The sun was half an hour high when Susan Allen opened her eyes the next morning.
Her mother greeted her with a smile and a cheery “Good-morning, my child. You have slept sweetly ever since I have been awake to watch you, and I have had the best night’s rest I have known for weeks.”
“Oh, I am so glad to hear that, mother!” Susan exclaimed, raising herself on her elbow to give the invalid a searching look, “and you feel better and stronger, don’t you?”
“Yes, indeed! almost as if I could sit up and sew a little, if we had any work on hand.”
“Oh, no, I should not think of letting you do that yet!” the girl answered; “not if we had any quantity; and as we have none at all, you can surely lie still quite contentedly. I’ll get up now and have breakfast ready in a few minutes.
“It is only to make a few slices of toast, boil the eggs, and draw the tea. Then I’ll tidy the room and my mother and myself, and we’ll be all ready to receive our hoped-for visitors.”
“Yes; we need not expect them for two or three hours, at the very earliest,” Mrs. Allen said in reply. “Even if they lived in town they wouldn’t be likely to come before the middle of the forenoon, and probably their home is in the country, as you saw them getting out of a carriage.”
Events proved her conjectures correct; it was near the middle of the afternoon when in answer to a rap on the door Susan opened it, to find a lady and gentleman there, accompanied by her little girl acquaintance of the day before.
“Oh, yes, papa, it’s the right place!” exclaimed Lulu, in a very pleased tone. “Susan, I’ve brought my grandma and father to see you.”
“You are all very kind to come,” said Susan, blushing vividly. “Will you please walk in and take some seats?”
She made haste to bring forward the chairs as she spoke, but with a word of thanks Mrs. Travilla and the captain turned toward the invalid, asking: “Is this the sick mother Lulu has been telling about?”
“Yes, ma’am; yes, sir,” said Susan. Mrs. Allen adding, with a grateful look from them to Lulu, “But better already for the kind gifts of the little girl and boy. I thank them from the bottom of my heart. I am very sure God sent them to our relief in answer to prayer. But, dear lady, won’t you be seated? and you, too, sir?” addressing the captain. “It is extremely kind in you to call on us—strangers and living in this poor and unpleasant locality.”
“It is nothing—it is a privilege, if in so doing we bring succor to one of God’s dear children,” Grandma Elsie replied, taking the wasted hand in hers and seating herself close by the bedside. “How glad I am to learn that you are one of his. I had heard only that you were ill and in want.”
“And you, too, are his, dear lady? Ah, one look into your face would tell us that.”
“It is the joy of my heart to be numbered among his followers, and to own him as my Lord and Master,” returned Mrs. Travilla, the light of joy and love shining in her eyes.
“As it is mine,” added the captain. “We belong to one family, we own one Lord and King, and it is his command that we love one another, and that we do good to all men as we have opportunity, ‘especially to them who are of the household of faith!’”
A conversation of some length followed, in which, by questions put with delicacy and kindness, Grandma Elsie and her son-in-law contrived to draw from Mrs. Allen the story of the trials and struggles with poverty and privation which had reduced her to her present state of feebleness and distress.
Her husband had been an intelligent, industrious farmer, and working and saving together, they were looking forward with hope to getting their land clear of encumbrance and finding themselves in comfortable circumstances by the time they should reach middle life; but sickness entered the house, child after child was taken away, till Susan was the only one left; then Mr. Allen sickened and died, and the foreclosure of a mortgage robbed the widow and her daughter of their home.
They came to the city seeking employment by which to earn their daily bread, but found it scarce and ill-paid, and had been growing poorer and poorer, till, but for the precious promises of God’s Word, they would have been in utter despair.
Her listeners seemed deeply interested; tears rolled down the cheeks of Grandma Elsie and Lulu more than once during the course of the narrative, and Captain Raymond was evidently deeply moved.
It was he who broke the momentary silence that fell upon the little company at the conclusion of the tale.
“This close, filthy alley is no place for one brought up in the pure air of the country; I have not the least doubt that the tainted air you breathe here is largely responsible for your feeble condition; we must get you out of it as speedily as possible. I own a little cottage on the outskirts of Union,—a village some two or three miles from us; it is at present without a tenant, and you and your daughter may take possession to-day if you wish and feel strong enough for the necessary exertion.”
“O sir, how kind, how wonderfully kind you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Allen, as soon as astonishment would let her speak, tears of joy and thankfulness coursing freely down her cheeks. “Country air is what I have been longing for more than words can express.”
