Books: The Poorhouse Waif and His Divine Teacher
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Isabel C. Byrum >> The Poorhouse Waif and His Divine Teacher
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The musical birds also added much to the boy's enjoyment when he heard them
now and then singing in some tree-top or bower, but all that he thought
about any of the beautiful things around him was unexpressed and securely
fastened within his little mind for future meditation. His small store of
knowledge had been gained in this way, but it seemed to be God's method of
teaching him the lessons that in later years would be the most useful to
him.
Occasionally he turned to look at the "big man" by his side, and each time
beneath the poverty-branded garments there throbbed a heart full of the
deepest esteem, and his desire to do his very best to win the confidence
and friendship of his new companion was strong. This was not a new impulse
in Edwin, for he had always endeavored to please every one, and in doing
this he had found real pleasure.
The afternoon was rapidly passing away, and as the sun sank in the western
horizon, the blue sky above him became streaked with crimson and gold. Then
Edwin noticed that the houses were closer together, but he did not know
that it was because he was entering a village and was close to his mother's
home.
During the entire journey from the poorhouse the uncle had been silent, but
suddenly Edwin saw the right line tightening, and in answer to the uncle's
command, "Whoa there, Bill!" they stopped close beside a hitching-post.
Without a word of explanation the uncle sprang lightly to the ground and
after tying the horse grasped Edwin's shoulders and roughly placed him upon
the ground. Again the boy's decision to endeavor to please was
strengthened, and when the uncle started toward the pretty brown house just
inside the picket fence and repeated the words he had used at the
poorhouse, "Come along," Edwin instantly obeyed.
As they passed in through the open gateway, Edwin noticed pretty
flower-bushes. His uncle told him that it was his mother's home. As they
stepped upon the porch, Edwin could not refrain from sniffing in some of
the delicious fragrance of the honey-suckle blossoms dangling so gracefully
here and there from the pillars of the porch, but he was hurried on.
When they entered the house, Edwin looked about in amazement, for
everything seemed so very beautiful. Then he saw a woman sitting near a
window with a piece of sewing in her hands and three children--a boy about
his own size, a girl, and a boy younger--playing on the floor.
"This is your mother," he heard his uncle say.
Without rising or giving the child a word of welcome, the unfeeling woman
said to the uncle:
"What do you think of him?"
"I don't know what to think," was the uncle's answer. "He hasn't said a
word since Engler turned him over into my care, and I certainly tried hard
to get something out of him. All he did until I told him to come along was
to stare at me with those large brown eyes of his. While we were riding
along, though, he seemed to see everything there was to see, and by the way
he kept smiling to himself one would have supposed he was looking at a
circus."
Ah, could they have known the deep thoughts that had been passing through
the childish mind even upon that trip, they would have understood better
how to encourage him. With no consideration for the manner in which Edwin
had been shut away from the better class of society and the proper helps
that are usually thrown about the young, they at once gave him a low and
degraded place in their estimation and pronounced him dull, stupid, and
idiotic. All commands were given in a harsh tone and in such a manner that
he could not comprehend them.
Before going farther into the life of Edwin, it might be well to explain
that the uncle and his three small children were making their home with
Edwin's mother. The house in which they were living, although rented,
contained many comforts and even luxuries; for the mother, aside from her
pension-money, was being liberally paid by the uncle for keeping him and
his family. And Edwin's ignorance, as has already been inferred, was due to
his lack of training and to the fact that everything in his mother's house
was so new and different from what he had been used to in the poorhouse.
"Go and wash yourself and get ready for supper," he heard his mother say;
but he had not been taught that this was necessary, and because he did not
understand and so failed to obey, he was scolded and abused.
"You worthless thing!" his mother said. "I'm sorry I didn't leave you at
the poorhouse now and let you grow up with the cattle if you don't know
enough to wash before you eat."
When supper was ready, she ordered Edwin to get around behind the table in
a corner where he would be the farthest from her, and added, "Any place in
my home is too good for the like of you, and you shall stand while you eat.
Do you hear?"
