ILLINOIS UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN PRODUCTION NOTE University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library Brittle Books Project, 2012.COPYRIGHT NOTIFICATION In Public Domain. Published prior to 1923. This digital copy was made from the printed version held by the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. It was made in compliance with copyright law. Prepared for the Brittle Books Project, Main Library, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign by Northern Micrographics Brookhaven Bindery La Crosse, Wisconsin 2012“THE LANCET” says: “It is particularly suitable for children.” “ THE BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL” says: “it is a light and easily digestible food.” “THE HOSPITAL” Says: “Rizine is an article not only palatable, bnt very nutritious.” THE HEAD NURSE AT ONE OF THE L.ARGEST LONDON HOSPITALS says: “ Many of onr Patients for Rizine. We had no idea it made such delightful light dishes. 03 03 £ cö o £ c3 p—4 PQ 03 *0X> £ •^4 £ CL o 03 03 0 « 1 §• I—4 O £ « 03 03 p* £ Ld M S 20 CD X CK P £ e-*' M ^ m co £* o 50 CD O >-b o £ o £ £ o CD P- C-T o cr CD e-K £* CD knows t}hat, when the nights are dark, the light in the cottage window means life; she knows she is depended on to put it there, and to see that it is kept burning; and now, though her own father*s life may be at stake; she is off with a stranger. And how can I depend on her being home in time to put up the light; and, even if she does, with her turned head, how can I make sure of her keeping,,it in? Yes:” said the young man, as his own* prospects also passed before him : “ and what lies before me ? Ho\vr can I depend on her ? perhaps at the moment Pm doing so she’ll fail me; ’* and he wiped the big drops off his forehead. “ Of all thifigs,” continued Diel& u a woman must be dependable,—true'- to trust. She cannot be handsome‘ of herself, nor clever,—but she can be trife to trust; and the woman who is true to trust will give her husband no heartaches ; ‘ his heart trusteth in her,* says the Scriptures,—and I fear mine never can in Sally. What good is her beautiful face, and what her clever ways, if I can’t be sure of her in everything?” —then Dick Cables clenched both his fists together and, after a great struggle with himself, said, “ I fear she’ll make no wife for me. I can’t chance happiness,—life is too long for chancing all that makes it happy; days and days, and weeks and weeks, and months and months, and never to be sure; never to be able to come together, after all. And now about to-night: the Little Nell may be in,—something tells me she will be, and I must make sure about the light.” The thought of Granny for a moment flashed across Dick Cables’ mind, only, however, to be dismissed at once. No reliance could be put on her: she was too old to watch a whole night. There was one of whom Dick knew,— but he felt as though he could scarce apply to her. This was Mary Randall, Sally’s cousin. Mary was plainer than Sally; she did not say so much, and Dick felt that he had not made as much of her as she deserved. He had always considered her as almost nothing when her cousin was by; and now he felt ashamed to apply to her in his hour of need, and this more especially when he could only do so by casting a slur on Sally. Moreover, she was now away. The Rectory was three miles off, and she had been there the last three months; and this long time’s absence made Dick feel still more loth to apply to her. Rut life was precious, and gales will not rise and fall as we wish them; and one thing he knew about Mary, — and that was that,—she could be depended upon. “ If I could get her,” said Dick Cables, “ the light is safe to burn all night. If she will undertake the trust, she will be true to it. I’ll go for her. If Sally comes home, she’ll be none the worse for such a companion through a wild night.” Now, it was simply because she was true to trust, and could be depended upon unreservedly that, Mary Randall had been at the Rectory for the last three months. The Rector’s only child was ill—very ill, and needed continual and careful watching; and seeking for some one with whom she could share her labour of nursing, and upon whom she could implicitly rely, Mrs. Jordan pitched on Mary, whose character she well knew. Upon the fact of Mary Randall’s being true to trust hung Emily Jordan’s little life. Let her be neglected one night,— allowed to take one small chill,—have the temperature of her room lowered by neglect of the fire; and the life, now feebly struggling to remain in the delicate frame, must perish. But day by day, and night by night, Mrs. Jordan and Mary wereTRUE TO TRUST. 9 found true to their task; and in another month’s time it was hoped that Emily would be safe. Great was Mrs. Jordan’s consternation, therefore, when Dick Cables, haying arrived in a light cart, told that lady that he wanted to take Mary away for that night. “How can I let her go?” said Mrs. Jordan, “I put such entire dependence upon her ; and upon the trustworthiness of those round her my only child’s life depends.” “ ’Tis for the very dependence I want her,” said Dick Cables. “There’s life at stake in another quarter too to-night, if I’m not deceived. Her uncle’s boat is coming home,—she may be in to-night; and if he doesn’t see the light he looks for in his cottage window, it may cost him his life.”. “But he has his daughter to look after it.” “ Even if he has,” said Dick, trying not to expose Sally more than he could help, “ two are better than one. I must have Mary to-night.” “Itis right that she should go,” said the Rector. “Her uncle has been a father to her: his claims are before ours. I’ll sit up to-night, and Mary will come back to us again. Thank you, my child, for all you have done for us; God be with you in your watching to-night, and in all the many watchings of life which you will have to keep. She who has been faithful in watching a sick child, will be faithful in watching for the lives and property of grown-up men : those who are faithful in little can be trusted well with more.” That night Sally Randall did not return to the cottage on the top of the cliff. That night the winds blew and the sea arose. That night there was anxious hearts on board the Little Nell. That night a light was put in the cottage window, and by it sat an old woman who dozed in her chair; and up and down the room paced a weary girl,—weary with long previous watching over the sick, not daring to sit down lest she should fall asleep,—holding on her sleepless eyelids the lives of the crew of the Little Nell; all her nerves being strung up to answer this unexpected pull upon her strength, —true, right nobly true, to trust. PART n. The night of which we speak was ag eventful one for each of the persons we have just now mentioned. . , The Little Nell, which had] had a prosperous voyage outward, had already met with one stiff gale coming home, and been severely strained. She had caused her brave captain more than one sleepless night, but up to the present, with extra work at the pump, she had come to no material grief. Could she be got safely into port, the profits of the voyage would pay well for repairs, and leave plenty for the wedding besides. The weather had favoured the Little Nell for several days after the gale in which she had been so roughly handled; but now there was every appearance of another tremendous tussle with the elements ; and the captain looked anxiously above and around, and though he never quailed, still his heart was not light, and there were furrowed lines of anxiety upon his brow. And, in truth, Andrew Randall had cause enough for care* He was now drawing near land, but he could not hope to reach it until far on into the night. Could he make the port Or anchorage beneath his own cottage, or should he try, as less dangerous, to keep the open sea! The wind would enable him to do the latter if he thought it best, but with a sigh he had to dismiss the idea from his mind: the Little Nell was making too much water to run the chance. The anchorage at Shorecliffe could be made if only he were sure of the light. But suppose that were to fail him! The supposition was a terrible one; for then there probably remained nothing before him but being devoured by the jaws of the “ Black-dogs.” It was a terrible risk; but then, as a set-off, could he not depend on his daughter—his own flesh and blood—and her intended husband, Dick Cables, who was almost the same. “I cannot keep the sea to-night,” said Andrew Randall, and he gave directions to have the little vessel’s course shaped straight for Shorecliffe anchorage. Andrew knew his peril, butTRUE TO TRUST. id he was putting his trust in his child. Could he have seen where that child then was, and known all that was going on on shore, his heart would have sunk within him; and he would rather have tried to keep the sea that fearful night than venture near the Black-dogs, without the Shorecliffe light. It is well for us often, good reader, that we cannot see into to-morrow, or see too many miles away; we should often have much misery that we now escape. To Both wick went Sally Randall with Mr. Alfred Blanchard; the foolish girl proud of being able to show her young cousins such an elegant admirer. The only one she ought to have been proud of was Dick