The English Orphans | Page 6

do?" asked one, and Mrs. Johnson replied, "She
merely fixes her curls in the broken looking-glass, and cries because
she is hungry."
"She is pretty, I believe?" said Mrs. Campbell, and Rosa Pond, who sat
by the window, and had not spoken before, immediately answered, "Oh,
yes, she is perfectly beautiful; and do you know, Mrs. Campbell, that
when she is dressed clean and nice, I think she looks almost exactly
like your little Ella!"
A haughty frown was Mrs. Campbell's only answer, and Rosa did not
venture another remark, although several whispered to her that they,
too, had frequently observed the strong resemblance between Ella
Howard and Ella Campbell.
From what has been said, the reader will readily understand that the
sick woman in whom Mrs. Johnson was so much interested, was our
old acquaintance Mrs. Howard.
All inquiries for her sisters had been fruitless, and after stopping for a
time in Worcester, they had removed to Chicopee, where recently Mr.
Howard had died. Their only source of maintenance was thus cut off,
and now they were reduced to the utmost poverty. Since we last saw
them a sickly baby had been added to their number. With motherly care
little Mary each day washed and dressed it, and then hour after hour
carried it in her arms, trying to still its feeble moans, which fell so sadly
on the ear of her invalid mother.
It was a small, low building which they inhabited, containing but one
room and a bedroom, which last they had ceased to occupy, for one by
one each article of furniture had been sold, until at last Mrs. Howard
lay upon a rude lounge, which Frank had made from some rough
boards. Until midnight the little fellow toiled, and then when his work
was done crept softly to the cupboard, there lay one slice of bread, the
only article of food which the house contained. Long and wistfully he
looked at it, thinking how good it would taste; but a glance at the pale
faces near decided him. "They need it more than I," said he, and turning
resolutely away, he prayed that he "might sleep pretty soon and forget

how hungry he was."
Day after day he worked on, and though his cheek occasionally flushed
with anger when of his ragged clothes and naked feet the village boys
made fun, he never returned them any answer, but sometimes when
alone the memory of their thoughtless jeers would cause the tears to
start, and then wiping them away, he would wonder if it was wicked to
be poor and ragged. One morning when he attempted to rise, he felt
oppressed with a languor he had never before experienced, and turning
on his trundlebed, and adjusting his blue cotton jacket, his only pillow,
he again slept so soundly that Mary was obliged to call him twice ere
she aroused him.
That night he came home wild with delight,--he had earned a whole
dollar, and knew how he could earn another half dollar to-morrow. "Oh,
I wish it would come quick," said he, as he related his success to his
mother.
But, alas, the morrow found him burning with fever and when he
attempted to stand, he found it impossible to do so. A case of scarlet
fever had appeared in the village and it soon became evident that the
disease had fastened upon Frank. The morning following the sewing
society Ella Campbell and several other children showed symptoms of
the same disease, and in the season of general sickness which followed,
few were left to care for the poor widow. Daily little Frank grew worse.
The dollar he had earned was gone, the basket of provisions Mrs.
Johnson had sent was gone, and when for milk the baby Alice cried,
there was none to give her.
At last Frank, pulling the old blue jacket from under his head, and
passing it to Mary, said, "Take it to Bill Bender,--he offered me a
shilling for it, and a shilling will buy milk for Allie and crackers for
mother,--take it."
"No, Franky," answered Mary, "you would have no pillow, besides,
I've got something more valuable, which I can sell. I've kept it long, but
it must go to keep us from starving;"--and she held to view the golden
locket, which George Moreland had thrown around her neck.

"You shan't sell that," said Frank. "You must keep it to remember
George, and then, too, you may want it more some other time."
Mary finally yielded the point, and gathering up the crumpled jacket,
started in quest of Billy Bender. He was a kind-hearted boy, two years
older than Frank, whom he had often befriended, and shielded from the
jeers of their companions. He did not want the jacket, for it was