How far will you go to help poor Bartle butle?
Walter Traprock
TOTS AND FAN
"John, where's Bartle?"
John was the footman. Bartle was the butler. The time was the
dinner hour. The speaker was the master of the house, Mr. Oaklands.
"Bartle is unwell, sir."
At this news Mr. Oaklands looked at Mrs. Oaklands in a very significant
manner. The look seemed to say, "We know very well what is the
matter with Bartle."
"Dear me, dear me," said both, simultaneously, "whatever shall we
do with him?"
"Send Bartle up to me," said Mr. Oaklands.
After an absence of a few minutes John returned with the information
that Bartle preferred staying where he was.
At this Mr. Oaklands descended to the pantry. He found Bartle in
a very stupid condition indeed, trying to fill a decanter from a
bottle he held in his hand, and only half succeeding in his efforts.
With one eye shut and the other open, a lock of hair straggling
down his face, his necktie disarranged, he looked as drunk as he
was.
"Bartle, what is the meaning of this?" sharply asked his master.
Bartle smiled vacantly, and vainly endeavored to stand upright like
a sober man.
"Bartle, I insist on knowing what you mean by this."
But Bartle had sense enough to know if he were to open his lips he
would probably commit himself; and knowing, moreover, that he had
nothing satisfactory to say, held his tongue. So Mr. Oaklands,
judging that to talk to him in his present condition, would be
useless, prudently left him.
Poor Bartle! A more quiet, kind, and well-behaved man by nature
never breathed. A better butler too, when sober, there never was.
Indeed, but for his good qualities he would long ago have been
dismissed, for again and again had he transgressed and been forgiven
on promises of amendment. He was a great favorite, too, with the
young people, and their little voices were ever raised in his behalf
when he fell into trouble. In addtion to this, he had a most worthy
wife, who had been an old and faithful servant in the family, and
a large number of children almost entirely dependent on him. You
will see why so great an offender had been retained in the Oaklands'
house. Certainly no one else would have kept him.
Now when Bartle so solemnly promised amendment, he meant it from
his heart. He was really a most unwilling slave. But so tight a
hold upon his appetite had strong drink obtained, that scarcely
ever did he open a bottle, hand around the wine at table, or even
visit the wine-celler, without a terrible conflict. He fought hard
against it, and gave way only after a sharp struggle. To-morrow
the poor butler's heart would be wofully sore as he looked back on
the night before.
The Oaklands had a long conversation that evening as to what should
be done with their butler, and came to the decision that no course
was open to them but to dismiss him altogether, from their service.
They were really sorry; but the peace of the household, and the
corrupting influence of his conduct on the other servants, seemed
to insist upon the long deferred step being taken. To-morrow Mr.
Oaklands would dismiss him.
That night two little tongues prattled away with unaccustomed vigor,
and two little heads worked with unwonted energy. The little girls
(aged respectively ten and eight) had heard from their nurses of
Bartle's disgrace, and although they said nothing at the time, their
sorrow was great.
"Poor Bartle! I'm so sorry he's been naughty again, and made papa
so angry," commenced the elder little girl, whose name was Fan.
"I'm sorry too, ever so much, replied Tots, the younger.
If papa turns him away to-morrow, Tots, won't it be dreadful?"
Tots felt it would be dreadful too, and said, "Poor Mrs. Bartle
will cry, won't she, Fan?"
"Yes, and so will all the little Bartles too. I should, if I were
a little Bartle. Wouldn't you, Tots?"
"I shouldn't ever be able to stop, I expect," answered Tots.
And both the little girls felt almost ready to cry then at the very
thought of it.
"Only think," said Fan, "if they knew as much as we do about it
now, they wouldn't sleep all night, I'm sure. I shoudln't, I know."
"Will they be like those poor people we saw yesterday singing in
the street, Fan, who looked so cold?"
"I shouldn't wonder. Papa said it was drunkenness which brought
people to do such things; and that if people only kept sober they
would have nice fires and clothes, and be ever so different."
Tots couldn't forget that perhaps poor Bartle with his wife and
children, would by and by be compelled to earn their daily bread
by singing in the streets, and so she said again, --
"I hope they'll never be like them, Fan, to have to stand in the
cold and wet without any umbrellas or warm clothes. Wouldn't it
kill them?"
"Yes. Papa said that those kind of people never live very long,
because drink and wet and cold and hunger soon dig their graves."
