 | MRS. PODGERS' TEAPOT. Hospital sketches and Camp and fireside stories |  |
2. MRS. PODGERS' TEAPOT.
AH, dear me, dear me, I'm a deal too comfortable!”
Judging from appearances, Mrs. Podgers certainly had
some cause for that unusual exclamation. To begin
with, the room was comfortable. It was tidy, bright,
and warm; full of cosy corners and capital contrivances
for quiet enjoyment. The chairs seemed to extend their
plump arms invitingly; the old-fashioned sofa was so
hospitable, that whoever sat down upon it was slow to get
up; the pictures, though portraits, did not stare one out
of countenance, but surveyed the scene with an air of
tranquil enjoyment; and the unshuttered windows allowed
the cheery light to shine out into the snowy street
through blooming screens of Christmas roses and white
chrysanthemums.
The fire was comfortable; for it was neither hidden in
a stove nor imprisoned behind bars, but went rollicking
up the wide chimney with a jovial roar. It flickered
over the supper-table as if curious to discover what
savory viands were concealed under the shining covers.
It touched up the old portraits till they seemed to wink;
it covered the walls with comical shadows, as if the portly
chairs had set their arms akimbo and were dancing a
jig; it flashed out into the street with a voiceless greeting
to every passer-by; it kindled mimic fires in the
and, best of all, it shone its brightest on Mrs. Podgers,
as if conscious that it couldn't do a better thing.
Mrs. Podgers was comfortable as she sat there, buxom,
blooming, and brisk, in spite of her forty years and her
widow's cap. Her black gown was illuminated to such
an extent that it couldn't look sombre; her cap had
given up trying to be prim long ago, and cherry ribbons
wouldn't have made it more becoming as it set off her
crisp black hair, and met in a coquettish bow under her
plump chin; her white apron encircled her trim waist,
as if conscious of its advantages; and the mourning-pin
upon her bosom actually seemed to twinkle with satisfaction
at the enviable post it occupied.
The sleek cat, purring on the hearth, was comfortable,
so was the agreeable fragrance of muffins that pervaded
the air, so was the drowsy tick of the clock in the corner;
and if anything was needed to give a finishing touch to
the general comfort of the scene, the figure pausing in
the doorway supplied the want most successfully.
Heroes are always expected to be young and comely,
also fierce, melancholy, or at least what novel-readers
call “interesting”; but I am forced to own that my
present hero was none of these. Half the real beauty,
virtue, and romance of the world gets put into humble
souls, hidden in plain bodies. Mr. Jerusalem Turner
was an example of this; and, at the risk of shocking
my sentimental readers, I must frankly state that he was
fifty, stout, and bald, also that he used bad grammar,
had a double chin, and was only the Co. in a prosperous
grocery store. A hale and hearty old gentleman, with
cheerful brown eyes, a ruddy countenance, and curly gray
and independence that was pleasant to behold. There
he stood, beaming upon the unconscious Mrs. Podgers,
softly rubbing his hands, and smiling to himself with the
air of a man enjoying the chief satisfaction of his life,
as he was.
“Ah, dear me, dear me, I'm a deal too comfortable!”
sighed Mrs. Podgers, addressing the teapot.
“Not a bit, mum, not a bit.”
In walked the gentleman, and up rose the lady, saying,
with a start and an aspect of relief, —
“Bless me, I didn't hear you! I began to think you
were never coming to your tea, Mr. 'Rusalem.”
Everybody called him Mr. 'Rusalem, and many people
were ignorant that he had any other name. He liked it,
for it began with the children, and the little voices had
endeared it to him, not to mention the sound of it from
Mrs Podgers' lips for ten years.
“I know I'm late, mum, but I really couldn't help it.
To-night's a busy time, and the lads are just good for
nothing with their jokes and spirits, so I stayed to steady
'em, and do a little job that turned up unexpected.”
“Sit right down and have your tea while you can,
then. I've kept it warm for you, and the muffins are
done lovely.”
Mrs. Podgers bustled about with an alacrity that
seemed to give an added relish to the supper; and when
her companion was served, she sat smiling at him with
her hand on the teapot, ready to replenish his cup before
he could ask for it.
“Have things been fretting of you, mum? You
looked down-hearted as I came in, and that ain't accordin'
'Rusalem, stirring his tea with a sense of solid satisfaction
that would have sweetened a far less palatable draught.
“It's the teapot; I don't know what's got into it
to-night; but, as I was waiting for you, it set me
thinking of one thing and another, till I declare I felt as
if it had up and spoke to me, showing me how I wasn't
grateful enough for my blessings, but a deal more comfortable
than I deserved.”
