Books: Lizzy Glenn

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"What's the matter with them, ha?" asked his master glancing down at
the miserable apologies for shoes and stockings that but partially
protected the child's feet front the snow whenever he stepped beyond
the threshold.

"They're frosted, sir," said Henry.

"Frosted, ha? Pull off your shoes and stockings, and let me see."

Henry drew off an old shoe, tied on with various appliances of twine
and leather strings; and then removed a stocking that, through many
gaping holes, revealed the red and shining skin beneath. That little
foot was a sight to pain the heart of any one but a cruel tyrant.
The heel, in many places, was of a dark purple, and seemed as if
mortification were already begun. And in some places it was cracked
open, and exhibited running sores.

"Take off your other shoe and stocking," said Sharp, in
authoritative tone.

Henry obeyed, trembling all the while. This foot exhibited nearly
the same marks of the progress of the painful disease.

"What have you done for it?" asked Sharp, looking Henry in the face
with a scowl.

"Nothing but to put a little candle-grease on it at night before I
went to bed," replied the child.

"Come out here with me. I'll doctor you," said his master, turning
away and disappearing through the back door. Henry followed as
quickly as he could walk on his bare feet, that seemed ready to give
way under him at ever step. When he got as far as the kitchen, he
found Sharp waiting for him in the door.

"Here, jump out into that snow-bank!" said he, pointing to a pile of
snow that had been shoveled up only that morning, after a fall
through the night, and lay loose and high.

The poor boy looked down at his crippled, and, indeed, bleeding
feet, and, as may well be supposed, hesitated to comply with the
peremptory order.

"Do you hear, sir?" exclaimed his master, seizing him by the collar,
and pushing him out into the yard. Then catching him by one arm, he
set him in the centre of the snow-bank, his naked feet and legs
going down into it some twelve or eighteen inches.

"Now stand there until I tell you to come out!"

The child did not scream, for he had already learned to bear pain
without uttering even the natural language of suffering; although
the agony he endured for the next minute was terrible. At the end of
that time, a motion of the head of his master gave him to understand
that the ordeal was over.

"Now take that bucket of cold water, and let him put his feet into
it," said he to a little girl they had just taken to raise, and who
stood near the kitchen window, her heart almost ready to burst at
the cruelty inflicted upon the only one in the house with whom she
had a single feeling in common.

The girl quickly obeyed, and sat down on the floor beside the bucket
of water. She handled tenderly the blood-red feet of the little boy,
ever and anon looking up into his face, and noting with tender
solicitude, the deep lines of suffering upon his forehead.

"There, that will do," said Sharp, who stood looking on, "and now
run up stairs and get a better pair of stockings for Henry."

"What do you want with a better pair of stockings?" said Mrs. Sharp,
a few moments after, bustling down into the kitchen.

"Why, I want them for Henry," replied her husband.

"Want them for Henry!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "Where's the ones
he had on?"

"There are some old rags in the shop that he had on; but they won't
do now, with such feet as he's got."

"What's the matter with his feet, I'd like to know," inquired Mrs.
Sharp.

"Why, they're frosted."

"Let him put them in snow, then. That'll cure 'em. It's nothing but
a little snow-burn, I suppose."

"It's something a little worse than that," replied Sharp, "and he
must have a comfortable pair of stockings. And here, Anna, do you
run around to Stogies, and tell him to send me three or four pairs
of coarse shoes, about Henry's size."

Anna, the little girl, disappeared with alacrity, and Mr. Sharp,
turning to his wife, said:

"Henry must have a good, warm pair of stockings, or we shall have
him sick on our hands."

"Well, I'll find him a pair," replied Mrs. Sharp, going off up
stairs. In the mean time, Henry still sat with his feet in the cold
water. But the pain occasioned by the snow was nearly all gone. Mrs.
Sharp came down with the stockings, and Anna came in with the shoes
at the same moment. On lifting the child's feet from the water, the
redness and inflammation had a good deal subsided. Mrs. Sharp rubbed
them with a little sweet oil, and then gave him the stockings to put
on. He next tried the shoes; and one pair of them fitted him very
well. But his feet were too sore and tender for such hard shoes; and
when they were on, and tied up around the ankles, he found that
after getting up they hurt him most dreadfully in his attempt to
walk. But he hobbled, as best he could, into the shop.

