Joshua Marvel

"I hope so; I pray so. Goodnight, Maggie. Go to sleep."

"Yes, George. Goodnight."

But they lay awake for a long time after that, until the storm, sobbing like a child worn out with passion, sighed and moaned itself away.

As for Dan, for many days after Joshua was gone he felt as if a dear friend had died; not Joshua, but some unknown friend almost as dear. He had reason enough for feeling lonely and miserable. His dear friend's companionship had been inestimably precious to him; Joshua's very footfall had made his heart glad. The hours they had spent together were the summer of his life, and now that he and Joshua were parted he recognized that a great void had been made in his life, and that it behoved him to fill it up. That void was want of occupation. What was he to do now that Joshua was gone? When Joshua was at home, there had been every day something to do, something to talk about. something to argue upon. Then, time did not hang heavily upon his hands; now, when there was no Joshua to look forward to, he found himself falling into a state of listlessness which he knew was not good for him. He wanted something for his hands to do. What? He thought a great deal about it, and had not settled the difficulty when a domestic calamity occurred.

The drinking proclivities of Mr. Taylor have been incidentally referred to. These proclivities had unfortunately grown upon him to such an extent, that he was now an ardent and faithful slave of that demon to so many English homes among the poor-Gin. It has been spoken of often enough and truthfully enough, God knows! But it cannot, until it lie vanquished in the dust, be too often struck at. If there is a curse in this our mighty England which degrades it to a level so low that it is shame to think of, that curse is Gin! If vice, domestic misery, and prostitution have an English teacher, that teacher is Gin! And in this England, which we so glorify, so sing about and mouth about, no direct attempt has ever yet been made by statesmen who work as Jobbers to root this teacher out of our wretched courts and alleys, and replace it by something better. Perhaps one day, when a lull takes place in the jangle of Politics-amid the din of which so many strange sounds are heard; such as the wrangle of religious creeds, whose various exponents split worthless straws in Church-and-State bills for Heaven knows what purpose, unless it be for the triumph of their particular creeds; such as the wrangle of private members whose hearts and souls (literally) are wrapt up in private bills for the good of the people-perhaps one day amid the lull, a wise and beneficent statesman may turn his attention to the abominable curse, and earn for himself a statue, the design of which shall be-after the manner of St. George and the Dragon-Gin writhing on the ground in all its true deformity, pierced through by the spear of a wise legislation, which in this instance at least shall have legislated for the good of the many.

Mr. Taylor, one of the Gin Patriots, having enrolled himself as a soldier in the cause, was necessitated by the magnanimity of his nature to become a soldier leal and true. So he bowed himself down before Gin, and worshipped it morning, noon, and night. Even in his dreams he was faithful to the cause, mumbling out entreaties to his god. His devotion causing him to neglect all lesser worldly matters, he fell into a bad state of poverty, and his family fell with him. The worst form of Mr. Taylor's devotion did not appear until Joshua left home; hitherto he had been working up to his ambition's height. Having reached it, he rested on his oars, which, being composed of the frailest of timber, gave way and sent him rolling into the mud. As he declined to provide for his family, that duty devolved upon Mrs. Taylor, and she patiently and unmurmuringly performed her duty, and worked her fingers to the bone, until her strength gave way. She was one of those quiet souls who always do their best, and never complain; and having done her best, she closed her eyes upon the world, and passed without a murmur out of the hive of busy bees.