"O Fan," cried Tots, the great tears rolling down her cheeks, "isn't
it dreadful? I shan't sleep all night, I'm sure. I don't feel as
if I should ever go to sleep any more."
"I was wondering," said Fan, after looking very grave and thoughtful
for a minute or two, "whether we couldn't help poor old Bartle in
some way or other."
"Would my twopence a week buy very much?" timidly asked Tots, "How
much bread and meat and potatoes, and all that kind of thing, would
it buy, Fan? If it will help them from going about the streets, I
should like them to have it all."
"I don't think, Tots, they could buy very much for twopence,"
responded her sister. "I'm afraid we can't help them much that
way."
Tots looked very disappointed at this news, and kept quiet for some
time.
"I've been thinking," said Fan, "of what Mr. Fellowes said last
Sunday about the grace of God. Do you remember, Tots?"
No, Tots had quite forgotten all about it.
"Well, I don't remember very much but I know he said that Jesus
could make weak people strong, and that it was as easy for Him to
help a drunkard as anybody who had a bad temper. I know," she
continued, "he can keep back a naughty temper, because He helps me
when I ask him. Now, Tots, why, shouldn't he help Bartle too?"
Tots didn't see any reason why Jesus shouldn't. Indeed she felt
sure he would.
Then the question arose who should tell Bartle this. First they
thought they would ask their mother. Then, deciding that this would
not do, Fan resolved that she would tell him herself. As they lay
in their little beds that night, these two little girls offered
each a simple prayer for poor Bartle.
"O God," prayed Fan, "help poor Bartle and make him better, and
make papa less angry and don't let him be sent away, for Jesus's
sake. Amen."
The Tots followed -- "O God, don't let poor Bartle, and poor Mrs.
Bartle, and the poor little Bartles, sing in the cold streets, for
Jesus' sake. Amen."
"Now, Tots," said Fan, "mamma says when we pray we must not say,
'I wonder whether God heard us,' but we must say 'I know God heard
us.'"
"All right," said Tots. "We'll say 'I know,' then."
"And, now," said Fan, "I think we'd better go to sleep, or mamma
will be coming up." This was more promptly done than either had
anticipated, for in a few minutes both were fast asleep.
In their dreams that night, as they told each other the next morning,
Bartle and his family occupied by far the largest place. Fan was
earnestly talking, and telling him what the clergyman said; while
Tots was giving him her twopences, and holding up her little umbrella
over their heads, while they were singing.
As soon as Fan and Tots had finished their breakfast, they made all
the haste they could to the pantry, where they knew Bartle was to
be found.
How miserable he looked, to be sure. He could scarcely lift even
his head even when the two little girls entered, so thoroughly
ashamed was he. He only said, "Good-morning, little misses," and
went on cleaning the plate. But Fan and Tots were not to be put
off in that way. If Bartle would not speak to them, they would
speak to him.
After looking at the brisk movement of his hands, for a minute or
so, said little Tots, "Poor Bartle!" Whether it was, that Tots
thought Fan too slow, or whether her own little heart was too full
to keep quiet, sure it was that for one reason or the other Tots,
instead of Fan broke the ice. She had touched him lovingly with
her little hand before she said, "Poor Bartle!" Fan was saying,
"Poor Bartle," too, with her eyes.
The sight of his two sympathizers, and their loving pity, quite
broke him down. He was obliged to lay aside his polishing, and sit
down. With his hands over his eyes, and his body bent forward, he
sobbed like a child. If he had been scolded, or spoken to angrily
and roughly, very probably he would have braved it out. But "Poor
Bartle," spoken with both lips and eyes, and in such a loving,
pitying way, quite disarmed him. It had touched a chord which
vibrated in spite of himself.
Tot had apparently exhausted herself, for she did not attempt to
add to her first remark. It was now Fan's turn. Gently touching
his hand, she said:
"Bartle, we're very sorry for you, Tots and I. Will you let us
help you? We want to help you very much."
"I am afraid you can't do anything, little misses. I am not worthy
of anyone's help. I'm a regular worthless one, I am, and can't be
cured anyhow."
"But, Bartle," argured Fan, "why don't you try very, very hard to
keep sober? Don't you think you'd do it then?"
"No, Miss Fan, I have tried as hard as man can. I've taken the
pledge; I've taken doctor's medicine; I've read books about it;
but, somehow or other, it isn't very good. I'm afraid there's no
chance for me at all."
Here Tots chimed in, "I've got twopence a week, Bartle."
