Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 (8 page)

 
          
           
But in the autumn I looked in vain for Joe. The slate was in its old place, and
a messenger came and went on his beat; but a strange face was under the red
cap, and this man had two arms and one eye. I asked for Collins, but the
new-comer had only a vague idea that he was dead; and the same answer was given
me at headquarters, though none of the busy people seemed to know when or where
he died. So I mourned for Joe, and felt that it was very hard he could not have
lived to enjoy the promised refuge; for, relying upon the charity that never
fails, the Home was an actual fact now, just beginning its beneficent career.
People were waking up to this duty, money was coming in, meetings were being
held, and already a few poor fellows were in the refuge, feeling themselves no
longer paupers, but invalid soldiers honorably supported by the State they had
served. Talking it over one day with a friend, who spent her life working for
the Associated Charities, she said,—

 
          
           
"By the way, there is a man boarding with one of my poor women, who ought
to be got into the Home, if he will go. I don't know much about him, except
that he was in the army, has been very ill with rheumatic fever, and is
friendless. I asked Mrs. Flanagin how she managed to keep him, and she said she
had help while he was sick, and now he is able to hobble about, he takes care
of the children, so she is able to go out to work. He won't go to his own town,
because there is nothing for him there but the almshouse, and he dreads a
hospital; so struggles along, trying to earn his bread tending babies with his
one arm. A sad case, and in your line; I wish you'd look into it."

 
          
           
"That sounds like my Joe, one arm and all. I'll go and see him; I've a
weakness for soldiers, sick or well."

 
          
           
I went, and never shall forget the pathetic little tableau I saw as I opened
Mrs. Flanagin's dingy door; for she was out, and no one heard my tap. The room
was redolent of suds, and in a grove of damp clothes hung on lines sat a man
with a crying baby laid across his lap, while he fed three small children
standing at his knee with bread and molasses. How he managed with one arm to
keep the baby from squirming on to the floor, the plate from upsetting, and to
feed the hungry urchins who stood in a row with open mouths, like young birds,
was past my comprehension. But he did, trotting baby gently, dealing out sweet
morsels patiently, and whistling to himself, as if to beguile his labors
cheerfully.

 
          
           
The broad back, the long legs, the faded coat, the low whistle were all
familiar; and, dodging a wet sheet, I faced the man to find it was indeed my
Joe! A mere shadow of his former self, after months of suffering that had
crippled him for life, but brave and patient still; trying to help himself, and
not ask aid though brought so low.

 
          
           
For an instant I could not speak to him, and, encumbered with baby, dish,
spoon, and children, he could only stare at me with a sudden brightening of the
altered face that made it full of welcome before a word was uttered.

 
          
           
"They told me you were dead, and I only heard of you by accident, not
knowing I should find my old friend alive, but not well, I'm afraid?"

 
          
           
"There ain't much left of me but bones and pain, ma'am. I'm powerful glad
to see you all the same. Dust off a chair, Patsey, and let the lady set down.
You go in the corner, and take turns lickin' the dish, while I see
company," said Joe, disbanding his small troop, and shouldering the baby
as if presenting arms in honor of his guest.

 
          
           
"Why didn't you let me know how sick you were? And how came they to think
you dead?" I asked, as he festooned the wet linen out of the way, and
prepared to enjoy
himself
as best he could.

 
          
           
"I did send once, when things was at the wust; but you hadn't got back,
and then somehow I thought I was goin' to be mustered out for good, and so
wouldn't trouble nobody. But my orders ain't come yet, and I am doing the
fust
thing that come along. It ain't much, but the good soul
stood by me, and I ain't ashamed to pay my debts this way, sence I can't do it
in no other;" and Joe cradled the chubby baby in his one arm as tenderly
as if it had been his own, though little Biddy was not an inviting infant.

 
          
           
"That is very beautiful and right, Joe, and I honor you for it; but you
were not meant to tend babies, so sing your last lullabies, and be ready to go
to the Home as soon as I can get you there."

 
          
           
"Really, ma'am?
I used to
lay
and kind of dream about it when I couldn't stir without yellin' out; but I
never thought it would ever come to happen. I see a piece in the paper
describing it, and it sounded dreadful nice.
Shouldn't wonder
if I found some of my mates there.
They were a good lot, and deservin' of
all that could be done for 'em," said Joe, trotting the baby briskly, as
if the prospect excited him, as well it might, for the change from that damp
nursery to the comfortable quarters prepared for him would be like going from
Purgatory to
Paradise
.