Cables; but Sally’s foolish head was turned with all Mr. Blanchard’s compliments, and, like most turned heads, it prevented its owner thinking of what Bhe was really doing. The cousins at Bothwick were as silly as Sally herself, and were quite prepared to enter into her triumph in having two admirers, a town and a country one— Mr. Blanchard, and Dick Cables. This was especially the case, seeing that the town admirer had plenty of money, and was quite prepared to spend it with a liberal hand. The remainder of the day accordingly was spent in junketing about in a light van, and in games of one kind and another. Moreover, Mr. Alfred Blanchard ordered in some wine, and other good things, under the influence of which poor Sally completely forgot all about Dick Cables and his warning words about the light. And so the day was spent, and when night came on, and it was time for Sally to think of returning, if she ever meant to do so, Mr. Alfred Blanchard offered to see her home. For this purpose he ordered a conveyance from the inn, and at ten o’clock the two started, as he said, for Shorecliffe. Mr. Blanchard took care to keep his companion in continual conversation, and, by way of keeping out the cold, made her drink from his own private flask, which contained something stronger than wine. The excitement, the continual talk, the liquor, all combined to prevent the poor girl seeing, or, indeed, finally from much caring where she was going. She had tempted her own ruin; still, had she the full use of her senses, it might have been averted. But Sally Randall was driving in the opposite direction from Shorecliffe, though she did not know it. She was on the London road; and her companion never intended her to go to Shorecliffe at all. And now, when they reached the first stage at which the night mail changed horses, Mr. Alfred Blanchard had no hesitation in putting up the trap there, with a fee to one of the grooms to drive it back to Bothwick ; and, alas! no difficulty in persuading Sally Randall to go with him to spend a week, as he said, with his mother and sisters. And there, in the inside of the mail, the young girl spent the night; her power over herself completely gone, huddled up in the corner, almost like a bundle of clothes. But Mr. Alfred Blanchard wa3 not to have it all his own way. An unexpected impediment to his carrying out all his bad designs was met in a form which he did not expect. The night mail drew up at the gates of an old-fashioned house, from which, wrapped up in a number of shawls, and cloaks, emerged a middle-aged lady, to make a third inside passenger. Miss Amherst was of middle height, with a calm pale face—a woman who said little, but did much in life—one who formed her own opinions, and acted on them too. The lady was now going to London to see into the affairs of a family left orphaned in her village; and she was attended by a stalwart footman, who was rather breezily clad for such a windy night; but who seemed to be strong enough to throw off any amount of wind and weather. This young man gave one the general impression that, he was not to be trifled with; and with this air he mounted the coach, when he had seen his mistress safely deposited inside. Miss Amherst spoke but little during the journey to London; but, as morning broke, it was quite evident to Mr. Alfred Blanchard that, so far as light wouldTRUE TO TRUST. permit, she had been studying him, and his companion, during the night. This study became more intense as the light brightened, if indeed it could be said to brighter; for the storm of the night had not yet quite worked itself out. Miss Amherst had suspicions that this was no ordinary case of travelling, and they were turned into certainty before she left the mail. But now, we must go back to Shore-cliffe, and the people there. Several times did Dick Cables climb the cliff, and look in at the cottage, to see if Sally had come home ; but the day closed in, and there was no sign of her appearing. The young man would have gone after her, but he knew she had slept at her aunt’s before now, and he believed that, at any rate, she was quite safe. As to the light, the unwelcome thought forced itself upon his mind that, he could not for entire certainty depend upon her for it. “ Let her stay,” said he somewhat bitterly to himself; “ and should the Little Nell come in to-night, and should she feel when she comes home in the morning that, so far' as she is concerned, her father might have been drowned, perhaps it will be a lesson to her for life. It may make her ‘ true to trust,’ without which she will be no good to any man for a wife. Will she ever, be any good to me ? ” said Dick to himself. “ Perhaps, it will be wiser to put off the wedding, and see. Could I depend upon her,” said he, ‘‘even if she were here ? But I can depend on Mary ; ” and then the young man remembered many a little act of self-denial, many a punctual performance of a small duty, which had passed uncared for at the time, but which now came to recollection, bringing with them their reward in the position of honour and trust which the young girl was assuming in Dick Cables’ mind. “’Tis hard,” said Dick, “for so young a thing, and so weary as she is now, to keep awake the livelong night: but she’ll do it. If she has been faithful with the parson’s child, she will be when the life of her own flesh and blood may be at stake.” And Dick was not about to be disappointed. As soon as night closed in, Mary i* Randall prepared for her long watch. The young girl first carefully looked to the window panes, and tried them with a lighted candle, and wherever the glass was loose in the leads, or there was a broken piece, she carefully pasted thin paper, until she made the window, at that side at any rate, quite airtight. Then she plunged her face into cold water, and put on a loosejaeket, and got her knitting, and her Bible, and one or two other good books,—for unless the mind were occupied, she knew, from the experience of her watchiug at the Rectory, that sleep was almost certain to come on. Then, she asked for strength of body and watchfulness for the duty that lay before her. The candle must not be merely lit and put in the window such a tempestuous night as this: it must be kept snuffed, and bright; and her hands must do all that was required. Old Granny seeing such unusual goings on could not be induced to go to bed, so Mary made her as comfortable as she could by the window-side, at which she insisted to watch, though the poor old woman’s watching consisted in long dozing, and then, an occasional waking for a moment, and saying she did not know where she was. Many a time would sleep have stolen on Mary Randall, but that high motive sustained her in her watching. The trust she had accepted at Dick Cables’ hand she would fulfil with conscience. Mary Randall was a girl who made conscience of everything: what she did all day long she did unto the Lord. She knew it was well rightly to gain human approbation, but there was a higher praise, which far outweighed it all. Mary had felt that, she was no one in Dick Cables* eyes,—that he had often slighted her, and she was glad of the opportunity of showing him that, though she could never compete with Sally for beauty, still she had something which it would be worth his while to regard. And so, she watched by that light until the clock struck four. The rain beat against the window, and the wind rattled it, and the snuff often seemed as though it would gather on the solitary light; but the young watcher was ever wakeful, and12 TRUE TO TRUST, Mary made her as comfortable as she could by the window side,TRUE TO TRUST. 13 her fingers were always ready to trim the gathering wick. Many a thought passed through Mary Bandall’s mind as she sat by that window, or paced up and down the little room, to keep herself awake. However weak, she thought, a girl or a woman may be, one thing she can be, and that is what I am trying to be,—faithful. It is the mark of the true wife that, “her husband trusteth in her.” Those to whom the talents were committed had this enquired of them,—whether they were true to trust: faithful even in a little. “ Ah ! ” said Mary, half out loud, as she paced the room : “ my Lord was true to trust. He is called in Hebrews a ‘faithful High Priest; ’ and is said to be 4 faithful to Him that appointed Him.