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diff --git a/42837-0.txt b/42837-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cdad7c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/42837-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11035 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42837 *** + + AUNT KITTY'S TALES. + + BY MARIA J. M^cINTOSH, + + + AUTHOR OF "TWO LIVES, OR TO SEEM AND TO BE," "CONQUEST AND SELF-CONQUEST," + "PRAISE AND PRINCIPLE," ETC., ETC. + + A NEW REVISED EDITION. + + NEW YORK: + D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY. + + PHILADELPHIA: + GEO. S. APPLETON, 148 CHESNUT STREET. + + M DCCC XLVII. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +It has been several years since Aunt Kitty last presented herself to her +young friends, yet she hopes that she has not been forgotten by them, +and that her reappearance will give them pleasure. She introduces to +them in the present volume no new acquaintance, but she offers to them, +in one group, all who formerly interested them. Blind Alice and her +young benefactress--Jessie Graham and her ardent, generous, but +inconsiderate friend, Florence Arnott--Grace and Clara--and Ellen +Leslie, will here be found together. They have been carefully prepared +for this second presentation to the public by Aunt Kitty's own hand. It +is hoped that her efforts for their improvement have not been wholly +unsuccessful, and that they will be found not altogether unworthy +teachers of those lessons of benevolence and truth, generosity, justice +and self-government, which she designed to convey through them. + +_New York_, Feb. 15th, 1847. + + + + +BLIND ALICE. + + +Good morning, my young friend! A merry Christmas, or happy New Year, or +at least a pleasant holiday to you;--for holiday I hope it is, as it is +on such festivals, when there is no danger of lessons being forgotten, +that I best love to see around me a group of happy children, all the +happier for having Aunt Kitty to direct their plays--to show them the +pleasantest walks, or, when they are tired both of playing and walking, +to sit with them by the fireside and tell them some entertaining story. +I am never however entirely without such young companions. I have always +with me an orphan niece--Harriet Armand--who is about ten years old. Her +father and mother died when she was quite an infant, and she has ever +since been to me as my own child. Then I have another niece--Mary +Mackay--just six years old, the merriest little girl on whom the sun +ever shone, who, as her father lives quite near me, spends part--her +mother says the largest part--of every day with me. Besides these, there +are Susan May and Lucy Ellis, who, living in a neat, pretty village near +us, seldom let a fine day pass without seeing Harriet and me. + +I am the very intimate and confidential friend of all these little +girls. To me they intrust all their secrets. I know all the pleasant +surprises they intend for each other; am consulted on birth-day +presents, and have helped them out of many troubles, which, though they +might seem little to larger people, were to them very serious affairs. I +encourage them to tell me, not only what they say and do, but what they +think and feel. Sometimes when they are a little fretful and +discontented because their friends have not done just as they wished, we +talk the matter over together, and find that they have themselves been +unreasonable, and then the fretfulness is dismissed, and they try by a +very pleasant manner to make amends for their hard thoughts and unjust +feelings. If any one has really injured them, or been unkind to them, +and I find them too angry easily to forgive it, I bid them put on their +bonnets, and we go out together to look for their good-humor. Then, as +we see the gay flowers, and inhale the sweet perfumes, and listen to the +merry birds that hop around us, twittering and chirping, my little +friends forget to be angry; and while I talk to them of the good Father +in heaven, who made all these beautiful and pleasant things for his +children on earth, they feel such love and thankfulness to him, that it +seems easy for his sake even to forgive those who have done them wrong. +These are Aunt Kitty's lessons,--they are lessons for the heart, and +such as I hope all my readers will be pleased to learn. + +The walk which these little girls and I best love is to a small house, +about half a mile from mine. Small as it is, it looks so pleasantly with +its white walls, (it is freshly whitewashed every spring,) and green +shutters, its neat paling and pretty flower-garden, peeping from the +midst of green trees, that any one might be contented to live there. In +this house lives a widow, with one only child, a daughter, a year older +than my niece Harriet. I will tell you their story, which I think will +make you feel almost as much interested in them as we do, and you will +then understand why we like them so well, and visit them so often. + +About three years ago, my little friends, Susan May and Lucy Ellis, +began to talk a great deal of a child who had lately come to the school +in the village, which they attended. They said her name was Alice Scott; +that her teachers thought a great deal of her because she learned her +lessons so well, and that her schoolmates loved her because she was so +good-humored and merry. She had told them that she used to live a great +way off, and that her father and mother had left her other home because +it was sickly, and had come here because they had heard it was a healthy +place. The girls said Alice looked very well herself, but that Mrs. +Scott was pale, and that Alice said she was often sick. "A stranger and +sick," thought I, "then I must go to see her"--and so I did, very soon. + +I found her a pleasing, as well as a good woman, though she seemed sad, +except when Alice was with her, and then she was happy and cheerful +enough. She told me that her husband was a carpenter, and as he was an +industrious and honest man, he had as much work given to him as he could +do, and would have made money enough for them to live on very +comfortably, had he not been so often ill himself, and obliged to pay so +much to the doctors who attended his family when they were ill. This +made them very poor, but it was not being poor, she said, that made her +look and feel sorrowful,--it was the thought of three sweet little +babies, all younger than Alice, who had died and been buried side by +side in the green churchyard of the place from which they had moved. +Then she would check herself, and say how very wrong it was for her to +grieve so much, when God had still left her dear Alice with her, and she +knew her babies were all happy in heaven. + +Mrs. Scott was a very neat and careful woman, and poor as they were, she +made her home quite comfortable--a great deal more comfortable than that +of many people who have more money in their purses, and better furniture +in their houses. Their little court-yard too was filled with pretty +flowers, for Alice loved gardening, and was never so happy as when +cutting her finest carnations and roses to dress her mother's parlor, +and make nosegays for her young friends. And yet Alice was always happy, +and so you felt she was the moment you looked at her. She was now a +healthy, fine-looking child of nine years old. Her very eyes seemed to +sparkle with pleasure; she never walked when she was alone, but bounded +along like a young fawn. Her voice was very sweet, and was often heard, +when she was with her young companions, ringing out in a gay laugh, or +when she was by herself, singing some of the little hymns which her +mother had taught her. Yet, gay as Alice was, her laughter was hushed, +her bounding step became cautious and noiseless, and her bright eyes +were full of tears in a moment, if she saw either her father or her +mother suffering from any cause. When they first came to the village, +Mrs. Scott was subject to very distressing attacks of pain in the head, +and it was touching to see the playful Alice changed into a quiet, +watchful nurse. + +A year had passed away, and Mrs. Scott was healthier and happier and +dear little Alice livelier than ever, when many people in our village +and in the country around, and especially many children, became ill with +a very dangerous disease, called scarlet fever. My little niece Harriet +was one of the first who had it, and she was so ill with it that we +feared she would die. As soon as she was well enough to travel, I took +her to her grandfather's, about twenty miles off, for a change of air. +When we left home, Mr. and Mrs. Scott and Alice were still well. Alice, +who loved Harriet very much, wished greatly to see her before she went +away, if only to bid her good-by, but I would not consent for fear she +should take the disease. Her mother however gave her permission to walk +out on the road by which we were to pass, and take one look at Harriet, +as we drove by. So when we were about half a mile from home, there stood +Alice by the road-side, with a bunch of flowers in her hand. As we +passed she threw the flowers into the carriage and called out "Good-by, +good-by; dear Harriet, I hope you will come back soon, and well." + +I raised Harriet from the pillow on which she was leaning in a corner of +the