The Young Trawler | Page 4

in hand, before her mother with a slight smile on her rosy lips.
"You are not quite just to the poor, mother," returned Ruth, scarce able to restrain a laugh at her parent's vehemence. "Some of them are all that you say, no doubt, but there are many, even among the poorest of the poor, who are good-natured, well-doing, unsuspicious, and respectful, not only to the rich but also to each other and to everybody. There is Mrs Wolsey, for instance, she--"
"Oh! but she's an exception, you know," said Mrs Dotropy, "there are not many like Mrs Wolsey."
"And there is Mrs Gladman," continued Ruth.
"Yes, but she's another exception."
"And Mrs Robbie."
"Why, Ruth, what's the use of picking out all the exceptions to prove your point? Of course the exception proves the rule--at least so the proverb says--but a great many exceptions prove nothing that I know of, except--that is--but what's the use of arguing, child, you'll never be convinced. Come, how much do you want me to give?"
Easy-going Mrs Dotropy's mind, we need scarcely point out, was of a confused type, and she "hated argument." Perhaps, on the whole, it was to the advantage of her friends and kindred that she did so.
"I only want you to give a little time, mother," replied Ruth, swinging her hat to and fro, while she looked archly into Mrs Dotropy's large, dignified, and sternly-kind countenance, if we may venture on such an expression,--"I want you to go with me and see--"
"Yes, yes, I know what you're going to say, child, you want me to go and `see for myself,' which means that I'm to soil my boots in filthy places, subject my ears to profanity, my eyes to horrible sights, and my nose to intolerable smells. No, Ruth, I cannot oblige you. Of what use would it be? If my doing this would relieve the miseries of the poor, you might reasonably ask me to go among them, but it would not. I give them as much money as I can afford to give, and, as far as I can see, it does them no good. They never seem better off, and they always want more. They are not even grateful for it. Just look at Lady Openhand. What good does she accomplish by her liberality, and her tearful eyes, and sympathetic heart, even though her feelings are undoubtedly genuine? Only the other day I chanced to walk behind her along several streets and saw her stop and give money to seven or eight beggars who accosted her. She never can refuse any one who asks with a pitiful look and a pathetic cock-and-bull story. Several of them were young and strong, and quite undeserving of charity. Three, I observed, went straight to a public-house with what she had given them, and the last, a small street boy, went into fits of suppressed laughter after she had passed, and made faces at her--finishing off by putting the thumb of his left hand to his nose, and spreading out his fingers as wide as possible. I do not understand the exact significance of that action, but there is something in it so intensely insolent that it is quite incompatible with the idea of gratitude."
"Yes, mother, I saw him too," said Ruth, with a demure look; "it curiously enough happened that I was following you at the time. You afterwards passed the same boy with a refusal, I suppose?"
"Yes, child, of course--and a reproof."
"I thought so. Well, after you had passed, he not only applied his left thumb to his nose and spread his fingers, but also put the thumb of his right hand against the little finger of his left, and spread out the other five fingers at you. So, whatever he meant Lady Openhand to receive, he meant you to have twice as much. But Lady Openhand makes a mistake, I think, she does not consider the poor; she only feels deeply for them and gives to them."
"Only feels and gives!" repeated Mrs Dotropy, with a look of solemn amazement.
Being quite incapable of disentangling or expressing the flood of ideas that overwhelmed her, the good lady relieved herself after a few broken sentences, with the assertion that it was of no use arguing with Ruth, for Ruth would never be convinced.
She was so far right, in that her daughter could not change her mind on the strength of mere dogmatic assertion, even although she was a pliant and teachable little creature. So, at least, Mr Lewis, her pastor, had found her when he tried to impress on her a few important lessons--such as, that it is better to give than to receive; that man is his brother's keeper; that we are commanded to walk in the footsteps of Jesus, who came to save the lost,