Chapter 7 OF WORK A STORY OF EXPERIENCE The year that followed was the saddest Christy had ever known, for she suffered a sort of poverty which is more difficult to bear than actual want, since money cannot lighten it, and the rarest charity alone can minister to it. Her heart was empty, and she could not fill it. Her soul was hungry, and she could not feed it. Life was cold and dark, and she could not warm and brighten it, for she knew not where to go. She tried to help herself by all the means in her power, and when effort after effort failed she said, I am not good enough yet to deserve happiness. I think too much of human love, too little of divine. When I have made God, my friend, perhaps He will let me find and keep one heart to make life happy with. How shall I know God? Who will tell me where to find Him, and help me to love and lean upon Him as I ought? In all her sincerity she asked these questions.   She went to many churches, studied many creeds, and watched their fruits as well as she could, but still remained unsatisfied. Some were cold and narrow, some seemed theatrical and superficial. Some stern and terrible, none simple, sweet, and strong enough for humanity's many needs. There was too much machinery, too many walls, laws, and penalties between the father and his children. Too much fear, too little love, too many saints and intercessors, too little faith in the instincts of the soul which turns to God as flowers to the sun. Too much idle strife about names and creeds, too little knowledge of the natural religion which has no name but godliness, whose creed is boundless and benignant as the sunshine, whose faith is as the tender trust of little children in their mother's love. Nowhere did Christy find this all-sustaining power, this paternal friend and comforter, but after months of patience searching she gave up her quest, saying despondently, I am afraid I never shall get religion, for all that's offered me seems so poor, so narrow, or so hard, that I cannot take it for my stay, a God of wrath I cannot love, a God that must be propitiated, adorned, and adored like an idol I cannot respect, and a God who can be blinded to men's iniquities through the week by a little beating of the breast and bowing down on the seventh day I cannot serve. I want a father to whom I can go with all my sins and sorrows, all my hopes and joys, as freely and fearlessly as I used to go to my human father, sure of help and sympathy and love. Shall I ever find him? Alas, poor Christy! She was going through the sorrowful perplexity that comes to so many before they learn that religion cannot be given or bought, but must grow as trees grow, needing frost and snow, rain and wind to strengthen it before it is deep-rooted in the soul, that God is in the hearts of all, and they that seek shall surely find him when they need him most. So Christy waited for religion to reveal itself to her, and while she waited, worked with an almost desperate industry, trying to buy a little happiness for herself by giving a part of her earnings to those whose needs money could supply. She clung to her little room, for there she could live her own life undisturbed and preferred to stint herself in other ways rather than give up this liberty. Day after day she sat there sowing health of mind and body into the long seams or dainty stitching that passed through her busy hands, and while she sewed she thought sad, bitter, often times rebellious thoughts. It was the worst life she could have led just then, for, deprived of the active, cheerful influences she most needed, her mind preyed upon itself slowly and surely, preparing her for the dark experience to come. She knew that there was fitter work for her somewhere, but how to find it was a problem which wiser women have often failed to solve. She was no pauper, yet was one of those whom poverty sets at odds with the world, for favors burden and dependence makes the bread bitter unless love brightens the one and sweetens the other. There are many Christie's, willing to work, yet unable to bear the contact with coarser natures which makes labor seem degrading, or to endure the hard struggle for the bare necessities of life when life has lost all that makes it beautiful. People wonder when such as she say they can find little to do, but to those who know nothing of the pangs of pride, the sacrifices of feeling, the martyrdoms of youth, love, hope, and ambition that go on under the faded cloaks of these poor gentle women who tell them to go into factories or scrub in kitchens, for there is work enough for all, the most convincing answer would be, try it. She kept up bravely till a wearisome low fever broke both strength and spirit and brought the weight of debt upon her when least fitted to bear or cast it off. For the first time she began to feel that she had nerves which would rebel and a heart that could not long endure isolation from its kind without losing the cheerful courage which hitherto had been her staunchest friend. Perfect rest, kind care, and genial society were the medicines she needed, but there was none to minister to her, and she went blindly on along the road so many women tread. She left her bed too soon, fearing to ask too much of the busy people who had done their best to be neighborly. She returned to her work when it felt heavy in her feeble hands, for debt-made idleness seemed wicked to her conscientious mind, and worst of all she fell back into the bitter, brooding mood which had become habitual to her since she lived alone. While the tired hands slowly worked, the weary brain ached and burned with heavy thoughts, vain longings, and feverish fancies till things about her sometimes seemed as strange and spectral as the phantoms that had haunted her half-delirious sleep. Inexpressibly wretched were the heavy days, the restless nights, with only pain and labor for companions. The world looked very dark to her, life seemed an utter failure, God a delusion, and the long lonely years before her too hard to be endured. It is not always want, insanity or sin, that drives women to desperate deaths. Often it is a dreadful loneliness of heart, a hunger for home and friends, worse than starvation, a bitter sense of wrong in being denied the tender ties, the pleasant duties, the sweet rewards that can make the humblest life happy, a rebellious protest against God, who, when they cry for bread, seems to offer them a stone. Some of these impatient souls throw life away, and learn too late how rich it might have been with a stronger faith, a more submissive spirit. Others are kept, and slowly taught to stand and wait till blessed with a happiness the sweeter for the doubt that went before. There came a time to Christy, when the mist about her was so thick, she would have stumbled and fallen, had not the little candle, kept alight by her own hand, showed her how far a good deed shines in a naughty world, and when God seemed utterly forgetful of her, he sent a friend to save and comfort her. March winds were whistling among the housetops, and the sky was darkening with a rainy twilight as Christy folded up her finished work, stretched her weary limbs, and made ready for her daily walk. Even this was turned to profit, for then she took home her work, went in search of more, and did her own small marketing. As late hours and unhealthy labor destroyed appetite, and unpaid debts made each mouthful difficult to swallow with Mrs. Flint's hard eye upon her, she had undertaken to supply her own food, and so lessened the obligation that burdened her.  As she stood before the little mirror, smoothing the hair upon her forehead, she watched the face reflected there, wondering if it could be the same she used to see so full of youth and hope and energy. Yes, I'm growing old. My youth is nearly over, and at thirty I shall be a faded dreary woman like so many I see in pity. It's hard to come to this after trying so long to find my place and do my duty. I am a failure after all, and might as well have stayed with Aunt Betsy or Mary Jo. Miss Devon, today is Saturday, and I'm making up my bills, so I'll trouble you for your month's board and as much on the old account as you can let me have. Mrs. Flint spoke, and her sharp voice rasped the silence like a file, for she had entered without knocking, and her demand was the first intimation of her presence. Christy turned slowly round, for there was no elasticity in her motions now. Through the melancholy anxiety her face always wore of late, there came the worried look of one driven almost beyond endurance, and her hands began to tremble nervously as she tied on her bonnet. Mrs. Flint was a hard woman, and donned her debtors relentlessly. Christy dreaded the sight of her, and would have left the house had she been free of debt. I am just going to take these things home and get more work. I am sure of being paid, and you shall have all I get. But for heaven's sake give me time. Two days and a night of almost uninterrupted labor had given a severe strain to her nerves, and left her in a dangerous state. Something in her face arrested Mrs. Flint's attention. She observed that Christy was putting on her best cloak and hat, and to her suspicious eye the bundle of work looked unduly large. It had been a hard day for the poor woman, for the cook had gone off in a huff. The chamber girl had been detected in petty larceny. Two desirable boarders had disappointed her, and the incapable husband had fallen ill. So it was little wonder that her soul was tried, her sharp voice sharper, and her sour temper sourer than ever. I have heard of folks putting on their best things and going out but never coming back again when they owed money. It's a mean trick, but it's sometimes done by them you wouldn't think it of, she said, with an aggravating sniff