Deaf and Dumb! / Third Edition

by Elizabeth Sandham

After this, all the young ones, with Miller and Sally to take care of them, went to the copse to search for nuts; while Mrs. Goldsmith and her daughter staid within, to put away what had been used at breakfast, and to prepare the dinner. In the party out of doors, William was the most active: he climbed the trees, and not being interrupted by the conversation of the others, his whole attention was employed in gathering nuts for Miss Rawlinson and her brother, except that every now and then a glance was directed towards Lucy, who stood looking on his employment. With a look fully expressive of his meaning, he never presented the nuts to their visitors, without giving Lucy a few, as if to say: "Poor thing, she is but a child, and she is unfortunate; she will be uneasy if she has not some, and I know you will excuse it:" and then, with an approving nod and smile, he would direct her eyes towards their company, as if to make her sensible it was proper they should have the largest share. Having filled their little baskets, Miller prohibited their gathering any more, and then proceeded to an opening in the middle of the wood, and agreed to play at hunting the hare. "And shall not William play with us?" said Caroline, as she was endeavouring to make him sensible of the game, while his brother Harry directed him to sit with Lucy at a distance. "I don't like that in you, Harry," said Henry Rawlinson, who thought he meant to forbid his joining them, "why should not he be amused as well as we?" Harry blushed, and said, "Lucy would not be quiet unless William was with her; besides," continued he, "when he sees what it is we are playing at, and can understand it, he will come; and he can make Lucy sit without him better than we can."

During this conversation, William had marked the countenance of each; he saw anger in that of Master Rawlinson, and shame in his brother's, and entirely unconscious that he was himself the cause, his whole attention was directed to make up the disagreement he perceived between them. Tears stood in his eyes as he took the hand of Harry, and bringing him to Henry, whom he thought he had offended, he stroked the face of each, and with an imploring look seemed to say: "Do be reconciled." "He shall play," said Henry. "My dear," said Miller, who now interfered, "he did not mean any other; but you must think that he knows best what will suit his brother." "That's what I meant," replied Harry, pleased to find some one take his part, "when he sees what our game is, he will join us." "So much the better then," said Henry; "I beg your pardon;" and taking the hand of his foster-brother, he gave it a hearty shake.

Smiles once more appeared in their faces, but no countenance showed more pleasure than that of William, on seeing them thus friends again: he expressed it by "nods, and winks, and wreathed smiles;" and then went and took his place by Lucy, and in his manner made her understand they were going to play.

The game began, and the little girl was as much amused by looking on, as they were who were engaged in it. She discovered no want of understanding, but clapped her hands and laughed as loud as any of them, fully entering into their amusement. When William became thoroughly acquainted with the game, he made her sensible he was going to join them, (as his brother had said he would,) and then Lucy was doubly interested. Whenever she saw him likely to be caught, she screamed out, not with alarm, but as if to warn him of his danger, though neither herself nor he could hear the caution.

During this pleasant exercise Mr. Beaufort arrived, to whom Henry had almost forgotten he had given so pressing an invitation. The place of their retreat was near the road, and he heard the voices of his young friends, long before he saw them. Tying his horse to the paling which surrounded the house, he made his way to them, without seeing the good woman who belonged to it, and for some minutes, he stood unobserved, till Henry Rawlinson caught his eye: "Oh, there is Mr. Beaufort!" said he, and the game was ended in an instant. The eyes of all were directed to the stranger, and William, who had not heard the exclamation, immediately saw the cause of their breaking off so abruptly. But indeed it was not particularly so to him, to whom, from not having his hearing, every thing that happened, and for which he was not prepared by seeing what was going on, had that appearance. "You are come then," said Henry, to his friend, "this is very good of you;" and in his eagerness to welcome him, he had nearly overthrown little Lucy; who, on seeing the game ended, had risen from her seat to seek the hand of her favourite brother. "Oh, my dear!" said Henry, setting her again on her feet, "I did not mean to hurt you. She is deaf and dumb, Sir," continued he, addressing Mr. Beaufort, whose benevolent hand was stretched out to keep her from falling, and whose countenance, when he heard this, bore witness to his feelings. "Poor little girl," said he, offering her his hand, "what can be done for you?" Lucy looked half pleased, half frightened at his notice; yet there was something in his manner which excited her regard, and William's also, who by this time was at her side, and who read in the stranger's looks, that compassion for their case which he had often observed in others, when either Lucy or himself was the object of attention; and for which he felt a grateful sensation, such as seemed to tell him he had found a friend.

