"Plague take Patrick Hancock and John Henry, I say! I believe they are
turning your head! What have them dead and buried old people to do with
folks that are alive and starving?"
"Oh, Aunt Hannah! scold me as much as you please, but don't speak so of
the great men!" said Ishmael, to whom all this was sheer blasphemy and
nothing less.
"Great fiddlesticks' ends! No tea yesterday, and no tea for breakfast
this morning, and no tea for supper to-night! And I laying helpless with
the rheumatism, and feeling as faint as if I should sink and die; and my
head aching ready to burst! And I would give anything in the world for a
cup of tea, because I know it would do me so much good, and I can't get
it! And you have money in your pocket and won't buy it for me! No, not
if I die for the want of it! You, that I have been a mother to! That's
the way you pay me, is it, for all my care?"
"Oh, Aunt Hannah, dear, I do love you, and I would do anything in the
world for you; but, indeed, I am sure Patrick Henry--"
"Hang Patrick Henry! If you mention his name to me again I'll box your
ears!"
Ishmael dropped his eyes to the ground and sighed deeply.
"After all I have done for you, ever since you were left a helpless
infant on my hands, for you to let me lie here and die, yes, actually
die, for the want of a cup of tea, before you will spend one quarter of
a dollar to get it for me! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oo-oo-oo!"
And Hannah put her hands to her face, and cried like a baby.
You see Hannah was honest; but she was not heroic; her nerves were very
weak, and her spirits very low. Inflammatory rheumatism is often more or
less complicated with heart disease. And the latter is a great
demoralizer of mind as well as body. And that was Hannah's case. We must
make every excuse for the weakness of the poor, over-tasked, all
enduring, long-suffering woman, broken down at last.
But not a thought of blaming her entered Ishmael's mind. Full of love,
he bent over her, saying: "Oh, Aunt Hannah, don't, don't cry! You shall have your tea this very
evening; indeed you shall!" And he stooped and kissed her tenderly.
Then he put on his cap and went and took his only treasure, his beloved
"History," from its place of honor on the top of the bureau; and cold,
hungry, and tired as he was, he set off again to walk the four long
miles to the village, to try to sell his book for half price to the
trader.