Comfortable Mrs. Crook, and other sketches

by Ruth Lamb

But the word in the mouth of working folk carries a sadder meaning. As a rule it refers to the enforced idleness brought about by the lack of something for the busy hands to do, and, if long continued, means want of everything else for wives and children at home.

An anxious, careworn woman in real distress will say, "My husband is on short time. He has worked three days and played three, every week for the last two months." Or, "He has played since Christmas and we are into February."

Such an application of the word gives little heartache to those who hear it for the first time, and who have hitherto regarded play and joy as twins.

There are tens of thousands of toilers who, like John Carrington, have home claims which compel them to go the endless round of daily work, because they cannot afford to lose an hour's pay, though they are unfit for labour.

Think of this, you who call your time your own. Who have so much of it at your disposal that you are put to shifts and contrivances to kill it, or fritter away the hours which drag on too slowly, whilst you wait for some new pleasure that you have promised yourselves.

Think of it, you who have never experienced a moment's anxiety about a supply of the bread that perisheth and all its luxurious accompaniments which you would call the necessaries of life.

Try to imagine what it would be to go on, on, on, ever repeating the same tasks in the same place, with nothing new to look at even, no expectation of anything better, no hope of cessation, except through sickness which means suffering, or lack of work to do, which means lack of food also. And all this to support a bare existence of ceaseless toil, and for the barest bread as its reward.

Have you ever thought that a day's rest to such would be like a foretaste of heaven? A something longed for, but never hoped-for or looked for, by tens of thousands? A something you might give now and then without feeling the cost of it, though, having never been placed in such circumstances, you could not estimate its value. I do not mean the giving a day in the country. That kind of change is a very delightful one, a summer blessing which dwellers in dim city alleys know how to value. But this day of rest that I mean, would be an all-the-year-round boon, and would perhaps, be most precious in winter time, because then, the aching eyes and head of the weary seamstress suffer more, on account of the small allowance of light. Then the delicate frames shrink most from the pinching cold; and to have, just for one day, wages without toil, and food without having first to earn it, the freedom to sit at ease by a warm fireside, without being driven back to toil by the voice of necessity, would, I say, be heaven upon earth to many a deserving worker, who can never "afford to play."

I know a lady who gives this happiness now and then, to some of her poor acquaintances. When she sees one of them beginning to droop, say over her sewing machine, she says "What will a day's rest cost. Tell me, and I will pay for it."

Sometimes there is a press of work, and even the paying would not secure the holiday, but she bides her time, and waits, till the toiler would be allowed the day off, if she could afford to take it. Then the money is forthcoming, only the giver bargains that the day shall be spent happily and restfully, and the task work entirely put aside. She gives more than the wages, which are often small enough, so that there may be food and fire without stint, and advises that part of the time be spent out of doors, weather permitting, except where the person helped will be benefited by staying in and enjoying warmth and rest together.