Finger Posts on the Way of Life | Page 3

the evening
previous, and one of her first acts in the morning was to try them on.
They did not fit! Now, Mrs. Abercrombie intended to go out on that
very morning, and she wished to wear these gaiters. "Enough to fret her,
I should say!" exclaims one fair reader. "A slight cause, indeed!" says
another, tossing her curls; "men are great philosophers!"
We crave pardon, gentle ladies all, if, in our estimate of causes, we
have spoken too lightly of this. But we have, at least, stated the case
fairly. Mrs. Abercrombie's brow was clouded because the new gaiters
did not fit her handsome foot--a member, by the way, of which she was
more than a little vain.
For an hour Mrs. Abercrombie remained alone in her chamber, feeling
very sad; for, in that time, reflection had come, and she was by no

means satisfied with the part she had been playing, nor altogether
unconscious of the fact that from her clouded brow had fallen the
shadows now darkening over her household. As soon as she had gained
sufficient control of herself to act toward her children more wisely and
affectionately, the mother took her place in the nursery, and with a
tenderness of manner that acted like a charm, attracted her little ones to
her side, and inspired them with a new and better spirit. To them
sunshine was restored again; and the few rays that penetrated to the
mother's heart, lighted its dim chambers, and touched it with a generous
warmth.
But the shadows from Mrs. Abercrombie's clouded brow fell not alone
upon her household. The spirit that pervades the home-circle is often
carried forth by those who go out into the world. It was so in this case.
Mr. Abercrombie's feelings were overcast with shadows when he
entered the store. There was a pressure, in consequence, upon his
bosom, and a state of irritability which he essayed, though feebly and
ineffectually, to overcome.
"Where is Edward?" he inquired, soon after his arrival.
Edward was a lad, the son of a poor widow, who had recently been
employed in Mr. Abercrombie's store.
"He hasn't come yet," was answered.
"Not come yet?" said Mr. Abercrombie, in a fretful tone.
"No, sir."
"This is the third time he has been late within the past week, is it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well: it shall be the last time."
At this moment the boy came in. Mr. Abercrombie looked at him
sternly for a moment, and then said--

"You won't suit me, sir. I took you on trial, and am satisfied. You can
go home."
The poor lad's face crimsoned instantly, and he tried to say something
about his mother's being sick, but Mr. Abercrombie waved his hand
impatiently, and told him that he didn't wish to hear any excuse.
Scarcely had the boy left the presence of Mr. Abercrombie, ere this
hasty action was repented of. But the merchant's pride of consistency
was strong: he was not the man to acknowledge an error. His word had
passed, and could not be recalled. Deeper were the shadows that now
fell upon his heart--more fretted the state of mind that supervened.
Ah! the shadows would have been deeper still, could he have seen that
unhappy boy a little while afterward, as, with his face buried in the
pillow that supported the head of his sick mother, he sobbed until his
whole frame quivered. Had Mr. Abercrombie only asked the reason
why his appearance at the store was so late on this morning, he would
have learned that the delay had been solely occasioned by needful
attendance on his sick and almost helpless mother; and on a little
further ininquiry, humanity would have dictated approval rather than
censure and punishment. But, touching all this painful consequence of
his ill-nature, the merchant knew nothing. How rarely do we become
cognizant of the evil wrought upon others by our hasty and ill-judged
actions!
The shadow was still on Mr. Abercrombie's feelings, when, half an
hour afterward, a man came to him and said--
"It will be impossible for me to lift the whole of that note to-day."
"You'll have to do it," was the quiet answer. Mr. Abercrombie frowned
darkly as he thus replied.
"Don't say that, Mr. Abercrombie. I only want help to the amount of
two hundred dollars."
"I do say it. You must raise the money somewhere else. I don't like this

way of doing business. When a man gives his note, he should make it a
point of honour to pay it."
"Oh, very well," said the man. "I'm sorry if I've troubled you. I'll get the
money from a friend. Good morning."
And he turned off abruptly, and left the store. Mr. Abercrombie felt
rebuked. He had a large balance in the