“Yes, even if papa heaves a heavy sigh over our demands. Let me think. We’ll go up stairs and look over our wardrobe, see what we have, and then we’ll know what we must have. Come, pet.”
And away went the two loving sisters—girls yet, though both were past their teens.
CHAPTER VI.
JOY TO TOIL-WORN HEARTS.
Mr. Legare, after leaving the bindery, drove, or was taken in his carriage, to a prominent bank, in which he was heavily interested, both as a stockholder and depositor, transacted some business there, then took a turn down Wall street to look into some stocks there, and returned home just in time for lunch.
He was met at the table by his two children—Frank, a son of five-and-twenty years, and Lizzie, a daughter just five years younger. His wife, their mother, had passed away two years before, leaving sweet memories only to cheer their saddened hearts, for as wife and mother she had been a treasure on earth.
“Well, children, how have you spent your morning?” asked the fond and ever indulgent father.
“I have been over in Forty-Fifth street, father, calling on your old friend, Mr. ——,” said Frank. “I love to visit the dear old fellow, and to hear him talk of his travels in Europe. He is droll, yet there is a vein of true philosophy in all he says. And his sketches of scenes he visited are so full of life and interest. An invalid, yet so cheerful—it would cure a misanthrope to visit him once in a while.”
“He is a good man, Frank, and I am glad you like to visit him. He has seen much of the world, and you can learn a great deal in conversing with him. And now, daughter, dear, how have you spent your afternoon?”
“I started out to go a-shopping, papa. You know you handed me a roll of money last night for that purpose. I went on foot, for I like exercise on a sunny morning like this. Only a little way from here, in front of the drug store on the next avenue, I saw a young girl, a mere child of ten or eleven years, crying bitterly. I asked her what was the matter, and learned, through her many sobs, that she had come with only seven cents, the last money she or her mother had in the world, to get medicine for that mother, who was sick. The medicine named in the prescription cost twenty cents, and the druggist would not let her have it without the money. I took the poor thing by the hand and went in and got the medicine for her, and in the meantime found out where she lived, in an alley only four blocks, dear father, from this rich home, in the basement of one of the old tumble-down houses, which are a disgrace to the city. I don’t know but I did wrong, papa, but I couldn’t help it. I went home with that little girl and saw her poor mother, sick, with four children, actually starving, in an unfurnished cellar—no food, no fire—nothing but want and wretchedness to meet my view. Father, there is a fire there now, and plenty to eat. The sick woman is on a good bed, our doctor has taken her case in hand, and the children, in decent clothes, will go to school next week. But I have not been shopping. I found better use for my money.”
“God bless my girl—my noble girl,” said Mr. Legare, and tears came in his eyes as he spoke. “Frank, my boy, Lizzie has outstripped us both in good works, though we both may have done some good; you in visiting and cheering up my invalid friend, and I—well, I, too, have had an adventure, and perhaps have been the indirect cause of bettering the condition of a poor, hard-working girl—the loveliest creature, by the way, that I ever saw, at home or abroad. And talented, too, the mistress of five languages; and, Lizzie, not so old, I should judge, as you, by a year or two.”