E-text prepared by Al Haines
AN ARROW IN A SUNBEAM
And Other Tales.
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"MOVE ANOTHER INCH AND I'LL FIRE!" CRIED AL, POINTINGTHE MUSKET AT THE MAN'S BREAST.--P. 48.]
London:William Nicholson and Sons,20, Warwick Square, Paternoster Row, E.C.,and Albion Works, Wakefield.188-
AN ARROW
IN A SUNBEAM;
AND OTHER TALES.
The golden sunshine, vernal air, Sweet flowers and fruits, thy love declare; When forests ripen Thou art there, Who givest all.
London:William Nicholson and Sons,20, Warwick Square, Paternoster Row, E.C.,and Albion Works, Wakefield.188-
CONTENTS.
AN ARROW IN A SUNBEAM . . . . . . Sarah Orne Jewett
MISS SYDNEY'S FLOWERS . . . . . . Sarah Orne Jewett
A BRAVE BOY . . . . . . . . . . . C. S. Sleight
LADY FERRY . . . . . . . . . . . . Sarah Orne Jewett
A BIT OF SHORE LIFE . . . . . . . Sarah Orne Jewett
HOW LILY GOT THE CAT . . . . . . . Frances Lee
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AN ARROW IN A SUNBEAM.
The minister of a fashionable church had noticed Sunday after Sunday alittle old lady with a sad, patient face, dressed in very shabbymourning, sitting in the strangers' pew.
Like Job this good man could say, "The cause that I knew not, I soughtout." He soon learned from the sexton her name and residence, and wassurprised to find her in the very topmost room of a house, amidevidences of real poverty.
In the one little window bloomed a monthly rose and a vigorousheliotrope, and beside the pots lay half-a-dozen books, such as arerarely seen in the homes of the very poor. On the wall hung two fineengravings, and an old fashioned gold watch was suspended from a fadedvelvet case over the mantel piece.
Her story, when she was induced to tell it, was neither new norstartling. She had long been a widow. Her children had been calledfrom her, till now she had but one, and he, being a cripple, could dolittle more than supply his own absolute wants by his work as arepairer of watches.
The pastor was charmed with her patient endurance of what others wouldcall the hard discipline of life, and when he left her he felt that hehad been a learner instead of a teacher in that poor room.
Being too delicate to allude to her apparent poverty, he said atparting, "As you are a stranger among us, I will send some of thevisitors of the church to cheer and comfort you."
He selected two bright, rosy girls, full of life and happiness, ofwhose visits among the poor he had often heard.
They came to the widow like sunbeams through a storm. They talkedcheerily, and did not appear to notice the bareness of the room. Theyasked something of her history, and told of their grandmothers, whoalso had seen much sorrow; and in this way drew her out till she toldof her former competency, of her early advantages in England, and ofall the misfortunes which had brought her to her present position."And yet," she said, "I have little to complain of while I have thelove and tender care of such a son as Walter."
Little by little, without a complaint from her, they found that the oldlady lacked many things for her comfort. Their sympathies werearoused. It would be a delight to make her happy by gifts that wouldbe of service to her.
Lucy Grey, a girl full of fun as well as of kindness, said, "I wish youwould let me make you a bonnet; I make lovely ones. Grandma won't weara milliner's bonnet, she likes mine so much better."
Grace Wheeler volunteered to make a dress and caps, adding, playfully,"As my dear grandma is gone, you must let me adopt you and do all I canfor you. There are four of us girls always looking round for somebodyto help. You can call on us for anything you want."
Four young girls, who laughingly styled themselves "The Quartette ofMercy," met at Grace Wheeler's house with materials for a dress, and abonnet and caps. The old lady was coming two hours afterward to befitted, having being measured before they left her house.
The girls were in a perfect gala of joy that bright afternoon. Theychatted merrily while working, and one would have thought they weremaking costumes for comic tableaux rather than the garb of a sorrowfulwidow.
"I'll tell you, girls," said Lucy Grey, "the old dowager will shinewhen she gets my bonnet on!" and trying it on over her chestnut curls,she added, "I half-wish I was a downfallen lady myself,--ahaberdasher's daughter from England! Oh, I hope I shall be a widowsome time! Widows' caps are so becoming!"