of intelligence. To be suspected of dishonesty was the last drop in Christy's full cup. She looked at the woman with a strong desire to do something violent, for every nerve was tingling with irritation and anger. But she controlled herself, though her face was colorless and her hands were more tremulous than before. Unfascining her comfortable cloak she replaced it with a shabby shawl. Took off her neat bonnet and put on a hood. Unfolded six linen shirts, and took them out before her landlady's eyes. Then retied the parcel, and, pausing on the threshold of the door, looked back with an expression that haunted the woman long afterward, as she said, with the quiver of strong excitement in her voice, Mrs. Flint, I have always dealt honorably by you. I always mean to do it, and I don't deserve to be suspected of dishonesty like that. I leave everything I own behind me, and if I don't come back you can sell them all and pay yourself, for I feel now as if I never wanted to see you or this room again. Then she went rapidly away, supported by her indignation, for she had done her best to pay her debts, had sold a few trinkets she possessed, and several treasures given by the carols to settle her doctor's bill, and had been half-killing herself to satisfy Mrs. Flint's demands. The consciousness that she had been too lavish in her generosity when fortune smiled upon her made the present want all the harder to bear. But she would neither beg nor borrow, though she knew Harry would delight to give, and Uncle Enos lend her money with a lecture on extravagance gratis. I'll paddle my own canoe as long as I can, she said sternly, and when I must ask help I'll turn to strangers for it, or scuttle my boat and go down without troubling anyone. When she came to her employer's door the servant said, Mrs. was out. Then seeing Christy's disappointed face she added confidentially, if it's any comfort to know it I can tell you that Mrs. wouldn't have paid you if she had been to home. There's been three other women here with work, and she's put them all off. She always does, and beats them down into the bargain, which ain't genteel to my thinking. She promised me I should be well paid for these, because I undertook to get them done without fail. I've worked day and night rather than disappoint her, and feel sure of my money, said Christy despondently. I'm sorry, but you won't get it. She told me to tell you your prices was too high, and she could find folks to work cheaper. She did not object to the price when I took the work, and I have half ruined my eyes over the fine stitching. See if it isn't nicely done. And Christy displayed her exquisite needlework with pride. The girl admired it, and, having a grievance of her own, took satisfaction in berating her mistress. It's a shame these things are part of a present the ladies are going to give the minister, but I don't believe he'll feel easy in them if poor folks is wrong to get them. Mrs. won't pay what they're worth, I know. For don't you see, the cheaper the work is done, the more money she has to make a spread with her share of the present. It's my opinion you'd better hold on to these shirts till she pays for them handsome. No, I'll keep my promise, and I hope she will keep hers. Tell her I need the money very much, and have worked very hard to please her. I'll come again on Monday if I'm able. Christy's lips trembled as she spoke, for she was feeble still, and the thought of that hard-earned money had been her sustaining hope through the weary hours spent over that ill-paid work. The girl said, good-bye, with a look of mingled pity and respect, for in her eyes the seamstress was more of a lady than the mistress in this transaction. Christy hurried to another place, and asked eagerly if the young ladies had any work for her. Not a stitch was the reply, and the door closed. She stood a moment looking down upon the passers-by, wondering what answer she would get if she accosted anyone, and had any especially benevolent face looked back at her, she would have been tempted to do it, so heart-sick and forlorn did she feel just then. She knocked at several other doors to receive the same reply. She even tried a slop shop. But it was full, and her pale face was against her. Her long illness had lost her many patrons, and if one steps out from the ranks of needle-women, it is very hard to press in again, so crowded are they, and so desperate the need of money. One hope remained, and though the way was long, and a foggy drizzle had set in, she minded neither distance nor the chilly rain, but hurried away with anxious thought still dogging her steps. Across a long bridge, through muddy roads and up a stately avenue she went, pausing at last, spent and breathless at another door. A servant with a wedding-favor in his buttonhole opened to her, and while he went to deliver her urgent message, she peered in wistfully from the dreary world without, catching glimpses of home love and happiness that made her heart ache for very pity of its own loneliness. A wedding was evidently afoot, for hall and staircase blazed with light and bloomed with flowers. Smiling men and maids ran to and fro, opening doors showed tables beautiful with bridal white and silver. Savory odors filled the air, gave voices echoed above and below, and once she caught a brief glance at the body-bride, standing with her father's arm around her, while her mother gave some last loving touch to her array, and a group of young sisters with April faces clustered around her. The pretty picture vanished all too soon. The man returned with a hurried no for answer, and Christie went out into the deepening twilight with a strange sense of desperation at her heart. It was not the refusal, not the fear of want, nor the reaction of overtaxed nerves alone. It was the sharpness of the contrast between that other woman's fate and her own that made her wring her hands together and cry out bitterly, Oh, it isn't fair! it isn't right! that she should have so much and I so little. What have I ever done to be so desolate and miserable and never to find any happiness, however hard I tried to do what seems my duty? There was no answer, and she went slowly down the long avenue, feeling that there was no cause for hurry now, and even night and rain and wind were better than her lonely room, or Mrs. Flint's complaints. A far off the city lights shone faintly through the fog, like pale lamps seen in dreams. The damp air cooled her feverish cheeks, the road was dark and still, and she longed to lie down and rest among the sodden leaves. When she reached the bridge she saw the draw was up, and a spectral ship was slowly passing through. With no desire to mingle in the crowd that waited on either side, she paused, and, leaning on the railing, let her thoughts wander where they would. As she stood there the heavy air seemed to clog her breath and wrap her in its chilly arms. She felt as if the springs of life were running down and presently would stop. For even when the old question, what shall I do, came haunting her. She no longer cared even to try to answer it, and had no feeling but one of utter weariness. She tried to shake off the strange mood that was stealing over her, but spent body and spent brain were not strong enough to obey her will, and in spite of her efforts to control it, the impulse that had seized her grew more intense each moment. Why should I work and suffer any longer for myself alone, she thought. Why wear out my life, struggling for the bread I have no heart to eat? Am I not wise enough to find my place, nor patient enough to wait until it comes to me? Better give up trying, and leave room for those who have something to live for. Many a stronger soul has known a dark hour when the impotunate wish has risen that it were possible and right to lay down the burdens that oppress, the perplexities that harass, and hasten the coming of the long sleep that needs no lullaby. Such an hour was this to Christie, for, as she stood there, that sorrowful bewilderment which we call despair came over her, and ruled her with a power she could not resist. A flight of steps close by led to a lumber wharf, and, scarcely knowing why, she went down there, with a vague desire to sit still somewhere and think her way out of the mist that seemed to obscure her mind. A single tall lamp shone at the farther end of the platform, and presently she found herself leaning her hot forehead against the iron pillar, while she watched with curious interest the black water rolling sluggishly below. She knew it was no place for her, yet no one waited for her, no one would care if she stayed for ever, and yielding to the perilous fascination that drew her there, she lingered with a heavy throbbing in her temples, and a troop of wild fancies whirling through her brain. Something white swept by below, only a broken oar, but she began to wonder how a human body would look floating through the night. It was an awesome fancy, but it took possession of her, and as it grew her eyes dilated, her breath came fast, and her lips fell apart, for she seemed to see the phantom she had conjured up, and it wore the likeness of herself. With an ominous chill creeping through her blood and a growing tumult in her mind she thought, I must go, but still stood motionless, leaning over the wide gulf, eager to see where that dead thing would pass away. So plainly did she see it, so peaceful was the white face, so full of rest, the folded hands, so strangely like and yet unlike herself, that she seemed to lose her identity and wondered which was the real and which the imaginary Christy.  For an instance everything grew black before her eyes, and the earth seemed to slip away from underneath her feet.  