COMFORTABLE MRS. CROOK AND OTHER SKETCHES.

BY RUTH LAMB

AUTHOR OF

"Look on the Sunny Side," "Taught by Experience," etc.

LONDON:

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD; AND 164, PICCADILLY.

CONTENTS

COMFORTABLE MRS. CROOK

CHAPTER I. KEEPING TO HERSELF

CHAPTER II. THE SILENT MESSENGER

CHAPTER III. READY AND UNREADY

CHAPTER IV. NOT WITH EYE-SERVICE

CHAPTER V. THE INVITATION ACCEPTED

CHAPTER VI. WAITING AND TRUSTING

CAN'T AFFORD TO PLAY

WALKING TOO BIG

WINKLES

COMFORTABLE MRS. CROOK.

CHAPTER I.

KEEPING TO HERSELF.

IF Mrs. Jemima Crook happened to be in a very good temper, when taking a cup of tea with some old acquaintance, she would sometimes allude to her private affairs in these words: "I don't deny it; Crook has left me comfortable." This was not much to tell, for Mrs. Crook was not given to confidences, and a frequent remark of hers was: "I know my own business, and that is enough for me. I don't see that I have any call to fill other people's minds and mouths with what does not concern them."

Seeing, however, that Mrs. Crook's own mind and heart were entirely filled by Mrs. Crook herself, it was perhaps as well that she should not occupy too much of the attention and affection of her neighbours.

It is a poor narrow heart, and a small mind, that find Self enough to fill them; but these sorts are not unknown, and Mrs. Crook's were a sample of such.

When she spoke of having been left "comfortable" by her deceased partner, there was a look of triumph and satisfaction on her face, and a "No thanks to any of you" kind of tone in her voice, that must have jarred on the ear of a listener.

No one ever saw a tear in Mrs. Crook's eye, or heard an expression of regret for the loss of "Crook" himself. He had been dead, and out of sight and mind almost, these ten years past. He was merely remembered as having done his duty in leaving his widow "comfortable." People were left to speculate as they chose about the amount represented by the expression. It would not have been good for the man or woman who had ventured to ask a direct question on the subject, but everybody agreed that Mrs. Crook must have something handsome. Surely "comfortable" means free from care, both as regards to-day and to-morrow: not only enough, but a little more, or else anxiety might step in and spoil comfort.

If Mrs. Crook had more than enough, she took care not to give of her abundance. Neither man, woman, nor child was ever the better for the surplus, if such there were. One of her favourite expressions was, "I don't care for much neighbouring; I prefer keeping myself to myself."

"And you keep everything else to yourself," muttered one who had vainly tried to enlist her sympathy for another who was in sickness and trouble.

Mrs. Crook had a pretty garden, well stocked with flowers according to the season. She was fond of working in it, and might be seen there daily, with her sun-bonnet on, snipping, tying and tending her plants.

Children do so love flowers, and, thank God, those who live in country places have grand gardens to roam in, free to all, and planted by His own loving hand. But in town it is different, and Mrs. Crook lived just outside one, far enough away from its smoke to allow of successful gardening, not too far to prevent little feet from wandering thither from narrow courts and alleys, to breathe the purer air, and gaze with longing eyes at the fair blossoms.

It always irritated Mrs. Crook to see these dirty, unkempt little creatures clustering round her gate or peeping through her hedge.

"What do you want here?" she would ask, sharply. "Get away with you, or I will send for a policeman. You are peeping about to see if you can pick up something; I know you are. Be off, without any more telling!"

The light of pleasure called into the young eyes by the sight of the flowers would fade away, and the hopeful look leave the dirty faces, as Mrs. Crook's harsh words fell on the children's ears. But as they turned away with unwilling, lingering steps, heads would be stretched, and a wistful longing gaze cast upon the coveted flowers, until they were quite lost to sight.

There was a tradition amongst the youngsters that a very small child had once called through the bars of the gate: "P'ease, missis, do give me a f'ower." Also that something in the baby voice had so far moved Mrs. Jemima Crook, that she had stopped to select one or two of the least faded roses amongst those just snipped from the bushes, and given them to the daring little blue eyes outside, with this injunction, however:

"Mind you never come here asking for flowers any more."

