Kitabı oku: «Mildred's New Daughter», sayfa 5

CHAPTER X

Ethel had been greatly interested in Mrs. Weston’s story of Washington and the Revolution. She was eager to hear more, and found both ladies of the Keith family kindly ready to gratify her whenever she was allowed to carry her needlework over there instead of doing it in the room in the parsonage appropriated to the use of herself, brother, and sisters. She was given very little time for recreation, so could not read much for herself on that or any other subject; perceiving which, Mrs. Weston often read to her, pausing now and then to explain anything the little girl did not seem to entirely comprehend, so helping the child to a great deal of information which at that time she could have gained in no other way.

Ethel was very grateful; and, loving, generous little soul that she was, wanted others to share her pleasure; so repeated to Harry and the little sisters all she thought they could understand of what she had learned from the ladies. Also, supposing that Mrs. Coote was well read on the subject, she ventured to ask some questions of her.

“I know nothing about those old times in this country, and what’s more, I don’t want to know; so let me hear no more about it,” was the ungracious rejoinder, and Ethel dared not venture another word.

“You’re no American,” Mrs. Coote went on presently, “so why should you care about those old stories?”

“I – I believe I’m half American,” Ethel returned hesitatingly. “I was born in Jamaica and so was my dear mamma.”

“Eh! I didn’t know that before. But Jamaica is only a tolerably large island, and though it’s on this side the ocean it belongs to England. And your father was born in old England, wasn’t he?”

“Yes: and I like England, but Cousin George says as we’ve come to America to live for the rest of our lives, we’re Americans now.”

“Humph! So as you behave well I for one don’t care whether you are Americans or English,” returned. Mrs. Coote; and there the conversation dropped.

Whenever the weather was at all suitable the three younger children were sent out of doors to play, Ethel joining them when her task was done, and usually they were all invited into Mrs. Keith’s yard or house.

But stormy days had to be spent shut up in their own small room, and poor little Ethel was almost at her wit’s end to keep Harry and Nannette from making such a disturbance as would bring reproof and sometimes sore punishment upon them.

They had little or no love for Mrs. Coote, who never lavished any demonstrations of affection upon them, and from her husband they shrank as from a dangerous foe. Fortunately they rarely saw him except when summoned to a recitation of the verses of Scripture which they were compelled to learn for the express purpose of enabling him to show off to chance visitors as one who was successfully training up in the way they should go the young orphans committed to his fatherly care.

As their Uncle Albert had promised, they were remembered at Christmas time by the relatives in Philadelphia, a box being sent direct to Ethel, in Mr. Coote’s care. Fortunately it reached the house one day in his absence, and Mrs. Coote put it privately away, never breathing a word to him of its arrival.

On Christmas morning, soon after breakfast, she opened it herself in presence of the children, first telling them whence it had come and cautioning them to be perfectly quiet, or they might lose some of the contents.

There were fruits, cakes, candies, and toys; all in such plentiful supply that the children were almost wild with delight.

All four urged Mrs. Coote to share with them. She looked pleased that they should wish it, accepted a very little, then saying, “If you like you can, after a bit, carry some over to your friends at Mr. Keith’s; and, Ethel, to-morrow you may write a little letter of thanks to your uncles and the rest in Philadelphia, and I will mail it for you,” she left them to the enjoyment of their gifts.

If anything could have added to their felicity it was the note from Mrs. Keith, presently brought in by her servant girl, inviting all four to take their Christmas dinner with little Mary, and to come as early as possible with Mrs. Coote’s consent.

“Oh, Mrs. Coote, can’t we go this minute?” asked Blanche and Harry in a breath, while Nannette piped, “Me wants to go, dus now; dis minute,” and Ethel’s soft brown eyes made the same request.

“Yes, yes; I’ll be only too glad to be rid of your noise and chatter for the rest of the day,” was the rather ungracious reply. “But you’ve all got to be dressed in your best first,” she added, going to the closet and taking down the dresses the little girls were wont to call their “Sunday frocks,” in which she presently proceeded to array them.

That did not take long, and they were soon at the door of Mr. Keith’s hospitable dwelling, exchanging a merry Christmas with the ladies and little Mary, displaying the toys sent by their relatives in Philadelphia, and offering a share of their sweets from the same source.

Then they were led into the parlor where was a beautiful Christmas tree loaded with ornaments and gifts.

“Oh,” cried Ethel, tears starting to her eyes as she spoke, “how it reminds me of Christmas times when our dear papa and mamma were with us!”

“Yes, I remember the one we had last Christmas,” said Blanche; “and I think this one is just as pretty as it was.”

