Caroline Street; or, Little Homes and Big Hearts

Preface

. It is with, some hesitation and misgiving that this little volume is submitted to the public, for it is only a simple tale of cottage life, suggested by incidents that have come under the author's own immediate notice, during several years of constant visiting among homes similar to those described. But even so un pretending a story may, perhaps, find acceptance with the class for whom it is mainly intended, if its readers will bear in mind that several of the characters are sketched from life, and that the object of the book is to show the influence of the poor among the poor. That some interest may attend the perusal of these pages, and that good results may follow, is the author's earnest wish and prayer. CONTENTS. PAGE

A YEAR IN CAROLINE STREET; OR, £ittlt Jjoutts aito §ig starts

Chapter I. The New Home

Clouds can never be so thick, How so e 'er they darken, Closing in upon thy life — But the heavens will hearken. Love will keep thy heart in warmth Through the wint'ry weather ; Pear no evil — do His will — God and thou together. " QUSIE, dear, it's no use trying any longer. There isn't another cottage to be had, beside the one in Caroline Street. I 've been everywhere looking for a better place, but I can't find any. Then, too, it's near my work, and all ways convenient, so I think, if you can make up your mind, we must take it." Susan Dean looked up from her sewing. She had a A sweet, modest face, and a trim little figure ; and her smile was a pleasant one, as she said, ""Well John, you 've done what you could, and though Caroline Street isn't altogether the place I 'd have chosen, we must make the best of it.

It 's a comfort we 're not obliged to be like those people, if we do live near them." " A37e, wife, you 're right there," replied John ; " but still it 's a little hard, it seems to me, that respectable folk can't find a respectable home when they want one. It's a sort of a come-down, Sukey, for such as us, who have been used to quiet ways, and quiet Sundays and the like, to go to a place where the people think of nothing but drinking and idling and gossiping. But there ! It can't be helped, so it's no good saying any more about it." " Don't you fret, John," said the young wife cheerily. " We shall be happy enough, and what 's more, we may be able to do some good. If it 's a bad street there must be a deal of misery in it ; and sometimes, perhaps, we can help the poor things by a kind word and a willing hand.

That won't make us any worse off, and it may brighten their lives a bit." " Well, Susie, you 're the woman for making the best of a bad bargain," exclaimed John Dean, coming closer to his wife and putting an arm round her. " Yes," replied she, ". that 's what I did when I took you for a husband — eh, John ?" And Sukey's eyes flashed merrily in the firelight, as she lifted her face for her husband's kiss. So it was settled that the Deans should move into No. 15 Caroline Row, Caroline Street. And, now, while they are talking over preliminary arrangements, we can go back a little in our history, and make their acquaintance as they were four months ago, when our friend Sukey was Susan Ellis, under housemaid in Mr. Raynor's family, and John Dean was a gardener in a neighbouring nursery. " If you please, ma'am, I should like to speak to you when it 's quite convenient," Susan had said one morning to her mistress who was just passing her on the stairs.

Mrs. Raynor looked up. " I am ready now, Susan, if you wish," replied she kindly. " You can come into my dressing-room ; we shall not be disturbed there." Susan followed the lady, and shut the door behind her. " If you please, ma'am," she said, " I wanted to tell j7ou that when you were suited with .another house maid, I should like to leave." Mrs. Raynor seemed surprised. " Why Susan," she said, " I am sorry indeed to hear this. You have done your work so willingly and so well, while you have been with me, that I had hoped you were quite settled and happy." " Please, ma'am, I am quite happy, and I 've been so ever since I came. And I would not leave your place, ma'am, to go to another, but perhaps you don't know I am going to be married." " Going to be married, Susan ? Well, this is news indeed !

" exclaimed Mrs. Eaynor. " But it seems to me you are rather young for so important a step." "I am turned three-and-twenty, ma'am," replied Susan respectfully. " Really ? " asked her mistress, looking at Susan's fresh, fair girlish face, simple and ingenuous as that of a child. " Then I suppose I must say nothing against it. But now, Susan, tell me the young man's name and business." " His name is John Dean, ma'am," answered Susan readily. " And he 's been undergardener in the nursery ; but he 's just got a situation in a gentleman's garden, and he thinks now, with his little savings and mine, we can settle down and be very comfortable. I've known .him all my life, ma'am," added Susan. " And my mother has liked him from a boy. He is a good steady young man, and we shall try to do rightly by each other."