The rescue. Was I going to drown myself? She asked, slowly, with a fancy that she had been dreaming frightfully, and someone had awakened her. You were most gone, but I came in time, thank God. Oh, Christy, don't you know me? Ah, no fear of that. For with one bewildered look, one glad cry of recognition, Christy found her friend again and was gathered close to Rachel's heart. My dear, my dear, what drove you to it? Tell me all, and let me help you in your trouble, as you help me in mine. She said, as she tenderly laid the poor white face upon her breast, and wrapped her shawl about the trembling figure clinging to her with such passionate delight. I have been ill. I worked too hard. I am not myself tonight. I owe money. People disappoint and worry me. And I was so worn out, and weak, and wicked, I think I meant to take my life. No, dear, it was not you that meant to do it, but the weakness and the trouble that bewildered you. Forget it all, and rest a little, life with me, then we'll talk again. Rachel spoke soothingly, for Christy shivered and sighed as if her own thoughts frightened her. For a moment they sat silent, while the mist trailed its white shroud above them, as if death had paused to beckon a tired child away. But finding her so gently cradled on a warm human heart, had relented and passed on, leaving no waith but the broken ore for the river to carry toward the sea. Tell me about yourself, Rachel. Where have you been so long? I've looked and waited for you ever since the second little note you sent me on last Christmas, but you never came. I've been away, my dear, hard at work in another city, larger and wicker than this. I tried to get work here that I might be near you, but that cruel cotton always found me out, and I was so afraid I should get desperate that I went away where I was not known. There it came into my mind to do for others more wretched than I, what you had done for me. God put the thought into my heart, and He helped me in my work, for it has prospered wonderfully. All this year I have been busy with it, and almost happy, for I felt that your love made me strong to do it, and that in time I might grow good enough to be your friend. See what I am, Rachel, and never say that any more. Hush, my poor dear, and let me talk. You are not able to do anything but rest and listen. I knew how many poor souls went wrong when the devil tempted them, and I gave all my strength to saving those who were going the way I went. I had no fear, no shame to overcome, for I was one of them. They would listen to me, for I knew what I spoke. They could believe in salvation, for I was saved. They did not feel so outcast and full-orn when I told them you had taken me into your innocent arms and loved me like a sister. With every one I helped my power increased, and I felt as if I had washed away a little of my own great sin. Oh, Christy, never think it's time to die till you are called, for the Lord leaves us till we have done our work, and never sends more sin and sorrow than we can bear and be the better for if we hold fast by Him. So beautiful and brave she looked, so full of strength, and yet of meek submission was her voice, that Christy's heart was thrilled, for it was plain that Rachel had learned how to distill bomb from the bitterness of life, and groping in the mire to save lost souls, had found her own salvation there. Show me how to grow pious, strong and useful as you are, she said. I am all wrong, and feel as if I never could get right again, for I have an energy enough to care what becomes of me. I know the state, Christy. I've been through it all.  Thank God I came in time to save you from either death. How did you find me, asked Christy, when she had echoed in her heart the thanksgiving that came with such fervor from the other's lips? I passed you on the bridge. I did not see your face, but you stood leaning there so wearily, and looking down into the water as I used to look, that I wanted to speak, but did not, and I went on to comfort a poor girl who was dying yonder. Something turned me back, however, and when I saw you down here, I knew why I was sent. You were almost gone, but I kept you. And when I had you in my arms, I knew you, though it nearly broke my heart to find you here. Now, dear, come home. Ah, Rachel, I've got no home, and for want of one I shall be lost. The lament that broke from her was more pathetic than the tears that streamed down, hot and heavy, melting from her heart the frost of her despair. Her friend let her weep, knowing well the worth of tears, and while Christy sobbed herself quiet, Rachel took thought for her as tenderly as any mother. When she had heard the story of Christy's troubles, she stood up as if inspired with a happy thought, and stretching both hands to her friend, said with an air of cheerful assurance, most comforting to see. I'll take care of you. Come with me, my poor Christy, and I'll give you a home very humble, but honest and happy. With you, Rachel? No, dear, I must go back to my work, and you are not fit for that.  You want change, and I'll give you one. It will seem queer at first, but it is a wholesome place, and just what you need. I'll do anything you tell me. I'm past thinking for myself tonight, and only want to be taken care of till I find strength and courage enough to stand alone, said Christy, rising slowly, and looking about her with an aspect as helpless and hopeless as if the cloud of mist was a wall of iron. Rachel put on her bonnet for her, and wrapped her shawl about her, saying in a tender voice that warmed the other's heart, close by lives a dear good woman who often be friends such as you and I. She will take you in without a question, and love to do it, for she is the most hospitable soul I know. Just tell her you want work, that I sent you, and there will be no trouble. Then, when you know her a little, confide in her, and you will never come to such a pass as this again. Keep up your heart, dear. I'll not leave you till you are safe. So cheerily she spoke, so confident she looked, that the lost expression passed from Christy's face, and hand in hand they went away together, two types of the sad sisterhood standing on either shore of the dark river that is spanned by the bridge of size. Rachel led her friend toward the city, and coming to the mechanic's quarter stopped before the door of a small old house. Let's knock, say Rachel sent me, and you'll find yourself at home. Stay with me, or let me go with you. I can't lose you again, for I need you very much, pleaded Christy, clinging to her friend. Not so much as that poor girl dying all alone. She's waiting for me, and I must go, but I'll write soon. And remember, Christy, I shall feel as if I had only paid a very little of my debt if you go back to the sad old life, and lose your faith and hope again. God bless and keep you, and when we meet next time let me find a happier face than this. Rachel kissed it with her heart on her lips, smiled her brave sweet smile, and vanished in the mist. Pausing for a moment to collect herself, Christy recollected that she had not asked the name of the new friend whose help she was about to ask. A little sign on the door caught her eye, and bending down she managed to read by the dim light of the streetlamp these words. See Wilkins, clear stature, laces done up in the best style. Too tired to care whether a laundress or a lady took her in, she knocked timidly, and when she waited for an answer to her summons, stood listening to the noises within. A swashing sound as of water was audible, likewise a scuffling as a flying feet. Someone clapped hands, and a voice said warningly, Enter your beds this instant minute, or I'll come to you. Andrew jackson give gusty a boost. And Lizzie, don't you tech wash his feet to tickle him. Sit pretty in the tub, victory, dear while Macie's who's rappin'. See Wilkins, clear stature. Then heavy footsteps approached. The door opened wide, and a large woman appeared, with fuzzy red hair, no front teeth, and a plump clean face brightly illuminated by the lamp she carried. If you please, Rachel sent me. She thought you might be able. They got no further, for see Wilkins put out a strong bare arm, still damp, and gently drew her in, saying, with the same motherly tone as when addressing her children, Come right in, dear, and don't mind the clutter things is in. I'm givin' the children their Saturday scrubbin', and they will slop and kite round no matter if I do spank'em. Talking all the way in such an easy comfortable voice that Christy felt as if she must have heard it before, Mrs. Wilkins led her unexpected guest into a small kitchen, smelling suggestively of soap suds and warm flat irons. In the middle of this apartment was a large tub.  How pretty cried Christy, seeing nothing else, and stopping short to admire this innocent little Venus rising from the sea. So she is! Mazdarlin' lamb, and catchin' her death a cold, this blessed minute! Set right down, my dear, and tuck your wet feet into the oven. I'll have a dish of tea for you in less than all time, and while it's drawn I'll clap victory Adelaide into her bed. Christy sank into a shabby but most hospitable old chair, dropped her bonnet on the floor, put her feet in the oven, and leaning back watched Mrs. Wilkins wipe the baby as if she had come for that special purpose. As Rachel predicted she found herself at home at once, and presently was startled to hear a laugh from her own lips when several children in red and yellow flannel nightgowns darted like meteors across the open doorway of an adjoining room, with whoops and howls, bursts of laughter, and antics of all sorts. How pleasant it was, that plain room with no ornaments but the happy faces, no elegance but cleanliness, no wealth but hospitality and lots of love. This latter blessing gave the place its charm, for though Mrs. Wilkins threatened to take her infant's noses off if they got out of bed again, or put them in the kettle and buy them, they evidently knew no fear, but gambled all the nearer to her for the threat, and she beamed upon them with such maternal tenderness and pride that her homely face grew beautiful in Christy's eyes. When the baby was bundled up in a blanket and about to be set down before the stove to simmer, a trifle before being put to bed, Christy held out her arms, saying with an irresistible longing in her eyes and voice, Let me hold her. I love babies dearly, and it seems as if it would do me more good than quarts of tea to cuddle her if she'll let me. There, now, that's real sensible, and Mother's bird will sit along with you as good as a kitten. Toaster tootsies while, for she's croopy, and I have to be extra choice of her.  