[CHAPTER IV.]
Battle in the Nursery.
SUSAN felt shy of speaking to Giles about writing a letter for her, and sending the stamps. She would far rather not have told her little secret to the man-servant, who, she feared, would laugh at her plan. But Giles, on the contrary, was pleased as well as amused at the idea of sending dinners to Exeter Hall.
"I don't mind putting up a third dozen stamps of my own," said the butler, as he pulled out his brown leather purse to give change for Jessy's crown-piece. "I like this notion of giving dinners, and I've often an odd shilling to spare that I never should miss. I was one of twelve children myself, and know what a struggle it costs even a man in good work to fill so many hungry mouths; I can't think how the orphans get fed at all. I'm going to the town to-morrow, so I'll get an envelope ready in the morning, and I'll mention the matter to cook—dinners are just in her line; I should not wonder if she, too, pulled out her shilling."
There are thousands of households in our land where kind hearts and generous hands would be ready to aid in such works of love, if so simple a way of doing good were suggested. In the servants' hall as well as in the drawing-room "cheerful givers" would be found. Well would it be, if in every rich man's kitchen, where the fire roars up the chimney, and the joint turns round on the spit, and the place is filled with the scent of steaming soups and savoury dishes, a little collecting-box were kept for "Destitute Children's Dinner Society," into which those who never themselves know want might sometimes drop in a penny unseen, to help friendless little ones, faint and pining with hunger.
Susan was delighted at her unexpected success. "How good does come out of evil!" thought she. "But for this fear of conveying infection by writing the letter myself while nursing my little patients, I should never have dreamed of mentioning the matter to Giles. I should quietly have dropped my letter into the post-box, and my fellow-servants would have known nothing about it. My poor little shilling is likely to grow into four, and this is not the best part of the business: three persons may begin from to-day to take a pleasure in feeding the poor, and who can tell how many meals to the hungry, and what rich blessings to those who care for them, may spring from so tiny a seed as my mentioning that good society to little Miss Jessy to-day?"
Susan was returning upstairs with a very light heart, when the sounds which reached her ear from the nursery made her quicken her steps to a run. There were screams either of passion or of pain, and when Susan opened the door she saw Tom, scarlet with rage, holding Jessy's doll by the feet, and banging its head against the fender, while the little girl was vainly struggling to rescue her toy from his hands.
In another minute, Mrs. Fairley's pretty gift would have been battered to pieces, had not Susan darted forwards, wrenched it away from the hold of the boy, and put the doll on the top of the cupboard, beyond the reach of the furious child.
Tom's passion was instantly turned upon her who had dared thus to interfere between him and his sister. He flew like a wild cat on Susan, struck her with violence, and then actually bit her on the arm, then flung himself on the carpet, kicking and roaring with passionate fury.
Thus cruelly attacked by a cowardly bully, Susan felt at first anger as well as pain. Had her master been in the house, she would have complained to him, and Master Tom might for once have met with the punishment which he so richly deserved.