carriage, to the window, that she might see Alice; and as I looked +at Alice's red cheeks and smiling face and lively motion, while she ran +along by the side of the carriage for a few minutes, I felt sadder than +ever to see Harriet so pale and weak. + +Now, my little readers, if any of you have a grandfather and +grandmother, and have ever gone to visit them after having been ill, you +will know how very glad Harriet's grandfather and grandmother were to +see her, and how anxious they were to gratify and amuse her. Harriet got +well very slowly, and was obliged for some weeks to be much confined to +the house, and often to suffer pain. She was a good child, and bore all +this so patiently, that when at the end of six weeks we were about +returning home, her grandfather gave her a gold piece, worth two dollars +and a half, bidding her spend it as she liked. This, you know, was a +great deal of money for a little girl, and as Harriet had never had half +so much at one time, she was quite wild with delight, thinking at first +that it would buy every thing for which she had ever wished. On +calculation, however, she found it would take it all to buy one such +large wax doll as a little girl who had lately visited her had brought +with her. The wax doll she was determined to have, for she thought it by +far the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and so her money was at +once disposed of in her own mind. + +During the first part of her ride home, Harriet talked of nothing but +her doll, which I was to get from the city for her as soon as I could. +She had not quite decided what would be the prettiest name for it, or +the most becoming color for its dress, when we stopped at a friend's +house, about eight miles from our home, where we were to rest for two or +three hours. Here there was a very clever girl, a little older than +Harriet, who brought out all her books and toys to amuse her. Among the +books were several of those entertaining little volumes, called the +Boys' and Girls' Library, which Harriet had never read. The little girl +offered to lend them to her, and I allowed her to take one of them, as +she promised to be very careful of it. As soon as we were in the +carriage, Harriet begged me to read for her from this little book; and +she was not only much amused with it, but I was able to point out to her +some very useful lessons it contained. + +We did not arrive at home till after sunset, and as Harriet was much +fatigued, she was soon put to bed. Her room opened into mine, and I went +in early in the morning to see how she was. She was already awake, and +gave me no time to speak to her, for as soon as she saw me, she cried +out, "Now, Aunt Kitty, I know what to do with my money." + +"Why, my love," said I, "I thought you were going to buy a doll with it, +like Eliza Lewis's, and you know I told you that such a doll would take +it all." + +"Oh yes, I know all that, Aunt Kitty, but I've something a great deal +better to do with it now,--I am going to buy books with it. It will buy +five volumes of the Boys' and Girls' Library; for see here, Aunt Kitty," +showing me the price which was marked on a leaf of the book she had +brought home the day before, "see here, this only cost fifty cents, and +I've counted, and there are five times fifty cents in my two dollars and +a half." + +"And are you very sure," said I, "that you will always like the books +better than the doll, and that when you have finished reading them you +will not feel sorry for having changed your mind?" + +"Oh no! I am very sure I shall not, for you know I could only play with +my doll now and then, and if I kept it all to myself I should soon grow +tired of it, and if I let the other girls play with it, it would soon +get spoiled or broken, and I should have nothing left for my money; but +it will take me a long time to read through so many new books, and when +they get spoiled or torn up, if I remember what was in them, I shall +still have something for my gold piece. And then you know, Aunt Kitty, +you cannot play with my doll, but you can read my books." + +I was always gratified that my little girl should wish me to share in +her pleasures, and so I told her, adding that I thought her choice of +the books rather than the doll was very wise. At the end of the book +which Harriet had just read, were the names of all the volumes of the +Boys' and Girls' Library that had yet been published. Harriet turned to +this leaf, and began to show me which of them she intended to buy. I +told her, however, that she had better not think any more of them just +now, but that after breakfast she might write down their names and give +them to me, and I would send for them to a bookseller in the city. In +the mean time I reminded her that she had not yet thanked her Heavenly +Father for his kind care of her while she was away, or asked him to +bless her through this day. + +I then left her, as she was dressed, and went to the breakfast parlor, +intending to put some questions to the servant who was there about my +neighbors, which I had no time to ask the evening before. I now heard +very sad news indeed. The servant told me that a great many children, +and even some grown persons, had died with scarlet fever. Among the last +was Mr. Scott; and Alice had been near death,--indeed was still very +ill. This news made me very sad, and when Harriet heard it she forgot +both her gold coin and the books it was to buy, while she begged to go +with me to see the sick child. As I was no longer afraid of her taking +the disease, since persons usually have the scarlet fever but once, I +consented, and we set out as soon as we had breakfasted. + +As we came in sight of the house, we found it looking very gloomy. +Though the morning was pleasant and the weather warm, the windows were +all closely shut. The little court-yard looked neglected; it was full of +weeds. Alice's flowers seemed to have withered on their stalks, and +wanted trimming and training sadly. We did not see a creature, or hear a +sound, and every thing was so still and seemed so lifeless, that it made +me feel melancholy, and Harriet appeared a little afraid, for she drew +close to my side and took hold of my hand. When we came quite near, I +found the door was ajar, and we went in at once without knocking. The +parlor door stood open, and I looked in, hoping to find some one there +who would tell Mrs. Scott of my coming, as I was afraid we might disturb +Alice by going straight to her room. There was no one in the parlor, and +bidding Harriet wait there for me, I stepped very softly on, to the room +door. I intended to knock at this door so lightly, that though Mrs. +Scott might hear me, it would not wake Alice if she were asleep. When I +came near the room, however, I heard a sound like some one speaking very +low, yet not whispering. The door was not latched, and every thing was +so quiet that I stood still and listened. I not only knew that it was +Alice's voice, but I could even hear what she said. Her tone was very +feeble, as if from her own great weakness, yet sharp, like that in which +persons speak who are frightened or distressed. She appeared, poor +child, to be both frightened and distressed. It seemed to me that she +was complaining to her mother of the darkness and silence around her, +while her mother did not answer her at all, but every now and then +moaned as if in great pain. + +"Mother, dear mother," said Alice, "speak to me; and open the window, +mother--pray open the window and give me some light. I am afraid, +mother--I am afraid, it is so dark and still--so like the grave." + +For a moment the child was silent, as if waiting for her mother's +answer; but as no one spoke to her, she cried out again, in still +sharper tones, "Oh, mother, mother, where are you? Wake up, mother, dear +mother, and open the window and let me look once, only once, on the +blessed light, and see your face; and then mother, I will be quiet and +go to sleep, and you may shut it all up again." + +I began now to be quite anxious about Mrs. Scott, who I thought must be +ill herself, or she would certainly answer Alice. Besides, I could not +stand the poor child's distress any longer, and thinking it would be a +relief to her to hear anybody speak, I pushed the door open and went in. +The window was shut, as poor Alice supposed, but still there was light +enough for me to see her very plainly. Her face was as white as the +pillow on which it was lying, and her long and thick dark hair fell +around it in great confusion. This, and the terror she felt, made her +look very wild. Mrs. Scott was kneeling at the foot of the bed, her +hands were clasped over her head, and her face was buried in the +bedclothes. Alice's eyes were opened very widely, and their look, +together with what I had heard, told me the painful truth at once. Alice +was blind--perfectly blind,--an affliction that sometimes follows +scarlet fever. Till this morning she had been either out of her senses, +or so low and stupid from the disease, that she did not notice any +thing. But now she was better and stronger, and having heard the doctor +bid her mother good morning, when he came in to see her, she was first +surprised by the long-continued darkness, and then frightened by her +mother's silence and distress. And poor Mrs. Scott! she