That's what she wants, poor critter. I'll let her have a right nice time and warm and feed and jerk her up, and then I'll see what's to be done for her. She ain't one of the common sort, and goodness knows what Rachel sent her here for. She's poor and sick, but she ain't bad. I can tell that by her face, and she's a sort I like to help. It's a mercy I ain't eat my supper so she can have that bit of meat in the pie. Seeing a tray on the little table, the good soul set forth all she had to give, and offered it with such hospitable warmth that Christy ate and drank with unaccustomed appetite, finishing off deliciously with a kiss from baby before she was born away by her mother to the back bedroom, where peace soon reigned. Now let me tell you who I am and how I came to you in such an unceremonious way, began Christy, when her hostess returned and found her warmed, refreshed, and composed by a woman's three best comforters, kind words, a baby, and a cup of tea. Piers to me, dear! I wouldn't rile myself up by telling any worryments to-night, but get right warm in her bed and have a good long sleep, said Mrs. Wilkins, without a ray of curiosity in her wholesome red face. But you don't know anything about me, and I may be the worst woman in the world, cried Christy, anxious to prove herself worthy of such confidence. I know that you won't take care of child, or Rachel wouldn't have sent you. If I can help anyone, I don't want no introduction, and if you be the worst woman in the world, which you ain't, I wouldn't shut my door on you, for then you'd need a lift more than you do now. Christy could only put out her hand and mutely thank her new friend with full eyes.  It ain't a might of inconvenience, the room is kept for company, and it's already, even to a clean-night cap. I'm going to clap this warm flat to your feet when you're fixed. It's amazing comfort in and keeps your head cool. Up they went to a tidy little chamber, and Christy found herself laid down to rest none too soon, for she was quite worn out. Sleep began to steal over her the moment her head touched the pillow, in spite of the much-beruffled cap which Mrs. Wilkins put on with visible pride in its stiffly crimped borders. She was dimly conscious of a kind hand tucking her up, a comforting voice purring over her, and best of all, a motherly good-night kiss. Then the weary world faded quite away, and she was at rest. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Recording by Darla Ealy. Work A Story of Experience by Louisa Mae Elcott Chapter 8 A Cure for Despair When Christy opened the eyes that had closed so wearily, afternoon sunshine streamed across the room, and seemed the herald of happier days. Refreshed by sleep and comforted by grateful recollections of her kindly welcome, she lay tranquilly enjoying the friendly atmosphere about her, with so strong a feeling that a skillful hand had taken the rudder, that she felt very little anxiety or curiosity about the haven which was to receive her boat after this narrow escape from shipwreck. Her eye wandered to and fro, and brightened as it went. For though a poor, plain room it was as neat as hands could make it, and so glorified with sunshine that she thought at a lovely place, in spite of the yellow paper with green cabbage roses on it, the gorgeous plaster statuary on the mantelpiece, and the fragrance of doughnuts which pervaded the air. Everything suggested home life, humble but happy, and Christy's solitary heart warmed at the sights and sounds about her.  From below came up the sound of childish voices chattering, childish feet trotting to and fro, and childish laughter sounding sweetly through the Sabbath stillness of the place. From a room nearby came the soothing creek of a rocking chair, the rustle of a newspaper, and now and then a scrap of conversation commonplace enough, but pleasant to hear because so full of domestic love and confidence. And as she listened, Christy pictured Mrs. Wilkins and her husband taking their rest together after the week's hard work was done. I wish I could stay here, so comfortable in home life. I wonder if they wouldn't let me have this room and help me to find some better work than sewing. I'll get up and ask them, thought Christy feeling an irresistible desire to stay, and strong repugnance to returning to the room she had left, for, as Rachel truly said, it was haunted for her. When she opened the door to go down, Mrs. Wilkins bounced out of her rocking chair and hurried to meet her with a smiling face, saying all in one breath, Good morning, dear. Rested well, I hope. I'm proper glad to hear it, and I'll come right down and have your dinner. I kept it hot, for I couldn't bear to wake you up you asleep and so beautiful. I was so worn out I slept like a baby, and feel like a new creature. It was so kind of you to take me in, and I'm so grateful I don't know how to show it, said Christy warmly as her hostess ponderously descended the complaining stairs, and ushered her into the tiny kitchen from which tubs and flat irons were banished one day in the week. Lawful sakes, they ain't nothing to be grateful for, child, and you're hardly welcome to the little odd dawn. We are country folks in our ways, though we be livin' in the city, and we have a regular country dinner Sundays. Hope you relish it, my vitals is clean if they enrich. As she spoke, Mrs. Wilkins dished up baked beans, Indian pudding, and brown bread enough for half a dozen. Christy was hungry now, and ate with an appetite that delighted the good lady who vibrated between her guest and her children.  Now, please let me tell you all about myself, for I am afraid you think me something better than I am. If I ask help from you, it is right that you should know whom you are helping, said Christy, when the table was cleared and her hostess came and sat down beside her. Yes, my dear, free your mind, and then we'll fix things up right smart. Nothing I like better, and Lisha says I have considerable of a knack that way, replied Mrs. Wilkins with a smile, a nod, and an air of interest most reassuring. So Christy told her story, one to entire confidence by the sympathetic face opposite, and the motherly pat so gently given by the big rough hand that often met her own, when all was told Christy said very earnestly, I am ready to go to work tomorrow, and we'll do anything I can find. But I should love to stay here a little while, if I could, and do so dread to be alone. Is it possible? I mean to pay my board, of course, and help you besides, if you'll let me. Mrs. Wilkins glowed with pleasure at this compliment, and leaning toward Christy looked into her face a moment in silence, as if to test the sincerity of the wish. In that moment Christy saw what steady, sagacious eyes the woman had, so clear, so honest that she looked through them into the great, warm heart below, and looking forgot the fuzzy red hair, the paucity of teeth, the faded gown, and felt only the attraction of a nature genuine and genial as the sunshine dancing on the kitchen floor. Beautiful souls often get put into plain bodies, but they cannot be hidden, and have a power all their own, the greater for the unconsciousness or the humility which gives it grace. Christy saw and felt this then, and when the homely woman spoke, listened to her with implicit confidence. My dear, I'd no more send you away now than I would my Adelaide, for you need looking after her for a spell. Most as much as she does. You've been thinking, and brooding too much, and sowing yourself to death. We'll stop all that, and keep you so busy there won't be no time for the hypo. You're one of them that can't live alone without starving somehow. So I'm just going to turn you in among them children to pastor, so to speak.  I should like it so much, but I forgot my debt to Mrs. Flint. Perhaps she won't let me go, said Christie with an anxious cloud coming over her brightening face. Merciful Suze, don't you be worried about her. I'll see to her, and if she acts ugly, Lysha'll fetch her round. Men can always settle such things better and weaken, and he's a dreadful smart man, Lysha is. We'll go to Mara, and get your belongings, and then settle right down for a spell. And by and by, when you get a trope of more chipper, we'll find a nice place in the country summers.  When I was a gal, if I got low in my mind, or riled in my temper, I just went out and grubbed in the garden, or made hay or walked a good piece, and it fetched me round beautiful. Never fail, so I come to see that good, fresh dirt as first-rate physics folks' spirits, as it is for wounds, as they tell on. That sounds sensible and pleasant, and I like it.  