Delle’s next-door neighbor was an old woman, who, though poor as the children themselves, and dependent upon her own feeble exertions for support, had taken the deepest interest in this parentless family. She it was who proposed to Delle that she should go to her father’s brother, who lived in a town further to the west, and pray that he would help them in their need. This was the day after Mr. Hogg’s funeral, and the old “lady” had dropped in to console the children, bringing with her provisions for them which she could ill spare from her own little store. I was gone from home that year, but many times since I have heard Delle speak with tears of gratitude of the kindness of the good old Mrs. Jones at that crisis of their lives. She came to advise with Delle, as I have said, and even went so far in her Christian charity (by the way, though in the very act of constructing a fit and proper sentence, I must pause to say the ever-to-be-lamented Hood erred when he wrote so musically,
“Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian Charity
Under the sun;”
because there is plenty of charity and sympathy in the world, if people were only so wise as to know where to look for it. Do you think to find fragrance in the dahlia, and the bright-hued tulip-flowers? Vain will be your seeking. Go into the woods and fields, along the banks of the little stream—search in such places, you will not return successless, you will come back with your hands filled with fragrant violets and wild-roses!) as to offer to take charge of the younger member of the family during her necessary absence, and also to endeavor to gather from the neighbors sufficient funds to carry her to those friends. But to all these kind proposals, greatly astonished was the good woman by Delle’s firm refusal.
“No,” said she, “Mrs. Jones, I remember when our misfortunes overtook us three years ago; father wrote to uncle, and told him of our necessities, begging him to assist us, but uncle made such answer, that I will never repeat those requests; no, Mrs. Jones, though I should starve! But we shall not starve, neither shall my little ones come on the town. You know that after I left school, for some time I taught Charley and Georgy, and Jane, and I have learned them a great deal, beside improving myself, and this is what I’ll do. I’ll open a small school for children, and the neighbors—will they patronize me for my poor dear mother’s sake—oh, I will try, and teach so well!”
Poor Delle’s voice was not quite firm as she disclosed these projects to the kind-hearted old woman, but she did not cry; there was not a tear in her soft, down-cast eyes—but Mrs. Jones did weep outright when she looked on the excited young girl, and saw the flashes of color which betrayed her emotion, deeply tinging her cheek one moment, and the next leaving it colorless. She did weep, I say, and for some minutes made no answer to Delle’s inquiry; this sympathy which the old woman evinced, emboldened the maiden to speak again, for she felt she had no time to weep then—she must act.
“Do you think, dear Mrs. Jones, I shall succeed? Will the people be afraid to send their children to me because I am so young? Oh, if you will but speak to a few, just a few people, and tell them how I will try to do justice to their little ones. And tell them, yes, tell them, Mrs. Jones, that I do it to give bread to my children; they have always known me, they need not fear I will neglect theirs.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the old woman, hurriedly, starting up and wiping her eyes, “I’ll go this minute; bless your noble heart! they shall send their children to your school. I’ll be bound you’ll do justice to ’em—when shall I tell ’em you’ll open?”
“To-day—to-morrow—any day; let them come here, I shall be ready for them, I have no time to wait or to waste.”