"Throw them dirty things into the street!" were the only words
addressed to him by Sharp, who pointed at his wet apologies for
shoes and stockings, still lying upon the floor.

Henry did as directed, but every step he took was as if he were
treading upon coals of fire. His feet, now enveloped in a closely
fitting pair of woolen stockings, and galled by the hard and
unyielding leather of the new shoes, itched and burned with
maddening fervor.

"Here, carry this hat home," said his master, as he came in from the
street, not seeming to notice the expression of suffering that was
on his face, nor the evident pain with which he walked.

Henry took the hat and started out. He was but a few paces from the
shop, before he found that the shoes rubbed both heels, and pressed
upon them at the same time so hard as to produce a sensation at each
step as if the skin were torn off. Sometimes he would stop and wait
a moment or two, until the intolerable pain subsided, and then he
would walk on again with all the fortitude and power of endurance he
could command. In this extreme suffering, the uppermost thought in
his mind, when on the street, kept his eyes wandering about, and
scanning every female form that came in sight, in the ever-living
hope of seeing his mother. But the sigh of disappointment told too
frequently, that he looked in vain. He had not proceeded far, when
the pains in his feet became so acute that he paused, and leaned
against a tree-box, unable for a time to move forward a single step.
While resting thus, Doctor R--, who had been called to visit a
patient in Lexington, came past and noticed him. There was something
about the child, although so changed that he did not recognize him,
that aroused the doctor's sympathies, and he ordered his man to
drive up to the pavement and stop.

"Well, my little man, what's the matter?" said he, leaning out of
his carriage window.

Henry looked up into his face, but did not reply. He knew Doctor
R--instantly. How strong a hope sprang up in his heart--the hope of
hearing from or being taken back to his mother! The kind-hearted
physician needed no words to tell him that the little boy was
suffering acutely. The flushed face, the starting eye, and the
corrugation of the brow, were language which he understood as
plainly as spoken words.

"What ails you, my little boy!" he said in a voice of tender
concern.

The feelings of Henry softened under the warmth of true sympathy
expressed in the countenance and tone of Doctor R--, and still
looking him steadily in the face, essayed, but in vain, to answer
the question.

"Are you sick, my boy?" asked the doctor, with real and increasing
concern for the poor child.

"My feet hurt me so that I can hardly walk," replied Henry, whose
tongue at last obeyed his efforts to speak.

"And what ails your feet?" asked Doctor R--.

"They've been frosted, sir."

"Frosted, indeed! poor child! Well, what have you done for them?"

"Nothing--only I greased them sometimes at night; and to-day my
master made me stand in the snow."

"The cruel wretch!" muttered Doctor R--between his teeth. "But can't
you walk up as far as the drug store at the corner, and let me see
your feet?" continued the doctor.

"Yes, sir" replied the child, though he felt that to take another
step was almost impossible.

"You'll come right up, will you," urged the doctor.

"Yes, sir," returned Henry, in a low voice.

"Then I'll wait for you. But come along as quickly as you can;" and
so saying, the doctor drove off. But he could not help glancing
back, after he had gone on about the distance of half a square, for
his heart misgave him for not having taken the little fellow into
his carriage. He soon caught a glimpse of him on the sidewalk,
slowly and laboriously endeavoring to work his way along, but
evidently with extreme suffering. He at once gave directions to the
driver to turn back; and taking Henry into the carriage, hurried on
to the office. The child, when lifted in, sank back upon the seat,
pale and exhausted. Doctor R--asked him no question; and when the
carriage stopped, directed the driver to carry him in. He then, with
his own hands, carefully removed his shoes and stockings. "My poor,
poor child!" said he in pity and astonishment, on beholding the
condition of Henry's feet. The harsh remedy prescribed by Sharp, if
the subsequent treatment had been tender and judicious, might have
been salutary; but, after it, to confine the boy's feet in hard,
tight new shoes, and to send him out upon the street, was to induce
a high state of inflammation, and, in the advanced state of the
chilblains, to endanger mortification. Several of the large ulcerous
cracks, which were bleeding freely, the doctor dressed, and then,
cutting a number of short strips of adhesive plaster, he applied
them to the skin over the heel and foot, in various directions, so
as almost completely to cover every portion of the surface.

"How does that feel?" he asked, looking into Henry's face with an
air of relief and satisfaction after he had finished the first foot.

