Well, I dont quite agree with you, Mrs Loper, on that point. To my mind it does not so much depend on the family, as on the notions, and the capacity to manage, in the head of the family. I remember one family just now, whose head was cut off suddenly, I may say in the prime of life. A hundred and fifty a year or thereabouts was the income the widow had to count on, and she was left with five little ones to rear. She trained them well, gave them good educations, made most of their garments with her own hands when they were little, and sent one of her boys to college, yet was noted for the amount of time she spent in visiting the poor, the sick, and the afflicted, for whom she had always a little to spare out of her limited income. Now, if wealth is to be measured by results, I think we may say that that poor lady was rich. She was deeply mourned by a large circle of poor people when she was taken home to the better land. Her small means, having been judiciously invested by a brother, increased a little towards the close of life, but she never was what the world esteems rich.
Mrs Twitter looked at a very tall man with a dark unhandsome countenance, as if to invite his opinion.
I quite agree with you, he said, helping himself to a crumpet, there are some people with small incomes who seem to be always in funds, just as there are other people with large incomes who are always hard-up. The former are really rich, the latter really poor.
Having delivered himself of these sentiments somewhat sententiously, Mr Crackaby,that was his name,proceeded to consume the crumpet.
There was a general tendency on the part of the other guests to agree with their hostess, but one black sheep in the flock objected. He quite agreed, of course, with the general principle that liberality with small means was beautiful to behold as well as desirable to possessthe liberality, not the small meansand that, on the other hand, riches with a narrow niggardly spirit was abominable, but thenand the black sheep came, usually, to the strongest part of his argument when he said but thenit was an uncommonly difficult thing, when everything was up to famine prices, and gold was depreciated in value owing to the gold-fields, and silver was nowhere, and coppers were changed into bronze,exceedingly difficult to practise liberality and at the same time to make the two ends meet.
As no one clearly saw the exact bearing of the black sheeps argument, they all replied with that half idiotic simper with which Ignorance seeks to conceal herself, and which Politeness substitutes for the more emphatic pooh, or the inelegant bosh. Then, applying themselves with renewed zest to the muffins, they put about ship, nautically speaking, and went off on a new tack.
Mr Twitter is rather late to-night, I think? said Mr Crackaby, consulting his watch, which was antique and turnipy in character.
He is, indeed, replied the hostess, business must have detained him, for he is the very soul of punctuality. That is one of his many good qualities, and it is such a comfort, for I can always depend on him to the minute,breakfast, dinner, tea; he never keeps us waiting, as too many men do, except, of course, when he is unavoidably detained by business.
Ah, yes, business has much to answer for, remarked Mrs Loper, in a tone which suggested that she held business to be an incorrigibly bad fellow; whatever mischief happens with ones husband its sure to be business that did it.
Pardon me, madam, objected the black sheep, whose name, by the way, was Stickler, business does bring about much of the disaster that often appertains to wedded life, but mischief is sometimes done by other means, such, for instance, as accidents, robberies, murders
Oh! Mr Stickler, suddenly interrupted a stout, smiling lady, named Larrabel, who usually did the audience part of Mrs Twitters little tea parties, how can you suggest such ideas, especially when Mr Twitter is unusually late?
Mr Stickler protested that he had no intention of alarming the company by disagreeable suggestions, that he had spoken of accident, robbery, and murder in the abstract.
There, youve said it all over again, interrupted Mrs Larrabel, with an unwonted frown.
But then, continued Stickler, regardless of the interruption, a broken leg, or a rifled pocket and stunned person, or a cut windpipe, may be applicable to the argument in hand without being applied to Mr Twitter.
Surely, said Mrs Loper, who deemed the reply unanswerable.
In this edifying strain the conversation flowed on until the evening grew late and the party began to grow alarmed.
I do hope nothing has happened to him, said Mrs Loper, with a solemnised face.
I think not. I have seen him come home much later than thisthough not often, said the hostess, the only one of the party who seemed quite at ease, and who led the conversation back again into shallower channels.
