The Coxswain's Bride by Robert Michael Ballantyne (classic books for 7th graders txt) 📖

to silence by the sweet strains of the harmonium. You see, they had not yet become _blase_ and incapable of enjoying anything short of an organ. Indeed, there were some among them who deliberately said they preferred a harmonium to an organ!

But no instrument either of ancient or modern invention could drown the clatter that ensued when enormous mugs of earthenware were distributed to the company, by more or less rich and well-off "workers"; so the clatter and the hymns went on together until each lung was filled with some delectable fluid, smoking hot, and each mouth crammed with excellent bread and meat. Then comparative quiet ensued, during which temporary calm Tom read a few verses of the Word of God, commenting on them briefly in language so forcible that it went right home to many hearts, yet so simple that even little Martha understood it.

True to her intention, little Martha, although much surprised and charmed and perplexed by all that was going on around her, did not forget to pocket something for gran'father. She was met, however, by an exasperating difficulty at the very outset. Her pocket was not large enough to contain the huge roll which, with some meat, had been put hastily into her small hand by a lady with a red rose in her bonnet. To achieve her object with the roll and meat in one hand and the mug in the other was, she found, impossible, so she set the mug on the floor between her feet and proceeded to wrestle with the loaf and pocket, having previously torn off a very small portion of the bread for her own use. Still the loaf was too large; so she tore off another morsel, and finally, after a severe struggle, succeeded in getting it and the bit of meat in.

"You'll go for to kick it over, if you don't mind," said a small boy near her, referring to the mug.

"You mind your own business--Imperence!" replied Martha, sharply. It must be remembered that she was a child of the "slums."

"Wot a cheeky little shrimp it is," retorted the boy, with as much of a grin as a stuffed mouth would admit of.

Just then Matilda Westlake, having finished a hymn, and being mindful of the little toe, came quietly down to where Martha was sitting.

"Why, dear child," she said, in surprise, "have they not given you something to eat?"

"Oh yes, ma'am. But I've--"

She was going to say, "I've eaten it," but gran'father had so earnestly impressed on her mind the sinfulness of telling lies, that she felt constrained to hesitate, and, with a trembling lip, finished by saying she had eaten _some_ of it.

"And what has become of the rest, dear?"

"Please, miss, she've putt it in 'er pocket," said "Imperence" promptly.

Without noticing the remark, Matty moved so as to make herself an effectual screen between Imperence and Martha.

"Tell me, dear child," she said, stooping low and putting a gentle hand on Martha's shoulder, "are you not hungry?"

"Oh yes," answered the little one quickly; "I'm so 'ungry. You can't think 'ow 'ungry; but I promised to--to--"

At this point her lip quivered, and she began to cry quietly.

"Stay, don't tell me anything more about it, dear, till you have breakfasted. Here, eat _this_ before you say another word."

She took a roll from the basket of a passing "worker" and put it in the child's hand. Nothing loth, Martha began to eat and drink, mingling a warm tear or two with the hot soup, and venting a sob now and then as she proceeded.

Watching her for a few moments, Matty left her.

In passing she stopped and said to Imperence, in a whisper of terrible intensity, "If you speak to that girl again you shall have--_no more_."

No more! To be "hanged by the neck till you are dead" would not have sounded so appalling just at that time. So Imperence collapsed.

It is not our purpose to go much further into the details of the feast. Suffice it to say that the poorest of the poor were there; that they were encouraged to eat as much as possible, and allowed to carry away what they could not eat, and there is reason to believe that, judging from the prominence of pockets, a considerable quantity found its way to hungry mouths which had been found incapable of attending the feast.

Among those who did great execution in the pocketing line was, as you may well believe, little Martha. Finding, to her ineffable joy, that there was no limit assigned to consumption, and that pocketing was not esteemed a sin, she proceeded, after stuffing herself, to stuff to overflowing the pocket with which she had previously wrestled, as already described, and then attempted to fill the pocket on the other side. She did so in utter and child-like forgetfulness of the fact that she had recently lost several small articles in consequence of the condition of that pocket, and her memory was not awakened until, having just completed the satisfactory filling of it, she beheld, or rather felt, the entire mass of edibles descending to the floor, proving that the pocket was indeed a very bottomless pit.

"Never mind, little one," said Tom Westlake, coming forward at the moment, for he had just closed the meeting; "I'll find a bag for you to put it in. I hope the toe is all right."

"Oh yes, sir, thank you, it's quite well," answered Martha, blushing through the dirt on her face, as she eyed the fallen food anxiously.

