CHAPTER VII
DAY BY DAY
For the first time in her life Betty is glad to be at home. The roomsseem more comfortable and airy than they have ever done before.
"Oh, how thankful I am that I don't live in that horrid, narrow street,like those poor wretched-looking women and children!" she thinks. Evenone morning's work among people so much worse off than herself hasopened her eyes a little to the blessings she possesses in her home.
Why, if father were only coming home as usual to-night, she could feelalmost happy--_if_--ah! but father is not coming home; yet he will comesome day, his life is in no danger. Oh, she will be brave for his sake,she will be true to the trust he has left in her hands!
No dinner ready again; mother still quite incapable of attending toanything, and poor Betty thoroughly tired out with her anxiousmorning's work. Yet she is not even cross.
No, the more trying and difficult things are, the greater the victory;and just now she feels braced up, heart and soul, for the fight.
It is sometimes easier to be brave and unselfish in a time of realtrouble, than to bear with patience and sweetness the little worries ofeveryday life.
But Betty is on the right road now, she is doing great things; she ismarching straight on; she is opening her heart to the Lord, and allowingHis light to shine into its dark places, and there is hope that beforethe little, wearing everyday worries come back again, she may be strongenough to resist even them, and prove herself a true Soldier at last.
She may fail though, and darken the light that God sends her! Well, wewill hope for better things.
So Betty bustles about, and has dinner ready as usual when the childrencome in. Not until they are all off to school again has she time to tellher mother of the morning's work.
Mrs. Langdale is not at all encouraging.
"Nice place to send a girl like you to. What is he going to pay you?"
"I don't know yet, mother."
"And you never thought of asking? You silly child! He'll take your workand give you nothing."
"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't do that, mother." But she looks rather blankat the idea.
"Well, you'll see; and don't say I didn't warn you. When are you goingto see Mr. Duncan again?"
"To-morrow. I'm to make out an account of the rents to-night, and takeit with me."
Betty finds that this last is easier said than done. She pores over thebooks until her head aches. Presently Bob comes in.
"Here, Betty, look sharp. I want a button sewn on my coat, and I can'tfind that new pair of boot-laces, and--why, just fancy sitting therereading like that! No wonder a fellow can never get anything done inthis house--it's too bad!"
"I'm not reading, I'm doing Mr. Duncan's accounts," says Betty quietly.The knowledge that she is working unselfishly for the good of her familyis a grand help towards keeping her temper!
Bob stares. "Rubbish!" he says.
"Come and see, Bob. I'm to do part of father's work, and Oh, I do wishyou could help me. I feel so stupid to-night, and there is so much todo."
Bob melts at once. "Why, Bet, who would have thought of your doing sucha thing? There, let me see--Ah, here we are! Now then----"
But, alas! just as Bob is beginning to bring his brand-new ideas ofcorrect book-keeping to bear on the problem before them, a violentoutcry arises from Pollie, who, until now, has been playing fairlyquietly with Jennie in the corner.
"Harry, you bad, wicked boy!" she screams, "I'll pull all your hair out,that I will!" and she rushes at Harry like a little fury. Harry defendshimself savagely, and Jennie, curled up on the floor, howls her loudest.
"Be quiet, Jennie! Pollie and Harry, if you don't leave off fighting atonce, I'll box your ears all round!" cries Bob, looking up angrily fromhis work.
"Harry's sawn the leg off one of our dollies!" shrieks Pollie, "and he'sa bad, bad, wicked boy!"
Harry defends himself savagely.]
"She asked me to," roars Harry; "her dollie had smashed its leg likefather, and I was the doctor, and had to take it off."
"He hadn't! He was to cure its bad leg, and now he's made it worse, andI'll pull his hair out for that, I will!"
"I don't care about your old dolls and rubbish; but if you're not quietthis minute I'll knock all your heads together and give you something tocry for!" cries Bob, still more angrily, and he starts from his chair asthough to execute his threat.
But Betty lays her hand entreatingly on his arm. "Oh, Bob, don't; fatherwouldn't like it. He can't bear you to strike the children. Pollie,perhaps the doll can be mended; Harry didn't mean any harm. Harry, bequiet, you must not beat your little sister. Pollie, leave go, younaughty girl----"
But Betty is powerless to stop the storm. Bob tries to separate Harryand Pollie, who are fighting desperately. Harry kicks at Bob, whereatthe elder brother loses his temper altogether, and cuffs Harryvigorously on both sides of his head. Harry roars; Jennie and Polliecontinue to shriek. Bob, his face flaming with wrath, drags eachscreaming, kicking child to the door, and flings it into the passage.Then he locks the door, and with flushed face and tumbled hair, thoughpretending to look quite unconcerned, goes on with the books, in spiteof the yells from the passage outside.
Betty is in despair.
