"Don't tell me any more, mother, it makes you feel so bad, I would rather not hear it. I know now why you value the watch so much, and I hope we shall be able to get it back again."
"I fear not. But you must hear the rest of this sad story."
Mrs. Redburn continued the narrative, though tears blinded her eyes, and sobs chocked her utterance, as she told of the struggle she had had with poverty and want. Her husband had done very well in New York; and, gay and light-hearted in the midst of his prosperity, his habits had been gradually growing worse and worse, till he lost his situation, and became a common sot. The poor wife had then been compelled to toil for her own support and that of her child; and having been brought up in luxury and ease, it was a dreadful task to her.
John obtained another situation, but soon lost it. He was a good-hearted man when he had not been drinking, and keenly felt the disgrace and misery he was heaping upon himself and his unhappy wife. Once he had the resolution to abandon the cup, fully determined to redeem his lost character, and make his family happy again. The better to accomplish this, he removed to Boston, where he obtained a good situation, and for more than a year he adhered to his resolution. Mrs. Redburn was happy again and tremblingly hoped that the clouds of darkness had forever passed away.
The evil time came again, and John Redburn sank down lower than ever before. His wife lost all hope of him, and struggled, with the courage of a hero and the fortitude of a martyr, against the adverse tide that set against her. She was fortunate in obtaining plenty of sewing, and was able to support herself and child very well; but her husband, now lost to all sense of decency, contrived to obtain, from time to time, a portion of her hard earnings. She could never have believed that John Redburn would come to this; for, as a clerk in her father's counting room, he had been all that was good and noble; but there he was a miserable sot, lost to himself, to his family, and the world.
One morning in winter he was brought home to her dead. He had died in the watch-house of delirium tremens. He was buried, and peace, if not hope, settled on the brow of the broken-hearted wife.
Year after year Mrs. Redburn struggled on, often with feeble hands and fainting heart, to earn a subsistence for herself and Katy. She had been bred in opulence, and her wants were not so few and ****** as the wants of those who have never enjoyed the luxury of a soft couch and a well-supplied table. She had never learned that calculating economy which provides a great deal with very small means.
Hence it was much harder for her to support herself and child, than it would have been for one who had been brought up in a hovel.
She had done very well, however, until, a few months before our story opens, she had been taken sick, and was no longer able to work. Her disease was an affection of the spine, which was at times very painful, and confined her to the bed.
"But where is your father now?" asked Katy, when her mother had finished the narrative.
"I do not know; if he is alive, he probably lives in Liverpool."
"Why don't you write a letter to him?"
"I have done so several times, but have never received any reply.
I wrote shortly after your father died, giving an account of my situation. I am sure my father never could have got my letter, or he would have answered me. I know he would not let me suffer here in woe and want, if he were aware of my condition."
"Why don't you write again?"
"It is useless."
"Let me write, mother. I will call him dear grandfather, and I am sure he will send you some money then: perhaps he will send for us to go to Liverpool, and live in his great house, and have servants to wait upon us."
"Alas, my child, I have given up all hope of ever seeing him again in this world. In my letters I confessed my fault, and begged his forgiveness. He cannot be alive, or I am sure my last letters would have melted his heart."
"Haven't you any brothers and sisters, mother?"
"I had one sister; and I have written several letters to her, but with no better success. They may be all dead. I fear they are."
"And your mother?"
"She died when I was young. I know Jane would have answered my letters if she had received them."
"She was your sister?"
"Yes; she must be dead; and I suppose my father's property must be in the hands of strangers, covering their floors with soft carpets, and their tables with nice food, while I lie here in misery, and my poor child actually suffers from hunger;" and the afflicted mother clasped her daughter in her arms, and wept as though her heart would burst.
"Don't cry, mother. I was not very hungry. We have had enough to eat till to-day. I am going to take care of you now, you have taken care of me so long," replied Katy, as she wiped away the tears that flowed down her mother's wan cheek.
"What can you do, poor child?"
"I can do a great many things; I am sure I can earn money enough to support us both."
"It is hard to think how much I have suffered, and how much of woe there may be in the future for me," sobbed Mrs. Redburn.
"Don't cry, mother. You know what it says on the watch--`All for the Best.' Who knows but that all your sorrows are for the best?"
"I hope they are; I will try to think they are. But it is time for you to go. Pawn the watch for as much as you can; and I trust that some fortunate event will enable us to redeem it."
Katy took the watch, smoothed down her hair again, put on her worn-out bonnet, and left the house.
