THE ORPHANS.
NEAR the ruins of the castle of Rossmore, in Ireland, is a small cabin,in which there once lived a widow and her four children. As long as shewas able to work, she was very industrious, and was accounted the bestspinner in the parish; but she overworked herself at last, and fell ill,so that she could not sit to her wheel as she used to do, and was obligedto give it up to her eldest daughter, Mary.
Mary was at this time about twelve years old. One evening she wassitting at the foot of her mother’s bed spinning, and her little brothersand sisters were gathered round the fire eating their potatoes and milkfor supper. “Bless them, the poor young creatures!” said the widow, who,as she lay on her bed, which she knew must be her deathbed, was thinkingof what would become of her children after she was gone. Mary stoppedher wheel, for she was afraid that the noise of it had wakened hermother, and would hinder her from going to sleep again.
“No need to stop the wheel, Mary, dear, for me,” said her mother, “I wasnot asleep; nor is it _that_ which keeps me from sleep. But don’toverwork yourself, Mary.”
“Oh, no fear of that,” replied Mary; “I’m strong and hearty.”
“So was I once,” said her mother.
“And so you will be again, I hope,” said Mary, “when the fine weathercomes again.”
“The fine weather will never come again to me,” said her mother. “’Tis afolly, Mary, to hope for that; but what I hope is, that you’ll find somefriend—some help—orphans as you’ll soon all of you be. And one thingcomforts my heart, even as I _am_ lying here, that not a soul in the wideworld I am leaving has to complain of me. Though poor I have livedhonest, and I have brought you up to be the same, Mary; and I am sure thelittle ones will take after you; for you’ll be good to them—as good tothem as you can.”
Here the children, who had finished eating their suppers, came round thebed, to listen to what their mother was saying. She was tired ofspeaking, for she was very weak; but she took their little hands, as theylaid them on the bed and joining them all together, she said, “Bless you,dears; bless you; love and help one another all you can. Goodnight!—good-bye!”
Mary took the children away to their bed, for she saw that their motherwas too ill to say more; but Mary did not herself know how ill she was.Her mother never spoke rightly afterwards, but talked in a confused wayabout some debts, and one in particular, which she owed to aschoolmistress for Mary’s schooling; and then she charged Mary to go andpay it, because she was not able to _go in_ with it. At the end of theweek she was dead and buried, and the orphans were left alone in theircabin.
The two youngest girls, Peggy and Nancy, were six and seven years old.Edmund was not yet nine, but he was a stout-grown, healthy boy, and welldisposed to work. He had been used to bring home turf from the bog onhis back, to lead cart-horses, and often to go on errands for gentlemen’sfamilies, who paid him a sixpence or a shilling, according to thedistance which he went, so that Edmund, by some or other of these littleemployments, was, as he said, likely enough to earn his bread; and hetold Mary to have a good heart, for that he should every year grow ableto do more and more, and that he should never forget his mother’s wordswhen she last gave him her blessing, and joined their hands all together.
As for Peggy and Nancy, it was little that they could do; but they weregood children, and Mary, when she considered that so much depended uponher, was resolved to exert herself to the utmost. Her first care was topay those debts which her mother had mentioned to her, for which she leftmoney done up carefully in separate papers. When all these were paidaway, there was not enough left to pay both the rent of the cabin and ayear’s schooling for herself and sisters which was due to theschoolmistress in a neighbouring village.
Mary was in hopes that the rent would not be called for immediately, butin this she was disappointed. Mr. Harvey, the gentleman on whose estateshe lived, was in England, and, in his absence, all was managed by a Mr.Hopkins, an agent, who was a _hard man_. {2} The driver came to Maryabout a week after her mother’s death, and told her that the rent must bebrought in the next day, and that she must leave the cabin, for a newtenant was coming into it; that she was too young to have a house toherself, and that the only thing she had to do was to get some neighbourto take her and her brother and her sisters in for charity’s sake.
The driver finished by hinting that she would not be so hardly used ifshe had not brought upon herself the ill-will of Miss Alice, the agent’sdaughter. Mary, it is true, had refused to give Miss Alice a goat uponwhich she had set her fancy; but this was the only offence of which shehad been guilty, and at the time she refused it her mother wanted thegoat’s milk, which was the only thing she then liked to drink.
