It was the day after her father’s funeral. Rosalie was busily engaged sweeping the high staircase, when her stepmother came out of the dingy parlor, and called the child to come down.
As soon as Rosalie entered the room, Mrs. Joyce told her to shut the door, and then asked her in a sharp voice how long she intended to stop in her house.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” said Rosalie, timidly.
“Then you ought to know,” returned Mrs. Joyce. “I suppose you don’t expect me to keep you, and do for you. You’re nothing to me, you know.”
“No,” said Rosalie, “I know I’m not.”
“So I thought I’d better tell you at once,” she said, “that you might know what to expect. I’m going to speak to the workhouse about you. That’s the best place for you now. They’ll make you like hard work, and get a good place for you, like Betsey Ann.”
“Oh, no,” said Rosalie, quickly. “No, I don’t want to go there.”
“Don’t want!” repeated Mrs. Joyce. “I dare say you don’t want, but beggars can’t be choosers, you know. If you’d been a nice, smart, strong girl I might have kept you instead of Betsey Ann, but a little puny thing like you wouldn’t be worth her salt. No, no, miss, your fine days are over. To the House you’ll go, sure as I’m alive.”
“Please, ma’am,” began Rosalie, “my mother, I think, had some relations—”
“Rubbish, child!” said her stepmother, interrupting her. “I never heard of your mother having any relations. I don’t believe she had any, or if she had they’re not likely to have anything to say to you. No, no; the workhouse is the place for you, and I shall take care you go to it before you’re a day older. Be off now, and finish the stairs.”
“Betsey Ann,” said Rosalie, as they went upstairs together that night, long after everyone else in that large house was fast asleep, “Betsey Ann, I’m going away!”
“La! bless me!” said Betsey Ann. “What do you say?”
“I’m going away tomorrow, dear!” whispered Rosalie. “So come into my attic, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
The two girls sat down on the bed, and Rosalie told Betsey Arm what her stepmother had said to her, and how she could not make up her mind to go into the workhouse, but had settled to leave the lodging house before breakfast the next morning, and never to come back any more.
“But Rosalie,” said Betsey Ann, “whatever will you do? You can’t live on air, child. You’ll die if you go away like that!”
“Look here,” said Rosalie, in a very low whisper. “I can trust you, Betsey Ann, and I’ll show you something.”
She put her hand in her bosom, and brought out a little parcel, and when she had opened it she handed the locket to Betsey Ann.
“La, how beautiful!” said the girl. “I never saw it before.”
“No,” said Rosalie. “I promised my mammie I would never lose it, and I’ve been so afraid lest someone should see it and take it from me.”
“Whoever is this pretty little lady, Rosalie?”
“She’s my mammie’s sister. Oh, such a good, kind lady! That is her picture when she was quite young. She is married now, and has a little girl of her own. So now I’ll tell you all about it,” said Rosalie. “Just before my mammie died, she gave me that locket, and she said if ever I had an opportunity I was to go to my Aunt Lucy. She wrote a letter for me to take with me, to say who I am, and to ask my Aunt Lucy to be kind to me. “Here’s the letter,” said the child, taking it out of the parcel. “That’s my mammie’s writing:”
Mrs. Leslie
Melton Parsonage
“Well, but, Rosalie,” said Betsey Ann, “what do you mean to do?”
“I mean to go to my, Aunt Lucy, and give her the letter.”
“She’ll never let you go, Rosalie. It’s no use trying. She said you should go to the workhouse, and she’ll keep her word.”
“Yes, I know she’ll never give me leave,” said Rosalie, “so I’m going tomorrow morning before breakfast. She doesn’t get up till eleven, and I shall be far away then.”
“But Rosalie, do you know your way?”
“No,” said the child, wearily. “I shall have to ask, I suppose. How far is Pendleton from here, Betsey Ann, do you know?”
“Yes,” said Betsey Ann. “There was a woman in the workhouse came from there. She often told us how she walked the distance on a cold snowy day. It’s fourteen or fifteen miles, I think.”
“Well, that’s the town,” said Rosalie, “where the old man gave me my picture, and it was the first village we passed through after that, where my Aunt Lucy lived. Melton must be about five miles farther than Pendleton.”
“Oh, Rosalie!” said Betsey Ann. “That’s near upon twenty miles! You’ll ever be able to walk all that way!”
“Oh, yes,” said the child. “I must try, because if once I get there oh, Betsey Ann, just think, if once I get there, to my own dear Aunt Lucy!”
But Betsey Ann buried her face in her hands, and began to sob.
“La, bless you, it’s all right!” she said, as Rosalie tried to comfort her. “You’ll be happy there, and it will be all right. But oh, dear me, to think I’ve got to stay here without you!”
“Poor Betsey Ann!” said the child, as she laid her little hand on the girl’s rough hair. “What can I do?”
“Oh, I know it’s all right, Rosalie, It’s better than seeing you go to the workhouse; but I didn’t think it would come so soon. Can’t you tell the Good Shepherd, Rosalie, and ask Him to look after me a bit, when you’re gone?”
“Yes, dear,” said the child, “let us tell Him now.”
So they knelt down, hand in hand, on the attic floor, and Rosalie prayed, “O Good Shepherd, I am going away. Please take care of Betsey Ann, and comfort her, and help her to do right, and never let her feel lonely or unhappy. And please take care of me, and bring me safe to my Aunt Lucy. And if Betsey Ann and I never meet again in this world, please may we meet in heaven. Amen!”
Then they rose from their knees comforted, and began to make preparations for Rosalie’s departure.
She would take very little with her, for she had so far to walk that she could not carry much. She filled a very small bag with the things that she needed most, wrapped her little Testament up, and put it in the center, with the small pair of blue shoes which had belonged to her little brother. Her picture, too, was not forgotten, nor the card with the hymn upon it. When all was ready, they went to bed; but neither of them could sleep much that night.
As soon as it was light, Rosalie prepared to start. She wrapped herself in her mother’s warm shawl, for it was a raw, chilly morning, and took her little bag in her hand. Then she went into Betsey Ann’s attic to say goodbye.
“What am I to tell the missis, when she asks where you’ve gone?” said the girl.
“You can say, dear, that I’ve gone to my mother’s relations, and am not coming back anymore. She won’t ask any more, if you say that; she’ll only be too glad to get rid of me. But I’d rather she didn’t know where my Aunt Lucy lives, so don’t say anything about it, please, Betsey Ann, unless you’re obliged.”
The girl promised, and then with many tears they took leave of each other.