"Mother, I'll take down Ailie, an' see what's wantin'," suggested Horatio, sitting up. He had been wandering for hours through the streets, poor boy, vainly seeking for employment, while barely recovered from a severe attack of low fever, and subsisting on a mere scrap of bread. Esther shook her head.
"Ye've been on the tramp all day, and you're fit for nothin' but sleep. I'll go with Ailie myself."
"You've been nigh as long on the tramp yourself, mother."
"A boy's little use in a sick-room," said Esther. "Get to bed, Lettie and Roger—an' you too, Hor. I'll be back when I can."
Taking the child's hand in her own, she left the room again, and Ailie went submissively, though trembling. Down one flight of stairs after another they made their way, Esther walking more steadily now, perhaps strengthened by her little taste of supper. Perhaps the very act of caring for others imparted vigour to herself.
Not that it was done with the highest motives. Not that Esther had any thought of "serving the Lord." No such Heavenly light shone in upon the Forsyth's dreary home as would have come from trust in a Heavenly Father's watchful love. If the good seed had ever been sown in Esther's heart, the pressing cares of poverty had long ago stifled its growth, and smothered out the germ of life. She and her husband had struggled long in past years to retain a respectable appearance, but of late a cloud seemed to have settled down upon them all.
John was not an unsteady man in the main, but sometimes, in the mere longing to escape from idleness, and its attendant train of miseries, he fled to the public-house, and, once there, what wonder if he stayed too long, and took too much? The crowded room which formed his home could indeed offer small attractions.
Esther bore it all silently—bore it as she bore everything else, with a kind of dogged patience. Down in her heart the canker-worm of hopelessness was sapping the springs of energy. But for her children, she could have lain down without a wish ever to rise again. For love of them she strove on, sought work, denied herself, and lived a life of silent endurance. But it was so long now since all regular work had failed, that the old struggle for at least the appearance of respectability was dying out. They were growing used to rags and tatters, and scanty clothing—worse still, even to want of cleanliness. What was the use of striving? When failing for lack of food, and sinking with the long day's search for the means of livelihood, Esther was in no state for "cleaning up," she would have said.
And yet the woman's heart of sympathy beat still beneath that soiled cotton gown. She could not see Ailie Carter in distress, and not do the little in her power to help.
