INASMUCH by L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Mar 26, 1902

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 28, No. 13.

INASMUCH

By L. D. Avery-Stuttle

He was such a forlorn little old man. He lived all alone in a tiny one-roomed cottage half a mile from the village,—all alone save for the company of a child,—a mere babe of three or four years.

And now the child was dead. Of course the neighbors came in; they had never troubled themselves to step in before to call on the “ill-assorted pair” as they termed them, tho they had been living there a year.

Occasionally the child had been seen out at play or following the old man as he went about his chores. She wore a little red sun-bonnet in summer, and a faded blue hood and short cloak when the days were cold. Some of the more motherly women of the village wondered how the old man managed to care for a child like that. Some of them had noticed that the cloak was too small for warmth; and that the tiny shoes were out at the toes; that the stockings were ornamented with various tinted patches,—the work of clumsy and unskilled fingers; but farther than that they had not troubled themselves.

The Browns were the nearest neighbors; they were well off; and Mrs. Brown had intended to look after them. In fact, she had set apart an afternoon, just the week before, to call, and offer her services; but she wanted to add another ruffle to Susie’s new frock, and the day had passed before she had realized it.

Then there was Mrs. Jones,—a good woman, to be sure. She was a prominent church-goer, and attended all the revivals and missionary meetings, and her husband gave largely to foreign missions. She had thought of offering some of her Jennie’s outgrown clothing to the forlorn old man for his little waif; but—well, the fact was, she didn’t have time to pack up the clothes and fix them decently; so she had neglected it; and now the child was gone. No use now to offer aprons, and shoes, and warm cloaks which had lain useless in the attic of many a home in the village,—treasures which would have made the blue eyes sparkle with delight.

The day the child was buried, the old man did not appear to understand why so many people came to the house, or why the child was taken away from him, and placed in a little casket.

“Let me take her, I say! she is cold!” he moaned. “O my little girl, they are takin’ you away from gran’pa. She’s all I had, Mrs. Brown; do you see them curls? O them little curls on that baby’s head gleamed when the sun shone on it, like they was sprinkled with gold dust. Libbie, Libbie, gran’pa’s baby! open them big blue eyes, an’ tell gran’pa good-by; won’t you, Libbie?” and the trembling fingers shook as with palsy, as they caressed the golden head and patted the marble cheek.

Some there were in that little company who turned away to weep. Mrs. Brown declared to Mrs. Sinclair that she had never seen so affecting a sight, and wondered what would become of the old man.

“He seems to be half-crazed. I think it would be best to place him in the County House,” she reflected.

“Yes; I think it would be best,” was the reply.

The old man had somehow overheard the words. Then the dim eyes—till then dry—grew misty, and the great tears trickled down the pale cheeks, and fell on the coffin-lid.

There was one quiet, meek-faced little woman, a new-comer in the village, who had not joined in the conversation of the others. Now she stepped over to the old man, and whispered something in his ear. After the funeral he went home with her, and became one of the family. He always seemed dazed and confused whenever the child was mentioned; people said he had softening of the brain, and declared it was the strangest thing in the world how Mrs. Reynor could wait on him so patiently. Once Mrs. Brown asked her about it. Her reply was only one word,—

“Inasmuch.”

MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.

Battle Creek, Mich.