had long feared +for her child's eyes, as Alice would complain of the darkness when the +broad daylight was around her, and grieve that she could not see her +mother's face when she was weeping over her pillow, or pressing her cold +hand on her hot and aching head. But the fever gave Alice many strange +fancies, and Mrs. Scott had hoped that this was one of them, till this +morning, when the doctor told her that her precious child was blind, +quite blind, and must, he feared, be so always. + +I have told you that Mrs. Scott had had many sorrows; that she had been +sick and poor, had lost three sweet children, and last and worst of all, +her husband; yet she had never complained; she had always said, "My +Father in heaven loves me, and he sees this sorrow will do me good, or +he would not let it happen to me." But she was now weak and worn with +grief and fatigue, and when she first heard that her gay, laughing Alice +must now be always in darkness--that she could never again see the green +earth, or the beautiful flowers, or the bright skies she had so loved +to look upon--that, instead of running, jumping, and dancing along, she +must now be led by another, or feel her way very slowly and carefully, +she was so distressed, so very, very sad, that she had no power to +answer Alice, except by low moans. + +Much of what I have now told you I heard afterwards; but I saw enough at +once to show me what I had best do. Now I want my little readers to mark +what I say, and remember whenever any thing happens to another which +terrifies or distresses them, they are not to run away from it, but to +try to do something to remove it. It no doubt makes you feel very badly +to see another suffering, but then you know they feel a great deal worse +than you do, and if you will only think more of them than of yourself, +you will generally find something you can do to help them. + +As soon as I saw how things were with Mrs. Scott and poor Alice, I said +to Mrs. Scott in as cheerful and quiet a manner as possible, "How d'ye +do, Mrs. Scott? I have called to see how Alice and you are to-day, and I +am very glad to find she is better." Then going up to Alice, and taking +her hand, I said, "I rejoice, my dear little girl, that you are getting +well again; but you have been very ill, and your mother has watched by +you so long that she seems quite overcome with sleep. Will you let me +take care of you for a little while, that she may rest?" + +I spoke very gently, and the child seemed pleased to hear any voice +besides her own. + +"Thank you, ma'am," said she, "I will be glad to have you sit by me +while my mother rests, if you will only open the window and give me some +light." + +Her mother groaned. + +"I will open the window, my dear, and let you feel the breeze, and know +that the light is around you, but your eyes are weak yet--so weak that +it would hurt them very much--perhaps blind them entirely, if the light +fell on them, so you must let me tie a handkerchief lightly over them +before I open the window, and promise me you will not take it off while +it is open." + +In this I only told Alice the truth; for I knew if there was any hope of +her recovering her sight it must be by keeping her from using her eyes +for some time. She readily promised what I asked, and I then took my +pocket-handkerchief, which was fine and thin, and passing it lightly +over her eyes, tied it so as to cover them without pressing upon them. I +then opened the window, and as she heard me open it and felt the breeze +upon her, Alice said, "Oh, thank you, ma'am, it is so pleasant to know +that the light is here, and I can almost see it; but indeed you need not +be afraid of its hurting me, for I will keep my eyes shut all the time." + +The poor mother had by this time risen up from the foot of the bed, and +was trying to be calm; but when she heard her little girl speak in such +cheerful tones, and especially when she heard her say that she could +almost see, knowing as she did that this was only a fancy which would +soon pass away, she was quite overcome, and bursting into tears she +hurried out of the room. I thought it was best to let her go by herself, +for I believed she would ask God to give her strength to bear this great +sorrow, and I knew that "like as a father pitieth his children, so the +Lord pitieth them that fear him," and that he could send into her heart +such thoughts of his love and tender care for her and her dear child, as +would comfort her more than any thing I could say to her. + +I called Harriet in to see Alice. They were very glad to meet, and +chatted cheerfully together, while I moved about the room, putting +things in as neat order as I could. Harriet told Alice of every thing +she had seen since she had been away, which she thought could amuse her, +not forgetting the beautiful wax doll, nor was the gold piece left out, +nor what she intended to do with it. Alice quite approved of Harriet's +intention to buy books instead of a doll, and Harriet promised that she +would lend them to her as soon as her eyes were strong enough to read; +for Harriet never supposed that Alice was blind, but thought the +handkerchief was bound over her eyes because the light pained them, as +she remembered it had done hers when she was ill. + +After a while, Mrs. Scott came in, and going straight up to Alice, +pressed her lips tenderly over the places in the handkerchief which +covered those dear eyes, and asked her gently how she was now. Alice +answered cheerfully, "I feel a great deal better, and so glad to hear +your voice again. You quite frightened me this morning, dear mother, +when you would not speak to me. Have you slept?" + +"Not slept, my love, but rested, and I too feel a great deal better." + +"I am very glad;" then raising her hand she passed it softly over her +mother's face, saying, "I will be satisfied while I can hear you and +feel that it is you, though they will not let me look at you." + +Mrs. Scott's lip trembled, and the tears came into her eyes again, but +they did not run over. She kissed Alice, and then turning to me, thanked +me for coming over, and asked how long I had been at home. + +"Only since yesterday evening," I replied, "and I have so much yet to +attend to before I shall feel quite at home, that now, as you are able +to come back to Alice, I must, I think, leave her till to-morrow; but +you are too much fatigued to be left alone with her. I know a very good +girl, who will not only help you to do your work, but who is so kind +that she will take care of Alice, and so cheerful and pleasant, that she +will amuse her when you cannot be with her. I will stop at her house on +my way home, and send her to you." + +The poor woman did not speak directly, but after a little while she +said, "I think, ma'am, I ought not to let the girl you speak of come, +for I am not so well able to pay for help as I once was." + +"I will settle all that with her," said I, "and I will find some way to +make your little girl here pay me for it, when she gets well. And now, +Alice, you will I know remember your promise to me, and not even ask +your mother to take the handkerchief off your eyes till she darkens the +room this evening. Perhaps, my dear child, you may have to be in the +dark for many days, but we will do every thing we can to help you to +bear it patiently. Harriet will spend part of every day with you, and +she can read for you till you are able to read for yourself again." + +"Oh, thank you, ma'am, I do not think I shall mind the darkness at all, +now, if my mother stays with me, and you will let Harriet come very +often to see me." + +"Well, my child, we will both come to-morrow, and now we will bid you +good-by, and I think you had better be still and try to sleep, for +while you are so weak, it is not right for you to talk long without +resting." + +Harriet and I then left the room, followed by Mrs. Scott, who told Alice +she was going to the door with us, and would soon be back. She opened +the door for us, and when we had gone out, she stepped out too, and +taking my hand, thanked me again and again for the comfort I had given +her poor blind girl, as she called Alice, when she was too much stunned, +she said, to know what to do. I told her I thought it was very important +that Alice should not know her misfortune till she was stronger, for +fear she should grieve so much as to make her ill again; and that now, +till the doctor should think it right to tell her of it, I hoped Alice +would suppose that the bandage, or the darkness of the room, kept her +from seeing. "But," I asked Mrs. Scott, "does not the doctor think +something may be done to restore her sight?" + +"Nothing that I can do, ma'am," said the poor woman, beginning to weep, +"and that's the worst part, and the hardest to bear;--though I try to +remember that my Father in heaven sends that too. The doctor says that +in the city there are eye-doctors,--he calls them oculists,--who know a +great deal which he does not, and that they might do her some good. But, +ah, ma'am! how am I to go to the city with her, even if they would +attend her for nothing after we got there, when I owe more money than I +fear I can pay for a long while, without working very hard, and living +myself, and what's worse, making my poor child live, on bread and +water!" + +I tried to