When she had reached the spirit shop, its keeper was not there, but his son, a bright, intelligent boy of thirteen, stood behind the counter, playing with his little sister. Mary asked for the rum with a faltering voice, and as she offered the jug, our young tradesman, looking upon her with mingled contempt and pity, said, “What does your mother drink rum for?” Mary felt ashamed, and looked so sad that the boy was sorry for what he had said. He gave her the liquor, and tied up the scanty allowance of meal; and Mary, with a heavy heart and hasty step, proceeded upon her way.
When she reached her dwelling—and who needs a description of a drunkard’s dwelling?—her mother met her at the door, and hastily snatching the jug from her hand, drank off its burning contents. She then took the meal to prepare breakfast, and Mary was sent to gather some sticks to kindle the flame. The dough was then placed before the smoky, scanty fire, and the impatient children hovered round to watch its progress. Long, however, before it was sufficiently baked, they snatched it piece by piece away, till nothing but the empty tin remained.
The little boys, with their hunger scarcely satisfied, then left the house, to loiter, as usual, in the streets, while Mary, as she saw her mother become every moment more incapable of attending to the wants of her infant, took the poor little creature in her arms, and in trying to soothe its sufferings half forgot her own. She had just succeeded in lulling the baby, when her father entered. He had been in the meadow, picking the cranberries which had been preserved during the winter under the snow, and which could now be sold for a few cents a quart. Though once a strong and active man, so degraded had he become, that few persons were willing to employ him, and he resorted to picking cranberries as the only means left him of obtaining what his appetite so imperiously demanded.
On entering the room, and seeing the state his wife was in, he uttered a loud curse, and at the same time bade Mary leave the crying child and put on her bonnet, and hasten to the village to sell the cranberries, and call at the Yellow Shop on her return.
Mary put on her bonnet, and with a trembling heart commenced her walk. On her way, she met her brothers, and stopped to tell them that, as their father was then at home, they had better keep away from the house till her return. She then called from door to door; but at every place her timid inquiry, “Do you want any cranberries here?” met the same chilling answer, “No.”
At length, wearied out, and fearful that she could not dispose of them at all, she sat down by the road-side and wept bitterly. But the sun had long past his meridian, and was gradually lowering in the western sky. She must go home, and what would her father say if she returned with the cranberries unsold? This she could not do; and she determined to try to exchange them at the shop for the spirit her father wanted.
After waiting some time at the counter, till the wants of several wretched beings were supplied, she told her errand, and after much hesitation on the part of the shop-keeper, and much entreaty on her own, the cranberries were exchanged for rum. Mary then rapidly retraced her steps homeward, and with a beating heart entered the cottage.
Her father was not there, but her mother was, and upon inquiring where Mary had been, insisted on having the spirit. Mary refused as long as she dared, for she knew how terrible the anger of her father would be, if he found the quantity of rum diminished. But the mother, regardless of everything but the gratification of her appetite, seized the jug and drank a large part of its contents.
It was scarcely swallowed before her husband entered; and, enraged at seeing the spirit so much lessened, he reproached Mary first, and then his wife, in the most bitter terms. The provoking replies of the latter excited his rage almost beyond control; and Mary, fearing for the safety of herself and her brothers, crept with them into an empty closet, where, with their arms round each other, they remained, almost breathless with alarm, trembling at their father’s loud threats and their mother’s fearful screams.
At length the discord was hushed, and all was silent except the low groans of the suffering wife, and the cries of the helpless babe. The children then crept from their hiding-place to seek for some food, before they laid themselves down upon their wretched bed to forget their fears for a while in sleep. But in vain did they look for a crust of bread or a cold potato. Mary could find nothing but the remainder of the meal she had procured in the morning, but it was too late to attempt baking another cake. The fire was all out upon the hearth, and it was too dark to go in search of wood. So the hungry children, with their wants unsupplied, were obliged to lay themselves down to sleep.