Fashion -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Women's periodicals, American
"Not till this afternoon," murmured the mother, sadly, as she thought
of her children, and how meagerly she had been able to provide for them
during the past few days. Turning away from the counter, she left the
store and hurried homeward. Henry met her at the door as she entered,
and, seeing that she brought nothing with her but the small bundles of
work, looked disappointed. This touched her feeling a good deal. But
she felt much worse when Ella, the sick one, half raised herself from
her pillow and said--
"Did you get me that orange as you promised, mother?"
"No, dear; I couldn't get any money this morning," the mother replied,
bending over her sick child and kissing her cheek, that was flushed and
hot with fever. "But as soon as Mr. Berlaps pays me you shall have an
orange."
"I wish he would pay you soon, then, mother; for I want one so bad.
I dreamed last night that I had one, and, just as I was going to eat
it, I waked up. And, since you have been gone, I've been asleep, and
dreamed again that I had a large juicy orange. But don't cry, mother.
I know you couldn't get it for me. I'll be very patient."
"I know you will, my dear child," said the mother, putting an arm about
the little sufferer, and drawing her to her bosom; "you have been good
and patient, and mother is only sorry that she has not been able to get
you the orange you want so badly."
"But I don't believe I want it so very, very bad, mother, as I seem to.
I think about it so much--that's the reason I want it, I'm sure. I'll
try and not think about it any more."
"Try, that's a dear, good girl," murmured Mrs. Gaston, as she kissed
her child again, and then turned away to resume once more her wearying
task. Unrolling one of the coarse jackets she had brought home, she
found that it was of heavy beaver cloth, and had to be sewed with
strong thread. For a moment or two, after she spread it out upon
the table, she looked at the many pieces to be wrought up into a
well-finished whole, and thought of the hours of hard labor it would
require to accomplish the task. A feeling of discouragement stole into
her heart, and she leaned her head listlessly upon the table. But only
a moment or two elapsed before a thought of her children aroused her
flagging energies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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