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"I wanted to go alone," she remarked, "but this little girl, who is in my class at the sewing-school, said it wouldn't be safe, and that you would go with me." "I should be sorry to have you go alone into Grubb's court," said the missionary, kindly, and with concern in his voice, "for a worse place can hardly be found in the city I was going to say in the world. You will be safe with me, however.
But for her work among the destitute and the neglected, Edith would have shut herself up at home. Christian charity drew her forth daily, and in offices of kindness and mercy she found a peace and rest to which she would otherwise have been stranger. She was on her way home one afternoon from a visit to the mission-school where she had first heard of the poor baby in Grubb's court.
Mrs. Grubb's family circle was really not a circle at all; it was rather a polygon a curious assemblage of distinct personages. There was no unity in it, no membership one of another. It was four ones, not one four. If some gatherer of statistics had visited the household, he might have described it thus: Mrs. S. Cora Grubb, widow, aged forty years.
But why do you wish to visit Grubb's court? Perhaps I can do all that is needed."
"We'll go home now," he said, as if anxious to regain possession of the child. "Not back to Grubb's court," was answered by Mr. Paulding. "If you are going to be a new man, you must have a new and better home, and I've found one for you just a little way from here. It's a nice clean room, and I'll take you there.
"This is Grubb's Court," said the boy, turning sharply to the right and passing through a low archway. "Thank 'ee, lad," said the seaman, giving him a sixpence. The small boy opened his eyes very wide indeed, exclaiming, "Hallo!
Grubb's present residence, which appeared to be a perfect hot-bed of world-saving ideas, and was surrounded by such a halo of spots that it would have struck the unregenerate observer as an undesirable place in which to live, unless one wished to be broken daily on the rack of social progress. This front room was Mrs. Grubb's only parlour.
Grubb's fostering care; but that blessed martyr had now been dead two years, and she began to wear her former vacuous look, and to slip back into the past that was still more dreadful than the present. It seemed to Mrs. Grubb more than strange that she, with her desire for freedom, should be held to earth by three children not flesh of her flesh and such children.
The gruel prepared for Ella, from the flour obtained at Mrs. Grubb's, did not much tempt the sickly appetite of the child. She sipped a few spoonfuls, and then turned from the bowl which her mother held for her at the bedside. "Eat more of it, dear," said Mrs. Gaston. "It will make you feel better." "I'm not very hungry now, mother," answered Ella. "Don't it taste good to you?" "Not very good."
The town in New York where they lived proving to be too small, narrow, and bigoted to hold a developing soul like Mrs. Grubb's, she persuaded her husband to take passage for California, where the climate might be supposed more favourable to the growth of saving ideas. Mr.
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