"HERE, Jane," said a father to his little girl not over eleven yearsof age, "go over to the shop and buy me a pint of brandy."
At the same time he handed her a quarter of a dollar. The child tookthe money and the bottle, and as she did so, looked her father inthe face with an earnest, sad expression. But he did not seem toobserve it, although he perceived it, and felt it; for he understoodits meaning. The little girl lingered, as if reluctant, from somereason, to go on her errand.
"Did you hear what I said?" the father asked, angrily, and with afrowning brow, as he observed this.
Jane glided from the room and went over to the shop, hiding, as shepassed through the street, the bottle under her apron. There sheobtained the liquor, and returned with it in a few minutes. As shereached the bottle to her father, she looked at him again with thesame sad, earnest look, which he observed. It annoyed and angeredhim.
"What do you mean by looking at me in that way? Ha!" he said, in aloud, angry tone.
Jane shrunk away, and passed into the next room, where her motherlay sick. She had been sick for some time, and as they were poor,and her husband given to drink, she had sorrow and privation addedto her bodily sufferings. As her little girl came in, she went up tothe side of her bed, and, bending over it, leaned her head upon herhand. She did not make any remark, nor did her mother speak to her,until she observed the tears trickling through her fingers.
"What is the matter, my dear?" she then asked, tenderly.
The little girl raised her head, endeavouring to dry up her tears asshe did so.
"I feel so bad, mother," she replied.
"And why do you feel bad, my child?"
"Oh, I always feel so bad when father sends me over to the shop forbrandy; and I had to go just now. I wanted to ask him to buy yousome nice grapes and oranges with the quarter of a dollar--theywould taste so good to you--but he seemed to know what I was goingto say, and looked at me so cross that I was afraid to speak. I wishhe would not drink any more brandy. It makes him cross; and then howmany nice things he might buy for you with the money it takes forliquor."
The poor mother had no words of comfort to offer her little girl,older in thought than in years; for no comfort did she herself feelin view of the circumstances that troubled her child. She onlysaid--aying her hand upon the child's head--
"Try and not think about it, my dear; it only troubles you, and yourtrouble cannot make it any better."
But Jane could not help thinking about it, try as hard as she would.She went to a Sabbath school, in which a Temperance society had beenformed, and every Sabbath she heard the subject of intemperancediscussed, and its dreadful consequences detailed. But more than allthis, she had the daily experience of a drunkard's child. In thisexperience, how much of heart-touching misery was involved!--howmuch of privation--how much of the anguish of a bruised spirit. Whocan know the weight that lies, like a heavy burden, upon the heartof a drunkard's child! None but the child--for language is powerlessto convey it.
On the next morning, the father of little Jane went away to hiswork, and she was left alone with her mother and her younger sister.They were very poor, and could not afford to employ any one to dothe house-work, and so, young as she was, while her mother was sick,Jane had everything to do:--the cooking, and cleaning, and even thewashing and ironing--a hard task, indeed, for her little hands. Butshe never murmured--never seemed to think that she was overburdened;How cheerfully would all have been done, if her father's smiles hadonly fallen like sunshine upon her heart! But that face, into whichher eyes looked so often and so anxiously, was ever hid inclouds--clouds arising from the consciousness that he was abusinghis family while seeking his own base gratification, and fromperceiving the evidences of his evil works stamped on all thingsaround him.
As Jane passed frequently through her mother's room during themorning, pausing almost every time to ask if she wanted anything;she saw, too plainly, that she was not as well as on the daybefore--that she had a high fever, indicated to her by her hot skinand constant request for cool water.
"I wish I had an orange," the poor woman said, as Jane came up toher bed-side, for the twentieth time, "it would taste so good tome."
She had been thinking about an orange all the morning; andnotwithstanding her effort to drive the thought from her mind, theform of an orange would ever picture itself before her, and itsgrateful flavour ever seem about to thrill upon her taste. At lastshe uttered her wish--not so much with the hope of having itgratified, as from an involuntary impulse to speak out her desire.
There was not a single cent in the house, for the father rarelytrusted his wife with money--he could not confide in her judiciousexpenditure of it!
"Let me go and buy you an orange, mother," Jane said; "they haveoranges at the shop."
"I have no change, my dear; and if I had, I should not think itright to spend four or five cents for an orange, when we have solittle. Get me a cool drink of water; that will do now."
Jane brought the poor sufferer a glass of cool water, and she drankit off eagerly. Then she lay back upon her pillow with a sigh, andher little girl went out to attend to the household duties thatdevolved upon her. But all the while Jane thought of the orange, andof how she should get it for her mother.
When her father came home to dinner, he looked crosser than he didin the morning. He sat down to the table and eat his dinner in moodysilence, and then arose to depart, without so much as asking afterhis sick wife, or going into her chamber. As he moved towards thedoor, his hat already on his head, Jane went up to him, and lookingtimidly in his face, said, with a hesitating voice--
"Mother wants an orange so bad. Won't you give me some money to buyher one?"
