Lucy (Chapter_16)

Chapt 16

How indigent the great! Grey

Abashed as the poor girl felt herself in the presence of a stranger, she could not but observe the elegance of everything around her, which to be unaccustomed eye, was the height of splendour, and made her more sensibly feel her own littleness. It was therefore with increased timidity she answered the questions put to her, and she felt glad when dismissed, and a servant ordered to conduct her to the nursery. What then was her surprise, on being led up a dirty pass of back stairs, into a meanly furnished room in the third story. Every thing was in confusion and disorder and the chamber most uncomfortably cold. As the servant man opened the door, he called out, "I give you joy Hetty, here comes a young woman to take your place and let you out of this dismal hole!" Hetty, was a young mulatto woman, with quite a handsome person, pretty face and good humoured countenance; she jumped up, on hearing this good news, and putting or rather throwing an infant into Lucy's lap when she sat down, exclaimed, "joy indeed! here take the squalling brat, for I am sick and tired of it."

Lucy looked round for a place, where she could lay her own little boy, who was asleep, and perceiving the vacant cradle, deposited him there, and took the little stranger into her arms. It was almost blue with cold, and looked thin and pale; its plaintive moans, went at once to her heart, and excited tenderness and pity. Lucy took it in her arms and warmed it on her bosom; the poor little creature seized and clung to her breast with the eagerness of a half starved and perishing being. "Poor thing," said Hetty, "its getting what it wanted bad enough and its to be hoped it won't be forever crying and screaming now, if so be you can give it a plenty a thing it hasn't had since it was born to my mind." "And how has this happened?" enquired Lucy--"In such a grand house as this; I should think no one wanted any thing, much less a child." "You'll soon find out to your cost, replied the girl--that no one in this house---grand as it is has a plenty--Why nothing else made the nurse go off in such a fit, but because she

said as how, she was starved with hunger and cold." "Thats very strange! I thought rich folks wanted for nothing!" "Then you'll learn before many days are over your head, that they want every thing--goodness, as well as comfort, and natural affection in the bargain. How else do you suppose, that, that poor child is almost dying for want--and that , there's another in the bed yonder, covered up under the cloaths because theres no fire to keep it warm." "Surely their mother cannot know it!" "Know it? no truly she knows very little about whats passing in the nursery, or as for the matter o'that any where in the house-the parlour excepted--She don't get up till twelve or one oclock, and then she's in such a hurry to dress herself to go out or see company, that she hardly takes time to nurse the baby and if after dinner she has it while the nurse is eating her dinner, she thinks she does great things, and as for other victuals the child gets, she dont concern herself much about it--If the milk-woman brings good milk--well and good--If bad milk--well and good--If theres great parties and all the milk in wanting for the dessert, well and good--the baby must do without and eat bread and water, or indian-meal gruel, or what ever it can get."

"This is a dreadful account you give me, and had I known what kind of a place it was, I should hardly have ventured to come--But certainly it cannot be as bad, as you make it out--no mother could act so." "Well--well, you'll see--Poor people, whose children are never out of their sight, have very different feelings for them let me tell you, from rich, gay people, who don't see them an hour in the day."--Why what time, now let me ask you, has such a lady as Mrs Day, to look after her children. She gets up as I tell you, at twelve or one--by the time she's drest, if there 'ant a parlour full of company, why she is out paying morning visits, till most four oclock--then she comes in so tired, that she throws herself on the soffa, till dinners ready, when she does not dine out-by the time dinners over, it is time to begin to dress for the evening--and nothing makes her so angry as to carry the

children to her when she's dressing. Every night the whole winter long, she's either out, or has company at home and they play cards, dance, sing and have great musick--while these poor things are crying up here with cold and hunger; but laughing, talking and musick, drowns their crys, let 'em any ever so loud." "But the father?--does he never attend to them?" "He indeed!--What the gay, handsome Captain, he looks after the children? Thats a good one! Why sure you never know any quality before"-"Never,"--said Lucy and if all quality are alike, I do not want to know them, but would for rather go live with poor labourers or mechanics." "Oh no, I dont say that--theres tender good mothers among the rich people and bad unnatural mothers among the poor, I suppose, tho' I never happened to meet with any, for the poorest slave I ever knew, loved their own flesh and blood."