"Oh, Bob, how could you be so violent? If father had been at home youwould not have behaved so----"
"Look here, Betty, if you're going to begin that, you may take the booksyourself and do them; I'm sick of the whole thing!"
Betty is wise enough to make no answer to Bob's outburst. She leaves theroom quietly, and, after some trouble, pacifies the children, and seesthem all safely in bed.
She feels thoroughly humiliated and miserable. The whole thing is such akeen disgrace; that _her_ brothers and sisters should behave so roughlyand rudely!
How untrained they all are--how badly brought up! No wonder father hasgrown so sad and old-looking of late. His old home--when he lived withGrannie--must have been very different.
She returns to the accounts. Bob is still poring over them, but looks sosavage that she is almost afraid to speak. He finishes the work insilence, answers her thanks with a grunt, and goes off with his head inthe air, and both hands deep in his pockets.
And Betty goes to bed herself, depressed indeed.
But the next morning there is a short pencil-note from father. His kneeis more comfortable, but the doctor fears it will be a long business. Heis most anxious to hear what Mr. Duncan will do.
Reading the note to mother, who is not up yet, makes Betty rather laterthan usual, and she runs straight to the kitchen to hurry on thebreakfast.
"Oh, Clara, the kettle not boiling yet, nor the porridge on--why, thisis too bad! You are more behindhand than ever. Pray, how does thishappen?"
"Don't know," mutters Clara, sulkily.
"But you ought to know. Come, make haste--a bundle of wood, quick! Thechildren must leave in half an hour."
Betty bustles about, and manages to get some sort of meal ready in time.
Breakfast over, and the children gone to school, she returns to thekitchen.
Things cannot be allowed to go on like this. She must talk to Clara.
But what can she say? Clara is so used to scolding, that she caresnothing for it. No, she must try to reason with her; she must teach herto think.
Wise Betty! Perplexed and troubled, she turns into the now desertedsitting-room for a few moments, and asks the Lord to help her. Then shegoes back.
"Clara," she begins, "I have to go out this morning to look after someof father's business. I shall have to go out a good deal, for the workmust be done, and is not easy to do; indeed, I can't do it at all unlessyou help me."
Clara opens her eyes very wide at this.
"I see you wonder what I mean. You must help me by getting all your worknicely forward, and the dinner prepared before I get back. Now, justlook at this kitchen; I don't believe it's been swept since the daybefore yesterday; has it, Clara?"
Clara is silent; an
d begins biting the corner of her apron sulkily.
"Why are you neglecting everything in this way? Come, answer me, Clara."
"Don't know; I'm upset, I s'pose."
"Well, what has upset you?"
"Master's accident, of course. I wouldn't care a bit if it was somefolks--serve them right! But master, who never speaks a cross word toanyone, and always asks after mother--that it should happen to him! Itisn't fair! I don't see what is to prevent _any_ of us getting our legsbroken if he is to be smashed up in this way; and I'm that upset, Ican't seem to settle to anything."
"But that is just what we've all got to learn to do--for father's sake.And, Clara, I think God has sent us this trouble because we have allbeen so careless and thankless in the past. You've never really cared todo your work properly, I'm afraid; you've never felt any realresponsibility about it----"
"Oh, how can you say that? I'm always at work, and never, never done!"
"That's just because you never think about your work; you don't evertake the trouble to arrange it; and you don't care a bit about neatnessor cleanliness."
Clara raises the corner of the dirty apron from her mouth to her eyes.
"What's the good?" she whimpers. "I should get in a muddle againdirectly; my work isn't anything _but_ muddle!"
"But that's what it shouldn't be. You do your work as though you thoughtit wasn't worth doing at all."
"Don't think about it at all," mutters Clara.
"That's just it. My Grannie, she keeps her house as clean and tidy as anew pin, and yet always has time for everything. My Grannie says thatall work is really beautiful if it is done for God. Did you never hearof the little servant who used to say she swept the floor for God, andcleaned the pots for God, too? God sees everything, you know.
"Then, again, you're sorry for father's accident; but why don't you showyou're sorry by doing your work in the way father would like? Untidyrooms and careless, slipshod ways worry him dreadfully. Now, wouldn't itbe nice if we could get all the house in apple-pie order, and ourselvesinto nice, tidy ways, before he comes out of the hospital? What a smileof thanks he would give us all round! Come, isn't that something worthtrying for?"
"Hum! Don't see how it's going to be done," mutters Clara, looking roundthe untidy kitchen hopelessly. "We're just in a muddle everywhere."
"We can't get straight all of a minute, of course. But what I want us todo is to make a beginning. Ah, there's ten o'clock striking! I must goto Mr. Duncan with the books. Now, you will try--won't you, Clara?You'll work for God, and to please father, and to help me; and, Clara,"adds Betty, in a hurried whisper, "_do_ run upstairs and put your capstraight, and wash that great black smut from your face--it's rightacross your nose."