 
          
           
"I don't wonder you don't get well living in such a place, Joe. You should
have gone home to Woolwich, and let your friends help you," I said,
feeling provoked with him for hiding himself.

 
          
           
"No, ma'am!" he answered, with a look I never shall
forget,
it was so full of mingled patience, pride, and pain.
"I haven't a relation in the world but a couple of poor old aunts, and
they couldn't do anything for me. As for asking help of folks I used to know, I
couldn't do it; and if you think I'd go to Lucindy, though she is wal off, you
don't know Joe Collins. I'd die
fust
! If she was poor
and I rich, I'd do for her like a brother; but I couldn't ask no favors of her,
not if I begged
my vittles
in the street, or starved.
I forgive, but I don't forgit in a hurry; and the woman that stood by me when I
was down is the woman I believe in, and can take my bread from without shame.
Hooray for Biddy Flanagin! God bless her!" and, as if to find a vent for
the emotion that filled his eyes with grateful tears, Joe led off the cheer,
which the children shrilly echoed, and I joined heartily.

 
          
           
"I shall come for you in a few days; so cuddle the baby and make much of
the children before you part. It won't take you long to pack up, will it?"
I asked, as we subsided with a general laugh.

 
          
           
"I reckon not as I don't own any clothes but what I set in, except a
couple of old shirts and them socks. My hat's stoppin' up the winder, and my
old coat is my bed-cover. I'm awful shabby, ma'am, and that's one reason I
don't go out more. I can hobble some, but I ain't got used to bein' a scarecrow
yet," and Joe glanced from the hose without heels that hung on the line to
the ragged suit he wore, with a resigned expression that made me long to rush
out and buy up half the contents of Oak Hall on the spot.

 
          
           
Curbing this wild impulse I presently departed with promises of speedy
transportation for Joe, and unlimited oranges to assuage the pangs of parting
for the young Flanagins, who escorted me to the door, while Joe waved the baby
like a triumphal banner till I got round the corner.

 
          
           
There was such a beautiful absence of red tape about the new institution that
it only needed a word in the right ear to set things going; and then, with a
long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, Joe Collins was taken up and
safely landed in the Home he so much needed and so well deserved.

 
          
           
A happier man or a more grateful one it would be hard to find, and if a visitor
wants an enthusiastic guide about the place, Joe is the one to take, for all is
comfort, sunshine, and good-will to him; and he unconsciously shows how great
the need of this refuge is, as he hobbles about on his lame feet, pointing out
its beauties, conveniences, and delights with his one arm, while his face
shines, and his voice quavers a little as he says gratefully,—

 
          
           
"The State don't forget us, you see, and this is a Home wuth havin'.
 
 
Long life to
it!"
 
 

 
          
           
AS the great steamer swung round into the stream the cloud of white
handkerchiefs waving on the wharf melted away, the last good-byes grew fainter,
and those who went and those who stayed felt that the parting was over,—

           
           
"It may be for years, and it may be forever," as
the song says.

 
          
           
With only one of the many groups on the deck need we concern ourselves, and a
few words will introduce our fellow-travellers. A brisk middle-aged lady leaned
on the arm of a middle-aged gentleman in spectacles, both wearing the calmly cheerful
air of people used to such scenes, and conscious only of the relief change of
place brings to active minds and busy lives.

 
          
           
Before them stood two girls, evidently their charges, and as evidently not
sisters, for in all respects they were a great contrast. The younger was a gay
creature of seventeen, in an effective costume of navy-blue and white, with
bright hair blowing in the wind, sparkling eyes roving everywhere, lively
tongue going, and an air of girlish excitement pleasant to see. Both hands were
full of farewell bouquets, which she surveyed with more pride than tenderness
as she glanced at another group of girls less blessed with floral offerings.

 
          
           
Her companion was a small, quiet person, some years older than herself, very
simply dressed, laden with wraps, and apparently conscious just then of nothing
but three dark specks on the wharf, as she still waved her little white flag,
and looked shoreward with eyes too dim for seeing. A sweet, modest face it was,
with intelligent eyes, a firm mouth, and the look of one who had early learned
self-reliance and self-control.

