Fanny, the Flower-Girl Part 3

Good Mrs. Newton was much better in health, and used to walk about sometimes without any support but f.a.n.n.y's arm, and so time went on till f.a.n.n.y came to be about fifteen; and then Mrs. Newton, who was not always free from "doubt and sorrow," began to think what was to become of her if she were to die.

So one day, when kind Mr. Walton, whom f.a.n.n.y used once to call the fat gentleman, came in to see her, Mrs. Newton told him that she was beginning to feel anxious that f.a.n.n.y should be put in a way of earning her own bread, in case she should be taken from her.

Mr. Walton listened to her, and then he said,--

"You are very right and prudent, Mrs. Newton, but never mind that; I have not forgotten my little flower-girl, and her race after me that hot morning; if you were dead, I would take care of her; and if we both were dead, Mrs. Walton would take care of her; and if Mrs.

Walton were dead, G.o.d would take care of her. I see you cannot yet learn the little lines she is so fond of--

"'Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, G.o.d provideth for the morrow.'"

Well, not very long after this conversation came a very warm day, and in all the heat of the sun came Mr. Walton, scarcely able to breathe, into Mrs. Newton's cottage; he was carrying his hat in one hand, and a newspaper in the other, and his face was very red and hot.

"Well, Mrs. Newton," said he, "what is all this about?--I can't make it out; here is your name in the paper!"

"My name, sir!" said Mrs. Newton, staring at the paper.

"Aye, indeed is it," said Mr. Walton, putting on his spectacles, and opening the paper at the advertis.e.m.e.nt side,--"see here!"

And he began to read,--

"If Mrs. Newton, who lived about fifteen years ago near the turnpike on the P-- road, will apply to Messrs. Long and Black, she will hear of something to her advantage. Or should she be dead, any person who can give information respecting her and her family, will be rewarded."

Mrs. Newton sat without the power of speech--so much was she surprised; at last she said, "It is f.a.n.n.y's father!--I know, I am sure it can be no one else!"

Mr. Walton looked surprised, for he had never thought of this; he was almost sorry to think his little flower-girl should have another protector. At length he said it must be as Mrs. Newton thought, and he would go up to London himself next day, and see Mr. Long and Mr.

Black. So he went; and two days afterwards, when f.a.n.n.y had returned from Mrs. Walton's school, and was sitting with Mrs. Newton in the little shady arbor they had made in the garden, and talking over early days, when they used to sit in another arbor, and f.a.n.n.y used to learn her first lessons from flowers, then came Mr. Walton walking up the path towards them, and with him was a fine-looking man, of about forty-five years of age.

Mrs. Newton trembled, for when she looked in his face she remembered the features; and she said to herself, "Now, if he takes my f.a.n.n.y from me?--and if he should be a bad man?" But when this man came nearer, he stepped hastily beyond Mr. Walton, and catching Mrs.

Newton's hands, he was just going to drop on his knees before her, when he saw f.a.n.n.y staring at him; and a father's feelings overcame every other, and with a cry of joy he extended his arms, and exclaiming "my child!'--my child!" caught her to his breast.

Then there followed so much talk, while no one knew scarcely what was saying; and it was Mr. Walton, chiefly, that told how f.a.n.n.y's father had had so much to struggle against, and so much hardship to go through, but how he had succeeded at last, and got on very well; now he had tried then to find out Mrs. Newton and his dear little f.a.n.n.y, but could not, because Mrs. Newton had changed her abode; how, at last, he had met with a good opportunity to sell his land, and had now come over with the money he had earned, to find his child, and repay her kind benefactor.

Oh, what a happy evening was that in the widow's cottage! the widow's heart sang for joy. The widow, and she that had always thought herself an orphan, were ready to sing together--

"Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, G.o.d provideth for the morrow."

Mrs. Newton found that Mr. Marsden, that was the name of f.a.n.n.y's father, was all that she could desire f.a.n.n.y's father to be:--a Christian in deed and in truth; one thankful to G.o.d and to her, for the preservation and care of his child; and who would not willingly separate f.a.n.n.y from her, or let her leave f.a.n.n.y.

As he found Mrs. Newton did not wish to leave kind Mr. Walton's neighborhood, and that his daughter was attached to it also, Mr.

Marsden took some land and a nice farm-house, not far from the Manor House, where Mr. Walton lived. He had heard all about the half- sovereign, and loved his little flower-girl before he saw her.

So Mrs. Newton had to leave her widow's house; and she shed tears of joy, and regret, and thankfulness, as she did so; she had been happy there, and had had G.o.d's blessing upon her and her dear girl.

