What Can I Do?

by T.S. Arthur

He was a poor cripple--with fingers twisted out of all useful shape,and lower limbs paralyzed so that he had to drag them after himwearily when he moved through the short distances that limited hissphere of locomotion--a poor, unhappy, murmuring, and, at times,ill-natured cripple, eating the bread which a mother's hard laborprocured for him. For hours every fair day, during spring, summer,and autumn, he might be seen in front of the little house where helived leaning upon the gate, or sitting on an old bench looking witha sober face at the romping village children, or dreamily regardingthe passengers who moved with such strong limbs up and down thestreet. How often, bitter envy stung the poor cripple's heart! Howoften, as the thoughtless village children taunted him cruelly withhis misfortune, would he fling harsh maledictions after them. Manypitied the poor cripple; many looked upon him with feelings ofdisgust and repulsion; but few, if any, sought to do him good.Not far from where the cripple lived was a man who had beenbedridden for years, and who was likely to remain so to the end ofhis days. He was supported by the patient industry of a wife."If good works are the only passport to heaven," he said to aneighbor one day, "I fear my chances will be small.""'Well done, good and faithful servant,' is the language ofwelcome," was replied; and the neighbor looked at the sick man in away that made him feel a little uncomfortable."I am sick and bedridden--what can I do?" he spoke, fretfully."When little is given, little is required. But if there be only asingle talent it must be improved.""I have no talent," said the invalid."Are you sure of that?""What can I do? Look at me! No health, no strength, no power to risefrom this bed. A poor, helpless creature, burdening my wife. Betterfor me, and for all, if I were in my grave.""If that were so you would be in your grave. But God knows best.There is something for you to do, or you would be no longerpermitted to live," said the neighbor.The sick man shook his head."As I came along just now," continued the neighbor, "I stopped tosay a word to poor Tom Hicks, the cripple, as he stood swinging onthe gate before his mother's house, looking so unhappy that I pitiedhim in my heart. 'What do you do with yourself all through theselong days, Tom?' I asked. 'Nothing,' he replied, moodily. 'Don't youread sometimes?' I queried. 'Can't read,' was his sullen answer.'Were you never at school?' I went on. 'No: how can I get toschool?' 'Why don't your mother teach you?' 'Because she can't readherself,' replied Tom. 'It isn't too late to begin now,' said I,encouragingly; 'suppose I were to find some one willing to teachyou, what would you say?' The poor lad's face brightened as if thesunshine had fallen upon it; and he answered, 'I would say thatnothing could please me better.' I promised to find him a teacher;and, as I promised, the thought of you, friend Croft, came into mymind. Now, here is something that you can do; a good work in whichyou can employ your one talent."The sick man did not respond warmly to this proposition. He had beenso long a mere recipient of good offices,--had so long felt himselfthe object towards which pity and service must tend,--that he hadnearly lost the relish for good deeds. Idle dependence had made himselfish."Give this poor cripple a lesson every day," went on the neighbor,pressing home the subject, "and talk and read to him. Take him incharge as one of God's children, who needs to be instructed and ledup to a higher life than the one he is now living. Is not this agood and a great work? It is, my friend, one that God has brought toyour hand, and in the doing of which there will be great reward.What can you do? Much! Think of that poor boy's weary life, and ofthe sadder years that lie still before him. What will become of himwhen his mother dies? The almshouse alone will open its doors forthe helpless one. But who can tell what resources may open beforehim if stimulated by thought. Take him, then, and unlock the doorsof a mind that now sits in darkness, that sunlight may come in. Toyou it will give a few hours of pleasant work each day; to him itwill be a life-long benefit. Will you do it?""Yes."The sick man could not say "No," though in uttering thathalf-extorted assent he manifested no warm interest in the case ofpoor Tom Hicks.On the next day the cripple came to the sick man, and received hisfirst lesson; and every day, at an appointed hour, he was in Mr.Croft's room, eager for the instruction he received. Quickly hemastered the alphabet, and as quickly learned to construct smallwords, preparatory to combining them in a reading lesson.After the first three or four days the sick man, who, had undertakenthis work with reluctance, began to find his heart going down intoit. Tom was so ready a scholar, so interested, and so grateful, thatMr. Croft found the task of instructing him a real pleasure. Theneighbor, who had suggested this useful employment of the invalid'stime, looked in now and then to see how matters were progressing,and to speak words of encouragement.Poor Tom was seen less frequently than before hanging on the gate,or sitting idly on the bench