Mother Meg Part 15

CHAPTER X.

TURNING A NEW LEAF.

And so Mrs. Blunt began a new life.

That afternoon when she went down with softened heart to her crowded and somewhat dirty rooms, she looked round upon them with new eyes--eyes that had been lightened by a ray from above. She scarcely knew it, and yet, instead of gloomy half-patient, half-hopeless despondency, she began to think even her poor little things might be able to be made better.

The rest of her children were all at school, but they would soon be home now. They must not find home more desolate than usual because mother had had a rare treat.

She put the new loaf carefully away, it must not be touched till to-morrow, and then she set on her kettle for tea and swept up the room.

How different it looked even with that little bit of care! Next, deciding that she should just have time to clean the hearth, she set about it with all speed, and was just putting away her pail when there came a rush in the pa.s.sage, and four or five children burst into the room.

It was on her lips to say, "What a row you do make!" but another word was already hovering there--Pattie's new word, "Jesus,"--and somehow that word would not let the others pa.s.s it.

"Ain't tea ready? we're awful hungry, mother."

"Very soon, Jim. Just take Pattie and baby outside, will yer, while I turn round a bit. It 'ull come all the sooner for letting me get it without them hangin' on my skirts."

Jim saw the force of this argument, and with pretty good grace took the little ones under his charge on the doorstep, while the mother turned to the eldest girl with an unusually kind welcome.

"Come, Kittie," she said, "and help tidy up for father. I've been out to tea, Kittie, and I've heard words as has made me wish to have a happier home, and I want you to 'elp me do it."

Kittie, a well-grown but backward girl of twelve, rather stared at her mother, but she recognized that the tone was different, and concluding that her mother was in a good humour, as she called it, she hastened to do as she was bid.

Tea was a favourite meal. Sometimes a little treacle or dripping was added to the bread, and though the tea was nearly as colourless as it was tasteless, still it was hot and occasionally sweet, and that was something.

To-night a large stale loaf and some treacle was the fare, and as Kittie bustled about to spread the cloth, Mrs. Blunt said again--

"Kittie, I've often grumbled at things bein' so terrible hard for us, and about bein' so short of food and all, but instead o' that I'm goin'

to turn over a new leaf."

"A new leaf?" questioned the girl, pausing on her way to the cupboard.

"What do yer mean, mother?"

"I don't rightly know yet--if I did I'd tell yer. But one thing I do know, Kittie. Young Mrs. Seymour, what's been so kind to me, says the Saviour don't mean us to go worritin' all our days, but likes us best to ask Him to 'elp us bear our troubles; and she says as He lightens hers and He will mine. Well, if that's true, I'd like to try it, and somehow, Kittie--I don't hardly like to so much as say it--but I feel a deal happier and better, and as if I'd got some one to love as will never fail me."

Mrs. Blunt's eyes were tearful by the time she had said all this, and Kittie's watered in sympathy, though she did not fully understand her mother.

"There's the kettle boilin'! Make the tea and call the little 'uns in.

What a mercy as we've got some treacle! That's 'cause the porridge cost less nor the bread would ha' done. We saved a penny or more for dinner, and every one had enough; and that's more'n we can say every day, ain't it, Kittie?"

Kittie nodded. She was intent on filling the tea-pot. Then she went to the door and began to call; but there was no need. Jim caught up the baby, and there was a general rush to the table.

The father did not come home till six, so some bread was set aside for him first of all, and then the mother divided what there was as equally as she could, giving larger shares to the bigger children. Soon there was nothing but empty plates, and then the elder children went into different corners, or wherever they could be quietest, to learn their home-lessons. Then mother quickly cleared away, and set the table straight for the father. A meagre meal for a working man. She felt it bitterly as she spread the few slices of bread on a plate, and put a small bit of dripping in front of them. But as she looked she remembered that there was the Lord who was to carry her burdens, and not herself, and so she took courage again, though she could not at the moment see any way out of the difficulty.

"It 'ull be better when I can make 'em the bread," she thought. "Fancy saving two shillings a week!"

At this moment a knock came at the door, and on going to open it, she found old Mrs. Seymour standing there with something in her hand.

"Mrs. Blunt," she said, "I guess you're wishin' as your husband had been with us this afternoon to have such a nice tea, now weren't you?"

Mrs. Blunt's colour rose, and she could have cried, she thought. At last she said, "Why, how could you know that, Mrs. Seymour?"

"I've had a husband myself, my dear, and a steady one too, like yours, and so I've brought this bloater if you'll excuse it, just to make a little relish for his tea. He isn't in, is he?"

"No," said Mrs. Blunt, "but----"

"No 'buts,' my dear. Just you cook it for him and tell him to ask no questions about it, but enjoy it as much as we did our tea up yonder."

She was gone before Mr. Blunt could say another word, and when she turned to the fire with her treasure, she thought she had never been so happy.

But were these tears that were coursing each other down her cheeks? How was that?

When her husband opened the door, expecting an untidy home and some dry bread, what was his astonishment to be greeted by an unusually cheerful-looking room, and a fragrant smell of frying fish.

His wife turned round with a smile.

"Here's a treat!" she said, "and you're to ask no questions, but enjoy it. It ain't come out of our to-morrer's breakfast neither, so don't you think it; and I didn't buy it neither; so here it is smoking hot, and mind ye don't burn yerself."

The man sat down in great wonder, first at the nice supper provided for him, and secondly at his wife's tone.

She, however, took no more notice, but shut herself in the next room with the little ones, where she quickly undressed them and put them to bed. When she returned again, the other children had gone out to play in the street, and Kittie was clearing away her father's tea.

The father sat by the fire smoking, and turned round on his wife's entrance to look in her face, as if to see if there were a change there.

But he saw nothing particular that he could fix upon, and he resumed his pipe in silence.

"Come, Kit," said Mrs. Blunt, "you and me 'ull get to that mending.

Jim's wearin' his best trousers 'cause we ain't done it."

"But I don't know how," said Kittie, none too willingly.

"Then I'll show yer. Come, Kit, be a good girl and do yer best. You've been taught yer needle, that's one good thing."

"I wish I could leave school," grumbled Kit, as she fumbled in her pocket for her thimble; "there's lots o' girls as young as me has left."

"Of course they 'ave! Them as is quick at their learning can leave sooner. I've telled you that a hundred times, but ye see ye haven't taken what I said."

"I can't do no better," answered Kittie, "the lessons is so terrible hard."

"Well, well," answered the mother, more patiently than usual, "perhaps the Lord can help you in your troubles as well as me. We'll see about it. You and me has a deal to learn, Kittie."

Kittie knew that. She was always being told "she had a deal to learn."

The daily pressure on her mother, that would have been so lightened could she have left school, made the subject return again and again to worry her. Inattentive and careless, she thought she could do no better, and hopelessly gave the whole matter up as a bad job.