The Nest in the Honeysuckles, and other Stories Part 16

"Does she live in the neighbourhood?"

"She may be in No. ----."

We made inquiries at several doors, dodging in quickly to avoid the great drops which came pattering down on the pavement from the gutterless eaves, but we could learn nothing of the object of our search.

At length we came to a grocery, and, stepping in by the mackerel barrels which stood at the door, we repeated our inquiry--

"Can you tell us where Mrs. Smith lives? She is an old lady, almost blind, and has a little grandson."

"Oh, yes! I know her well. She is a deserving, needy woman."

The man followed us to the street to point out the house where she lived. As he was telling us, a woman pa.s.sed by. He spoke to her, saying,

"You know where Mrs. Smith lives--the old lady who is almost blind, and who has a little grandson?"

"Yes."

"Will you show these ladies the place?"

"Yes."

She walked on with us till she came to a large tenement building, and then directed us to a room in the upper story. We thanked her, and entered the narrow hall, and pa.s.sed up the still narrower staircase.

We knocked at the door, and were bidden to enter. The old lady was not there. We inquired for her again, and learned that she had just gone out. The woman said she would send for her. A boy, ten or twelve years old, went to find her. While he was gone, we talked with his mother,--a round-faced, good-natured, intelligent Irish woman. We asked her where Mrs. Smith lived, and she said she was most of the time with her. Poor woman! she had only a living-room and a bed-room for herself and four children, yet she was willing to share them with another as poor and more helpless than herself.

She was a widow, too, and had no one to depend upon. Her husband died last spring. During the summer she had provided for her family by was.h.i.+ng and cleaning, but this winter she finds it almost impossible to get work. One of the children is a babe, who was lying on a rough, unpainted board-cradle, rudely put together by some unaccustomed hand.

This infant had been taken care of during the summer by his brother, not more than ten or twelve years old, while his mother was absent at work. There was a little girl, about eight years old, who attends the Industrial School. She was quite unwell, and had not been able to go out for several days. She sat in the great rocking-chair, looking sad and disconsolate, as most sick children do. She was comfortably clothed. Her dress she had received at the school, and had sewed on it herself doing all her little fingers could do to make it. Her hair was neatly combed. She was feverish and very thirsty. Sometimes she went to the pail herself for a cup of water, and sometimes her brother would get it for her. He seemed kind, gentle, and sympathizing--a good example for some more favoured boys.

Pretty soon the door opened, and an aged woman, bent with years and breathing hard and painfully, entered the room. A boy, with a complexion fair and transparent, through which the blue veins showed themselves, immediately followed her. She greeted us kindly, and took a chair by my side, bending towards us that she might hear more easily, for she was almost deaf. She told us that since her daughter's death she had been entirely dependent on charity.

After talking with her a short time, Mrs. B----, the lady accompanying me, gave her little grandson a penny to buy some candy. She did so, because she wished to talk with his grandmother about him, and thought he had, perhaps, better not be in the room. So soon as he left, she asked the old lady if she had made up her mind to part with the child. She had been spoken to a fortnight previously in regard to it by another lady, and seemed then unwilling that he should leave her.

She said she had come to the conclusion that she must give him up, for she was too old and feeble to take care of him, and she was constantly anxious about him. She could not do for him all that he needed, and she knew it would be much better for him to be adopted in some kind family, where he could be brought up as a son. She spoke of him most tenderly and affectionately. He was her earthly all. She had taken care of him from his infancy. She came from Ireland for that very purpose. His father had died before he was old enough to remember him, and his mother had supported him by her own industry.

The grandmother's name was not Smith, as we called her. It was, as she said, widow Cahoon. The daughter's name was Smith, and the sunny-haired boy was David. Last May, Mrs. Smith died of cholera, leaving her aged mother homeless, and her beautiful boy an orphan.

When David returned with a great piece of mola.s.ses-candy, he did not keep it all himself. He divided it among the other children without being told to do so. This showed that he was a generous child, and loved to make others happy. When he had eaten his portion, his grandmother washed his face, neck, and hands, and put on his best clothes, which his mother had made for him before her death. He looked very tidy and comfortable in his brown overcoat and his new boots--a New-Year's present.

