Part 22 (1/2)

”Where am I, mother?” he enquired. ”What is the matter? What is the doctor doing here?”

”Never mind now, Harry dear,” she said; ”you have been hurt, and if you are very quiet we will tell you after a while.”

Having shut his eyes as if he were satisfied, or as if he were too weak to pursue the enquiry any further, the doctor felt his pulse again, and remarked: ”He will be all right in a short time.” He then gave them instructions as to how they should proceed in case of contingencies, and turning to Morris said: ”I believe you have signed the pledge more than once, and a few moments ago you remarked you would never drink again. Did you mean it?”

”I did, and, G.o.d helping me, liquor shall never enter my lips again.”

”Here is a pledge,” and the doctor produced one. ”Will you sign it? I always carry one with me to use on such occasions as this.”

”I will, sir. And I am thankful to you for your interest in me.

Pray for me, that I may receive strength to keep it.”

Morris signed the pledge with trembling hand, and no sooner had he done so than his wife, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him. ”Thank G.o.d,” she said, and then, casting her eyes heavenward, she prayed: ”O, my Father, aid him to keep his promise.”

”You kept sober,” said the doctor, ”for several weeks after the Act came in force, and then you were, with several others, tempted to drink.”

”Yes,” said Morris, ”I was coaxed to drink by the sheriff, though I was weak and foolish to listen to him.”

”It was a vile conspiracy,” continued the doctor, indignantly, ”and I am certain that some of those in the county who are now infamously degrading the most important offices in the gift of the Crown are among the conspirators. I am personally acquainted with numbers who were seduced to their ruin by this devilish conspiracy, entailing an amount of misery that it is impossible to estimate.”

Before the doctor had finished speaking, Jim, who had been sent to have a prescription filled out, came running in with a look of horror on his face. ”They are looking for you, doctor,” he said, ”to go down to Flatt's. They say Tom has murdered his wife.”

”Another victim,” said the doctor sententiously, and then he hurried away.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

TOM FLATT'S HUT--A DESCRIPTION OF THE SCENE IN WHICH HE MURDERS HIS WIFE.

When Flatt arrived at the hovel where his wife and children burrowed (for they could scarcely be said to live) he found them in the most abject misery. But I will ask my reader to accompany me to it.

Imagine a log shanty, twelve by sixteen in dimensions, roofed by troughs, or what appeared to be halves of hollow logs. The back of the shanty on the outside was not originally more than six feet high; but as the logs which formed the sides, and ends had so rotted that by their own weight they had settled considerably, it was now much lower. The shanty contained two windows, which were ornamented by having two or three old hats used as subst.i.tutes for panes of gla.s.s, and the panes which were not broken were so cracked and splintered that they were in eminent peril of being blown out at every violent gust of wind.

But the exterior of the shanty, dilapidated-looking though it was, gave no conception of the squalor and wretchedness which its walls confined. I will introduce my readers to the inmates.

Mrs. Flatt was an undersized, dark-complexioned little woman, who at one time possessed considerable personal beauty; but she had been so worn by toil, hard usage, and insufficient food, that she now appeared little else than skin and bone; in fact, she as much resembled a mummy as a being through whose veins throbbed the blood of life.

In different att.i.tudes--on the clay floor, on the two miserable beds, and on the old broken chairs and benches of the hut--were distributed six children. They, if possible, were more squalid and wretched-looking than their mother; for though it was midwinter, not one of them was so fortunate as to possess a pair of shoes, but they had frequently to run out from the hut into the deep snow in their poor little bare feet, which were red, cracked, and bleeding from the cold. The miserable rags in which they were clothed did not serve to cover their nakedness; and their blue, pinched faces pathetically spoke of want and neglect.

The youngest of the number was a babe, some five or six months old; she was lying in a creaky old cradle, which squeaked when rocked as if uttering a discordant protest. She was a poor, pallid, little thing, that scarcely seemed to have strength to utter her low moan of pain, as she lay famis.h.i.+ng for the nourishment which the now starved mother was unable to supply.

The next older was barely able to toddle round on the clay floor; and they ranged up from that until the eldest of the six was reached, who was a bare-footed, bare-legged girl of eight. She was, however, so dwarfed through rough usage, insufficient food, and exposure, as to be little larger than an ordinary child of six.

”Mamma! I want a piece. I'se so hungry!” cried the third child from the youngest--a little boy, about four years of age. ”Oh, mamma! I do want a piece.”

”And so do I, mother,” cried the next, a little girl of five. ”Oh!

why don't dad come with the bread?”

”Piece, mamma, piece!” whined out little Katie, the next to the youngest. ”Piece, mamma, piece!” she cried out again piteously, as she toddled over to her mother, and, hanging on to the skirts of her dress, looked up with a famished longing that made the latter sob convulsively.