– the impulsive, generous, warm-hearted Neddy; quick to err – as quick to repent – what human hand would weigh justly in the scales of praise and blame, his daily deeds? What hand, save a mother’s, in uprooting the weeds, would crush not the tender flowers? Oh, what mother, while pondering these things in her heart, and looking round upon the dear faces, in the near or distant prospect of dissolution, has not felt her heart-tendrils tighten around them, with a vice-like clasp that almost defied separation? Nature’s voice is clamorous; but over, and above, and through its importunate pleadings, comes there to the Christian mother, the still, small whisper, “My grace is sufficient for thee!”
Mr. Wade at first refused to believe in the reality of his wife’s sickness. Women, he said, were always ailing, and fancying themselves dying. But, as the parlor was vacated for the chamber, and the easy-chair for the bed, and the doctor’s chaise stopped twice a day before the door, and Mrs. Hereford left her own little family to sit beside her mother, and Betty wiped her eyes with her apron every time she left the chamber door – and, more than all, when Mr. Wade’s toast was not browned as she used to brown it, and his favorite pudding was wanting, and the lamp burned dimly on the lonely tea-table, and his slippers were not always in the right place – he resigned himself to what seemed inevitable, with the air of a deeply-injured man; and slept as soundly at night, in the room next his wife’s, as if death’s shadow had not even then fallen across the threshold.
At breakfast he drove Betty distracted with orders and counter-orders about egg-boiling and toast-making, after eating which, he drew on a pair of creaking boots and an overcoat, and mounted to his wife’s room, to go through the ceremony of inquiring “how she was,” holding the door open for the cold wind to blow upon the invalid, while he received the faint “Easy, thank you,” from lips that contracted with pain, as the door closed after him in no gentle manner.
No thought of his children disturbed Mr. Wade’s equanimity. He did not see, day by day, the sorrowful face of his daughter lifted to his, as if in search of sympathy; nor notice the tip-toe steps of the playful little Neddy, as he passed to and fro, with messages from Mrs. Hereford to Betty.
“It’s infamous!” said the latter, slamming herself down in one of the kitchen chairs. “Is that man made of flesh and blood, or is he not? All last night, Mrs. Wade sat up in bed, with that dreadful distress for breath, tossing her arms up over her head, and that man snoring away like the seven sleepers. It’s infamous! Now, I’m no eaves-dropper: I scorn it; but I was in the kitchen this morning, and the slide was open through the closet into the basement, and I heard Mrs. Hereford say to her husband, who had called to inquire after Mrs. Wade: ‘Oh, James, James, how can I love or respect my father?’ and she sobbed as if her heart would break; and then she told him that the doctor had ordered some kind of drugs to be burned in Mrs. Wade’s room to help her breathing – something expensive – I don’t remember the name, and Mr. Wade said the doctor was an old granny, and it was a useless expense, and wouldn’t give his daughter the money for it. When Mrs. Hereford had finished telling, I heard her husband say a word I never expected to hear out of his mouth, and he kissed his wife, and handing her his pocket-book, told her to get whatever was necessary. Oh, dear; the Bible says, ‘Honor your parents;’ but whether such a man as that is a parent? that’s the question. Some of the ministers must settle it; I can’t. But it never will be clear to me that bringing a child into the world makes a parent. I don’t care what they say; it’s clear as day-light that the Lord meant that after that they should see ’em safe through it, no matter how much trouble turns up for ’em. When I’m married, if I ever am, I’ll say this to my young ones: ‘Now look here; tell me every thing. If you are sorry, tell me; if you are glad, tell me; if you are wicked, tell me; and I never, never, will turn away from you, no more than I want God to turn away from me. And if you break God’s laws and man’s laws, as I hope you won’t – if you love Him and me – still, I never will shut my door in your face, no matter what you do, no more than I want my Maker to shut heaven’s door in mine.’ Now, that’s my notion of a parent. Whether I shall ever have a chance to carry it out or not – that’s another thing; but as sure as I do, there’s where you’ll find me; and it’s my belief that many a man has swung on a gibbet, and many a woman has cursed God and man with her last breath, for want of just that. As if food, and drink, and clothes was all a child wanted, or a wife either, for that matter; as if that was all a husband or a father was bound to furnish; as if that was all the Lord would hold him accountable for; as if that was – gracious Gradgrind, there’s my toast burnt all to a crisp.”
Thanks to Mrs. Hereford, who procured the herbs ordered by the doctor, the poor sufferer was temporarily relieved.
“Who is that, Mary?” she asked, as she distinguished a strange footstep in the hall.
“It is Miss Alsop,” replied Mary.
No reply from the invalid, but a weary turning of the pale face toward the pillow, and a gathering moisture in the eyes.
“Come here, Mary – nearer – nearer” – Mrs. Hereford bent her head so low that her brown curls swept her mother’s pillow.
“That – woman – will – be – your – father’s – wife when – I – am – scarcely – cold.”
“God forbid – don’t, mother – don’t;” and poor Mary’s tears and kisses covered the emaciated face before her.
“You have a home – and a husband – and a kind one, Mary, but Susan and Neddy – it is hard to leave my children to her keeping. If I could but take them with me.”
As she said this, Betty beckoned Mrs. Hereford out of the room, saying “that Miss Alsop wished to see her, to inquire how dear Mrs. Wade had passed the night.”
“Tell her,” said Mary, “that she is very ill, and that I can not leave her to receive visitors.”
“If you please,” said Betty, returning, “Miss Alsop says she is so weary that she will sit and rest for half an hour.”
“Just half an hour before father comes home; then, of course, he will invite her to partake his solitary dinner; that’s just what she came for; mother is right; how strange that I never should have thought of all this before!” and a thousand little things now flashed upon her mind in confirmation of what her mother had just said.
Miss Alsop was an unmarried woman of forty, and presented that strange anomaly, a fat old maid. Her teeth were good, her hair thick and glossy, and her voice softer than the cooing of a dove; one of those voices which are the never-failing herald of deceit and hypocrisy to the keen observer of human nature. For years she had had her eye upon Mr. Alsop, and actually claimed a sort of cousinly relationship, which she never had been able very clearly to establish, but upon the strength of which she had come, self-invited, twice a month, to spend the day. The first moment Mrs. Wade saw her, she was conscious of an instinctive aversion to her; but as she was never in the habit of consulting her own tastes or inclinations, she endured the infliction with her own gentle sweetness. No one who witnessed her offering Miss Alsop the easiest chair, or helping her to the daintiest bit on the table, would have supposed that she read the wily woman’s secret heart. Not a look, not a word, not a tone betrayed it; but when the weary day was over, and Miss Alsop had exhausted all her vapid nothings, and, tying on her bonnet, regretted that she must trouble Mr. Wade to wait upon her home, Mrs. Wade, as they passed through the door, and out into the darkness, would lean her cheek upon her hand, while tears, which no human eye had ever seen, fell thick and fast.
Not that Mr. Wade had any affection for Miss Alsop – not at all – he was incapable of affection for any thing but himself and his money; but Miss Alsop had a way of saying little complimentary things to which the most sensible man alive never yet was insensible, from the stupidest and silliest of women. What wonder that the profound Mr. Wade walked into the trap with his betters? and though he would
