PAGE 16
The Fiery Trial
by
“Since yesterday I have learned that he was in the city less than a year ago–and that Constance was living. How my heart throbs! Shall I see my own dear child again? Theodore, I fear, is in very bad health, if still alive. He had to give up a good situation about a year ago, as book-keeper in a large establishment here, where he was much esteemed, on account of his health giving way so fast under the confinement. I believe he took another situation as salesman in a retail store, on a very small salary. Some one told me that Constance had been under the necessity of taking in sewing, to help to get a living–and all this time we had abundance all around us! I call myself, ‘wretch,’–and so I would call any other man who would cast off his child, as I have done–a tender flower to meet the cold winds of autumn.
“I have seen my child! my poor dear Constance! But oh, how changed! While passing along the street to-day, almost in despair of ever finding her–a slender female, about the same height of Constance, passed me hastily. There was something peculiar, I thought, about her, and I felt as I had never yet felt, while near a stranger. I followed her, scarce knowing the reason why. She entered a clothing-store, and I went in after her, and asked to look at some article, I scarce knew what. Her first word startled me as would a shock of electricity. It was my own child. But I could not make myself known to her there. She laid down upon the counter three vests, and then presented a small book. in which to have the work entered. The entry was made, and the book handed back.
“‘There are just three dollars due you,’ said the man.
“‘Three-and-a-half, I believe it is, sir.’
“‘No, it’s only three.’
“‘Then I have calculated wrong. I thought it was three-and-a-half.’
“How mournful and disappointed was her tone!
“After standing for some time looking over her book, she said in a lighter voice, ‘well, I believe I am right. See here; I have made twenty-eight vests, and at twelve-and-a-half cents each, that is three dollars and a half.’
“‘Well, I believe you are right,’ said the man, in a changed tone, after looking over the book again.
“‘Can you pay me to-day? I am much in want of it.’
“‘No, I can’t. I have a thousand dollars to pay in bank, and I cannot spare anything before two or three days.’
“She paused a moment, and then went slowly towards the door; lingered for a short time, and then turned to the man again. I then saw for the first time, for ten long years, her face. How thin and pale it was! how troubled its expression!–But it was the face of our dear Constance. She did not look towards me; but turned again to the shop-keeper, and said,
“‘Be kind enough, sir, to let me have one dollar. I want it very much!’
“‘You give me more trouble about your money than any other workman I have,’ said the man roughly, as he handed her a dollar.
“She took it, unheeding the cruel remark, and before I could make up my mind how to act, glided quickly away. I followed as hastily, and continued to walk after her, until I saw her enter a large, old-fashioned brick building. About this dwelling, there was no air of comfort. In the door sat a little girl, and two boys, pale, but pleasant-looking children. One of them clapped his little hands as Constance passed them, and then got up and ran after her into the house. They all had her own bright eyes. I would have known them for (sic) her’s anywhere.
“Does it not seem strange that I hesitated to go in at once to my child. But I am at a loss what to do. Sometimes I think that I will wait until you come on, and make her heart glad with the presence of both at once. To-morrow I will write you again. The mail is just closing; and I must send this.”