Mary went immediately to Mr. Hopkins, the agent, to pay her rent; and shebegged of him to let her stay another year in her cabin; but this herefused. It was now September 25th, and he said that the new tenant mustcome in on the 29th, so that she must quit it directly. Mary could notbear the thoughts of begging any of the neighbours to take her and herbrother and sisters in _for charity’s sake_; for the neighbours were allpoor enough themselves. So she bethought herself that she might findshelter in the ruins of the old castle of Rossmore where she and herbrother, in better times, had often played at hide and seek. The kitchenand two other rooms near it were yet covered in tolerably well; and alittle thatch, she thought, would make them comfortable through thewinter. The agent consented to let her and her brother and sisters go inthere, upon her paying him half a guinea in hand, and promising to paythe same yearly.
Into these lodgings the orphans now removed, taking with them twobedsteads, a stool, chair and a table, a sort of press, which containedwhat little clothes they had, and a chest in which they had two hundredof meal. The chest was carried for them by some of the charitableneighbours, who likewise added to their scanty stock of potatoes and turfwhat would make it last through the winter.
These children were well thought of and pitied, because their mother wasknown to have been all her life honest and industrious. “Sure,” says oneof the neighbours, “we can do no less than give a helping hand to thepoor orphans, that are so ready to help themselves.” So one helped tothatch the room in which they were to sleep, and another took their cowto graze upon his bit of land on condition of having half the milk; andone and all said they should be welcome to take share of their potatoesand buttermilk if they should find their own ever fall short.
The half-guinea which Mr. Hopkins, the agent, required for letting Maryinto the castle, was part of what she had to pay to the schoolmistress,to whom above a guinea was due. Mary went to her, and took her goatalong with her, and offered it in part of payment of the debt, but theschoolmistress would not receive the goat. She said that she could affordto wait for her money till Mary was able to pay it; that she knew her tobe an honest, industrious little girl, and she would trust her with morethan a guinea. Mary thanked her; and she was glad to take the goat homeagain, as she was very fond of it.
Being now settled in their house, they went every day regularly to work;Maud spun nine cuts a day, besides doing all that was to be done in thehouse; Edmund got fourpence a day by his work; and Peggy and Annie earnedtwopence apiece at the paper-mills near Navan, where they were employedto sort rags, and to cut them into small pieces.
When they had done work one day, Annie went to the master of thepaper-mill and asked him if she might have two sheets of large whitepaper which were lying on the press. She offered a penny for the paper;but the master would not take anything from her, but gave her the paperwhen he found that she wanted it to make a garland for her mother’sgrave. Annie and Peggy cut out the garland, and Mary, when it wasfinished, went along with them and Edmund to put it up. It was just amonth after their mother’s death.
It happened, at the time the orphans were putting up this garland, thattwo young ladies, who were returning home after their evening walk,stopped at the gate of the churchyard to look at the red light which
thesetting sun cast upon the window of the church. As the ladies werestanding at the gate, they heard a voice near them crying, “O, mother!mother! are you gone for ever?” They could not see anyone, so theywalked softly round to the other side of the church, and there they sawMary kneeling beside a grave, on which her brothers and sisters werehanging their white garlands.
The children all stood still when they saw the two ladies passing nearthem; but Mary did not know anybody was passing, for her face was hid inher hands.
Isabella and Caroline (so these ladies were called) would not disturb thepoor children; but they stopped in the village to inquire about them. Itwas at the house of the schoolmistress that they stopped, and she gavethem a good account of these orphans. She particularly commended Mary’shonesty, in having immediately paid all her mother’s debts to the utmostfarthing, as far as her money would go. She told the ladies how Mary hadbeen turned out of her house, and how she had offered her goat, of whichshe was very fond, to discharge a debt due for her schooling; and, inshort, the schoolmistress, who had known Mary for several years, spoke sowell of her that these ladies resolved that they would go to the oldcastle of Rossmore to see her the next day.
When they went there, they found the room in which the children lived asclean and neat as such a ruined place could be made. Edmund was outworking with a farmer, Mary was spinning, and her little sisters weremeasuring out some bogberries, of which they had gathered a basketful,for sale. Isabella, after telling Mary what an excellent character shehad heard of her, inquired what it was she most wanted; and Mary saidthat she had just worked up all her flax, and she was most in want ofmore flax for her wheel.
Isabella promised that she would send her a fresh supply of flax, andCaroline bought the bogberries from the little girls, and gave them moneyenough to buy a pound of coarse cotton for knitting, as Mary said thatshe could teach them how to knit.
