Heart/Sacrifice
SACRIFICE
Tuesday, 9th.
My mother is good, and my sister Sylvia is like her, and has a large and noble heart. Yesterday evening I was copying a part of the monthly story, From the Apennines to the Andes,—which the teacher has given out to us all in small portions to copy, because it is so long,—when Sylvia entered on tiptoe, and said to me hastily, and in a low voice:—
“Come to mamma with me. I heard her and papa talking together this morning: some affair has gone wrong with papa, and he was sad; mamma was encouraging him. We are in difficulties—do you understand? We have no more money. Papa said that it would be necessary to make sacrifices in order to recover himself. Now we must make sacrifices, too, must we not? Are you ready to do it? Well, I will speak to mamma, and do you agree, and promise her on your honor that you will do everything that I shall say.”
So saying, she took me by the hand and led me to our mother, who was sewing, lost in thought. I sat down on one end of the sofa, Sylvia on the other, and she immediately began:—
“Listen, mamma, I have something to say to you. Both of us have something to say to you.” Mamma stared at us in surprise, and Sylvia began:—
“Papa has no money, has he?”
“What do you mean?” replied mamma, turning crimson. “Has he not indeed! What do you know about it? Who has told you?”
“I know it,” said Sylvia, resolutely. “Well, then, listen, mamma; we must make some sacrifices, too. You promised me a fan at the end of May, and Enrico was expecting his box of paints. We don't want anything now; we don't want to waste a soldo; we shall be just as well pleased, you know.”
Mamma tried to speak; but Sylvia said: “No; it must be this way. We have decided. And until papa has money again, we don't want any fruit or anything else; broth will be enough for us, and we will eat bread in the morning for breakfast: so we shall spend less on the table, for we already spend too much. And we promise you that you will always find us perfectly contented. Is it not so, Enrico?”
I replied that it was.
“Always as contented,” repeated Sylvia, closing mamma's mouth with one hand. “And if there are any other sacrifices to be made, either in the matter of clothing or anything else, we will make them gladly. We would even sell our presents. I would give up all my things, and serve you as your maid. We will not have anything done out of the house any more, I will work all day long with you, I will do everything you wish, I am ready for anything! for anything!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my mother's neck, “if papa and mamma can only be saved further troubles, if I can only see you both once more at ease, and in good spirits, as in former days, between your Sylvia and your Enrico, who love you so dearly, who would give their lives for you!”
Ah! I have never seen my mother so happy as she was on hearing these words; she never before kissed us on the brow in that way, weeping and laughing, and unable to speak. Then she assured Sylvia that she had not understood rightly; that we were not in the least reduced circumstances, as she imagined. And she thanked us a hundred times, and was cheerful all the evening, until my father came in, when she told him all about it. He did not open his mouth, poor father! But this morning, as we sat at the table, I felt at once both a great pleasure and a great sadness: under my napkin I found my box of colors, and under hers, Sylvia found her fan.