"Well," replied Grace, laughing, "do your best for Goody Horn, andmaybe she'll let you have 'dear Walter.' Then you'll be a widowsoon,--he's so feeble."
"Oh, I wish I had the dressing of her! 'She'd surprise herself,' asthe Dutchman said. I'd put a canary-coloured pompon and a whiteaigrette in that bonnet, and"--here she slipped a scarlet bird out ofher own hat and stuck it into a fold of the crape Lucy was laying on tothe old fashioned close frame--"I'd make her an upper skirt with atie-back, get scarlet stockings and low shoes, and"----
"Pho! you'd make the dear old soul look like Mother Hubbard!" criedanother.
"No," said Grace; "but she looks now like
"Little Dame Crump, with her brand-new broom;"
and no doubt Walter looks either like Mother Hubbard's dog, or--or Idon't know what."
"Oh, by-the-way, did you notice a violin on the bureau? Whoever gets'dear Walter' will have a chance to do all the family dancing. Thedowager's too old, and Walter's too lame; but there, what stuff I'mtalking; it's well mother isn't within hearing. She won't let me haveany sport. But I do think old folks are so comical! I'll do anythingin the world to help them, though."
They worked on some time, and in the real kindness which was hiddenunder this nonsense they laid plans for the dear old stranger's futurecomfort.
"Why, girls, it's time she was here now!"
"Nora," called Grace, as a girl passed the door, "when an old ladycomes, send her right up stairs."
"There was an old person here an hour ago, and as you told me not tolet any one in who asked for you for an hour, I told her to sit down inthe hall. I suppose she's there now. I forgot all about her," was thereply.
Grace flew down, but there was no one there.
"That was some old beggar who got tired of waiting. I'm sure she'll behere soon," said Lucy.
But she did not come, and they grew tired of waiting to try on thedress and hat. So they resolved to go, all four together, the nextday, to the "opening at Madam Horn's," and carry the things themselves.
They did so; but when the "dowager" opened the door at their knock,they hardly knew her. She looked straight, and solemn, and cold. Shedid not even ask them in; but they went in and seated themselves.
Grace said, "You didn't come yesterday to try on the dress, andthinking you might be ill, we brought it here."
"But I did go, ladies. I went an hour earlier than you asked me, tobeg that the dress might be cut perfectly plain, without upper skirt orflounce. The girl seated me in the hall, and while I sat there, I wasforced to hear myself and my son ridiculed and turned to scorn in a wayI could not believe possible.
"I have done nothing to merit this. I never begged of you, nor soughtyour sympathy in my sorrows, and I cannot understand why I am made thebutt of your scorn."
"Oh, Mrs. Horn," cried Lucy, "we were only in sport! I hope you willforgive us."
"Is it sport to cast contempt on an aged woman who has been walking foryears in a fiery furnace upheld and comforted by God? Is it sport toridicule an unfortunate boy who has a continual warfare with pain tokeep up this poor home?"
"Oh, don't speak of it again!" said Grace blushing deeply andhalf-ready to cry, as she untie
d the package in her hand, while Lucyunpinned the paper that held the bonnet.
"Put them up, please, young ladies. I cannot look on them, and I nevercould wear them. When you first came, I told Walter that I felt as ifa sunbeam had come into the house and remained behind you. Last nightI told him that my new sunbeam had an arrow concealed in it."
"But you _will_ take the things, after all our trouble?" imploredGrace, with tears dropping from her eyes.
"No, never; I can hear the Gospel in my old clothes. I should take nopleasure in these; they are associated with too painful thoughts. Ihope God will bless you, children, and save you from an old age ofpoverty, and give you what He has given me,--a full trust in His loveand tenderness. Good-by."
You can imagine the feelings of those young girls when they left thatpoor room in tears.
Respectful treatment is more to the sensitive poor than gifts of food,garments or money; and nothing is so likely to harden the hearts of theyoung as the habit of getting sport out of the sorrows and infirmitiesof others.
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