“So do I,” said Harry. “Oh, thank you, ma’am!” as Mrs. Keith took down a bag of marbles and another of candy and handed them to him.

“And this is for dear little Nannette,” she said, disengaging a doll from the tree and putting it into the hands of the baby girl, who received it in almost speechless delight.

There was another almost exactly like it for her own little Mary, a larger one for Blanche, a neat housewife and pretty book for Ethel, and a bag of candies for each of the five; for little Mary had waited for hers until the coming of her guests.

What a happy day it was to the children! The grown people seemed to lay themselves out for their enjoyment; games and stories filled most of the time not taken up with the partaking of the grand Christmas dinner of turkey and all the usual accompaniments for the first course – plum pudding, ice-cream, fruits, and cake for the dessert.

The Eldons were sent for by Mrs. Coote at their usual early bedtime, and obeyed the summons without a murmur.

“Dear Mrs. Keith, you and Mrs. Weston are so good and kind to us; we’ve had such a pleasant time,” Ethel said as she bade good-night.

“You are very welcome, dear child,” was the kindly response, “and I hope you and my little Mary will have many a pleasant time together while you are living so near us.”

“Thank you, ma’am; I hope so, too,” returned Ethel gratefully, then hurried away with her little brother and sisters.

Mrs. Coote met them at the parsonage door. “Go right up to your room and to bed everyone of you,” she said, and they silently obeyed.

“Strange that their uncles didn’t send some Christmas remembrance to the children,” remarked Mr. Coote to his wife as they sat together at the tea table.

“Possibly they may have thought they had enough to do in providing for their own, and that you and I might find some little thing for those you promised to treat as if they were your own,” she rejoined in a slightly sarcastic tone.

“Humph! we’re not in circumstances to do much for our own if we had ’em,” he sniffed angrily; “so I don’t consider myself pledged to do anything of the kind.”

“And the children didn’t expect it, I’m sure; nobody would ever mistake you for a Santa Claus,” she returned with a not particularly pleasant laugh.

He colored and flashed an angry look at her, but let the remark pass in silence. Neither then nor afterward did his wife let him know of the Christmas box sent to the children. She had given them only a part of the sweets that day, but they received the rest in small instalments till all were gone.

So long as the weather was pleasant a part of nearly every day was spent at the house of their kind neighbors, but when it stormed their only refuge for the greater part of the time was the small room appropriated to them over the kitchen in their temporary home. It was hard for all, but especially for Harry and Nannette, to be so constantly confined to such close quarters, and Ethel could not always keep them quiet; they sometimes played noisily, at others fretted and cried aloud because they were so tired of staying in that little room where there was so small space for running and romping.

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Coote would tolerate such noise, and again and again the hearts of Ethel and Blanche were made to ache by the sore punishment meted out to the little brother and sister. And sometimes they themselves were in disgrace and severely dealt with for failures in their tasks, or anger or too much sympathy shown the other two when they were punished.

These were great trials, as also was the reciting of their Bible verses to Mr. Coote, and being made to repeat them before company. They were warned not to tell any tales to the neighbors, and threatened with dire consequences if they disobeyed. So most of their troubles were kept to themselves.

Ethel looked and longed for the promised visit from her uncle Albert, but he did not come; he seemed to have forgotten his promise. Then after a while Mr. Coote took to reading to the children letters which he said came from their uncles, reproving and threatening them with punishment for rebellious conduct toward those who now had them in charge, and bidding them be very obedient and submissive.

Those letters were deliberate forgeries, but the innocent little ones never dreamed of such deceit and wickedness on the part of the man who professed to be so good, and poor Ethel was well nigh heartbroken that her uncles should think so ill of her and her dear little brother and sisters, and write so cruelly to them.

She tried very hard to be good and industrious at her tasks, wanting the time to come as soon as possible when she would be able to support herself, Blanche, Harry, and Nannette.

Thinking of that she put forth every effort to learn the various kinds of needlework Mrs. Coote undertook to teach her, with the assurance that if she became expert in them all she could some day earn money in that way.

At times the child’s heart beat high with hope that when she was grown up she would be able to make with her own earnings a little home for herself, brother, and sisters. Remembering the unkind treatment they had often received at the hands of the aunts and cousins in Philadelphia she was not at all sure that they would be much better off could they return there – and if they could go back how hard it would be to bid farewell to the kind friends next door – but what could be more delightful than to get away from these stern guardians often so unkind and unjust. And then, when she was old enough to know how to set about it, perhaps she could find her maternal grandparents, and they would give a good home to their daughter’s orphan children.