Evidently Edwin understood this command, for he had been used to eating his
meals under just such trying circumstances, and he went at once to the
place assigned him. The good food upon the table was very tempting, and
when he had eaten all that was on his plate, he watched the other children
to see what they would do when more was wanted, and when he saw them
passing plates, he did the same.
He did not repeat this, however, for he found that he was not expected to
share with the rest or to eat until his hunger was satisfied. Without a
murmur he did without the dainties that were given freely to the other
children, and with a dry crust he finished his meal in silence.
When bedtime came, Edwin was given a place to sleep in an unused part of
the house, and there alone in the darkness he could repeat the words that
the kind old lady at the poorhouse had taught him. Then while the rats and
mice played hide-and-seek in the room about him, his eyelids closed in
peaceful slumber.
We have heard that "there is nothing so bad that it could not have been
worse." For Edwin life seemed to be constantly growing more serious and
dark, but "man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh upon
the heart" (I Sam. 16:7).
CHAPTER IV
FINDING FRIENDS
Oh! ask not, hope thou not too much
Of sympathy below;
Few are the hearts whence one same touch
Bids the sweet fountains flow.
--Mrs. Hemans.
The first morning for Edwin in his mother's home dawned clear and bright,
and as the soft gleams of brilliant sunlight shone in upon the coverlet of
his bed, he, who had been a poorhouse waif, opened his eyes and in
bewilderment gazed about the place. Suddenly he remembered some of the
events of the previous day, and especially the form of the "big man" and
that of the "woman," who, he had been told, was his mother. He remembered,
too, his decision to do all in his power to please both.
His heavenly Father understood his heart if his earthly parent did not, and
this all-wise guardian, knowing how very hard it was going to be for the
child in this new home, enabled him to find friendship that was really warm
and true.
Slipping noiselessly from beneath the covers--for the night had been
cold--Edwin went to the window through which the morning sun was streaming,
and there he saw a scene that thrilled him with delight. Lying asleep upon
the walk in the warmest spot that could be found was a large Newfoundland
dog. Clad in his heavy coat of shaggy fur and surrounded by a bed of green,
he was indeed a pleasing picture. There had been several dogs at the
poorhouse of which Edwin had been especially fond, but there had been none
so beautiful as the one upon the walk below. The bees, too, were busy
gathering among the flowers the honey for their winter's supply, and
hopping about here and there over the lawn were the little "jumper-men."
As Edwin from his elevation beheld the part of God's creation that he had
already chosen for his friends, his loneliness was quite forgotten. He was
still gazing down upon the scene when his mother appeared in the doorway
and with cruel words ordered him to hasten below to the kitchen. Little did
she know that her child was finding in the animal kingdom the friendship
that she had denied him, and she would not have cared had she known.
During the day and those that followed, Edwin endeavored in every possible
way to help his mother, but his understanding so little about her ways and
the names and uses of the simplest articles about the house seemed only to
increase his troubles and hardships. And as slaps and bruises such as the
dog had not known were his portion, the unfortunate child endeavored,
whenever it was possible to do so, to hide from sight, but he always tried
to be ready to give heed to the slightest order. But even this
faithfulness, as well as the fact that he had so much difficulty in
comprehending her meaning, made the mother still more unkind.
One duty that was assigned him as a daily task was sweeping the crumbs from
beneath the dining-table, and when he had learned how, so thoroughly did he
do this work that he never stopped brushing until he had found every
particle of dust or lint in sight that had settled under other articles of
furniture.
Another duty was carrying food to the dog, and he soon found that the
well-filled plate of scraps contained far better food in many instances
than he was allowed to share at the table. Whenever this happened, as it
often did, and there was plenty of other food for the dog, Edwin ate a
portion, but never without feeling confident that he was not robbing his
friend. As the dog usually looked very wise, Edwin took it for granted that
his motive was understood as right and just, and in this way the child was
able to get some of the food that he would otherwise have been denied, and
the dog's allowance was still sufficient. Rather than rob the dog, he would
always have gladly done without.
When Edwin was given the care of his little baby cousin, who was just
beginning to walk, he felt that this work was very hard indeed, but he did
his best to understand just what was expected of him. Having been the
youngest child at the almshouse and having spent so much of his time apart
from the others, Edwin was unable to think of many ways in which he could
amuse the little fellow, and sometimes it seemed that all of his efforts to
please had been in vain.