say something that might comfort this poor woman, but I felt +it was a very sad case, and could not say much. She answered to what I +did say, "True, ma'am, true, God will strengthen me to bear what only +His own hand could bring upon me. May he forgive my complaining heart. +He has given me back my child from the very gate of the grave, and now +He has sent you to me to be a kind friend in my time of great trouble, +and I ought to feel, and I will try to feel, very thankful. But, +good-by, ma'am, I hope to see you again to-morrow. I must not stay +longer now, for fear my poor child should want me." So saying, she shook +hands with Harriet and me, and went into the house. + +As soon as she was gone, Harriet, who had stood while we were talking, +staring with a half-frightened look, first at Mrs. Scott, and then at +me, said in a low tone, "Aunt Kitty, what is the matter with Alice? What +does Mrs. Scott mean by calling her a blind girl? Surely, Alice will see +again soon--will she not, Aunt Kitty?" + +"I fear not, my love, I fear not--certainly not, unless Mrs. Scott can +take her where she can have more done for her than anybody here can do, +and I know not how she will get money enough to do that." + +"Money enough--why, Aunt Kitty, is Mrs. Scott so very poor?" + +"You heard her say that she owed money which she could only hope to pay +by working very hard, and living very poorly. She has no husband to work +for her now, Harriet, and Mr. Scott's and Alice's illness must have made +her spend a great deal." + +"Oh, Aunt Kitty! I am very sorry for Alice, and if I thought it would +help her, I would--" + +What Harriet would have said was here interrupted by the coming up of +the very girl whom I had wished to get to help Mrs. Scott take care of +Alice. I told her of Alice's blindness, how anxious we were that she +should not hear of it just now, and that we wished to keep her amused, +as well as to have her made comfortable. I added, that I would pay her +for what she did, and then asked how soon she could go. + +"Right away, right away, ma'am. Poor things, and such kind and clever +people as them are too. I only wish, ma'am, I could go to 'em without +pay; I am sure if it wasn't for them as depends on me, I'd do it with +all my heart." + +I told her this was not necessary, though it was very kind, and again +bidding her take good care of Alice, I sent her to them while I went +home. + +Harriet was very silent during the rest of our walk. I did not ask any +questions about what she had been going to tell me she would do for +Alice, if she thought it would help her; because, whatever she did, I +wished should be done from her own free will. When we were again at +home, she did not go to play or to read, as usual, but sat down in one +place, as if she were tired, and seemed very thoughtful; yet she never +named Alice, which surprised me a little, as she was accustomed to talk +to me of whatever distressed her. In the afternoon she tried to amuse +herself, bringing out first a book and then a toy from her room into the +parlor where I sat, until she had gathered together all she had; but +there seemed still to be something wanting, for in a short time the +books were laid aside, the toys pushed away, and Harriet, apparently +forgetting them, again sat as she had done in the morning, quiet and +thoughtful. After it began to grow dark, she carried her books and toys +back to her room, and came and seated herself at my feet. As the weather +was warm, we had no lights in the parlor, and the hall light just let us +see where objects stood, but was not bright enough to show us very +plainly what they were. + +"Aunt Kitty," said Harriet, "can Alice see no more plainly than we do +now, when there is no light in the room?" + +"Not so plainly, my love, for we can see a little. She can see no more +than you can of a dark night, when you wake up at midnight, with your +windows shut and your curtains down." + +She was silent a few minutes, and then said, "It must be a dreadful +thing, Aunt Kitty, to be blind." + +"Yes, my dear Harriet," said I, "it must be a dreadful thing--and I fear +neither you nor I have been thankful enough to God for saving you from +such an affliction, when you got well of the same disease which has made +Alice blind. When you pray for your little friend to-night, my love, do +not forget how much reason you have to be thankful that you can see." + +Harriet did not say any thing more, but she laid her head on my lap, and +I heard her sob once or twice. + +It was now getting late, and kissing her, I told her it was time for her +to go to bed, and that I would only sit up long enough after her to +write a letter to a bookseller to whom I intended sending for the books. +Harriet was now standing by me in the hall, where I had gone to light +her candle, and when I mentioned the books, she looked as if she was +about to speak, but stopped herself. After I had ended, she said, "Aunt +Kitty,"--then stopped again. + +"What, my love?" said I. + +"Nothing, ma'am--good-night," and taking her candle she went to her +room. + +I wrote my letter and then went to mine, into which, you must remember, +I have told you hers opened. I turned my latch very softly, for fear of +waking Harriet if she was asleep; but as soon as I entered, she called +out, "I'm not asleep, Aunt Kitty; please come here, and let me speak to +you." + +I went to her directly, asking what was the matter. + +"I have been waiting and listening a long time for you, Aunt Kitty, for +there is something I wanted to say to you, and I could not go to sleep +till I had said it. I hope you did not write the letter about the books, +for I do not want them now, Aunt Kitty. I want you, if you please, to +give the money to poor Mrs. Scott, that it may help her to go to the +city and get something done for Alice's eyes." + +"My dear Harriet, this money is yours, and you have a right to do what +you will with it, but I hope you have thought well of what you are going +to do now. It will not do afterwards to be sorry you did not buy the +books you want, which you will not be likely to get in any other way." + +"Oh no, Aunt Kitty! I do not want them now; at least, I do not want them +half so much as I want Alice to see again, and I have thought very much +about it,--indeed I have. + +"When I first heard Mrs. Scott and you talking this morning, and you +said Alice was blind, and Mrs. Scott was too poor to take her to the +good doctors, who might do something for her, I remembered my gold +piece, and thought I would give it to her to help her, and I was just +going to tell you so when Betty Maclaurin came up, and you stopped to +speak to her about going to Mrs. Scott's, and then I could not, you +know." + +"Well, but you could have told me after she had gone, if you still +wished it." + +"Yes, I know I could, but while you were talking to her, I remembered my +books, and I called all their names over, and thought how Alice would +like to hear me read them, till I wanted them more than ever; and then I +thought it would be a great deal kinder to get them and read some of +them every day to Alice, than to give Mrs. Scott my money, which, +though I think it so much, would hardly help her at all. Besides, Aunt +Kitty, I knew you and my uncle and my grandpapa would give Mrs. Scott a +great deal more money than my two dollars and a half, if it would help +Alice." + +"And what made my little girl change her mind--what made her think this +would not be best?" + +"I do not know, Aunt Kitty; I only know I could not think of any thing +but Alice all day, though I tried every way to forget her, and every +thing I looked at made me feel bad, because Alice could not see it too." + +"Did my little Harriet never think, during all this time, of that verse +she learned from her Bible the other day, which I told her would always +teach her what she ought to do for others, 'As ye would that men should +do to you, do ye also to them likewise?'" + +"Oh yes! Aunt Kitty, I thought of that this evening, when you were +telling me what a dreadful thing it is to be blind, and that I might +have been blind, as well as Alice, and I said to myself, if I had been +blind, I would have thought it very unkind in Alice not to do all she +could to help me to see again, and then I felt as if I was so cruel that +I could not help crying; and when you said you were going to write for +the books, I wanted to beg you not to do it, but somehow I could not--so +I only bid you good-night, and came to bed." + +"And what happened then to make you feel differently? Tell me all you +felt and thought, dear child, and then I shall know whether you are +doing right now." + +"Why you see, Aunt Kitty, after I was undressed I knelt down to say my +prayers, and after I had thanked God as you told me to do, for my own +eyesight, I tried to pray that He would give Alice back hers; but, +though I said the words over and over again, I could not feel as if I +was praying them, for I kept thinking, Aunt Kitty, how deceitful God +would think me, to pretend to care so much for Alice's eyes, when I +really cared so much more about my books; and then I remembered the +little prayer you taught me once, 'Oh God! I pray thee show me what is +right to do, and make me love to do it.' As soon as I said 'what is +right to do,' it came into my head