The supply of flax, which Isabella sent the next day, was of greatservice to Mary, as it kept her in employment for above a month; and whenshe sold the yarn which she had spun with it, she had money enough to buysome warm flannel for winter wear. Besides spinning well, she hadlearned at school to do plain work tolerably neatly, and Isabella andCaroline employed her to work for them; by which she earned a great dealmore than she could by spinning. At her leisure hours she taught hersisters to read and write; and Edmund, with part of the money which heearned by his work out of doors, paid a schoolmaster for teaching him alittle arithmetic. When the winter nights came on, he used to light hisrush candles for Mary to work by. He had gathered and stripped a goodprovision of rushes in the month of August, and a neighbour gave himgrease to dip them in.
One evening, just as he had lighted his candles, a footman came in, whowas sent by Isabella with some plain work to Mary. This servant was anEnglishman, and he was but newly come over to Ireland. The rush candlescaught his attention; for he had never seen any of them before, as hecame from a part of England where they were not used. Edmund, who wasready to oblige, and proud that his candles were noticed showed theEnglishman how they were made, and gave him a bundle of rushes. {5}
The servant was pleased with his good nature in this trifling instance,and remembered it long after it was forgotten by Edmund. Whenever hismaster wanted to send a messenger anywhere, Gilbert (for that was theservant’s name) always employed his little friend Edmund, whom, uponfurther acquaintance, he liked better and better. He found that Edmundwas both quick and exact in executing commissions.
One day, after he had waited a great while at a gentleman’s house for ananswer to a letter, he was so impatient to get home that he ran offwithout it. When he was questioned by Gilbert why he did not bring ananswer, he did not attempt to make any excuse; he did not say, “_Therewas no answer_, _please your honour_,” or, “_They bid me not to wait_,”etc.; but he told exactly the truth; and though Gilbert scolded him forbeing so impatient as not to wait, yet his telling the truth was more tothe boy’s advantage than any excuse he could have made. After this hewas always believed when he said, “_There was no answer_,” or, “_They bidme not wait_”; for Gilbert knew that he would not tell a lie to savehimself from being scolded.
The orphans continued to assist one another in their work according totheir strength and abilities; and they went on in this manner for threeyears. With what Mary got by her spinning and plain work, and Edmund byleading of cart-horses, going on errands, etc., and with little Peggy andAnne’s earnings, the family contrived to live comfortably. Isabella andCaroline often visited them, and sometimes gave them clothes, andsometimes flax or cotton for their spinning and knitting; and thesechildren did not _expect_, that because the ladies did something forthem, they should do everything. They did not grow idle or wasteful.
When Edmund was about twelve years old, his friend Gilbert sent for himone day, and told him that his master had given him leave to have a boyin the house to assist him, and that his master told him he might chooseone in the neighbourhood. Several were anxious to get into such a goodplace: but Gilbert said that he preferred Edmund before them all, becausehe knew him to be an industrious, honest, good natured lad, who alwaystold the truth. So Edmund went into service at the vicarage; and hismaster was the father of Isabella and Caroline. He found his new way oflife very pleasant; for he was well fed, well clothed, and well treated;and he every day learned more of his business, in which at first he wasrather awkward. He was mindful to do all that Mr. Gilbert required ofhim; and he was so obliging to all his fellow-servants that they couldnot help liking him. But there was one thing which was at first ratherdisagreeable to him: he was obliged to wear shoes and stockings, and theyhurt his feet. Besides this, when he waited at dinner he made such anoise in walking that his fellow-servants laughed at him. He told hissister Mary of his distress, and she made for him, after many trials, apair of cloth shoes, with soles of platted hemp. {7} In these he couldwalk without making the least noise; and as these shoes could not be wornout of doors, he was always sure to change them before he went out; andconsequently he had always clean shoes to wear in the house.
It was soon remarked by the men-servants that he had left off clumping soheavily, and it was observed by the maids that he never dirtied thestairs or passages with his shoes. When he was praised for these things,he said it was his sister Mary who should be thanked, and not he; and heshowed the shoes which she had made for him.
Isabella’s maid bespoke a pair immediately, and sent Mary a piece ofpretty calico for the outside. The last-maker made a last for her, andover this Mary sewed the calico vamps tight. Her brother advised her totry platted packthread instead of hemp for the soles; and she found thatthis looked more neat than the hemp soles, and was likely to last longer.She platted the packthread together in strands of about half an inchthick, and these were served firmly together at the bottom of the shoe.When they were finished they fitted well, and the maid showed them to hermistress.