"It feels a good deal better," replied the child, his voice and the
expression of his countenance both indicating that he no longer
suffered so excruciatingly as he had but a short time previously.

The other foot was soon dressed in the same way. Doctor R--then went
back into the house and got a loose pair of stockings and a light
pair of shoes, belonging to one of the apothecary's children, from
their mother. These fitted Henry comfortably, and when he stood down
upon his feet he did not experience any pain.

"That feels a good deal better, don't it?" said the doctor, smiling.

"Yes, indeed it does," and Henry looked his gratitude; and yet,
blended with that look, was an expression that seemed to the doctor
an appeal for protection.

"You're afraid to go back now, ain't you, since you've stayed so
long?" he asked, in a tone meant to encourage the child's
confidence.

"Indeed I am. Mr. Sharp will be almost sure to beat me."

"What a very devil incarnate the man must be!" muttered Dr. R--to
himself, taking three or four strides across the floor. "I shall
have to take the little fellow home, and browbeat his master, I
suppose," he continued. Then addressing Henry, he said, aloud--

"Well, I'll take you home to him in my carriage, and settle all that
for you, my little man; so don't be frightened."

Acting upon this resolution, Dr. R--soon drove up before the
hatter's shop, and, lifting out Henry himself, led him into the
presence of his astonished master.

"What's the matter now?" asked the latter, roughly, and with a
forbidding aspect of countenance.

"The matter is simply this, sir," responded Doctor R--, firmly. "I
found this little boy of yours on the street absolutely unable to
get along a step further; and on taking him into the drug store
above, and examining his feet, I found them in a most shocking
condition! Why, sir, in twelve hours mortification would have
commenced, when nothing could have saved his life but the amputation
of both limbs." The sober earnestness of Doctor R--caused Sharp to
feel some alarm, and he said--

"I had no idea, doctor, that he was as bad as that."

"Well, he is, I can assure you, and it is a fortunate thing that I
happened to come across him. Why, I haven't seen so bad a case of
chilblains these ten years."

"What ought I to do for him, doctor?" asked Sharp, in real concern.

"I have done all that is necessary at present," replied the doctor.
"But he must be suffered to have rest; and, as you value his limbs,
don't let him be exposed to the wet or cold until his feet are
healed, and the tenderness and soreness are both gone."

"I shall attend to your direction, most certainly," said Sharp, his
manner greatly changed from what it was when the doctor came in.
"But, really, doctor," he continued, "I had no idea that there was
any danger in getting the feet a little frosted."

"The chilblains are not only extremely painful," replied Doctor R--,
"but there is great danger, where the feet are exposed to wet and
cold, as Henry's must have been to get in the condition they are, of
mortification supervening. That little boy will require great care,
or he will stand a chance of being crippled for life. Good-morning!"

Poor Henry! How eagerly had he hung upon the doctor's words; how
almost agonizing had been his desire for even the slightest
intimation that he was remembered by the physician, to whose
mistaken kind offices he was indebted for the place he held in the
family of Sharp! But all was in vain. A dozen times he was on the
eve of asking for his mother; but, as often, weak timidity held him
back. In the presence of his master, fear kept him dumb. It seemed
to him as if life would go out when he saw Doctor R--turn away from
the shop and enter his carriage. A deep darkness fell upon his
spirit.

As Doctor R--rode off in his carriage, he could not help
congratulating himself on the good deed he had performed. Still he
did not feel altogether satisfied about the boy. He had been so much
concerned for his distressed situation, that he had failed to make
any inquiries of him in regard to his friends; and for this he
blamed himself, because it was clear that, if the child had friends
they ought to know his condition. He blamed himself for this
thoughtlessness, and a consciousness of having performed but half of
his duty to the poor boy caused a shade of concern to steal over
him, which he could not shake off.

And Henry, as he stood frightened in the shop, felt, as the
carriage-wheels rattled away, the hope that had awakened faint and
trembling in his heart, sinking into the gloom of despair. One who
could have told him of his mother; one who, if he had only taken the
courage to have mentioned his name, could have taken tidings of his
condition to her, or perhaps would have carried him home, had been
beside him for half an hour, and he had not spoken out. And now he
was gone. He felt so sick and weak that he could hardly stand.