that it was right for me to do all I +could for Alice, if everybody else did ever so much for her; and now, +Aunt Kitty, I wish I had a great deal more money, that I might give it +all to her--and though I am just as sorry for Alice, I do not feel half +so bad about her; for if we are willing to do all we can for her, God, +who loves her a great deal more than any of us, will certainly give her +back her eyesight. Don't you think he will, Aunt Kitty?" + +"God does love her a great deal more than we do, my dear; but He is a +great deal wiser than we are, and He may see that it is best for Alice +that she should continue blind, though it seems so terrible to us. You +must remember, therefore, that Alice may go to the city and come back no +better. Should you not feel sorry then that you had given up your books +without doing her any good?" + +Harriet thought for a moment, and then said, "No, Aunt Kitty, for I +should have done what was right, and I could never feel sorry for that, +you know." + +I kissed the sweet child, and said, "Dear Harriet, always remember what +you now say. Do right, my child, and you will be happy, let what will +happen,--far happier than if by doing wrong you could get every thing in +the world you wished for. And now I may tell you that you could have +made no use of your money which I would have thought half so good, or +which would have given me half so much pleasure." + +"I am very glad, Aunt Kitty; I was afraid at first that you did not like +me to give it away." + +"Why, Harriet? What made you feel afraid of this?" + +"Because you did not talk at first as you do when you are very much +pleased." + +"I had a reason, my dear, for not seeming very much pleased until I had +heard _why_ you wished to give your money to Alice,--a very good reason, +I think, which it would take me too long to explain to you to-night, for +it is very late already for such a little girl to be sitting up. Go to +bed now, and to-morrow morning I will tell you all about it." Harriet +went to bed, and soon forgot her good intentions and my good reasons in +a sound sleep. + +I dare say my little readers thought just as Harriet did, that I did not +seem at first as much pleased as I ought to have been with her kind and +generous feelings to her friend; but if they will read the conversation +I had with her the next morning, I think they will understand why this +was. + +I did not wake Harriet as early as usual the next morning, because she +had been up so late at night. As soon, however, as she was well awake, +she remembered our conversation, and said, "Now, Aunt Kitty, you will +tell me what you promised?" + +"Not now, my love, for it is late, and breakfast will soon be ready; but +after breakfast we will go to Mrs. Scott's, and on our way there, I will +answer all your questions." + +As soon as we had set out for Mrs. Scott's, Harriet again reminded me of +my promise. + +"Well, my love," said I, "you wish to know why I did not tell you at +once how much pleased I was with your intention to help Alice. It was +because I wanted first to hear your reasons for doing it, and so to know +whether you were acting from an impulse or a principle." + +Now my little readers are doubtless very much puzzled by this "acting +from an impulse or a principle," and so was Harriet, too. She looked up +in my face with a very thoughtful air for a minute, then shook her head, +and said, "Aunt Kitty, I do not understand you at all, I do not even +know what _impulse_ means, or _principle_ either." + +"I did not expect you would, my love; but I hope to be able to explain +them to you, if you will listen very carefully to what I am going to +say. Persons are said to act from impulse, when they are led to do a +thing from feeling, without pausing to ask whether the feeling be right +or wrong. Thus, if you were eating a piece of cake, and a very poor +child should come up to you, and saying she was hungry, ask you for it, +and you should give it to her without a moment's thought, from a feeling +of pity for her, this would be acting from impulse." + +"And would it not be right, Aunt Kitty, to give the poor little child my +cake?" + +"Very right, my love, and if you had asked yourself what it was right to +do, you would have given it, perhaps, just as quickly, for you know your +Bible tells you, 'Be pitiful'--'Feed the hungry.' Your feeling of pity, +then, was a right feeling, and your readiness to give your cake was what +we call a good impulse; but you know there are some very wrong +feelings, such as anger, which sometimes makes little girls give hard +words, and even hard blows, to their brothers and sisters, or playmates, +who will not do as they wish. This again is acting from impulse, though +it is a bad impulse. So you see, my dear Harriet, as the best-natured +people in the world sometimes have very wrong feelings, if they are +accustomed to do just what their feelings tell them to do, that is, to +act from impulse, you can never be sure whether their actions will be +good or bad." + +"But, Aunt Kitty, when I find out my feeling is a right feeling, I may +do just what it tells me to do?" + +"No, my love; even when a feeling is a right feeling, it will not be +well to do always just what it tells you, for a right feeling may lead +to a very wrong action. You think this strange, but I will tell you a +story which will show you that it sometimes is so. A little girl was +once sent by a lady who was making a visit to her mother, to a thread +and needle store, to buy a spool of cotton for her. The lady had given +her a shilling, which she held carefully between her finger and thumb, +for fear of losing it. Another girl who was passing saw the shilling, +and wanted it very much. Being a very wicked child, she began to cry, or +at least, to seem to cry, saying that she had just lost the only +shilling her mother had, as she was going to the baker's to buy a loaf +of bread with it; that they had nothing to eat at home, and she was +afraid her mother would beat her when she went back and told her what +she had done. The little girl who had the shilling felt very sorry for +her, and offered to help her look for the money. They did look for it a +long time, the wicked child crying piteously all the while, and saying +that her mother would kill her, till the other little girl felt so +grieved, that she gave her the shilling which she had in her hand. Now, +as she believed the wicked child's story, the sorrow she felt for her +was very right, and yet you see it led her to do a very wrong action--to +give away what did not belong to her. Nor did the wrong-doing stop here; +when she went home, her mamma, to whom she intended to tell all about +it, was gone out, and the lady asking for her cotton, she was afraid to +tell her what she had done with the money, and so she committed a +greater fault by saying what was not true,--she told her she had lost +the shilling. The lady thought her very careless, and thus she got blame +which she did not deserve, and as she was really a good little girl in +general, she was quite miserable for several days about the story she +had told, until she summoned courage to let her mamma know the whole +truth. Here you see, Harriet, a very kind feeling made this little girl +act very badly; but if she had been accustomed, when a feeling inclined +her to do any thing, to ask herself if it would be right, before she did +it, that is, to act from principle instead of impulse, she would have +said to the wicked child, 'I am very sorry for you, and if this shilling +was mine, I would give it to you, but it is not. You must wait till I +have bought the spool of cotton I was sent for, and then, if you will go +home with me, I will ask my mamma for another shilling for you.'" + +"Now, Aunt Kitty, I think I understand you; if I had given my money to +Alice yesterday morning, when I first heard she was blind, and before I +had thought what was right for me to do, I would have acted from +impulse, would I not?" + +"Yes, my love, and though it would have been a good impulse, and you +would even then have had more pleasure than in spending it in any thing +that was only for yourself, yet I am afraid your pleasure would not have +lasted long. You would soon have begun to think of your books, and if +other people offered to help Alice, you would have thought you had been +very foolish to give them up." + +"But I shall not think so now, Aunt Kitty--I shall always think it was +right to give them up to do Alice good." + +"That is true, Harriet, and the happiness you feel in doing what is +right, you will always feel; for that which makes you happy will not +change; what is right to-day, will be right to-morrow, and the next day, +and the next." + +We walked on a little way in silence, and then Harriet said, looking up +at me with a smiling, pleasant face, "Then, Aunt Kitty, after all, it +was not very wrong for me not to give my money to Alice at once?" + +"It was not wrong at all, my dear, for you not to give it till you had +asked yourself whether it was right to do so; but you might have asked +this question as soon as you felt sorry for Alice, and then you would +have done in the morning what you waited till night to do, and have +felt just as happy on account of doing it. I would be very sorry to have +my little girl suppose that when she