 | Chapter X.
A Family Council. The tenant-house, or,, Embers from poverty's hearthstone |  |
10. Chapter X.
A Family Council.
THERE were close consultation and great planning in
the house of Mr. Granby, on the evening of the day
on which the old gentleman had made the acquaintance
of sundry tenants of Kolephat College. Bob the Weasel,
on that eventful day, had, in great astonishment and
some little trepidation, been initiated into certain secrets
of civilized life, most novel and startling to his experience.
He had felt the touch of a woman's fingers, bathing his
bruised head; had been permitted to devour, without
reproof, a plentiful and savory meal; and had received,
moreover, at the hands of black Samson, a most necessary
ablution, coupled with a thorough scrubbing of his diminutive
person. In this condition, after listening to family
prayers, and partaking of a parting bowl of porridge,
prepared by the stately housekeeper, of whom Bob already
stood in extreme awe, the newsboy was inducted, for the
first time in his life, into a comfortable bed, with the promise
that, on the morrow, he should see his friend Fanny,
and attend the funeral of her mother.
Bob the Weasel, it is not to be doubted, was somewhat
exercised in mind in endeavoring to account for his own
that anybody should take an interest in him—so
unheard-of that an old gentleman, out of mere goodness
of heart, should have bestowed upon a ragged newsboy
such marks of kindness—and it appeared, indeed, so like
a dream or fairy-tale, that he was to go to the funeral of
Fanny's mother, and that she was not to be buried in
Potter's Field—all these marvels, making the subject of
Bob's reflections, as he was left in his new bed by Samson,
caused in the poor urchin's brain so much perplexing
cogitation as to delay for a long time the approach of
sleep. And when his eyes at length closed, troops of
grotesque tableaux marshalled themselves through his
dreams, in which myriads of weeping little orphans and
ancient gentlemen in camlet cloaks, fire-engines with pipes
held by stalwart Samsons, and a confused crowd of
policemen, newsboys, landlords, and tenants, all driven up
and down by a mighty steam press, composed the main
phantasmagoria.
Meantime, Mr. Granby sat in his arm-chair, in the
library, while Samson occupied a seat at a little distance,
and Mrs. George disposed herself comfortably upon the
sofa, before the cheerful sea-coal fire. On a mahogany
stand, beside the master, lay an open Bible, on which the
silver-bound spectacles of the old gentleman were placed,
within his reach, and the mild light of a shaded lamp fell,
equally radiant, upon his reverend forehead and the divine
page. Mr. Granby appeared absorbed in profound thought,
which was at last broken in upon by the housekeeper, with
the abrupt remark:
“That child is a perfect heathen!”
“A heathen, Mrs. George?”
“Not a bit better! I asked him, while you were
absent, if he ever went to church or Sunday-school, and,
would you believe it, he laughed in my face!”
“Poor child!” said Mr. Granby.
“Poor child, indeed!” returned Mrs. George, bridling.
“I asked him if he knew the Lord's Prayer, and he inquired,
`What Lord?' as if there were a dozen. He's a
downright heathen, Mr. Granby.”
“And what are we to do with him, if that be the case,
Mrs. George?”
“Mercy me! I really can't advise!” said Mrs. G.,
with a toss of the head. “My opinion isn't worth mentioning.”
“But we are Christians, Mrs. George, and profess to
have duties toward the heathen.”
“I dare say, there are places provided for such poor
children,” said the housekeeper, with some asperity of
manner, which was in decided contrast with her master's
cahn demeanor. “Almost every day, somebody calls for
a subscription to one or another charity. Isn't there such
a place as the Orphan Asylum?”
“Doubtless, Mrs. George. And Samson, here, will
inform you that there is a place called Potter's Field;
nevertheless, we have seen to-day how strong a prejudice
exists concerning the latter; and, I doubt not, our young
friend up stairs would object to being sent to the Asylum.”
“Object!” echoed the matron. “I should think `beggars
mustn't be choosers.”'
“Pardon me, Mrs. George! The lad, it appears, is no
beggar, but has contrived to support himself by his own
industry. To be sure, his earnings must be scanty, or he
would not have been obliged to sleep in—barrels!” The
old gentleman paused and reflected; for it seemed to him
an unaccountable riddle of city life, that children of Bob's
age should be exposed to such privations and hardships.
“Quare children, dese newsboys—berry quare!” here
interposed Samson, rubbing his head with both hands, as
if greatly perplexed. The housekeeper nodded and pursed
her lips, to indicate that more might be uttered on that
head.