A few weeks after Edwin's arrival in his mother's home the children--Edwin
and his three cousins, Elmer, Jennie, and the baby--were playing in the
yard with Perry the dog. Elmer, a lad scarcely a year younger than Edwin,
was tossing a stick for the dog to return to him, and Edwin was astonished
to find that his friend Perry was so very wise. The baby, who was in
Edwin's charge, was barely able to keep upon his feet, but Edwin was doing
his best to protect him from falling and to keep his eyes upon both the
child and the dog at once.
Suddenly above his head in a large apple-tree Edwin heard a rustling of the
leaves and a chattering of little birds, and he realized that his feathered
friends had returned with a breakfast for the little ones. As he gazed
upward endeavoring to locate the nest, he was just pointing to the spot
when whiz went the stick with which Elmer had been amusing the group. So
dangerously near to the nest did the missile go that Edwin, crying out with
terror and anxiety, for the moment forgot all about his baby cousin.
Running toward the tree as though hoping to protect the nest, he was just
in time to see the stick miss the mark and then fall upon the ground
alarmingly near the baby's foot. Although unhurt, the baby screamed, and a
moment later Mrs. Fischer came rushing from the house and demanded a reason
for the little one's crying.
Elmer, ever willing to justify himself at any cost, said hurriedly: "It was
all Ed's fault! I just tried to throw that little stick up there in the
tree, and when it came down it struck the baby's foot. If Ed had been
minding his work, the baby wouldn't have been there." But Elmer failed to
tell that he was throwing at the little nest with the intention of knocking
it out of the tree and that the stick had done no harm to the baby's foot.
Accepting the explanation without any further details, Mrs. Fischer became
furious, and, picking up the stick, she struck Edwin time and again upon
the head and shoulders. Then, after calling him many hard and cruel names,
she said, "I'll teach you how to attend to your business if there's any
sense in you at all!"
After looking at the baby's foot and finding that there was nothing wrong
with it at all, the woman, without a word of apology or sympathy for her
suffering child, returned to the house.
Once again when the poor boy was so much alone, as far as a human friend
was concerned, his heavenly Father understood and supplied his need. Perry
at once left his former master and, going close to Edwin, did all within
his power to soothe the little sufferer, and his sympathy was as balm to
the wounded, troubled spirit of the child. Casting aside his grief and
reserve, he caressed the noble animal, and when comforted he arose and was
soon able to care for the little child that had been placed in his charge.
And thus the afternoon slipped slowly away.
So thoroughly seasoned with bitterness and grief had the day been that
Edwin was glad when he saw the shadows lengthening, for he knew that it
would soon be dark. The sweet quiet and rest of the night were inviting. He
thought of the pattering of tiny feet upon his coverlet and wondered if the
rats and mice would call again. He hoped that they would, for they too were
his friends. But after supper another surprize and disappointment was
awaiting him. At bedtime he was told that he need not go to the attic to
sleep any more, as there was room for him in Elmer's bed, and that
thereafter the two would sleep in his mother's room. Edwin would have
preferred the attic, but he submissively did as he was told, and as he
slept the Lord kept vigil and watched tenderly over the sleeping child, for
"his eye seeth every precious thing" (Job 28:10).
CHAPTER V
SUFFERING FOR THE FAULTS OF OTHERS
In silence weep.
And thy convulsive sorrows inward keep.
--Prior.
Edwin's head was still aching when he awoke in the morning, but he arose,
dressed hurriedly, and hastened to the kitchen to see if his services were
needed by his mother. There was little that he could do, but with brush and
pan he gathered the dust and lint from under the various articles of
furniture. It was such a comfort and satisfaction to Edwin to know the
names of those articles, and their uses.
After the meal was over, he carried the scraps to the dog; but as the
supply was short, he did not help himself to a part as he did when there
was plenty, for the golden rule was too much a part of his nature. When his
morning duties were done, his mother told him to go and take care of the
baby; but when he went out into the yard, he could find no one but Perry
the dog.
