View source for Out in the World CHAPTER 28.

'''Back to [[Out in the World]]'''
----
<p><em>THREE MONTHS LATER</em><br><br>
Madeline is still a tenant with the Jackmans. It is midwinter. She occupies the room in the second story where we last saw her. Bureau and bedstead are gone. The only furniture to be seen is a thin bed on the floor spread with a faded blanket, a small pine table, and a single chair. The room is chilly, and Madeline sits crouching with an old shawl drawn tightly about her shoulders, near the fire-place, where a few sticks are burning. On the table, which has been drawn near the fire-place, lies some <em>needlework</em>.<br><br>
Three months have done their <em>wasting work </em>on Madeline. She was sick when we saw her last; too sick to bear up and continue the work by which the <em>wolf of starvation </em>was to be kept from her door. After a week of mental and bodily prostration, she had rallied again, and gone on with her weary tasks. Mrs. Jackman acceded to her proposition about the bureau, and took it in the place of money, so cancelling the rent obligation. But as the weeks gathered themselves into months, the rent again accumulated, for Madeline's strength was little more than feebleness itself, and all she could earn was consumed in fuel, food and medicine.<br><br>
Then the landlord became restless again, and demanded of his wife the removal of their <em>unprofitable tenant</em>. He was pacified on the relinquishment by Madeline of her bedstead, two chairs, and a fine lace collar, which were sold for more than the sum actually due. Mrs. Jackman could not find it in her heart to turn the <em>poor sick woman </em>out of doors. She was so gentle, so patient, "just like a hurt lamb," she said, that she couldn't act towards her in the hard, selfish way she had been in the habit of acting towards people of her own class. And so she had continued to stand between her tenant and her husband.<br><br>
But, even Mrs. Jackman saw that there must come an <em>end </em>to this condition of things. Mrs. Spencer grew weaker as the days went on. Bureau, bedstead, and chairs were gone, and the earnings diminished instead of increasing. When the winter days came on, Mrs. Spencer found herself too thinly clad to go for her work. Pitying her condition, Mrs. Jackman took the work home for her, and brought back a new supply.<br><br>
At Christmas, Madeline was again in debt for her room.<br><br>
"It's no use, Kitty," said Jackman to his wife. "I'm going to put my foot down once for all. That woman will have to leave!"<br><br>
"I wish she were in a better place," answered Mrs. Jackman. "And she will be, I'm thinking, before many months go over her head. Do you know, John, she talks about <em>dying </em>just as I'd talk about going on a visit somewhere. She isn't the least bit afraid of death. It makes me feel strange to hear her."<br><br>
"Then, my advice to her is, to die at once," replied Jackman, roughly. "She can't be any worse off than she is here. And she must do it quickly, or she can't have the privilege in my house. But jesting aside, Kitty, I'm not going to fool with her any longer. She owes, now, more than her duds will sell for, and every day she keeps that room — is money out of my pocket. If she has no friends to look after her, she must go to the <em>poor-house</em>, and the sooner you let her know what's to come — the more time she'll have to get ready. Next week she must be out of that room. On Monday I shall put up a notice for rent."<br><br>
"Don't say that, John!" replied his wife, with unusual sobriety of manner. "No good will come of hard treatment to this woman. I can't tell why it is; but I feel strangely about it. There's something in her that's uncommon, like."<br><br>
"You always were a fool, Kitty!" retorted Jackman, half angrily. "I don't know what you mean by hard treatment. The city and county take care of the poor. That's what the alms-house is for. That's what I pay a <em>tax </em>for. Do you think I'm going to fill my house with paupers? Not I! John Jackman isn't quite a born fool. I don't see what's come over you, Kitty. Ever since this woman came into our house, you've acted as if you were afraid of her."<br><br>
"No, John, not afraid of her. That isn't it at all. I've <em>pitied </em>her, poor weak thing! She isn't like the people I've been used to seeing, or she'd been sent adrift long and long ago. I can't just say what it is — but there's something about her that makes my heart soft. Just let her stay through the winter."<br><br>
<em>"No!" </em>Jackman spoke with a strong impulse in his voice.<br><br>
"It won't be anything out of our pockets, John."<br><br>
"Of course not! She'll pay like a queen," he answered with irony.<br><br>
"It won't be in the long run, I mean. Do you know, John, that a verse in the Bible which I read when I was a little girl, keeps all the while coming into my mind. I haven't thought of it for a dozen years. 'He who gives to the poor, lends to the Lord, and He will repay him again.' That's it, as near as I can remember. It seems as if it was meant just for us."<br><br>
"Pooh! Pooh! What stuff! I guess, if the truth were known, it would be found that Mrs. Spencer put this into your head. People like her are smart."<br><br>
"No, John. Mrs. Spencer never repeated that verse in my hearing. It came up all of itself. I tried not to think of it — but the more I tried, the more it would come up. She's poor, and sick — dying I might say. Now, it won't be much for us, John, just to let her stay where she is 'till spring; or, maybe, not 'till longer than February. She isn't going to trouble anybody very long."<br><br>
"I said <em>no</em>, and I mean no!" Mr. Jackman showed increasing irritation. "Next week she must go or pay her rent. It isn't any use in you to bamboozle about her any longer. I've put my foot down and it shall stay down. The money due must be paid — or she goes out. You'll tell her so at once."<br><br>