While speaking, Mrs. Podgers' eyes rested on an
inscription which encircled the corpulent little silver teapot:
“To our Benefactor.—They who give to the poor lend
to the Lord.” Now one wouldn't think there was anything
in the speech or the inscription to disturb Mr.
'Rusalem; but there seemed to be, for he fidgeted in his
chair, dropped his fork, and glanced at the teapot with a
very odd expression. It was a capital little teapot, solid,
bright as hands could make it, and ornamented with a
robust young cherub perched upon the lid, regardless of
the warmth of his seat. With her eyes still fixed upon
it, Mrs. Podgers continued meditatively, —
“You know how fond I am of the teapot for poor
Podgers' sake. I really feel quite superstitious about
it; and when thoughts come to me, as I sit watching it,
I have faith in them, because they always remind me of
the past.”
Here, after vain efforts to restrain himself, Mr. 'Rusalem
broke into a sudden laugh, so hearty and infectious
that Mrs. Podgers couldn't help smiling, even while she
shook her head at him.
“I beg pardon, mum, it's hysterical; I'll never do it
went soberly on with his supper.
It was a singular fact that whenever the teapot was
particularly alluded to he always behaved in this incomprehensible
manner, — laughed, begged pardon, said it
was hysterical, and promised never to do it again. It
used to trouble Mrs. Podgers very much, but she had
grown used to it; and having been obliged to overlook
many oddities in the departed Podgers, she easily forgave
'Rusalem his only one. After the laugh there was a
pause, during which Mrs. Podgers sat absently polishing
up the silver cherub, with the memory of the little son
who died two Christmases ago lying heavy at her heart,
and Mr. 'Rusalem seemed to be turning something over
in his mind as he watched a bit of butter sink luxuriously
into the warm bosom of a muffin. Once or twice
he paused as if listening, several times he stole a look at
Mrs. Podgers, and presently said, in a somewhat anxious
tone, —
“You was saying just now that you was a deal too
comfortable, mum; would you wish to be made uncomfortable
in order to realize your blessings?”
“Yes, I should. I'm getting lazy, selfish, and forgetful
of other folks. You leave me nothing to do, and
make everything so easy for me that I'm growing young
and giddy again. Now that isn't as it should be,
'Rusalem.”
“It meets my views exactly, mum. You've had your
hard times, your worryments and cares, and now it's
right to take your rest.”
“Then why don't you take yours? I'm sure you've
extra work than holidays for your share.”
“Oh well, mum, it's different with me, you know.
Business is amusing; and I'm so used to it I shouldn't
know myself if I was out of the store for good.”
“Well, I hope you are saving up something against
the time when business won't be amusing. You are so
generous, I'm afraid you forget you can't work for other
people all your days.”
“Yes, mum, I've put by a little sum in a safe bank
that pays good interest, and when I'm past work I'll fall
back and enjoy it.”
To judge from the cheerful content of the old gentleman's
face he was enjoying it already, as he looked about
him with the air of a man who had made a capital
investment, and was in the receipt of generous dividends.
Seeing Mrs. Podgers' bright eye fixed upon him, as
if she suspected something, and would have the truth
out of him in two minutes, he recalled the conversation
to the point from which it had wandered.
“If you would like to try how a little misery suits
you, mum, I can accommodate you if you'll step upstairs.”
“Good gracious, what do you mean? Who's up there?
Why didn't you tell me before?” cried Mrs. Podgers, in
a flutter of interest, curiosity, and surprise, as he knew
she would be.
“You see, mum, I was doubtful how you'd like it. I
did it without stopping to think, and then I was afraid
you'd consider it a liberty.”
Mr. 'Rusalem spoke with some hesitation; but Mrs.
Podgers didn't wait to hear him, for she was already at
known where to go, “up-stairs” being a somewhat vague
expression. The old gentleman led the way to the room
he had occupied for thirty years, in spite of Mrs. Podgers'
frequent offers of a better and brighter one. He
was attached to it, small and dark as it was, for the joys
and sorrows of more than half his life had come to him
in that little room, and somehow when he was there it
brightened up amazingly. Mrs. Podgers looked well
about her, but saw nothing new, and her conductor said,
as he paused beside the bed, —
“Let me tell you how I found it before I show it. You
see, mum, I had to step down the street just at dark, and
passing the windows I give a glance in, as I've a bad
habit of doing when the lamps is lighted and you a setting
there alone. Well, mum, what did I see outside but
a ragged little chap a flattening his nose against the
glass, and staring in with all his eyes. I didn't blame
him much for it, and on I goes without a word. When
I came back I see him a lying close to the wall, and
mistrusting that he was up to some game that might give
you a scare, I speaks to him: he don't answer; I
touches him: he don't stir; then I picks him up, and seeing
that he's gone in a fit or a faint, I makes for the
store with a will. He come to rapid; and finding that
he was most froze and starved, I fed and warmed and
fixed him a trifle, and then tucked him away here, for
he's got no folks to worry for him, and was too used up
to go out again to-night. That's the story, mum; and
now I'll produce the little chap if I can find him.”