Mrs. Raynor asked a few more questions, gave the girl a little good advice, and dismissed her with some kind promises for the future. In due time Susan was married — married from her mother's cottage ; but Mrs. Raynor and the children came to the church to see the wedding, and made the bride some very suitable and useful presents. The young couple went into lodgings at first, but these were at some distance from John's work, and so they anxiously looked about for a cottage, hoping that one might become vacant in the immediate neighbour hood. After four months of constant but fruitless search, the little house in Caroline Street, Lower Clacktown, was discovered to be forsaken, the tenants having astonished and horrified their landlord by escaping, bag and baggage, one night, just when he had made up his mind to put the brokers in and claim all for unpaid rent.

Of course the landlord raged and fumed, but this was of no avail. The family had moved, none knew whither, and, as no restitution was to be hoped for, he resolved to con sole himself by securing new tenants as soon as possible. He had taken a fancy to John Dean, with his honest face and courteous manner, when the young man had called on him to inquire about the cottage ; and he had said to him on this occasion — "Look here, Mr. Dean, if you take the house I will put it into nice repair before you move in, and I won't raise the rent either, as I was thinking of doing. You look like a fair dealing fellow, and I only want to be the same. Talk to your wife about the matter, and I '11 give you the refusal of the place, till to morrow, about this time." So John Dean went home to his wife, and the con versation took place with which we have commenced our story, and which ended in their decision to take the cottage.

It was quite a fortnight before the Deans could move, for the landlord was as good as his word, and there was a great deal to be done in repairing the forsaken house. The former tenants had not been content with living rent-free as long as possible ; they had also greatly damaged both paint and paper, and these had to be renewed in order to make the rooms habitable. However, the work was really completed at last, and one Monday afternoon in November, our young couple, followed by a cart loaded with strong and tidy furniture, and other things necessary for their little establish ment, arrived at Number 15 Caroline Street, and commenced moving in, much to the curiosity and amusement of their new neighbours, who turned out in all directions to see what was going on. Susan sighed as she glanced at the slatternly, bold looking women standing in their door-ways, most of them in ragged filthy dresses, and with unwashed faces and uncombed hair.

Her heart ached for the groups of half-starved, neglected children prowling like animals about the cart, and watching everything as it was carried in. And she could hardly help shuddering at the rough looking men who, unable to obtain work, or too idle to do it, sauntered about the street, with their hands in their pockets, and their clay pipes between their lips. All bore the unmistakeable stamp of vice and squalor ; and the poor little woman's heart sank within her as she realized the disadvantages of her new home. " 0 dear me, John ! " she cried, as their last stick of furniture was placed inside the threshold, and the door shut upon the gaping inquisitive throng outside. And Susan, very weary with hard work, and for the moment thoroughly disheartened with the surroundings of the cottage, burst into tears.

John was beside her at once. " Come, come, Susie," said he, cheerily. " This will never do ! Why, where 's all your courage ? Think how brave and hopeful you were when I first told you about this place. I know that some of the folks ain't as good as they might be, but then, wife, we 're going to make them better. So just take heart again, dear, and sit you down quietly, while I make a fire, and find the kettle and tea things. Before we set to work again we '11 have a cosy cup of tea, and drink to the health of our new home, and all our neigh bours." Susan soon dried her eyes, and having, with some difficulty, managed to hunt up the materials for their simple meal from the mass of things they had brought in, Mr. and Mrs. Dean sat down, and chatted away over their tea in the little kitchen which really looked very fresh and nice with its clean walls, its tiny grate, oven and boiler, and its new white wood dresser.

" We '11 make the house very snug, John," whispered Susan in her husband's ear that night, just as he was dropping off to sleep ; " and, any way, we're together, so we must be happy." "Yes, dear, so we must," replied John, responsive even in his sleepiness. " But," he continued, drowsily, " I shall try to " Here came silence. Mrs. Dean listened and waited for the conclusion of the sentence, but it never came, for poor John had yielded, in that moment of weariness, to claims stronger for the time than even those of his wife, and had dropped asleep, and actually begun to snore. Susan laughed softly to herself, and while still planning and arranging for her little establishment, sleep stole upon her too, unawares, and before she and her husband woke again, the rosy dawn was creeping through the chinks in their shutters, and the first night of their housekeeping was over.

Chapter II

A VISITOR FROM NUMBER THREE. Open the hand of thy charity, Christian, Drops of thy good on the destitute shed. Work to engage thee — an Eye to approve thee, Want all about thee, and God overhead. QTJSAN DEAN was clearing away the breakfast things on this first morning, after bidding her husband good-bye, when there came a loud knock at the door. She opened it at once, and was rather surprised to see a very dirty ragged girl, with a broken straw hat slouched over her eyes, and her hair hanging in matted tails round her face. "Please, Mrs. Dean, which mother says that's your name, ain't it ? She — that 's mother, have sent me to ask you to lend her your frying-pan. The handle 's took and come off her own, and she was jist a-goin' to fry some bacon for father's breakfast. She says tain't no use a-sayin' as you haven't got none, 'cause she see one moved into the 'ouse along of you yesterday."