“But you are by far too generous in offering us a whole house; one room will hold us and our few belongings.”
“But will not hold all that we hope to see in your possession before very long,” he replied, with a benevolent smile; “your daughter—and you also when you are well enough to desire it—shall be provided with abundance of employment, at remunerative prices, and so will soon be able to gather about you many more comforts than I see here,”—sending a sweeping glance about the room.
“And it shall be my care, my great pleasure, to anticipate somewhat the time when you will be able to provide such things for yourselves,” Mrs. Travilla said, rising to go, taking the poor woman’s hand in hers and holding it for a moment in a kindly pressure. “You must be made as comfortable as possible without delay.”
Mrs. Allen tried to speak her thanks, but was too much overcome by emotion.
“I shall send a conveyance for you and your goods day after to-morrow,” the captain said, as he also rose to take his departure, “and I trust you will be well enough to bear the short journey; but if you are not, you must not hesitate to say so, and the opportunity shall be given you again, whenever you send me word that you are ready.”
“We brought you some work, Susan,” Lulu said, giving her hand to the girl in parting; “it is down in the carriage.”
“And shall be sent up at once,” added the captain.
“Oh, thank you, sir!” returned the girl. “But,”—looking from Lulu to Mrs. Travilla,—“will I not need some instruction in regard to how you want it done?”
“I think not,” said the lady; “the garments are all cut and basted, and written directions given with them. If you want more work when they are done you have only to ask for it. But do not over-work yourself in the effort to accomplish more than your strength is equal to.”
With kindly good-bys the visitors went, refusing to allow Susan to accompany them to the outer door of the house, saying that she had doubtless to climb those steep flights of stairs far too often for her good.
In a very few moments a rap called Susan to the door again, to find there a large covered basket. No one was with it, but she heard the retreating footsteps of its bearer hurrying down the stairs.
She lifted it inside and closed the door, then began with eager, trembling hands to unpack it and examine the contents.
There was the promised roll of work, a note pinned to it, on opening which she found, not only the promised directions, but liberal pay in advance.
She read the note aloud in tones faltering with emotion and eyes so dimmed with tears that she could scarcely see.
“Mother,” she cried, “did you ever hear of such kind, generous people?”
“It is because they are Christians; they do it for the dear Master’s sake,” responded Mrs. Allen, her own voice quivering with feeling.
“I’m sure of it, mother, and that he sent them to help us in our sore need. Just look! just look!” as she took out one article after another from the basket and laid it upon the table. “How we shall feast for the next few days! Here are tea, coffee, sugar, a cold chicken, delicious looking bread and rolls, fresh-laid eggs (I am sure they’re that from their appearance), and a pot of currant jelly. It’s wonderful how many things they have thought of! I shall try very hard to do the work to please them.”
“What a lovely, beautiful lady Mrs. Travilla is! But I don’t know how to believe she’s really grandmother to Miss Lulu.”
“Perhaps a step-grandmother,” suggested Mrs. Allen. “She can’t be the captain’s mother, though I noticed he called her that.”
“What a noble-looking man he is! and the little girl! Weren’t you pleased with her, mother?”
“Yes; with both her looks and her behavior.”
The palatable, nourishing food, and the cheering prospect for the future opened up before her by these new and kind friends, had so beneficial an effect upon Mrs. Allen that when the captain’s promised conveyance came she was up, dressed, and ready for her journey.
Great were her surprise and gratitude when she learned that he had sent his own luxurious family carriage to take her and Susan to their destination, while a wagon was to convey their effects.
It was a lovely day, and their drive took them through a beautiful country, diversified by hill and valley, meadow and woodland, all clothed in the charming verdure of spring; now they crossed a dancing streamlet, now flew past a lordly dwelling, with its lawn of emerald green and avenue or grove of noble trees, its cultivated fields spreading far on either hand, now traversed pine woods or skirted the banks of a flowing river, and anon from some slight eminence caught a distant view of the ever-restless sea.
The easy motion of the smoothly running carriage, the soft, sweet air, bringing gratefully to the nostrils the mingled spicy odor of the pines and the refreshing saltness of the sea, the beautiful sights and sounds that greeted eye and ear, were all so intensely enjoyable to the mother and daughter, after their long sojourn in the stifling atmosphere of the close and filthy alley they were leaving behind, that even the invalid was scarcely sensible of fatigue until they had reached their destination and found themselves in the new home, which, though small and humble, seemed to them almost an earthly paradise.