sees anybody in distress, she must +wait a great while to think the matter over, before she does any thing +for them. There is only one question you need ask, before you try to +help them, and that is--What is it right for me to do? This, you can ask +immediately, and you need not wait long for an answer--conscience will +tell you very honestly and very quickly what is right." + +Now perhaps some of my little readers may not know as well as Harriet +did, what I mean by conscience, so I will tell them. I mean something +within you, which makes you know whether you have been good or bad +children, before anybody else says any thing about it. + +"But, Aunt Kitty," said Harriet, "how is my conscience always to know +what is right or wrong?" + +"There are many ways, Harriet, in which conscience may learn something +about it; but the easiest and simplest way of all is by reading your +Bible, and trying to understand and remember what that tells you to do +or not to do. When conscience is thus taught, if it tells you that what +a feeling would lead you to do, is right, you must do it at once, +without thinking any farther about it; and if conscience tells you a +feeling is wrong, you must try to get rid of it at once." + +"Get rid of it, Aunt Kitty!" said Harriet, with a wondering look, "how +can I get rid of a feeling?" + +"The best way, my dear Harriet, is by refusing to do any thing it would +have you. Thus, if you are angry with any one, and the feeling of anger +would have you say some of those hard words to them which I spoke of +just now, refuse to say them, or if possible even to think them over in +your own mind, and you will very soon get rid of your anger." + +Harriet did not say any thing for some minutes. When she next spoke, it +was in a very low and somewhat sad tone. + +"Aunt Kitty, I am afraid I cannot do all you tell me, for I have tried +sometimes, when I have been angry, not to say any thing, and I could not +help talking." + +"I know, my dear, that it is often very difficult, but the harder it +is, the happier will you feel if you can do it. But, my dear Harriet, +you planted some seeds in your garden this morning, and watered them, +yet you know they could not grow any more than a pebble could, if God +did not put life into them, and make them take in the water and the +warmth which will nourish them and cause them to swell out and put +forth; and so, after all the instructions which I can give you, or even +which you can get from your Bible, it is only God who can put into your +heart such a strong desire to do right, that you will receive these +instructions, as the little seeds receive the water and warmth, and put +forth right feelings and right actions, as they put forth their green +leaves. This you must ask Him to do. But here we are in sight of Mrs. +Scott's, slowly as we have walked, and you will not be sorry, I suppose, +to have such a very grave talk stopped." + +"I am not glad to have you stop talking, Aunt Kitty, but I will be very +glad to see Alice, for I have brought a book to read for her, that I +know she wants to hear very much." + +I was pleased to see, as I approached, that the house looked more +cheerful. The parlor windows were open, and as we went up the steps and +passed through the little porch, I saw that they had been nicely swept. +The door was latched, and on my knocking at it Mrs. Scott herself opened +it for us. She seemed very glad to see us, and said Alice felt stronger +and better, and that she had been looking, or rather listening for us +all the morning. We went directly to her room. There too every thing +seemed in order, and looked pleasantly. The sash was raised, and the +soft warm breeze brought to us the sweet smell of the clover, a field of +which was in bloom quite near the house. Alice was sitting in bed, +propped up with pillows, and though still very pale, looked much more +like herself than she had done the day before. The handkerchief was over +her eyes, as I had placed it, and I told her I was much pleased to see +she had not forgotten her promise. She smiled and answered me +cheerfully, "Indeed, ma'am, I have been very careful to keep it. I would +not ask to take off the handkerchief till my mother shut the window last +night, and told me it was quite dark, and I tied it on myself as soon as +I woke this morning, though that was long before daylight. But now," she +added, speaking very fast, as if she was afraid that something would +call off my attention before I had heard all she wished to say, "may not +I have it off just for one single minute? I do want to see the clover, +for I know it is in bloom by the smell." + +"And I hope, my dear little girl, you will be satisfied to know it only +by the smell to-day, for it would be very imprudent to expose your eyes +to the light so soon. Harriet has come to spend the morning with you, +and you must see with her eyes. She will read for you, and when you grow +weary of listening, she will tell you how any thing looks which you want +very much to see." + +"Oh! I shall like that, for then, Harriet, I can see all that you saw +when you were away, your grandfather's house, and all the places that +you passed on the road, for you know you can tell me how they looked, +and then I shall see them through your eyes. Will not that be pleasant!" + +Having thus satisfied Alice, I proposed to Mrs. Scott that we should +leave the children, as I thought Harriet would read better, and Alice +and she would talk more freely, if we were not there to listen to them. +I had another reason too, as my little readers will presently see. I +wanted to speak to Mrs. Scott about Alice, to learn whether the doctor +had seen her after I went away the day before, and whether he still +thought that something might be done in the city for her eyes. Mrs. +Scott told me he had been there the evening before, when poor Alice +thought the room quite dark, and wondered her mother did not bring in a +light for the doctor, though a lamp was burning brightly on the table +near her. The doctor passed this lamp before her eyes, holding it quite +close to them, but she never winked. Poor Mrs. Scott told me this with +her eyes full of tears, which streamed down her cheeks as she added, +that the doctor did not speak a word, but that the mournful shake of his +head as he set down the lamp said as plainly as any words could do, that +he thought her child's a very bad case. The doctor's house was quite +near to Mrs. Scott's, and while she was speaking, we saw him coming home +from a visit he had been making. He was on horseback, and seeing me at +the open window, he stopped his horse at the gate of the court-yard to +say that he was glad to see me at home again, and to ask how his little +friend Harriet was, for Harriet having been, as I told you before, a +very good child in her sickness, she and her doctor were very close +friends. + +Leaving Mrs. Scott in the parlor, I went to the gate of the court-yard, +and told the doctor I wanted to put some questions to him about Alice, +which I would rather Mrs. Scott should not hear. He very kindly got off +his horse and came quite near me. I then told him that I wished to know +from him whether there was the least hope that any thing could be done +in the city to restore Alice's sight. Looking very grave, he answered, +that he was afraid not, but as physicians who knew more about the eyes +than he did might think differently, if Mrs. Scott were a little richer, +or if he were rich enough to help her, he would still advise her to go. +I told the doctor that I had some friends who I thought would give Mrs. +Scott as much money as would take her to B. and pay her board as long as +it would be necessary for Alice to stay there, but that I was afraid the +attendance of these oculists would cost a great deal more perhaps than +they could give. + +"Not if she go to B.," said the doctor quickly. "That, you know, is the +place from which I came, and I know many physicians there. To some of +these I would give Mrs. Scott letters, and through them, the pious and +excellent Dr. W., the best oculist there, might be made acquainted with +the case of our little Alice. He would, I am sure, do all he could for +her without any charge." + +I asked the doctor if he knew any thing of the Institution for the blind +in B. + +"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "It is a most noble institution, and its +manager, Dr. H., the most benevolent of men. To him I can give Mrs. +Scott a letter, and this poor child will, I doubt not, have all the aid +which he can give her." + +Perhaps my little readers never heard of these institutions for the +blind, and I will therefore tell them, that there, those who are +perfectly blind are taught to read, write, sew, and do many fancy works, +which it would seem to us quite impossible to do without sight. Now you +will see at once, if Alice should continue blind, what a great advantage +it would be to her to be taught such things. To sit always in the dark, +and be able to do nothing, might make even a merry little girl sad, +while even blindness may be borne cheerfully, when the blind can be +employed. Besides, Alice, if able to do some of the works I have named, +might earn money by them, perhaps enough to support herself and her +mother too; and I need not tell you what a comfort that