The Story of a Poor Rich Woman.
By Dorothy Redwood
How WELL I remember my grandmother, sitting erect in her straight-backed chair beside her favorite window, her fine, well-poised head and delicately cut features sharply outlined against the casement. On this particular afternoon of which I wish to speak, she held her usual knitting in her hands, but, as she neither moved nor knitted, we children, who were grouped around an open fire in the room, concluded that she was asleep, and talked in whispers that we thought very low and soft. Betty, our colored cook, who had nursed us all when we were babies, and now scolded and petted us by turns, had just brought in a plate of her famous cookies, which we were enjoying by the light of the cheerful blaze. Feeling very comfortable, as we drew our small chairs near the fire and partook liberally of the cookies, our tongues ran as children's tongues are wont to run when they think no older person is listening. "What are you going to be when you grow up?" asked my cousin Ralph, turning to my brother Jack. "Why, a stage-driver, of course! I'll have four horses and a great long whip with a splendid cracker. I'll whip up my team, and away we'll go! You shall ride in it for nothing, Ralph," said Jack, as seriously as if the team stood waiting at the door. "Yes, if I'm here," replied Ralph. "I'm thinking of traveling all over the world. I am not quite sure whether I'll go to the North Pole, or to the middle of Africa." "That would be fun too," said Jack. "I wonder what these two girls want to be"—with that slight touch of contempt in his tone that boys are wont to use in speaking of the occupations of girls. "I should like to have a cake-shop," said Elsie, promptly, "and make all the cakes and pies myself." "We'll come to see you often, my dear," said Jack encouragingly. "I'll come in my carriage," cried I, "and order lots of cakes and good things, for I expect to be rich, and have plenty of dresses and jewelry and carriages. Betty says there's a line on the palm of my hand that means money, so you see I shall be sure to have it. I intend to do just as I please, and have black cake and ice-cream for dessert every day. There is nothing in the world as nice as having plenty of money and new dresses all the time!" "Dresses! That's just like a girl, always thinking about dresses!" exclaimed Jack, with such energy that grandmamma stirred in her sleep, and said:— "Dresses, my dear; do you know how many dresses Queen Elizabeth had?" "About a thousand at one time, so the court chroniclers tell us. Do you think they made her happy?" "Not the dresses only," I said, shaking my foolish little head; "but the money to buy them. Money makes people happy." Then, when grandmamma looked as if she did not agree with me, I added quickly, "Of course, I don't mean to spend it all on myself. I mean to be generous, and give a great deal to the poor." "One need not be rich in order to be generous," she answered. "The most generous people whom I know are poor in this world's goods. The Bible talks of the deceitfulness of riches," and taking up her well-worn volume, which was her constant companion, she read those words of the Lord Jesus that had always puzzled me when I heard them read in church. "Verily I say unto you, that a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven. And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." Hard words they seemed to me. I could not understand why rich people should be spoken of so; those whom I knew were nice and kind, all except old Mr. Scraggs, the miser of the village, whom we children disliked because he would not share his cherries with us, even when they were rotting on the trees. While I could readily see why it would be hard for cross old Scraggs, with his great money-bags, to squeeze through the narrow gateway that leads into the kingdom, I wondered why the kind and gentle Lord Jesus should speak so of all rich people. My eyes, raised to her face with eager questioning, must have asked just what I wished to know, for grandmamma continued. "It seems to me that it is not with any thought of particular blame or anger that the Lord Jesus speaks thus of the rich; but knowing the effect of riches on the heart, he had an especial word of warning for those poor rich people who were in danger of having their hearts hardened by their large possessions. Let me tell you a little story that will explain to you what I mean. It is about an old woman in an English almshouse. This old dame, Mrs. Grey, was rather better off than her neighbors, having a nephew who, out of his earnings, allowed her sixpence a week for pocket-money." "Only six cents!" cried Jack. "And for a grown-up woman; why I have that much myself?" "No, it was more than that; an English sixpence is equal to nearly twelve cents of our money. Not much, to be sure; yet, with this small income, Mrs. Grey not only kept a store of tea, sugar, and other dainties for herself, but was able to give occasional tea-parties, to which she invited her particular friends among the old dames. They enjoyed their tea together, and doubtless had many a dish of gossip over it." "One bright day, that is, the brightest kind of a day that comes in London, a serious-looking gentleman in a black coat came to see Mrs. Grey, and, after spending a full hour in her little room, went away looking as solemn as when he arrived. Not so Mrs. Grey, who followed him to the door, smiling and courtesying as low as if he had been the Lord Chancellor. Soon after a large package arrived for Mrs. Grey. Of course, her neighbors were much excited, and all anxiety to know what was going on in her room." One old dame, who peeped in at the window, saw Mrs. Grey strutting about before her small looking-glass arrayed in a rich purple silk dress, a velvet mantle, and a gay bonnet, with a great white feather on one side that looked strangely out of place as it nodded and waved above her withered old face. As she stood there, admiring herself and her fine feathers in the glass, the poor old lady looked very much like a gorgeously-plumed parrot; and the friend who was peeping ran away and said that Mrs. Grey had gone crazy. Small wonder that she thought so; but where had the fine clothes come from? This set the old dames to wondering whether she had had a visit from a fairy godmother. Soon after this, Mrs. Grey invited her neighbors to spend the evening with her. This time, although she received them in a gay silk gown, no tea was handed to them; but they were not surprised at this, and said among themselves that no wonder her head was turned, for they soon learned that Mrs. Grey had come into a fortune. This is what the serious-looking man had come to tell her. "Now for the moral of my tale. Mrs. Grey was no longer sociable with her friends, but spent all her time fretting and worrying about the handsome house that had been left her, fearing that some thief might break in and steal, or that moths might injure the elegant carpets that had not been hers a week before. There were no more pleasant tea-drinkings in her little parlor, and when she left the almshouse, which she did a few days later, wrapped in silks and velvets, there was only one old dame to stand by the carriage and wish Mrs. Grey 'Godspeed.' The others would have been glad to wish her well, for they were kind-hearted old women; but in these few days of prosperity Mrs. Grey had treated them very rudely, thinking that her money and her fine clothes made her superior to them. This one old dame was something of a flatterer, and as she stood courtesying and saying, 'How sweet you look, ma'am, in your beautiful clothes!' this silly old woman, who looked more like a parrot than ever, smiled on her, and, with a toss of her plumed head, said, 'Thank you, my good woman; you'll find a ha'pennyworth of tea, and a ha'pennyworth of sugar in my cupboard; take them for yourself—they're of the best,' and with the air of one who has given a handsome present, she ordered the coachman to drive away, not once glancing back on the scene of her past life. Never again did Mrs. Grey invite her former neighbors to sup with her, although she could now have given them black cake and ice-cream, instead of the single cup of tea that she had once been pleased to offer them." I laughed to hide my confusion, for I now knew that my grandmother had heard all my foolish speeches. Without noticing my blushes, she added softly, "Riches do not harden all hearts, my dear, as they did Mrs. Grey's. Those who hold them as a good gift of God, to be used for his service, find them a means of blessing to themselves and others."—Dorothy Redwood, in S. S. Times.