* (Heb. ii.) How unfaithful even His own chosen and trusted disciples were to Him: how could they not watch with Him even one hour ! but He was faithful, even unto death. He was true to trust; and well is it for me He was, for I have to commit all my hope to Him; and I must try to be like Him. It is no use for me to pretend to be His, unless I do as He would have me do: and am as He would have me be. As to Him to-night, as well as for uncle and the crew of the Little Nelland my promise to Dick Cables, I will be true to trust.” And in the power of such thoughts as these, the Shorecliffe candle burned on; and when one burned out another tookitsplace. And onward toward that light,—onward, now up on the wave tops, now down in their hollows, now plunging through their foam,—was swept by the storm the gallant Little Nell. She was having a hard time of it: if ever she was destined to go to the bottom, it must surely be tonight. It was hard work to keep one’s footing, and still harder to keep to the wheel. But the hands which grasped that wheel were those of a man who knew how to die, as well as live, and if that wheel were left, one might be sure it would be for the death of the one who stood at it now. It was the captain himself. He did not consider it just to put upon any of his little crew the terrible responsibility of passing the 41 Blaek*dogs *’ that night. With eyes fixed, and almost glaring into the darkness, the captain was looking for the friendly light,—but it was not to be seen, and there was no turning back no w ! It was to be the light and the smooth water under the Shorecliffe, or it was to be the “ Black-dogs, and death.” And, indeed, it seemed almost as though death were coming, even without the 4 ■ Black-dogs ” at all. A furious sea leaped over the little vessel’s side, and for a moment blinded the steersman with its spray. Por an instant thé blinded man believed that the darkness of death had come. In a moment, however, he opened his eyes, and saw before him the Shorecliffe light! He heard the roar of the water breaking over the “ Black-dogs,” he could even see the masses of spray which were thrown up ; and ten minutes after the Little Nell lay almost motionless under Shore-eliffe, under the captain’s own cottage window, where, with the aid of the pumps, she floated safely until the storm was passed. Alas, there are shipwrecks of homes as well as ships, and poor Captain Bandall mounted the steep Shorecliffe the following morning, only to find how his little cottage had been in a worse storm than that in which the Little Nell had so nearly been lost. "With horror he heard of Sally’s absence from home,—that his own child had neglected the duty, on the performance of which might have hung, and as it turned out had hung, her father’s life ; and that of others also. The skipper of the Little Nell saw in Mary, and the dependence which could be put on her, all that had been wanting in his own child ; and the thought flashed across his mind,—it would be better for Dick to trust his happiness to Mary than to Sally : a man with an undependable wife has nothing but misery before him all his days. With the morning light Sally Bandall, who had been sleeping in the corner of the coach heavily, and yet uneasily, awoke; and, after staring in a bewildered way around, became quite hysterical, and finally wandering in her mind. At last she became so bad that, it was a serious question what was to be done with her.14 TRUE TO TRUST. And there, with her face covered with her hand, wept long,TRUE TO TRUST. 15 She began to rave about ships, and lights, and death; and finally Miss Amherst’s stalwart footman had to be called into the coach to help in holding, and keeping her still. At length, the coach reached its last stage; and there, while the horses were being changed, Mr. Alfred Blanchard quietly slipped away, leaving the helpless girl in the hands of Miss Amherst and her footman. Of course, there was a great to do ; but the mails could not be delayed, and the coach had to go on with Sally Randall, who was now quite deranged. It was well for the unfortunate girl that she had met with such a friend. Soothing and quieting her as well as she could, Miss Amherst took her with her to her own lodgings; and, until she could trace out her friends, had her placed at her expense in a private asylum. There the poor girl went through long trial. Brain fever set in, and all her ravings ran on storms, and lights, and shipwrecks, and death. But, at last, she got better, only however to prove a confirmed lunatic. She was harmless now : her disease took the form of melancholy; and her friends, who had long since been discovered by good Miss Amherst, were able to take her home to Shorecliffe. For many a long day poor Dick Cables was like a man walking through the valley of the shadow of death; and all this time his comforter, his friend, was Mary Randall. Always making excuses for her poor cousin, always hoping that she would recover, she still kept on, though she never received any better encouragement from the woe-stricken man that a silent look, and a shake of the head, which said “No.” At last, as time rolled on, Dick Cables took heart, and began to look up again. And when he did, whom should he see before him but the one who had been his friend, true to him in his sorrow. To her the skipper committed both Dick and Sally, when the Little Nell put to sea all right again: he knew she would be true to trust. And, at last, when the skipper died, which he did in about four years, casting anchor after all his storms in the haven of rest, Mary received both Dick and Sally as a sacred charge from the brave old man; and with almost his dying breath, he whispered to her to be to Dick the wife he had hoped his own daughter would have been. And so Dick and Mary married. And by degrees Dick Cables’ melancholy wore off; and prattling children made him laugh, and a tender wife filled up the gap in his honest heart. And Sally lived with them to her short life’s end. At times she wandered out to the part of Shorecliffe near the “ Black-dogs,” and there, with her face covered with her hand, wept long ; her only companions, the sea-birds, hovering around. She was under no restraint; she needed none. At last she faded quietly away. Hers was a wrecked life, and she was wrecked by untruth to trust. And, reader, beware of a like wrecking of yourself, body, or soul. You are entrusted with the Gospel knowledge: above all other gifts, be true to that trust. If you are not, but make light of it for aught of earth, then, amongst the many condemnations which shall come upon you in the last great day, will be one for this,—that you were not “ true to trust.” Let no one induce you to make light of this. The people of the world; many, perhaps, of your own companions make light of the serious matters of the soul, but upon you, in spite of all they say, God has laid a great responsibility ; and He will require an account thereof in the last great day. It will then be no good for you to look upon a Christ, who would have been true to you, if only you would have been true to yourself; but you were, alas! your own enemy; and in being so, have made Him an enemy too. Awake then, now, before it is too late, to the great trust reposed in you—to your own interests—to the offers of life —to the fears of death—to all that may be in the future of blessing, or of woe. What trust can a man be given equal to his own precious soul—be true, oh! be true to that— True to Trust.A SERIES OF PENNY STORIES, By the Rev, P. B. POWEE, M.A., Demy 8vo. 32 pages, Pictorial Paper Wrapper, Id. each. The Oiled Feather. The Vanishing Opal. “ He’s Gone Yonder.” K Christmas Surprise. “The Gold that Wouldn’t Go.” “He’s Overhead.” The Dead Man’s Specs. House and Home. The Mirage of the Streets. Born with a Silver Spoon in His Mouth. It Only Wants Turning Round. The Choir Boy of Harlestone Minster. PENNY LIBRABY OF FICTION, Demy 8vo. 32 pages, Pictorial Paper Wrapper, Id. each. In Marine Armour. By G. Manyille Eenn. Three Times Tried. By B. L. Earjeon. Golden Feather. By the Author of “Mehalah,” &c. For Dick’s Sake. By Mrs. J. IT. Riddell, author of “ George Geith,” &c. Slipping Away. By the Author of “ Victa Victrix.’, Saved by the Skin of his Teeth. By Helen Siilpton. Lord John. By G. Manyille Eenn. Gone. By Katharine S. Macqttoid. Paying the Penalty. By Charles Gibbons. A Terrible Inheritance. My Soldier Keeper. By C. Phillipps-Wolley. By Telegraph. By J. Maclaren Cobban. Constable Al. By J. M. Saxby. The Plague Ship. By G. A. Henty. Staunch: A Story of Steel. By G. Manville Eenn. A Living Apparition. By Grant Allen. Brought to Light. By Mrs. Newman. The Mutiny of the “Helen Gray.” By G. Manyille Fenn. By Grant Allen. Three Volumes (containing Six Stories each), paper boards, 6d. each. SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, LONDON: NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.; 97, WESTBOURNE GROVE, W. 43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.O.CROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE.CROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE ♦ CHAPTER I. “JT1HERE be more than little birds that A- chirps, and more than frogs that croaksso said old Goody Patterson, as she put up two parcels for Mrs. Wren and Mrs. Raven, two of her neighbours, who lived in two cottages quite close to each other, at the bottom of the lane. Goody Patterson, who kept the village shop, was not as handy with her fingers as she used to be about half a century before, so she took a long time to paper up the parcels, and an equally long time to tie the string; and it was while she was carrying on these important operations that, she half mumbled, half muttered, these observations. “They say,77 mumbled Goody, “that ‘ a man is what a woman makes him;7 and I believe 7tistrue. I7ve seen many decent men made bad ones, and many bad men made good ones in my day, and I see bad and good ones being made nowadays too. There, that’s for a bad one,77 said Goody, as she clapped down Mrs. Raven’s parcel with a little bang on the counter; “and that7s for a good one,77 said the old woman, as she put Mrs. Wren’s parcel on one side; “if my old eyes and ears ain’t wrong,” said Goody, “the men where you are going to, are what the women makes them.” This last observation