Mrs. Dean's eyes opened wide with amazement at this speech, and she drew back a little, instinctively fearing to come in contact with the wild unchildlike figure before her. "Before I say that I will lend you the frying-pan," said she, " you must tell me your name, and where you live, for I am a stranger here, and don't know anyone yet." "My name's Martha Rong," said the girl, "and we lives at No. 3 in this street, and father 's a carpenter when he 's sober, and mother goes out a-charin' four days in the week, and — p'raps there 's somethink else you 'd please to like to know." And the visitor, drop ping a mocking curtsey, looked up into Susan's face with an impudent leer. For a moment or more Mrs. Dean remained undecided — the door in her hand, her eyes upon the wretched object before her.

Then she said gently, " Yes, I will lend you the frying-pan, but you must promise to bring it back to me as soon as you can. Will you promise ? " continued Mrs. Dean, over coming her repugnance, and laying one hand on the girl's shoulder — " because, if you will, I '11 trust you." The words were hardly said when, to Susan's increasing surprise, Martha's face underwent a sudden and remarkable change. The bold impudence died out of it, and a painful wistfulness filled her dark eyes. " If you '11 trust me, Mrs. Dean, I '11 bring it back for sure," she said. " No one ain't never trusted me since I went to Sunday-school, and that's years agone." " Poor child, I 'm sorry for you," exclaimed Mrs. Dean compassionately. I should like to have a good talk with you some day when you 've the time to spare, but I suppose I must not keep you now ; " and Susan, running into the kitchen, took down the frying-pan, put it into the girl's hand, and said kindly — " There, run back to your mother, and if you can, let me have the pan by one o'clock."

Martha glanced up once more with that wistful look in her eyes, and this time Susan thought she saw a tear trembling on the eyelashes, but if so it was winked away7 in a moment. The child only said, " thank yer," as she took the frying-pan, then, nodding good-bye, she was off the doorstep and out at the little gate in half a minute. Dinner time came, but no knock at the door an nouncing Martha Rong's return with the borrowed frying-pan. John Dean came home to the mid-day meal, and to him Susan related the little incident of the mornin° adding — " I hope I didn't do wrong, dear ; it would have seemed so ill-natured to refuse; and I couldn't but think that if we were to do any good here, we must begin by being kind to our neighbours." " I think you were quite right, Susie," replied her husband, " only if that girl doesn't bring the thing home by four or five o'clock, I think, if I was you, I 'd call at Mrs. Rong's, and ask for it ; or, if you think she 's like to be a rough sort of person I '11 go myself when I come home from work."

" Nonsense, John, I shan't be afraid," said Susan ; " but I don't believe I shall have to go, for, somehow, I can't help feeling that the child meant what she said." "Very well," rejoined John; "I hope you'll find you 're right ;" and here the subject was dropped, and the young couple chatted away about other things. John Dean went back to his work after dinner, and Susan busied herself in setting various little matters to rights which she had been unable to accomplish in the morning. The clock in the front room struck four, but as yet Martha Rong had not appeared. Then five — and Susan, when she saw how late it was growing, put on her bonnet and shawl, and set off in search of her frying-pan. Down the street she went, looking at the numbers of the cottages as she passed, and stopping at last before No. 3 — a wretched looking house, with half its windows broken, and filled up with dirty news paper, and with a door which stood open, not for the sake of fresh air, but simply because it would not shut.

"Oh, dear me!" sighed Susan, "what a dreadful place ! " and her heart beat quicker than usual, as she swung the gate back on its rusty hinges, and walked up the muddy path of what had once been a little garden, but which was now only a wilderness of weeds and refuse. She rapped at the door with her knuckles, for there was no knocker ; and presently a woman appeared, before whom poor little Mrs. Dean really shrank in fear and horror. She was a big, stout creature, with a face that might have been pretty years ago, but which bore few traces of beautj7 now. The cheeks were swollen and bloated, the eyes bloodshot and heavy ; one temple was black with some recently-inflicted blow, and the whole ex pression of the countenance was a mixture of cunning, depravity, and brazen assurance. " Who be you, pray ? and what do you want," said she ; and as she spoke her bold bad eyes wandered over Susan's face, her neat dress, her dark tidy bonnet, even her strong serviceable boots, with a look of stealthy interest.

