IT was house-cleaning time, and I had an old coloured woman at workscrubbing and cleaning paint.
"Polly is going, ma'am," said one of my domestics, as the twilightbegan to fall.
"Very well. Tell her that I shall want her tomorrow."
"I think she would like to have her money for to-day's work," saidthe girl.
I took out my purse, and found that I had nothing in it less than athree-dollar bill.
"How much does she have a day?"
"Six shillings, ma'am."
"I haven't the change this evening. Tell her that I'll pay for bothdays to-morrow."
The girl left the room, and I thought no more of Polly for an hour.Tea-time had come and passed, when one of my domestics, who wasrather communicative in her habits, said to me:
"I don't think old Polly liked your not paying her this evening."
"She must be very unreasonable, then," said I, without reflection."I sent her word that I had no change. How did she expect I couldpay her?"
"Some people are queer, you know, Mrs. Graham," remarked the girlwho had made the communication, more for the pleasure of telling itthan any thing else.
I kept thinking over what the girl had said, until other suggestionscame into my mind.
"I wish I had sent and got a bill changed," said I, as the idea thatPolly might be really in want of money intruded itself. "It wouldhave been very little trouble."
This was the beginning of a new train of reflections, which did notmake me very happy. To avoid a little trouble, I had sent the poorold woman away, after a hard day's work, without her money. That shestood in need of it was evident from the fact that she had asked forit.
"How very thoughtless in me," said I, as I dwelt longer and longeron the subject.
"What's the matter?" inquired my husband, seeing me look serious.
"Nothing to be very much troubled at," I replied.
"Yet you are troubled."
"I am; and cannot help it. You will, perhaps, smile at me, but smallcauses sometimes produce much pain. Old Polly has been at work allday, scrubbing and cleaning. When night came, she asked for herwages, and I, instead of taking the trouble to get the money forher, sent her word that I hadn't the change. There was nothing lessthan a three-dollar bill in my purse. I didn't reflect that a poorold woman who has to go out to daily work must need her money assoon as it is earned. I am very sorry."
My husband did not reply for some time. My words appeared to havemade considerable impression on his mind.
"Do you know where Polly lives?" he inquired at length.
"No; but I will ask the girl." And immediately ringing the bell, Imade inquiries as to where Polly lived; but no one in the houseknew.
"It cannot be helped now," said my husband, in a tone of regret."But I would be more thoughtful in future. The poor always have needof their money. Their daily labour rarely does more than supplytheir daily wants. I can never forget a circumstance that occurredwhen I was a boy. My mother was left a widow when I was but nineyears old--and she was poor. It was by the labour of her hands thatshe obtained shelter and food for herself and three little ones.
"Once, I remember the occurrence as if it had taken place yesterday,we were out of money and food. At breakfast-time our last morsel waseaten, and we went through the long day without a mouthful of bread.We all grew very hungry by night; but our mother encouraged us to bepatient a little and a little while longer, until she finished thegarment she was making, when she would take that and some other workhome to a lady who would pay her for the work. Then, she said, weshould have a nice supper. At last the work was finished, and I wentwith my mother to help carry it home, for she was weak and sickly,and even a light burden fatigued her. The lady for whom she had madethe garment was in good circumstances, and had no want unmet thatmoney could supply. When we came into her presence, she took thework, and, after glancing at it carelessly, said,
"'It will do very well.'
"My mother lingered; perceiving which, the lady said, rather rudely,
"'You want your money, I suppose. How much does the work come to?'
"'Two dollars,' replied my mother. The lady took out her purse; and,after looking through a small parcel of bills, said,
"'I haven't the change this evening. Call over anytime, and youshall have it.'
"And without giving my mother time more earnestly to urge herrequest, turned from us and left the room. I never shall forget thenight that followed. My mother's feelings were sensitive andindependent. She could not make known her want. An hour after ourreturn home, she sat weeping with her children around her, when aneighbour came in, and, learning our situation, supplied the presentneed."
This relation did not make me feel any the more comfortable.Anxiously I waited, on the next morning, the arrival of Polly. Assoon as she came I sent for her, and, handing her the money she hadearned on the day before, said,
"I'm sorry I hadn't the change for you last night, Polly. I hope youdidn't want it very badly."
Polly hesitated a little, and then replied,
"Well, ma'am, I did want it very much, or I wouldn't have asked forit. My poor daughter Hetty is sick, and I wanted to get hersomething nice to eat."
"I'm very sorry," said I, with sincere regret. "How is Hetty thismorning?"
"She isn't so well, ma'am. And I feel very bad about her."
"Come up to me in half an hour, Polly," said I.
The old woman went down-stairs. When she appeared again, accordingto my desire, I had a basket for her, in which were some wine,sugar, fruit, and various little matters that I thought her daughterwould relish, and told her to go at once and take them to the sickgirl. Her expressions of gratitude touched my feelings deeply. Neversince have I omitted, under any pretence, to pay the poor theirwages as soon as earned.
THE END.
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