was apparently addressed to the parcels; but as in the nature of things these articles could make no reply, Goody proceeded alone. “ You’re going to very different places,” said Goody Patterson, “ 7tis true you’ll be next door to each other ; but you’re going to very different places, for all that. ’Tis people makes places; and people may live next door to each other, and be as different as chalk is from cheese. Not one quarter the work will you do,” said Goody, looking half sorrowfully, half reproachfully at Mrs. Raven’s parcel, as though it were to »blame for its future shortcomings, “ as will be done by what’s going to Mrs. Wren; and what is done, will be with grunting, and groaning, and complaining; and who ever knew washing done properly, unless ’twas done with a will? ” “You won’t fetch half the dirt out,” said Goody, looking seriously at Mrs. Raven’s soap and soda ; “ and the reason is, because you won’t get the chance ; the water will be sure not to be quite hot; and Katu Raven will let what heat there is in it get away, while she’s groaning and croaking over the work; and when she goes to it, she’ll only put half her strength into it; the other half will be spent in her moans and groans; and this is why she has to buy so much more than her neighbour, Mrs. Wren. I couldn’t make out for a long time,” said Goody, “ why Kitty Raven, with exactly the same family as Jenny Wren, should always want so much more soap and soda; but I found it out at last; and I wonder if Will Raven will find it out, since they’ve become neighbours. He and Dick Wren are now living next door to each other; at least Mrs. Wren said they were to move in this week; and I wonder if they’ll ever talk about this.” To be sure they will, Goody; but as it is no affair of yours, we won’t encourage you in gossiping, even with soap and soda, so just send those parcels home; and we’ll go and see how things get on for ourselves. In due time the parcels were despatched by Goody Patterson’s grandson; and that small boy, unmindful of his20 CROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. granny’s oft-repeated directions to leave the small parcel at Mrs. Wren's, and the large one at Mrs. Haven’s, did, as provoking small boys generally will do, the very opposite to what he was bid; leaving Mrs. Haven the little one, and Mrs. Wren the large. Having thus badly executed his task, the small boy, without asking whether all was right, proceeded to play marbles with some intimate friends of his at the end of the lane, and left his granny’s two customers to correct the mistake. The mistake in question soon brought the two neighbours together. Kitty Haven at once proceeded to open her parcel ; and she soon saw that it was not hers. In the first place, there was not as much soap and soda as she had ordered; and in the second, there was in the parcel a little paper of several kinds of spice; and these were none of her ordering. “ She could not afford such things; perhaps they belonged to her new neighbour next door,” and “if they did, she was sure she did not know what business she had with them.” “At any rate, I’ll soon bundle them out of this,” said Kitty Haven; so saying, she took up the parcel, and went to her new neighbour next door. As Mrs. Wren had become so close a neighbour of Mrs. Haven’s only that very week, it cannot be expected that they should know much of each other; although the husbands were acquainted, seeing that one worked at a forge in the parish, and the other at a wheelwright’s hard by; and as wheelwrights’ and smiths’ work often go together, both in making and repairing, no wonder that the two workmen frequently met. Our business just at present, however, is with the men’s better halves; at least with Dick Wren’s better half, but poor Will Haven’s worse half. They had not, hitherto, had much time for conversation, for Mrs. Wren had a world to do; but now, this mistake about the parcels brought them together. “ There, neighbour,” said Kitty Haven, .in anything but a pleasant tone of voice, “this parcel, I suppose, is yours; and you have mine; that brat of Goody Patterson’s is always making mistakes, and I wouldn’t mind giving him a good hiding if only I could catch him.” Jenny Wren peeped into the corner of the paper containing the spices, and said, “Thank you, neighbour, this is mine ; and I suppose I have yours,” and Mrs. Wren offered to untie the knot for her to see. “ Aye, aye, you’ll know it’s mine,” said Kitty Haven, “ by it’s not having any spices in it, we poor folk can’t afford them kind of things; we leave them for the quality; they’re not money’s worth for poor folk like us,” croaked Kitty; “we can’t get bread enough, much less spice.” “Ohdear,” replied Jenny, “1 should never buy spice if I didn’t get the worth of my money out of it; I have it for a particular purpose, and ’tis one of the most useful things I have. Look here,” said Tenny, and she showed her neighbour a little tin box divided into several compartments, “my Dick approves of the spices, and he brought me home this box to keep them in; he lpves tidiness, and so do I; and, besides, it keeps the spices fresh.” “You’re dainty folks no doubt,” croaked Kitty, “ what with your spices, and your tin boxes, you ought to be gentlefolk, and not living in a tumble-down old place like this; but I’m glad you’re not gentlefolk altogether, for I see you have some soap and soda like myself; and I suppose ’tis washing time with you, as ’tis with me to-morrow; and an everlasting bother this washing is.” “Yes, neighbour, to-morrow will be washing day with me, and I always use spice with my washing; I generally buy some spice whenever I get soap.” This speech of her new neighbour’s was a great puzzle to Mrs. Haven. What in the world had bpice to do with washing ; and how was it used ? Did she shake the pepper-castor over the clothes, or would it in any way help to keep the water hot; and what in the world did she do with the mustard ! Dick Wren’s shirts weren’t yellow, and even if his clothes had a kind of flavour of the pepper about them, they must be very irritating to hisCROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. 21 skin; perhaps mustard would give flannel a good colour in the wash; she never heard it would, but it might. And as to the pepper, and other curious looking things; well! her old man was cross enough, especially on washing days, without having such things flying up his nose, or pricking his skin; but she’d wait, perhaps the meaning of it would come out; and she didn’t want to be under too much obligation to a new neighbour by asking her. Mrs. Eaven would, no doubt, have taken herself off with her parcel, immediately ; but that she felt a croaking, cawing kind of feeling in her throat; and she must deliver herself of these croaks, if she was to have any peace of mind for the rest of the day. She accordingly proceeded to make some observations on the subject of washing, which were not exactly complimentary to that useful department of domestic life. “ There are many troubles in married life,” said Mrs. Eaven, “ but this washing is one of the worst of them. If 1 had known what washing was, I’d never have married Will Eaven—what with the children; and what with him; and what with the weather ; and what with the price of things; I’m sick of it, and everything belonging to it. What a bother it is, neighbour, that men’s work is so dirty. I hate washing,” croaked Kitty Eaven, “and I wish I had never met Will Eaven, or any one else.” Hereupon Mrs. Eaven’s new neighbour smiled, and answered, “ ‘Dirty hands make clean money,’ you know that old proverb, Mrs. Eaven; and I never mind how dirty Dick’s hands are when he comes home, provided he will wash them before he sits down to his tea. I always have a piece of soap and a towel ready for him; and he goes to it as natural as if he was reared to it. When we first married, I only asked him to wash his hands; but he took to washing his face himself; and now he says he couldn’t sit down to his tea, unless he did it.” “Whew! catch Eaven washing himself before he has his tea,” croaked his wife; “ he’d soon give me a clip in the ear, if I told him to do it.” “ Men don’t like to be told to do things by women,” answered Jenny with a smile ; “we must ask them ; and if they are fractious, as they sometimes will be, why we must chirp to them, and coax them, and work them round; they’re easy enough often to deal with, if you only work them right.” “ Well, how did you work round your old man ? ” gruffly enquired Kitty Eaven. “Why,” answered Jenny, pleasantly, “ ‘ I took him in time,’—when we first married, you know ; men are always very soft then; they’re like a bit of sealing-wax, you can twist them into any shape without breaking; and then the great thing is to keep up the fire, and they’ll keep soft, as long as your love keeps warm. I used always to have a basin ready when Dick came home; and as ’twas winter time, I always gave him a drop of hot water out of the kettle; and I always stood by the basin; for you see Dick was sure to be wanting to be wherever I was ; and as I never stirred from the basin until he had done, he soon got into the way of it, and he’s kept it up ever since.” “ And how did you get from his hands to his face ?” asked Mrs. Eaven; “ you’re a cunning wench I see, neighbour; and I daresay you had some