before his mother's dwelling; and whenyou did find him there, as of old, you saw a different expression onhis face. Soon the children, who had only looked at him, half infear, from a distance, or come closer to the gate where he stoodgazing with his strange eyes out into the street, in order to worryhim, began to have a different feelings for the cripple, and one andanother stopped occasionally to speak with him; for Tom no longermade queer faces, or looked at them wickedly, as if he would harmthem if in his power, nor retorted angrily if they said things toworry him. And now it often happened that a little boy or girl, whohad pitied the poor cripple, and feared him at the same time, wouldoffer him a flower, or an apple, or at handful of nuts in passing toschool; and he would take these gifts thankfully, and feel betterall day in remembrance of the kindness with which they had beenbestowed. Sometimes he would risk to see their books, and his eyeswould run eagerly over the pages so far in advance of hiscomprehension, yet with the hope in his heart of one day masteringthem; for he had grown all athirst for knowledge.As soon as Tom could read, the children in the neighborhood, who hadgrown to like him, and always gathered around him at the gate, whenthey happened to find him there, supplied him with books; so that hehad an abundance of mental food, and now began to repay hisbenefactor, the bedridden man, by reading to him for hours everyday.The mind of Tom had some of this qualities of a sponge: it absorbeda great deal, and, like a sponge, gave out freely at every pressure.Whenever his mind came in contact with another mind, it must eitherabsorb or impart. So he was always talking or always listening whenhe had anybody who would talk or listen.There was something about him that strongly attracted the boys inthe neighborhood, and he usually had three or four of them aroundhim and often a dozen, late in the afternoon, when the schools wereout. As Tom had entered a new world,--the world of books,--and wasinterested in all he found there, the subjects on which he talkedwith the boys who sought his company were always instructive. There,was no nonsense about the cripple: suffering of body and mind hadlong ago made him serious; and all nonsense, or low, sensual talk,to which boys are sometimes addicted, found no encouragement in hispresence. His influence over these boys was therefore of the bestkind. The parents of some of the children, when they found theirsons going so often to the house of Tom Hicks, felt doubts as to thesafety of such intimate intercourse with the cripple, towards whomfew were prepossessed, as he bore in the village the reputation ofbeing ill-tempered and depraved, and questioned them very closely inregard to the nature of their intercourse. The report of these boystook their parents by surprise; but, on investigation, it proved tobe true, and Tom's character soon rose in the public estimation.Then came, as a natural consequence, inquiry as to the cause of sucha change in the unfortunate lad; and the neighbor of the sick manwho had instructed Tom told the story of Mr. Croft's agency in thematter. This interested the whole town in both the cripple and hisbedridden instructor. The people were taken by surprise at such anotable interest of the great good which may sometimes be done wherethe means look discouragingly small. Mr. Croft was praised for hisgenerous conduct, and not only praised, but helped by many who had,until now, felt indifferent, towards his case--for his good workrebuked them for neglected opportunities.The cripple's eagerness to learn, and rapid progress under the mostlimited advantages, becoming generally known, a gentleman, whose sonhad been one of Tom's visitors, and who had grown to be a better boyunder his influence, offered to send him in his wagon every day tothe school-house, which stood half a mile distant, and have himbrought back in the afternoon.It was the happiest day in Tom's life when he was helped down fromthe wagon, and went hobbling into the school-room.Before leaving home on that morning he had made his way up to thesick room of Mr. Croft."I owe it all to you," he said, as he brought the white, thin handof his benefactor to his lips. It was damp with more than a kisswhen he laid it back gently on the bed. "And our Father in heavenwill reward you.""You have done a good work," said the neighbor, who had urged Mr.Croft to improve his one talent, as he sat talking with him on thatevening about the poor cripple and his opening prospects; "and itwill serve you in that day when the record of life is opened. Notbecause of the work itself, but for the true charity which promptedthe work. It was begun, I know, in some self-denial, but thatself-denial was for another's good; and because you put away love ofease, and indifference, and forced yourself to do kind offices,seeing that it was right to help others, God will send a heavenlylove of doing good into your soul, which always includes a greatreward, and is the passport to eternal felicities."You said," continued the neighbor, "only a few months ago, 'Whatcan I do?' and spoke as a man who felt that he was deprived of allthe means of accomplishing good; and