It was a childish and cheerful voice that woke the silence of that little cottage, where mother and daughter had long sat absorbed in their different employments, and it may be in melancholy thought. But Lizzie Carson, though only fourteen, had learned the necessity of subduing her sadness in the presence of her mother, that she might not add one unnecessary pang to the already burdened heart of her beloved and only parent.—My little readers will ask what grief can they have?—if the mother is kind, and the daughter dutiful, and living in a cottage, which must of course be in the country, among the birds and flowers—why should they not be happy? Some of you, whose bright eyes are glancing over these pages, a present among many others perhaps from a fond father, can scarcely understand the many trials of the poverty-stricken and fatherless child. The constant toiling for mere sustenance—the anxious fear that illness may put a stop to their labors, and grim want stare them yet more steadily in the face—these and a thousand other ills, the pampered child of wealth can never know. Oh, if I could by any effort of my pen induce some of you, dear children, to think of these things—if I could persuade you how much happier you would feel in giving from your little stores, than in hoarding up all you receive, thereby engendering a selfish disposition—if, I say, I could induce you to be generous to the poor, I should think my time well spent in writing you this little story.
The mother of Lizzie Carson having received a good education from her parents, all they had to give, accepted the situation of teacher in a little village school, which she left to become the wife of John Carson, a small farmer in the neighborhood. Upright and honest, he had yet too little energy, owing to ill health, to succeed in the world, and year after year saw them sliding back instead of becoming more independent.
At last, when almost every thing had been sold to pay the rent, distress and anxiety did their work upon the enfeebled frame of the husband and father, and his plain deal coffin was among the last articles borne from the now desolate cottage.
NEW-YORK
D. APPLETON & CO. 200 BROADWAY.
Lizzie was at this time in her twelfth year, and accustomed as she had been from infancy to habits of self-denial, her manners were gentle and serious beyond her years. Deeply grieved at the death of her kind father, she yet strove hard to win back her mother to some degree of cheerfulness; and consulted with her upon their future means of support. It was at last decided that they should rent a room in a cottage not many miles distant from their former residence, where the mother hoped, by means of her needle, to keep themselves from want. But they were to be yet further tried in affliction, for Mrs. Carson, after obtaining work, was taken suddenly ill, and though able in a few weeks to get about the house, the rheumatism had settled in her hands, utterly preventing the use of her needle. Now was she to reap the reward of the religious instruction so carefully bestowed upon her daughter, now was “the bread cast upon the waters” returning “after many days,” for Lizzie’s noble spirit rose to meet their stem necessities.
“I am young, dear mother, but I am strong, and with God’s blessing upon my endeavors, will yet be able to support you. If I could obtain some paper and pencils, I think I could draw patterns for embroidery, and the storekeeper at the next town tells me they are quite in demand.”
Mrs. Carson drew her daughter to her bosom, inwardly blessing her; and promised she should have the materials, if they could borrow the requisite pence from their neighbor. This was obtained, and Lizzie soon completed a number of patterns, which she carried to the neighboring town, a distance of three miles. Here she was doomed to a disappointment, for owing to the number of patterns in the store, the woman, though kind-hearted and much interested in the appearance of the little girl, could not afford to give her so large a sum as she had first promised. Bearing up with what spirits she might, Lizzie turned her steps homeward, after purchasing some few necessaries for her mother. But the way seemed very long, and her little feet ached with traveling on the stones, so that it was with a heavy heart that she greeted her mother on her return. Still Lizzie Carson persevered, though her mother’s increased debility made severe inroads in her little earnings; and the evening on which we introduce them to our readers there was not a penny in the house, and they were beside in debt to a neighbor. Had they not cause for sad thoughts?
“I think, mother,” said Lizzie, after she had finished her drawing, “I will take this to the store to-night, and then I can get you some mixture. It distresses me so to hear you coughing when you should be sleeping.”