Isabella and Caroline were so well pleased with Mary’s ingenuity andkindness to her brother, that they bespoke from her two dozen of theseshoes, and gave her three yards of coloured fustian to make them of, andgalloon for the binding. When the shoes were completed, Isabella andCaroline disposed of them for her amongst their acquaintance, and gotthree shillings a pair for them. The young ladies, as soon as they hadcollected the money, walked to the old castle, where they foundeverything neat and clean as usual. They had great pleasure in giving tothis industrious girl the reward of her ingenuity, which she receivedwith some surprise and more gratitude. They advised her to continue theshoemaking trade, as they found the shoes were liked, and they knew thatthey could have a sale for them at the Repository in Dublin.
Mary, encouraged by these kind friends, went on with her littlemanufacture with increased activity. Peggy and Anne platted thepackthread, and basted the vamps and linings together ready for her.Edmund was allowed to come home for an hour every morning, provided hewas back again before eight o’clock. It was summer tim
e, and he got upearly, because he liked to go home to see his sisters, and he took hisshare in the manufactory. It was his business to hammer the soles flat:and as soon as he came home every morning he performed his task with somuch cheerfulness and sang so merrily at his work, that the hour of hisarrival was always an hour of joy to the family.
Mary had presently employment enough upon her hands. Orders came to herfor shoes from many families in the neighbourhood, and she could not getthem finished fast enough. She, however, in the midst of her hurry,found time to make a very pretty pair, with neat roses, as a present forher schoolmistress, who, now that she saw her pupil in a good way ofbusiness, consented to receive the amount of her old debt. Several ofthe children who went to her school were delighted with the sight ofMary’s present, and went to the little manufactory at Rossmore Castle, tofind out how these shoes were made. Some went from curiosity, othersfrom idleness; but when they saw how happy the little shoemakers seemedwhilst busy at work, they longed to take some share in what was goingforward. One begged Mary to let her plat some packthread for the soles;another helped Peggy and Anne to baste in the linings; and all who couldget employment were pleased, for the idle ones were shoved out of theway. It became a custom with the children of the village to resort tothe old castle at their play hours; and it was surprising to see how muchwas done by ten or twelve of them, each doing but a little at a time.
One morning Edmund and the little manufacturers were assembled veryearly, and they were busy at their work, all sitting round the mealchest, which served them for a table.
“My hands must be washed,” said George, a little boy who came running in;“I ran so fast that I might be in time, to go to work along with you all,that I tumbled down, and look how I have dirtied my hands. Most hasteworst speed. My hands must be washed before I can do anything.”
Whilst George was washing his hands, two other little children, who hadjust finished their morning’s work, came to him to beg that he would blowsome soap bubbles for them, and they were all three eagerly blowingbubbles, and watching them mount into the air, when suddenly they werestartled by a noise as loud as thunder. They were in a sort of outercourt of the castle, next to the room in which all their companions wereat work, and they ran precipitately into the room, exclaiming, “Did youhear that noise?”
“I thought I heard a clap of thunder,” said Mary, “but why do you look sofrightened?”
As she finished speaking, another and a louder noise, and the walls roundabout them shook. The children turned pale and stood motionless; butEdmund threw down his hammer, and ran out to see what was the matter.Mary followed him, and they saw that a great chimney of the old ruins atthe farthest side of the castle had fallen down, and this was the causeof the prodigious noise.
The part of the castle in which they lived seemed, as Edmund said, to beperfectly safe; but the children of the village were terrified, andthinking that the whole would come tumbling down directly, they ran totheir homes as fast as they could. Edmund, who was a courageous lad, andproud of showing his courage, laughed at their cowardice; but Mary, whowas very prudent, persuaded her brother to ask an experienced mason, whowas building at his master’s, to come and give his opinion, whether theirpart of the castle was safe to live in or not. The mason came, and gaveit as his opinion that the rooms they inhabited might last through thewinter but that no part of the ruins could stand another year. Mary wassorry to leave a place of which she had grown fond, poor as it was,having lived in it in peace and contentment ever since her mother’sdeath, which was now nearly four years; but she determined to look outfor some other place to live in; and she had now money enough to pay therent of a comfortable cabin. Without losing any time, she went to thevillage that was at the end of the avenue leading to the vicarage, forshe wished to get a lodging in this village because it was so near to herbrother, and to the ladies who had been so kind to her. She found thatthere was one newly built house in this village unoccupied; it belongedto Mr. Harvey, her landlord, who was still in England; it was slated, andneatly fitted up inside; but the rent of it was six guineas a year, andthis was far above what Mary could afford to pay. Three guineas a yearshe thought was the highest rent for which she could venture to engage.Besides, she heard that several proposals had been made to Mr. Harvey forthis house, and she knew that Mr. Hopkins, the agent, was not her friend;therefore she despaired of getting it. There was no other to be had inthis village. Her brother was still more vexed than she was, that shecould not find a place near him. He offered to give a guinea yearlytowards the rent out of his wages; and Mr. Gilbert spoke about it for himto the steward, and inquired whether, amongst any of those who had givenin proposals, there might not be one who would be content with a part ofthe house, and who would join with Mary in paying the rent. None couldbe found but a woman, who was a great scold, and a man who was famous forgoing to law about every trifle with his neighbours. Mary did not chooseto have anything to do with these people. She did not like to speakeither to Miss Isabella or Caroline about it, because she was not of anencroaching temper; and when they had done so much for her, she wouldhave been ashamed to beg for more. She returned home to the old castle,mortified that she had no good news to tell Anne and Peggy, who she knewexpected to hear that she had found a nice house for them in the villagenear their brother.
