"People can't show what they have not," replied friend Sliver, with a slight twinkle in his bright gray eye. "Can thee respect a drunkard, Emma?"

"I can respect a _soul_, sir," replied Emma, warmly,--"a soul made in the image of G.o.d, though it were sunk in the very depths of pollution and wretchedness; and so can the 'Great and Holy One,' Mr. Sliver, or he never would have sent his Son to redeem the world."

The sly twinkle vanished from the good Quaker's eye, and he looked seriously, earnestly, into the face of that dear girl. "Emma," said he, "what would thee do for Peter and his family? Can I aid thee in any way?"

"You have done so already," said she, "by speaking of the temptations to which he is exposed. I think that I can persuade mother to employ him; and Mr. Sliver, as you are acquainted with the people here, you may do Mr. Graffam a good service, by persuading your neighbors to feel and to manifest some interest in himself and his family; ask them not to allow their children to call him 'Old Pete,' 'Old toper,' &c., and twit him of riding a high horse."

"I will," replied friend Sliver, "and I will do anything else in my power to help thee."

"Thank you," said Emma, smiling, and sliding from the fence; "I am greatly obliged to you; good-by, Mr. Sliver."

"Farewell!" replied the old man, as he once more watched her descending the hill, and thought of what Sarah had said about her "ripening for glory."

It was on the afternoon of that day that Dora and Emma set out for a visit to the plains. "I think," said the former, "that we had better ride around by 'Snow-Hill,' and inquire at Mr. Cotting's respecting this family." Mr. Cotting was the minister, and his wife was considered a very active woman, and such in truth she was. Sewing circles, Sunday-school exhibitions, donation parties, &c., had been quite unknown to that community until Mrs. Cotting came. It was said, too, that she had visited all the poor families around, and fitted out their children for Sabbath school.

"If," said Dora, "we succeed in getting this poor family of the plains to mingle with their fellows, Mrs. Cotting's help will be needed; she is directress of the sewing circle, and from that can obtain clothing for the children."

"Dear Dora," replied Emma, "don't propose any such thing, either to Mr.

Graffam or his wife, now. It won't do--not yet. We will call and see Mrs. Cotting, if you please. She may know this family, and may be able to tell us how to manage. Here is the road which goes around by Snow-Hill: but stop a moment; there is Willie Graffam and his little sister, just coming from the plain.

"How do you do, Willie?" continued Emma, as the children, each carrying a basket of berries, drew nearer.

"Very well, thank you," said Willie, taking off his hat; and the little girl courtesied, without lifting her eyes from the ground.

"We are going over to see your mother," said Emma.

"Mother will be very glad to see _you_," replied the little boy; at the same time looking inquiringly at the horse's head which was turned toward Snow-Hill.

Dora smiled at the emphasis bestowed upon _you_, and asked Willie "if his mother would not be glad to see her."

"I guess so," was the reply; "but----"

"But what, Willie?" asked Emma.

The little fellow hung his head, and answered in a lower tone, "Mother don't want to see the minister's wife, for she has been at our house once."

"I am afraid," said Dora, as they pa.s.sed on, "that this family is one whom it will be difficult to benefit."

"You will excuse me for keeping you in waiting so long," said Mrs.

Cotting, as she entered the room where Dora and Emma had been seated for nearly an hour; "I understood the maid that it was Mrs. Lindsay herself, and I was in _dishabille_. My duties are so numerous and so pressing," continued Mrs. Cotting. "One might think that the cares of a family were sufficient for a wife and mother; but added to this, to have a whole parish upon one's hands." Here she paused and sighed.

"Your situation," replied Dora, "is indeed one of earnest duty and responsibility; but the abundant grace provided for our utmost need is found, I trust, sufficient for you."

Mrs. Cotting bowed, and Dora continued: "We will not take your time, madam, which must be fully occupied. We called to inquire respecting a family called Graffam, living upon the plain."

"I know them," said Mrs. Cotting, "as indeed I do every other poor family in town. These Graffams are very strange people. I called there with Mrs. Jefferson Motley, the wealthiest lady at the mills. Graffam had a child at that time lying at the point of death. He was at home, and, what is a rare thing, was sober; but neither he nor his wife seemed at all grateful for this attention from myself and Mrs. Motley.

