“My dear child, what you could earn would not supply Madge with enough of food to keep life in.”
“I could get something for chopping firewood,” began Johnny, and then stopped short; “but I hate the trouble, and shouldn’t much like to tie myself up to do it! ’Twouldn’t do to begin and not go on, I take it.”
“It wouldn’t do at all,” replied Mrs. Morris.
Jonas sat in profound thought, appearing as though he were making some deep calculation on his fingers. The truth is that the old seaman had as warm a heart and as strong a desire to help the outcast as any one present; but his means of doing so were very small. Much the greater part of his little pension was regularly paid to his sister, to cover the necessary expenses of the sailor’s board and lodging; and what Jonas reserved for himself was such a mere trifle that it barely sufficed to supply him with clothing, and replenish his little tobacco pouch. But he, like Alie, was disposed to regard the desolate stranger as one whom the Almighty had committed to their protection, and the idea of sending her away to the workhouse was repugnant to his kindly nature. Jonas turned over and over in his mind the means of supporting the child until she should be able to do something for herself, and at length he came to a decision.
“Yes,” he muttered half to himself, “yes, that’s the thing! ’Twill cost me something maybe at first; but it’s right, and I’ll do it! The gipsy lass shall have my pipe!”
The children could not forbear laughing. “Little use she could make of it!” cried Johnny.
“That’s the way with you younkers,” said Jonas rather pettishly; “you never know how to put two and two together. What’s a pipe without ’bacco, and how’s ’bacco to be had without money?” he continued, raising his voice;—“the money that buys ’bacco for me would buy bread for the gipsy; and your little earnings, my lass,” he added, turning to Alie, “put on the top of my savings, might serve to keep the little boat afloat, without running it on the rough shore of a workhouse.”
Alie clapped her hands in delight. The eye of Mrs. Morris glistened. “My dear brother,” said she, “I won’t be behind you in this labour of love. If you think of making such a sacrifice—”
“Think!” cried Jonas bluffly, “it’s not thinking, but doing!” and, stumping up to the fireplace with an air of resolution, he again took his pipe from its place and deliberately snapped it in two! but could not refrain from a sigh as he looked on the broken pieces.
“You need not have broken it,” observed Johnny; “’twould have done no mischief where it was.”