" I am Mrs. Dean from No. 15," replied Susan as firmly as she could, " and I should be much obliged if you 'd give me back the frying pan I lent you this morning." " What frying-pan ? " exclaimed Mrs. Rong ; "I don't know nothin' about no frying-pans of your'n. I 've got one of my own, thank Goodness, and don't need to beg from m}7 neighbours." " Aren't you Mrs. Rong ? " said Susan timidly, half fearing lest she should have made a mistake, and come to the wrong cottage. " Yes, that 's my name," said the woman angrily, " though how you came to know it is out of my knowledge." "Well, then," said Susan, her courage rising with the other's temper, " your little girl Martha came to me this morning, and said you 'd sent her to borrow my frying-pan, to cook some bacon for your husband's breakfast.

She promised to bring it home, but it hasn't come, so I 've called to ask for it" " Well then," replied Mrs. Rong with a sneer, "you may7 just go back again, for I haven't got your pan, nor I didn't send Martha, and what's more, I won't have none of your fine lady cottagers a-comin' here, and be accusin' me of stealin' things as I never set eyes on in my life. If I was you, Mrs. Dean, I 'd take myself off as quick as I 'd came, and if you want to have a whole nose on your face, you 'd better keep away from this place and from me." So saying Mrs. Rong shut the door as far as it would shut, and Susan heard her set a chair against it. Then, very heavy-hearted, the little woman took her way homeward, fearing that she had made a great mistake by trying to be kind to her neighbours, and not knowing whether to blame Martha, Mrs. Rong, or herself.

She was still depressed and miserable when her husband came home to his tea ; and she could scarcely keep back the tears as she told her little story. "Well, Susie," said he, after listening patiently to all she had to say, "it certainly is a queer affair, but don't you fret. To-morrow morning I '11 go and see about it myself. I rather think Mrs. Rong won't try her hand at breaking my nose," and John laughed so heartily at the bare idea, that Susan could not help laughing too. The evening passed, and ten o'clock came. Then John got out the big Bible which Mrs. Raynor had presented to the young couple on their wedding day, and began to read a chapter, previous to offering, as was his habit, night and morning, a short but earnest prayer. He had, however, only read about three verses, when a low rap at the door arrested his attention.

"Who can that be at this time of night?" said Susan, as her husband rose to open the door. When, what was her surprise to see Martha Rong, a tattered shawl wrapped about her, from under which she drew the borrowed frying-pan. " Here it is, Mrs. Dean," she cried eagerly, holding out at arm's length her precious burden. " I couldn't come afore ; mother wanted to keep the pan, and when you came, she locked me into the back room, so as I shouldn't see you or speak to you, 'cause I telled her it ought to be guv back. But to-night she went off to the public over the way, and so I just got out of winder at the back, corned round to the front, nabbed the frying-pan, and ran up here. I wouldn't have done it for nobody else," added Martha, a softened look stealing over her face ; " but you said as how you trusted me, and that went straight here."

And she pressed her hand against her breast, giving a half sob as she did so. Meanwhile Mrs. Dean had taken the frying-pan from the child's hands, and had gently drawn her into the cottage. "Sit down here a minute," said she, bringing a chair to the fire ; "you're shivering with cold. Wouldn't you like a cup of hot tea ? Ah ! I see you would. John, dear, just make up the fire a bit, and put on the kettle while I fetch a cup and saucer." And kind little Mrs. Dean bustled into her kitchen, and presently E a comfortable meal was set before the poor half-starved, neglected girl. "Now, Martha, here's your tea," said Susan, laying a hand on the child's shoulder, at the same moment removing the tattered hat from her head. " Look up, dear, and have it while it 's nice and hot." And Susan tried to raise the drooping little figure, which had buried its face in its bony hands.

She succeeded at length. The girl looked up, great tears rolling down her pale cheeks, her bosom heaving with sobs. " Why what 's the matter, Martha ? " asked Susan, gently stroking the tangled locks ; "what's troubling you, child ? " "Nothing, only you're so kind," sobbed Martha; " and I ain't used to it." Susan very wisely let her have her cry out, and presently the poor girl dried her eyes, and having finished her tea, rose to go. " I hope your mother won't scold you for being so late," said Mrs. Dean, as she wrapped the child's rags about her again. A curious look came over Martha's face. " Mother won't know nothink of it," replied she. " She don't get home till nigh upon twelve o'clock, and then she's so tipsy she can only go to sleep. She '11 beat me to-morrow, when she finds out the frying-pan 's gone, 'cause she meant to sell it then.