As the night advanced, however, the alarm became deeper, and it was even suggested by Mrs Loper that Crackaby should proceed to Twitters officea distance of three milesto inquire whether and when he had left; while the smiling Mrs Larrabel proposed to send information to the headquarters of the police in Scotland Yard, because the police knew everything, and could find out anything.
You have no idea, my dear, she said, how clever they are at Scotland Yard. Would you believe it, I left my umbrellar the other day in a cab, and I didnt know the number of the cab, for numbers wont remain in my head, nor the look of the cabman, for I never look at cabmen, they are so rude sometimes. I didnt even remember the place where I got into the cab, for I cant remember places when Ive to go to so many, so I gave up my umbrellar for lost and was going away, when a policeman stepped up to me and asked in a very civil tone if I had lost anything. He was so polite and pleasant that I told him of my loss, though I knew it would do me no good, as he had not seen the cab or the cabman.
I think, madam, he said, that if you go down to Scotland Yard to-morrow morning, you may probably find it there.
Young man, said I, do you take me for a fool!
No, madam, I dont, he replied.
Or do you take my umbrellar for a fool, said I, that it should walk down to Scotland Yard of its own accord and wait there till I called for it?
Certainly not, madam, he answered with such a pleasant smile that I half forgave him.
Nevertheless if you happen to be in the neighbourhood of Scotland Yard to-morrow, he added, it might be as well to call in and inquire.
Thank you, said I, with a stiff bow as I left him. On the way home, however, I thought there might be something in it, so I did go down to Scotland Yard next day, where I was received with as much civility as if I had been a lady of quality, and was taken to a room as full of umbrellas as an eggs full of meatalmost.
Youd know the umbrellar if you saw it, madam, said the polite constable who escorted me.
Know it, sir! said I, yes, I should think I would. Seven and sixpence it cost menew, and Ive only had it a weekbrown silk with a plain handlewhy, there it is! And there it was sure enough, and he gave it to me at once, only requiring me to write my name in a book, which I did with great difficulty because of my gloves, and being so nervous. Now, how did the young policeman that spoke to me the day before know that my umbrellar would go there, and how did it get there? They say the days of miracles are over, but I dont think so, for that was a miracle if ever there was one.
The days of miracles are indeed over, maam, said the black sheep, but then that is no reason why things which are in themselves commonplace should not appear miraculous to the uninstructed mind. When I inform you that our laws compel cabmen under heavy penalties to convey left umbrellas and parcels to the police-office, the miracle may not seem quite so surprising.
Most people dislike to have their miracles unmasked. Mrs Larrabel turned from the black sheep to her hostess without replying, and repeated her suggestion about making inquiries at Scotland Yardthus delicately showing that although, possibly, convinced, she was by no means converted.
They were interrupted at this point by a hurried knock at the street door.
There he is at last, exclaimed every one.
It is his knock, certainly, said Mrs Twitter, with a perplexed look, but rather peculiarnot so firm as usualthere it is again! Impatient! I never knew my Sam impatient before in all our wedded life. Youd better open the door, dear, she said, turning to the eldest Twitter, he being the only one of the six who was privileged to sit up late, Mary seems to have fallen asleep.
Before the eldest Twitter could obey, the maligned Mary was heard to open the door and utter an exclamation of surprise, and her masters step was heard to ascend the stair rather unsteadily.
The guests looked at each other anxiously. It might be that to some mindscertainly to that of the black sheepvisions of violated blue-ribbonism occurred. As certainly these visions did not occur to Mrs Twitter. She would sooner have doubted her clergyman than her husband. Trustfulness formed a prominent part of her character, and her confidence in her Sam was unbounded.
Even when her husband came against the drawing-room door with an awkward bangthe passage being darkopened it with a fling, and stood before the guests with a flushed countenance, blazing eyes, a peculiar deprecatory smile, and a dirty ragged bundle in his arms, she did not doubt him.
Forgive me, my dear, he said, gazing at his wife in a manner that might well have justified the black sheeps thought, screwed, IIbusiness kept me in the office very late, and then He cast an imbecile glance at the bundle.
What ever have you got there, Sam? asked his wondering wife.
Goodness me! it moves! exclaimed Mrs Loper.
