Eliza’s Mother
by
I generally send Eliza to spend a day with her mother early in December, and try to cheer her up a little. I daresay the old lady is very lonely, and appreciates the kindly thought. The return ticket is four-and-two, and Eliza generally buys a few flowers to take with her. That does not leave much change out of five shillings when the day is over, but I don’t grudge the money. Eliza’s mother generally tries to find out, without precisely asking, what we should like for a Christmas present. Eliza does not actually tell her, or even hint it–she would not care to do anything of that sort. But she manages, in a tactful sort of way, to let her know.
For instance, the year before last Eliza’s mother happened to say, “I wonder if you know what I am going to give you this Christmas.”
Eliza said, “I can see in your eye, mother, and you sha’n’t do it. It’s much too expensive. If other people can do without silver salt-cellars, I suppose we can.”
Well, we got them; so that was all right. But last year it was more difficult.
* * * * *
You see, early in last December I went over my accounts, and I could see that I was short. For one thing, Eliza had had the measles. Then I had bought a bicycle, and though I sold it again, it did not, in that broken state, bring in enough to pay the compensation to the cabman. I was much annoyed about that. It was true I ran into the horse, but it was not my fault that it bolted and went into the lamp-post. As I said, rather sharply, to the man when I paid him, if his horse had been steady the thing would never have happened. He did not know what to answer, and made some silly remark about my not being fit to ride a mangle. Both then and at the time of the accident his language was disrespectful and profane.
However, I need not go further into that. It is enough to say that we had some unusual expenses, and were distinctly short.
“I don’t blame you, Eliza,” I said. “Anything you have had you are very welcome to.”
“I haven’t had anything, except the measles,” she said; “and I don’t see how you can blame me for that.”
“But,” I said, “I think it’s high time you paid a visit to your mother, and showed her that we have not forgotten her. Take some Swiss roll–about sixpennyworth. Try to make things seem a little brighter to her. If she says anything about Christmas, and you saw your way to getting a cheque from her this year instead of her usual present, you might do that. But show her that we are really fond of her–remember she is your mother, and has few pleasures. A fiver just now would make a good deal of difference to me, and even a couple of sovereigns would be very handy.”
* * * * *
When Eliza came back, I saw by her face that it was all right.
“I didn’t have to say anything,” she said. “Mother told me of her own accord that she knew that you had money troubles, and that she was going to take advantage of the Christmas season to relieve you from them in a way which at another time you might be too proud to accept.”
“That,” I said, warmly, “is very thoughtful of her, and very delicate, and it can only mean one thing. It settles me. This year, Eliza, we will give your mother a present. Quite a trifle, of course–about two shillings. It will be a token, and she will value it.”