But I don't care ! I 'd stand a heap of beatings wuss nor hers, for the sake of such as you." And Martha, evidently afraid of again bursting into tears, if she remained another moment in the cottage, uttered a brief good-night, pulled open the door, and sprang out into the dark night. "Now, John, dear," said Mrs. Dean, returning to her seat, "let 's finish our chapter, and pray to God for His blessing. Our work here is begun already, but only He can help us to do it wisely and well." So John read, slowly and reverently, a chapter from the Gospel of St. Luke, and then, kneeling down with an arm around his wife, he humbly and simply entreated God's guidance and aid, praying that the love which filled the Saviour's heart, and prompted Him, when on earth, to deeds of constant self-denial and mercy, might be reflected, however faintly, in the hearts of His servants, enabling them to carry on some work for Him, and to tread, in patient, loving disciple ship, in His steps.

Chapter III The First Sunday

"Cast thy bread upon the waters. Though it sink beyond thy gaze, Fear not but that thou shalt find it, Find it after many days." rpHE church bells were ringing cheerily on the first ■*• Sunday after the removal of the Deans to the cottage in Caroline Street. The morning was really bright and fine ; one of those cold, clear, healthy days of which we see a few in the course of an English winter. And Susan as she came out, followed by her husband (both neatly dressed for church), felt happier and more peaceful than she had yet done since moving to her new home. The street was unusually quiet as they walked down it towards the high road. Most of the inhabitants of the cottages appeared to be still in bed, for upstairs the blinds — where blinds there were — were not drawn aside, and downstairs most of the shutters were still closed.

A few ragged children were playing marbles in a corner of the street, and another little group were quarrelling over pitch-and-toss, but no fathers and mothers were visible. " I wonder whether any of these poor creatures ever get to a place of worship ! " said Susan, slipping her hand into her husband's arm. "I suppose there must be a few," replied John. " See, there are two women going, I am sure, for they have got prayer-books. Poor things, how thinly they are dressed for such weather ! " Susan looked in the direction indicated, and saw the two women. They had come out of a cottage at the other end of the street, and were going the same way as the young couple. One of them was quite an elderly woman, while her companion was just past her girlhood. Both were scrupulously clean and tidy, but the worn, threadbare shawl of the old woman, and the thin short jacket of her younger companion, were but miserable protection against the keen frosty air so bracing to people better clothed.

" Those two look of a different sort from most of the folks, wife," said John, as he and Susan turned into the main road, closely followed by the women. " Yes, dear, they do," replied Susan. " It 's a com fort to think there are some people a little respectable, even here." The church was soon reached, and the two women came and sat near John Dean and his wife in the free seats. Susan, more and more pleased with their appearance and reverent manner, determined to take an early opportunity of making their acquaintance ; and this opportunity occurred when the service was over, and they all rose to go. " We 've come to live in Caroline Street, so I think we 're neighbours of yours," said Susan pleasantly, while they walked out of church together. "And I 'm glad to find that we have those near us who love the house of God as we do."

At this the young woman looked up brightly, but she dropped her eyes shyly and did not speak. The old lad}7, however, responded warmly. "Ah! you're the new folks as has come in last week ! Yes, the house of God is very dear to my Janet here, and to me. We forget the worries of the week when Sunday comes, for the day, somehow, always brings its own thoughts and pleasures." "So it does," replied Susan, "and its own blessings too." "Aye, aye," was the hearty rejoinder. "I always think of what my old mother used to say — she 'a in heaven now, dear soul — but she used to say to me, said she, ' Bessie, my girl, Sunday 's a guest what 'a beholden to you for nought but your company : he comes to tea with you, sure, but he brings his own tea and sugar.' Its like this," continued the old lady, laying her hand on Susan's arm — " No matter what happens from Monday to Saturday, there 's like to be more of weeds and thistles and such like in our gardens than of anything else ; but come the Sabbath, and we find (God be thanked for it), that instead of the thorn, springs up the fir-tree, and instead of the briar, comes up the myrtle-tree ; and even this little garden of our life seems quite full of the sweet things that God has planted."

The good woman spoke very earnestly, and Susan was quite touched, and replied with a sympathy and frankness which gratified the old lady and drew her out. Indeed, so well did they improve the short half hour of their walk, that when they reached home and parted, it was with a warmly expressed hope that they should often meet in the future, and perfect in friend ship the acquaintance so pleasantly begun. " While you were talking with the old lady, Susie," said John Dean, while he and his wife were sitting together by the fire that afternoon, " I tried to make that girl chat a bit, and though she was kinder shy at first, she got over it, and told me one or two things. She says their name is Haytoun ; that her father died years ago, and that she is the only child left out of a family of seven.