Lucy (Chapter_15)

"Oh! said Lucy--never again then shall I see this dear young Lady--who will ever be so kind to me as she was--Indeed Uncle Richard--it is a sure trial to me--for it is strange what a love I felt for her and those sweet little children--And as I lay awake at nights, I thought and thought if ever I could be happy again it would be in this family. And little Willy too! All the evening they could talk of nothing else and as they sat late over the glimmering embers, Richard repeated many hymns but none that seemed more true to Lucy, than the one in which Watts describes his own experience of the disappointments of life--How vain are all things here below, How false--and yet how fair, Each pleasure hath it poison too. And every sweet its snare or that in which he speaks of the uncertainty of human life Lord what a feeble piece Is this our mortal frame Our life how poor a trifle 'tis That scarce deserves a name

these lines crossed out:

Our minutes fly apace nor will few moments stay, Just like a flood, our hasty days Are beaming us away!

Which way now to turn, or what to do, Lucy knew not--Becky, now that she saw no prospect of her getting a place, which would enable her to help them, as she had hoped she would do, relaxed into her former ill humour and from this time Lucy's situation became more and more uncomfortable. Richard was seldom at home and altho' his family no longer suffered for food or clothing, there was less peace and comfort than while they were destitute. Becky, again suggested the idea of the work house and resented her husband's obstinacy as she called it, when he turned a deaf ear to what she said. She vented on the unoffending Lucy the angry temper she dared not show to Richard, and when after a hard days work he returned cold and tired to his humble home, instead of glad and affectionate welcome, he was received with silence and sulkiness. The taunts and revilings of Becky, Lucy could have born, humiliating as they were, but to bring trouble and vexation on her Benefactor was more than she could endure. Her days were spent in bitterness,--her nights in tears. In contrast to her present condition, home with all its remembered comforts rose to her mind, the mournful looks of her Mother the angry voice of her father, haunted her dreams

and made her wretched even in her sleep. And William!--her ever dear William!--the thought of what he suffered, doubled all she herself endured. Such misery could not be patiently born, and she resolved once more to go in quest of a place and if she could not find one, to lie down in the streets and die. Such were her meditations, when one evening Richard on his return home, told her he had obtained a situation for her. "Not such a one, indeed! said he, as I would have chosen, but you can at least make trial of it." Lucy eagerly enquired concerning it, and impressed her willingness to undertake the hardest service, rather than any longer to remain a burden on his kindness! "Why as to hardship" said he--"that will not be one of your trials, the place will be easy enough for the matter o'that--But the family is but a disorderly family, tho' they are rich and fashionable--Nothing but Balls, and cards, and dancing and feasting, from morning to night, but as they say a "burnt child dreads the fire," I think you will be careful and prudent."

"And when can I go?" said Lucy, all impatience. "Why tomorrow," replied Richard. "You are wanted to assist a lady in nursing her child; the poor infant is sick and no wonder seeing the mother is always out. I have bargained for good wages for you, tho' not so high as if you parted with your own child, but I knew you would rather have less money and the priviledge of keeping your little boy." "That was right, that was right," exclaimed Lucy, "and I thank you a thousand times." Becky, glad to be rid of her, willingly assisted in what little preparations were necessary, and the evening was passed by Lucy with something like cheerfulness and comfort. The piece of silver the clergyman had bestowed was all she had to offer. Take this Becky -- it is all I have. All I can do is to thank you. Richard, good Richard! what do I not owe you? you have preserved my life--and the life of my babe. May you meet a rich reward tho' the poor Lucy can only bless you--tears choked her utterances.