“That, I am afraid, cannot be helped; for the mother does go to Newark on foot. I could not persuade her to ride. She insists that she is very strong, and that her child is so wasted she scarcely feels the burthen of it; and besides, she travels but a very short distance in a day.”
Julia paused for a moment. She was very reluctant to give up the point, and finally, as the last resource of her ingenuity, she proposed that her mother should take the woman into the carriage. “We can just squeeze her in for a few miles, mama; she looks so perfectly nice, that even uncle can't object; and I want so to know if the little girl continues to get better.”
Mrs. Sackville could scarcely refrain from smiling at Julia's odd proposition to take in a way-faring woman and two children, but it had its source in such kind feelings, that she would not ridicule it. “I am afraid, my dear Julia,” she said, “that it is quite impossible to gratify you. You know your uncle already complains of wanting elbow-room.”
“Well then, mother, just listen to one more proposal:—take the woman into the carriage, and let Edward and me walk two or three miles. Three miles will be quite a lift to her, and Ned will lead the little boy.”
Mrs. Sackville could not resist Julia's eagerness, and after some consultation with her husband and brother, she consented to the arrangement, though it involved them in some inconvenience and delay. It was as much a matter of principle as feeling with her, never to permit her own personal accommodation to interfere with the claims of humanity. A child is more impressed with a single example of disinterestedness, than with a hundred admonitions on the subject. Mrs. Sackville had some difficulty in overcoming the scruples of Mrs. Barton, who felt a modest awkwardness at seating herself in the carriage with her superiors; but when they reached the Canada shore, the necessary arrangements were made, and she being at last persuaded, on the ground of gratifying the children, took their place in the carriage, and it drove off and left Edward and Julia to follow with little Richard Barton, and Tristram with the wallet.
Mr. Morris was one of those thrifty people, who can never see any necessity of poverty, and though he was in the main kind hearted, he was rather inclined to be severe in his judgment of the wretched. Poverty was always suspicious in his eyes. No sooner were they seated and well under way, than he said, “It is a mystery to me, my good woman, why people who have not any spare cash should always be travelling. Sometimes they are going up country to see a relation—and sometimes down country. All their kindred are sure to live at their antipodes.”
Mrs. Barton kept her eyes downcast on her child, and made no reply. “Now,” continued Mr. Morris, “what use or pleasure there can be in lugging children from Dan to Beersheba, is more than I can imagine.”
“God knows, I do not travel for the pleasure of it,” meekly replied the poor woman.
“Oh, no, no—I dare say not—I dare say not”—said Mr. Morris, who had whiffed away his pet with the first breath. “You are of another sort. But, pray, my friend, what are you travelling for?”
“To join my husband at Quebec.”