"No, I will not! Your mother had better be thinking about somethingelse than wasting money for oranges!" was the angry reply, as thefather passed out, and shut the door hard after him.
Jane stood for a moment, frightened at the angry vehemence of herfather, and then burst into tears. She said nothing to her mother ofwhat had passed, but after the agitation of her mind had somewhatsubsided, began to cast about in her thoughts for some plan by whichshe might obtain an orange. At last it occurred to her, that at theshop where she got liquor for her father, they bought rags and oldiron.
"How much do you give a pound for rags?" she asked, in a minute ortwo after the idea had occurred to her, standing at the counter ofthe shop.
"Three cents a pound," was the reply.
"How much for old iron?"
"A cent a pound."
"What's the price of them oranges?"
"Four cents apiece."
With this information, Jane hurried back. After she had cleared awaythe dinner-table, she went down into the cellar and looked up allthe old bits of iron that she could find. Then she searched theyard, and found some eight or ten rusty nails, an old bolt, and abroken hinge. These she laid away in a little nook in the cellar.Afterwards she gathered together all the old rags that she couldfind about the house, and in the cellar, and laid them with her oldiron. But she saw plainly enough that her iron would not weigh overtwo pounds, nor her rags over a quarter of a pound. If time wouldhave permitted, she would have gone into the street to look for oldiron, but this she could not do; and disappointed at not being ableto get the orange for her mother, she went about her work during theafternoon with sad and desponding thoughts and feelings.
It was summer time, and her father came home from his work before itwas dark.
"Go and get me a pint of brandy," he said to Jane, in a tone thatsounded harsh and angry to the child, handing her at the same time aquarter of a dollar. Since the day before he had taken a pint ofbrandy, and none but the best would suit him.
She took the money and the bottle, and went over to the shop.Wistfully she looked at the tempting oranges in the window, as shegave the money for the liquor,--and thought how glad her poor motherwould be to have one.
As she was hurrying back, she saw a thick rusty iron ring lying inthe street: she picked it up, and kept on her way. It felt heavy,and her heart bounded with the thought that now she could buy theorange for her mother. The piece of old iron was dropped in theyard, as she passed through. After her father had taken a dram, hesat down to his supper. While he was eating it, Jane went into thecellar and brought out into the yard her little treasure of scrapiron. As she passed backwards and forwards before the door facingwhich her father sat, he observed her, and felt a sudden curiosityto know what she was doing. He went softly to the window, and as hedid so, he saw her gathering the iron, which she had placed in alittle pile, into her apron. Then she rose up quickly, and passedout of the yard-gate into the street.
The father went back to his supper, but his appetite was gone. Therewas that in the act of his child, simple as it was, that moved hisfeelings, in spite of himself. All at once he thought of the orangeshe had asked for her mother; and he felt a conviction that it wasto buy an orange that Jane was now going to sell the iron she hadevidently been collecting since dinner-time.
"How selfish and wicked I am!" he said to himself, almostinvoluntarily.
In a few minutes Jane returned, and with her hand under her apron,passed through the room where he sat into her mother's chamber. Animpulse, almost irresistible, caused him to follow her in a fewmoments after.
"It is so grateful!" he heard his wife say, as he opened the door.
On entering her chamber, he found her sitting up in bed eating theorange, while little Jane stood by her looking into her face with anair of subdued, yet heartfelt gratification. All this he saw at aglance, yet did not seem to see, for he pretended to be searchingfor something, which, apparently obtained, he left the room and thehouse, with feelings of acute pain and self-upbraidings.
"Come, let us go and see these cold-water men," said a companion,whom he met a few steps from his own door. "They are carrying allthe world before them."
"Very well, come along."
And the two men bent their steps towards Temperance Hall.
When little Jane's father turned from the door of that place, hisname was signed to the pledge, and his heart fixed to abide by it.On his way home, he saw some grapes in a window,--he bought some ofthem, and a couple of oranges and lemons. When he came home,he--went into his wife's chamber, and opening the paper thatcontained the first fruits of his sincere repentance, laid thembefore her, and said, with tenderness, while the moisture dimmed hiseyes--
"I thought these would taste good to you, Mary, and so I boughtthem."
"O, William!" and the poor wife started, and looked up into herhusband's face with an expression of surprise and trembling hope.
"Mary,"--and he took her hand, tenderly--"I have signed the pledgeto-night, and I will keep it, by the help of Heaven!"
The sick wife raised herself up quickly, and bent over towards herhusband, eagerly extending her hands. Then, as he drew his armaround her, she let her head fall upon his bosom, with an emotion ofdelight, such as had not moved over the surface of her strickenheart for years.
The pledge taken was the total-abstinence pledge, and it has neverbeen violated by him, and what is better, we are confident neverwill. How much of human hope and happiness is involved in thatsimple pledge!
THE END.
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