Catharine's peril

by Mrs. M. E. Bewsher

I was much touched with her earnest, simple way of putting what was in fact a very great sacrifice as if she really felt it to be none at all. I remembered the old cloak she had worn the winter before, how thin and thread-bare it was; but I could not refuse the sweet pleading eyes, which were looking at me with such anxiety, lest I should reject her gift; so I said, 'Well, Jane, since your father and mother both approve, and you yourself are willing to give up your new cloak for the sake of these poor houseless ones, I can only say, God speed your gift, and make you to realize, in its fullest sense, the blessedness of giving!' Her face brightened with pleasure, and she thanked me warmly, as she made her curtsey and prepared to leave. 'No, I cannot let you go away,' I said; 'you must come with me, and take this money to Mrs. Martin yourself.'

'Oh, please, ma'am, I'd rather not,' she said, looking shy and timid again.

'But I want you to go, Jane, because I think this kindness and sympathy from one so young, and who is not much richer than herself, will do the poor woman as much good as the money itself. She is very much cast down; it troubles her to think that she is dependent upon others; and I think if you could say to her exactly what you have just said to me—if you told her the real pleasure you have in helping her, it might cheer and comfort her to think that the charity which is bestowed upon her in her heavy trouble is not flung at her as we might fling a bone to a dog, but is the offering of warm, kindly, and loving hearts.'

I am not quite sure if she understood all that I said to her, but she made no further opposition to going with me. I therefore got ready as soon as possible, and we went together to see Mrs. Martin. She was still with the same kind neighbour who had taken her in on the night of the fire, and still sat cowering over the fire in the very spot and attitude that I had left her two days before.

'She sits that way the whole day,' the good woman whispered to me, 'and there's no rousing her; she seems gone stupid-like.'

I went up to her and told her my errand, saying that the money I put in her hand was from the little girl who came with me, and who was anxious to contribute something to help her in her sore need. She looked at me, at the girl, and then at the money, and muttered—

'Yes, yes, I must live on charity now, and then go to the workhouse.'

'Speak to her, Jane,' I said, while I left the two together, and began talking to the woman of the house, that they might not feel themselves observed. I heard Jane speaking at first in very low tones, timidly and softly; then there was the same sweet, earnest, pleading voice with which she had spoken to me. In the intervals of my own conversation, I overheard one or two sentences. I heard her telling of the sermon she had heard, which seemed to have made a great impression on her mind; and then I heard her say:

'I'm sure if it had been mother's house that had been burnt down, and you had heard how father and mother and me and my brothers and sisters had no house, nor furniture, nor clothes, you would have done what you could to help us; now, wouldn't you? And you know it's just the same thing, only it's you and your children instead of mother and us that's in trouble; and you needn't mind taking a little help when you would willingly have given it.'

'And that's true,' I heard the widow reply, in a tone of greater interest than I had yet known her speak.