Don't you never feel that again, my dear? What's the Lord for, if he ain't to hold on to in times of trouble? They ain't worth much, if it's only lively and fair weather. You've got to believe hardy and stand by the Lord through thick and thin, and he'll stand by you as no one else begins to. I remember of having this boring upon me by something that happened to a man I knew. He got blowed up in a powder mill, and when folks asked him what he thought when the bust come, he said, real, sober, and impressive. Well, it come through me like a flash that I'd serve the Lord as faithful as I knew how for a number of years, and I guessed he'd fetch me through somehow, and he did. Sure enough, the man weren't killed. I'm bound to confess he was shook dreadful, but his faith weren't. Christy could not help smiling at the story, but she liked it, and sincerely wished she could imitate the hero of it in his piety, not his powder. She was about to say so when the sound of approaching steps announced the advent of her host. She had been rather impressed with the smartness of Lysha by his wife's praises, but when a small, sallow, sickly-looking man came in, she changed her mind, for not even an immensely stiff collar, nor a pair of boots that seemed composed entirely of what the boys call creek leather, could aspire her with confidence.  Without compromising himself by a single word, his wife looked after him with an admiring gaze, as she said. Them boots is as good as an advertisement, for he made every stitch on him himself. Then she added, laughing like a girl. It's ridiculous, Mom, being so proud of Lysha, but if a woman ain't a right to think well of her own husband, I should like to know who has. Christy was afraid that Mrs. Wilkins had seen her disappointment in her face, and tried, with wifely zeal, to defend her Lord from even a disparaging thought. Wishing to atone for this transgression, she was about to sing the praises of the wooden-faced Lysha, but was spared any polite fibs by the appearance of a small girl, who delivered an urgent message to the effect that Mrs. Plumlee was down sick and wanted Miss Wilkins to run over and set the spell. As the good lady hesitated with an involuntary glance at her gust, Christy said quickly, Don't mind me. I'll take care of the house for you if you want to go. You may be sure I won't run off with the children or steal the spoons. I ain't to my afraid of anybody wanting to steal them little toes, and as for spoons, I ain't got a silver one to bless myself with, laughed Mrs. Wilkins. I guess I will go, then, if you don't mind, as it's only across the street. Like snot, setting quiet will be better for you than talking, for I'm a dreadful hand to gab when I get started. Tell Miss Plumlee I'm coming. Then is the child ran off the stout lady began to rummage in her closet, saying, as she rattled and slammed, I'll just take her a drawn of tea and a couple of nut cakes. Maybe she'll relish them, for I shouldn't wonder if she hadn't had a mouthful this blessed day. She's dreadful slack at the best of times, but no one can much wonder seeing she's got nine children and is just up for memetic fever. I'm sure I never grudge a meal of vitals or a hand's term to such as she is, though she does beat all for depending on her neighbors. I'm a thousand times bludged. You needn't worry about the children. Only don't let them get lost or burnt or pitch out a winter, and when it's done, give them the patty-cake that's baked for them. With which maternal orders Mrs. Wilkins assumed a sky blue bonnet and went beaming away with several dishes, gently hidden under her purple shawl. Being irresistibly attracted toward the children, Christy opened the door and took a survey of her responsibilities. Six lively infants were congregated in the second room, and chaos seemed to have come again for every sort of destructive amusement within full operation. George Washington, the eldest blossom, was shearing a resigned kitten. Gusty and Annalisa were concocting mud pies in the ashes. Annalaid Victoria was studying the structure of lamp wicks, while Daniel Webster and Andrew Jackson were dragging one another in a closed basket to the great detriment of the old carpet and still older chariot. Thinking that some employment more suited to the day might be introduced, Christy soon made friends with these young persons, and having rescued the kitten, banished the basket, lured the elder girls from their mud piety, and quenched the curiosity of the Pickwickian Annalaid. She proposed teaching them some little hymns. The idea was graciously received, and the class decorously seated in a row, but before a single verse was given out, Gusty, being of a house-wifely turn of mine, suggested that the patty cake might burn. Instant alarm pervaded the party, and a precipitant rush was made for the cooking-stove, where Christy proved by ocular demonstration that the cake showed no signs of baking, much less of burning. The family pronounced themselves satisfied, after each member had poked a grimy little finger into the doughy delicacy, whereon one large raisin reposed in proud preeminence over the vulgar herd of caraways. Order being with difficulty restored, Christy taught her flock an appropriate hymn, and was flattering herself that their youthful minds were receiving a devotional bent. When they volunteered a song, and incited their two by the irreverent wash, burst forth with a gem from mother Goose, closing with a smart skirmish of arms and legs that set all law and order at defiance. Hoping to quality insurrection, Christy invited the breathless rioters to calm themselves by looking at the pictures in the Big Bible. But, unfortunately, her explanations were so vivid that her audience were fired with a desire to enact some of the scenes portrayed, and no persuasions could keep them from playing arc on the spot. The clothes basket was elevated upon two chairs, and into it marched the birds of the air and the beasts of the field to judge by the noise, and all sat sail with Washington at the helm, Jackson and Webster plying the clothes and putting sticks for oars, while the young ladies rescued their dolls from the flood, and waved their hands to imaginary friends who were not unmindful of the courtesies of life, even in the act of drowning. Finding her authority defied, Christy left the rebels to their own devices, and sitting in a corner began to think about her own affairs. But before she had time to get anxious or perplexed, the children diverted her mind, as if the little fliberty gibbets knew that their pranks and perils were far wholesomer for her just then them brooding. The much enduring kitten, being sent forth as a dove upon the waters, failed to return with the olive branch, of which peaceful emblem there was soon great need, for mutiny broke out and spread with disastrous rapidity. Anna Liza slapped Gusty because she had the biggest band box. Andrew threatened to chuck Daniel overboard if he continued to trample on the fraternal toes. And in the midst of the fray, by some unguarded motion, Washington capsized the ship and precipitated the patriarchal family into the bosom of the deep. Christy flew to the rescue, and, hydropathically treated, the anguish of bumps and bruises was soon assuaged. Then appeared the appropriate moment for a story, and gathering the dilapidated party about her, she soon enraptured them by a recital of the immortal history of Frank and the Little Dog trusty. Charmed with her success she was about to tell another moral tale, but no sooner had she announced the name, the Three Cakes, when, like an electric flash a sudden recollection seized the young Wilkonses, and with one voice they demanded their lawful prize, sure that now it must be done. Christy had forgotten all about it, and was harassed with secret misgivings as she headed the investigating committee. With skipping of feet and clapping of hands the eager tribe surrounded the stove, and with fear and trembling Christy drew forth a melancholy cinder, where, like Casablanca, the lofty raisin still remained, blackened but undaunted at its coast. Then were six little vials of wrath poured out upon her devoted head, and sounds of lamentation filled the air, for the irate Wilkonses refused to be comforted till the rash vow to present each member of the outraged family with the private cake produced a lull, during which the younger ones were decoyed into the backyard, and the three elders soulless to themselves with mischief. Mounted on meddlesome broomsticks, Andrew and Daniel were riding merrily away to the Banbury Cross of blessed memory, and little Vi was erecting a pagoda of oyster shells under Christy's superintendence, when a shrill scream from within sent horsemen and architects flying to the rescue.  A speedy application of the hearth rug quenched the conflagration, and when a minute burn had been enveloped in cotton wool, like a gem, a coroner sat upon the penifor and investigated the case. It appeared that the ladies were only playing paper dolls, when Wash, sighing for the enlightenment of his race, proposed to make a bonfire and did so with an old book. But Gusty, with a firm belief and future punishment, tried to save it, and fell a victim to her principles as the virtuous are very apt to do. The book was brought into court, and proved to be an ancient volume of balance, cut, torn, and half-consumed. Several peculiarly developed paper dolls, branded here and there with large letters like gallery slaves, were then produced by the accused, and the judge could with difficulty preserve her gravity when she found John Gilpin converted into a painted petticoat, the Bay of Biscay, O situated in the crown of a hat, and Chevy Chase issuing from the mouth of a triangular gentleman, who, like Dickens' cherub, probably sung it by ear, having no lungs to speak of. It was further apparent from the agricultural appearance of the room that beans had been sowed, broadcast by means of the apple-corer, which Wash had converted into a pop-gun with the mechanical ingenuity worthy of more general appreciation. He felt this deeply, and when Christie reproved him for leading his sister's astray, he resented the liberty she took, and retired and hide dudgeon to the cellar, where he appeared to set up a menagerie for bears, lions, and unknown animals endowed with great vocal powers, where heard to solicit patronage from below. Somewhat exhausted by her labors, Christie rested after clearing up the room, while the children found a solace for all afflictions in the consumption of relays of bread and molasses, which infantile restorative occurred like an inspiration to the mind of their guardian.  