Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1860-03-08
THREE AT QUILCHER,s DOOR

CONTINUED.
'Great hands, interrupts the sober earnest
stranger, has this man large hands, a starved
but good-looking cOuntenance, and thread
bare black coat? met such one an hour
ago, at the Paddiugton station, and he said he
lived in this street"
'Ay, that's Samson, hungry enough, no
doubt, he looked" says Mrs. Rasper. a little
recovered and at talk again; land I'm sure,
rs was biting the crackle of our nice little
piggy-wiggy, / thought to myself. with some
thing like a troubled conscience. If I'd asked
Samson to have taken bit o. dinner with u.s.
! think crackle, stufing and sauce, would have
been all the sweeter. But, Heaven forgive
US. these pints of conscience comes mostly too
late with all of us.''
my dear" said Rasper fastening to usurp
this pause, "when l has a gentleman in tie
chair, L like to finish my story. You see," he
says, with hand and finger like a solemn
judge, Samson has been a good creature to
little Em, wiping away her tears as innocent.
ly as a brother would, I'm sure. He don't
see much on her except at meal times-for the
Quilcher's always dine in the kitchen-and
maybe bit at night, when he goes down to
warm his hands before he goes up to his mis-
cradle garret. But he's hushed her sorrow
after many blow-for she's told US as much,
the few times we've seen her, and made her
merry In that hideous den."
Such place for black beetles" interrupts
Miss Tallow, who is a neighbOr lodging hard
by, "they come forth in armies at night, and
little Ems terror was dreadful, till Samson
brought something that scared them off bit
Poor child, without fire and candle, and the
beetles crawling up the very bed, for she
sleeps in the kitchen, in turn-up by the sink,
and the bad smells, and the rats, and a lock
on everything, even on the VERY salt box,
why"
Miss TallOw is q romantic reader of penny
a-liner literature, and were she a writer her
aided to posterity by the trump of fame, it
would be as an apt disciple of the Radclifian
school; but being no more than a halter fore
horror, with all the simplicity of natures
rhetoric.
Unable as it seems to hear more of this
tragic recital touching Quilcher's kitchen,
longing to press his child to his heart, and
kiss, maybe. to healing the wounds which
stripes and slavery have made, the stranger
rises and moves to go.
"Sball l come with you," said Abel, "and
show the door,
mo" is the reply, 81 would rather 90
alone desire no one harshly questions
tor we are all of US conscious, that rs dew is
to the ripening fruit, so are quietude and pri-
vacy to the tenderness which hallow and en-
rich our humanity.
Cary sleeps here tonight, and Elm can share
her bed, and you can have that of our assist
ant, and be heartily welcome, too. Come back
to US, and you shall find all ready"
Thank you, thank yOu,'' is the brief an
swer - shall only wait for these people 8
return: My child sleeps beneath their roof no
more"
He takes up his basket and goes; turning
round upon the threshold of the little parlor'
however, to look back look which is more
eloquent and touching than words.
lie hnds the house; he ascends the steps Y
2O4, watches him from behind the opposite
lsmp-poSt.
KNOCK ONE ON oUrLcHER's DOOR
Mr.. kneebOne is a small advertising tailor.
with shop in the Borough-and VILLA at
Peekham New Town. To dine with this illus
trlous maker Of shoddy garments, the Ouil-
cher's started at IL a. m, as the goose is to be
on the board at two precisely. Prior to start
ing, Mrs. Quilcher has locked up eyerythino
except the water-tap and the front door. Even
this latter is under rigid quarantine. If un-
duly opened the police are to report it, the
chain is to be kept up and no knocks answered.
The herring and two cold potatoes are left on
plate, few cinders in a dust pan, but no
candle, there being light enough from the gas
lamp through the - airy-bsr for little eirl
doing nothing. And it," adds Mrs. Quilc6er.
as she finally goes forth, II find all right
when come home, and the sewing I've set
you done, and you in a meek and proper state
OF mind, as is right in a girl who twice this
week had the impudence to tell me she was
tired, will reward you with delicious ROSY
apple, only just begun to be rotten. but quite
nice one If that's cut out" Thus, blessing
her threshold, and lifting up the folds of her
secondhand velvet cloak, Mrs Quilcher fol-
lowed her husband to the street
1t is cold and dreary morning to little En-.
for the few embers in the CRATE have to be fed
sparingly- ana the coarse sheet she has been
left TO make has long seam and longer hem
But by working bard half her task is done,
when Abel'S knock comes at the door. And
she does answer it, in spite of forbiddens, for
her ear tells her it is knock Of friendly
hand. Then, oh. the joy of seeing AbePs dear
old face, and receiving his Sessed gift He
viii hardly stay to be thanked but saying his
dinner Is waiting, hurries away. Trembling
with excessive joy, little En- hsstens down into
the miserable kitchen, half dark already, and
inspects her treasure, and renews her FIRE in
quite an extravagant manner. Then spresd-
lag piece of paper on the table for a table,
cloth, she sets forth her dinner quite yrandly.
But she eats sparingly; puts by the best part of
everything for Samson. She does not know
exsctiy where he is gone, but long way she
fears; and when he comes home what joy she
will have in placing the little delicacieS before
him, and watching while he eats Poor Sam
SON Her life would be drear indeed, without
his tender pity. Aye, and whilst she eats.
some memories of her own short life dim her
eyes with tears. Oh, that little farm near
Windsor Forest, where they made festivals on
Christmas days; those days when she had father
aud mother, and baby brother, too Those
days for which there was such genial though
humble preparation, when mother always went
to the neighboring town and bought her new
frock, and father always brought home fine
sPrlgs OF holly from a tree on Brocket's upland,
she accompanying him when the snow lay not
too deep, and the cold was not too severe,
Mother she has now none; father, where is he?
Will he ever come again? So she bends her
head, and weeps her desolate tears
As afternoon wears on she finishes her task.
makes some tea from an ounce Samson bougbt
her the day before: finds a scrap of candle hid
den up like precious treasure; and with IL
comes book-Samson's gift, also-from some
other hiding place. = -
When tea is over and the book wearies. ss
the long night steals on, she gets forth her Door
box, to look within at the red and black frock
her father bought her just before he went
away, for none more provident than he of the
comforts Of his darling child. What a precious
little frock il is 70 her, small and short though
il be now. She we'll remembers how ard when
he gave IL; and as her tears come anew, think