A Girl of the People | Page 4

tremble so, poor mother."
"Hold my hands, then, child; look me in the face, say the words after me--oh, my poor breath, my poor breath--God give me strength just to say the words. Bet, you hear. Bet, say them after me--'From this moment out I promise to take up with religion, so help me, Lord God Almighty!'"
The woman said the words eagerly, with sudden and intense fire and passion; her whole soul was in them--her dying hands hurt the girl with the firmness of their grip.
"Bet, Bet--you hain't spoke--you hain't spoke!"
"No, no, mother--I can't--not them words--no, mother."
Bet sat down again by the side of the bed; her face was buried in the crimson counterpane; a dry moan or two escaped her lips.
"I'd do anything for mother--anything now as she's really going away, but I couldn't take up with religion," she sobbed. "Oh, it's a mistake--all a mistake, and it ain't meant for one like me. Why, I, if I were religious--why, I'd have to turn into a hypocrite--why,-- I--I'd scorn myself. Yes, mother, what are you saying? Yes, mother, I'd do anything to make your death-bed easy--anything but this."
Bet had fancied she had heard her mother speaking; the perfect stillness now alarmed her far more than any words, and she lifted her head with a start. Mrs. Granger was lying motionless, but she was neither dead nor had she fainted. Her restless hands were quiet, and her worn-out face, although it looked deadly pale, was peaceful. Here eyes looked a little upwards, and in them there was a contented smile. Bet saw the look, and nothing in all the world could have horrified her more. Her mother, who thought religion beyond anything else, had just heard her say that never, never, even to smooth a dying pillow, could she, Bet, take up with the ways of the religious; and yet her eyes smiled and she looked content.
"Mother, you don't even care," said Bet, in an anguish of pain and inconsistency.
"O, yes, child, I care; but I seem to hear Him as knows best saying 'Leave it to me.' I ain't fretting, child; I has come to a place where no one frets, and you're either all in despair, or you're as still and calm and happy"--here she broke off abruptly. "Bet, I want yer to be good to the little boys--to stand atween them and their father, and not to larn them no bad ways They're wild little chaps, and they take to the bad as easy as easy; but you can do whatever yer likes with them. Your father, he don't care for nobody, and he'd do them an ill turn; but you'll stand atween them and him--d'ye hear, Bet?"
"Yes, mother--I'll make a promise about that, if you like."
"No, no; you never broke your word, and saying it once'll content me."
"Mother," said Bet, suddenly. "Mebbe you'd like the little chaps to turn religious. As you've allays set such a deal of store on prayers and sich like, mebbe you'd like it for them?"
"Oh, yes, Bet--oh, my poor gel, has the Lord seen fit to soften yer hard heart?"
"Look here, mother,"--here the tall, splendidly-made girl stood up, and throwing back her head, and with the firelight full on her face, and reflecting a new, strange expression of excitement, she spoke suddenly: "I can't promise the other, but I'll promise this. The little boys' lives shall come afore my life--harm shall come to me afore it touches them; and ef religion can do anything for them, why, they shall hear of it and choose for themselves. There, I have promised."

CHAPTER II.
MRS. Granger lingered all through that night, but she scarcely said anything more, and in the cold dawn of the morning her spirit passed very quietly away. The two little boys opened the room door noisily at midnight, but they too were impressed, as Bet had been, by the unusual order and appearance of comfort of the room. Perhaps they were also startled by the girl's still figure crouching by the bedside, and by the look on their mother's face as she lay with her eyes closed, breathing hard and fast. They ceased to talk noisily, and crept over to a straw mattress on the floor which they shared together. When they next opened their eyes they were motherless.
Mrs. Granger died between five and six in the morning; and when the breath had quite left her body Bet arose, stretched herself,--for she was quite stiff from sitting so long in one position,--and going downstairs, woke a neighbor who occupied a room on the next floor.
"Mrs. Bennett, my mother is dead; can you take care of the Cap'n and the Gen'ral this morning? I'll pay you for it when I sell my papers to-night."
Mrs. Bennett was a wrinkled old woman of about sixty-five.