This report was long current among the inhabitants of a city court, but it needs confirmation.

Mrs. Crook objected to borrowers also, and perhaps she was not so much to be blamed for that. Most of us who possess bookshelves, and once delighted in seeing them well-filled, look sorrowfully at gaps made by borrowers who have failed to return our treasures.

But domestic emergencies occur even in the best regulated families, and neighbourly help may be imperatively required. It may be a matter of Christian duty and privilege too, to lend both our goods and our personal aid.

Mrs. Crook did not think so. Lending formed no part of her creed. If other people believed in it, and liked their household goods to travel up and down the neighbourhood, that was their look out, not hers.

"I never borrow, so why should I lend?" asked Mrs. Crook. "Beside, I am particular about my things. My pans are kept as bright and clean as new ones, and if my servant put them on the shelves, as some people's servants replace theirs after using, she would not be here long. No, thank you. When I begin to borrow, I will begin to lend, but not until then."

Mrs. Crook's sentiments were so well known that, even in a case of sickness, when a few spoonfuls of mustard were needed for immediate use in poultices, the messenger on the way to borrow it, passed her door rather than risk a refusal, whereby more time might be lost than by going farther in the first instance.

Many were the invitations Mrs. Crook received to take part in the work of different societies.

One lady asked her to join the Dorcas meeting.

"You can sew so beautifully," she said, "you would be a great acquisition to our little gathering."

The compliment touched a tender point. Mrs. Crook was proud of her needlework, but to dedicate such skill in sewing to making underclothing for the poorest of the poor! The idea was monstrous!

Mrs. Crook answered civilly, that she could not undertake to go backwards and forwards to a room half a mile off. It would be a waste of time. Besides, though it was probably not the case in that particular meeting, she had heard that there was often a great deal of gossip going on at such places.

The visitor was determined not to be offended, and she replied gently, that there was no chance of gossip, for after a certain time had been given to the actual business of the meeting, such as planning, cutting-out, and apportioning work, one of the ladies read, whilst the rest sewed.

"But," she added, "if you are willing to help us a little, and object to joining the meeting at the room, perhaps you will let me bring you something to be made at home. There is always work for every willing hand."

Then Mrs. Crook drew herself up, and said she did not feel inclined to take in sewing. She had her own to do, and did it without requiring assistance, and she thought it was better to teach the lower classes to depend upon themselves than to go about pampering poor people and encouraging idleness, as many persons were so fond of doing now-a-days. No doubt they thought they were doing good, but, for her part, she believed that in many cases they did harm.

The visitor could have told tales of worn-out toilers, labouring almost night and day to win bread for their children, but unable to find either material for a garment or time to make it. She could have pleaded for the widow and the orphan, if there had seemed any feelings to touch, any heart to stir. But Mrs. Crook's hard words and looks repelled her, and she went her way, after a mere, "Good-morning. I am sorry you cannot see your way to help us."

No chance of widows weeping for the loss of Mrs. Crook, or telling of her alms deeds and good works, or showing the coats and garments made for them by her active fingers!

It was the same when some adventurous collector called upon Mrs. Crook to solicit a subscription. She had always something to say against the object for which money was asked.

If it were for the sufferers by a colliery accident, or for the unemployed at the time of trade depression, she would answer—

"Why don't they insure their lives, like their betters? Why don't they save something, when they are getting good-wages? I am not going to encourage the thriftless, or help those who might help themselves, if they would think beforehand."

If it were to build a church that money was being sought, Mrs. Crook instantly replied, that they had more need try to fill all the places of worship that were half empty, Sunday after Sunday.

It did not matter in the least to her that these places were many a mile away from the people who had none within reach. She would not be convinced because she did not want to be.

Ask her for a missionary subscription, and she said: "There are heathens enough at home without sending men to be killed by savages in foreign parts;" and if some one hinted that she might then visit some of these native English heathens, she replied, "I do not care to have people that I know nothing about coming to my house, and I am not going to push myself where I might not be wanted."

At length every one gave up trying to enlist her services, or to obtain contributions from her, for the support of any good cause. And Mrs. Crook bestowed all her thoughts, her affections, her time, and her means, on the only person she thought worthy of them all—namely, Mrs. Crook herself.

