Lesson 4: The Little Flower Girl
Mr. Stanley was a merchant in a large city, which I will not tell my young readers the name of, but will tell them about it. This city was not on the sea-shore, but a good way from it.
Yet on one side of it was a large river running into the sea--so wide and deep, that not only boats, but great ships, and steam-boats could come from the sea quite up to the city, and bring merchandize for the people from all parts of the world. On the opposite side of the city was another river, smaller than the first, where large ships could not swim, but only small boats and small steamers. Yet it was a very pretty river and emptied into the big one a few miles below the city. There were a great many handsome buildings here, both public and private; several large handsome parks with fine trees in them; and many years ago the national government used to meet here and when the Chief Magistrate was one of the best and and greatest men that ever lived in the world, and was called by every one the "Father of his Country." Now, my young readers, can you guess the name of this city?
Well, Mr. Stanley, who lived here, was a rich merchant, and lived in a large, handsome house, which had elegant furniture in it; and pictures, and books, and a thousand, other nice things. Yet he was not proud, as rich people sometimes are. He did not despise poor people because they worked with their hands, and wore coarse clothes, and lived in small houses. He was very gracious and kind to all, and when people were unfortunate and sick and needy, he would visit them and encourage them, and get a doctor for them, and give them food, clothes and fuel. Mrs. Stanley was a very good lady, and did just as Mr. Stanley did in these things.
They had two children, Ellen, who was thirteen years old, and Charles, who was eleven. They were nice looking, good children, for their excellent parents had always brought them up carefully, and treated them very affectionately, so that the children loved them dearly and could not bear to do anything wrong to make them sad. They learned to act just as they saw their father and mother acting, and thus they must be amiable, good, kind children.
There was a little girl, about nine years old, who used to go about the streets selling flowers in the season of them. She was a very modest, well-behaved, pretty child, though rather coarse and poor. She often came to Mr. Stanley's house, and cried her flowers, and Ellen and Charley used to go out and buy very generously, at the same time talking with her kindly. Mr. and Mrs. Stanley also, sometimes called her into the house, and questioned her about herself and family. She said her name was Florence Carter; that her father was dead, and her mother lived in a chamber in another part of the city and made shirts and collars, but that she was in poor health and often had to lie down; and that she, who was an only child, went about selling flowers to help her sick mother. The first time Mr. Stanley heard the child's voice, which was very sweet, he was struck and touched, he could not tell why. Something, too, in her looks and her peculiar name, Florence, startled him and reminded him of something, he could not remember what; only sometimes it seemed to him that the name and look were familiar. He and also Mrs. Stanley, at these times, used to send Ellen, with the little girl, into the kitchen, that she might get something to eat, and also to give her a basket of food to carry home to her mother. You would, perhaps, have thought that Mr. and Mrs. Stanley, being such kind people as I have told you, would have gone to Florence's home to see the sick woman. But many things prevented, I don't know exactly what they were; and cold weather coming, the flower girl was no longer to be seen.
But one bitter, snowy night, the little girl came to Mr. Stanley's house, looking thinner and paler than ever, and shivering with cold. Sobbing as if her heart would break, she begged of him to go and see her poor, dear mother; that she was very sick, and they had no doctor and no fire, and nothing to eat.
Mr. Stanley and his wife both prepared to go. But first Ellen took Florence down in the kitchen and warmed and fed her, and dressed her in some of her own warm clothes. Mr. Stanley then called a carriage, and they all got in and rode to the sick woman's dwelling. It was in a wretched looking street, and the house where they stopped was old and shattered. They went up into Mrs. Carter's room, which appeared very dismal, though every thing was perfectly neat. The floor was bare; and on a poor bed, with but scanty covering, lay the poor woman burning with fever, and looking so thin, that you would have thought there was scarcely any life left in her.
When Mr. Stanley and his wife came to the bed-side with the light, the sick woman, looking up in his face, seemed startled and said feebly, "Who are you, kind sir?"
"My name is Stanley," replied he.
"What, Robert Stanley?" said she.
When he answered yes, she seemed very much agitated, but was silent.