trick for doing that.” “I hadn’t much trouble with that either,” said Mrs. Wren, “ for d’ye see, neighbour, I took it in time. One evening, the first week we were married, my husband came home with his face all begrimed with dirt; and while he was washing his hands, and I was standing near the basin, he offered me a kiss, like a loving husband as he was ; but I said, ‘ Wait one moment, Dick,’ and I dipped the end of the towel in the water, and said, ‘ Just let me wipe your face, there’s a good fellow ; ’ and sure enough, neighbour, his mouth was wiped, and kissed, before he knew where he was. And then, he said, what was good for one part of the face was good for the rest, so he took and slushed it well with water; and then he said he felt so comfortable, he’d do it regular ; perhaps the rogue thought he’d always get something after it, just as the children look for a sweety after22 CROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. a dose, but so it was that, he kept it up; and indeed, I think he’d be ashamed not to do so; for he knows I always make myself as tidy as I can, against he comes home.” Mrs. Haven’s only reply to this was that, “she thought her new neighbours were out-of-the-way folks; and that, as to her old man, she’d almost as soon think of biting him, as giving him a kiss.” Perhaps Mrs. Haven would have now taken her departure, were it not that she felt more spiteful than usual about the washing; and it would have been an immense satisfaction to her, if she could get her new neighbour just to say something against it; ever so little would do ; for then she could tell her husband when tomorrow came, and, with it, the usual washing scrimmages, that her new neighbour felt just as she did about the matter! “What a bother ’tis,” continued Mrs. Haven, “to keep one’s husband and children clean, as well as one’s self ; for my part I’ve given it up long ago, for I find it can’t be done.” “ Ho doubt ’tis hard enough,” answered Jenny Wren, “but if we only think—there’s much to make us try. How, when I’m washing,” said Jenny, “ I thick to myself as I rub away! ah, how pleasant to see my Dick clean. I always call him ‘ my Dick,’ for d’ye see, neighbour, that’s a great help in the work. I look at the shirt when I’m ironing it, and I say, ‘ You’ll be on my Dick’s back, and right comfortable you’ll make him, and right decent he’ll look.’ You see, neighbour, I’m proud of my Eichard,for he’s a good husband and a good father; and I don’t want him to be wasted; and every man’s wasted, when he doesn’t respect himself, and is not respected by others. It does me good, Mrs. Haven,” said the tidy, cheery little woman; “it does me real good to see my husband look like a man—that is, as a man with a wife ought to look ; I’d rather look at him clean and respectable as he ought to be,than at any sight in the world, no matter how much they charge for letting you in. And I believe my Dick feels it as much as I do ; for ’tis not a month ago, since he brought me home yonder comfortable gown, and said when he gave it to me, 11 look after the girl that looks after me.’ Sometimes my Dick will call me ‘ girl,’ for he says, 1 he’s sure I’m no older now, than the day I was married.’ ” “Humph,” croaked Mrs. Haven. “ I know,” continued Mrs. Wren, “ my Dick’s being kept so clean, helps his being respected ; for he told me his master said he was going to send a trusty man once a week to Sapcote, to gather in his accounts, and pay his bills; and he said, ‘ Dick, I must have a respectable looking man, that people will pay some attention to; and I’ve observed that, you’re always tidy, so I’ve been thinking of offering you the job. There are sometimes gentlefolk to be waited on, and they don’t like to see a dirty-looking man at their door ; and as you are sure always to have a clean shirt, you’ll answer my purpose, better than anyone else. As this is a place of trust,’ said Dick’s master, i I’ll raise your wages half-a-crown a week; and, perhaps,’ said he, with a little twinkle in his eye, * we’ll get on some day to something more.’ ” “Ho doubt,” croaked Mrs. Haven, “he expects to get the business entirely some day,” and she broke out into a hoarse laugh; “ I daresay he’s beginning to think no small beer of himself.” “ I don’t think Dick thinks over much of himself,” answered his wife; “he’s an humble kind of man; but I think a great deal of him; and that’s one reason why I’m so particular in keeping him neat and clean. My Dick isn’t proud, but he respects himself; and I think his being able always to be neat and nice, helps him to do this. How can a man respect himself that’s kept covered with dirt? Every spider that sees him,” said Mrs. Wren, “ thinks he may spin cobwebs over him; and I’m quite sure that, if a man doesn’t respect himself, others won’t respect him either. Hichard often told me, neighbour, that he felt he looked too respectable to be seen going in and out of public-houses; and so, he’s come home to me.” “Well,” said Mrs. Haven, after turning round slowly on her heels, and pointingCROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. *3 up her nose to each of the four quarters of the heavens, “ I wish you joy of your wonderful man, I wish there had been twins of him, and that I had got his brother instead of my old man; but what doe3 it matter that you have ever so decent a husband, if you have a lot of children; I’d like to know who could keep them clean, even if you washed from morning till night. ’Tis an awful bother to keep children clean; they seem born to be dirty,” said Mrs. Raven ; ‘1 dirt is their nature ; and, I suppose it will be, as long as there are any children in the world.” “ Oh,” said Mrs. Wren, “I always get on extra fast when I think of the children. Next, alter Rick, I’m proud of them. I’m proud of them because they’re Rick’s; and because they’re mine; and because they’re good children; and I expect them to grow up a comfort to us. If I wash for them now, perhaps they’ll wash for me by-and-by. Besides,” said Mrs. Wren, “ I like to think that they look decent at school; and that the mistress is always glad to see them; for she says {they’re a credit to her, and an example to the rest.* ” “That’s more than mine are, I suppose,” interpreted Kitty Raven, with a very ugly, spiteful kind of laugh ; “ I say to myself, there are lots of dirty ones at the school; and mine only make a few more; ’tis easier to have them called dirty, than to keep them clean. But tell me this, neighbour, even if I cleaned up the whole lot of them, how could I ever get them to keep themselves clean.” “ When mine see that we make so much of cleanliness, ’ answered Mrs. Wren, “ and that a clean pinafore, or frock, is made so much of, they’re ashamed to go and muck themselves about as if they were so many pigs; they know too that their father and I would be ashamed of them if they went dirty to school, and all that helps, you know.” Mrs. Raven had apparently enough, by this time, of her new neighbour for one day; so, even without having her curiosity gratified as to the pepper, and mustard, and currants, she took up her parcel, and took herself off to her own dirty abode. There she fumbled about, putting things out of their places instead of into them, and making herself as disagreeable to herself as ever she could. Moreover, she tumbled about all the small children; and they, partly to get out of her way, and partly, to comfort themselves for their want of domestic bliss, took themselves off to their confidential friends, the young pigs, with whom they tumbled about, and squeaked and grunted in a high state of dirty felicity. Mrs. Wren, who was very glad to be set free to get on]with her work, of which she had plenty to do, proceeded energetically to business, as soon as she was left alone. She put all her clothes in soak, and made every needful arrangement for the washing; and then, she carefully washed her hands, put on a white apron, and commenced operations of another kind. Mrs. Wren’s first business was to make some pie-crust, which she proceeded to do in the following manner. Putting her hand into a neat little barrel, she drew out some handfuls of flour, to which she added some dripping and salt, and therewith compounded very undeniable good paste; then, taking down a plate from the cupboard shelf, she drew forth from under a clean white cloth two solid pounds of beef-steak; these said two pounds of meat she chopped up into small pieces, and sprinkled them over with pepper and salt, and the least trifle of cayenne and mace, just enough to give them a flavour; so that people should be just able to taste something, though they couldn’t exactly tell what it was. Then she made a little bed in the paste for some of this good stuff, and whisked the flap over it, and tucked it in, as neat as a young baby in its cradle; and so she made sundry other little pies too; which pies are known by divers folk under divers names, as “crowdies,” “turnovers,” and the like. And as if all this wasn’t enough for flesh and blood to do at one time, this good woman now proceeded, with the help of this same flour barrel, and the contents of her little parcel from Goody Patterson’s, to wit, the currants and allspice contained therein, together with suet and sugar, to com-1* CROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. pound several