Turns of Fortune | Page 7

make the butter, and cultivate the
flower-garden, and help to do the house work; and then in the evening
we would run in the meadows, come home laden with wild flowers,
and tired as we were by alternate work and play, my dear mother would
play on that old instrument, and my poor father sing, and we sisters
wound up the evening by a merry dance, your mother and myself trying
hard which could keep up the dance longest."
Mabel resumed her embroidery without once speaking. Sarah Bond laid
down the book she had been reading, and moved restlessly about; her
manner, when either thoughtful or excited, prevented her features from
being disturbed; so her feelings were soothed by wandering from place
to place, or table to table; but after a considerable pause, she said--"I
wish you were a little older, Mabel; I wish you to be older, that I might
convince you, dear, that it is in vain to expect happiness from the
possession of wealth, unless we circulate it, share it with others, and yet
do so prudently and watchingly. Yet, my poor dear father would be
very angry if he heard me say that, Mabel."
"Yes, I know," interrupted the thoughtless girl, "for he was a miser."
"Hush, Mabel!" exclaimed her aunt; "how can you say anything so
harsh of him from whom we inherit all we have. He was careful,
peculiar, very peculiar; but he saved all for me; and may God judge
mercifully between him and me if I cannot in all things do as he would
have had me," and then she paused, as if reasoning and arguing with
herself; apologising for the human throes in her own bosom that led her
to act so frequently in direct opposition to her father's desires; so that to

those who could not understand her motives and feelings, she appeared
every day more inconsistent. "It is difficult to judge of motives in any
case. I am sure, if he had only gone abroad into the world, and seen
distress as I have seen it, he could not have shut his heart against his
fellow-creatures: but his feelings were hardened against some, whom
he considered types of all, and he shut himself up; and seeing no misery,
at last believed, as many do, whom the world never dreams of calling
as you called him, Mabel--seeing no misery, believed that it only
existed in the popular whine. I am sure, if he had seen, he would have
relieved it. I always think that when I am giving; it is a great blessing to
be able to give; and I would give more, were I not fearful that it might
injure you."
"Injure me, dear aunt, how?"
"Why, Mabel, my heart is greatly fixed upon seeing you a rich heiress,
and, in time, suitably established."
"You have just been saying how much happier you were when you
were all poor together, and yet you want to make me rich."
"People may be very happy in poverty before they have known riches;
but having once been rich, it would, I think, be absurd to suppose we
could ever be happy again in poverty."
"I saw," replied the girl, "two children pass the gate this morning while
I was gathering flowers--bunches of the simple white jessamine you
love so much, dear aunt--and they asked so hard for bread, that I sent
them a shilling."
"Too much," interrupted Sarah Bond, habitually rather than from
feeling; "too much, dear Mabel, to give to common beggars."
"There were two, you know, and they looked wan and hungry. About
three hours after, I was cantering my pony down Swanbrook Lane--the
grass there is so soft and green, that you cannot hear his feet, while I
can hear every grasshopper that chirps--suddenly, I heard a child's
voice singing a tune full of mirth, and I went softly, softly on; and there,

under a tree, sat one of my morning acquaintances, making believe to
sing through a stick, while the other danced with bare feet, and her very
rags fluttered in time to the tune. They looked pale and hungry, though
a thick crust of bread upon the grass proved that they were not the latter;
but I never saw more joy in well-fed, well-clothed children, for they
paused and laughed, and then began again. Poverty was no pain to them,
at all events."
"My dear," said Sarah Bond, "you forget the crust of bread was their
riches, for it was a superfluity."
"And is it not very shocking that in England a crust of bread should be
a superfluity," inquired Mabel.
"Very, dear; but a shilling was a great deal to give at the gate,"
observed her aunt, adding, after a pause, "and yet it shows how little
will