There was much sadness in the house when the event occurred, and there was much helpful sympathy among the neighbors. Not for Mr. Taylor-although they remembered the time when he was a respectable member of society, before he had fallen under the fatal influence of Gin-but for the children. During Mrs. Taylor's illness, which lasted but a very short time, Susan came to the house and helped Ellen in her household work and in nursing their mother. It was an anxious time for the poor little maid; but she did her work willingly, and with the patient spirit her mother had exhibited. Susan was a great help to her, and there was more sisterly love between them during that time than had ever before shown itself. At the funeral, Mr. Taylor presented himself in as decent a state of Gin as he could muster up for the occasion; drivelled a little, trembled a great deal, and proclaimed himself a most unfortunate man. Finding that he obtained no sympathy for his miserable position from his children or from the neighbors, he, when the funeral was over, pawned his waistcoat, and dissolving the proceeds wept tears of Gin over the death of his wife. While he was employed in that process of drowning his grief, the three children were sitting together in Dan's room talking in hushed tones over their loss and over their prospects. After the funeral, Mrs. Marvel-who had helped to nurse Mrs. Taylor-quietly prepared tea in Dan's room, and with her usual sympathetic instinct of what was best, kept herself out of sight as much as possible. But at the last moment, when tea was ready and she was about to leave the children undisturbed, she placed her arm round Dan's neck, and whispered that Joshua's home was Dan's and that he might come and occupy Joshua's room whenever he pleased. "And be another son to us my dear," said good Mrs. Marvel; "so that we shall have two." Dan thanked her, and looked at Ellen thoughtfully, and then Mrs. Marvel left the children to their meal.

Said Dan, "Mrs. Marvel has asked me to live in her house, and sleep in Joshua's room."

"It would be a good thing," observed Susan.

Dan stole his hand into Ellen's, who had been looking down sadly; she felt the warm pressure, and her fingers tightened upon his. That little action was as good as words; they understood each other perfectly.

"No," he said, "it would not be a good thing. It was a good thing for Mrs. Marvel to offer, but then she is Jo's mother, and as kind and good as Jo is; but it would not be a good thing for me to accept. For there's Ellen here; she is half of me, Susey, and we mustn't be parted. But indeed there will be no reason for it. I have a wonderful scheme in my head, but it wants thinking over before I tell it."

Dan spoke bravely, as if he were a strong man, with all the world to choose from.

"O Dan!" exclaimed Susan, tears coming to her eyes at his brave confident manner, "if it hadn't been for me you wouldn't have been a cripple, and your poor legs might have been of some use to you."

"They will be of more use to me perhaps than if they were sound, Susey," said Dan cheerfully, "if I can make something out of the scheme I have got in my head-and I think I can. Let us talk sensibly. Now that poor dear mother's gone, we must all do something. I intend to commence doing something to-morrow."

"What, dear Dan?" asked Susan.

"You will see. What I should like is that we should all live together. Perhaps not just now, Susey, but by and by. What do you say to that, Susey?"

Susan thought of Basil and Minnie Kindred, and felt that it would be impossible for her to leave them. "It would be very good," she said, "but we can talk of that by and by, as you say."

"Very well. The first thing, then, we have to consider is bread-and-butter. Bread-and-butter," he repeated, in reply to their questioning looks. "We must have it, and we must earn it."

Susan nodded gravely, and said, "Ellen had better learn to be a dressmaker."

Ellen looked up with joyful gratitude.

"Oh, how good of you, Susey!" she exclaimed. "Then I could earn money. I wouldn't mind how hard I should have to work."

"It is a capital idea," said Dan, taking Susan's hand. "The best thing you can do, Susey, is to bring some of your work here every day for a couple of hours, and let Ellen help you-she will soon learn."

"That I will," said Ellen in a voice of quiet gladness.

These young people, you see, were not entirely unhappy.

"I wonder where Joshua is," remarked Ellen during the evening.

"Ah, where?" sighed Dan. "But wherever he is, he is doing his duty, and we will do ours. How happy we all were that night at Mr. Meddler's What a beautiful day that was! Like a dream! Hark! There is the church-bell striking nine o'clock." They listened in silence. "That is like a wedding-bell. Now the other church is striking-how solemn it sounds-like a funeral-bell."

The tears came to their eyes when Dan inadvertently made the last remark.