“Bad news for you, Peggy,” cried she, as soon as she got home. “And badnews for you, Mary,” replied her sisters, who looked very sorrowful.
“What’s the matter?”
“Your poor goat is dead,” replied Peggy. “There she is, yonder, lyingunder the great corner stone; you can just see her leg. We cannot liftthe stone from off her, it is so heavy. Betsy [one of the neighbour’sgirls] says she remembers, when she came to us to work early thismorning, she saw the goat rubbing itself, and butting with its hornsagainst that old tottering chimney.”
“Many’s the time,” said Mary, “that I have driven the poor thing awayfrom that place; I was always afraid she would shake that great uglystone down upon her at last.”
The goat, who had long been the favourite of Mary and her sisters, waslamented by them all. When Edmund came, he helped them to move the greatstone from off the poor animal, who was crushed so as to be a terriblesight. As they were moving away this stone in order to bury the goat,Anne found an odd-looking piece of money, which seemed neither like ahalfpenny, nor a shilling, nor a guinea.
“Here are more, a great many more of them,” cried Peggy; and uponsearching amongst the rubbish, they discovered a small iron pot, whichseemed as if it had been filled with these coins, as a vast number ofthem were found about the spot where it fell. On examining these coins,Edmund thought that several of them looked like gold, and the girlsexclaimed with great joy—“Oh, Mary! Mary! this is come to us just inright time—now you can pay for the slated house. Never was anything solucky!”
But Mary, though nothing could have pleased her better than to have beenable to pay for the house, observed that they could not honestly touchany of this treasure, as it belonged to the owner of the castle. Edmundagreed with her, that they ought to carry it all immediately to Mr.Hopkins, the agent. Peggy and Anne were convinced by what Mary said, andthey begged to go along with her and their brother, to take the coins toMr. Hopkins. On their way they stopped at the vicarage, to show thetreasure to Mr. Gilbert, who took it to the young ladies, Isabella andCaroline, and told them how it had been found.
It is not only by their superior riches, but it is yet more by theirsuperior knowledge, that persons in the higher rank of life may assistthose in a lower condition.
Isabella, who had some knowledge of chemistry, discovered, by touchingthe coins with nitric acid, that several of them were of gold, andconsequently of great value. Caroline also found out that many of thecoins were very valuable as curiosities. She recollected her father’shaving shown to her the prints of the coins at the end of each king’sreign, in “Rapin’s History of England;” and upon comparing t
heseimpressions with the coins found by the orphans, she perceived that manyof them were of the reign of Henry the Seventh, which, from theirscarcity, were highly appreciated by numismatic collectors.
Isabella and Caroline, knowing something of the character of Mr. Hopkins,the agent, had the precaution to count the coins, and to mark each ofthem with a cross, so small that it was scarcely visible to the nakedeye, though it was easily to be seen through a magnifying glass. Theyalso begged that their father, who was well acquainted with Mr. Harvey,the gentleman to whom Rossmore Castle belonged, to write to him, and tellhim how well these orphans had behaved about the treasure which they hadfound. The value of the coins was estimated at about thirty or fortyguineas.
A few days after the fall of the chimney at Rossmore Castle, as Mary andher sisters were sitting at their work, there came hobbling in an oldwoman, leaning on a crab stick, that seemed to have been newly cut. Shehad a broken tobacco-pipe in her mouth; her head was wrapped up in twolarge red and blue handkerchiefs, with their crooked corners hanging fardown over the back of her neck, no shoes on her broad feet, nor stockingson her many-coloured legs. Her petticoat was jagged at the bottom, andthe skirt of her gown turned up over her shoulders, to serve instead of acloak, which she had sold for whisky. This old woman was well knownamongst the country people by the name of _Goody Grope_: {12a} becauseshe had, for many years, been in the habit of groping in old castles, andin moats, {12b} and at the bottom of a round tower {12c} in theneighbourhood, in search of treasure. In her youth she had heard someonetalking, in a whisper, of an old prophecy, found in a bog, which saidthat before many
“St. Patrick’s days should come about, There would be found A treasure under ground, By one within twenty miles round.”