dumplings, which seemed of the same delectable quality as the erowdies, and were destined, no doubt, for a similar fate to theirs. Mrs. Wren evidently performed these little operations entirely to her satisfaction ; for as soon as the little pies were baked, and had come forth from the oven, every one of them with a come-eat-me kind of look about them; the cheery little woman surveyed them for a moment with her hands upon her sides, as though she was very pleased with herself, if only it were modest and right to say so. Owing to the delay occasioned by Mrs. Raven’s visit, Mrs. Wren’s kitchen operations were over none too soon; for she had only just tidied herself, and smoothed her hair, when in came Dick from his work. Dick’s first deed within his house was to wash his face and hands, and then do what he did the evening he was first taught this cleanly habit by his new little wife, i.e.y he gave her a good honest loving kiss, such as every man ought to give the wife who has been working for him, and for his children, the livelong day; and who had got everything ready for a still harder day’s work on the morrow. Then the wheelwright sat down, and took the haby up on his knee, and poked its fat ribs with his fingers, while it dived its equally fat arms into his pocket for a sweetie, which by the natural cuteness that seems to exist in babies, it knew was there; and then they both made such a row, that they were called to order; whereupon the baby was allowed to get possession of the sweets, which it sucked with all its might and main, and made no more noise until it had done. “Well, Jenny,” said Dick, “ I walked home from work to-day with our neighbour Will Raven, and he seems to me to be a miserable kind of man. What with his dirty clothes, and the hang-dog kind of look he has about him, I hardly liked to be seen with him; and yet the poor fellow looks as if he had something good in him, or as if something might be made of him; at any rate, he might be something different from what he is. I don’t think he can have much comfort in his home, poor man ; ” “ You’d be sure of this,” replied Jenny Wren, “if you had been at home to-day, when his wife came in here for a parcel of hers that had been left by mistake ; she seems a miserable kind of woman, and to make a misery of everything; and, poor man, I fear he’ll be miserable enough tomorrow ; for washing day is always a miserable day with them.” “Well, Jenny, and you could make it a miserable day with me, quick enough if you liked, but you’re too cunning a girl for that; ” and Dick winked at a cupboard in the corner of the room. The cupboard did not return the wink, but looked as stolidly at Dick as though it had nothing particular to say, even if it could speak; whereas the truth was, that at that very moment it had concealed within its breast a row of pies and dumplings, which were enough to throw any cupboard into a state of excitement. Jenny smiled a sweet loving smile, with just the smallest dash of fun possible in it; and hadn’t Dick been kept at anchor by that baby, which had sucked itself to sleep over the lollipop, he might have been a hindrance to Jenny who was putting the tea on the table—“tea ”—but no dumplings ! no pies,—no, not the smallest imaginable taste—though there was a whole row of them in the cupboard. The pies and dumplings belonged not to the day before washing day, but to washing day itself. CHAPTER II. Early on Tuesday morning, Jenny Wren went to the mysterious cupboard, and thence drew forth that pie which she had made with such wondrous care the day before. She further brought forth some bread and cheese, and a little box about the size of a couple of thimbles. Into this latter she put a spoonful of thick mustard, and covered it over with a piece of clean paper; and the whole she tied up in a small white cloth which had been duly prepared for the purpose. Jenny knew to a nicety how to tie the whole thing up, and the exact size that would suit her husband’s pocket; so the wholeCROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. 2 5 operation was accomplished as neatly as possible in less than five minutes, and off Richard Wren started for his work. Now, we wouldn’t for the world have our readers think that, worthy Richard Wren was a glutton, or too fond of good things"to eat; but we are all fonder of some things than of others; and, so it was that, if Dick had a weakness at all in this line, it was for this particular crowdie, spiced with the good things before mentioned ; and made further palatable by the aid of that little box of mustard. And it was precisely because of this weakness that, his good wife chose to provide it for washing day; for her great desire was that, this particular day ; which, no doubt, naturally had many little disagree-abilities of its own, should as much as possible be divested of these disagree-abilities, and invested with pleasant associations and ideas. It was for this reason that, this cunning little woman kept this pie for washing day; so that her husband might be said rather to look forward to these occasions than otherwise. But it would be taking a very low view indeed of this worthy couple, both man and wife, if the making and eating of this pie engrossed all their thoughts on washing day. Far from it. Our merry-hearted little woman had something more substantial than this to depend upon; as came out in a conversation with her croaking neighbour, during the course of the washing day. Early in the forenoon Mrs. Wren was to be seen hanging up all sorts of garments upon the lines which stretched at the back of the cottages where she and Kitty Raven lived. The little woman was singing, for singing she thought kept the spirits up, and for the very same reason, she liked her Dick to whistle as he went off to his work; it showed a light, cheery, heart; and, if her Dick had not whistled, she probably would have been suspicious that there was something wrong, “ Hallo’, neighbour, you’re an early bird,” cried Mrs. Raven, with a shrill, uncanny voice; “ you’re through with your washing, I suppose; I’m only just beginning mine.” “ If I weren’t through with my wash- ing by this time,” answered Mrs. Wren, “ we should be in misery all the evening ; what with wet all about the floor, and steam and damp through the house, and things not put away, my Dick would have a pretty kind of a home to come to.” “ ‘ Dick,’ ‘ Dick,’ again,” croaked Mrs. Raven, “ ’tis always ‘Dick’ with you— ‘ Dick this ’ and ‘ Dick that ; ’ I wonder, neighbour, you didn’t call all your children ‘ Dick,’ girls and all. But what have we here?” said Mrs. Raven, as she poked her finger into a heap of very small articles. “Oh ! those are my ornaments,” answered Jenny Wren. “ ‘ Ornaments’ indeed! ” ejaculated Mrs. Raven, whose only idea of ornaments was that of tawdry jewellery, or very splash unnatural-looking artificial flowers. “ ‘ Ornaments’ indeed; well, neighbour, I never heard of ornaments being hung on a line to dry; and indeed, I never knew any one call things like these ‘ ornaments ’ before.” “Well, they don’t usually go by that name ; it was my Dick that invented that name for them.” “ There goes your ‘Dick’ again,” interrupted the croaking woman. “ Well, you see I can’t help it,” answered Jenny ; “ for ’tis for my Dick’s sake I’m so particular about my ornaments. Not but that a woman should be always particular to be neat and clean, be she wife, widow, or maid ; but, of all three, a wife should be the most particular; for she has a husband that she’s bound to think of, as well as of herself. Now you see what this little heap is,” said Mrs. Wren, as she spread out a few of the crumpled-up wet articles. “ This is an ornament for the head,” and she developed out of an unpromising-looking ball a tidy cap ; “ and this is an ornament for the neck,” and she smoothed out a neat little linen collar ; “ arid here are my bracelets,” and she took up a pair of neat linen cuffs ; “ and when I have all these on,” said Jenny, “ my Dick says he wouldn’t change me for the finest lady in the land.” “ Well, Will Raven would change me fast enough, I guess, if he got the chance,” said Kitty; “and for the matter of that, I believe he’d make a present ofCROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. 