Chapter XL

“Tom Herbert, are you aware that this is the sixth spoonful of sugar you have put in that cup of tea? and what a forlorn face! I’d as lief look at a tombstone. Now look at me. Did you ever see such a fit as that boot? Is not my hair as smooth and as glossy as if I expected to dine with some other gentleman than my husband? Is not this jacket a miracle of shapeliness? Look what a foil you are to all this loveliness; lack-lustre eyes—mouth drawn down at the corners: you are a dose to contemplate.”

“Mary,” said her husband, without noticing her raillery; “do you remember Mrs. Hall?”

“Mrs. Hall,” replied Mary; “oh, Ruth Ellet? yes; I used to go to school with her. She has lost her husband, they say.”

“Yes, and a fine noble fellow he was too, and very proud of his wife. I remember he used to come into the store, and say, with one of his pleasant smiles, ‘Herbert, I wonder if you have anything here handsome enough for my wife to wear.’ He bought all her clothes himself, even to her gloves and boots, and was as tender and careful of her as if she were an infant. Well, to-day she came into my store, dressed in deep mourning, leading her two little girls by the hand, and asked to see me. And what do you think she wanted?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” said Mary, carelessly; “a yard of black crape, I suppose.”

“She wanted to know,” said Mr. Herbert, “if I could employ her to make up and trim those lace collars, caps, and under sleeves we sell at the store. I tell you, Mary, I could scarce keep the tears out of my eyes, she looked so sad. And then those poor little children, Mary! I thought of you, and how terrible it would be if you and our little Sue and Charley were left so destitute.”

“Destitute?” replied Mary; “why her father is a man of property; her brother is in prosperous circumstances; and her cousin lives in one of the most fashionable squares in the city.”

“Yes, wife, I know it; and that makes it all the harder for Mrs. Hall to get employment; because, people knowing this, take it for granted that her relatives help her, or ought to, and prefer to give employment to others whom they imagine need it more. This is natural, and perhaps I should have thought so too, had it been anybody but Harry Hall’s wife; but all I could think of was, what Harry (poor fellow!) would have said, had he ever thought his little pet of a wife would have come begging to me for employment.”

“What did you tell her?” said Mary.

“Why—you know the kind of work she wished, is done by forty hands, in a room directly over the store, under the superintendence of Betsy Norris; of course, they would all prefer doing the work at home, to coming down there to do it; but that is against our rules. I told her this, and also that if I made an exception in her favor, the forewoman would know it, because she had to prepare the work, and that would cause dissatisfaction among my hands. What do you think she said? she offered to come and sit down among those girls, and work with them. My God, Mary! Harry Hall’s wife!”

“Of course that was out of the question, wife, for she could not bring her two children there, and she had no one to leave them with, and so she went away; and I looked after her, and those little bits of children, till they were out of sight, trying to devise some way to get her employment. Cannot you think of anything, Mary? Are there no ladies you know, who would give her nice needlework?”

“I don’t know anybody but Mrs. Slade,” replied Mary, “who puts out work of any consequence, and she told me the other day that she never employed any of those persons who ‘had seen better days;’ that somehow she couldn’t drive as good a bargain with them as she could with a common person, who was ignorant of the value of their labor.”

“God help poor Mrs. Hall, then,” exclaimed Harry, “if all the sex are as heartless! We must contrive some way to help her, Mary—help her to employment, I mean, for I know her well enough to be sure that she would accept of assistance in no other way.”