With that Mr. 'Rusalem began to grope about the bed,
chuckling, yet somewhat anxious, for not a vestige of an
agitation of the clothes, a squeak, and the unexpected
appearance out at the foot of the bed of a singular figure,
that dodged into a corner, with one arm up, as if to
ward off a blow, while a sleepy little voice exclaimed
beseechingly, “I'm up, I'm up, don't hit me!”
“Lord love the child, who'd think of doing that!
Wake up, Joe, and see your friends,” said Mr. 'Rusalem,
advancing cautiously.
At the sound of his voice down went the arm, and
Mrs. Podgers saw a boy of nine or ten, arrayed in a
flannel garment that evidently belonged to Mr. 'Rusalem,
for though none too long it was immensely broad, and
the voluminous sleeves were pinned up, showing a pair
of wasted arms, chapped with cold and mottled with
bruises. A large blue sock still covered one foot, the
other was bound up as if hurt. A tall cotton nightcap,
garnished with a red tassel, looked like a big extinguisher
on a small candle; and from under it a pair of dark,
hollow eyes glanced sharply with a shrewd, suspicious
look, that made the little face more pathetic than the
marks of suffering, neglect, and abuse, which told the
child's story without words. As if quite reassured by
'Rusalem's presence, the boy shuffled out of his corner,
saving coolly, as he prepared to climb into his nest
again, —
“I thought it was the old one when you grabbed me.
Ain't this bed a first-rater, though?”
Mr. 'Rusalem lifted the composed young personage
into the middle of the big bed, where he sat bolt upright,
surveying the prospect from under the extinguisher with
an equanimity that quite took the good lady's breath
saying, “There he is, mum,” with as much pride and
satisfaction as if he had found some rare and valuable
treasure; for the little child was very precious in his
sight. Mrs. Podgers really didn't know whether to
laugh or cry, and settled the matter by plumping down
beside the boy, saying cordially, as she took the grimy
little hands into her own, —
“He's heartily welcome, 'Rusalem. Now tell me all
about it, my poor dear, and don't be afraid.”
“Ho, I ain't afraid a you nor he. I ain't got nothin'
to tell, only my name's Joe and I'm sleepy.”
“Who is your mother, and where do you live, deary?”
asked Mrs. Podgers, haunted with the idea that some
woman must be anxious for the child.
“Ain't got any, we don't have 'em where I lives. The
old one takes care a me.”
“Who is the old one?”
“Granny. I works for her, and she lets me stay
alonger her.”
“Bless the dear! what work can such a mite do?”
“Heaps a things. I sifs ashes, picks rags, goes beggin',
runs arrants, and sometimes the big fellers lets me
call papers. That's fun, only I gets knocked round,
and it hurts, you'd better believe.”
“Did you come here begging, and, being afraid to ring,
stand outside looking in at me enjoying myself, like a
selfish creeter as I am?”
“I forgot to ask for the cold vittles a lookin' at warm
ones, and thinkin' if they was mine what I'd give the little
fellers when I has my tree.”
“Your what, child?”
“My Christmas-tree. Look a here, I've got it, and
all these to put on it to-morrer.”
From under his pillow the boy produced a small
branch of hemlock, dropped from some tree on its passage
to a gayer festival than little Joe's; also an old
handkerchief which contained his treasures, — only a
few odds and ends picked up in the streets: a gnarly
apple, half-a-dozen nuts, two or three dingy bonbons,
gleaned from the sweepings of some store, and a bit of
cheese, which last possession he evidently prized highly.
“That's for the old one; she likes it, and I kep it for
her, — cause she don't hit so hard when I fetch her
goodies. You don't mind, do you?” he said, looking
inquiringly at Mr. 'Rusalem, who blew his nose like a
trumpet, and patted the big nightcap with a fatherly
gesture more satisfactory than words.
“What have you kept for yourself, dear?” asked Mrs.
Podgers, with an irrepressible sniff, as she looked at the
poor little presents, and remembered that they “didn't
have mothers” where the child lived.
