Signing the Contract, and What It CostFinley, Martha
General
Signing the Contract, and What It Cost
Finley, Martha
American fiction -- 19th century
“There, now, my dear, don’t emulate the folly of Oliver Twist over
his water-gruel,” said Hetty jocosely. “I think you’ll find this fare
somewhat more tempting than his; but salt water won’t improve it. You
see,” bending low and speaking in a whisper, “I’ve cribbed a little
from the store of dainties provided for the Thorne and served it
upon part of my own breakfast set, generally reserved for high days
and holidays. Now I must leave you, for there’s a customer,” and she
hurried into the store.
The fragrance of the tea was appetizing. Floy tasted it, then broke off
a bit of the toast, and presently discovered that, whatever might have
been the original cause of her headache, an empty stomach had not a
little to do with it now.
The slight refreshment made it possible to force herself to work,
though in other and happier days she would have been deemed too ill for
any place but bed.
The pain in the head was partially relieved, but that of the heart
remained unassuaged; and though it cost a painful effort, it was
perhaps well for her that she was compelled to give her mind to the
details of her employment, cutting, fitting, and trimming through all
the long hours of the day and evening, till nature was so thoroughly
exhausted that sleep came the moment she lay down to her rest, two
hours earlier than on the previous night--the result of Hetty’s kindly
interposition.
It was the same through the remainder of the week; every day some
errand to take her out for a breath of fresh air, every night an hour
or two added to her time for rest; also her bed was removed to a
warmer and purer atmosphere, Mrs. Goodenough and Hetty taking her into
their room, which was heated by a furnace in the cellar and was better
ventilated than the crowded room overhead.
Floy was very grateful, especially when the added luxury of some
degree of privacy was given her by the kindness of Mrs. Goodenough in
curtaining off the corner where her bed was placed.
The beneficial effect of these changes was soon apparent in Floy’s
increased appetite and brighter looks.
On the ensuing Sabbath she felt herself able to go to church, which had
been the case only once before since her coming to the city, all the
other Sundays finding her so worn out with the week’s work as to be
compelled to spend the day in sleeping off her exhaustion.
She went alone; and not wishing to attract observation, slipped quietly
into a pew near the door.
The services had not yet begun, and her thoughts had flown far away to
the dear ones worshipping in the upper sanctuary, when suddenly they
were recalled to earth. A rustle of silk, and three gayly-dressed
young girls swept up the aisle closely followed by two young men, the
foremost, Espy Alden, stepping so close in passing that she could
easily have laid her hand upon his arm.
Her heart gave a wild bound as she recognized him, but he did not see
her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account