71 CHAPTER V. THE SICK NURSE. I MUST not say much about my married life. It was full of joys, and full of sorrows,―the very joys leading on to the sorrows,-blessings given us, and blessings taken from us, time after time. In those seven years before I became a widow, I buried three sweet children; and, beside them, there was the eldest of all, who died six months after her father. We found hard work, too, in making our way in the world. So long as my husband was strong enough for regular work, we managed to lay by for "a rainy day:" but then the sicknesses of the children, and so forth, brought this rainy day upon us very often. When my husband was forced at last to throw up his situation, and only to take a chance job in warm weather, I cannot think how we should have got on, if it had not been for the shop. A private shop it was, for our landlord did not allow a show of goods in the window, so that we had to trust to the neighbours happening to know, and to tell each other, of what I had on hand. Yet this answered pretty well. We had only small profits; but as the articles were good, this made the sale brisk; and we found the proverb true, "light_gains make a heavy purse." True, we could not keep it heavy; but we managed to be mostly out of debt. Three years we lived down by Battle Bridge. But in the summer of 1818, we went up to Islington, where a great number of new houses had been built. It was the November after we moved, that Elizabeth Holbrook got into such trouble. She was servant in a very respectable family there, and had the care of the two elder children; the youngest of them was much about the age of my Matilda, and the boy (I should say) was between three and four. Very often I met them in their little wheeled chaise! I think their story is worth the telling. Everybody knew it at the time. One Sunday, Elizabeth had taken them out for a little fresh air, and was looked for to come back at the usual time, but she did not return, nor the children either. All the evening passed away, and they were nowhere to be seen. Next morning the little girl was brought back; she had been found a long way off alone in the chaise; and she had been taken care of, till it was known whom she belonged to. The sweet child was so young, she could not give any account of what had happened; so all seemed as dark as ever. In three days, however, the poor silly girl returned, and told her tale. I do not mind calling it silly of her; for I am sure she felt it So, when all was over. It seems that when she was out with the little ones, she had several times met a man, who talked to her, and talked again and again, till at last he talked her into going with him to Birmingham to be married. So she had agreed to come down that day to Smithfield to meet him, and he gave her the money to pay her fare by the coach, and said he would follow her as soon as he had seen that the children were taken safe home. But this was a promise he never kept, for he never meant to keep it. He was not going to be married at all; he had a wife already. He cared nothing for the servant-maid; all he cared for was to spite her master and mistress, by running off with their eldest child. He therefore left the youngest one in the chaise just where she was afterwards found in St. George's Fields, and he took the boy over to France, meaning (as it was said) to go on from there to America. But happily the child's father was able, after Elizabeth found her way back from Birmingham, to follow this man-for, by her description, he knew well enough who it was; and at the end of nearly a month, he brought the little treasure home. I have often thought this ought to be a teaching to all servant-girls. It may show them that an acquaintance, picked up in this way out of doors, is not at all likely to turn to good; and any one who asks a girl H were good, this made the sale brisk; and we found the proverb true, "light gains make a heavy purse." True, we could not keep it heavy; but we managed to be mostly out of debt. Three years we lived down by Battle Bridge. But in the summer of 1818, we went up to Islington, where a great number of new houses had been built. It was the November after we moved, that Elizabeth Holbrook got into such trouble. She was servant in a very respectable family there, and had the care of the two elder children; the youngest of them was much about the age of my Matilda, and the boy (I should say) was between three and four. Very often I met them in their little wheeled chaise! I think their story is worth the telling. Everybody knew it at the time. One Sunday, Elizabeth had taken them out for a little fresh air, and was looked for to come back at the usual time, but she did not return, nor the children either. All the evening passed away, and they were nowhere to be seen. Next morning the little girl was brought back; she had been found a long way off alone in the chaise; and she had been taken care of, till it was known whom she belonged to. The sweet child was so young, she could not give any account of what had happened; so all seemed as dark as ever. In three days, however, the poor silly girl returned, told her tale. I do not mind calling it silly of her : dz all we out wh met a N again d going wh So she had Smithfeld 11 money to he would that the this wa meant 11 married cared cared ir va by rang therefore et te just vien te George' Fens France, mean from em 11 chill E TI this caa-iz well enoug of neary & C to be a seating a turn to good: ta E - |