Lydia flew like lightening; and her Mamma being soon equipped, they hastened to Mrs. Brush.
The first thing they saw, was all her little scholars turned out of the room, and in a heap before the door crying.
When they went in, they found every thing pulled out of its place: a rough looking man had dragged her bedstead down stairs; and the little boy stood with his eyes fixed upon him, and sobbing said, What must mammy and I do for a bed? I am sure Mr. Flint does not want this: he has got a great many fine beds.
Upon being asked where his mammy was? he said in the garden. As they were passing through to go to her, they saw another man just going to pull her little copper down. Miss Lydia’s Mamma begged he would desist a little while, and he should not be a loser by it. She then went on; at the further end of the garden they saw the little girl and her mother in an arbour, which they had taken great pains to adorn with roses and honeysuckles; and in which they were now sitting, as they supposed, for the last time: they were weeping bitterly. The little girl’s eyes were fixed on the parrot, which hung on a tree near them, and which seemed to take part with them, by crying every minute, Poor Poll! What’s the matter?
The Lady and her daughter went on towards them; but as they were walking a young woman entered the garden hastily, and rushing by them, ran up to the woman, and catching hold of her arm, with great affection said, Thank God, cousin! I am come just in time! As soon as ever I heard you were in trouble, I left my place; and what with my wages, and the money I have raised upon my cloaths, I have been able to bring you enough to pay your rent. Take the four guineas, and let us get these frightful people out of the house.
The good woman looked very much amazed, and was silent for a moment; then again bursting into tears; God forbid, my dear Jenny! said she, that I should strip you. No, I can bear my own troubles; but I could never support the thought, that I had taken your bread out of your mouth. How could you think of leaving your place? so good a one as you had: and what have you done with your cloaths? I never thought I should be the occasion of doing you so much harm.
While these two friends were talking thus, the Lady and her daughter came up to them. The unfortunate woman, in the midst of her trouble, did not neglect to pay them proper respect: the young person stopped to make them a courtesy, and then earnestly went on. Never think about me, I am young, and can get my living; and after all you have done for me, I should be the most ungrateful creature in the world did I not assist you. If it had not been for you, I should not have been alive now; or, if I had, I should have been in a workhouse. When I was ill with that fever, you nursed me, laid me in your own bed, and sat up with me yourself, to tend me; and then paid my doctor’s bill, that I might not be obliged to sell my cloaths: and have not you the best right to them?
I a right! no, indeed said her cousin.
Surely you have, returned she: the money you spent upon me would have paid almost two years rent; and now you who lived so neatly, and so comfortably, are going to be pulled all to pieces. You will break my heart if you do not take the money: but why should I stand arguing with you, when I can go and pay the money myself. So saying, she was hastening out of the garden; when Miss Lydia’s Mamma catching hold of her, said, I was unwilling to interrupt so generous a dispute, and I waited a little to see what would be the end of it: but as to the rent, my daughter and I came on purpose to discharge it. Receive from my daughter (Mrs. Brush) four guineas, which we were going to spend otherwise; but upon nothing that would have given us half the pleasure which we feel in putting you in possession of your house again. As to you, young woman, your conduct is above all reward from man; and yet I wish—