“And that’s a real blessing, Tiny,” he said, “for the milk will be so nice and fresh, as Uncle Isaac says, that Mr. Thorpe can keep some till next day. I do hope he has a refrigerator.”
You will begin to see, by this time, that the things which these little people were doing by way of sharing their happiness, were not by any means all play, and that some of them were very downright work. Picking berries in the hot sun, or even flowers, when one picks them by the bushel, is not amusing. It always seemed to Johnny, on the milking mornings, that he had only just fallen asleep when Uncle Isaac gave him the gentle shaking which had been agreed upon, because a knock or call would wake the rest of the family needlessly early. Very often most interesting things, such as building a dam, or digging a pond, or making a house of fence rails, had to be put aside for hours, that the “consignment,” whatever it happened to be that time, might be ready for Uncle Isaac over night. But how sweet and happy was the play which followed their labors of love, and how small their sacrifices seemed, when they thought of the little children, crowded, packed, into narrow, foul-smelling courts and alleys, and, inside of these again, into stifling rooms!
The long rambles, in which Mrs. Leslie always, and Mr. Leslie sometimes, joined, in search of mosses and wild-flower roots, were only a delight, and quite paid for the work of printing the simple rules for cheap cookery, which Aunt Mercy told them from time to time, as she could remember.
They caught Uncle Isaac, nearly every time that he took one of their cargoes, slipping in something on his own account—vegetables, or fruit, or eggs, and even, sometimes, a piece of fresh meat, when one of his own sheep had been killed to supply the table.
“That’s a first-rate way to make a stew, that thy Aunt Mercy gave thee yesterday,” he said, gravely, to Tiny, on one of these occasions; “but I thought if I took the mutton, and a few carrots and potatoes, along with it, it would stand a good deal better chance of getting made than if I didn’t!”
And Tiny and Johnny delightedly agreed that it would.
Mr. Leslie came home, one evening, looking a little troubled.
“I haven’t seen Jim at his usual place for two or three days,” he said; “and if I could only have remembered the street and number of his lodgings, I would have made time to go and ask after him. Please write the address on a card for me, dear, and I’ll go to-morrow, or send if I can’t go.”