CHAPTER II.

THE SILENT MESSENGER.

IT may be doubted whether, under these circumstances, Mrs. Crook was truly "comfortable." Probably many poorer people, on whom she would have looked down—if she had condescended to look at them at all—would not have cared to change places with her.

Mrs. Crook tried to think that she was very wise and prudent in thus caring for her own interests, and did not believe it possible that she could be mistaken. Yet there were times during the lonely hours—of which, by her own choice, she had so many—when a voice would seem to whisper, "Is your life the happiest you can possibly lead in this world? Has Time nothing better to give? Days and years are passing. Death must come to you as to others. What about eternity?"

When this last question recurred, Mrs. Crook tried to put it out of her mind. It was the one she disliked more than all the rest, yet it was the one which would repeat itself again and again, and for which she had no answer ready. She found her greatest comfort in thinking that she belonged to a very long-lived family.

Her grandmother had died at eighty-three; her mother at eighty-seven; and some of her relatives had attained still greater ages. Why not she?

"Let me see," said Mrs. Crook, when one day this unpleasant question had persisted in obtruding itself upon her loneliness: "I am just fifty-eight, and I feel as strong as ever I did in my life. I cannot remember having had a week's serious illness in all those years. I am a far stronger woman than mother was, and she lived to be nine-and-twenty years older than I am now. There is no reason why I should not reach ninety, or even a hundred. But if it were, say, eighty, which is not a great age in my family, I have two-and-twenty years to look forward to."

These calculations brought a look of satisfaction to Mrs. Crook's face. Twenty-two years is a long time to look forward to, and she thought she was very reasonable indeed not to have settled on twenty-five or thirty, with the example of her kinsfolk before her.

Then Mrs. Crook was somehow led to consider her mode of life. She had always been satisfied with it, so far. No one could say she was not religious. She always attended church when the weather was dry and not too cold. She could not risk her health by going out in the rain, or when an east wind was blowing. She would have regarded such doings as a tempting of Providence.

The collector never had to call twice for her pew rent. In fact she prided herself a good deal on the amount she thus contributed towards the maintenance of public worship, seeing that she paid for three seats and only occupied one.

Mrs. Crook liked to have a little pew to herself. It looked genteel, and she was not inclined to sit beside "nobody knows who," even at church.

He would have been a bold apparitor who had shown a stranger into one of the unoccupied seats, for Mrs. Crook, having paid for them, considered she had a right to keep them empty if she chose. She never considered how the minister would feel if everyone did the same, and expected him to preach to nearly empty pews.

It was just when Mrs. Crook had finally decided that she had a good two-and-twenty years of life to reckon upon, that her servant, Fanny, managed to upset all the feelings of satisfaction with which she looked forward thereto. She brought in the tea-tray to the minute, but as she placed it on the table, Mrs. Crook noticed that the girl's eyes were full of tears, and she heard a smothered sob.

"What is the matter with you, Fanny?" she asked, testily. "Toothache again, I suppose? But if it is, you need not be a baby, and cry about it. Girls are so frightened of themselves, that if a little finger aches they go sniffing and crying about a house, and making everybody miserable!"

Poor Fanny had lately borne a great deal of pain with much patience, and had gone about her work as usual, when her nights had been sadly disturbed, and she had been unable to take a proper amount of food. Knowing that her mistress would be more likely to grumble than to sympathise she had said little about her sufferings, and Mrs. Crook had either been, or pretended to be, ignorant of them, until the girl asked permission to go to a dentist.

Happily, she had obtained relief, and was able to answer:

"My face is all right, thank you, ma'am."

"Then what is the matter? I suppose you think you have something to cry about. If you have no troubles, you make them. You don't see me cry about every little thing, do you?"

Fanny could not call to mind any occasion when she had seen her mistress shed tears, and she said so. Nevertheless, this fact did not stop the flow of her own, as she answered:

"It is not about myself that I am crying; it is for Miss Lawton. They say she is dying. And she is so good and so young—only twenty-two, three years older than I am. They say she never had a day's illness in her life before; and this is inflammation, that came on all at once, and there's no hope of her getting better. Mother used to say to me sometimes, 'Young folks may die soon, old ones must.' But I never thought Miss Lawton was a bit likely to be called away. What a blessing she is ready! There will be plenty to grieve after her, though she does not fret about herself, but is just willing to live and work for God, if it please Him to spare her, or to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better."