It was a four-roomed cottage, with a trim little flower garden and grass plat in front and on each side, fruit trees, currant and gooseberry bushes, and space for raising vegetables at the back. Porches, richly festooned with flowering vines, and two giant oaks that cast their shadows from front gate to porch, made the house seem from the outside a bower of beauty, and gave promise of delightful shelter from the too fervid rays of the sun when the sultry summer heats should come.
“This surely cannot be the place!” exclaimed Mrs. Allen, as the carriage drew up at the gate.
“No, hardly,” said Susan. “Haven’t you made a mistake?” addressing the coachman.
“I reckon I habn’t, Miss; dis darkey gin’rally knows what he’s ’bout,” laughed the man. “Dar’s Miss Elsie a-settin’ in de poach, an’ hyar comes de cap’n fo’ to help you light.”
Captain Raymond was there, sure enough, hurrying down the path.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said, with a benevolent smile, as he threw open the carriage door. “Mrs. Allen, you must be very weary, though you are looking much brighter than when I saw you the other day. Let me help you into the house.”
“You are wonderfully kind, sir,” she returned with feeling, as he lifted her out. “And, oh, what a paradise you have provided for us here! I can hardly believe it is really to be our home; and I feel that it is far beyond our deserts. The flowers, the vines, the grand old trees, and the green grass,—how lovely they all are!”
“Yes,” he returned pleasantly; “as some one has said, ‘God made the country, and man made the town,’ and I for one have no desire to make my home in the man-made city.”
Max and Lulu had come racing down the path after their father, and were now bringing up the rear with Susan in tow.
“How do you like it?” Lulu was asking eagerly: “is it any improvement upon Rose Alley?”
“Oh, Miss Lulu, it’s too sweet and beautiful for anything!” exclaimed Susan, clasping her hands in an ecstasy of delight. “What lovely flowers, what a delicious perfume from them! Oh, I think myself the happiest girl alive, to be going to live here! I never dreamed of anything half so delightful!”
“And Grandma Elsie has made it nearly, if not quite, as inviting indoors as out,” remarked Max.
“What a kind, kind lady!” said Susan, in tones tremulous with grateful emotion; “the kindest and most generous I ever saw.”
Grandma Elsie was at that moment standing at the entrance to the porch, with hand outstretched in friendly greeting to Mrs. Allen, and to assist her up the steps.
“Welcome home,” she said, with her own rarely sweet smile. “I hope you will find it a happy home.”
“Dear madam, it seems to me a paradise upon earth,” returned the poor woman, tears of joy and gratitude coursing down her wasted cheeks.
Her strength seemed giving way, and the captain half-carried her in and laid her down on a lounge which was so placed that it commanded a partial view of each of the four rooms.
Parlor, living-room, bedroom were all simply and inexpensively, yet tastefully, furnished, every comfort, including a luxuriously easy chair, provided for the invalid. White curtains at the windows, and vases of flowers set here and there, lent an air of elegance to the otherwise unpretending, modest apartments.
In the neat little kitchen a tidy, pleasant-faced colored woman was moving briskly about, evidently preparing the evening meal, while in the living-room a table was laid for two.
It was a delight to Lulu to lead Susan from room to room, calling her attention to all the beauties and conveniences, and explaining that Grandma Elsie had provided this, papa or Mamma Vi that.
“Mamma Vi,” repeated Susan inquiringly; “is it your mother you mean?”
“No—yes, my second mother, but not old enough to be really my mamma; that’s why Max and I put the Vi to it.”
“Come, daughter,” the captain said to Lulu as she and Susan re-entered the parlor, where they had left the others, “put on your hat; we are going home now.”
“Yes, it is time,” Mrs. Travilla said, taking Mrs. Allen’s hand in farewell. “We will leave you to rest, my good woman, for you look sadly in need of it. Sally has your supper nearly ready. I hope you will both enjoy it, and she will stay to wash the dishes and set everything to rights; so that you will have no occasion for exertion till to-morrow.”
“I think they are very happy,” Lulu remarked, as the carriage rolled away toward Woodburn; “and how delightful it is to be able to make other folks happy!”
“Yes,” said her father; “‘it is more blessed to give than to receive.’ We should be very thankful that we are in circumstances to be givers—stewards of God’s bounty. He has given largely to us, in order that we may distribute to others. He never intended that we should spend all on ourselves.”