they wrote to mr. thorpe. of course they did! they promised the moss and roots, and told him how glad they were that the people had been pleased with what they sent, and would he be so very kind as to write and tell them whether he had heard of anybody who had tried the apple dumplings?
“and if any of your people are ill, dear mr. thorpe,” wrote tiny, in her share of the letter, “and there is anything particular that you would like for them, will you please tell us, and perhaps it will be something we can send you.”
the answer to this letter was delightfully prompt. yes, several of the women who had shared the apples had “tried” the dumplings, and been much pleased with them. were there any more nice cheap dishes? and would it be too much trouble to print the recipes in large, clear letters? some of the poor people who could read print quite easily could not read writing at all. and there was “something particular.” it was almost impossible for any of “his people” to buy pure milk, and he felt sure that many little children were suffering and dying for want of proper food. if he might have only two or three quarts a week of really pure, sweet milk, he would give it to those who most needed it.
“but perhaps,” he wrote, “it is not in your power to supply this want, and if it is not, you must not be troubled. god never asks for any service which we cannot, with his help, render to him, and the knowledge of this should keep us from fretting when we cannot carry out all our wishes and plans.”
tiny and johnny each received ten cents a week for spending money, and it did not take them long to decide that, if uncle isaac would sell them three quarts of milk a week, and lend them a milk can, they would send that milk, if it took every cent of their allowance. uncle isaac entered into the plan with spirit; if they took three quarts of milk a week “straight along,” he said, it would only be four cents a quart, and he would lend them a can, and deliver it, with pleasure.
“but that would be skimmed milk, wouldn’t it, uncle isaac?” asked tiny, doubtfully.
“oh no,” he answered, “not at all! it shall either be from the milking over night, with all the cream on it, or, if johnny chooses, i’ll call him in time to milk the three quarts that very morning—perhaps that would be best, for then some of it would keep till next day, if mr. thorpe could find a cold place for it.”
the children were jubilant. there would still be eight cents a week left, and they admitted to each other that it would have been “very bad” to be reduced to “nothing at all a week!” and johnny agreed at once to do the milking. he had been learning to milk “for fun,” and could do it quite nicely.
“and that’s a real blessing, tiny,” he said, “for the milk will be so nice and fresh, as uncle isaac says, that mr. thorpe can keep some till next day. i do hope he has a refrigerator.”
you will begin to see, by this time, that the things which these little people were doing by way of sharing their happiness, were not by any means all play, and that some of them were very downright work. picking berries in the hot sun, or even flowers, when one picks them by the bushel, is not amusing. it always seemed to johnny, on the milking mornings, that he had only just fallen asleep when uncle isaac gave him the gentle shaking which had been agreed upon, because a knock or call would wake the rest of the family needlessly early. very often most interesting things, such as building a dam, or digging a pond, or making a house of fence rails, had to be put aside for hours, that the “consignment,” whatever it happened to be that time, might be ready for uncle isaac over night. but how sweet and happy was the play which followed their labors of love, and how small their sacrifices seemed, when they thought of the little children, crowded, packed, into narrow, foul-smelling courts and alleys, and, inside of these again, into stifling rooms!
the long rambles, in which mrs. leslie always, and mr. leslie sometimes, joined, in search of mosses and wild-flower roots, were only a delight, and quite paid for the work of printing the simple rules for cheap cookery, which aunt mercy told them from time to time, as she could remember.
they caught uncle isaac, nearly every time that he took one of their cargoes, slipping in something on his own account—vegetables, or fruit, or eggs, and even, sometimes, a piece of fresh meat, when one of his own sheep had been killed to supply the table.
“that’s a first-rate way to make a stew, that thy aunt mercy gave thee yesterday,” he said, gravely, to tiny, on one of these occasions; “but i thought if i took the mutton, and a few carrots and potatoes, along with it, it would stand a good deal better chance of getting made than if i didn’t!”
and tiny and johnny delightedly agreed that it would.
mr. leslie came home, one evening, looking a little troubled.
“i haven’t seen jim at his usual place for two or three days,” he said; “and if i could only have remembered the street and number of his lodgings, i would have made time to go and ask after him. please write the address on a card for me, dear, and i’ll go to-morrow, or send if i can’t go.”
the happy days in the country had by no means made tiny and johnny forget jim, in the hot and weary city; and, as mr. leslie often saw him at his stand, messages were exchanged, and gifts of fruit and flowers sent, which cheered his loneliness not a little, for he missed them more than even they could guess. aunt mercy and uncle isaac had heard a good deal about him, too, by this time; and it so happened that they had come to a decision concerning him that very day.
so now aunt mercy said,—
“i was going to speak to thee of that lad this very evening, friend leslie. our hired man, david, is obliged to leave us next month, and i have taken a notion to ask thy young friend to take his place. the work will not be heavy through the winter, and by spring, with good care and good food in the meantime, he might well be strong enough to keep on with david’s work, until our time for hiring extra help comes. and we think it would be well if he could come at once, while david is still here to instruct him, and we would pay him half wages until david leaves. would thee object to laying our proposal before him, if thee sees him to-morrow?”
the applause which followed this speech quite embarrassed aunt mercy; but she was made to understand very clearly that mr. leslie would not have the slightest objection to undertaking her mission.
tiny and johnny were confident that jim would come the very next day; and when mr. leslie saw the blank faces which greeted him as he returned, the next evening, alone, he pretended that he meant to go back to the office immediately.