Fanny's tears prevented more words. Miss Lawton was very dear to the girl's heart. She had been her Sunday-school teacher, and if her mistress would have allowed it, Fanny would have remained a member of the select class which the young lady taught, after she went to service.

But Mrs. Crook ridiculed the idea of a grown-up girl going to a Sunday-school, so Fanny had to content herself with an occasional sight of the dear young lady, to whom she owed so much. It was a comfort that Mrs. Crook attended the same church, and that in service the girl would still worship under the same roof as her parents, and the friends who were dearest to her.

Often had this young servant, who was also a humble disciple of Jesus, spoken to her dear teacher about Mrs. Crook. There never was a lover of the Saviour who was not a lover of souls also, and to Fanny it was a real sorrow that her mistress never spoke of Him.

"How nice it would be if Mrs. Crook were like Miss Lawton!" thought Fanny. "She would have me reading the Bible to her, and she would help me to understand it better. And she is so lonely, poor lady! She seems to care for nobody, and nobody cares for her. Yes, I do, though she would never think it. I feel sorry for her many a time, and wish she were even as happy as I am.

"This is not one of the brightest houses in the world to serve in, but I have a deal to be thankful for. The place is respectable, the work is regular, and what I can do easily; hours early, and the wages paid to the day. I am near father and mother, and the old school, and, best of all, Christ is always near to me. But it must be awful quiet and lonely for her, poor thing, though she says nothing, and seems as if she wanted to have no neighbours!"

The "her" was Mrs. Crook. Fanny could not believe that her mistress was a happy woman, or that she could be so without Christ. Many a prayer did the young servant offer on her behalf, and chief amongst her desires and petitions for Mrs. Crook was this: "Lord Jesus, let Thy Holy Spirit show my mistress that she wants a Saviour, and then show her Thyself, and make her very happy in Thee."

Mrs. Crook had no idea of Fanny's feelings towards herself. She knew she had a good, steady, truthful servant, who required no telling about keeping corners clean, or polishing pans. She put these things down to her mother's training, which had been excellent, but never dreamed that, as the girl moved about the house, she strove to bear in mind the words "Thou God seest me," and tried to do the humblest household task as unto the Lord.

Fanny did not see Miss Lawton very often, but they sometimes met in the street, at others when coming out of church, and once or twice the young teacher had ventured to call at Mrs. Crook's and ask permission to have a few minutes' conversation with her former scholar. The girl almost trembled at the idea of announcing such a visitor, for her mistress's household rule was "No followers" in its most comprehensive sense.

As, however, Miss Lawton asked Mrs. Crook's leave in such a nice straightforward way, and was so very kind in her inquiries after the mistress as well as the maid, she obtained it. After all, Mrs. Crook considered it was creditable to herself that Miss Lawton, who was a real lady, thought her servant worth looking after.

Moreover, the visitor had shown a wise discretion in staying only a short time with Fanny.

"And this was not because she was in a hurry," said Mrs. Crook, "for when I invited her into the parlour, she came in and chatted so pleasantly, that I felt sorry when she had to go."

Whether the meeting was only for a few seconds in the street, or one of these privileged interviews under Mrs. Crook's roof, Fanny always felt better and stronger for the performance of her duties, after having seen Miss Lawton.

It is easy to understand why she was thus influenced, for the meeting left sweet memories of good advice, lovingly spoken, of sisterly sympathy, though in a worldly sense the teacher and scholar were widely separated, and of cheery words, which seemed to ring in the girl's ears after the speaker was lost to sight.

It was Fanny's darling wish that Miss Lawton's visits should be blessed to her mistress, and the young lady, deeply stirred at the thought of Mrs. Crook's loneliness, earnestly longed to be of use to the solitary woman.

"If only I might be the messenger of glad tidings to her, how my heart would rejoice!" she thought. And during those occasional visits, she strove to introduce the subject which lay nearest to it, namely God's great love in giving His dear Son to die for sinners.