They did not speak for a long time after that, and then Dan said, -

"I feel now just as I felt the day after Jo went away."

They sat up talking until eleven o'clock. They spoke in low tones, and they sat in the dark.

"Don't you miss mother's step, Dan?" asked Susan.

"How strange it is to know that she is not in the house!" said Dan. "Hush!"

There was a step outside the door; it was the drunken step of their father, who stumbled through the passage and up the stairs, shedding tears of Gin as he staggered to bed, bemoaning the death of his wife. They listened with feelings of grief and fear until they heard his bedroom-door shut, and then turned to each other with deeper sighs. Shame for the living was more grievous to bear than sorrow for the dead.

CHAPTER XII

DAN ENTERS INTO BUSINESS

Their plans were commenced the very next day. Susan came round with her work, and gave Ellen her first lesson in dressmaking. Ellen was as skilful with the needle as Susan was, and made famous progress. A cheerful worker is sure to turn out a skilful one.

"I have been thinking in the night, Ellen," said Susan, "that we might go into partnership."

"Wait," said Dan the Just, looking up from the table, on which the birds were going through their performances; "there is time enough to talk of that. I don't intend that you shall sacrifice every thing for us."

"No sacrifice could be too great for me to make for you, Dan," replied Susan. "But I think that I should have all the advantage, if we were partners. Ellen has such a beautiful figure, that she would be sure to get customers. Stand up, dear-look at her, Dan!" And Susan turned Ellen about, and looked at her pretty sister's pretty figure without a tittle of envy. "If you are a judge of any thing but birds, Dan, you must confess that but is a model."

Dan smiled and said, "If Ellen wasn't good, you would make her vain. Let the partnership question rest for a little while. Go on with your work, and don't talk. I've got something very particular to do."

Dan, with his birds before him, appeared to be perplexed with some more than usually difficult problem concerning them. There was a curious indecision also in his treatment of them. Now he issued a command, now he countermanded it; now he ordered a movement, and before it was executed threw the birds into confusion by giving the signal for something entirely different. Until at length the birds, especially the old stagers, stood looking irresolutely at each other, with the possible thought in their minds (if they have any) that their master had taken a drop too much to drink; and one young recruit-none but a young one and a tomtit, who is notoriously the sauciest of birds, would have dared to do it-advanced, alone and unsupported, to the edge of the table, and looking up in Dan's face, asked what he meant by it. Recalled to himself by this act of insubordination, Dan recovered his usual self-possession, and selected two bullfinches, somewhat similar to those which he had given to the Old Sailor. They were young untrained birds, and Dan at once commenced their education. But Ellen remarked with surprise that he was less tender in his manner towards them than towards the other birds. He spoke to them more sternly, and as if the business in which they were engaged was a serious business, with not a particle of nonsense in it.

"See, Ellen," he said after some days had passed-"see how clever they are They draw up their own food and their own water; and directly I sound this whistle, they sing 'God save the King.'"

He blew through the tin whistle, and the birds sang the air through.

"Now you sound the whistle, Ellen." Ellen blew through the whistle, and the birds repeated the air.

"So you see, Ellen it doesn't matter who blows the whistle; the birds begin to sing directly they hear it. Here is another whistle-a wooden one, with a different note. Blow that softly."

Ellen blew, and the bullfinches immediately set to work hauling up water from the well.

"That is good, isn't it?" said Dan. "They will obey anybody."

"But tell me, Dan, why you don't speak to them as kindly as you do to the others?"

"Ah, you have noticed it, miss, have you? I thought you did. Well, then in the first place, I wanted to teach them by a new system. I wanted to teach them so that anybody can make them do what I do, if he gives the proper signal; and I have succeeded, as you see. If I had taught them by my voice as I have taught the others, they wouldn't have been of use to any one but me. They are such cunning little thing's, and they have such delicate little ears! In the second place, Ellen, I did not want to grow fond of them."

"Why, Dan dear?"