“Oh, I had my treat alonger him,” said the boy,
nodding toward 'Rusalem, and adding enthusiastically,
“Wasn't that prime! It was real Christmasy a settin'
by the fire, eating lots and not bein' hit.”
Here Mrs. Podgers broke down; and, taking the boy
in her arms, sobbed over him as if she had found her
lost Neddy in this sad shape. The little lad regarded
her demonstration with some uneasiness at first, but
there is a magic about a genuine woman that wins its
way everywhere, and soon the outcast nestled to her,
feeling that this wonderful night was getting more
“Christmasy” every minute.
Mrs. Podgers was herself again directly; and seeing
that the child's eyelids were heavy with weakness and
weariness, she made him comfortable among the pillows,
and began to sing the lullaby that used to hush her little
son to sleep. Mr. 'Rusalem took something from his
drawer, and was stealing away, when the child opened
his eyes and started up, calling out as he nodded, till the
tassel danced on this preposterous cap, —
“I say! good night, good night!”
Looking much gratified, Mr. 'Rusalem returned, shook
the little hand extended to him, kissed the grateful face,
and went away to sit on the stairs with tear after tear
dropping off the end of his nose, as he listened to the
voice that, after two years of silence, sung the air this
simple soul thought the loveliest in the world. At first,
it was more sob than song, but soon the soothing music
flowed on unbroken, and the wondering child, for the
first time within his memory, fell asleep in the sweet
shelter of a woman's arms.
When Mrs. Podgers came out, she found Mr. 'Rusalem
intent on stuffing another parcel into a long gray stocking
already full to overflowing.
“For the little chap, mum. He let fall that he'd
never done this sort of thing in his life, and as he hadn't
any stockings of his own, poor dear, I took the liberty
of lending him one of mine,” explained Mr. 'Rusalem,
surveying the knobby article with evident regret that it
wasn't bigger.
Mrs. Podgers said nothing, but looked from the stocking
to the fatherly old gentleman who held it; and it is
my private belief, that if Mrs. Podgers had obeyed the
impulse of her heart, she would have forgotten decorum,
went briskly into her own room, whence she presently
returned with red eyes, and a pile of small garments in
her hands. Having nearly exhausted his pincushion in
trying to suspend the heavy stocking, Mr. 'Rusalem had
just succeeded as she appeared. He saw what she
carried, watched her arrange the little shirt, jacket and
trousers, the half-worn shoes and tidy socks, beside the
bed, with motherly care, and stand looking at the uncouscious
child, with an expression which caused Mr.
'Rusalem to dart down stairs, and compose himself by
rubbing his hair erect, and shaking his fist in the painted
face of the late Podgers.
An hour or two later the store was closed, the room
cleared, Mrs. Podgers in her arm-chair on one side of
the hearth, with her knitting in her hand, Mr. 'Rusalem
in his arm-chair on the other side, with his newspaper on
his knee, both looking so cosy and comfortable that any
one would have pronounced them a Darby and Joan on
the spot. Ah, but they weren't, you see, and that spoilt
the illusion, to one party at least. Both were rather
silent, both looked thoughtfully at the fire, and the fire
gave them both excellent counsel, as it seldom fails to do
when it finds any kindred warmth and brightness in the
hearts and souls of those who study it. Mrs. Podgers
kindled first, and broke out suddenly with a nod of great
determination.
“'Rusalem, I'm going to keep that boy if it's possible!”
“You shall, mum, whether it's possible or not,” he
answered, nodding back at her with equal decision.
“I don't know why I never thought of such a thing
and heaven knows I'm wearying for some little child to fill
my Neddy's place. I wonder if you didn't think of this
when you took that boy in; it would be just like you!”
Mr. 'Rusalem shook his head, but looked so guilty,
that Mrs. Podgers was satisfied, called him “a thoughtful
dear,” within herself, and kindled still more.
“Between you, and Joe, and the teapot, I've got
another idea into my stupid head, and I know you won't
laugh at it. That loving little soul has tried to get a
tree for some poor babies who have no one to think of
them but him, and even remembered the old one, who
must be a wretch to hit that child, and hit hard, too, I
know by the looks of his arms. Well, I've a great
longing to go and give him a tree,—a right good one, like
those Neddy used to have; to get in the `little fellers'
he tells of, give them a good dinner, and then a regular
Christmas frolic. Can't it be done?”
“Nothing could be easier, mum;” and Mr. 'Rusalem,
who had been taking counsel with the fire till he quite
glowed with warmth and emotion, nodded, smiled, and
rubbed his hands, as if Mrs. Podgers had invited him to
a Lord Mayor's feast, or some equally gorgeous jollification.