This prophecy made a deep impression upon her. She also dreamed of itthree times: and as the dream, she thought, was a sure token that theprophecy was to come true, she, from that time forwards, gave up herspinning-wheel and her knitting, and could think of nothing but huntingfor the treasure, that was to be found by one “within twenty milesround.”
Year after year St. Patrick’s day came about, without her ever finding afarthing by all her groping; and as she was always idle, she grew poorerand poorer. Besides, to comfort herself for her disappointments, and togive her spirits for fresh searches, she took to drinking. She sold allshe had by degrees; but still she fancied that the lucky day would comesooner or later, _that would pay for all_.
Goody Grope, however, reached her sixtieth year, without ever seeing thislucky day; and now, in her old age, she was a beggar, without a house toshelter her, a bed to lie on, or food to put into her mouth, but what shebegged from the charity of those who had trusted more than she had toindustry and less to _luck_.
“Ah, Mary, honey! give me a potato and a sup of something, for the loveo’ mercy; for not a bit have I had all day, except half a glass of whiskyand a halfpenny worth of tobacco!”
Mary immediately set before her some milk, and picked a good potato outof the bowl for her. She was sorry to see such an old woman in such awretched condition. Goody Grope said she would rather have spirits ofsome kind or other than milk; but Mary had no spirits to give her; so shesat herself down close to the fire, and after she had sighed and groanedand smoked for some time, she said to Mary, “Well, and what have you donewith the treasure you had the luck to find?” Mary told her that she hadcarried it to Mr. Hopkins, the agent.
“That’s not what I would have done in your place,” replied the old woman.“When good luck came to you, what a shame to turn your back upon it! Butit is idle talking of what’s done—that’s past; but I’ll try my luck inthis here castle before next St. Patrick’s day comes about. I was toldit was more than twenty miles from our bog or I would have been here longago; but better late than never.”
Mary was much alarmed, and not without reason, at this speech; for sheknew that if Goody Grope once set to work at the foundation of the oldcastle of Rossmore, she would soon bring it all down. It was in vain totalk to Goody Grope of the danger of burying herself under the ruins, orof the improbability of her meeting with another pot of gold coins. Sheset her elbow upon her knees, and stopping her ears with her hands bidMary and her sisters not to waste their breath advising their elders; forthat, let them say what they would, she would fall to work the nextmorning, “_barring_ you’ll make it worth my while to let it alone.”
“And what will make it worth your while to let it alone?” said Mary; forshe saw that she must either get into a quarrel or give up herhabitation, or comply with the conditions of this provoking old woman.
Half a crown, Goody Grope said, was the least she could be content totake. Mary paid the half-crown, and was in hopes that she had got ridfor ever of her tormentor, but she was mistaken, for scarcely was theweek at an end before the old woman appeared before her again, andrepeated her threats of falling to work the next morning, unless she hadsomething given to her to buy tobacco.
The next day and the next, and the next, Goody Grope came on the sameerrand, and poor Mary, who could ill-afford to supply her constantly withhalfpence, at last exclaimed, “I am sure the finding of this treasure hasnot been any good luck to us, but quite the contrary; and I wish we neverhad found it.”
Mary did not yet know how much she was to suffer on account of thisunfortunate pot of gold coins. Mr. Hopkins, the agent, imagined that noone knew of the discovery of this treasure but himself and these poorchildren; so, not being as honest as they were, he resolved to keep itfor his own use. He was surprised some weeks afterwards to receive aletter from his employer, Mr. Harvey, demanding from him the coins whichhad been discovered at Rossmore Castle. Hopkins had sold the gold coins,and some of the others; and he flattered himself that the children, andthe young ladies, to whom he now found they had been shown, could nottell whether what they had seen were gold or not, and he was not in theleast apprehensive that those of Henry the Seventh’s reign should bereclaimed from him as he thought they had escaped attention. So he sentover the silver coins and others of little value, and apologized for hisnot having mentioned them before, by saying that he considered them asmere rubbish.
Mr. Harvey, in reply, observed that he could not consider as rubbish thegold coins which were amongst them when they were discovered; and heinquired why these gold coins, and those of the reign of Henry theSeventh, were not now sent to him.
