Lucy (Chapter_15)

pots of flowers to be placed in the sun. "What happy creatures!" thought Lucy, as she listened to their merry voices and gay laughter. She would have given the young lady for the elder sister, had she not heard the often repeated epithet, of "Mama--dear Mama." The youngest child was a fine rosy cheeked little fellow of about five years old, the other two were beautiful girls who looked like twins, being of the same size, all of them were the very pictures of health, with eyes sparkling from beneath the black hair which curled profusely over their foreheads. "Here Willy," said the lady, you may carry this pot of roses." "Willy!" repeated Lucy--the sound went to her heart, it was a sound she had not heard for many and many a day--no, --not since those happy days, when in merriment and fondness she had thus called the dear father of her child. She looked at the sleeping babe, and thought as her tears fell upon his face, "how different is thy fate my Willy, from that of yon little boy." At this moment one the little girls who had been in the house, ran out with her apron full of apples, which in her haste to distribute she let fall, and which rolled along the gravel walk--The children eagerly ran after them, and the little girl, looking up

pursuing her apple, as it rolled towards the palings, discovered Lucy--The child looked earnestly at her, and seeing her { ?} over a little baby, seemed much affected, and after some hesitation, timidly approached and handing Lucy the apple, "here poor woman" said she, "here is an apple, don't cry." Lucy shook her head and declined taking the apple; the little girl looked for some time on the baby and then ran to her mother and taking her by the hand, "Oh, come Mama," said she, "and see what a beautiful little baby, a poor woman, a very poor woman Mama, that looks very pale and sick, has in her lap"-The lady followed, and when she saw the feeble and emaciated form of poor Lucy, seemed quite shocked, and exclaimed, "my good woman, you look sick and ought not to sit on the damp ground"--"I was not able to walk any farther Madam and only sat down to rest myself." "Come in the house and rest," said the lady--Lucy, rose and went as directed to a gate which the little girl ran and opened for her.--She then followed the lady to the green house and from thence through several elegantly furnished apartments into a

small back room, more plainly furnished, where drawing a chair by the fire, she made the wearied wanderer seat herself--The children all clustered round to look at the infant and the little girl who had before spoken, drawing her low chair close by Lucy, insisted on holding the baby. Meanwhile the Lady, who had left the room, returned with a bowl of broth, and slice of bread, and the other children drew forwards a small table, on which the bowl was placed, and the modest stranger pressed eagerly by both mother and children to eat-Lucy, felt quite abashed by so much kindness and condescension and trembled to such a degree she could scarcely obey their repeated injunctions to eat and to eat heartily. Mrs Latimore, for that was the lady's name--took the infant from her little girl and seemed wholly occupied with it, in order to relieve the bashful awkwardness of her humble guest. It was not until she perceived Lucy revived by the warmth of food and fire, that she addressed any enquiries to her, and then it was in a voice so gentle and tender that the unhappy girl was dissolved into tears by such unusual kindness and it was some time before she could reply.

Her heart was opened by the sympathy with which she was listened to, and she told the whole of her distressing story with such simplicity that it carried a conviction of its truth to her kind listener. Mrs Latimer, was affected even to tears and unhesitantingly promised Lucy immediate relief, and to seek for her some future employment. She offered her an asylum for that night, but Lucy thought it best she should return to Richard and let him know of the friend she had found; she promised to return the next morning and was assured of a home, until Mrs Latimer could fix on some permanent employment and residence for her.--While these arrangements were making, a gentleman entered, as young and lovely as Mrs Latimer--the children eagerly ran to him, and begged him to come and look at the pretty little baby--the moment he was seated, they were all on his knees, fondly carressing him, while Mrs Larimer stroking back his hair said, "you look fatigued dear husband." he kissed her hand, and drew her down on a chair beside him.

It would be impossible for nature to show a group of more loveliness and happiness, than was exhibited in this youthful couple and their blooming children--Even Lucy, abashed as she was, gazed on them with admiration--as the thought pressed on her heart, "good lady, sweet children, you deserve to be happy, but I-- I--loaded with a father's curse, I deserve to be what I am." "Bring your papa a glass of wine," said the fond Mrs Latimer, as she pressed the hand of her husband, and looked anxiously in her husband's face. "No," replied he, "a glass of water rather, for I am overcome with the heat," and he pushed back his chair from the fire as he spoke, "What strange weather it is!" he continued, it is really as warm as May, and in my eagerness to bring you this letter from your mother, I have walked so fast that I have overheated myself." He handed the letter with one hand, while with the other he took the glass of water which he swallowed off at a draught. Lucy now rose to go, and Mr Latimore with that politeness, which is the dictate of benevolence, opened the door for her, and followed by the children she curtsied and left the room, as Mrs Latimore absorbed in her letter, just looked up, and with a kind smile, said, "tomorrow"--Lucy understood the intimation and replied, to the children who eagerly repeated "tomorrow", yes, I will come back tomorrow"