“I suppose it's the day, and thinking of how it came
to be, that makes me feel as if I wanted to help everybody,
and makes this Christmas so bright and happy that
I never can forget it,” continued the good woman, with
a heartiness that made her honest face quite beautiful to
behold.
If Mrs. Podgers had only known what was going on
under the capacious waistcoat opposite, she would have
tender-hearted she grew, the harder it became for Mr.
'Rusalem to restrain the declaration which had been
hovering on his lips ever since old Podgers died. As
the comely relict sat there talking in that genial way,
and glowing with good-will to all mankind, it was too
much for Mr. 'Rusalem; and finding it impossible to
resist the desire to know his fate, he yielded to it, gave
a porpentous hem, and said abruptly,—
“Well, mum, have I done it?”
“Done what?” asked Mrs. P., going on with her
work.
“Made you uncomfortable, according to promise.”
“Oh dear, no, you've made me very happy, and will
have to try again,” she answered, laughing.
“I will, mum.”
As he spoke Mr. 'Rusalem drew his chair nearer,
leaned forward, and looking straight at her, said deliberately,
though his voice shook a little, —
“Mrs. Podgers, I love you hearty; would you have
any objections to marrying of me?”
Not a word said Mrs. Podgers; but her knitting
dropped out of her hand, and she looked as uncomfortable
as she could desire.
“I thought that would do it,” muttered Mr. 'Rusalem;
but went on steadily, though his ruddy face got paler and
paler, his voice huskier and huskier, and his heart fuller
and fuller every word he attempted.
“You see, mum, I have took the liberty of loving you
ever since you came, more than ten years ago. I was
eager to make it known long before this, but Podgers
spoke first and then it was no use. It come hard for a
learn not to love you, being as it was impossible. Since
Podgers died I've turned it over in my mind frequent,
but felt as if I was too old, and rough, and poor every
way to ask so much. Lately, the wish has growed too
strong for me, and to-night it won't be put down. If
you want a trial, mum, I should be that I'll warrant, for
do my best, I could never be all I'm wishful of being
for your sake. Would you give it name, and if not
agreeable, we'll let it drop, mum, we'll let it drop.”
If it hadn't been for the teapot, Mrs. Podgers would
have said Yes at once. The word was on her lips, but as
she looked up the fire flashed brightly on the teapot
(which always occupied the place of honor on the
sideboard, for Mrs. P. was intensely proud of it), and
she stopped to think, for it reminded her of something.
In order to explain this, we must keep Mr. 'Rusalem
waiting for his answer a minute.
Rather more than ten years ago, old Podgers happening
to want a housekeeper, invited a poor relation to fill
that post in his bachelor establishment. He never would
have thought of marrying her, though the young woman
was both notable and handsome, if he hadn't discovered
that his partner loved her. Whereupon the perverse old
fellow immediately proposed, lest he should lose his
housekeeper, and was accepted from motives of gratitude.
Mrs. Podgers was a dutiful wife, but not a very
happy one, for the world said that Mr. P. was a hard,
miserly man, and his wife was forced to believe the
world in the right, till the teapot changed her opinion.
There happened to be much suffering among the poor
one year, owing to the burning of the mills, and contributions
though a rich man, refused to give a penny, but it was
afterwards discovered that his private charities exceeded
many more ostentatious ones, and the word “miserly”
was changed to “peculiar.” When times grew prosperous
again, the workmen, whose families had been so
quietly served, clubbed together, got the teapot, and left
it at Mr. Podgers' door one Christmas Eve. But the
old gentleman never saw it; his dinner had been too
much for him, and apoplexy took him off that very
afternoon.
In the midst of her grief Mrs. Podgers was surprised,
touched and troubled by this revelation, for she had
known nothing of the affair till the teapot came. Womanlike,
she felt great remorse for what now seemed like
blindness and ingratitude; she fancied she owed him
some atonement, and remembering how often he had
expressed a hope that she wouldn't marry again after he
was gone, she resolved to gratify him. The buxom
widow had had many opportunities of putting off her
weeds, but she had refused all offers without regret till
now. The teapot reminded her of Podgers and her vow;
and though her heart rebelled, she thought it her duty to
check the answer that sprung to her lips, and slowly, but
decidedly, replied, —
“I'm truly grateful to you, 'Rusalem, but I couldn't
do it. Don't think you'd ever be a trial, for you're the
last man to be that to any woman. It's a feeling I have
that it wouldn't be kind to Podgers. I can't forget how
much I owe him, how much I wronged him, and how
much I can please him by staying as I am, for his
don't marry, Jane.”'