Mr. Hopkins denied that he had ever received any such; but he wasthunderstruck when Mr. Harvey, in reply to this falsehood, sent him alist of the coins which the orphans had deposited with him, and exactdrawings of those that were missing. He informed him that this list andthese drawings came from two ladies who had seen the coins in question.
Mr. Hopkins thought that he had no means of escape but by boldlypersisting in falsehood. He replied, that it was very likely such coinshad been found at Rossmore Castle, and that the ladies alluded to hadprobably seen them; but he positively declared that they never came tohis hands; that he had restored all that were deposited with him; andthat, as to the others, he supposed they must have been taken out of thepot by the children, or by Edmund or Mary on their way from the ladies’house to his.
The orphans were shocked and astonished when they heard, from Isabellaand Caroline, the charge that was made against them. They looked at oneanother in silence for some moments. Then Peggy exclaimed—“Sure! Mr.Hopkins has forgotten himself strangely. Does not he remember Edmund’scounting the things to him upon the great table in his hall, and we allstanding by! I remember it as well as if it was this instant.”
“And so do I,” cried Anne. “And don’t you recollect, Mary, your pickingout the gold ones, and telling Mr. Hopkins that they were gold; and hesaid you knew nothing of the matter; and I was going to tell him thatMiss Isabella had tried them, and knew that they were gold? but just thenthere came in some tenants to pay their rent, and he pushed us out, andtwitched from my hand the piece of gold which I had taken up to show himthe bri
ght spot which Miss Isabella had cleaned by the stuff that she hadpoured on it? I believe he was afraid I should steal it; he twitched itfrom my hand in such a hurry. Do, Edmund; do, Mary—let us go to him, andput him in mind of all this.”
“I’ll go to him no more,” said Edmund, sturdily. “He is a bad man—I’llnever go to him again. Mary, don’t be cast down—we have no need to becast down—we are honest.”
“True,” said Mary; “but is not it a hard case that we, who have lived, asmy mother did all her life before us, in peace and honesty with all theworld, should now have our good name taken from us, when—” Mary’s voicefaltered and stopped.
“It can’t be taken from us,” cried Edmund, “poor orphans though we are,and he a rich gentleman, as he calls himself. Let him say and do what hewill, he can’t hurt our good name.”
Edmund was mistaken, alas! and Mary had but too much reason for herfears. The affair was a great deal talked of; and the agent spared nopains to have the story told his own way. The orphans, conscious oftheir own innocence, took no pains about the matter; and the consequencewas, that all who knew them well had no doubt of their honesty; but many,who knew nothing of them, concluded that the agent must be in the rightand the children in the wrong. The buzz of scandal went on for some timewithout reaching their ears, because they lived very retiredly. But oneday, when Mary went to sell some stockings of Peggy’s knitting at theneighbouring fair, the man to whom she sold them bid her write her nameon the back of a note, and exclaimed, on seeing it—“Ho! ho! mistress; I’dnot have had any dealings with you, had I known your name sooner.Where’s the gold that you found at Rossmore Castle?”
It was in vain that Mary related the fact. She saw that she gained nobelief, as her character was not known to this man, or to any of thosewho were present. She left the fair as soon as she could; and though shestruggled against it, she felt very melancholy. Still she exertedherself every day at her little manufacture; and she endeavoured toconsole herself by reflecting that she had two friends left who would notgive up her character, and who continued steadily to protect her and hersisters.
Isabella and Caroline everywhere asserted their belief in the integrityof the orphans, but to prove it was in this instance out of their power.Mr. Hopkins, the agent, and his friends, constantly repeated that thegold coins were taken away in coming from their house to his; and theseladies were blamed by many people for continuing to countenance thosethat were, with great reason, suspected to be thieves. The orphans werein a worse condition than ever when the winter came on, and theirbenefactresses left the country to spend some months in Dublin. The oldcastle, it was true, was likely to last through the winter, as the masonsaid; but though the want of a comfortable house to live in was, a littlewhile ago, the uppermost thing in Mary’s thoughts, now it was not so.
One night as Mary was going to bed, she heard someone knocking hard atthe door. “Mary, are you up? let us in,” cried a voice, which she knewto be the voice of Betsy Green, the postmaster’s daughter, who lived inthe village near them.
She let Betsy in, and asked what she could want at such a time of night.
“Give me sixpence, and I’ll tell you,” said Betsy; “but waken Anne andPeggy. Here’s a letter just come by post for you, and I stepped over toyou with it; because I guessed you’d be glad to have it, seeing it isyour brother’s handwriting.”