But f.a.n.n.y was glad to receive her dear, dear grandmother into her own father's house; her own house too; and she threw her arms round the old lady's neck, when they got there, and kissed her over and over again, and said, "Ah! grandmother, do you recollect when I was a little girl tying up my flowers while you lay sick in bed, I used to say so often--

"'Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, G.o.d provideth for the morrow.'"

They had a large garden at the farm-house, and f.a.n.n.y and Mrs. Newton improved it; and Mrs. Newton would walk out, leaning on f.a.n.n.y's arm, and look at the lilies and roses, and jessamine, and mignonette, and talk of past times, and of their first garden, and their first flowers, and of their first knowledge of the G.o.d who made them; who watches the opening bud, and the infant head; who sends his rain upon the plant, and the dew of his blessing upon the child who is taught to know and love Him. And f.a.n.n.y's father, when he joined them, talked over his trials and dangers from the day that his poor wife lay dead, and his helpless baby lay in his arms, and then he blessed the G.o.d who had led him all his life long, and crowned him with loving- kindness.

Three years pa.s.sed, and f.a.n.n.y, the little flower-girl, was a fine young woman. A farmer's son in the neighborhood wished to get her for his wife; but her father was very sorry to think of her leaving him so soon for another home.

He spoke to f.a.n.n.y about it, and said,--"My dear girl, I have no right to expect you should wish to stay with me, for I never was able to watch over your childhood or to act a father's part by you."

And f.a.n.n.y answered, with a blush and smile, "And I, father, was never able to act a daughter's part by you until now, and therefore I think you have every right to expect I should do so for some time longer. I have no objections to be Charles Brierley's wife, and I have told him so; but we are both young, and at all events I will not leave you."

"Now," said Mrs. Newton, who was sitting by, "instead of that young man taking more land, which is very dear about here, would it not be a good plan if he were to come and live with you, Mr. Marsden, and help you with the farm."

And Mr. Marsden said, "That is the very thing; I will go and speak to him about it; and f.a.n.n.y and her husband can have the house, and farm, and all, as much as they please now, and entirely at my death."

So it was all settled; and f.a.n.n.y was married at the village church, and Mr. and Mrs. Walton were at the wedding. Good Mrs. Newton lived on at the farm-house, and when f.a.n.n.y's first child was born, it was put into her arms. Then she thought of the time when f.a.n.n.y herself was laid in the same arms; and she blessed G.o.d in her heart, who had enabled her to be of use to one human creature, and to one immortal soul and mind, while she pa.s.sed through this life to the life everlasting.

Joy and sorrow are always mingled on this earth; so it came to pa.s.s that before f.a.n.n.y's first child could walk alone, good, kind Mrs.

Newton died, and was buried. As a shock of corn cometh in, in its season, so she sank to rest, and was gathered into the garner of her Lord. But--

"The memory of the just Is blessed, though they sleep in dust;"

and f.a.n.n.y's children, and children's children, will learn to love that memory.

Many a day, sitting at work in her garden, with her little ones around her, f.a.n.n.y let them gather some flowers, and talk to her about them; and then they would beg, as a reward for good conduct, that she would tell them about her dear grandmother and her own childish days; and much as children love to hear stories, never did any more delight in a story, than did these children, in the story of f.a.n.n.y, the Flower-Girl.

Convenient Food.

Little Frances was crying; her sister Mary hearing her sobs, ran in haste to inquire what had happened; and saw her sitting in a corner of the nursery, looking rather sulky, as if she had recently received some disappointment.

"What is the matter, dear little Frances? why do you cry so?"

Frances pouted, and would make no reply.

"Tell me, dear Frances; perhaps I can do something for you."

"Nothing, Mary," she sobbed, "only"--

"Only what, little Frances? It cannot be _nothing_ that makes you cry so bitterly."

"Only mamma would not give--" she looked a little ashamed, and did not finish her sentence.

"_What_ would she not give?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing!" Frances shook her elbows, as if troubled by Mary's inquiries, but the tears continued flowing down her cheeks.

Just at that moment their sister Anne came into the room, singing in the joy of her heart, with a piece of plum-cake in her hand, holding it up, and turning it about before her sisters to exhibit her newly-acquired possession, on which Frances fixed her eyes with eager gaze, and the tears flowed still faster, accompanied with a kind of angry sob.

"Frances! what is the matter that you are crying so? see what I have got! you will spoil all the happiness of our feast."