 
          
           
The lady and gentleman watched the pair with interest and amusement; for both
liked young people, and were anxious to know these two better, since they were
to be their guides and guardians for six months. Professor Homer was going
abroad to look up certain important facts for his great historical work, and as
usual took his wife with him; for they had no family, and the good lady was
ready to march to any quarter of the globe at short notice. Fearing to be
lonely while her husband pored over old papers in foreign libraries, Mrs. Homer
had invited Ethel Amory, a friend's daughter, to accompany her. Of course the
invitation was gladly accepted, for it was a rare opportunity to travel in such
company, and Ethel was wild with delight at the idea. One thorn, however, vexed
her, among the roses with which her way seemed strewn. Mamma would not let her
take a French maid, but preferred a young lady as companion; for, three being
an awkward number, a fourth party would be not only convenient, but necessary
on the girl's account, since she was not used to take care of herself and Mrs.
Homer could only be expected to act as chaperone.

 
          
           
"Jane Bassett is just the person I want, and Jane shall go. She needs a
change after teaching all these years; it will do her a world of good, for she
will improve and enjoy every moment, and the salary I shall offer her will make
it worth her while," said Mrs. Amory, as she discussed the plan with her
daughter.

 
          
           
"She is only three years older than I am, and I hate to be taken care of,
and watched, and fussed over. I can order a maid round, but a companion is
worse than a governess; such people are always sensitive and proud, and hard to
get on with. Every one takes a maid, and I'd set my heart on that nice Marie
who wants to go home, and talks such lovely French. Do let me have her,
Mamma!" begged Ethel, who was a spoiled child and usually got her own way.

 
          
           
But for once Mamma stood firm, having a strong desire to benefit her daughter
by the society of better companions than the gay girls of her own set, also to
give a great pleasure to good little Jane Bassett, who had been governessing
ever since she was sixteen, with very few vacations in her hard, dutiful life.

 
          
           
"No, darling, I have asked Jane, and if her mother can spare her, Jane it
shall be. She is just what you need,—sensible and kind, intelligent and
capable; not ashamed to do anything for you, and able to teach you a great deal
in a pleasant way. Mrs. Homer approves of her, and I am sure you will be glad
by-and-by; for travelling is not all 'fun,' as you expect, and I don't want you
to be a burden on our friends. You two young things can take care of each other
while the Professor and his wife are busy with their own affairs; and Jane is a
far better companion for you than that coquettish French woman, who will
probably leave you in the lurch as soon as you reach
Paris
.
I shouldn't have a moment's peace if you were left with her, but I have entire
confidence in Jane Bassett because she is faithful,
discreet,
and a true lady in all things."

 
          
           
There was no more to be said, and Ethel pouted in vain. Jane accepted the place
with joy; and after a month of delightful hurry they were off, one all
eagerness for the new world, the other full of tender regret for the dear souls
left behind. How they got on, and what they learned, remains to be told.

 
          
           
"Come, Miss Bassett, we can't see them any longer, so we may as well begin
to enjoy ourselves. You might take those things down below, and settle the
stateroom a bit; I'm going to walk about and get my bearings before lunch. You
will find me somewhere round."

 
          
           
Ethel spoke with a little tone of command, having made up her mind to be
mistress and keep Jane Bassett in her place, though she did know three
languages and sketched much better than Miss Amory.

 
          
           
Jenny, as we who are going to be her bosom friends will call her, nodded
cheerfully, and looked about for the stairway; for, never having been on a
steamer before, she was rather bewildered.

 
          
           
"I'll show you the way, my dear. I always get my things settled at once,
as one never knows when one may have to turn in. The Professor will go with
you, Ethel; it is not proper for you to roam about alone;" and with that
hint Mrs. Homer led the way below, privately wondering how these young persons
were going to get on together.

 
          
           
Jane swallowed her "heimweh" in silence, and bestirred herself so
well that soon the stateroom looked very cosy with the wrappers laid ready, the
hanging bags tacked up, and all made ship-shape for the ten days' trip.

 
          
           
"But where are YOUR comforts? You have given Ethel all the room, the lower
berth, and the best of everything," said Mrs. Homer, popping in her head
to see how her quiet neighbor got on.

 
          
           
"Oh, I live in my trunk; I didn't bring half as many little luxuries as
Ethel did, so I don't need as much room. I'm used to living in corners like a
mouse, and I get on very well," answered Jane, looking very like a mouse
just then, as she peeped out of the upper berth, with her gray gown, bright
eyes, and quick nod of contentment.

 
          
           
"Well, my dear, I've just one word of advice to give you. Don't let that
child tyrannize over you. She means well, but is wilful and thoughtless, and it
is NOT your duty to be made a slave of. Assert yourself and she will obey and
respect you, and you will help her a great deal. I know all about it; I was a
companion in my youth, and had a hard time of it till I revolted and took my
proper place. Now let us go up and enjoy the fine air while we can."