Peggy and Anne were soon roused, when they heard that there was a letterfrom Edmund. It was by one of his rush candles that Mary read it; andthe letter was as follows:—
“DEAR MARY, NANCY, AND LITTLE PEG,—
“Joy! joy!—I always said the truth would come out at last; and that he could not take our good name from us. But I will not tell you how it all came about till we meet, which will be next week, as we are (I mean, master and mistress, and the young ladies—bless them!—and Mr. Gilbert and I) coming down to the vicarage to keep Christmas; and a happy Christmas ’tis likely to be for honest folks. As for they that are not honest, it is not for them to expect to be happy, at Christmas, or any other time. You shall know all when we meet. So, till then, fare ye well, dear Mary, Nancy, and little Peg.
“Your joyful and affectionate brother, EDMUND.”
To comprehend why Edmund is joyful, our readers must be informed ofcertain things which happened after Isabella and Caroline went to Dublin.One morning they went with their father and mother to see the magnificentlibrary of a nobleman, who took generous and polite pleasure in thussharing the advantages of his wealth and station with all who had anypretensions to science or literature. Knowing that the gentleman who wasnow come to see his library was skilled in antiquities, the noblemanopened a drawer of medals, to ask his opinion concerning the age of somecoins, which he had lately purchased at a high price. They were the verysame which the orphans had found at Rossmore Castle. Isabella andCaroline knew them again instantly; and as the cross which Isabella hadmade on each of them was still visible through a magnifying glass, therecould be no possibility of doubt.
The nobleman, who was much interested both by the story of these orphans,and the manner in which it was told to him, sent immediately for theperson from whom he had purchased the coins. He was a Jew broker. Atfirst he refused to tell them from whom he got them, because he hadbought them, he said, under a promise of secrecy. Being further pressed,he acknowledged that it was made a condition in his bargain that heshould not sell them to anyone in Ireland, but that he had been temptedby the high price the present noble possessor had offered.
At last, when the Jew was informed that the coins were stolen, and thathe would be proceeded against as a receiver of stolen goods, if he didnot confess the whole truth, he declared that he had purchased them froma gentleman, whom he had never seen before or since; but he added, thathe could swear to his person, if he saw him again.
Now, Mr. Hopkins, the agent, was at this time in Dublin, and Caroline’sfather posted the Jew, the next day, in the back-parlour of a banker’shouse, with whom Mr. Hopkins had, on this day, appointed to settle someaccounts. Mr. Hopkins came—the Jew knew him—swore that he was the manwho had sold the coins to him; and thus the guilt of the agent and theinnocence of the orphans were completely proved.
A full account of all that happened was sent to England to Mr. Harvey,their landlord, and a few posts afterwards there came a letter from him,containing a dismissal of the dishonest agent, and a reward for thehonest and industrious orphans. Mr. Harvey desired that Mary and hersisters might have the slated house, rent free, from this time forward,under the care of ladies Isabella and Caroline, as long as Mary or hersisters should carry on in it any useful business. This was the joyfulnews which Edmund had to tell his sisters.
All the neighbours shared in their joy, and the day of their removal fromthe ruins of Rossmore Castle to their new house was the happiest of theChristmas holidays. They were not envied for their prosperity; becauseeverybody saw that it was the reward of their good conduct; everybodyexcept Goody Grope. She exclaimed, as she wrung her hands with violentexpressions of sorrow—“Bad luck to me! bad luck to me!—Why didn’t I gosooner to that there castle? It is all luck, all luck in this world; butI never had no luck. Think of the luck of these childer, that have founda pot of gold, and such great, grand friends, and a slated house, andall: and here am I, with scarce a rag to cover me, and not a potato toput into my mouth!—I, that have been looking under ground all my days fortreasure, not to have a halfpenny at the last, to buy me tobacco!”
“That is the very reason that you have not a halfpenny,” said Betsy.“Here Mary has been working hard, and so have her two little sisters andher brother, for these five years past; and they have made money forthemselves by their own industry—and friends too—not by luck, but by—”
“Phoo! phoo!” interrupted Goody Grope; “don’t be prating; don’t I know aswell as you do, th
at they found a pot of gold, _by good luck_? and is notthat the cause why they are going to live in a slated house now?”
“No,” replied the postmaster’s daughter; “this house is given to them _asa reward_—that was the word in the letter; for I saw it. Edmund showedit to me, and will show it to anyone that wants to see. This house wasgiven to them ‘_as a reward for their honesty_.’”