"Tell me now, little one," continued Tom, sitting down on the bench and drawing the child gently towards him, "whom are you pocketing all these good things for?--not for yourself, I'm quite sure of that."

"Oh dear, no, sir; it's for gran'father."

"Indeed. Is grandfather very poor?"

"Oh yes, sir, very, _very_ poor; an' he's got nobody but me to take care of him."

"If that be so, who is taking care of him just now?" asked Matty, who had joined her brother, leaving another "worker" at the harmonium to play the people out,--a difficult thing to do, by the way, for the people seemed very unwilling to go.

You see, among other things, Jack Frost and Sons could gain no footing in that hall, and the people knew only too well that the firm was in great force awaiting them outside.

"Nobody's takin' care on 'im, ma'am," replied Martha, somewhat shyly. "I locked 'im in, an' he's takin' care of hisself."

"Would you like to give grandfather anything in particular, little woman, if a fairy were to offer to give it you?"

"Oh, wouldn't I just?"

"Yes? What would you ask for?"

Martha pursed her little mouth and knitted her brows in thought for a minute. Then she said slowly, "I'd ask for a mug of hot soup, an' a blanket, an' some coals, and--oh! I forgot, a teapot, for ours is cracked an' won't 'old in now."

"Do you live far from this hall?" asked Tom.

"No, sir, quite close."

"Come, Matty, you and I will go with this little one and see grandfather. What is your name, child?"

"Martha Burns, sir."

"Well, Martha, give me your hand, and come along."

They were soon in the shabby little room,--for Martha was eager to give the food to the old man. Of course Jack Frost and Sons were still in possession, but there had come another visitor during the child's absence, whom they were scarce prepared to meet.

Death sat beside the lowly bed. He had not yet laid his hand on his victim, but his chill presence was evidently felt.

"Darling, I'm glad you've come," said the old man, faintly. "I've been longing so for you. Give me your hand, dear. I'm so cold--so cold."

He shivered as he spoke until the miserable bed shook. Poor Martha forgot the food in her anxiety, for a striking change had come over gran'father--such as she had never seen before. She took his thin hand in hers, and began to weep softly.

But Matilda Westlake did not forget the food. She took up the tin can in which it had been brought there, and poured some of the still warm contents into a cracked soup plate that stood on the table. Finding a pewter spoon, she at once put her hand under the pillow, and raising the old man's head gently, began to feed him like a child. Meanwhile Tom Westlake took off his thick overcoat and spread it over the bed. Then he went out, bought some sticks and coal from a neighbour, and, returning, soon kindled a fire in the rusty grate.

The old man did not seem surprised. His face wore a dazed, yet thoroughly pleased, look as he quietly accepted these attentions. All the time he kept fast hold of Martha's hand, and smiled to her once or twice. It was evident that he relished the soup. Only once he broke silence to thank them and say, "Jesus sent you, I suppose?"

"Yes, Jesus sent us," replied Matty, thoroughly meaning what she said.

At that moment Death raised his hand and laid it gently on the old man's brow. The hoary head bowed to the summons, and, with a soft sigh, the glad spirit fled to that region where suffering cannot enter.

Oh, it was sad to witness the child-grief when Martha at last came to understand that gran'father was really gone. And it required no little persuasion to induce her to leave the lowly sordid room that she had known as "home."

While his sister comforted the child, Tom went to the "authorities" to inform them that an old pauper had gone the way of all flesh.

When at last Martha permitted her new friends to remove her, she was led by Miss Westlake to the not far distant house of a lady friend, whose sympathies with the suffering, the sorrowful, and the fallen were so keen that she had given up all and gone to dwell in the midst of them, in the sanguine hope of rescuing some. To this lady's care Martha was in the meantime committed, and then Tom and his sister went their way.

Their way led them to a very different scene not far from the same region.

"We're rather late," remarked Tom, consulting his watch as they turned into a narrow street.

"Not too late, I think," said his sister.

"I hope not, for I should be sorry to go in upon them at dinner-time."

They were not too late. David Butts, whom they were about to visit, was a dock-labourer. In early youth he had been a footman, in which capacity he had made the acquaintance of the Westlakes' nursery-maid, and, having captivated her heart, had carried her off in triumph and married her.

David had not been quite as steady as might have been desired. He had acquired, while in service, a liking for beer, which had degenerated into a decided craving for brandy, so that he naturally came down in the world, until, having lost one situation after another, he finally, with his poor wife and numerous children, was reduced to a state bordering on beggary. But God, who never forgets His fallen creatures,