PAGE 19
The Ruined Family
by
“Did Mrs.–grant your request?” was almost the first question that Anna asked of her sister that evening, when she returned from the store.
“No, Anna, I was positively refused,” Mary replied, the tears rising and almost gushing over her cheeks.
“Then we will only have to do the best we can with what little we have. We shall not be able to get him a new coat; but we can have his old one done up, with a new collar and buttons,–I priced a pair of pantaloons at one of the clothing-stores, in Market-street, as I came up this evening, and the man said three dollars and a half. They looked pretty well. There was a vest, too, for a dollar. I heard one of the young men in the store say, two or three days ago, that he had sold his old hat, which was a very good one, to the hatter, from whom he had bought a new one–or rather, that the hatter had taken the old one on account, valued at a dollar. I asked him a question or two, and learned that many hatters do this, and sell the old hats at the same that they have allowed for them. One of these I will try to get,–even if a good deal worn; it will look far better than the one he has at present.”
“In that case, then,” Mary said, brightening up, “we can still get him fitted up respectably. O, how glad I shall be! Don’t you think, sister, that we have good reason to hope for him?”
“I try to think so, Mary. But my heart often trembles with fearful apprehensions when I think of his going out among his old associates again. It will be little less than a miracle if he should not fall.”
“Don’t give way to desponding thoughts, sister. Let us hope so strongly for the best, that our very hope shall compass its own fruition. He cannot, he must not, go back!”
Anna did not reply. Her own feelings were inclined to droop and despond, but she did not wish to have her sister’s droop and despond likewise. One reason for her saddened feelings arose from the fact, that she had a painful consciousness that she should not long be able to retain her present situation. Her health was sinking so rapidly, that it was only by the aid of strong resolutions, which lifted her mind up and sustained her in spite of bodily weakness, that she was at all enabled to get through with her duties. This she was conscious could not last long.
On the next morning, when she attempted to rise from her bed, she became so faint and sick that she was compelled to lie down again. The feeling of alarm that instantly thrilled through her bosom, lest she should no longer be able to minister to the wants of her mother, and especially of her brother at this important crisis in his life, acted as a stimulant to exhausted nature, and endowed her with a degree of artificial strength that enabled her to make another and more successful effort to resume her wearying toil.
But so weak did she feel, even after she had forced herself to take a few mouthfuls of food at breakfast time, that she lingered for nearly half an hour longer than her usual time of starting in order to allow her system to get a little braced up, so that she could stand the long walk she had to take.
“Good by, brother,” she said in a cheerful tone, coming up to the bed upon which Alfred lay, and stooping down and kissing him. “You must try and sit up as much as you can to-day.”
“Good by, Anna. I wish you didn’t have to go away and stay so long.”
To this, Anna could not trust herself to reply. She only pressed tightly the hand she held in her own, and then turned quickly away.