The grandmother tied up a pair of shoes and a few socks in a little bundle. When she handed it to David, he burst into tears. He felt that he was really going from his dearest friend. She wept aloud for a few minutes, but when she saw how much it affected him, she wiped away her tears, and attempted to cheer him. He summoned his resolution and became once more calm.

Mrs. B---- took him by the hand, and led him down stairs. As he left the room, I gave mine to his grandmother, who uplifted it in both her's, as if pleading, in silent agony, for strength to bear this new trial. I shall never forget the expression of that wrinkled, up-turned face. Dear old grandmother! Who will comfort her now? David will not forget her, but he cannot put his arms around her neck, nor cheer her with the sunlight of his bright face. She is alone--none of her kindred near. The lady who took charge of David will do what she can for her, but her heart must yearn for the dear boy that poverty and age compelled her to give to the fostering care of strangers.

When David reached the street, the tears were tracing their way over his round, plump cheek, but soon a smile played around his mouth. Mrs.

B---- took him into a toy-shop, and purchased for him a tin horse suspended in a wheel, which he could roll about the room. He selected this himself, and it was delightful to see with how much pleasure he looked at it, as he carried it in his hand.

We concluded to make no more calls that day, but to take David directly to Mrs. B----'s. When his coat and cap were taken off, he began to roll the horse across the floor. Sometimes he would come and stand by my side, and examine it closely. I said to him--

"Have you ever been in the country?"

"Oh, yes. I was there a month, when we buried mother."

"Where were you?"

"We were with Elek, grandma's son."

"Why doesn't your grandmother live with him?"

"He isn't kind to her."

"Was his wife kind?"

"No; she said she wouldn't live with him if grandma did."

"What did you see in the country?"

"I saw the fields, and the trees, and horses, and cows."

"Did Elek have a cow?"

"Yes; and she went away every day, and at night she came home, and they milked her."

"Did you see any birds?"

"I saw birds no bigger than that," said he, putting his hand over his horse so as to hide more than half of it, "and they sang all the time.

And there were some chickens, that laid eggs, and then Elek's wife sold the eggs to the baker to pay for bread."

"And had you apples or peaches?"

"I used to throw small stones at the apples, and knock them off. The peaches I could reach with my hand. I had just as many as I wanted."

The little orphan's month in the country had been a sunny spot in his memory, clouded only by the unkindness of Elek towards the grandmother he loved so much.

How strange it is that children can ever forget how much they owe their parents! When the widow Cahoon was young, she had watched over his infancy. She had carried him in her arms, unmindful of her own weariness, and had done all for him that his helplessness required.

But now she is old; her eyes are dim; her hearing is impaired; her hands are tremulous, and she is unable to provide for herself. Yet Elek's heart is hard. He has forgotten all her love, and will not even give her a home. He cannot prosper.

I well remember, when a child, what a fearful impression a pa.s.sage from the "words of Agur" made on my mind: "The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it." "Honour thy father and mother, (which is the first commandment with promise,") Paul writes to the Ephesian children, "that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth."

I should fear to hear Elek's future history. It must be dark and sorrowful. His poor old mother uttered a groan, when, as she was talking about David's mother, I asked if she had any other children.

"He isn't kind to her," explained its meaning.

"Sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child."

I left David with Mrs. B----, who will find him a home in some family where they wish to adopt a little son. "He will make friends for himself,"--she said, confidently, and I felt so also, for his sweet, intelligent face is too attractive and winning not to find its way to some loving heart.

When Mrs. B---- talked with him about his mother, he wept. She soon comforted him, and told him that G.o.d would provide for him. He seems to possess a sensitive nature, with, at the same time, the power of self-control.

Who of you would like this orphan for an adopted brother? He is only five years old. I have written to a kind lady of my acquaintance, who has adopted two little girls, to inquire if she does not wish to add David to her household treasures. There are many such homeless children in New York, and it is an act of Christian charity to adopt and educate them, and one which is rich in blessings to every heart that is open to receive the fatherless and motherless.

Mrs. B---- would like to have adopted David herself but she has so much to do for so many orphan children, that she concluded she had not the time to devote to him. She sent him to a place known as the Home of the Friendless. This is a large brick house, built on purpose to shelter those who have no home of their own. There are always many children there, who are kindly taken care of till homes can be obtained for them. Those who are large enough attend school.