Down rushed Christie, and the sticky innocence ran screaming after to behold their pickled brother, fished up from the briny deep. A spectacle well calculated to impress upon their infant minds the awful consequences of straying from the paths of virtue. At this crisis Mrs. Wilkins providentially appeared, breathless, but brisk and beaming, and in no wise dismayed by the plight of her luckless son, for a ten-years acquaintance with Wash's dauntless nature had enured his mother to didos that would have appalled most women.  I'm sorry I was kept so long, but Miss Plumlee got tellin' her where immense, and peered to take so much comfortin' and I couldn't bear to stop her. Then I just run round to your place and told that woman that you was safe and well, along with friends, and would call in tomorrow to get your things. She'd been so scared by your not comin' home that she was as mild as milk, so you won't have no trouble with her, I expect. Thank you very much. How kind you are, and how tired you must be. Sit down and let me take your things, cried Christy more relieved than she could express. Lower know, I'm fond of walkin', but bein' rather hefty, it takes my breath away some to hurry. I'm afraid these children have tuckered you out, though. They are proper good, gently, but when they do take to trainin' they're a side of care, said Mrs. Wilkins, as she surveyed her imposing bonnet with calm satisfaction. I've enjoyed it very much, and it's done me good, for I haven't laughed so much for six months as I have this afternoon, answered Christy, and it was quite true, for she had been too busy to think of herself or her woes. While I thought likely it would jerk you up some, or I shouldn't have went, and Mrs. Wilkins put away a contented smile with her cherished bonnet, for Christy's face had grown so much brighter since she saw it last, that the good woman felt sure her treatment was the right one. At supper, Lisha reappeared, and while his wife and children talked incessantly, he ate four slices of bread and butter, three pieces of pie, five donuts, and drank a small ocean of tea out of his saucer, them evidently feeling that he had done his duty like a man, he gave Christy another nod, and disappeared again without a word. When she had done up her dishes, Mrs. Wilkins brought out a few books and papers, and said to Christy, who sat apart by the window, with the old shadow creeping over her face, I don't feel lonesome, my dear. But just lop right down on the sofa and have a sociable kind of time. Lisha's gone down the street for the evening. I'll keep the children as quiet as one woman can, and you can read or rest or talk, just as you're mine. Thank you. I'll sit here and rock a little vie to sleep for you. I don't care to read, but I'd like to have you talk to me, for it seems as if I'd known you a long time, and it does me good, said Christy as she settled herself and baby on the old seti, which had served as a cradle for six young Wilkinses, and now received the honorable name of Sofa in its old age. Mrs. Wilkins looked gratified as she settled her brood round the table with a pile of pictorial papers to amuse them. Then having laid herself out to be agreeable, she sat thoughtfully rubbing the bridge of her nose at a loss how to begin. Presently Christy helped her by an involuntary sigh. What's the matter, dear? Is there anything I can do to make you comfortable? Asked the kind soul, alerted once, and ready to offer sympathy. I'm very cozy, thank you, and I don't know why I sighed. It's a way I've got into when I think of my worries, explained Christy in haste. Well, dear, I wouldn't if I was you. Don't keep turning your troubles over, get atop of them somehow, and stay there if you can, said Mrs. Wilkins very earnestly. But that's just what I can't do. I've lost all my spirits and courage, and got into a dismal state of mind. You seem to be very cheerful, and yet you must have a good deal to try you sometimes. I wish you'd tell me how you do it, and Christy looked wistfully into that other face, so plain, yet so placid, wondering to see how little poverty, hard work, and many cares had soured or saddened it. Really, I don't know. Unless it's just doing whatever comes along and doing of it hardy, sure that things is all right. Though very often I don't see it at first. Do you see it at last? Generally I do. And if I don't, I take it on trust, same as children, do what older folks tell them. Bye-bye. When I'm grown up in spiritual things I'll understand, as dears do, when they get to be men and women. That suited Christy, and she thought hopefully within herself. This woman has got the sort of religion I want, if it makes her what she is. Someday I'll get her to tell me where she found it. Then I'll loud, she said. But it's so hard to be patient and contented when nothing happens as you want it to, and you don't get your share of happiness no matter how much you try to deserve it. It ain't easy to bear, I know. But having tried my own way and made a dreadful mess on, I concluded the Lord knows what's best for us, and things go better when he manages than when we go scratching round and can't wait. Try it on your own. How do you mean? asked Christy curiously, for she liked to hear her hostess talk, and found something besides amusement in the conversation, which seemed to possess a fresh country flavor, as well as country phrases. Mrs. Wilkins smiled all over her plump face. Is it she liked to tell her experience and having hunched sleepy little Andy more comfortably into her lap, and given a preparatory hammer to? She began with great goodwill. It happened a number of years ago and ain't much of a story anyway, but you're welcome to it as some of it is rather humorsome. The laugh may do you good if the story don't. We was livin' down to the Eastwood at the time. It was a real pretty place. The house stood under a couple of maples, and a grep brook come foamin' down the ravine, and away through the matters to the river. Dear sakes, seems as if I see it now, just as I used to settin' on the doorsteps with the laylocks all in blow. Squirrels jabberin' on the wall, and the sawmill squeakin' way off by the dam. Pausing a moment, Mrs. Wilkins looked musingly at the steam of the tea-kettle, as if through its silvery haze she saw her early home again. Wash promptly roused her from this reverie by tumbling off the boiler with a crash. His mother picked him up and placidly went on, following more and more into the country dialect which city life had not yet polished. I used to have been the contentedest woman alive, but I warn't, for you see I'd worked at millenarian before I was married, and had an easy time on't. Afterwards the children come along pretty fast. There was sights of work to do and no time for pleasure, and so I got war out, and used to hanker after old times in a dreadful wicked way. Finally I got acquainted with the Miss Baskham, and she'd done me a sight of harm. You see, havin' few pies of her own to bake, she was fine to put her fingers into her neighbors. But she'd done it so neat that no one mistrusted she was takin' all the sars and leavin' all the crust to them, as you may say. While I told her my worryments, and she sympathized real hardy, and said I didn't off to stan it. But have things to suit me, and enjoy myself as other folks did. So when she put it into my head I thought it amazing good advice, and just went and done as she told me. Lisha was the kindest man you ever see, so when I up and said I warn't go on to drudge round no more, but must have a girl, he got one, and goodness knows what a trial she was. After she came I got dreadful slack, and left the house and the children to hand-rata, and went pleasure and frequent all my best. I always was a dressy woman in them days, and Lisha gave me his earnings real lavish, bless his heart, and I went and spent on my sinful gowns and bonnets. Here Mrs. Wilkins stopped to give a remorseful groan and stroke her faded dress, as if she found great comfort in its dinginess. It ain't no use tellin' all I'd done, but I had full swing. And at first I thought luck was in my dish sure, but it warn't, seen I didn't deserve it, and I had to take my mess of trouble, which was needful and nourishing, if I'd had the grace to see it so. Lisha got into debt, and no wonder, with me a wastin' of his substance, and Rutter went off sudden with whatever she could lay her hands on, and everything was at sixes and sevens. Lisha's patience gave out at last for I was dreadful fractious, knowin' it was all my fault. The children seemed to get out of sorts, too, and acted like time in the Primer, with croop and pins and whoop and cough and temper. I declare I used to think the pots and kettles piled over at spite each other, and me, too, in them days. All this was nuts to Miss Baskham, and she kept advising and encouraging of me, and I didn't see through her a might. All guess that settin' folks by the ears was as relishin' to her as bitters as to some. Merciful sews.  