"Why do you ask?" he said.
She paused for a while, and then said. "Do you remember your sister Harriet?"
"Remember," he exclaimed, "my dear sister, the loving friend of my boyhood, who was a real mother to me after my own mother was taken away! Have I ever for a moment forgotten her? But why do you ask?"
"Because I am that sister Harriet!"
"You!" exclaimed he. "Why I thought you had been dead, it is so many years since we heard of you. But how is this? Why do I find you here and in this condition, and why have you never come to me."
"I can't tell you all now," she replied. "I am too weak."
"Say not a word," answered Mr. Stanley, "till you are in a different state. Meanwhile you must go home with me." Calling up the stout hackman, the two carried the sick one down stairs, on the bed, and placed her in the carriage, which was driven straight to Mr. Stanley's house.
Mrs. Carter was at once placed in a nice room, a doctor was called in, and she received all possible help with the kindest treatment. She soon got better, for want and grief caused her sickness almost wholly. A few days after, she told Mr. Stanley her story, which was a long one. I shall give the substance of it in a few words of my own.
Harriet Stanley was several years older than her brother Robert, and after their mother's death, had, as he said, been a second mother to him. When she was nineteen, she became attached to Dr. Chapman, a young gentleman of her native city, who had just finished his medical studies, and was going to settle in his profession in one of the Southern States. Dr. Chapman asked the consent of old Mr. Stanley to the marriage. But the old man, who was hard and stern and thought riches the most important thing in the world, was very angry at what he called the young man's impudence in asking his daughter in marriage, when he was poor. So he forbade the Doctor his house, and commanded his daughter to have noting to say to him.
The young people were very much grieved, and after waiting a while, in hopes Mr. Stanley would become softened, they determined to marry without his consent. They did so, and set forth for the south-west. They had been there but a short time, when Dr. Chapman caught the yellow fever and died, leaving the young wife destitute. A kind planter's family in the neighborhood, named Carter, pitying the bereaved young widow, offered her a place in their family, as governess to two little girls. She gladly accepted the office and soon became a favorite with the whole family.
Edward Carter, a noble young man, loved her, and after a year or more, offered his hand. She accepted it and they were married, and for several years were very happy.
Meanwhile, old Mr. Stanley was in a great rage at his daughter's marriage with Dr. Chapman, and for a long time, used to heap all sorts of abuse and harsh names upon her, before his whole family, and forbade any of them ever writing her.
Harriet, knowing her father's temper, supposed he must have poisoned even her young brother's mind against her, and so she never wrote home. Thus, for many years, all connection between herself and her family were broken off, and she knew not whether they were living or dead.
Some years after her second marriage, she was left a second time a widow. She and her husband had always lived on the plantation and in the house with the old gentleman, so that no-separate property came to the widow. Besides, old Mr. Carter had become so embarrassed in his affairs, that he was obliged to sell his plantation, and most of his slaves and move to Texas. He asked Harriet to go with him, but she could not bear to go so much further from her native place, and besides she longed to see the old city once more.
Mr. Carter gave her as much money as he could spare, which was no great sum, after all. With her only child, little Florence, she returned to her native city, and taking a moderate priced lodging, she tried to procure needle-work for a living. It was some time before she succeeded, and her little fund had become exhausted. When she did procure it, the prices paid were so small, that it was only by working beyond her strength, that she could earn enough to purchase the barest necessaries of life. And so she was often ill, and she and Florence suffered much from want, and the latter was finally sent forth to sell flowers. Having some pride, she would not seek her family in her present condition, nor, in fact, did she dare do so, for fear of an insulting rejection.
And thus things went on till Providence sent her brother Robert to her poor chamber, and she found him her affectionate brother still.
Under good nursing and kind attendance, Mrs. Carter, in no long time, recovered her health. She lived happily in her brother's house many years; long enough to see her daughter, Florence, now a beautiful and accomplished young lady, married to the man of her choice, and the choice of her mother, and all her uncle's family.
And all this favorable turn of events was brought about, under Providence, through the agency of a little flower girl.