Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1871-04-06
Our Saturday Night.
THEIR LITTLE HOPE.
By N. N. PomerOy.


shoemaker, his wife, and one child-a
little boy about seven years of age. Pass.
ing by the door of his cellar-shop one
night, some months ago, we heard him
pounding on his lap-stone and singing:
"The miller he stole grist-
The weaver he stole yarn!
And the little tailor he stole broadcloth,
To keep these three rogues warmI
To keep these three rogues warmi
And the little tailor he stole broadelotb,
To keep these three rogues warmv'
While we looked down, in through the
open door to see him at work and hearing
him sing, we saw an old bench beside
him, vacant. To step down stairs was
the work of but a moment.
Good evening"
| Good evening, SIR
You seem happy man-hope you are
not disturbed in your singing or your
labor
'Oh no-never disturbed
when can you repair pair OF boots
for me2'
when you send 'em in
| "To keep these three rogues warm,
To keep these three rogues warm,
And the little tailor he stole broadcloth,
To keep these three rogues warm"
That is jolly song you sing
It's the only one I know. And there
is SO much stealing now it seems good to
sing it,
We'll bring in the boots next week,
and you can fix Them
sAll right-bring 'em in
sHow late do you work p ...
From breakfast-time till bed -time,'
Every day p .-
| 'Yes-except Sunday
How many hours a day do you work !?
4 don't know--from 7 in the morning
till II at night, only once in while the
little woman in there gets me out to see
the show-windows or go with her for the
little things to last over Sunday
You make money here, don't you ?
Make money! Lord bless you-it's
all can do to pay rent and live
You have good health ?
'Yes-while it lasts
'And you save little p
Not much. It's slow work drawing a
fortune through an awl-hole, or building
house by pounding lapst
You are rightP
We talked half an hour with him, as
he worked. Then quiet, neat, home.
body of woman came in from the back
room to read from book she had in her
hand. He said she read to him books
from the library, and it shortened the
time. Three or four times since that
night have we dropped in to see him
work and escape from the continued labor
of the sanctum, for he can work and talk
at the same time.
| Tonight we met him with market
basket on bis arm, hurrying home.
Good evening, Mr.. Wilson p
'Ah good EVENING"
'Hurrying home, to rest or to work.
Neither. My boy is sick, and while
the little wife took care of him ran out
to see about these errands'
| we may drop in before long
Will you? We will be glad--if you
have time
Little Freddie is a sick boy. He was
in high fever, turning on his bed, while
his mother stood by with fan, trying to
cool the air in that close room. A doctor
had been there the day before, and pre-
scribed some remedies, but they were of
no avail. The father looked troubled.
He forgot his song, and his lapstone was
covered with his apron, on the bench.
Musicless, like canary in its covered
cage.
He said we might prescribe, and the
mother of little Freddie said the same.
At little drug store, corner Third avenue
and Sixteenth street, we found some ice
at fruit store near by some lemons. The
ice we pounded in towel till the pieces
were not much larger than peas, and fed
to the little patient slowly. The lemon
tasted good, as his lips were moistened
Herewith. In little while his head
was cool-the pulse fell back to proper
beating, aud in less than two hours the
little boy slept. We rubbed his hands
and smoothed the hair from his brow,
| while the father and mother sat, content.
ed spectators.
There now. Your Freddie will get
well. Do not waken him. When he
wakens, feed him of this pounded ice, and
he will eat. 1t is better than medicine.
Let him sip of the lemon-hold little
piece of ice over his pulse on the left
wrist-feed him more ice and be will be
all right in the morning
Thank you-so much
Never mind the thanks-look out for
the boy. You think good deal of him p
More than you know Of said the
mother, as tears followed each other down
her cheeks.
Have you lost children p
Yes. sir-four of them. This one is
our Little Hope-our Great Hope. He
is 60 good, and so loving. It would kill
MS IT he should die"
The tears came from the eyes of mother
and father, though the latter spoke not
word. How wondrous the chanpel In
work he was strong, happy, cheerful and
full OF speech. Now the mother had
words, as her feelings were wrought upon.
and from her heart came words Of mean
ing, deep and grief.laden.
HE will not die-not new at least.
The good angel who has taken your
others has passed on, and it will be years
before he will call again. Your little
Hope will be spared TO beautify your
life.'
While the mother busted herself about
the duties of the hour and place, the
father came with ne to the little shop
room. and beeide him we sat on beach
% he talked
STe h shnu1H d;ni II -oul1 LII Ia