Lizzy Glenn; Or, The Trials of a SeamstressArthur, T. S. (Timothy Shay)
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Lizzy Glenn; Or, The Trials of a Seamstress
Arthur, T. S. (Timothy Shay)
Women dressmakers -- Fiction
But the poor little fellow was no more used to bearing exposure to
the chilling winds of winter than she had been when a child. He
therefore shrunk shiveringly in the penetrating air whenever forced
to go beyond the door. This did not fail to meet the eye of Mrs.
Sharp--indeed, her eye was rarely off of him when he was within the
circle of its vision--and it always irritated her. And why? It
reproved her for not providing warmer clothes for the child; and
hurt her penurious spirit with the too palpable conviction that
before many weeks had passed they would be compelled to lay out some
money for "the brat," as she had begun frequently to designate him
to her husband, especially when she felt called upon to complain of
him for idleness, carelessness, dulness, stupidity, wastefulness,
uncleanliness, hoggishness, or some other one of the score of faults
she found in a child of ten years old, whom she put down to work as
steadily as a grown person.
A single month made a great change in his external appearance; such
a change as would have made him unfamiliar even to his mother's eye.
While under her care, his clothes, though poor, had always been
whole and clean--his skin well washed, and his hair combed smoothly.
Now, the color of his thin jacket and trowsers could scarcely have
been told for the dust and grease which had become imbedded in their
texture. His skin was begrimed until it was many shades darker, and
his hair stood stiffly about his head, in matted portions, looking
as if a comb had not touched it for weeks. One would hardly have
imagined that so great a change could have passed upon a boy in a
few weeks as had passed over him. When he left his mother's humble
abode, there was something about him that instantly attracted the
eye of almost any one who looked at him attentively, and won for him
favorable impressions. His skin was pure and white, and his mild
blue eyes, with their expression of innocent confidence, looked
every one in the face openly. Now there was something repulsive to
almost every one about the dirty boy, who went moping about with
soiled face and hands, a cowed look, and shrinking gait. Scarcely
any one seemed to feel a particle of sympathy for him, either in or
out of the house where he dwelt.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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