26 me, if he couldn’t get anyone to give anything; and I don’t say but that I’d do the same, if I got the chance. Anyhow, I’d let Will Eaven go dirt cheap, if I could put him up to sale.” “ Oh, neighbour, neighbour,” cried Jenny Wren, “ sorry I am to hear you say this of the man you promised to love until death parts you and him. I wouldn’t take Lthe whole world for my Dick; and you ought to say the same about your Will.” For a moment Mrs. Eaven’s mouth twitched at the corners; and then she said in a tone a trifle softer than her usual one, ‘‘Time was, neighbour, when I would.” Now, dear reader, when Jenny Wren’s tidy little cap was on, it sat on the top of two sharp little cars—cunning little ears they were, which sometimes wouldn’t hear at all; for somehow or other, they had found out that in this world ears may hear too much; and on these occasions these two ears had made an agreement that they would shut up, and be as deaf as two posts; but that if by chance any such thing got into one ear, the other would let it out as quickly as possible. This was the regular rule and habit of life of these two ears, as regards all evil speaking of every kind, from bad reports down to little impatient words, and such like; but as regards all kind and loving words, or all sad and sorrowful ones; or all sounds of distress, from the strong man’s moan, down to the baby’s feeble cry, the rule of these ears was to give them entrance at all hours; and to echo and re-echo them, so that the little head, on each side of which they were, immediately began to think what was to be done for the relief of this sorrow; unless, indeed, so wise was it in these things, that it knew all about it without thinking at all. That trifle of softness in poor Kitty Eaven’s voice was perceived in a moment by Jenny Wren ; and, whether those ears had a bell-rope between themselves and the heart, which they now pulled at with all their might, we cannot say; but so it was, that Jenny forthwith felt her eyes getting damp; and they began to look very much as if they as well as the clothes wanted to be hung up to dry. “Neighbour,” said Jenny Wren, “ I’ve been up early this morning, and I always have a cup of tea at this hour on washing days; come in, and have a drop too, and I’ll tell you about these ornaments of mine.” So in they went; Jenny to refresh herself with her cup of tea, and to try and do poor Kitty Eaven some good; and the latter, partly to have the cup of tea, for she was ready for tea at all hours; and partly, to hear what her neighbour had to say; partly, too, because she hoped yet to hear something against the washing ; and it may be also to learn what her neighbour wanted with that mustard and spice. Deeper than all these, though Kitty Eaven knew it not, there was acting upon her mind a spell of former days, when she loved Will, and Will loved her— ’twas all gone now—the flowers of early days were faded, but the scent of the crumpled leaves hung round them still, and when they were stirred, it came forth, feebly ’tis true, but withal like the old scent which Kitty smelt in girlhood; when she believed that she would rather sleep by Will Eaven’s side in the grave, than be the bride of the richest man on earth. CHAPTER III. There is something heart-opening and friend-making in a cup of tea. How in the world can you brew mischief against a man while you are drinkingtea with him; how can you help becoming a little soft, and friendly, and confidential? So it was with Kitty Raven—she did not think she could ever get on with her new neighbour; but now, over this cup of tea, she found she could; at least sufficiently to talk a good deal, and hear a good deal too. Mrs. Eaven’s tea was now before her, and she was tossing it up and down with her spoon; playing with it, just after the fashion of a cat with a mouse, before it proceeds to real business therewith; and, after a few tosses, she said to her hostess, “ Well, Mrs, Wren, and do you mean toCROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. 27 say that, you always have time for washing such jimcracks as these collars and cuffs; and that you do them just because you know your husband likes to see you in them ? These things were well enough for us when we were girls; but we can’t keep them up when we have a lot of squalling brats about us, as I have.” “ Oh,” answered Jenny, “ I think them just as useful and as nice now, as ever they were; and when I’m starching and ironing, I chirp a bit to myself by way of a help on. What I say, Mrs. Raven, is this: ‘Now, Jenny Wren, there’s such a thing as decent pride; and it ought always to be found amongst womankind. When you were young, Jenny, Dick Wren thought you the nicest girl he ever did see; and sure you wouldn’t have him think otherwise of you now. Jenny, if you have the heart of a woman in you, you’ll be very jealous of your husband’s good opinion ; and you won’t let it be your fault, if he thinks he ever sees any one half as nice as you.’ I feel inclined to draw myself up bolt upright, as stiff as if I was starched,” says Jenny, “ when I think of my husband’s cooling in his love. If he admired me as a maid, I think he should still more as a wife; and how can a man think well of his wife, if he sees her all of a jelly, tumbling about here, and there, and everywhere, with no care to have herself as clean and tidy as she ought to be ? Now, Mrs. Raven, the cuffs and the collars are, as you see, nothing but a piece of plain linen; but they make all the difference in me, as to whether I look neat or not; so when I’m taking this little bit of trouble, I just say to myself, * Jenny Wren is what she was1 and she means to be what she has been; at least she intends that her husband shall think so.’” Mrs. Raven said nothing, but kept tossing the tea; which probably by this time was heartily tired of such ups and downs in the world, and would have been glad to have been swallowed at once. As she said nothing, her neighbour continued. “Then I say to myself, ‘ Jenny Wren, you must remember that, you’re to be an example to the house. You- must teach the children to be neat, and your husband must see you neat; they all look up to you, yes, Dick and all; and, unless you’re particular, they won’t be, either.’ You see, neighbour, the great comforts and discomforts of life are in little things—what I might call the threads, and tapes, and buttons, and collars, and cuffs of life; and ’tis wonderful how particular my husband is in little things about the house; and often he says, when he does a little thing that makes the place look nice, ‘ There, Jenny that will match your cuffs ’—’tis quite a saying with us here.” “Then,” continued Jenny, “I often say to myself, ‘ Come, Jenny, you must keep yourself up; women are like clocks; they run down if they are not wound up, and regulated ; and I know that, the best way to keep my Dick wound and regulated is not to be always at him, telling him I’m going to regulate him; but just to keep myself wound up and regulated; and I’ve learned that when I do myself, 1 do him too.” “ I don’t think all the winding up in the world would ever make Will Raven go again,” half groaned, half croaked his wife, “ though once he was a likely lad.” Jenny Wren’s ears were quick to hear that half-groan, and also the last half of Mrs. Raven’s speech, and she answered, “ Oh yes, neighbour; your husband can be made as good as ever, if only you’ll chirp to him, as I do to mine*” Mrs. Raven looked long and earnestly at Jenny Wren, and at last said, “ How do you do it ? ” Jenny couldn’t help smiling; but before she had time to answer, her neighbour continued, “Is it hard, Mrs. Wren, to do—would I take long to learn, or could I learn at all ? ” “ Mrs. Raven,” said Jenny Wren, her two bright eyes full of tears, “ you shall learn to chirp, that you shall; and you shall begin this very day.” So saying, the little woman went over to the cupboard, and threw the door open, and there revealed the row of dumplings for the evening’s meal. “ There’s a chirp in every one of these,” said Jenny, “and a28 CROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. chirp m every little pie the children took to school to-day ; and many chirps in the one I put in my Dick’s side pocket; and he went off with a chirp this morning, and he’ll come home to a chirp to-night. Yon see, neighbour, I take good care to make washing day as pleasant to him as I can. I never let him see things about when he comes home, nor do I ever let slop and wet fill the house; I always take special care that he has a good meal that day ; and an extra good supper that night; and when he sees I’m so particular about his comfort, he’s inclined to be pleased, and he is pleased. ’Tisn’t altogether the pie, but the heart that thinks of the pie, that’s what he looks at. Now come along,” said Jenny, “ and you can begin to chirp to your good man to-night. My washing is lighter than usual, and I’ll lend you a hand to finish yours ; and, if we make haste, we can make a dumpling or two for your good man’s supper tonight ; there’s nothing like beginning at once. I’d give you some of mine with pleasure,” added Jenny Wren, “but your husband would be sure to ask you where you got them ; and when you said ‘ they came from me,’ then I’m afraid he might not like it; and besides, that would be my chirping to him and not you.” So up the two women rose from their tea; and in an incredibly short time they were both arm deep in the wash-tub. Mrs. Raven was the first to break silence ; not that she wanted particularly to croak, but that she would not, so to speak, be herself unless she did a little in that line. She had not become a chirper yet. “How this wears out the clothes!” said she; “and things such a fearful price. I never rub mine as hard as you do.” “ Oh, not at all,” chirped Jenny, “it saves the clothes in the long run; they don’t want half so much rubbing if you don’t allow the dirt to get ingrained; you see, Mrs. Raven, next week you’ll be through in half the time.” “ Ah,” said the latter, “ they’ll be dirty again next week! ” “ Yes! and even if you eat ever so good a dinner to-day, you’ll be hungry again to-morrow,” chirped Jenny; “and next week, there will be, I hope, the health, and strength, and soap, and soda to wash them.” “There’s no end to it,” says Mrs. Raven. “ Nor is there to eating, and drinking, and sleeping, or fifty other things,” said Mrs. Wren; “while