“Very well, mum, then we'll let it drop, and fall back
into the old ways. Don't fret yourself about it, I shall
bear up, and —” there Mr. 'Rusalem's voice gave out,
and he sat frowning at the fire, bent on bearing up manfully,
though it was very hard to find that Podgers dead
as well as Podgers living was to keep from him the happiness
he had waited for so long. His altered face and
broken voice were almost too much for Mrs. P., and she
found it necessary to confirm her resolution by telling it.
Laying one hand on his shoulder, she pointed to the teapot
with the other, saying gently, —
“The day that came and I found out how good he
was, too late to beg his pardon and love him for it, I
said to myself, `I'll be true to Podgers till I die, because
that's all I can do now to show my repentance and respect.'
But for that feeling and that promise I couldn't
say No to you, 'Rusalem, for you've been my best friend
all these years, and I'll be yours all my life, though I
can't be anything else, my dear.”
For the first time since its arrival, the mention of the
teapot did not produce the accustomed demonstration
from Mr. 'Rusalem. On the contrary, he looked at it
with a momentary expression of indignation and disgust,
strongly suggestive of an insane desire to cast the precious
relic on the floor and trample on it. If any such
temptation did assail him, he promptly curbed it, and
looked about the room with a forlorn air, that made
Mrs. Podgers hate herself, as he meekly answered, —
“I'm obliged to you, mum; the feeling does you
up again directly.”
He retired behind his paper as he spoke, and Mrs.
Podgers spoilt her knitting in respectful silence, till Mr.
'Rusalem began to read aloud as usual, to assure her that
in spite of the blow he was up again.
In the gray dawn the worthy gentleman was roused
from his slumbers, by a strange voice whispering shrilly
in his ear, —
“I say, there's two of em. Ain't it jolly?”
Starting up, he beheld a comical little goblin standing
at his bedside, with a rapturous expression of countenance,
and a pair of long gray stockings in its hands.
Both were heaping full, but one was evidently meant for
Mr. 'Rusalem, for every wish, whim and fancy of his
had been guessed, and gratified in a way that touched
him to the heart. If it were not indecorous to invade
the privacy of a gentleman's apartment, I could describe
how there were two boys in the big bed that morning;
how the old boy revelled in the treasures of his stocking
as heartily as the young one; how they laughed and
exclaimed, pulled each others nightcaps off, and had a
regular pillow fight; how little Joe was got into his new
clothes, and strutted like a small peacock in them; how
Mr. 'Rusalem made himself splendid in his Sunday best,
and spent ten good minutes in tying the fine cravat
somebody had hemmed for him. But lest it should be
thought improper, I will merely say, that nowhere in the
city did the sun shine on happier faces than these two
showed Mrs. Podgers, as Mr. 'Rusalem came in with
Joe on his shoulder, both wishing her a merry Christmas,
ever seen.
Mrs. Podgers was as brisk and blithe as they, though
she must have sat up one-half the night making presents
for them, and laid awake the other half making plans
for the day. As soon as she had hugged Joe, toasted
him red, and heaped his plate with everything on the
table, she told them the order of performances.
“As soon as ever you can't eat any more you must
order home the tree, 'Rusalem, and then go with Joe to
invite the party, while I see to dinner, and dress up the
pine as well as I can in such a hurry.”
“Yes, mum,” answered Mr. 'Rusalem with alacrity;
though how she was going to do her part was not clear
to him. But he believed her capable of working any
miracle within the power of mortal woman; and having
plans of his own, he soon trudged away with Joe prancing
at his side, so like the lost Neddy, in the little cap
and coat, that Mrs. Podgers forgot her party to stand
watching them down the crowded street, with eyes that
saw very dimly when they looked away again.
Never mind how she did it, the miracle was wrought,
for Mrs. Podgers and her maid Betsey fell to work with
a will, and when women set their hearts on anything it
is a known fact that they seldom fail to accomplish it.
By noon everything was ready, the tree waiting in the
best parlor, the dinner smoking on the table, and Mrs.
Podgers at the window to catch the first glimpse of her
coming guests. A last thought struck her as she stood
waiting. There was but one high chair in the house,
and the big ones would be doubtless too low for the little
people. Bent on making them as comfortable as her
matter by bringing out from Podgers' bookcase several
fat old ledgers, and arranging them in the chairs. While
busily dusting one of these it slipped from her hands,
and as it fell a paper fluttered from among the leaves.
She picked it up, looked at it, dropped her duster, and
became absorbed. It was a small sheet filled with figures,
and here and there short memoranda, — not an interesting
looking document in the least; but Mrs. Podgers
stood like a statue till she had read it several times; then
she caught her breath, clapped her hands, laughed and
cried together, and put the climax to her extraordinary
behavior by running across the room and embracing the
astonished little teapot.
