THE WORKHOUSE.
"Oh! I am so glad, so thankful to have you with me!" cried Norah, as, after leaving the coach, she walked with Persis Meade up the road which led to the workhouse of B—. "It is not only that I should have been afraid, that I could not have come without a companion, but you know—" Norah dropped her voice, and spoke in a hesitating tone—"you know poor Sophy may want some one to give comfort to her, religious comfort I mean, and to tell her all the things that you used to tell me on Sunday before I went into service. I never could speak of religion to Sophy. I am often so grieved and ashamed when I think how much we were together, and there was never, never a word said that could help her to Heaven! All such foolish talk!" sighed Norah. "Once I had resolved to say something, it was after my Uncle Ned had shown me how dishonest it was for us to feast together in the kitchen at my mistress's expense. Oh how I had turned the matter over and over in my mind, and thought of reasons to give, and found texts! But as soon as I saw Sophy's laughing eyes, and heard her merry voice, all that I had prepared seemed at once to go out of my head, I could scarcely utter a word! I find it so dreadfully hard to speak about religion to those who don't feel as I do!"
"Yes, it is very hard indeed," said Persis.
"Do you think it so?" exclaimed Norah with surprise and something like pleasure; "I fancied that was only the case with stupid little cowards like me!"
"To speak of the Blessed Saviour to one of my own age and position, who is not likely to feel on such a subject like myself, is to me an effort which I dare never undertake without secret prayer. It is very different," continued Persis Meade, "from teaching a Bible-class on Sundays, where one sees one's self surrounded by dear little pupils. I have often, like you, dear Norah, bitterly reproached myself for silence, from the fear of man that bringeth a snare." *
* Prov. xxix. 25.
By this time Persis and Norah had reached the door of that great brick building, which to the younger, perhaps to both, appeared such a formidable place! Norah's heart beat faster as the stout porter gave them admittance, and she followed Persis into a paved courtyard, surrounded by buildings, in which, in their pauper dresses, several of the inmates were lounging about in the sunshine, talking to the friends who at that special time had permission to come and see them. Persis courteously addressed an old woman, and asked her if she happened to know where they could find Sophy Puller.
"Sophy Puller!" echoed the woman; "that's the girl as has cried herself blind! Why, she's of our ward, No. 5—you can see the number there on yon door;" and she pointed across the courtyard.
"Let's come to her quickly," said Norah, drawing on her companion with nervous haste. The little maid was relieved at having found her friend with so much less difficulty than she had expected, and was anxious to escape out of the yard, where there were too many strangers to let her feel at her ease, especially as some of them stared at her as she passed. Persis tapped softly at the dark green door on which was painted the No. 5, then lifted the latch and entered for the first time a ward in a workhouse.
The room was whitewashed, perfectly clean and neat, and a fire that burned brightly gave to it a certain look of comfort. There were six beds, perfectly alike, three on the right hand, three on the left, a deal-table between, with some medicine bottles upon it. There were but two inmates in the ward when the visitors entered; an old bed-ridden woman lying asleep in the farthest corner, and Sophy Puller, who, dressed in the workhouse garb of striped white and blue print, was seated on a bed near the door.