IV.

A PEEP INTO A BACK-KITCHEN.

[Illustration]

"WHAT can a little boy of seven years of age do?" I would ask of my young readers. Perhaps they will answer, "He can read, perhaps write in a very big round hand; he can bowl a hoop, toss a ball, spin a top, and fly a kite."

"But can such a child be of any 'real use' in the world?"

Let me answer this question by giving a truthful account of a visit which I paid a few days ago to a family in one of the poorer streets of London.

My ring at the door of a lodging-house for the poor was answered by little Ben, a boy of about seven years of age. The sound of a baby's cry was heard from the back-kitchen, from which he had just come, and which was the dwelling-place of the family.

No wonder was it that the poor baby cried, for I found, on descending the pitch-dark staircase, that Ben was the sole nurse for the time of the sickly infant. That scene in the dark dull kitchen was a strange picture of life amongst the poor. There was Ben, after he had followed me down-stairs, hushing the baby in his little arms, and soon succeeding in quieting it, for he was evidently an experienced and skilful nurse. There were two other children under his care—Polly, about four years old, and Annie, not two. One might almost have said that Ben had "three" babies to look after, but I soon found that Polly was already to be reckoned as his little assistant.

Annie began to cry; Polly went up to her sister, put her hands on either side of her face, and tried, as well as she could, to soothe her. Annie, however, cried still. Ben said a word or two to Polly, and the little nursemaid, "four years of age," hastened to get a cup, into which she poured water from a jar which stood on the ground, and she then brought the drink to her thirsty little sister. The boy had guessed the cause of the crying, and Polly having thus removed it, we had again quietness in the back-kitchen.

Ben, a very intelligent little fellow, entered freely into conversation with me, while he nursed the baby in his arms. That boy had been in sole charge of the three children for two hours, while his poor half-blind mother was out, procuring necessaries for the family.

"Are you happy?" I inquired. The question seemed a strange one to be asked in so gloomy an abode.

"Yes, I'm happy," replied the boy, with an honest smile on his face.

What a lesson for many a pampered, peevish child, grumbling and discontented in a comfortable home!

"Does Polly ever go out?" I inquired, for the low dark room looked something like a prison.

"Yes; I sometimes take her out."

"And does Annie go out?"

[Illustration: BEN NURSING THE BABY.]

"Yes, when Polly goes, she goes; I take them in the 'chay.'"

This "chay" was twice mentioned by Ben, which rather surprised me, for I certainly did not suspect that the family kept a carriage. My attention was, however, directed at last to a substantial-looking perambulator, which in the dim light I had not noticed before.

"Father made that," said Ben.

This was almost too much for me to believe. I questioned the boy closely, but he was sure of the fact. I found afterwards, from the mother's account, that the father had bought the wheels and other iron parts, the wreck of a former perambulator, for "ninepence," as they were to be sold as old iron. He had actually made all the rest of the carriage for his little ones, stuffing the cushion with hay. It was a striking proof of the father's ingenuity, that labour of love!

B— must be a very industrious man. He goes to the docks in hope of getting a day's job there, and then, after his return, "cleans his potatoes," as little Ben told me; for when the labours of the day are over, B— is glad to go out at night to sell baked potatoes, that he may thus help by double work to support his almost blind wife, and four little children.

"What do you get for breakfast, Ben?" I asked.

"Bread and butter—no," said the child, correcting himself; "father gets bread and butter, I get bread and drippings. But 'I like the drippings best,'" he added, with a nice feeling which pleased me.

The poor mother soon came in, half exhausted from wandering about for two hours, for in her blindness she could hardly find her way. She was, however, calm and contented.

When I asked her what message she had for a lady who had sent her a present by me, "Tell her that I am in better circumstances," was the pale, thin woman's reply.

As her husband had succeeded in getting four and a half days' work that week, Mrs. B— seemed to feel that she had nothing to complain of. Her greatest trouble was the illness of her babe, as she feared that the little one might die. Very thin and wasted the poor infant looked, but the other three children appeared plump and well-fed. Mrs. B— must be an excellent manager, notwithstanding her blindness, and it is clear that her husband's earnings do not go to the ale-house.

I have reason to hope that she is a God-fearing woman, and that she and her husband pray as well as labour. Ben is to attend the Sunday school. He would go to the weekday school also, which he used to enjoy attending, but so useful a child cannot be spared from his home.

I left that dark back-kitchen with a feeling rather of respect than of pity. Little Ben, brought up in the midst of poverty, with three young children to care for, and an almost blind mother to help, may lead a life of happiness, as he certainly does of usefulness, with hope before him, and love around, and the blessing of God upon him!