How long she would have gone on in this wild manner
it is impossible to say, had not the the jingle of bells, and
a shrill, small cheer announced that the party had arrived.
Whisking the mysterious paper into her pocket, and
dressing her agitated countenance in smiles, she hastened
to open the door before chilly fingers could find the bell.
Such a merry load as that was! Such happy faces
looking out from under the faded hoods and caps! Such
a hearty “Hurrah for Mrs. Podgers!” greeted her
straight from the grateful hearts that loved her the
instant she appeared! And what a perfect Santa Claus
Mr. 'Rusalem made, with his sleigh full of bundles as
well as children, his face full of sunshine, his arms full
of babies, whom he held up that they too might clap
their little hands, while he hurrahed with all his might.
I really don't think reindeers, or the immemorial white
beard and fur cap, could have improved the picture; and
the neighbors were of my opinion, I suspect.
It was good to see Mrs. Podgers welcome them all in
a way that gave the shyest courage, made the poorest
forget patched jackets or ragged gowns, and caused them
all to feel that this indeed was merry Christmas. It
was better still to see Mrs. Podgers preside over the
table, dealing out turkey and pudding with such a bounteous
hand, that the small feasters often paused, in
sheer astonishment, at the abundance before them,
and then fell to again with renewed energy, as if they
feared to wake up presently and find the whole a dream.
It was best of all to see Mrs. Podgers gather them
about her afterwards, hearing their little stories, learning
their many wants, and winning their young hearts by
such gentle wiles that they soon regarded her as some
beautiful, benignant fairy, who had led them from a cold,
dark world into the land of innocent delights they had
imagined, longed for, yet never hoped to find.
Then came the tree, hung thick with bonbons, fruit
and toys, gay mittens and tippets, comfortable socks and
hoods, and, lower down, more substantial but less showy
gifts; for Mrs Podgers had nearly exhausted the Dorcas
basket that fortunately chanced to be with her just then.
There was no time for candles, but, as if he understood
the matter and was bent on supplying all deficiencies, the
sun shone gloriously on the little tree, and made it doubly
splendid in the children's eyes.
It would have touched the hardest heart to watch the
poor little creatures, as they trooped in and stood about
the wonderful tree. Some seemed ready to go wild with
delight, some folded their hands and sighed with solemn
satisfaction, others looked as if bewildered by such
unwonted and unexpected good fortune; and when Mr.
from their loving playmate's broken bough, little Joe hid
his face in Mrs. Podgers' gown, and could find no vent
for his great happiness but tears. It was not a large
tree, but it took a long while to strip it; and even when
the last gilded nut was gone the children still lingered
about it, as if they regarded it with affection as a generous
benefactor, and were loath to leave it.
Next they had a splendid round of games. I don't
know what will be thought of the worthy souls, but Mr.
'Rusalem and Mrs. Podgers played with all their might.
Perhaps the reason why he gave himself up so freely to
the spirit of the hour was, that his disappointment was
very heavy; and, according to his simple philosophy, it
was wiser to soothe his wounded heart and cheer his sad
spirit with the sweet society of little children, than to
curse fate and reproach a woman. What was Mrs.
Podgers' reason it is impossible to tell, but she behaved
as if some secret satisfaction filled her heart so full that
she was glad to let it bubble over in this harmless
fashion. Both tried to be children again, and both succeeded
capitally, though now and then their hearts got
the better of them. When Mr. 'Rusalem was blinded he
tossed all the little lads up to the ceiling when he caught
them, kissed all the little girls, and, that no one might
feel slighted, kissed Mrs. Podgers also. When they
played “Open the gates,” and the two grown people
stood hand in hand while the mirthful troops marched
under the tall arch, Mrs. Podgers never once looked Mr.
'Rusalem in the face, but blushed and kept her eyes on
the ground, as if she was a bashful girl playing games
with some boyish sweetheart. The children saw nothing
wouldn't have understood it if they had; but it was perfectly
evident that the gray-headed gentleman and the
mature matron had forgotten all about their years, and
were in their teens again; for true love is gifted with
immortal youth.
When weary with romping, they gathered round the
fire, and Mr. 'Rusalem told fairy tales, as if his dull
ledgers had preserved these childish romances like flowers
between their leaves, and kept them fresh in spite of
time. Mrs. Podgers sung to them, and made them sing
with her, till passers-by smiled and lingered as the childish
voices reached them, and, looking through the screen
of roses, they caught glimpses of the happy little group
singing in the ruddy circle of that Christmas fire.