I scolded and moped, because I couldn't have my way. Lisha swore and threatened to take to drinkin' if I didn't make home more comfortable. The children run wild, and the house was gettin' too hot to hold us. When we was brought up with a round turn, and I see the ridiculousness of my doin's in time. One day, Lisha come home tired and cross, for bills was pressin', work slack, and folks talkin' about us as if they'd nothin' else to do. I was dishin' up dinner, feelin' as nervous as a witch, for a whole batch of bread had burnt to a cinder while I was trimmin' a new bonnet. Wash had scarred me most to death, swallowing ascent, and the steak had bent on the floor more and once, ownin' to my havin' babies, dogs, cats, or hens under my feet the whole blessed time. Lisha looked as black as thunder, throwed his hat into a corner, and came along to the sink where I was skinnin' potatoes. As he washed his hands I asked what the matter was, but he only muttered and slopped, and I couldn't get nothin' out of him, for he ain't talkative at the best of times as you see, and when he's worried corkscrews wouldn't draw a word from him. Being riled myself didn't mend matters, and so we felt to hector in one another right smart. He said somethin' that dreamed my last drop of patience.  It wasn't a hard blow by no means, only a kind of a wet spat side of the head, but I thought I should have flew, and was as mad as if I'd been knocked down. You never see a man look so ashamed as Lisha did. And if I'd been wise I should have made up the quarrel then.  I just flung fork, dish, potatoes, and all into the pot and says, as first as you please, Lisha Wilkins, when you can treat me decent you may come and fetch me back. You won't see me till then, and so I'll tell you. Then I made a beeline for Miss Baskham's, told her the whole story had a good cry, and was all ready to go home in half an hour, but Lisha didn't come. Well, that night passed, and what a long one it was to be sure, and me without a wink of sleep thinkin' of wash and descent. My emptins and the baby, next day come but no Lisha, no message, no nothing. And I began to think I'd got my match though I had a sight of grit in them days. I sold, and Miss Baskham she clapped. But I didn't say much, and just worked like sixty to pay for my keep, for I weren't going to be beholden to her for nothing. The day dragged on terrible slow. The last I'd begged her to go and get me a clean dress, for I'd come off just as I was, and folks kept droppin' in for the story was all around thanks to Miss Baskham's long tongue. Well, she went, and if you'll believe me, Lisha wouldn't let her in. He handed my best things out a winder, and told her to tell me they were gettin' a long first rate with Florida Walsh to do the work. He hoped I'd have a good time, and not expect him for a considerable spell, for he liked a quiet house, and now he got it. When I heard that I knew he must be provoked the worst kind, for he ain't a hash man by nature. I coulda crept in at the winder if he wouldn't open the door. I was so took down by that message, but Miss Baskham wouldn't hear of it, and kept stirring of me up, till I was ashamed to eat umbil pi first, so I waited to see how soon he'd come round. But he had the best on it, you see, for he'd got the babies and lost a cross-wife. Well, I'd lost everything but Miss Baskham, who grew hatefuler to me every hour, for I begun to mistrust she was a mischief maker, what hers most always is, seein' how she pampered up my pride and peered to like the quarrel. I thought I should have died more and once, for sure as you live it went on three mortal days, and of all miserable creatures I was the miser-blist. Then I see how wicked and ungrateful I'd been, how I shirked my boundin' duty and scorned my blessed blessings. There warn't a hard job that ever I'd hate it but what grew easy when I remembered who it was done for. There warn't a trouble or a care that I wouldn't have welcomed hardy, nor one hour of them dear, fractious babies that didn't seem precious when I had gone and left them. I'd got time to rest enough now, and might go pleasurin' all day long, but I couldn't do it, and would have given a dozen bunnets trim to kill if I could only have been back moin'in in my old kitchen with the children hangin' round me and Lisha comin' in cheerful from his work as he used to fore-eye-spoil his home for him. How singler it is, folks, never do know when they are while off.  Glad to hear it, my dear, as I was goin' on to say when Saturday come a tremendous storm set in, and it rained guns all day, and have a shelf forget it, for I was hankering after baby and dreadful worried about the others all bein' creepy and flooring to you with no more idea of nessin' than a by-lamp. The rain come down like a regular deluge, but I didn't seem to have no arc to run to. As night come on, things got worse and worse, for the wind blowed the roof off Miss Baskham's barn and stove in the butchery window. The brook rise and went ragein' every which way, and you never did see such a piece of work. My heart was most broke by that time, and I knew I should give in for a Monday. But I sat and sewed and listened to the tinkle-tankle of the drops in the pan set round to catch'em, for the house leaked like a sith. Miss Baskham was down subtler, puttering about, for ever caggin' sars' jar was afloat. Moses, her brother, was lookin' after his stock and tryin' to stop the damage. All of a sudden he bustin' lookin' kinder wild, and settin' down the lantern, he says, says he.  How so, says I, as if nothin' was the matter already. Why, says he. The spylins have gigg way up in the rave-een, and the brooks come down like a river, upside your lean-to, wash the million-patch slap into the road, and while your husband was tryin' to get the pig out of the pan, the water took a turn and swept him away. Drowned it, says I, with only breath enough for that one word. Shouldn't wonder, says Moses, nothin' ever did come up alive after goin' over them falls. It come over me like a streak of lightnin'.  Next I knew Lisha was holdin' of me and cryin', fit to kill himself. I thought I was dreamin', and only had wits enough to give a sort of promiscuous grab at him and call out. Oh, Lisha, ain't you drownin'? He give a great start at that, swallowed down his sovereign, and says, as lovin' as ever a man did in this world. Bless your dear heart, Cynthia. It weren't me, it was the pig. And then fell to kissin' of me till betwixt laughin' and cryin', I was most choked.  And well it might, for the good soul entered so heartily into her story that she unconsciously embellished it with dramatic illustrations. At the slapping episode she flung an invisible fork-dishin' potatoes into an imaginary kettle and glared. When the catastrophe arrived she fell back upon her chair to express fainting, gave Christie's arm the promiscuous grab at the proper moment, and uttered the repentant Lisha's explanation with an incoherent pathos that forbid a laugh at the sudden introduction of the poor-signed martyr. What did you do then? asked Christie in a most flattering state of interest. Ho-la! I went right home and hugged them children for a couple of hours, diddy, answered Mrs. Wilkins, as if but one conclusion was possible. Did all your troubles go down with the pig? asked Christie presently. Massy no, we're all poor, feeble worms, and the best meaning of us fails too often. Said Mrs. Wilkins as she tenderly adjusted the sleepy head of the young worm in her lap. After that scrape I'd done my best. Lisha was as meek as a whole flock of sheep, and we'd give Miss Baskam a wide berth. Things went lovely for ever so long, and though after a spell we had our ups and downs, as is but natural to human creeders, we never come to such a pass again. Both of us tried real hard, whenever I felt my temper rising or discontent coming on. I remembered them days and kept a taut rain. And as for Lisha, he never said a rasp and word or got sulky, but while he'd bust out laughing after it and say, Bless you, Cynthia, it warn't me, it was the pig. Mrs. Wilkins' hearty laugh fired a long train of lesser ones, for the children recognized a household word.  Tell some more, please, said Christie when the merriment subsided, for she felt her spirits rising. There's nothing more to tell, except one thing that prevented my ever-forgetting lesson I got them. My little Almyrie took cold that week and pined away a rapid. She'd always been so ailing I never expected to raise her, and more once in them sinful tempers of mine I thought it would be a mercy if she was took out of her pain. But when I laid away that patient, suffering little creator I found, she was the dearest of them all. I most broke my heart to have her back, and never, never forgive myself for leaving her that time. With trembling lips and full eyes, Mrs. Wilkins stopped to wipe her features, generally on Andrew Jackson's pinafore, and heave a remorseful sigh. And this is how you came to be the cheerful, contented woman you are, said Christie, hoping to divert the mother's mind from that too tender memory. Yes, she answered thoughtfully. I told you Lisha was a smart man. He'd give me a good lesson, and it sent me to thinkin' serious. Appears to me trouble is a kind of mellaring process, and if you take it kindly it do's you good. And you learn to be glad of it. I'm sure Lisha and me as twice as fond of one another, twice as willing to work, and twice as patient with our trial, since dear little Almyrie died, and times was hard. I ain't what I ought to be, not by a long chalk. But I try to live up to my light, do my duty cheerful, love my neighbors, and fetch up my family in the fear of God. If I do this the best way I know how, I'm sure I'll get my rest some day, and the good Lord won't forget Cynthia Wilkins. He ain't so fur, for I keep my health wonderful. Lisha is kind and steady, the children flourishing, and I'm a happy woman, though I'd be a humbly one. There she was mistaken, for as her eye roved round the narrow room from the old hat on the wall to the curly heads bobbing here and there, contentment, piety, and mother love made her plain face beautiful. That story has done me ever so much good, and I shall not forget it. Now, good night, for I must be up early to-morrow, and I don't want to drive Mr. Wilkins away entirely, said Christie, after she had helped put the little folk to bed during which process she had heard her host creaking about the kitchen as if afraid to enter the sitting-room. She laughed as she spoke, and ran upstairs, wondering as she could be the same for Lauren Creature, who had crept so wearily up only the night before. It was a very humble little sermon that Mrs. Wilkins had preached to her, but she took it to heart, and profited by it, for she was a pupil in the great charity school where the best teachers are often unknown, unhonored here, but who surely will receive commendation and reward from the headmaster when their long vacation comes.