From his sad, waking dreams he was roughly startled by the loud,
sharp voice of his mistress, who, attracted by the strong
expressions of Doctor R--, now entered the shop, exclaiming--

"What's all this? What's that little wretch been doing now, ha?"

"I wish I'd never seen him!" muttered Sharp, but in a tone that left
no doubt on the mind of his wife that something more than usually
annoying had occurred.

"What's the matter? What's he been doing? Not stealing, I hope;
though I shouldn't wonder."

"He's sick, and you've got to take care of him," was the dogged
answer of Sharp.

"Sick! He looks sick, don't he?" The tones of the virago were full
of contempt.

Any eye but hers would have seen sickness, sorrow, suffering, and
want in the pale, frightened face of the poor boy, as he stood
trembling beside the counter, and actually clinging to it for
support.

"Who was that in here, just now?" she added.

"Doctor R--, of Boston," replied the hatter, who knew the doctor by
sight very well.

"What did he want?"

"He picked Henry up in the street and took him over to the drug
store at the corner. Then he brought him home in his carriage. He
says that he must be taken care of, or he will become a cripple;
that it's the worst case of chilblains he ever saw; and that his
feet are in danger of mortification."

"I don't believe a word of it. Here I you go off up-stairs,"
speaking sharply, and with a threatening look to the child. "I'd
like to know what business he has to come here, meddling in affairs
that don't concern him."

Henry, thus spoken to, let go of the counter, by which he was
sustaining himself, and attempted to move toward the door. As he did
so, his face grew deadly pale. He staggered across the shop, fell
against the wall, and then sank down upon the floor. Mrs. Sharp
sprang toward him, not with any humane intention, we are sorry to
say; but, ere she had grasped the boy's arm, and given him the
purposed jerk, the sight of his ashen, lifeless face prevented the
outrage. Exhausted nature could bear nothing more, and protected
herself in a temporary suspension of her power. Henry had fainted,
and it was well that it was so. The fact was a stronger argument in
his favor than any external exhibition of suffering that could have
been given.

The hatter and his wife were both alarmed at an event so unexpected
by either of them. Henry was quickly removed to a chamber, and every
effort made to restore him. It was not a very long time before the
machinery of life was again in motion; its action, however, was
feeble, as even his oppressors could see. Self-interest, and fear of
consequences, if not humanity, prompted more consideration for the
boy, and secured for him a few days respite. After that, the
oppressed and his oppressors assumed their old relations.

CHAPTER IX.

LIZZY GLENN FINDS IN MRS. GASTON AN OLD FRIEND.

"I DON'T think I've seen any thing of Lizzy Glenn for a week,"
remarked Berlaps to his man Michael one day during the latter part
of December. "Has she any thing out?"

"Yes. She has four of our finest shirts."

"How long since she took them away?"

"It's over a week--nearly ten days."

"Indeed! Then she ought to be looked after. It certainly hasn't
taken her all this time to make four shirts."

"Well, I don't know. She gets along, somehow, poorly enough,"
replied Michael. "She's often been a whole week making four of
them."

While this conversation was going on, the subject of it entered. She
came in with a slow, feeble step, and leaned against the counter as
she laid down the bundle of work she bad brought with her. Her
half-withdrawn vail showed her face to be very pale, and her eyes
much sunken. A deep, jarring cough convulsed her frame for a moment
or two, causing her to place her hand almost involuntarily upon her
breast, as if she suffered pain there.

"It's a good while since you took these shirts out, Lizzy," said
Berlaps, in a tone meant to reprove her for the slowness with which
she worked.

"Yes, it is," she replied, in a low, sad tone. "I can't get along
very fast. I have a constant pain in my side. And there are other
reasons."

The last sentence was spoken only half aloud, but sufficiently
distinct for Berlaps to hear it.

"I don't expect my workwomen," he said a little sharply, "to have
any reasons for not finishing my work in good season, and bringing
it in promptly. Ten days to four shirts is unpardonable. You can't
earn your salt at that."

The young woman made no reply to this, but stood with her eyes
drooping to the floor, and her hands leaning hard upon the counter
to support herself.

Berlaps then commenced examining the shirts. The result of this
examination seemed to soften him a little. No wonder; they were made
fully equal to those for which regular shirt-makers receive from
seventy-five cents to a dollar a piece.

"Don't you think you can make five such as these in a week--or even
six?" he asked, in a somewhat changed tone.

