Soon she counted the time by days which should release her. Mrs. B. felt that she could not well spare one who could so well adapt herself to all departments—man, boy, housekeeper, domestic, etc. She begged Mrs. Smith to talk with her, to show her how ungrateful it would appear to leave a home of such comfort—how wicked it was to be ungrateful! But Frado replied that she had had enough of such comforts; she wanted some new ones; and as it was so wicked to be ungrateful, she would go from temptation; Aunt Abby said “we mustn’t put ourselves in the way of temptation.”
Poor little Fido! She shed more tears over him than over all beside.
The morning for departure dawned. Frado engaged to work for a family a mile distant. Mrs. Bellmont dismissed her with the assurance that she would soon wish herself back again, and a present of a silver half-dollar.
Her wardrobe consisted of one decent dress, without any superfluous accompaniments. A Bible from Susan she felt was her greatest treasure.
Now was she alone in the world. The past year had been one of suffering resulting from a fall, which had left her lame.
The first summer passed pleasantly, and the wages earned were expended in garments necessary for health and cleanliness. Though feeble, she was well satisfied with her progress. Shut up in her room, after her toil was finished, she studied what poor samples of apparel she had, and, for the first time, prepared her own garments.
Mrs. Moore, who employed her, was a kind friend to her, and attempted to heal her wounded spirit by sympathy and advice, burying the past in the prospects of the future. But her failing health was a cloud no kindly human hand could dissipate. A little light work was all she could accomplish. A clergyman, whose family was small, sought her, and she was removed there. Her engagement with Mrs. Moore finished in the fall. Frado was anxious to keep up her reputation for efficiency, and often pressed far beyond prudence. In the winter she entirely gave up work, and confessed herself thoroughly sick. Mrs. Hale, soon overcome by additional cares, was taken sick also, and now it became necessary to adopt some measures for Frado’s comfort, as well as to relieve Mrs. Hale. Such dark forebodings as visited her as she lay, solitary and sad, no moans or sighs could relieve.
The family physician pronounced her case one of doubtful issue. Frado hoped it was final. She could not feel relentings that her former home was abandoned, and yet, should she be in need of succor could she obtain it from one who would now so grudgingly bestow it? The family were applied to, and it was decided to take her there. She was removed to a room built out from the main building, used formerly as a workshop, where cold and rain found unobstructed access, and here she fought with bitter reminiscences and future prospects till she became reckless of her faith and hopes and person, and half wished to end what nature seemed so tardily to take.
Aunt Abby made her frequent visits, and at last had her removed to her own apartment, where she might supply her wants, and minister to her once more in heavenly things.
Then came the family consultation.
“What is to be done with her,” asked Mrs. B., “after she is moved there with Nab?”
“Send for the Dr., your brother,” Mr. B. replied.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight! and for her! Wait till morning,” she continued.
“She has waited too long now; I think something should be done soon.”
“I doubt if she is much sick,” sharply interrupted Mrs. B.
“Well, we’ll see what our brother thinks.”
His coming was longed for by Frado, who had known him well during her long sojourn in the family; and his praise of her nice butter and cheese, from which his table was supplied, she knew he felt as well as spoke.
“You’re sick, very sick,” he said, quickly, after a moment’s pause. “Take good care of her, Abby, or she’ll never get well. All broken down.”
“Yes, it was at Mrs. Moore’s,” said Mrs. B., “all this was done. She did but little the latter part of the time she was here.”
“It was commenced longer ago than last summer. Take good care of her; she may never get well,” remarked the Dr.
“We shan’t pay you for doctoring her; you may look to the town for that, sir,” said Mrs. B., and abruptly left the room.
“Oh dear! oh dear!” exclaimed Frado, and buried her face in the pillow.
A few kind words of consolation, and she was once more alone in the darkness which enveloped her previous days. Yet she felt sure they owed her a shelter and attention, when disabled, and she resolved to feel patient, and remain till she could help herself. Mrs. B. would not attend her, nor permit her domestic to stay with her at all. Aunt Abby was her sole comforter. Aunt Abby’s nursing had the desired effect, and she slowly improved. As soon as she was able to be moved, the kind Mrs. Moore took her to her home again, and completed what Aunt Abby had so well commenced. Not that she was well, or ever would be; but she had recovered so far as rendered it hopeful she might provide for her own wants. The clergyman at whose house she was taken sick, was now seeking someone to watch his sick children, and as soon as he heard of her recovery, again asked for her services.
What seemed so light and easy to others, was too much for Frado; and it