 
          
           
"Thank you, I will remember;" and Jane offered the good lady her arm,
with a feeling of gratitude for such friendliness, all being new and strange to
her, and many doubts of her own fitness for the position lying heavy at her
heart.

 
          
           
But soon all was forgotten as she sat on deck watching the islands,
lighthouses, ships, and shores glide by as she went swiftly out to sea that
bright June day. Here was the long-cherished desire of her life come to pass at
last, and now the parting with mother and sisters was over, nothing but
pleasure remained, and a very earnest purpose to improve this unexpected
opportunity to the uttermost. The cares of life had begun early for little
Jane, she being the eldest of the three girls, and her mother a widow. First
came hard study, then a timid beginning as nursery governess; and as year by
year the teaching of others taught her, she ventured on till here she was
companion to a fine young lady "going abroad," where every facility
for acquiring languages, studying history, seeing the best pictures, and
enjoying good society would all be hers. No wonder the quiet face under the
modest gray hat beamed, as it turned wistfully toward the unknown world before
her, and that her thoughts were so far away, she was quite unconscious of the
kind eyes watching her, as Mrs. Homer sat placidly knitting beside her.

 
          
           
"I shall like the Mouse, I'm quite sure. Hope Lemuel will be as well
satisfied. Ethel is charming when she chooses, but will need looking after,
that's plain," thought the lady as she glanced down the deck to where her
husband stood talking with several gentlemen, while his charge was already
making friends with the gay girls who were to be her fellow-passengers.

 
          
           
"Daisy Millers, I fear," went on Mrs. Homer, who had a keen eye for
character, and was as fond of studying the people about her as the Professor
was of looking up dead statesmen, kings, and warriors. The young ladies
certainly bore some resemblance to the type of American girl which one never
fails to meet in travelling. They were dressed in the height of the fashion,
pretty with the delicate evanescent beauty of too many of our girls, and all
gifted with the loud voices, shrill laughter, and free-and-easy manners which
so astonish decorous English matrons and maids. Ethel was evidently impressed
with their style, as they had a man and maid at their beck and call, and every
sign of ostentatious wealth about them. A stout papa, a thin mamma, evidently
worn out with the cares of the past winter, three half-grown girls, and a lad
of sixteen made up the party; and a very lively one it was, as the Professor
soon found, for he presently bowed himself away, and left Ethel to her new
friends, since she smilingly refused to leave them.

 
          
           
"Ought I to go to her?" asked Jenny, waking from her happy reverie to
a sudden sense of duty as the gentleman sat down beside her.

 
          
           
"Oh dear, no, she is all right. Those are the Sibleys of New York.
 
 Her father knows them, and she
will find them a congenial refuge
 
 when she tires of us quiet folk;
and you too, perhaps?" added the
 
 Professor as he glanced at the
girl.
 
 

 
          
           
"I think not. I should not be welcome to them, nor are they the sort of
people I like. I shall be very happy with the 'quiet folk,' if they won't let
me be in the way," answered Jenny, in the cheerful voice that reminded one
of the
chirp
of a robin.

 
          
           
"We won't; we'll toss you overboard as soon as you begin to scream and
bounce in that style," he answered, laughing at the idea of this demure
young person's ever dreaming of such a thing. Jenny laughed also, and ran to
pick up Mrs. Homer's ball, as it set out for a roll into the lee-scuppers. As
she brought it back she found the Professor examining the book she left behind
her.

 
          
           
"Like all young travellers you cling to your 'Baedeker,' I see, even in
the first excitement of the start. He is a useful fellow, but I know my
Europe
so well now, I don't need him."

 
          
           
"I thought it would be wise to read up our route a little,
then
I needn't ask questions. They must be very tiresome to
people who know all about it," said Jenny, regarding him with an
expression of deep respect for she considered him a sort of walking
encyclopaedia of universal knowledge.

 
          
           
It pleased the learned man, who was kindly as well as wise, and loved to let
his knowledge overflow into any thirsty mind, however small the cup might be.
He liked the intelligent face before him, and a timid question or two set him
off on his favorite hobby at a pleasant amble, with Jenny on the pillion
behind, as it were. She enjoyed it immensely, and was deep in French history,
when the lunch gong recalled her from Francis I. and his sister Margaret to
chops and English ale.