We were at that time hunting up children for the Sabbath school; and in our charitable work were not unwilling to visit the most degraded. We told Graffam and his wife so; and told them, moreover, that we were desirous to rescue their children from ignorance and infamy. I had a bundle of clothes for the children, which I offered to Mrs. Graffam, on condition that she would keep them clean; never allowing them to be worn in their own dirty hut, but saved expressly for the Sabbath school. Then I talked to her faithfully of her own evil ways, (for I had heard that she picked berries upon the Sabbath;) and what do you suppose the poor wretch did? Why she turned from the dying bed of her child, and looked Mrs. Motley and myself in the face, as though we were common acquaintances. 'Madam,' said she, 'your religion is not to my taste. I prefer our present ignorance, and even infamy, to what you have offered this morning. As for picking berries upon the Sabbath, I must refer that to Him of whom, I must confess, I know too little; but my parents taught me that G.o.d is just, and I believe that he will justly judge between the rich who pay their laborers in that which is neither money nor bread, and the mother who, for lack of bread, must break the Sabbath.' Think what an impudent thrust at Mrs. Motley!--her husband allows Graffam to take up the most of his wages in rum, I suppose. It was evident that this Mrs. Graffam was no subject for charity--she was too ungrateful and too insolent; so we came away, bringing the things with us. The child died, and they would not have Mr. Cotting to attend the funeral. Graffam went for old Mr. Sliver, who sat in silence with the family for about half an hour, and then was 'moved upon' to pray. The s.e.xton said that Graffam and his wife sobbed aloud; but I have never ventured there again."

Dora and Emma now rose to depart, and in going away met Mr. Cotting at the door. Emma felt herself indebted to her minister, and, with the cordiality of true Christian friendship, returned his greeting.

"We are going to visit the family upon the plain," said she, as Mr.

Cotting unfastened their horse, and was about to turn him the other way.

"Are you?" inquired he, "that is what I have not done myself, as yet; Mrs. Cotting received so ungracious a reception, that it rather discouraged me; if you are upon a visit of charity I hope that you will be better received."

"_Charity_ ought to be kindly received everywhere," replied Emma, "since she is long-suffering and kind herself, not easily provoked, and certainly not provoking, because she never behaves herself unseemly."

"No," replied the minister, thoughtfully; "it is strange that true charity should be distasteful to any one." Then offering his hand, as he bade them good-by, he said to Emma, "I hope, my dear, that this charity abounds in you."

"O no," she replied, "it does not _abound_--although, I trust, it has a home in my poor heart."

Emma found the door of poor Graffam's hut open, and the mother sitting beside the cradle where lay the sick babe asleep.

"Walk in," said Mrs. Graffam, smiling as she advanced toward the door.

Dora was surprised at the ease of her manner, and the pleasant expression of her countenance, as she handed them chairs, and seemed really glad to see them.

"The babe is better," said she, as Emma advanced toward the cradle; and at that moment the little one awoke.

The good motherly Dora took the "wee bit" into her arms, and talked with Mrs. Graffam about the best course to be pursued with a feeble child like that, while Emma unpacked the stores which they brought, among which were many things not intended for baby, but which she delicately cla.s.sed with the rest, calling the whole "medicine."

Mrs. Graffam was at first somewhat reserved; but as Dora talked to her as a friend and sister, the frost of her spirit melted away, and she spoke of her mother now dead, of brothers and sisters, some dead and some far away: and as she grew thus communicative, and the tears of fond recollection trembled in her eyes, Dora talked of Him, the dear unfailing friend, who sticketh closer than a brother; who, in all the afflictions of his people, is afflicted, and the angel of whose presence is with them to comfort and to bless.

Then poor Mrs. Graffam wept much, saying that she needed just such a friend. And when they went away, she wrapped the babe in a shawl, and, taking it in her arms, went with them to the road where they had left their horse.

"You will come and see me again, won't you?" she asked.

And Emma replied, "Yes, Mrs. Graffam; _I_ will come as long as I am able, and when I am not, you must come and see me."

"I will," was the warm reply; "I would walk miles to see you, if you were sick."

CHAPTER V.

THE OLD PEDDLER--BITTER WORDS--THE MEEK REPLY--THE EFFECT--ACTING A PART--SOFTER FEELINGS--THE DEATH-SCENE--THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS--SIMPLE CHRISTIAN COURTESY.

"I know," said f.a.n.n.y Brighton, "that there is not a word of truth in what you say. Peddlers are always liars. This ring is nothing but bra.s.s, and would turn black with a week's wearing."

"I bought it for gold," meekly replied the old man, as he placed his heavy box upon the ground, and wiped the large drops of sweat from his wrinkled face.

"What else have you?" inquired Alice, as she turned over a box of thimbles, and pulled out a large handkerchief. "What a splendid thing!"

said Alice; but at the same time she winked at f.a.n.n.y, and laughed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GIRLS AND THE PEDDLER.]

"Half cotton," said f.a.n.n.y; "and now pray tell me when you take time to split your skeins of silk."