For the moment Edwin forgot what his mother had told him to do. The eyes of
his noble friend seemed beckoning him to the spot where he was lying, and
Edwin obeyed. Sitting down by Perry's side, he buried his little face in
the furry neck of the graceful animal, and all about him seemed to say:
"Good morning, my boy. Cheer up, cheer up! Our meals you shall share and
our songs you shall hear." The fact that there was no regret within his
heart because of the lack of human friendship made it easy for him to
accept the comfort and encouragement that was sent him through other
channels by his loving, tender heavenly Father.
The small hand was stroking the sleek side of the huge animal, and the
little bird-song in the tree close by added much to his enjoyment, and,
sitting erect, he chirped in reply a sweet little song that he had learned
at the poorhouse from the birds. This peaceful condition, however, was too
good to last. In a very short time he heard the voice of his mother asking
him where his cousins had gone.
"I haven't seen them yet," he said simply.
"And didn't you know that I meant for you to hunt them up?" she exclaimed
in a tone that was much more harsh and severe than that in which her other
words had been spoken. Then adding, "I'll teach you to pay attention to
what I say!" she picked up a board that was lying near and began to beat
him as she had done the day before. Hoping to escape some of the blows, the
child drew closer to his mother, but the following instant he found himself
tumbling head foremost toward a stone wall and heard the woman say, "Get
away from me, you blockhead, or I'll dash out your brains on that stone
wall. You are dumber than the dumb and not fit to live, and I wish you had
never been born."
When the awful treatment was ended, Edwin was lying in the grass in almost
a helpless condition, but he was left there piteously moaning while his
mother went to find the other children. The baby was in the house in his
crib and was still asleep, and the other two children, who had been on the
opposite side of the house at play, were standing in full view of the
scene. Without a word of comfort for her suffering child, she told Elmer
and Jennie to go quickly to her room, as she intended to take them to the
country, and the three disappeared to prepare for the trip.
It was some time before Edwin could arise, but at last, bruised and
bleeding, he got upon his feet and hobbled to a place that was not quite so
conspicuous. There he was sitting when his mother came from the house. The
baby, then awake and dressed, was sitting in its carriage, and the other
children were by her side. Before leaving the yard, she called loudly for
Edwin, asking where he was hiding, and as the child came limping toward
her, she threw him a package, saying as she did so: "Here's some dinner for
you and Perry. We'll not be back before night, but you see to it that you
stay right here in the yard. If it rains, you can crawl in with the dog."
Without any other information as to what she intended to do or where she
was going, and without a word of sympathy, the little group passed through
the gate and were soon out of sight.
To be thus left alone at so tender an age with no other companions than
nature and the dog, to some might seem cruel, but to Edwin life was already
too full of varied experiences for this fact to make any material
difference in his feelings. He did think, however, that it was very kind of
his mother to leave Perry and the birds as his companions, and no better
company could he have desired.
The small package that Edwin had received from his mother was of great
interest to the half-fed child. Knowing that it was intended for the dog as
well as for him, he called for Perry to come, and together they went to the
place beneath the little nest where the scene of cruelty had occurred the
day before.
Opening the package, he found that the dinner consisted of a small piece of
boiled pork, all fat, and a little dry bread, in all scarcely enough for
one, and yet two, one of which was a hungry dog, were to dine upon it.
After Edwin had considered all this, feelings arose in his heart, but they
were not of ingratitude or displeasure. He was anxious to know just how to
divide the food so that each would receive his just portion. He concluded
that since Perry and he were the parties concerned, Perry must help him to
decide.
"Perry," he said, "you are the biggest, and you eat much more than I do,
but, Perry, you get all you want very often, and I never do. Now, this
morning your plate wasn't quite as full as it is sometimes, so I didn't
take any bites. I gave it all to you, Perry, and I was so hungry. Don't you
think that it would be all right now if we divided this dinner in halves?
It would be all right with me if it would with you."
The dog had been an attentive listener, and as his little master waited for
an answer. Perry, who had been taught to "speak" in his dog language,
answered, "You, you," and Edwin understood it as being his perfect consent.