“Listen to me,” said Mr. Granby. “We are all, I
trust, anxious to perform our duties, as Christians, toward
less fortunate fellow-creatures. It has been the will of
God, this day, to cast upon our sympathies two of that
class of whom our Lord and Master spake, when he
said, `Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid
them not! for of such is the kingdom of heaven!' Two
helpless orphans appeal to our ministering care, Mrs.
George! one rests under this roof—perhaps for the first
time in his life, upon a comfortable bed. Another, bereft
of a maternal protector, remains under care of a poor
sewing-girl, scarce able to support herself. Mrs. George!
we will seek counsel, in this matter, of Him who `doeth
all things well.”'
Saying these words, the aged man left his chair, and
kneeling devoutly beside the little stand, crossed his hands
upon the open Bible, and closed his eyes. Mrs. George
laid down her needle-work, and, with Samson, also knelt,
for direction in the course which should be pursued. Then,
resuming his arm-chair, Mr. Granby adjusted his spectacles,
and, turning the leaves of the Bible, read, in an
impressive tone:
“`If thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfiest
the afflicted soul, then shall thy light rise in obscurity,
and thy darkness shall be as the noon-day, and the Lord
shall guide thee continually, and thou shalt be as a watered
garden, as a well of water, whose waters fail not.”'
“Bress the good Lord!” ejaculated the negro, when
his master paused.
“Let Samson now decide, Mrs. George, what shall be
done with the boy Robert. What say you, my old friend?”
said Mr. Granby, turning to his servant.
“De Lord is our Shepherd!” responded Samson, solemnly
bending his sable head.
“`Feed my sheep!”' rejoined the old gentleman.
“And de Lord says, `Oder sheep hab I, which are not
ob dis fold!”' continued Samson, raising his eyes to his
master's face. “Massa Granby! I s'pose Bob is one ob
dat kind o' sheep, and” —
“We must lead him to the fold of the Good Shepherd!”
said Mr. Granby, quickly. “Ay, Samson! you are right;
and our duty, as Christian stewards, is plain. Is it not
so, Mrs. George?”
The housekeeper bowed her head in silence.
“Your little heathen must be converted,” continued
Mr. Granby, with a smile; “and I know you will not
grudge a little trouble for his welfare, Mrs. George.”
“What do you propose to do with the child, Mr.
Granby?”
“For the present, let him abide with us,” answered the
master. “To-morrow, Samson will see that he is clad
decently; and, I doubt not, you will speedily make the lad
useful about the house.”
Mrs. George sighed, and looked as if she abandoned at
once all hope of further quiet or comfort in the world. At
the same time, an angry impulse almost made her propose
that a general invitation should be extended to all tenant-house
orphans, but she checked in season the ironical suggestion,
and contented herself with inquiring, if “the other
orphan,” the girl “Fanny,” was to be brought likewise to
their dwelling.
“I am perplexed about that,” said Mr. Granby. “The
child is so young, and” —
“Female children are very troublesome,” added Mrs.
George.
“'Scuse me, Massa Granby!” here interposed Samson,
“I tink I knows what to do!”
“Speak, then, Samson! You know this is a family
council.”
“Dere's de chile Bob—I'se able to manage him, you
see, so as dere'll be no trouble to Missy George! Now,
dere's de 'ittle Fanny—bress de Lord! she's in good hands
now. Bes' let her stay jis' whar she is.”
“But you forget, Samson—the seamstress is dependent
on her needle for a living, and has already a child to
support.”
“Dar's jis' de reason, Massa Granby. If dere mought
ar chile's libin,' den her rent might be paid, massa.”
Samson glanced up, sidewise, at Mr. Granby, as he
spoke this, and his dark features grew luminous with an
expression of intelligent benevolence. His master looked
at him a moment, fixedly, and then stretched out his hand,
which the negro warmly grasped.
“Samson!” said the old gentleman, rising from his
chair, and shaking his servant's hand, “often has your
plain, practical sense relieved me of embarrassment. God
bless you, boy! you have a good heart. It shall be done
as you say. The lad shall be in your charge, and little
Fanny may remain with her present protector! Mrs.
George, will that suit you?”
Mrs. George looked as if she would rather have had the
credit of proposing some such arrangement herself, but,
nevertheless, nodded acquiescingly.
“So, all is happily settled!” said the good master,
again shaking Samson's hand. “The Lord grant that
our work may be sanctified unto His praise and glory,
evermore!”
“Amen!” responded the old negro; “and bress de
Lord!”
| Chapter X.
A Family Council. The tenant-house, or,, Embers from poverty's hearthstone | |