This arrangement did not suit Mr. Jeffries; but he said nothing against it, while his wife shook her head. “The same old story; it will be as bad as ever in a week,” she said to herself.
The next day, the last we stayed at the Jeffries’, a traveller presented me with a book entitled “Self Helps,” and never a miser rejoiced more over his treasure than I did when I caught sight of its contents. So there had been hosts of poor boys trying just as I was for something better; and at last they found it; so should I.
At sunset Jennie and I walked back to our old home. Our new mother received us kindly, and the baby crowed and clapped his hands, seeming to regard us as old acquaintances.
The days and weeks passed, and it was the middle of autumn. There was a little corn to be gathered, and a few potatoes to be dug; but father’s good promises had all vanished. He was not cross, neither did he often scold, but he stayed from home; and when he was there, he was too stupid to care for any of us.
Winter came, and I attended a school nearly a mile from us; but this time we had no such friend as Charles Brisbane. The teacher seemed to know that we were poor and miserable; and when I went in late, as I almost always did, he was sure to give me a sharp reprimand. In vain it was to rise at four o’clock: there was fire to make, there were paths to shovel, the cow to milk, and breakfast to get; for my new mother would not rise until the room was warm, and this in our house could not be till the fire had been burning a good while.
Poor little Jennie had to stay at home entirely. Still she studied, and Miss Grimshaw out of the kindness of her heart sent us each a slate for her Christmas present. Never were more acceptable gifts, and I question if any Christmas since has brought us more pleasure, brightened as it was by two new slates.
The winter proved to be unusually severe; the snow deeper than for years. We managed to live, how I hardly know. There was plenty of wood that could be had for the cutting; but I had not sufficient strength to accomplish much in this way, and had to content myself with drawing up fallen timber, and branches that the wind had scattered. Towards spring, father was gone more than ever, sometimes not coming home till late at night; and then not till Jennie and I had taken the lantern and gone down to the village after him.
One night he was later than usual; the day had been unusually bleak, a heavy snow-storm setting in before noon, and by sunset we could hardly wade through it. Ten o’clock, and our mother for the first time grew uneasy; the baby was asleep; she left Jennie to rock the cradle, and giving me the lantern, we started for the village.
We had not made half the distance before we were covered with such a thick mantle of snow as to render it necessary to stop and shake ourselves; but my step-mother had a resolute will, when she chose to put it in force. In vain I counselled her to return, and let me go alone; finding she could not be persuaded, I waded through, making as good a path as possible, holding up my lantern so that father could see it if he was really on the way.
It was twelve o’clock when we reached the village; the lights were nearly all out, only one room was open, and that was the fatal one that tempted him so often from home.