yet you have, with but littleeffort, lifted a human soul out of the dark valley of ignorance,where it was groping ill self-torture, and placed it on an ascendingmountain path. The light of hope has fallen, through your aid, withsunny warmth upon a heart that was cold and barren a little whileago, but is now green with verdure, and blossoming in the sweetpromise of fruit. The infinite years to come alone can reveal theblessings that will flow from this one act of a bedridden man, whofelt that in him was no capacity for good deeds."The advantages of a school being placed within the reach of TomHicks, he gave up every thought to the acquirement of knowledge. Andnow came a serious difficulty. His bent, stiff fingers could not bemade to hold either pen or pencil in the right position, or to usethem in such a way as to make intelligible signs. But Tom was toomuch in earnest to give up on the first, or second, or third effort.He found, after a great many trials, that he could hold a pencilmore firmly than at first, and guide his hand in some obedience tohis will. This was sufficient to encourage him to dailylong-continued efforts, the result of which was a gradual yieldingof the rigid muscles, which became in time so flexible that he couldmake quite passable figures, and write a fair hand. This did notsatisfy him, however. He was ambitious to do better; and so kept ontrying and trying, until few boys in the school could give a fairercopy."Have you heard the news?" said a neighbor to Mr. Croft, the poorbedridden man. It was five years from the day he gave the poorcripple, Tom Hicks, his first lesson."What news?" the sick man asked, in a feeble voice, not even turninghis head towards the speaker. Life's pulses were running very low.The long struggle with disease was nearly over."Tom Hicks has received the appointment of teacher to our publicschool.""Are you in earnest?" There was a mingling of surprise and doubt inthe low tones that crept out upon the air."Yes. It is true what I say. You know that after Mr. Wilson died thedirectors got Tom, who was a favorite with all the scholars, to keepthe school together for a few weeks until a successor could beappointed. He managed so well, kept such good order, and showedhimself so capable as an instructor, that, when the election tookplace to-day, he received a large majority of votes over a number ofhighly-recommended teachers, and this without his having madeapplication for the situation, or even dreaming of such a thing."At this moment the cripple's well-known shuffling tread and therattle of crutches was heard on the stairs. He came up with morethan his usual hurry. Croft turned with an effort, so as to get asight of him as he entered the room."I have heard the good news," he said, as he reached a hand feeblytowards Tom, "and it has made my heart glad.""I owe it all to you," replied the cripple, in a voice that trembledwith feeling. "God will reward you."And he caught the shadowy hand, touched it with his lips, and wet itwith grateful tears, as once before. Even as he held that thin,white hand the low-moving pulse took an lower beat--lower andlower--until the long-suffering heart grew still, and the freedspirit went up to its reward."My benefactor!" sobbed the cripple, as he stood by the wasted formshrouded in grave-clothes, and looked upon it for the last time erethe coffin-lid closed over it. "What would I have been except foryou?"Are your opportunities for doing good few, and limited in range, toall appearances, reader? Have you often said, like the bedriddenman, "What can I do?" Are you poor, weak, ignorant, obscure, or evensick as he was, and shut out from contact with the busy outsideworld? No matter. If you have a willing heart, good work will cometo your hands. Is there no poor, unhappy neglected one to whom youcan speak words of encouragement, or lift out of the vale ofignorance? Think! Cast around you. You may, by a single sentence,spoken in the right time and in the right spirit, awaken thoughts insome dull mind that may grow into giant powers in after times,wielded for the world's good. While you may never be able to actdirectly on society to any great purpose, in consequence of mentalor physical disabilities, you may, by instruction and guidance,prepare some other mind for useful work, which, but for your agency,might have wasted its powers in ignorance or crime. All around usare human souls that may be influenced. The nurse, who ministers toyou in sickness, may be hurt or helped by you; the children, wholook into your face and read it daily, who listen to your speech,and remember what you say, will grow better or worse, according tothe spirit of your life, as it flows into them; the neglected son ofa neighbor may find in you the wise counsellor who holds him backfrom vice. Indeed, you cannot pass a single day, whether your spherebe large or small, your place exalted or lowly, without abundantopportunities for doing good. Only the willing heart is required. Asfor the harvest, that is nodding, ripe for the sickle, in everyman's field. What of that time when the Lord of the Harvest comes,and you bind up your sheaves and lay them at his feet?

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