"And this poor boy has the same misfortune, Sir," said Miller, who was standing by them, and knowing the compassionate nature of Mr. Beaufort, felt assured he would not be unmindful of them. "Indeed!" replied he, "and yet what intelligent faces." "Oh, Sir! they are both very sensible children," returned Miller, "and you would be delighted to see their affection for each other." "Have they never heard of the Asylum?" resumed Mr. Beaufort, with earnestness, "their misfortune might be greatly lessened.—Where is their mother? I'll speak to her about it." And he turned hastily round, unmindful of his friend Henry, and every thing else but the charitable design he had in view. "She is within the house, Sir," answered Miller; "she feels their situation very keenly, but has no means of helping them." "I will help her," said he, as they led the way to the cottage. "There is one of our neighbour's sons in that Asylum," whispered Harry Goldsmith to his namesake, "and my mother has often wished William could be there; he has not been long, and he can speak already. She meant to ask your papa about it, the next time she came to town."

By this time Mr. Beaufort had entered the house; the table was neatly spread for the young folks' dinner, and the mother sitting with her baby in her arms. "Speak to it now, Mary," said she to her eldest daughter, who was standing behind, "now that it does not see you." She did so, but it took no notice.

"Oh! at nine months old this would not be the case, if it was not deaf," continued the poor woman, with a heavy sigh. "Another unfortunate!" exclaimed Mr. Beaufort on hearing this, as he entered the door. Mrs. Goldsmith instantly arose, and Henry Rawlinson introduced him as a gentleman who had come from their house. "Set the gentleman a chair, Mary," said she; and while Lucy, who had now reached her mother's side, kept pulling her by the gown, and pointing towards the stranger, she motioned her to be silent; and rather seemed to wish her to escape his notice, than to obtrude her on his attention.

"I am come to know the state of your family, my good woman," said he, "and to know whether I can be of any service to you. How old is that little boy?" pointing towards William. "Ten, Sir," answered she, "and the next is nearly eight." "No children older?" "Yes, Sir, a boy who is at work with his father, and that girl." "But whom do you wish assistance for most?" said Mr. Beaufort. "Oh, Sir, my poor William and Lucy!" she replied with great emotion; "they most need it." "I understand so," answered the benevolent man; "I know how they are situated; but do you know that there is a charity established lately, exactly suited to their case?" "Yes, Sir, I have heard of it," said she; "but I have no friend but Mr. Rawlinson," she continued, hesitatingly, "and I have thought that I would speak to him about it." "I will be your friend," said Mr. Beaufort; "I am one of the governors of that charity!"

It is impossible to describe the expression of joy and gratitude which appeared in the countenance of the poor woman. She could not utter a word; but her looks, and the tears which flowed from her eyes, spake her thanks more impressively than any thing she could have said. "No time is lost yet," continued Mr. Beaufort; "your boy could not have been admitted till he was nine years old, and, the next vacancy, I will give all my votes for him." The poor woman, a little recovered, could now express her thanks; and William, whose face had been like scarlet on seeing her distress, advanced towards her. "Have you taught him any thing?" asked Mr. Beaufort. "Oh, Sir, he has taught himself!" answered she: "he knows my meaning almost as soon as I look at him. I think he knows his letters, though I am not sure he puts the same meaning on them as we do; and figures he can tell, by counting on his fingers as many as he sees written. I am sure he does not want for sense, or his sister either; you can't think, Sir, how they love me, or how I love them! Dear little creatures, whenever I am out for a day's work, they sit by the road-side together, and as soon as they see me, if it is at half a mile's distance, William leads little Lucy towards me, and they meet me with such delight!" "Why, my good woman," said Mr. Beaufort, whose eyes bore witness to the pleasure with which he heard her artless relation, "your other children will be jealous, if you thus speak of them." "No, they won't, Sir," said she, "they are very good; they know that I ought to love these best, because they are unfortunate. And this poor baby, Sir," added she, pressing it to her bosom, "I fear it is in the same state: it takes no notice of any thing but what it sees." "I am sorry for you," replied the good-natured man, "but we will hope better things: it may be only a temporary deafness. At present, this little boy is the most to be attended to;" and he took his name and age down in his pocket-book, while the grateful mother put up a secret prayer that it might be attended with success.