would be to a +good, affectionate child. + +Before the doctor left me, I asked him how soon it would be prudent for +Alice to travel; and he said, if she continued to get better, she might +set out on the following Monday, as she would go almost all the way in a +steamboat, which would not fatigue her so much as travelling by land. He +added, if by Saturday evening I were able to get as much money for Mrs. +Scott as would be necessary, he would have the letters he had promised +to write ready for her, and we would then meet at her house on Sunday, +and tell the poor little girl of her blindness, as kindly and gently as +we could, if she should not discover it before that time. + +When I went back to the house, finding Mrs. Scott still in the parlor, I +told her of what the doctor and I had been speaking, and asked her +whether, if she should go to B. and find that nothing could be done by +the physicians there for her child's eyes, she would be willing to have +her placed for a year or two at the Institution for the Blind. + +"Willing, my dear ma'am!" said the good woman, "I shall be thankful +indeed to the kind people who give their money to support such a good +school, and still more to God, who put it in their hearts to do so. I +know it will be very hard to part from my poor little girl, even for an +hour, now she's so helpless, but I need not come far away from her, for +I dare say I can get some kind of work in B. by which I can make enough +to live upon, and if she can't come home to me at night, they will, +maybe, let me go to see her every day; don't you think they will, +ma'am?" + +"I do not doubt it," I replied; "but now I will see Alice, and bid her +good-by, for I must hasten home to write a letter that I wish to send +away this afternoon." + +I entered Alice's room as I spoke, and found her still listening to the +book which Harriet had not more than half finished reading, as she had +stopped to talk over with Alice whatever seemed to her most pleasant in +it. Alice seemed so unwilling to part with Harriet, that I gave her +permission to stay till evening, when I promised to send for her, +adding that I would call again myself the next morning. + +"And then, ma'am," said Alice, "do you not think--" she stopped, and +seemed confused. + +"Do I not think what, Alice--speak, my dear child,--what would you ask?" + +"I am afraid you will think me very teasing, ma'am; but I am so tired of +the dark. Do you not think I can take off the handkerchief by that +time?" + +It made me very sad to hear her speak of being tired of the dark--so sad +that I could not answer her directly. Thinking from my silence that I +was displeased with her, she burst into tears and said, "I was afraid +you would be angry with me." + +"Indeed, my dear child," said I, kissing her and wiping the tears from +her face, "I am not angry, nor am I at all surprised that you should be +tired of this unpleasant bandage, but you will not now have to bear it +long. This is Thursday--on Sunday the doctor says he will take it off +altogether. You will try, I hope, for the next two days to bear it as +cheerfully, and think of it as little as possible." + +"Oh yes, ma'am! indeed I will,--I will not say another word about it." + +"And now, my dear little girl, I would have you remember in all your +troubles, little and great, that He who sends them is God, your kind and +tender heavenly Father. Do you think, Alice, that your mother would +willingly make you suffer pain?" + +"No, ma'am, I am sure she would not." + +"And yet she has given you, since you were sick, very bad-tasted and +sickening medicine, and even put a blister on you, which must have given +you great pain. Why was this?" + +"To save me from being more ill, and having greater pain, and to make me +well," said Alice, in a very low voice. + +"True, my dear child; and God, who tells us in the Bible that he loves +us better than even mothers love their children, never, we may be sure, +suffers any pain or trouble to come upon us which is not to save us from +greater pain, to make us better. Remember this, and it will help you to +bear a great many things easily, which would otherwise seem very hard +and fret you very much. Harriet, can you not repeat for Alice those +lines you learned the other day, called a conversation between a mother +and her sick child?" + +As Alice looked very grave, I pressed her little hand in mine, and +without speaking went out of the room, as Harriet began to recite the +lines which I will set down here, as I think my little readers would +like to see them. + + _Conversation between a Mother and her sick Child._ + + CHILD. + + Mother, we read to-day, you know, + Where holy Scriptures tell + That Jesus, when he lived below, + Loved little children well. + + And then you told me how his word, + From the bad spirit's power, + Freed him, who never spoke, nor heard, + Until that blessed hour. + + Beside the ruler's lifeless child, + In pitying tone he spoke, + "The maiden sleeps"--though scorners smiled, + She heard his voice, and woke. + + And now, you say, above the sky + Unchanged, he loves us still; + Then why did he let baby die, + And why am I so ill?-- + + MOTHER. + + When Mary walk'd with mother last, + She saw a little flower, + Drooping its head and fading fast + Within her garden bower. + + To a more sunny spot removed, + That flower blooms fair and bright; + Our drooping baby Jesus loved, + And bore from earthly blight. + + And though, my child, I cannot tell + Why yet he leaves you ill, + As I am sure he loves you well, + I doubt not that he will, + At the best time, heal every pain, + And make my Mary well again. + +The letter which I had told Mrs. Scott I wished to send off that +afternoon was to Harriet's grandfather, to whom I intended writing about +Alice; for he was a very kind, good man, and was always glad to be told +of those who wanted, when he had any thing to give. He had promised to +make us a visit soon, but I did not know that it would be so soon as +this week. However, about an hour after I had gone home, when I had +written, and just as I was folding my letter, a carriage drove to the +door, and he alighted from it. As I knew he would stay with us two or +three days I was in no hurry to speak of Alice, preferring to wait till +Harriet came home in the evening, and see whether she would think of +interesting her grandfather in her little friend. He had been with me +about two hours when I sent for her, and he told the servant who went +that she need not mention his coming, for he thought it would be very +pleasant to see Harriet's first joy at meeting him, when she so little +expected to see him. + +As Harriet came back with the servant, we could now and then catch a +glimpse of her white dress through an opening of the wood, and while she +was still too far off to distinguish the faces of persons sitting in the +parlor, her grandfather moved away from the window, so that she might +not see him till she was quite in the parlor. She came up the steps and +through the porch and to the parlor door very quietly and rather slowly, +as if she was almost sorry to come in; but the moment she saw her +grandfather, she threw down the flowers she had been picking, and +springing towards him, was in his lap before he could even rise from his +chair to meet her, crying out, "Oh grandpapa! I am so glad to see +you--so very, very glad--more glad than I ever was in my life before." + +"Why, how is that?" said he, smiling and kissing her, "I thought my +little pet was always as glad to see old grandpapa as she could possibly +be." + +"So I thought, too, but now I am more glad than ever, for I want some +more money very, very much; and I know you will give me some." + +Mr. Armand, for that was his name, looked all at once very grave, and +said, "So--it is to get money you are glad--not to see me!" + +I saw he was not quite well pleased, for he turned aside his face as +Harriet would have kissed him, and seemed about to put her out of his +lap. But Harriet was too eager to notice all this; she kept her seat, +and putting her arm around his neck, spoke very fast, "Oh yes, +grandpapa! you know I am always glad to see you; but now I do want some +money for poor Alice." + +"For poor Alice," said Mr. Armand, "that alters the case," and drawing +her close to him again, and looking much better satisfied with her, he +added, "And who is Alice?--and what makes her _poor_?" + +"Alice! Why don't you remember Alice Scott, that I talked so much about +when I was at your house? Don't you remember I told you I loved to play +with her better than with any of the girls, because she was so +good-natured, and never was tired?" + +"Ah! now I think I do remember something of her. And is it because she +is so pleasant a playfellow, that you wish me to give you some money for +her?" + +"Oh no, grandpapa--that would be funny," said Harriet, laughing; but in +a minute she was looking very serious again, and went on speaking more +slowly--"Poor Alice's father is dead--he died while we were away--and +her mother is very poor, and Alice has been ill, and oh, grandpapa! +she's blind, quite blind, and Dr. Franks says he cannot do her any good, +but that there are some doctors, eye-doctors, oculists--is it not, Aunt +Kitty?