But Bartle, not understanding Tots' train of thought, could of
course give no answer; and his silence, together with a shake of
the head from Fan, shut her up for some time.
"Bartle," said Fan, "have you tried Jesus? Mr. Fellowes said last
Sunday that drunkards and bad-tempered people can both be cured by
the grace of Jesus. I wish you would try Jesus, Bartle."
"Ah! Miss Fan, you don't know how hard it is to keep from drink,
when you've got so much to do with it as I have. I'm always smelling
it; and you can't tell how even the glasses of wine I pour out for
luncheon and dinner set me off. Nobody knows how hard it is but
those who've tried."
This was quite a revelation to Fan, that her little glass of wine,
when she had lunch with her parents, should prove such a danger to
Bartle. She could hardly believe it even now, and so she said:
"Do you feel it when you pour out my glass of wine, Bartle?"
"Yes, miss -- everybody's."
Here Tots began to comprehend that perhaps she was involved too.
"And my glass of wine too, Bartle?"
"Yes, Miss Tots, every glass of wine."
Here was a difficulty which Fan and Tots had not taken into account
at all. It quite prevented their saying anything for some time.
Meanwhile, Bartle had risen from his chair, and had recommenced
cleaning the plate. After awhile, Fan touched Bartle's sleeve,
and, with a very earnest look, said:
"Bartle, would it be any help to you if I were to give up my glass
of wine?"
Tots immediately put the same question in about the same words.
The butler could hardly believe his ears. As he said afterwards,
you might have knocked his down with a feather. To see those two
sweet little faces looking straight up into his, and putting such
a question as that, was a sight that as long as he lived he could
never forget. It was wonderful.
He did not answer them at first. He thought, perhaps, the children
might forget they had asked the question if he gave no answer. He
remained silent for a while, apparently intent on his work. But
these two little ladies were very resolute in their demands, for
Fan repeated her question, as also did Tots.
"Well, little misses," he said, at last, "it would help me. I wish
I could give up altogether having anything to do with wine, that I
do. It's the curse of my life. I'm never safe so long as I'm
opening bottles, and visiting wine cellers, and pouring out wine.
But," he continued, "you musn't think of giving up wine for me.
You musn't, really."
"But I will," said Fan, with great determination, "if papa and mamma
will let me."
"And so will I," said Tots with equal decision.
"I wonder whether papa and mamma would give up wine too, for Bartle's
sake?" asked Fan of Tots. "They don't take very much."
"I shouldn't wonder," replied Tots; "let's go up and ask them."
Quickly opening the pantry door, they were about to run up stairs,
when who should they see outside but their father himself.
Mr. Oaklands had come down to give Bartle his formal dismissal. He
had not seen any reason to change his mind, but he was quite convinced
it was the right thing to do. So now with the full determination
not to be turned from his purpose, by prayers, tears, or promises
of amendment, he was about to enter the pantry when he heard talking
there. He at once recognized the voices of his little girls, so
standing there, he listened; and wonderfully touched was he by the
loving tones with which they spoke, and by their evident longing
to act the part of true friends to the butler. He felt more proud
of his little girls than ever before. And the way in which his
firm resolution not to be moved, gradually softened, melted, and
finally disappeared, surprised him more than he could say.
The greatest surprise of all to him was when his little daughters
so emphatically declared themselves resolved to sacrifice their
daily glass of wine for Bartle's sake; and he was not altogether
displeased at the good opinion they evidently had of their parents'
disposition, counting it not a hopeless task to induce even them
to deny themselves for the poor man's sake.
If such a proposition had come from any other source, or from the
same source in any other way, he would have been much displeased.
He would have pronounced it outrageous to expect a master to give
up the use of strong drink because a servant was tempted thereby.
But his little girls' behavior, had put the question in quite a new
light. Bartle was a servant undoubtedly, but was he not also a
brother for whom Christ died? There was one text too which he could
not keep out of his mind, and which, as often as he cast it out,
presented itself again: "Destroy not him with thy meat for whom
Christ died."
Both Mr. and Mrs. Oaklans were Christians, trusting only in the
merits of the Lord Jesus Christ for salvation, and seeking to please
their Lord and Master in all things. A duty once seen they were
willing to perform, cost what it might.
As he took his two little girls upstairs from the pantry-door to
their mother, he was earnestly considering whether to save even his
butler was not a worthy and noble task.