Welcome to Spotlight. I'm Liz Wade. And I'm Adam Navas. Spotlight uses a special English method of broadcasting. It is easier for people to understand, no matter where in the world they live.  The train will soon begin moving.  A mountain rises to your left. The sun shines brightly into your eyes. People standing next to the train wave excitedly. You begin to speed up.  He sits on his father's shoulders to watch the train better.  Now a red passenger train goes by in the opposite direction. A rock wall appears on your left. Leaves that have already changed to their fall colors are growing from between the rocks.  There are white and yellow houses on both sides.  It grows larger and darker by the second as your train speeds toward it. Your train is about to go underground.  The darkness is all you can see for the next four minutes. Then a little spot of light appears. That light tells you that you have reached the other side of the mountain. Soon you will see the sun again. This describes the first seven minutes of a seven-hour train ride across the country of Norway. This long train ride was recorded on video from beginning to end. It is the first popular example of slow TV. Slow TV is a completely different form of television. In its most basic form, a person sets up a camera on a usually dull or normal activity like riding a train. Sometimes the camera does not even move. Producers do not write a script. They do not make the video go faster or cut parts out. A person watching the video experiences the event in real time. The Slow TV train ride video was broadcast on public television in Norway in 2009. Public television in Norway is well supported. The producers did not have to worry about how much money they could make through this program. They decided the idea was creative and they were interested to see how people would react. The train ride was shown on TV on a Friday night. The producers expected that a few thousand people would watch the program. But information about the program spread quickly. That night, more than a million people watched this slow train ride. This means more than three times as many people as usual watched TV that night. In fact, people enjoyed the recording so much that they wanted to see more like it. And they wanted the broadcast to stretch on for an even longer amount of time. The producers were surprised and excited. Their next Slow TV experiment was a boat trip along the coast of Norway. They recorded for five and a half days. All the video was broadcast live on public television. But about two days into the boat trip something new began to happen. People began to visit the coast to be in the video. Thomas Helm was one of the producers of the video.  People along the coast and thousands of people showed up at every port, every mountain. They could go find the information and see when will the boat be in my place. And they could prepare. The video showed people waving flags and holding up signs. Small boats sailed next to the large ship. The Queen of Norway waved to the camera from her own boat. Near the end of the trip, the many colors of a rainbow appeared above a green mountain. While the rainbow hung in the sky, this program broke a record. It was the largest number of people ever to watch a program in Norway at the same time. People in Norway continue to enjoy Slow TV. Producers have recorded many different long events. They have recorded meat production, making a coat and fishing in a stream. And the idea has spread to other countries as well. People have made simple Slow TV programs all around the world. However, Norway is the only country where the programs are popular on a national level. But is there anything for the average person to gain from Slow TV? With hundreds of normal programs to choose from, should you give Slow TV a try? There are several different ways that Slow TV can be of value. First, it is important to understand that not all people watch Slow TV in the same way. Even in Norway, only some people sit to watch a single program for hours on end. Many people think of the programs like having a pleasant friend in the room. They turn on the TV to a slow program. Then they continue with their work while the show plays next to them. Calming sounds and beautiful things to look at can be especially nice during lonely times. Another way that people from around the world enjoy Slow TV is as a sort of virtual travel. Maybe they do not have enough money for travel. Or maybe health worries are keeping them home. Watching Slow TV lets people experience other countries. They see through the eyes of someone else walking a street or riding on a train. As they watch the program, they can also read more about the place they are visiting. The place comes alive in their imagination. Finally, Slow TV can calm the mind. Most television programs speed up faster and faster. They follow simple plot lines with clear stories that are told quickly. Slow TV invites people to take the time to notice the details for themselves. No producer has decided what parts of the story are important. Everything stays in the recording. And just like in life, the person watching gets to decide which parts of the story are worth noticing and wondering about. Slow TV may never be as popular around the world as it is in Norway. But everyone can find things to enjoy about this kind of program. Are you ready to give Slow TV a try? We have made a Slow TV video for Spotlight English. Check it out on our YouTube channel. Members will be able to see the video first. If you are on YouTube, click Join below to learn more about membership. You can also visit our website to find links to some of our favorite Slow TV programs to get you started. Have you ever seen Slow TV? Is this kind of program popular in your country? Would you watch Slow TV? Tell us what you think. You can email us at contact at spotlightenglish.com. You can also find us on YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. The writer of today's program was Megan Nollett. The producer was Michio Ozaki. The voices you heard were from the United States and the United Kingdom. You can listen to this program again and read it on the Internet at www.spotlightenglish.com. This program is called Slow TV to calm your mind. Visit our website to download our free official app for Android and Apple devices. We hope you can join us again for the next Spotlight program. Goodbye.


T. F. N. N. headline news update. Everyone Basel Chapman sitting in for Tommy O'Brien. This is the 9 a.m. T. F. N. N. market update. The futures are dark futures up 53. The S. M. P. futures up eight. We're looking at a very interesting situation because last week little little doji candles were formed at tops around about the 15 sixteenth of the month. And we've had three, four, five sessions of consolidation. And very simply put, if the doubt in my work, if the doctor close underneath 27,000, it's called a 26,980 any day this week. That would suggest that we in for a consolidation about another week or so of consolidation. The S. M. P. Trading right now, the S. M. P. Futures are trading down, sorry, trading up, but they closed at 29 76 and the cash on Friday underneath the nine, the 14 period moving average averages. So if the S. M. P. Saucer trade underneath 29 68 at any point this week suggests that there's going to be a bit of a pullback in time and maybe not so much in price, but at least there's some in time. And the QQQ, which is the index 100 trading up 45 cents right now premark preopening is at 191 46. If that's Saucer trade in the 189, I put it one 189 60 area. That suggests that it's going to be so for all of them. If the new highs this week, that's very, very good action. But it's a good chance that we in for some kind of a consolidation. And you can see that in the TLT, which is the the Treasury Bonded Fund. It's up 75 cents and 13244. But I think that we are in for a little bit of a bump up in yields this week. We'll see what happens. And most importantly, crude oil right now is trading up a little bit. It's had a pretty weak couple of the first sessions. And we're also looking at gold, which is holding steady hold right now. Gold is just down a fraction. It broke out a little bit out of the 1440 area trading at 1426. If gold trade sideways for a little bit, it can consolidate gains that it's made huge gains. And the dollar interesting enough is up a couple of pips. The dollar is trading at 97 22. This is pretty good action from the dollar concerning what gold has done. So those are the areas that we're watching very closely and have a wonderful day. Stay tuned for Larry Pizzeranto coming up. Now you got great programming all session today and just have a wonderful day. Hope to see you back here in a few minutes for Larry's show. Trade what you