Lizzy Glenn | Page 7

the woman he said--
"Remember, now, these are to be made extra nice."

"You shall have no cause of complaint--depend upon that, Michael. But
isn't Mr. Berlaps in this morning?"
"No. He's gone out to Roxbury to see about some houses he is putting
up there."
"You can pay me for them pantys, I suppose?"
"No. I never settle any bills in his absence."
"But it's a very small matter, Michael. Only a dollar and five cents,"
said Mrs. Gaston, earnestly, her heart sinking in her bosom.
"Can't help it. It's just as I tell you."
"When will Mr. Berlaps be home?"
"Some time this afternoon, I suppose."
"Not till this afternoon," murmured the mother, sadly, as she thought of
her children, and how meagerly she had been able to provide for them
during the past few days. Turning away from the counter, she left the
store and hurried homeward. Henry met her at the door as she entered,
and, seeing that she brought nothing with her but the small bundles of
work, looked disappointed. This touched her feeling a good deal. But
she felt much worse when Ella, the sick one, half raised herself from
her pillow a said--
"Did you get me that orange, as you promised, mother?"
"No, dear; I couldn't get any money this morning," the mother replied,
bending over her sick child and kissing her cheek, that was flushed and
hot with fever. "But as soon as Mr. Berlaps pays me, you shall have an
orange."
"I wish he would pay you soon then, mother; for I want one so bad. I
dreamed last night that I had one, and just as I was going to eat it, I
waked up. And, since you have been gone, I've been asleep, and
dreamed again that I had a large juicy orange. But don't cry mother. I

know you couldn't get it for me. I'll be very patient."
"I know you will, my dear child," said the mother, putting an arm about
the little sufferer, and drawing her to her bosom; "you have been good
and patient, and mother is only sorry that she has not been able to get
you the orange you want so badly."
"But I don't believe I want it so very, very bad, mother, as I seem to. I
think about it so much--that's the reason I want it, I'm sure. I'll try and
not think about it any more."
"Try, that's a dear, good girl," murmured Mrs. Gaston, as she kissed her
child again, and then turned away to resume once more her wearying
task. Unrolling one of the coarse jackets she had brought home, she
found that it was of heavy beaver cloth, and had to be sewed with
strong thread. For a moment or two, after she spread it out upon the
table, she looked at the many pieces to be wrought up into a
well-finished whole, and thought of the hours of hard labor it would
require to accomplish the task. A feeling of discouragement stole into
her heart, and she leaned her head listlessly upon the table. But only a
moment or two elapsed before a thought of her children aroused her
flagging energies.
It was after eleven o'clock before she was fairly at work. The first thing
to be done, after laying aside the different portions of the garment in
order, was to put in the pockets. This was not accomplished before one
o'clock, when she had to leave her work to prepare a meal for herself
and little ones. There remained from their supper and breakfast, a small
portion of the fish and potatoes. Both of these had been boiled, and
hashed up together, and, of what remained, all that was required was to
make it into balls and fry it. This was not a matter to occasion much
delay. In fifteen minutes from the time she laid aside her needle and
thimble, the table had been set, with its one dish upon it, and Harry and
little Emma were eating with keen appetites their simple meal. But, to
Mrs. Gaston, the food was unpalatable; and Ella turned from it with
loathing. There was, however, nothing more, in the house; and both
Ella and her mother had to practice self-denial and patience.

After the table was cleared away, Mrs. Gaston again resumed her labor;
but Emma was unusually fretful, and hung about her mother nearly the
whole afternoon, worrying her mind, and keeping her back a good deal,
so that, when the brief afternoon had worn away, and the deepening
twilight compelled her to suspend her labors, she had made but little
perceptible progress in her work.
"Be good children now until I come back," she said, as she rose from
her chair, put on her, bonnet, and