"Have you dismissed him?" asked Mrs. Oaklands, when they entered
her morning room.
Mr. Oaklands stooped down, and kissing his little daughters,
whispered, "Tell mother, darlings," and left it all to them.
"Mamma, Bartle is going to be very good. We've told him about
Jesus, and he does really want to be better. He said so, didn't
he, Tots?"
"Yes, mamma," added Tots, "he's dreadfully sorry;" adding quickly,
"and we want to give up our glass of wine if you and papa will let
us."
Mrs. Oaklands looked surprised but not displeased, whereat Fan grew
bolder, and said without any more preface:
"And, mamma, we want you and papa to help Bartle, and not take any
wine either. It hurts him, he says, to even smell it when he is
pouring it out."
Tots looked pleadingly on her father and mother, as much as to say,
"Do, please, do."
"Do you know anything about this, dear?" asked Mrs. Oaklands of her
husband.
"I have not dismissed Bartle," he answered: "for when I reached the
pantry-door, whom should I hear there but these two young ladies."
And then he told her all that he had heard, and how they had pledged
themselves, if permitted, to drink no more wine for Bartle's sake,
and had even expressed themselves hopeful of winning over their
father and mother to the same self-denial.
"There can be no doubt," he said, with a smile, "that that would
be cutting the tree up by the roots, for if Bartle had no wine to
supply, there would be no visits to the wine cellar, no decanting
required, and no pouring it out at table; consequently, as far as
we are concerned, there would be no temptation put in his way. Many
of our friends will no doubt tell us we are acting an absurd part,
and will laugh at us a great deal; but if it will really save the
man and his family from utter ruin, we need not mind that. The
servant's soul is as precious as the master's, and God forbid we
should be the means of wrecking a single life."
"I think so too, decidedly," replied Mrs. Oaklands, "if we dismiss
Bartle, he is a lost man, and in his fall his wife and children
must accompany him. By an act of self-denial which none of us would
much feel, we should save no less than eight lives, certainly in
body, and perhaps in soul. Then we will decide, dear."
I will not attempt to decribe the wonderful happiness of Fan and
Tots, or their boisterous thankfulness. It is more easily imagined
than described, how they rushed down to poor Bartle, and told him
of the resolution the whole family had come to; how he would not
be called upon any more to pour out wine for the family, and how
they had done it all for his sake.
Bartle was so overwhelmed with astonishment, that all he could do
was to thank God over and over again; and more than that, it was
really the beginning of better things with him, for he never forgot
the text which had so worked on his master's mind -- "Destroy him
not with thy meat for whom Christ died." And after a time, although
not at once, he drank in the spirit of the last words, and really
believed with his heart that Jesus died for him. He never gave way
to strong drink again, for he fought against its power with grace
not his own, and so overcame.
And Mrs. Bartle -- judge how thankful and happy she must have been
when she heard of her husband's pardon after his disgrace.
If the two little tongues prattled away so busily the night before,
that evening they were more nimble than ever.
"I'm so glad it's all right," said Fan to Tots.
"So am I, ever so much," responded Tots.
"You see, God did answer our prayers, didn't he?" said Fan again.
"Yes," replied Tots; "I felt sure he would."
"So did I," returned Fan.
In their prayers Bartle and his family were again as prominent as
before. This was Fan's prayer:
"O God, you were so good to hear us last night; and we do thank you
so much. We thought you would: and don't let Bartle ever do wrong
any more. For Jesus' sake. Amen."
Tots prayed thus:
"O God, you've made Fan and me and the Bartles so happy. You did
hear us last night -- of course you did, and we thank you so much.
For Jesus' sake. Amen."
In their dreams too, the Bartles were equally prominent. And what
bright dreams they are! There were Bartle and Mrs. Bartle, and
the little Bartles, all in a circle, and Tots and Fan in the middle,
and all smiling away as hard as they could; and when they tried to
stop, they couldn't for very gladness of heart. This was Fan's
dream.
While Tots spent all the night in shutting up umbrellas, and dropping
her pence in the missionary box, until it was so full that a penny
stuck out at the top.
[REVOLUTION TEMPERANCE PUBLISHING HOUSE, Chicago]
JoAnne Schmitz
<wetra...@hotmail.com> wrote:
>[REVOLUTION TEMPERANCE PUBLISHING HOUSE, Chicago]
Thanks for the story. Not a sour-faced spinster in it.
JoAnne "cutesy child names only vaguely barfalicious" Schmitz
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