It was a very humble festival, but with these poor
guests came also Love and Charity, Innocence and Joy,
— the strong, sweet spirits who bless and beautify the
world; and though eclipsed by many more splendid celebrations,
I think the day was the better and the blither
for Mrs. Podgers' little party.
When it was all over, — the grateful farewells and
riotous cheers as the children were carried home, the
twilight raptures of Joe, and the long lullaby before he
could extinguish himself enough to go to sleep, the congratulations
and clearing up, — then Mr. 'Rusalem and
Mrs. Podgers sat down to tea. But no sooner were
they alone together than Mrs. P. fell into a curious flutter,
and did the oddest things. She gave Mr. 'Rusalem
warm water instead of tea, passed the slop-bowl when
he asked for the sugar-basin, burnt her fingers, laid her
handkerchief on the tray, and tried to put her fork in her
began to fear the day had been too much for her.
“You're tired, mum,” he said presently, hearing her
sigh.
“Not a bit,” she answered briskly, opening the teapot
to add more water, but seemed to forget her purpose,
and sat looking into its steamy depths as if in search of
something. If it was courage, she certainly found it,
for all of a sudden she handed the mysterious paper to
Mr. 'Rusalem, saying solemnly, —
“Read that, and tell me if it's true.”
He took it readily, put on his glasses, and bent to
examine it, but gave a start that caused the spectacles to
fly off his nose, as he exclaimed, —
“Lord bless me, he said he'd burnt it!”
“Then it is true? Don't deny it, 'Rusalem; it's no
use, for I've caught you at last!” and in her excitement
Mrs. Podgers slapped down the teapot-lid as if she had
got him inside.
“I assure you, mum, he promised to burn it. He
made me write down the sums, and so on, to satisfy him
that I hadn't took more'n my share of the profits. It
was my own; and though he called me a fool he let me
do as I liked, but I never thought it would come up again
like this, mum.”
“Of course you didn't, for it was left in one of the old
ledgers we had down for the dears to sit on. I found it,
I read it, and I understood it in a minute. It was you
who helped the mill-people, and then hid behind Podgers
because you didn't want to be thanked. When he died,
and the teapot came, you saw how proud I was of it, —
how I took comfort in thinking he did the kind things;
night, when a word would have done so much. Oh,
'Rusalem, how could you deceive me all these years?”
If Mr. 'Rusalem had desired to answer he would have
had no chance; for Mrs. Podgers was too much in earnest
to let any one speak but herself, and hurried on, fearing
that her emotion would get the better of her before
she had had her say.
“It was like you, but it wasn't right, for you've robbed
yourself of the love and honor that was your due; you've
let people praise Podgers when he didn't deserve it;
you've seen me take pride in this because I thought he'd
earned it; and you've only laughed at it all as if it was
a fine joke to do generous things and never take the
credit of 'em. Now I know what bank you've laid up
your hard earnings in, and what a blessed interest you'll
get by and by. Truly they who give to the poor lend to
the Lord, — and you don't need to have the good words
written on silver, for you keep 'em always in your
heart.”
Mrs. Podgers stopped a minute for breath, and felt
that she was going very fast; for 'Rusalem sat looking
at her with so much humility, love, and longing in his
honest face, that she knew it would be all up with her
directly.
“You saw how I grieved for Neddy, and gave me this
motherless boy to fill his place; you knew I wanted some
one to make the house seem like home again, and you
offered me the lovingest heart that ever was. You
found I wasn't satisfied to lead such a selfish life, and
you showed me how beautiful Charity could make it;
you taught me to find my duty waiting for me at my own
to make this day the happiest Christmas of my life.”
If it hadn't been for the teapot Mrs. Podgers would
have given out here; but her hand was still on it, and
something in the touch gave her steadiness for one more
burst.
“I loved the little teapot for Podgers' sake; now I
love it a hundred times more for yours, because you've
brought its lesson home to me in a way I never can forget,
and have been my benefactor as well as theirs, who
shall soon know you as well as I do. 'Rusalem, there's
only one way in which I can thank you for all this, and
I do it with my whole heart. Last night you asked me
for something, and I thought I couldn't give it to you.
Now I'm sure I can, and if you still want it why — ”
Mrs. Podgers never finished that sentence; for, with
an impetuosity surprising in one of his age and figure,
Mr. 'Rusalem sprang out of his chair and took her in his
arms, saying tenderly, in a voice almost inaudible,
between a conflicting choke and chuckle, —
“My dear! my dear! God bless you!”
| MRS. PODGERS' TEAPOT. Hospital sketches and Camp and fireside stories | |