"It's no use, John," replied Mrs. Jackman, "I can't give her warning. You must do it yourself, if it's done at all."<br><br>
The man grew very angry at this, swore bitterly, and stormed about in a fruitless rage. Twice he started for the stairway, asserting that he would make short work of it with Mrs. Spencer; but, something held him back.<br><br>
"I'll call in a policeman and have her taken off," he said, at length, catching up his hat and going out. Mrs. Jackman understood her husband's character, and did not feel concerned at this threat.<br><br>
A little while afterwards, she went up to Mrs. Spencer's room. She found Madeline crouching near a few burning sticks in the fire-place, a thin shawl clutched tightly around her shoulders — shivering. The air struck coldly on the face of Mrs. Jackman.<br><br>
"Indeed, indeed, ma'am, this will never do!" said the landlord's wife. "Your room is as chilly as a barn. You'll get your death by a cold." She stood for a few moments and then went out quickly; but soon returned with an armful of light wood.<br><br>
"There," she said, when a bright blaze glowed on the hearth, "that will do some good. I'll bring you up two or three armfuls. You must keep warm, Mrs. Spencer. And now it just comes to me. There's a society that gives out small stoves and coal to poor people. Mrs. Blunt was speaking about it last week. I'll go right away and see if I can't get you a stove and half a ton of coal."<br><br>
"Oh, if you could!" A faint light came into Madeline's wasted countenance. "How thankful I would be," she added, in a grateful voice.<br><br>
"If it's to be done, I'm the one to do it," replied Mrs. Jackman. "Nothing stops me when I once get a thing into my head. As my husband says, I'll go through fire and water to gain my ends. So, you may count on the stove and coal — if they are to be had."<br><br>
Mrs. Jackman went out full of this new purpose. She found sundry impediments in her way; but a strong will removed them. In less than two hours from the time she set about her work — it was accomplished, and a small, hot stove sent its genial warmth into every corner of Madeline's room.<br><br>
"This is comfortable," she said, as she felt the pleasant heat, and saw Madeline take off her shawl. But, even as she spoke, the nakedness of the room, and its comfortless aspect, struck her unpleasantly. At the same time, something like shame, or guilt, troubled her feelings. Why was this poor sick woman's room so naked? Who had taken bedstead, bureau, chairs, carpet? The smile of self-satisfaction died out of Mrs. Jackman's face. The little she had just done <em>for </em>this woman, seemed as nothing in view of what she and her husband had done <em>against </em>her. She felt as if she had been a <em>robber </em>and an <em>oppressor</em>. She turned her face away, as Madeline laid a hand on her arm, and said, gratefully — almost tearfully —<br><br>
"God bless you, Mrs. Jackman! I cannot find words in which to speak my gratitude. If I never repay you — He will not fail."<br><br>
"Oh, it's nothing — nothing!" answered Mrs. Jackman, not able to repress a disturbed feeling, and still keeping her face turned aside. "I'd not deserve the name of a woman, if I kept back from a trifle like this."<br><br>
And Mrs. Jackman went downstairs, glad to escape from the presence of Madeline, in whose grateful expressions her heart found more of <em>rebuke </em>than blessing.<br><br>
Mr. Jackman came home while a portion of Madeline's half ton of coal still lay on the side walk.<br><br>
"What does <em>that </em>mean?" he demanded of his wife, referring to the coal.<br><br>
"It means," she answered, that a charitable society has sent Mrs. Spencer a stove and some coal."<br><br>
"Did they send money to pay her rent?"<br><br>
"No."<br><br>
"Then they can take them back again. No stove shall be put up in my house."<br><br>
"The stove is up already," said Mrs. Jackman, quietly.<br><br>
"And you permitted it to be done?"<br><br>
"Yes."<br><br>
"Well, I'll pitch it out of the window, and the woman after it!" Jackman was furious. His wife remained silent.<br><br>
"Have you told her that she must go next week?" Jackman confronted his wife with a menacing look. His passions were, at times, uncontrollable. More than once he had struck her.<br><br>
"I have not." Her calm voice and steady eyes mastered him. "That must be <em>your </em>work, as I have already said."<br><br>
"It shall be my work!" exclaimed Jackman, and he left the room, and went with a heavy, stumbling tread upstairs. His wife did not follow him; but sat down, folding her hands, to await the result.<br><br>
A pale, startled face, met Jackman as he pushed open the door of Madeline's room — a pale, startled face, and large brown eyes, soft, tender, suffering, questioning. Madeline had drawn her single chair near the window, and was sewing. She arose on her landlord's entrance, and stood bending a little forward, with her eyes fixed upon him.<br><br>
The raging beast was subdued; the man felt himself in a wrong position. The woman and her landlord stood looking at each other for some moments in silence.<br><br>
"You have a stove, I see," said Jackman, breaking through the strange embarrassment which had fallen on him so suddenly.<br><br>
"Yes, sir, thanks to the interest made for me by your kind-hearted wife." The tender sweetness of Madeline's voice penetrated his ears like music. The <em>wild beast </em>in his nature slunk still farther away and out of sight.<br><br>
Jackman was silent. He gazed in a bewildered, half fascinated way, at Madeline; then around the stripped, comfortless room; then out of the window; and then, like a baffled and rebuked dog, turned and retreated. It was the first time he had gone into his tenant's room; and he felt sure it would be his last adventure in that direction.
----
'''Back to [[Out in the World]]'''