"I'm afraid not," was the reply. "There's a good day's work on each
one of them, and I cannot possibly sit longer than a few hours at a
time. And, besides, there are two or three hours of every day that I
must attend to other duties."

"Well, if you can't I suppose you can't," said the tailor, in a
disappointed, half-offended tone, and turned away from the counter
and walked back to his desk, from which he called out to his
salesman, after he had stood there for about a minute--

"Pay her for them, Michael, and if you have any more ready give her
another lot."

Since the sharp rebuke given by Mr. Perkins, Michael had treated
Lizzy with less vulgar assurance. Sometimes he would endeavor to
sport a light word with her, but she never replied, nor seemed to
notice his freedom in the least. This uniform, dignified reserve, so
different from the demeanor of most of the girls who worked for
them, coupled with the manner of Perkins's interference for her,
inspired in his mind a feeling of respect for the stranger, which
became her protection from his impertinences. On this occasion, he
merely asked her how many she would have, and on receiving her
answer, handed her the number of shirts she desired.

As she turned to go out, Mrs. Gaston, who had just entered, stood
near, with her eyes fixed upon her. She started as she looked into
her face. Indeed, both looked surprised, excited, then confused, and
let their eyes fall to the floor. They seemed for a moment to have
identified each other, and then to have become instantly conscious
that they were nothing but strangers--that such an identification
was impossible. An audible sigh escaped Lizzy Glenn, as she passed
slowly out and left the store. As she reached the pavement, she
turned and looked back at Mrs. Gaston. Their eyes again met for
an instant.

"Who is that young woman?" asked Mrs. Gaston.

"Her name is Lizzy Glenn," replied Michael.

"Do you know any thing about her?"

"Nothing--only that she's a proud, stiff kind of a creature; though
what she has to be proud of, is more than I can tell."

"How long has she been working for you?"

"A couple of months or so, if I recollect rightly."

"Where does she live?" was Mrs. Gaston's next question.

"Michael gave her the direction, and then their intercourse had
entire reference to business."

After the subject of this brief conversation between Mrs. Gaston and
Michael left the store of Mr. Berlaps, she walked slowly in the
direction of her temporary home, which was, as has before been
mentioned, in an obscure street at the north end. It consisted of a
small room, in an old brick house, which had been made by running a
rough partition through the centre of the front room in the second
story, and then intersecting this partition on one side by another
partition, so as to make three small rooms out of one large one.
These partitions did not reach more than two-thirds of the distance
to the ceiling, thus leaving a free circulation of air in the upper
and unobstructed portion of the room. As the house stood upon a
corner, and contained windows both in front and on the end, each
room had a window. The whole were heated by one large stove. For the
little room that Lizzy Glenn occupied including fire, she paid
seventy-five cents a week. But, as the house was old, the windows
open, and the room that had been cut up into smaller ones a large
one; and, moreover, as the person who let them and supplied fuel for
the stove took good care to see that an undue quantity of this fuel
was not burned she rarely found the temperature of her apartment
high enough to be comfortable. Those who occupied the other two
rooms, in each of which, like her own, was a bed, a couple of
chairs, and a table, with a small looking-glass, were seamstresses,
who were compelled, as she was, to earn a scanty subsistence by
working for the slop-shops. But they could work many more hours than
she could, and consequently earned more money than she was able to
do. Her food--the small portion she consumed--she provided herself,
and prepared it at the stove, which was common property.

On returning from the tailor's, as has been seen, she laid her
bundle of work upon the bed, and seated herself with a thoughtful
air, resting her head upon her hand. The more she thought, the more
she seemed disturbed; and finally arose, and commenced walking the
floor slowly. Suddenly pausing, at length she sighed heavily, and
went to the bed upon which lay her work, took it up, unrolled the
bundle, and seating herself by the table, entered once more upon her
daily toil. But her mind was too much disturbed, from some cause, to
permit her to pursue her work steadily. In a little while she laid
aside the garment upon which she had begun to sew, and, leaning
forward, rested her head upon the table, sighing heavily as she did
so, and pressing one hand hard against her side, as if to relieve
pain. A tap at the door aroused her from this state of abstraction.
As she turned, the door was quietly opened, and the woman she had
seen at the tailor's a short time before, entered. She started to
her feet at this unexpected apparition, and gazed, with a look of
surprise, inquiry, and hope, upon her visitor.

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