.m said, with a shudder.

"Yes, I am right glad, myself," Mrs. Blake said, very complacently.

"She might have been amusing herself visiting with the aristocracy," Mrs.

Lark.u.m continued, "and dressing up every fine day, instead of coming among us, bringing better than suns.h.i.+ne with her. Dr. MacKenzie told me folks wondered at her coming among us so much; but he said he wished more of her cla.s.s was like her."

"Now I must leave you;" I said, rising suddenly. "When you begin to praise me, I shall always go away."

"Don't you like us to tell you how much you have helped us?" Mrs. Lark.u.m asked wistfully. "It does me so much good to talk about you."

"I believe helping you gives me more pleasure than anything I do; so why thank me for what I enjoy?"

"You won't mind your own kind talking about you coming to us, and doing so much for the poor, will you?"

"Certainly not. While I am not dependent on my neighbors for my peace of mind, I will come to see you two as often as I can do anything for you."

"I am glad to hear that; I don't get over one of your visits for days.

They brace me up to take hold of life, and do the best I can for father and the children."

"I guess if folks does talk about you, they talked about one that was better'n any of us. I was reading the other day about the respectable ones in their days complaining how Christ eat with publicans and sinners," Mrs. Blake said, giving me one of her strong encouraging glances.

"Thank you, Mrs. Blake; after that I can brave any criticism."

A few days later I walked in the early afternoon to the Mill Road. Cook had prepared some special dainties for Mrs. Lark.u.m; so with a small lunch basket on my arm I started on my errand of mercy.

I had been standing at my easel a good part of the forenoon, and the satisfaction that comes from faithful work done, together with the a.s.surance from Mrs. Lark.u.m that my visits carried with them something better than suns.h.i.+ne, I trod swiftly over the frozen streets, quite content with life and its developments. I met Dr. MacKenzie on the way.

He stopped to shake hands, and with an almost boyish eagerness, said: "Have you heard the news?"

"Not anything special. I hope you have some good news for me."

"Well, our friend Mr. Bowen has been heard from. The doctor has performed his miracle."

"Can he see as well as ever?" I cried joyously.

"I believe so."

I could not keep back the troublesome tears. "I am so glad you told me,"

I murmured, and then nodded my adieus rather abruptly, for I was ashamed of my emotion. It seemed perfectly fitting to me, as I walked briskly along, that Dr. MacKenzie should be the first to tell me the news; for, but for him, we should never have thought of making the experiment. That very evening I met him at a party at Mrs. Silas Markham's, when he gave me the full particulars I was too tender hearted to hear in the morning.

In answer to his inquiries, the occulist had written to him some special circ.u.mstances of the case. He described Mr. Bowen's extreme patience.

"Such an instance of perfect trust in G.o.d is refres.h.i.+ng to meet with,"

he wrote; "and but for this his case would probably have proved hopeless, since it was one of the worst cases we have treated successfully."

"His religion has helped him wonderfully all through his terrible affliction. I wonder will he be just as devout as ever?" I said.

"I think so. He is not made of the stuff that forgets favors received from G.o.d or man."

"I think he will have stronger reasons than mere grat.i.tude to keep him close to the Lord," I said, thinking of the joy he had in communion with the Divine, even amid his darkness and poverty.

That same day, after leaving the doctor, I proceeded first to Mrs.

Blake's to tell her the news. She threw a shawl over her head and accompanied me directly to Mrs. Lark.u.m's. We found her sitting in a comfortable, though rather ancient easy-chair, which I had exhumed, along with a good many other useful articles, from the garret at Oaklands. The two older children we interrupted taking a lesson at their mother's knee.

The primer was gladly laid aside, while the children came coyly to my side, quite certain there was a delectable bite for them somewhere in my pockets. I dismissed that care from my mind by dividing the sweets, and then gave Mrs. Lark.u.m her lunch. She sat enjoying the dainty food, sharing now and then a taste with the little ones, who had a keen appreciation for Oaklands' cookery. I sat watching the group, glancing now and then at Mrs. Blake's eloquent face with a good deal of satisfaction. I was anxious to break the news carefully and scarce knew how to begin, when Mrs. Lark.u.m looked up at me eagerly and said:

"Have you any news from father?"

"What makes you think she has news?" Mrs. Blake asked.

"I dreamed last night you brought me a letter, and I was afraid to open it, and woke up all trembling and frightened. When I saw you coming to-day, my heart stood still for a second or two."

"Your dream is partly true, only the news is good. Dr. MacKenzie told me they have every hope that your father will see as well as ever."

I was not prepared for the effect, my words produced. A pallor overspread her face; before Mrs. Blake could reach her she had fainted. That good woman was always ready for any emergency. She very calmly laid her down on the floor and proceeded to bring her back to consciousness. The children raised a dismal wail; but this she instantly quieted by marching them off to the bedroom.

While she applied cold water vigorously, and rubbed the nerveless hands, I asked in much alarm, seeing how long and deathlike was her swoon: "Is she really dead?"

"Bless you, no. She's one of them high-strung women that takes everything hard. She fainted over and over when her husband was fetched home dead. I did think then she'd drop off; but joy don't kill like trouble."

Presently the poor creature struggled back to consciousness.

"I am afraid I have frightened you," she said, with a feeble attempt at apology.

"Pray do not think of us. I may have been to blame in breaking the news so suddenly."

"No, indeed; the fault was not in you; but I have had so many shocks the least thing upsets me. Dr. MacKenzie told me that my heart is not in a healthy state."

"I should say that was the matter with your whole body. It's a pretty rickety concern, like my old rocking-chair. Every day I'm looking for it to go to pieces under me," Mrs. Blake remarked.

"I am not nearly so bad as that; I do not expect to fall to pieces for a good many years, now that father has got his sight. He will be able to keep us comfortable, like we used to be years ago."

Mrs. Blake having got her patient back into the chair, administered wine and water to prevent a recurrence of the malady.

A week or two after this Esmerelda informed me one morning that there were great rejoicings in the Mill Road.

"I think they would like to see you there. I heard Mr. Bowen and some of them talking about you last night, after meeting."

"Mr. Bowen--was he there?"

"Oh, yes; and he sees as well as anybody."

"I will go to-day," I said, with difficulty restraining my delight.

"Some of the people who attend Beech Street Church think you are a little above everybody in Cavendish."

Esmerelda spoke with great cordiality. Now that I had been to New York, and the dressmakers there had transformed me, outwardly, into a fas.h.i.+onable woman, I noticed that her respect had considerably increased; and, furthermore, that some of her own costumes had been made in almost exact imitation of mine. No higher compliment than this could Esmerelda have paid me; neither could I help acknowledging that she looked very graceful and lady-like in her Sunday garment, and often I fell to speculating how she would have appeared if half her life had been spent at a first-cla.s.s boarding-school. A painful sensation, probably akin to jealousy, suggested that probably she would have satisfied my guardian's fastidious tastes better than I could ever do.

But I could never treat her in the same cordial way that I treated Mrs. Blake and the Lark.u.ms, and several others of her cla.s.s. These instinctively made me feel that, no matter how friendly I might be, there was no danger of their trying to a.s.sert an equality, which I suppose has existed among the members of the human family since shortly after the expulsion from Eden. With Esmerelda the case was different.