CHAPTER I.

KEEPING TO HERSELF.

IF Mrs. Jemima Crook happened to be in a very good temper, when taking a cup of tea with some old acquaintance, she would sometimes allude to her private affairs in these words: "I don't deny it; Crook has left me comfortable." This was not much to tell, for Mrs. Crook was not given to confidences, and a frequent remark of hers was: "I know my own business, and that is enough for me. I don't see that I have any call to fill other people's minds and mouths with what does not concern them."

Seeing, however, that Mrs. Crook's own mind and heart were entirely filled by Mrs. Crook herself, it was perhaps as well that she should not occupy too much of the attention and affection of her neighbours.

It is a poor narrow heart, and a small mind, that find Self enough to fill them; but these sorts are not unknown, and Mrs. Crook's were a sample of such.

When she spoke of having been left "comfortable" by her deceased partner, there was a look of triumph and satisfaction on her face, and a "No thanks to any of you" kind of tone in her voice, that must have jarred on the ear of a listener.

No one ever saw a tear in Mrs. Crook's eye, or heard an expression of regret for the loss of "Crook" himself. He had been dead, and out of sight and mind almost, these ten years past. He was merely remembered as having done his duty in leaving his widow "comfortable." People were left to speculate as they chose about the amount represented by the expression. It would not have been good for the man or woman who had ventured to ask a direct question on the subject, but everybody agreed that Mrs. Crook must have something handsome. Surely "comfortable" means free from care, both as regards to-day and to-morrow: not only enough, but a little more, or else anxiety might step in and spoil comfort.

If Mrs. Crook had more than enough, she took care not to give of her abundance. Neither man, woman, nor child was ever the better for the surplus, if such there were. One of her favourite expressions was, "I don't care for much neighbouring; I prefer keeping myself to myself."

"And you keep everything else to yourself," muttered one who had vainly tried to enlist her sympathy for another who was in sickness and trouble.

Mrs. Crook had a pretty garden, well stocked with flowers according to the season. She was fond of working in it, and might be seen there daily, with her sun-bonnet on, snipping, tying and tending her plants.

Children do so love flowers, and, thank God, those who live in country places have grand gardens to roam in, free to all, and planted by His own loving hand. But in town it is different, and Mrs. Crook lived just outside one, far enough away from its smoke to allow of successful gardening, not too far to prevent little feet from wandering thither from narrow courts and alleys, to breathe the purer air, and gaze with longing eyes at the fair blossoms.

It always irritated Mrs. Crook to see these dirty, unkempt little creatures clustering round her gate or peeping through her hedge.

"What do you want here?" she would ask, sharply. "Get away with you, or I will send for a policeman. You are peeping about to see if you can pick up something; I know you are. Be off, without any more telling!"

The light of pleasure called into the young eyes by the sight of the flowers would fade away, and the hopeful look leave the dirty faces, as Mrs. Crook's harsh words fell on the children's ears. But as they turned away with unwilling, lingering steps, heads would be stretched, and a wistful longing gaze cast upon the coveted flowers, until they were quite lost to sight.

There was a tradition amongst the youngsters that a very small child had once called through the bars of the gate: "P'ease, missis, do give me a f'ower." Also that something in the baby voice had so far moved Mrs. Jemima Crook, that she had stopped to select one or two of the least faded roses amongst those just snipped from the bushes, and given them to the daring little blue eyes outside, with this injunction, however:

"Mind you never come here asking for flowers any more."

This report was long current among the inhabitants of a city court, but it needs confirmation.

Mrs. Crook objected to borrowers also, and perhaps she was not so much to be blamed for that. Most of us who possess bookshelves, and once delighted in seeing them well-filled, look sorrowfully at gaps made by borrowers who have failed to return our treasures.

But domestic emergencies occur even in the best regulated families, and neighbourly help may be imperatively required. It may be a matter of Christian duty and privilege too, to lend both our goods and our personal aid.

Mrs. Crook did not think so. Lending formed no part of her creed. If other people believed in it, and liked their household goods to travel up and down the neighbourhood, that was their look out, not hers.

"I never borrow, so why should I lend?" asked Mrs. Crook. "Beside, I am particular about my things. My pans are kept as bright and clean as new ones, and if my servant put them on the shelves, as some people's servants replace theirs after using, she would not be here long. No, thank you. When I begin to borrow, I will begin to lend, but not until then."

Mrs. Crook's sentiments were so well known that, even in a case of sickness, when a few spoonfuls of mustard were needed for immediate use in poultices, the messenger on the way to borrow it, passed her door rather than risk a refusal, whereby more time might be lost than by going farther in the first instance.

Many were the invitations Mrs. Crook received to take part in the work of different societies.

One lady asked her to join the Dorcas meeting.

"You can sew so beautifully," she said, "you would be a great acquisition to our little gathering."

The compliment touched a tender point. Mrs. Crook was proud of her needlework, but to dedicate such skill in sewing to making underclothing for the poorest of the poor! The idea was monstrous!

Mrs. Crook answered civilly, that she could not undertake to go backwards and forwards to a room half a mile off. It would be a waste of time. Besides, though it was probably not the case in that particular meeting, she had heard that there was often a great deal of gossip going on at such places.

The visitor was determined not to be offended, and she replied gently, that there was no chance of gossip, for after a certain time had been given to the actual business of the meeting, such as planning, cutting-out, and apportioning work, one of the ladies read, whilst the rest sewed.

"But," she added, "if you are willing to help us a little, and object to joining the meeting at the room, perhaps you will let me bring you something to be made at home. There is always work for every willing hand."

Then Mrs. Crook drew herself up, and said she did not feel inclined to take in sewing. She had her own to do, and did it without requiring assistance, and she thought it was better to teach the lower classes to depend upon themselves than to go about pampering poor people and encouraging idleness, as many persons were so fond of doing now-a-days. No doubt they thought they were doing good, but, for her part, she believed that in many cases they did harm.

The visitor could have told tales of worn-out toilers, labouring almost night and day to win bread for their children, but unable to find either material for a garment or time to make it. She could have pleaded for the widow and the orphan, if there had seemed any feelings to touch, any heart to stir. But Mrs. Crook's hard words and looks repelled her, and she went her way, after a mere, "Good-morning. I am sorry you cannot see your way to help us."

No chance of widows weeping for the loss of Mrs. Crook, or telling of her alms deeds and good works, or showing the coats and garments made for them by her active fingers!

It was the same when some adventurous collector called upon Mrs. Crook to solicit a subscription. She had always something to say against the object for which money was asked.

If it were for the sufferers by a colliery accident, or for the unemployed at the time of trade depression, she would answer—

"Why don't they insure their lives, like their betters? Why don't they save something, when they are getting good-wages? I am not going to encourage the thriftless, or help those who might help themselves, if they would think beforehand."

If it were to build a church that money was being sought, Mrs. Crook instantly replied, that they had more need try to fill all the places of worship that were half empty, Sunday after Sunday.

It did not matter in the least to her that these places were many a mile away from the people who had none within reach. She would not be convinced because she did not want to be.

Ask her for a missionary subscription, and she said: "There are heathens enough at home without sending men to be killed by savages in foreign parts;" and if some one hinted that she might then visit some of these native English heathens, she replied, "I do not care to have people that I know nothing about coming to my house, and I am not going to push myself where I might not be wanted."

At length every one gave up trying to enlist her services, or to obtain contributions from her, for the support of any good cause. And Mrs. Crook bestowed all her thoughts, her affections, her time, and her means, on the only person she thought worthy of them all—namely, Mrs. Crook herself.

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