Their uncle Albert did at length make them a hasty visit, but Mr. Coote took good care that they should not be left for a moment alone with him. Also he treated them with the greatest and most effusive kindness in their uncle’s presence, so that Mr. Eldon left them there feeling assured that they had a very happy home.

Thus two years rolled slowly away to Ethel and Blanche, Harry and Nannette, bringing little change except that they all grew older and taller; wiser too in some respects and more than ever fondly attached to each other, and the next-door neighbors who treated them so kindly.

CHAPTER XI

At length a change came suddenly to the little orphans. One unfortunate day Mr. Coote was in an unusually bad humor, and under a very slight provocation from Harry, who was more inclined for play than study, the weather being warm and fields and garden seeming far more inviting than books, he flew at the child in a rage and gave him a most unmerciful beating; making it all the more severe because the little fellow screamed so loudly that more than one neighbor came running to enquire what was wrong with the child, supposing some dreadful accident had befallen him, and Ethel, Blanche, and Nannette, lingering in the hall without, wept and sobbed as if their hearts would break.

“Stop beating that little fellow! stop this instant, you inhuman wretch, or I’ll go for a policeman and have you arrested for cruelty to children,” exclaimed a very decent looking woman, the wife of the grocer at the next corner, rushing up to the window of the room where the beating was going on.

“You mind your own business,” retorted Coote, letting go the child and pushing him angrily away from him. “He’s had no more than he deserves; no, nor half so much, the idle, good-for-nothing little rascal.”

“I only wish I had the strength to give you your deserts,” returned the woman in indignant tones. “I wouldn’t hesitate for a minute, and you’d find yourself good for nothing but bed for at least a week. The idea of such a wretch as you calling himself a Christian! You’re worse than a heathen; and I declare I will have you arrested if you dare to strike that child again.”

Coote tossed his whip into a corner and glared at the woman, while poor little Harry slunk away out the room, moving as if he had scarcely strength to walk.

His sisters instantly gathered about him, crying bitterly. Ethel caught him in her arms and held him close, sobbing out her grief and pity.

“O Harry, Harry, dear little brother, I am so, so, so sorry for you!”

“I, too,” sobbed Blanche. “Oh, I wish our uncles would take us away and put us with somebody that would be kind and good to us.”

“So do I,” chimed in Nannette, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Oh, I wish, we could live with Mrs. Keith and little Mary; if only they wanted more children over there.”

“Oh, hush, hush, Nan,” said Ethel warningly; for Mrs. Coote was coming toward them, having just seen the last of the enquiring neighbors out of the gate, dismissing them with a promise that she would see to the welfare of the children and not permit them to be abused.

“You needn’t be afraid,” she said to Ethel. “I’ve no intention of adding to Harry’s punishment, for I think he has already had quite enough. I will help him upstairs, and the rest of you had best come along.”

Taking the child’s hand she led him a little way, but finding he was hardly able to stand or move, she lifted him in her arms and carried him up the stairs to the children’s room, the others following. Laying him on his bed she went from the room, to return almost immediately with a basin of warm water and some soothing ointment, with which she proceeded to make the poor little fellow as comfortable as possible, undressing him and laying him in his little bed again, handling him almost as tenderly as though he had been her own, though she said very little, leaving the children in some doubt whether she did or did not approve of her husband’s barbarous treatment.

“I’m going down now,” she said when she had finished. “You needn’t have any more lessons to-day, any of you. I think it would be as well for you girls to stay here with Harry. You may play, sleep, or do whatever you please so that you don’t get into mischief or make a racket that can be heard down in the study.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” returned Ethel, “we’ll be quiet as mice and as good as we know how.”

Mrs. Coote had hardly gone when the little boy raised himself in the bed and looking with tearful eyes at his sisters grouped together beside him:

“I’ll be a man some o’ these days,” he sobbed, “and then if I don’t take that old rascal down and beat him harder’n he beat me to-day – it – it’ll be queer. Yes, I’ll just thrash him till he can’t move, so I will.”

“I couldn’t feel sorry for him, I couldn’t,” sobbed Ethel, “but, O Harry, dear, we must try to forgive him; because the Bible says, ‘Forgive your enemies. Forgive and ye shall be forgiven.’ And we all need to have forgiveness from God. So we will ask our Heavenly Father to help us to forgive this cruel, cruel man, and to help us to get away from him so that he can’t ever hurt us any more.”

“Yes,” said Harry, “after he’s had one good, sound thrashing from me. I just ache to give it to him, and I will, just as soon as I’m big enough.”

“Maybe God will punish him before that,” sobbed Blanche. “I’m sure I hope so.”

“Me too,” said Nannette, wiping her tearful eyes. “I’ll ask God to punish the naughty man every time I say my prayers.”

