A Sad Story by Mrs. Anabel C. Andrews

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Oct 9, 1879

A Sad Story.

By Mrs. Anabel C. Andrews

"THAT dog? yes, he is a noble old fellow, and he thinks considerable of me, don't you sir? Kiss me if your'e glad to see me—down, sir, down! that'll do. See here, Bruno, where's little Will? little Will, Bruno?"

The dog looked up in his questioner's face and began a low mournful whine almost human in its sadness.

"There!" said Mr. Snow to me, "you hear that? That old dog remembers the child's name and he knows little Will is dead."

"Was he the dog's little master?"

"Yes; do you see that little brown house down there between those maples? The Melvilles lived there—father, mother, and three-year-old boy. A year ago there wasn't a happier family in this State, and a tidy, made on this Java canvas, I believe they call it, ruined it; made the father old before his time, and the mother a confirmed invalid."

"A Java canvas tidy! how on earth could it?"

"Well, Mrs. Melville got what I call the 'fancy-work craze.' She made tidies and lamp-mats and all those things until the house was full of them. By and by she didn't have time to go to lectures, or walks, or rides, because she had hired, or borrowed, a pattern of somebody and must get it worked as soon as she could. I noticed, too—she's my favorite niece, sir, and I was there a good deal afternoons—that she didn't have time to play or talk much with little Will, because you see they have to count the stitches on this kind of work, and it bothers 'em to look off the pattern, till at last Bruno got to be about all the playmate or company little Will had through the day, while his father was away."

"I don't want you to think, sir, that I don't like pretty things, because I do; I love to see 'em, and the good God who made the flowers meant we should; but there's some women who never ought to touch fancy-work because it fascinates 'em so it spoils 'em for anything else, and Laura Melville was one of them. Well, along in the spring Laura went to Boston to visit her aunt—my sister—and when she came home she had learned two or three new stitches, and a pattern for a Java canvas tidy that was something new around here. She hardly waited to get settled down at home before going to work on that tidy; and how she did work! Every moment that she could spare from household duties she devoted to that tidy. It was designed to cover a sofa and of course there was no end of work in it. One afternoon she tied on little Will's hat and sent him out to play with Bruno while she sat down to work on her beloved tidy. The doors and windows were wide open and for a while she heard the baby voice commanding Bruno to 'Dit up! whca!' then there was a mad barking and Bruno rushed in and caught her dress, trying to pull her toward the door; she was so absorbed in her work that she never noticed the little sunny head was not behind him, and giving him an impatient push and a command to 'go away!' she went on with her work, but the dog did not obey; he made a snatch at her work, dragging it from her hands; she rescued it, and striking him, pushed him out and shut the door after him. He barked and whined at the door a few seconds, then all was still again. 'I never knew him so rough!' she exclaimed, impatiently, as she gathered her work once more. The time sped by unheeded until her husband opened the door. 'One, two, three, four,' she counted, without looking up. He strode in and laid little Will in her lap, his golden hair all matted with mud, his blue eyes set and glassy! For a moment she looked, and then put him on the floor saying: ""There, go and play, Willie, mamma must work now?'"

"You see, sir, the shock had crazed her, but the boy's father was so full of bitter feelings toward her for her neglect that he never stopped to think of the mighty volume of mother-love behind its barrier of fancy-work. They got her to bed and gave her a strong opiate, and then kind neighbors came and did all that earthly hands would ever need to do for little Will. Poor little Will! You stayed with him till the last, didn't you, Bruno? and when they walked to the grave to lay him to rest you followed behind the tiny casket, and no one disputed your right. It happened in this way: In the garden there was a shallow tub containing pond lilies; we suppose that in running, little Will struck his foot against the tub and it threw him right across the edge, his face in the water; his struggles drew him over farther, and though poor old Bruno did his best it was of no avail. Mr. Melville saw them before he reached the house, coming from his work, and Bruno was holding him tightly by the skirts; when he heard his master's step he whined pitifully but never relaxed his hold till Mr. Melville lifted up the baby form. A large spike on the inside of the tub had slipped under a leather belt little Willie wore, thus holding him back so Bruno could not rescue him; that he had tried hard was evident from the boy's clothes which were torn to shreds; when he found he could not draw up his little master he had gripped his clothes tight and held him until Mr. Melville came. Yes, it is a sad story; a sadder one I never knew."

"Laura? She was sick and unconscious quite a time; she has never fully recovered, nor do I think she ever will. Her first request was for little Will; they told her as gently as possible that he had been dead almost two weeks, but her grief was uncontrollable. She asked that all her worsted and fancy-work might be distributed among her friends, as reminders, she said, that fancy-work was well in its place, but should never absorb the mind to the exclusion of real duties, and particularly motherly duties. The sofa tidy she kept herself, just as it was, for she has never touched worsteds since."

"Poor old Bruno! you know every word she said, don't you? you did your best; no one blames you."—Mrs. Anabel C. Andrews in the Household.