Praper-Book and Ledger

White Ribbon, Volume 1, Issue 5, 1 November 1895, Page 8

Praper-Book and Ledger

By M.S.P.

Chapter V.

A STORY FOUNDED ON FACT. [all rights reserved.]

Mrs Broome or “ Mother Broome/’ as she was more often called—had Ikhju to London on one of her errands of mercy, .and as she leaned hack in the railway c&rriago she was meditating upon the sad scenes which she h.ad that day witnessed. She was a stout, comfortable looking personage of alnmt fifty, and as you caught the glance of her keen grey eyos over the gold-rimmed spectacles, and noted the genial smile which played around the corners of her mouth you felt at once that this was a women to be trust**! and confided in. Mrs Broome, like most to whom God has given a special work, had known sorrow. Up to the time of her engagement to Mr Broome lwr chief confidante had been a favourite brother two years younger than herself. Into her ear had lx»en poured all his boyish confidences, while he, in his turn, was made the recipient of hers. Left orphans in childhood, they had clung to each other with an unusual warmth of affection, and when Janet went to a home of her own Charlie also shared it, for they could not bo separated. Charlie was clever and bright, much sought after by the young men of his own circle, as he was always to lx * depended upon to make an entertainment “ go.” And so it came about that he was randy at home in the evenings, and when he did return his eyes had an unnatural brightness, and he w;is sometimes not quite himself. And when, in the early days of hei married life, his sister knelt —as one turned to stone—beside his coffin, and noted the ugly gash on his fair forehead, received in the drunken brawl which had cost him his life, she registered a solemn vow to devote her life to the victims of the accursed traffic. With her husband’s willing co-operation she had sought out drunkards discharged from prison, had found work for them and in many instances been successful in getting them to sign the pledge, and lead altogether different lives. By degrees her quiet work had become so well known that rarely a day passed without her assistance being sought by some broken-hearted wife or sorrowing mother, and as family cares made little demand upon her time, her afternoons were generally spent in seeking to alleviate and help, for “ Mother Broome ” was a childless wife. “ Blessed is that mother that never had a child,” exclaimed an old Irishwoman in excess of grief at the wandering of her own first-t>orn; and, in spite of tho ridicule heaped upon the llilKjrniauism, tho words were truer than she knew. Many a woman w r ho has never held in her arms her own child has a heart large enough and tender enough to mother all creation, and is herself thrice blessed in the blessings which she sheds upon others. As the train drew up at L«*i Mrs Broom emerged from her third-class carriage and walked with a firm step across the platform, exchanging a cheery “ Good-night ” with tho porter as he took her ticket. A few minutes’ walk brought her to a row of semi-detached villas, at the door of one of which she knocked. It was opened by a short, squat figure in a very short dress, and with apron all awry. Her broad, good-humoured fact; was surmount**! by a shock of rough red hair upon which a cap appeared to have dropped from the skies. Mrs liroome never had to advertise for a servant, having always a number of waifs and strays waiting for some hospitable door to open to them. No one kaew what an afflio

tion these raw, untrained girls were to her, or how their rough, untutored ways jarred upon her sensibilities. But she took them one after another in the Master's name and for the Master’s sake, and she had her reward. “A jintleman called to see ye, inu’atn.” (Everybody in male attire was “a jintleman ” in Bridget’s vocabulary he it observed.) “ Who was it? I hope you remembered to ask lus name, Bridget.** “ Sure an’ I axed him and he said niver a word, only give me a ticket! An’ what did Ido wid it, at all, at all ? Sure and faith, these .tickets will he the death av me j there’s tickets wid the ooal and tickets wid the meat, but niver a lump av oo,al nor a bit av meat did he bring.” During this sp«H*ch Brhlget was diving into the depths of her pocket and ransacking tho letter-box, but all iu vain. At last a bright thought struck her, iind, tramping down the hall, she took from a hook on the kitchen dresser a crumpled visiting card with which she triumphantly returned. Mother Broome adjusted her glasses and read tin* name: —Richard Joyce, and having ascertained that tho “ jintlemau ” was to call again during the evening, retired to take off her bonnet and prepare for t«\a. (To be continued.)