“Oh, no,” said Ethel persuasively; “instead of that let’s all ask Him to take us away from here and put us in a good home where we’ll never see these cruel people any more.”

While this talk was going on among the children Mrs. Coote had gone down to the study, where she found her husband striding angrily to and fro. He glanced at his wife as she came in and read scorn and contempt in the look she gave him.

“So you, I see, are ready to uphold that young rascal in his wrongdoing; and the meddlesome neighbors who come interfering here, as well,” he said wrathfully.

“The neighbors were perfectly right,” she answered in an icy tone, “and I’m not at all sure they haven’t saved you from murder and the hangman’s rope. That’s what your awful temper will bring you to some of these days, if you don’t learn to exercise some self-control.”

She paused for an instant, then went on in a tone of stern determination: “And I warn you to beware how you lay a hand on one of those orphan children again; for as sure as you do I’ll let the uncles know all about this thing, and they’ll be promptly taken away out of your reach, inhuman brute that you are.”

“Take care how you talk, woman,” he said menacingly, though his cheek paled at her threat. “I’m the stronger of the two, and you may live to regret it.”

“The stronger, but by far the more cowardly,” she returned with a disagreeable laugh. “I’m not afraid o’ you, Patrick Coote; you’re too well aware of my worth to you to try doing me any deadly harm.”

“Deadly harm?” he repeated, “who talks of deadly harm? ’Twas you that said it, not I. But I’ll have you, as well as those unruly youngsters, to know who’s master in this house.”

So saying he took up his hat and walked out through the front yard and down the street, Mrs. Coote standing at the window and sending after him a glance of mingled contempt and disdain.

“I haven’t wasted any fondling on those children,” she said to herself, “but I’d sooner take a beating myself than give that bit of a boy such a thrashing for next to nothing, and I’ll see that it isn’t done again.”

Mr. Coote stalked on down the street in by no means a happy frame of mind, everybody he met seeming to him to regard him with contempt and aversion; for the whole neighborhood was roused by the story of his abuse of the little orphan boy unfortunately committed to his care – a story quickly circulated by those who had heard Harry’s screams and rushed to the house to discover the cause and aid the sufferer.

One of his own parishioners, meeting, accosted him:

“See here, sir, you’d best be careful how you abuse those little orphans in your care, for we Americans don’t approve of any such doings and you’ll get yourself into trouble, you may depend on it.”

With a muttered, “You will please attend to your own affairs and leave me to attend to mine,” Coote pushed past the speaker and stalked on his way.

Harry’s screams had been heard at Mr. Keith’s, and the grocer’s wife had stopped at their gate on her way home to tell the story of the brutal treatment the poor child had received. The two ladies shed tears over it and longed to go to the rescue of the poor little ones, yet refrained for the present, and took time to consider what would be the best plan to adopt for their relief. They talked the matter over together, and finally decided that the uncles must be informed of the true state of affairs, when doubtless they would take steps to secure the children from a repetition of such cruel treatment.

“Ethel writes a very neat hand,” remarked Mrs. Keith. “I wonder she has not complained to them long before this.”

“Doubtless her letters, if she has written any, have all passed through the hands of Mr. or Mrs. Coote and been suppressed if she ventured any complaint of their treatment,” returned Mrs. Weston.

“Yes, I dare say that is so,” said Mrs. Keith. “Well, the very next time Ethel comes over here I shall ask her if she would like to write to any of her relatives and knows their address, offering her writing materials and postage stamp and promising to mail the letter for her.”

“A very good plan if she knows the address, which I doubt,” returned Mrs. Weston.

They did not know it, but Ethel in her room watching beside Harry, who had sobbed himself to sleep, was considering the same question, namely, how she could let her uncles know how badly she and her little brother and sisters were being treated. She had been ignorant of the address until the day before, when Mrs. Coote had bidden her carry out the scrap-basket from the study and empty it into the coal scuttle in the kitchen, and in doing so she had seen and secured an envelope bearing the address of the firm of Eldon Brothers. It could do no harm to take it, she thought, as otherwise it would only be burned up; and having an ill-defined feeling that some day it might prove of service to her, she had hastily put it in her pocket. It was there still, and now taking it out she gazed at it with her tear-dimmed eyes, trying to think how she could get writing materials and postage stamp, make use of them, and post her letter, when written, without the knowledge of Mr. or Mrs. Coote, who, if they knew, would be sure to prevent her from sending it.

“I will ask God to help me,” she said to herself, and at once dropping on her knees sent up a silent but most fervid prayer that a way might be opened for the accomplishment of her wish.