“for the office cat is always glad to see me,” he said, “and especially so when i come alone!”
he received, immediately, an overwhelming apology and testimonial, all in one. but when it was over, tiny asked,—
“why didn’t jim come with you, papa, really and truly?”
“jim is slightly ill at his lodging,” said mr. leslie. “it is nothing serious,” he hastened to add, as he saw the anxious faces. “i took the doctor to see him, and he says jim has a slight touch of bilious fever. he is wretchedly uncomfortable, of course, for the old woman of the house does as little for him as she decently can; but i gave her a talking to, and the doctor says, he hopes to have jim on his legs again in two or three days, though, of course, he will be rather weak for a while.”
this news caused much lamentation, which was instantly changed to joy, when uncle isaac said, quietly, and as if it were the only thing to be said under the circumstances,—
“if thee will give me the address, friend leslie, i will drive in for the lad to-morrow. mercy can arrange a bed in the bottom of the spring wagon, and i think the slight risk we shall cause him to run will be justifiable, under the circumstances. the kitchen-chamber is vacant, and he can sleep there, until david goes.”
mr. leslie clasped the old man’s hand with affectionate warmth, nor could he help saying softly, so that only uncle isaac heard,—
“‘i was a stranger, and ye took me in; sick, and in prison, and ye visited me.’”
aunt mercy asked tiny and johnny to help her make ready the kitchen chamber, the next day, and johnny will never receive any more delightful flattery than her gentle,—
“thee is such a carpenter, johnny, and so handy, that i thought perhaps thee could bore a gimlet-hole in the floor, here by the bed, and then fix a piece of twine along one of the rafters in the kitchen, till it reached the door-bell—no one-ever rings that, thee knows, and that poor boy may want something, and be too weak to call.”
so johnny arranged the bell-pull, while aunt mercy and tiny tacked up green paper shades, and white muslin curtains, to the two windows and spread the straw mattress, first with three or four folded “comfortables,” and then with lavender-scented sheets and a white bed-spread, and put a clean cover on the bureau, and on the little one-legged and three-footed table which was to stand by the bed. two or three braided rugs were laid upon the floor, and then, when tiny had decorated the bureau with a bunch of the brightest flowers she could find, the room was all ready, “and too lovely for anything,” as tiny said.
jim was afraid, at first, that his new friends would not understand why he could not, try as he might, find voice to say anything, when uncle isaac and david carried him upstairs, and gently placed him on the white bed. there was a lump in his throat which would not let any words pass it, but he raised his eyes to aunt mercy’s face, with a look which somehow made her stroke his hot forehead with her soft, cool hands, and say tenderly,—
“there, my dear, thee is safe and at home, and all thee has to do is to lie here and get well as fast as thee can!”
he did it, and with everything to help forward his recovery, his strong young frame soon shook off disease and languor.
three weeks after he came to the farm, he was “all about again,” as aunt mercy said, and so eager for work, that he soon left david little to do. and what famous help he was about the “mission!” he seemed to have an especial faculty for finding the places where shy mosses and delicate wild-flowers hid; he had “spotted” every nut tree within five miles before the nuts were ripe, and he packed their various findings in a way which excited wonder and admiration.
the “beautiful time” in the inner circle came to an end at last, or rather, to a pause; nobody was willing to believe it the end. there were plans and hopes for next year, and for the winter which must come first, but, in spite of all the hopes, nobody looked very cheerful when the last evening came, and if mrs. leslie and aunt mercy did not mingle their tears with those of tiny and johnny, the next morning, it was only because they felt that they must set a good example even if nobody were able to follow it!
and you, who are reading this? are you trying, ever so little, to share your happiness? think about it. no one is too poor to do this. those of you who enjoy, every summer, a free, happy holiday in the country, can be “faithful in much,” and those who are themselves suffering privation can give, always, love and sympathy, and often the “helping hand” which does so much beside the actual help it gives. and remember, dear children who are listening to me, that with the “inasmuch as ye did,” comes the far more solemn “inasmuch as ye did it not, unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it not to me.”