Live poultry! thought the black sheep, and visions of police cells and penal servitude floated before his depraved mental vision.
Yes, Mrs Loper, it moves. It is alivethough not very much alive, I fear. My dear, Ive foundfound a babypicked it up in the street. Not a soul there but me. Would have perished or been trodden on if I had not taken it up. See here!
He untied the dirty bundle as he spoke, and uncovered the round little pinched face with the great solemn eyes, which gazed, still wonderingly, at the assembled company.
It is due to the assembled company to add that it returned the gaze with compound interest.
Chapter Five.
Treats still further of Riches, Poverty, Babies, and Police
When Mr and Mrs Twitter had dismissed the few friends that night, they sat down at their own fireside, with no one near them but the little foundling, which lay in the youngest Twitters disused cradle, gazing at them with its usual solemnity, for it did not seem to require sleep. They opened up their minds to each other thus:
Now, Samuel, said Mrs Twitter, the question is, what are you going to do with it?
Well, Mariar, returned her spouse, with an assumption of profound gravity, I suppose we must send it to the workhouse.
You know quite well, Sam, that you dont mean that, said Mrs Twitter, the dear little forsaken mite! Just look at its solemn eyes. It has been clearly cast upon us, Sam, and it seems to me that we are bound to look after it.
What! with six of our own, Mariar?
Yes, Sam. Isnt there a song which says something about luck in odd numbers?
And with only 500 pounds a year? objected Mr Twitter.
Only five hundred. How can you speak so? We are rich with five hundred. Can we not educate our little ones?
Yes, my dear.
And entertain our friends?
Yes, my love,with crumpets and tea.
Dont forget muffins and bloater paste, and German sausage and occasional legs of mutton, you ungrateful man!
I dont forget em, Mariar. My recollection of em is powerful; I may even say vivid.
Well, continued the lady, havent you been able to lend small sums on several occasions to friends
Yes, my dear,and they are still loans, murmured the husband.
And dont we give a littleI sometimes think too littleregularly to the poor, and to the church, and havent we got a nest-egg laid by in the Post-office savings-bank?
All true, Mariar, and all your doing. But for your thrifty ways, and economical tendencies, and rare financial abilities, I should have been bankrupt long ere now.
Mr Twitter was nothing more than just in this statement of his wifes character. She was one of those happily constituted women who make the best and the most of everything, and who, while by no means turning her eyes away from the dark sides of things, nevertheless gave people the impression that she saw only their bright sides. Her economy would have degenerated into nearness if it had not been commensurate with her liberality, for while, on the one hand, she was ever anxious, almost eager, to give to the needy and suffering every penny that she could spare, she was, on the other hand, strictly economical in trifles. Indeed Mrs Twitters vocabulary did not contain the word trifle. One of her favourite texts of Scripture, which was always in her mind, and which she had illuminated in gold and hung on her bedroom walls with many other words of God, was, Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost. Acting on this principle with all her heart, she gathered up the fragments of time, so that she had always a good deal of that commodity to spare, and was never in a hurry. She gathered up bits of twine and made neat little rings of them, which she deposited in a basketa pretty large basketwhich in time became such a repository of wealth in that respect that the six Twitters never failed to find the exact size and quality of cordage wanted by themand, indeed, even after the eldest, Sammy, came to the years of discretion, if he had suddenly required a cable suited to restrain a first-rate iron-clad, his mind would, in the first blush of the thing, have reverted to mothers basket! If friends wrote short notes to Mrs Twitterwhich they often did, for the sympathetic find plenty of correspondentsthe blank leaves were always torn off and consigned to a scrap-paper box, and the pile grew big enough at last to have set up a small stationer in business. And so with everything that came under her influence at home or abroad. She emphatically did what she could to prevent waste, and became a living fulfilment of the well-known proverb, for as she wasted not she wanted not.
But to return from this digression
Well, then, said Mrs Twitter, dont go and find fault, Samuel, (she used the name in full when anxious to be impressive), with what Providence has given us, by putting the word only to it, for we are rich with five hundred a year.
Mr Twitter freely admitted that he was wrong, and said he would be more careful in future of the use to which he put the word only.