Still fearing that he might not have been perfectly understood, Edwin began
again, "Now, Perry, are you really willing to have it that way, and can you
trust me to divide both the meat and the bread?" Again the dog's "You, you"
meant "Yes" to Edwin; so, taking the bread in his fingers, he proceeded to
divide it as evenly as he could. Then he did the same with the meat, and
their dinner was all ready.
The next thing that puzzled them was the time of day and when to eat. This
was also decided by Perry, and at last the two faithful friends began their
scanty meal. There being no dishes, table manners, or napkins to bother
with, the dinner was soon eaten, and after a little romp (for Edwin had
quite forgotten his bruises) the two lay down together beneath the
apple-tree. Here they were soon lulled to sleep by the murmuring of the
wind among the leaves, the chirping of the birds in the branches, and the
singing of various insects in the grass; and their dreams were sweet.
When Edwin awoke the sun was high and its rays were streaming down directly
into his eyes. Again he wondered where he could be, but Perry's cold nose
against his cheek reminded him of what had happened before he fell asleep,
and, sitting up, he looked around to see if he was right. Everything in the
yard was just as he had seen it before his nap, and the empty newspaper by
his side brought to his mind the humble lunch that had been given him by
his mother.
Next he gazed around at the landscape before him. His mother's home being
in the very edge of the village, Edwin could look for a long distance in
one direction. But it was not the gardens nor the corn-fields that
attracted his attention; he was considering the sky, which was to him as a
high blue arch, and he wished that he could know what was above it.
Presently he began playing with Perry, throwing a stick as he had watched
his cousin do the day before. He found it great sport. Once when near the
picket fence that surrounded the garden, he noticed some chickens near the
gate scratching in the soft earth. After watching them for a little while,
he saw something smooth and round lying where he could easily reach it, and
he found that it was a pretty white stone with pink stripes in it To Edwin
it was a valuable treasure, and by searching carefully he soon discovered
two other stones that were equally pretty. A number of playthings belonging
to his cousins were scattered about the yard, but thinking that they might
be displeased if he touched them, he let them alone.
When he returned to the place beneath the apple-tree, he carefully examined
each little stone in its turn, and he considered them very pretty indeed.
The one with the pink stripes was so nearly round that it might have been
mistaken for a marble; the next was oval in shape and was of a pearly
whiteness; the third, although not quite so round as the first, was brown
and was a very handsome little stone.
While he was still admiring his treasures, he heard voices and, looking up,
saw his mother and the children returning from their visit. A sudden fear
that Elmer might want the stones made him thrust them out of sight, but he
was not swift enough to escape the eyes of that young lad. Elmer saw the
act and, thinking that Edwin might have discovered something valuable, said
authoritatively: "Ed, what was that that you put in your pocket just now?
Let me see it."
Edwin hesitated, for he did not want to part with what seemed to him his
only earthly possessions; bui when he saw his mother's threatening look and
heard her say, "Out with whatever you've got, Ed, or I'll see why! You
needn't try to show any of your authority around here!" he said, "I haven't
anything except these little stones that I found in the yard over there."
Then taking the stones from his pocket, he handed them to his mother for
inspection.
Finding that the stones were of no value, Mrs. Fischer returned them to her
son, and with the two younger children she passed on into the house. Elmer,
however, did not go with the rest, but sat down on the grass near Edwin,
and watched him closely as he returned the little stones to his pocket.
Edwin, although so young and seemingly ignorant along some lines, knew what
it was to be robbed of similar treasures; and, noticing the same evil light
in his cousin's eye that he had noted many times before at the poorhouse
among the children there, young as he was, he felt sure that, if given an
opportunity, Elmer would steal. He hoped that his cousin would forget about
the stones; so he decided not to refer to them any more and to play with
them only when he was alone.
During the evening nothing unusual happened, and when it was time to retire
for the night, Edwin was told that the bed that he had occupied the night
before was to be his permanent sleeping-quarters. The moon was shining
bright and clear, and beneath its silver rays the two boys crept into bed.
Both were very still; in fact, they were so very quiet that in a short time
each thought the other asleep. It was therefore a surprize to Edwin when he
felt his cousin creeping stealthily from the bed and out upon the floor
where the rays of the moon were the brightest.
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