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WHICH?

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · May 13, 1897

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 23, No. 19.

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WHICH?

By Minnie Marsh

THE wind was out for a frolic. It danced lightly over the mud and slush of the city streets, determined to act the scavenger in this one night no more than it could possibly help. It took a rollicking delight in carrying away hats, and blowing inside out the umbrellas of the hurrying people. It rose to the buildings, and made the signs creak and bang again, as it rushed on its way out of the great city, gaining force with every rod. It tore among the empty freight cars standing idly in the yards, and came at last to a long level of curveless railroad track. Now for a rush! No horrid odors and filthy moisture to be carried from here!
As it paused to gain force, a suburban train shot past. The wind started after it, and sang through the ventilators to the home-bound men within. They frowned through the windows at the tossing willows and bending oaks that flew past in huddling clusters, and turned again with shivers to their evening papers and the temporary comfort within. "A dreadful night!"
What cared the wind for their opinion? Wasn't it doing with all its strength what it could to make the world a healthful place for those very grumblers? It good-naturedly pushed against the back of the rear coach, and tried to coax on the snorting engine. 'Twas no use. That train would not be hastened. So, with a sigh for those who must be so slow, it swept on, making the wires moan and seethe in its hurry.
As it sped round the houses grouped on the bleak prairie, it came to one pretty little cottage with only a flickering light at its front windows. Surely, having but little light, they needed some air. So round and round the house it went, vainly seeking a place to enter. All was tight. How did people expect it could do its duty by them if they shut it out so completely?
At length an angry gust against the front door pushed away the mat, and in swept the wind with a joyful whistle. Whew! how warm! It crossed the hall, and crept softly along the floor to the fire on the grate. One moment it stopped about two little figures at play on the rug, then up the chimney with a roar, making the flames flash broadly up with it.
Baby gave a weak little sneeze as the draught struck him, rubbed his pug nose with the back of his little hand, sneezed again, and went on with his play.
The echo of those familiar sounds brought mama quickly to the door. Had Fred taken another cold? There he sat, beaming on his faithful black-and-tan, and feeding him his own precious sugar pills, one by one.
Mama's eyes flew open. This was a great sacrifice on baby's part. Not that he loved Tip less, but pills more. He really doted on those little sweets that she had dealt out in such small quantities so regularly all winter.
Well, doggie liked them too. He sat there uttering little short barks, his head to one side, his right ear knowingly up, and his eyes on every pill, which he would eagerly swallow before it really came to him; and, like "Oliver," beg for "more."
The smile died on mama's face as she went thoughtfully back to the dining-room. She wondered if Fred had not found the best use for that medicine after all. She had literally fed him on it all winter; and in spite of it, one cold had trodden upon another's heels, so fast they followed; and now her boy was only a relic of the hearty babe he was last summer.
What a disappointment the year had been! It seemed an age back when she had grown so tired of the confinement of boarding-house life, and longed so for a home, no matter how tiny, just so it was her own. Was it only last spring? What fun they had house-hunting! And they had chosen this, it was so cute. The little rooms, with their pretty grates and large windows, had promised such cozy freedom. What if the yard was small? It was decidedly better than none, and seemed the model of a safe, healthful play-room for baby's coming summers. But the straw that had turned the scale in favor of this, above all other houses, was such a gem of a cellar. Under the whole house it was. The front part, with its soft ground floor, proved, as she had expected, a splendid place for old barrels, boxes, invalid chairs, discarded toys, and wash-tubs—and rats. True, Nellie had not counted much on the rats, they were entirely an "extra." Under the kitchen was a true cellar, with brick walls and floor, swinging shelves, and cupboards.
Every one knows how much cheaper it is to buy provisions at wholesale, and here was room to store more than they could use during a whole winter. And it was just the place to keep them from Jack Frost, who seemed to inexperienced Nell to be the enemy of housewives. And so, when that cellar was their own, the cell-like windows were tightly shut, and all made close and warm to guard those precious stores that Charlie—bountiful fellow!—bought at wholesale, indeed.
