“’Twould have been a temptation,” replied Jonas, rubbing his chin; “’twould ha’ been always putting me in mind of a want. If I hadn’t broke my pipe, maybe I’d ha’ broke my resolution.”
“You will miss it sadly, I fear,” said Mrs. Morris.
How much the poor old sailor missed his accustomed indulgence can only be guessed by those who have, like him, formed a habit of smoking till the pipe seems as necessary as daily food. It is a habit which I hope that none of my young readers will adopt; the expense of it being one of its least disadvantages. But Jonas had been accustomed to smoke from his youth; he looked to his pipe as to his comfort and companion, and, in giving it up, he sacrificed really more than a lady would in putting down her carriage, or a sportsman in selling off his hounds. Therefore his pence were a nobler offering than their hundreds of guineas would have been.
Madge was now the happy inmate of a home, whose simple comforts appeared luxuries to her. Its inmates vied with each other in showing her kindness. Except in school-time, or when she was at meals, Alie’s little hands were busy from morning till night; and even Johnny tried his skill in cobbling a very old pair of his sister’s shoes for Madge, and succeeded, more to his own admiration, it must be owned, than to that of any one else. Madge was now made neat and clean, her hair cut and brushed, her rags mended; and the change in her appearance was so great that Jonas said, looking at her with quiet satisfaction, that “he should not ha’ known the lass.” There was a bright, happy expression now in Madge’s blue eyes, and she did not start when suddenly addressed, as if she were afraid of being struck.
And if the outward change was so great, there was every probability that the inward would be yet more striking. Madge was docile and willing to be taught, and she could not be long under the roof of Mrs. Morris without receiving knowledge of the best and highest kind. The distinctions between right and wrong, truth and falsehood, honesty and theft, were becoming daily more and more clear to the child; and she was gradually learning that which would give her the strongest motive for refusing the evil and choosing the good.
Madge had not been many days in her new home, when, to the surprise of the little family, then assembled round the dinner-table, a post-chaise stopped at the entrance. A gentleman dressed in black, with a paper in his hand, descended from the vehicle, and, after tapping at the door, though it stood open on account of the heat of the weather, walked straight into the kitchen.
“Beg pardon—pray don’t move,” said he, waving his hand slightly, as the family rose at his entrance. “May I ask if your name is Morris?” he continued, first glancing at his paper, then at Alie’s mother.
Wondering, and half alarmed at the unexpected visit, Mrs. Morris only answered by dropping a little courtesy; while Jonas muttered something about “land-shark,” which it was intended no one should hear.
“I thought so—hum!” said the lawyer, for such he was. “I have been directed to you as one who might give me some information as to the movements of a party of gipsies, upon whose track I have been for the last ten days.”
“Indeed, sir, I know little about them,” replied Mrs. Morris. “Some gipsies were in this neighbourhood about a week ago.”