Lucy (Chapter_06)

Chapter 6 For save the state of man is such They greatly want, who covet much Then happy he, whom heaven hath fed With frugal but sufficient bread. Horace

the blazing faggots, went before to light the way. A few minutes brought them to a rude inclosure of brushwood, which formed a close and high fence round the cabin of Uncle Richard. The sooner were their steps heard, than four or five great dogs, rush'd forward, and bark'd so furiously that Lucy, frightene'd, she could neither run, or move. ["A down then, Growler, said the old man, to the { ?}, who leap'd against the fence, and seem'd nearly to tear him to pieces, "Adown I say, stop your threat Bull,--here Sarcher,--here Lion, continued he, patting them, as they now with their tails between their legs, came creeping towards him, why don't you know a body? [This they did, the moment they heard his voice, and suffer'd him quietly to pass, with his companion. [The barking of the dogs, had roused Richard, who opening his door, now came forward.--["Why Uncle George what brings you out such a night, and who's this along with you? ["It's a poor lamb thats lost its way," replied the old man, and I's brought it to your fold to night, Uncle Richard." ["And kindly welcome,--pray walk in" said he, pulling off his great fur cap, and pushing open the door.--Lucy gladly accepted the invitation, and enter'd beneath the humble, but hospitable roof.--[A bright fire of faggots, was sparkling and blazing in a wide chimney; three or four ragged, but fat hearty looking children were sitting on the floor round, it, and roasting chestnuts. On a low block of wood, sat a middle aged woman, with one of the most open, good natur'd faces she had ever seen, with a smiling healthy infant at her breast. A table stood in the middle of the floor, on which were plates, and cups and saucers, neatly arranged a tea-kettle hung over the fire, and on a piece of board, before the fire, a Journey, or as it is vaguely call'd a jonny-cake was baking

The woman immediately rose, and { ?} { ?}, begged that Miss would sit down" Richard had reach 'd a chair and dusting it with his cap, placed it near the fire for her. Lucy, smiled her thanks, as she took the seat, and then pulling off the many colour'd coat, return'd it to Uncle George who was drying himself in the chimney corner, thanking him for his kindness. ["Well Miss, seeing you be safely housed, I will take my lave, said he, putting on his coat;" and the blessed Virgin protect you." ["Wont you take something first, Uncle George?" ["No thank you kindly" Uncle Richard, I has eat a plenty, before all the saints" --so good night to ye all. You'll take good care of poor Missey." Becky, I be sure of that, and if its fair weather to morrow, can shew her the way to the city," so good night again. Becky, meanwhile had laid her child in a cradle that stood near by, and was busied in putting things on the table in nice order, for, forlorn as was Lucy's condition, she had an air of modesty and a neatness in her appearance, that inspired her humble entertainer with respect. [Richard, with a politeness which he had acquired by long service among the rich and great, did not presume to sit down by a white person, until more than once requested to do so by our poor wanderer, who felt pained at the idea of disturbing him. Pushing the children into the back part of the room, he then drew his seat to as great a distance as he could from Lucy and at her bidding sat down. ["The madam looks sadly fatigued Becky, make haste with your bit of supper." [For the moment she had taken off Uncle George's coat, he saw she was not entitled to the epithet of miss, at least ought not to be, and poor Lucy blushed and looked down as she understood the inference.--[Becky, unlocking a great chest, took out some tea, saying she will like a cup of tea, better than our rye-coffee I guess.[The tea was soon made, a few crackers and a bit of cheese, taken from the same chest, thinking they would be more acceptable, than corn-bread and herring, which was preparing for their supper. When all was ready

Richard, placed his seat by the table, and begg'd her to be seated. Lucy, perceiving but one cup pour'd out, and that her host prepared to stand and wait on her, while Becky resumed her low seat in the corner, would not sit down, { ?} unless all the family did.--["We know our place better than that, Madam," said Richard. [Lucy, could not stand this, her heart was full, and she burst into tears. The good people looked at each other and seem'd much surprised.--It was some moments before their guest recover'd her voice, at last wringing her hands, she with sobs and tears, she exclaim'd, ["Sit down, oh sit down, you know not who it is you treat so respectfuly!--Rather should I, wait on you, kind, good people--as you are, who have taken in a poor wretch'd out cast--turned from a father's door, and without friends, or home." [Richard looked much concern'd , and making a sign to his wife and children to draw near, before he took his seat, devoutly raised his hands, to implore a blessing on the meal before them,--[Lucy, wiping her eyes, took the offered cup of tea, but could neither eat or speak. When the supper, and it was a silent supper, for those kind hearted black people, felt too much sympathy and respect, to talking was over, Becky put the children to bed and clear'd the table; then took her knitting, and sat down in her corner. Richard had not yet spoken, but sat lost in thought, every now and then stealing a glance at poor Lucy, who with her apron to her eyes, was leaning her aching head on the table.--Her irresolution was at last conquer'd.--"I will not deceive these good people thought she--no--I will tell them the truth--what tho' they are black, they seem very good and tender hearted." She raised her head--wiped her eyes, and after two or three broken sentences, at last got courage to tell her story.--["And this,"said she, when it was done, "is the truth and the whole truth, and now if you can put me in the way of getting into a creditable place, where I can earn an honest liveli-hood, I will be

not

"{ ?} Miss," said Richard--"your story is sad, but I am sorry to say it is not a strange one--many and many's the poor young creature, who has to bewail a like misfortune; and if I may be bold to give my advice, it would be to get a place in the country, for this here city, is the wont of all places to come to. So miss,--it is my humble advice, you go back to the country, thats far the safest place for you--but now, I think a bed would be the best

for you look hardly able to hold up your head. Becky, pray make our bed, as comfortable as you can, I wish with all my heart it was better." [Lucy objected to robbing them of their bed; but he said his wife could screnge in with the little ones, and as for himself he could sleep just as sound in a chair, as in the best of beds--he had been well used to it, Becky then shook up the straw-bed, and saying she was sorry she had no sheets, she went to the same great chest, which seem'd the depository of all she most valued, took out a nice white cotton apron, and a { ?} table cloth, (the only one she had) and warming them well, spread them on the bed. Richard went out of doors, while Becky assisted her trembling and feeble guest, to undress and get into bed.--When she had tucked her well in, she opened the door, and called in her husband. [Richard , went to a plank, which was nail'd across the rafters of his cabin, and served as a shelf, and taking down a much worn bible, and a little book of methodist hymns, laid on an additional bundle of faggots, whose blaze soon enabled him to read his nightly portion of scripture. Lucy, who watched him, saw him turning leaf after leaf, til he found the 7th chapter of Luke-a chapter from the begining to the end so replete with comfort, for the sufferer, and the sinner, for sick and the afflicted--So replete, with instances of the power still more so, with those of the unbounded energy of our blessed Savior's. When he came to the 37th verse, he read the remainder of the chapter, with a distinctness and tenderness that went to Lucy's heart, uttering as he closed the sacred vol, the last words "go in peace--thy sins are forgiven", he raised his eyes to the bed, and meeting Lucy's, seem'd to add, "be of good comfort, he can give thee peace." He and his wife then knelt, and never did our poor wanderer hear a prayer that came so warm from the heart.