And now, in March, had the experiment proved a failure?—N-o! The home was a little haven, with its simple furniture and little nothings she knew so well how to make the most of. Nothing had frozen in the precious cellar. No, O no! she certainly would not board again. But—
The clock struck seven as she went for another peep at Fred. She was just in time to see him flying toward the ceiling, and safely caught in a pair of rough-sleeved arms, and to hear a hearty—"Ha, ha! Trying to kill the dog, now, are you, you young rascal?" Baby smiled as he was playfully shaken and rolled in mid air, but he was too miserably sick to enjoy the romp. He cuddled down against the rough collar, and stroked the big face with his little hot hand. Papa walked about, petting him until he slept. Then, tucking him snugly under an afghan, he went in search of mama.
The two were soon seated with the dainty supper table between them, trying to believe it was not dull without baby.
Charlie rattled on gaily about the weather, his business, anything to make Nellie forget her trouble, and look more like the girl he had married a few years ago. He made her laugh merrily over his description of the way he scampered about State Street after his vanishing umbrella, and how, in spite of his hurry, he just missed the early train.
Very soon they left the table, and found Fred sleeping uneasily, and little rest did they get that night. In the morning their worst fears were realized. Good old Dr. Knox—who had always been Nellie's physician and her mother's before her—came, and gently called it "diphtheria."
A very, very sick baby was their little sunshine. Mama cooled the hot face, and lovingly held the baby hands that clung to her through all. Must her darling die? She bowed her face down to his, her heart to Him who gave him, and moaned a mighty prayer that he might yet be spared to her.
The doctor patrolled the pleasant rooms, with hands clasped firmly behind him, and quiet, thoughtful steps. Charlie stood at the window, anxiously awaiting the verdict.
"Have you a cellar?" came suddenly in Charlie's astonished ears, as the doctor halted before him.
"Yes, indeed; Nell's favorite song used to be, 'What is home without a cellar?' It is the pride of her life, next to the boy."
He took the candle to light the doctor through that favorite spot, chatting all the while about the advantages of having things convenient.
"Humph!" came abruptly from the M.D. as he slipped on the last step, and stood peering into the dark, disdainfully sniffing the thick air.
"It is rather damp; be careful, there's a pool; don't slip again. This candle seemed good enough up in the sunshine, but it doesn't give much light here in the dark," apologized Charlie.
The old gentleman kept on poking his cane into every box and bin, and his nose into every corner. Each movement was more energetic than the one before it.
"It is not a very inviting place to come into," admitted the host; "but it's a splendid place to keep things."
"Keep things!" thundered the doctor, "I should say so! Where else have you kept your boy's colds and diphtheria, and your wife's pale cheeks? Right here where you'd have them handy, to be sure. You had only to open the door, and they'd obligingly come out by themselves, right into your living-rooms. Why, man, you have diseases enough here to send the entire community to eternity, if you only give them time; and they won't take much time either," he growled, as he kicked aside a barrel of those "provisions," and stepped toward the window.
Charlie's mouth and eyes gradually closed to near their natural size, after the doctor's cane had smashed through the dingy glass. After thus admitting all the air he could, the somewhat subsided physician turned to his dumbfounded host, and advised him to "have that place disinfected like a smallpox hospital, and waste no time about it, either."
Charlie gave a hostile look toward those stores, of which he'd been so proud.
Anyway, it was fine to know the cause of all their sickness. He felt brighter already; and so did the candle. It burned clearly as he mounted the steps, seeming to be a shining example of what his loved ones would be when they, too, could get away from that cellar.
It was hard for Nellie to believe that her troubles had come from her precious cellar. But when the doctor had explained it beyond a reasonable doubt, and told her she must choose between her two pets, she was not long in deciding in favor of the baby.
Well, when Fred grew better, and the cellar had been cleaned, and scoured, and cemented, both within and without, Charlie proudly took them down to view that now airy retreat. Standing in the cool breeze between the open windows, he playfully vowed on baby's bobbing head, that no damp should invade his future stores, and that Zephyrus might have full liberty to carry away every germ of disease he could find.—Minnie Marsh.