we’re in the world, we shall have to be going round and round, doing the same things over and over again.” “ I see you have your answer ready always,” said Mrs. Raven ; “ well! perhaps so you may about the washing, but the times are dear; and do you keep chirping about them?” “Oh! to be sure,” answered Jenny; “I chirp about everything, if it can be chirped about any way at all.” “ Things will never go down again,” groaned Mrs. Raven. “ Oh yes,” said Jenny, “ times will mend; and if things don’t go down, wages will go up; and that will do as well.” “ We’ll go to the workhouse, I’m sure,’' said Mrs. Raven, shaking her head dolorously. “Hot a bit of it,” said Mrs. Wren, bobbing her head cheerfully from the opposite side of the wash tub ; “we have enough of actual necessaries; and while we have them we need never go there.” “’Tis four months before the potatoes come in.” “Well, neighbour, but the winter’s nearly over; and there’s less going out for coal and candle.” Mrs. Raven was apparently about to give Jenny up as a hopeless task, when suddenly she thought she had her. Accordingly, half in triumph, and half in curiosity, she said, “ Neighbour Wren, illness is pretty stiff when it comes on us poor folk, do you chirp men ?” “ Certainly,” said Jenny. “I can’t do anything with my old man, or with the children when they’re ill. If I tuck him in ever so tight at one side of the bed, he will be off to the other; and no sooner have I smoothedCROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. 29 the pillows under his head, than he pokes his feet out of the clothes at the bottom ; if I give him a hot drink, ‘ ’tis too hot; ’ and if I give him a cold one, 1 ’tis too cold; ’ when I go into the room he says he wishes I’d go out; and I’m no sooner out than he calls to me to come in ; of all the fractious, worreting, aggravating things in creation, I think ’tis a sick man.” “ Well, well; there’s no denying, Mrs. Raven, that when men are ill, they are all this ; and they’re sure to be aggravat-ing if we are to b?. aggravated; but you see I say to myself, ‘ Ah, Jenny, be thankful you’re a woman; those poor men haven’t half the patience of women ; they’re to be pitied ; and you must help them through as well as you can.’ You couldn’t keep a man quiet even if you tied him to the bed-post; so the best way is just to humour him all through, and I believe he gets well all the sooner. Then ’tis an extra chance for us women to show what stuff we’re made of; and ’tis surprising how humble and thankful a man gets off his sick bed, if you handle him properly while he’s on it; don’t you see, neighbour, he learns something more of the value of a woman. Men are away from home all day, and they don’t know half the work we do for them ; but when a little illness comes, why, then they must see it; and depend upon it, like everything else sent us from above, illness has its blessings, and ’tis a chirping time for those who know how to chirp—not loud chirps—but just a little twittering kind of chirp; enough to make things cheerful and bright; and let me tell you,’ ’ added Mrs. Wren, “sick men know when they have a chirping wife, they do.” But I must have an entire ream of paper and not this little scrap of a book, good reader, if I am to tell you all Kitty Raven’s croaks and all Jenny Wren’s chirps over that washing-tub ; so I shall just tell you no more about them, but go on forthwith to inform you that, as soon as the washing was over, these two women proceeded then and there, without a moment’s delay, for time was precious, to compound dumplings for the especial delight of Will Raven, when he came home from work that night. Crowdies could not be made until next week ; but chirping was too goikl a thing to be put off so long; consequently Kitty was right willing to begin by means of a dumpling, although dumplings were an inferior sort of thing in comparison with crowdies— not even distant cousins thereof, or in any wise comparable thereto. The dumplings were made; and thus one chirp was got ready wherewith to astonish Will Raven on his return home. “ And now,” said Mrs. Wren, “ who ever heard of one chirp by itself, chirps never go alone ; do yourself up a bit, neighbour; remember your husband has eyes as well as a mouth; and get ready a kindly word to welcome him, for a man has ears as well as eyes and throat; and a to his nose,” chirped Jenny, “why the dumplings will chirp to that; for,” said she, as she sniffed up the scent of the good things, “they do smell uncommon good.” The day wore on—or rather--while all these things were being done—rushed away, as if it had taken an express ticket; and wouldn’t stop at any station, or for any man on earth; and evening came, almost before Mrs. Raven knew where she was. Although she did not stop to investigate her thoughts, and see why they were pleasant, still pleasant they were; for, unknown to herself, she was carried back to the days of her youth ; when she looked forward all day long to Will’s return in the evening from work. Pleasant hours pass fast; and now evening had come, and Will Raven would soon be home; yes ! though it was washing day, his wife knew that he could not go to the public-house as usual, for his credit there was exhausted; and he had left home in the morning with no money in his pocket. But first of all arrived Dick Wren. Down the lane he came, whistling like a blackbird; and no sooner did he make his appearance than he was pounced upon by his wife, who made off with him into the house, and never drew breath until she had informed him of all the day’s proceedings. These delighted the heart of Dick, who signified his approbation to his little wife in a suitable and becoming30 CROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE. manner, not especially to be dilated on here. Then arrived Will Raven. With a ragged coat, and a slouching, shuffling gait; looking altogether out of season, and like one of those forlorn men one sees in the world, with no woman to look after them, on he came; but little did he think what he was coming to— he was coming to hot, genial looking dumplings; to four children all grinning from ear to ear with delight, as they sat round the table, only waiting till those dumplings were put on—to a wife whom he had not seen so clean for wife asked him a if he’d take some dumpling,” and what his feelings were as he partook of the same; and what Mr. and Mrs. Wren felt as they looked on, and shared in the universal joy. Such things are to be imagined, not described ; and we must request each reader to imagine this wonderful scene for himself. But why prolong our tale! Did not Jenny Wren teach her neighbour how to chirp every day; and did not Mrs. Raven learn; and did not Will Raven give up the public-house ; and did not he believe his wife when she told him, some six months after, that she had a pride in him, many a long day—to a few kind words, honestly, though not perhaps very musically spoken—in fact to a whole nest of wonders ; every one of them full fledged, and chirping wonderful things down into the very marrow of his bones ; so that, for a season he would have been thankful to any friend who would have looked in upon him, and confidentially told him whether he was standing upon his head or his heels. Who can tell how Will Raven looked as his wife uncovered those smoking dumplings, and how sheepish he felt as his and a pride in the children; and did not these two good folk invite their neighbours, Dick and Jenny Wren, to a tea with crowdies and dumplings on the anniversary of their wedding day ! And, at this tea, was there not much winking and blinking between Mr. Raven and Mr. and Mrs. Wren, which sorely perplexed Will Raven’s wife ; and caused her to make serious mistakes in pouring out the tea, and helping the crowdies aforesaid. But the secret came out at last. When tea was over, Will Raven produced a bundle, containing a newCROAKING KATE AND CHIRPING JANE 31 shawl and gown for his wife, earned by his working over-hours on Tuesday nights, on the strength of his wife’s good crow-dies. And then there was much blush-iDg and shaking of hands, and cryings of* “ dear me, who’d have thought it! ” when he presented Mrs. Wren, the means of all his happiness, with a tea-caddy, fit almost for a gentleman’s parlour. Wasn’t all this happy and delightful ? and the best of it all is it was kept up ; and Mrs. Haven lost her bad name, and ceased to be known as “ Croaking Kate,” but her neighbour, as the reader will I am sure be glad to hear, never lost the name of “ Chirping Jane.” Printed by Persy, Gasdwer & Co., Farring&on Koad, London E,0»PUBLICATIONS OF THE Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. PENNY SERIES OF BIOGRAPHIES, [/I Series of Biographies, chiefly of men who have risen by force of charade For working men and others.] Demy 8vo. Pictorial Paper "Wrapper. Id. each. Abraham Lincoln : Farmer’s Boy and President. David Livingstone: The Great African Pioneer. A Hero : A Short Sketch of a Noble Life. MISSION HEROES. [A Series of Lives of the principal Workers in the Mission Field.] Crown 8vo., Id. each. Bishop Gray.. Bishop Selwyn. Bishop Cotton, of India. Bishop Feild, of Newfoundland. Bishop Steere, of Zanzibar. Bishop Patteson, Missionary Bishop and Martyr. SERIES of POPULAR TALES. 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