--in B., who might do something for her, and poor Mrs. Scott has +not any money to carry her there. Now, grandpapa, will you not give me +some for her?" + +"Have you given her some yourself, Harriet?" + +"Yes, grandpapa, I have given her all I had, but though it was a great +deal for me it is not near enough for her, you know." + +Mr. Armand was silent a minute, and then said, "I am very sorry, my dear +child, to disappoint you, and still more sorry not to help your little +friend, in whom I feel much interest; but what can I do? I have just +spent a great deal of money on a present for you, and I really have now +none to give." + +"Spent a great deal of money on a present for me!" repeated Harriet, +with a wondering face. + +"Yes, my dear. I think eighty dollars a great deal of money to spend +for a little girl, and I have just given all that for a present for you. +Do you remember the little pony you saw at Mr. Lewis's house, and do you +remember thinking Eliza Lewis must be a very happy little girl, because +she had such a large wax doll to play with in the house, and such a +little pony to ride when she went out?" + +"Oh, grandpapa! I know that was very foolish in me, but I remember it +all--the beautiful pony and all." + +"Well, my dear, that beautiful pony is now yours, and will be here this +evening with a new saddle and bridle, for all of which I gave, as I have +just told you, eighty dollars." + +"Oh, Aunt Kitty!" cried Harriet, her eyes bright with joy, "only hear, +that beautiful little pony!--and he is so gentle I may ride him all by +myself--may I not, grandpapa?" + +"Yes, I bought him on that account, for your aunt told me that she would +like to have you ride, but feared to put you on one of her horses. This +pony," he said, turning to me, "is as gentle as a lamb, and so well +broken and obedient, that you scarcely need a bridle for him. I made +them bring him very slowly, and rest him some hours on the road, that he +might not be at all tired when he got here, for I thought Harriet would +want a ride to-morrow morning." + +"Yes, yes, dear grandpapa, that will be so pleasant, and I can ride him +to Mrs. Scott's, and let Alice see--oh grandpapa!" suddenly stopping +herself and looking very sad, "she cannot see him. I had forgotten all +about it--and now you have not any money for her, what will she do? Poor +Alice!" + +"I am very sorry for her," said Mr. Armand, "for it must be a sad thing +to be blind. Had I heard about her this morning, I do not know that you +would have got your pony, for a gentleman, at whose house I stopped, +wanted him so much that he offered to buy him from me at any price. +However, he is now yours, and I have no right to him or to the money he +would bring. I hope you will enjoy riding him very much, and think of +dear grandpapa whenever you ride." + +He kissed her again and put her down from his lap. Harriet stood beside +him, and smiled a little at first, but not so joyfully as she had done +when she first heard of pony. After a while her countenance grew more +and more serious. Several minutes had passed, and her grandfather and I +were talking of something else, when Harriet said to him, "Grandpapa, +would that gentleman who wanted pony, give you the whole eighty dollars +back again?" + +"Yes, my love." + +"And would you give it all to Alice, grandpapa?" + +"I should have no right to give any of it, Harriet. The pony is now +yours, and should you choose me to sell him, the money would be yours, +and I should honestly pay every cent of it to you, and you could give it +to Alice if you liked." + +Harriet was again silent for a minute or two, and seemed very +thoughtful; then, raising her head and putting her hand into her +grandfather's, she said, "Grandpapa, please take pony back and send me +the money." + +Her grandfather laid his hand affectionately on her head, and said, +"Certainly, my child, if you wish it, when I am going,--that will give +you two nights and a day to think of it. You have not seen pony's new +saddle and bridle yet, and you may change your mind." + +"Oh, no, grandpapa, I shall not change my mind, for I am sure it is +right to do without pony myself, and let Alice have the money." + +She looked at me as she said this, and I replied, "I am pleased that you +have not forgotten what we talked of this morning." + +Pony came, and beautiful he was, and very pretty was the new saddle and +bridle; and Harriet rode him to Mrs. Scott's, in the morning, and home +again, and very much did she enjoy her ride; yet she did not change her +mind, for when her grandfather asked, on the morning he left us, "Well, +Harriet, does pony go with me, or stay with you?" she answered directly, +"Go with you, grandpapa." And when he was brought to the door, all +saddled and bridled for his journey, she went up to him, and stroking +his sleek sides, said, smilingly, "Good-by, my pretty pony--good-by; I +could love you very much, but not so much as I love Alice." + +So pony went on Saturday morning; and on Saturday evening (for the +gentleman who bought him only lived about ten miles from us) came the +eighty dollars, enclosed in a very affectionate note to Harriet, from +her grandfather. She seemed never tired of reading the note, or of +admiring the pretty new bills that were in it. When she gave me these +bills for Mrs. Scott, she begged me not to say any thing about her in +giving them. As I always liked to know my little girl's reasons for what +she did, I asked, "And why, my dear?" + +She looked confused, hesitated a good deal, and said, "Aunt Kitty, do +you remember when that little baby's mother died last summer, and I +begged you to let me make its clothes, and--and--oh, you remember, Aunt +Kitty." + +"Yes, Harriet, I remember that you sewed very industriously at first, +and afterwards, getting tired of your work, the poor little baby wanted +clothes sadly." + +"But, Aunt Kitty, that is not all. Do you not remember what you told me +was the reason I felt tired so soon?" + +"I think I do; was it not that you had done it from a desire for praise, +and that as soon as people were tired of praising you, you were tired of +working? But I do not see why you speak of that now; when you have given +the money to Alice, you cannot take it back, so you need not be afraid +of changing." + +"No, Aunt Kitty, not of changing--at least I could not take it +back--but--but you know--" she stopped, and hung her head. + +"If you did it for praise, you think you might get sorry for having done +it, and wish you could take it back, when people were done praising +you." + +"Yes, Aunt Kitty, that is it--and if people knew it, I could not be +quite sure that I was not doing it to be praised, you know. I am very +happy, now that dear Alice will have it, and I do not think I can ever +want to take it back, or ever be sorry for giving it to her; but you +told me the other day, that doing right was the only thing I could be +_certain_ of always being glad of; so I would rather, if you please, you +would not say any thing about me, and then I shall know that I have done +it only because it is right, and that it will always make me just as +happy as I am now." + +I was too much pleased with Harriet's reasons, to refuse her request; so +no one but her grandfather, her grandmother, and myself, ever knew what +she had done for Alice, till now that I have told it to you, which I +would not have done, did I not feel sure that after what I have said of +her wishes, you would not, if you should ever meet her, speak to her on +the subject. + +I was able to add twenty dollars to Harriet's gift, and so there were +one hundred dollars for Mrs. Scott to begin her journey with. It would +cost her but little to go to B., and this would enable her to stay there +quite long enough to learn what could be done for Alice. Harriet thought +she would rather give her gold piece to her friend herself, to spend as +she liked. + +On Sunday afternoon the doctor and I met, as we had agreed to do, at +Mrs. Scott's. We saw her first in the parlor. I gave her the money, and +the doctor had his letters ready for her, and explained very carefully +to her what he wished her to do. He had already sent by the mail a +letter to his sister, who lived in B., telling her of Mrs. Scott's +coming, and requesting her to look out for some quiet place, where she +might be cheaply boarded, as near as possible to the Institution for the +Blind, for there he thought Alice would have to go. He now gave Mrs. +Scott, on a card, his sister's name, and the name of the place where she +lived, telling her to go there when she arrived in B., and if his sister +had not found a place for her, he was sure she would keep her at her own +house till she did. Having arranged all these things with Mrs. Scott, we +went into Alice's room. + +Alice was sitting up, and was so anxious for our coming, and so happy at +the thought of seeing once more, that she had quite a rosy color in her +cheeks. The doctor looked at her very sadly, and said "How d'ye do" to +her, with a very soft and kind voice. She seemed hardly to hear him--but +said very quickly, with a pleasant smile, "Now, doctor, must I take off +the handkerchief?" and raised her hand to take out the pin which +fastened it. + +"Not yet, my dear," said the doctor, taking hold of her hand, "I wish to +say something to you first. I fear, Alice, that you are going to be very +much disappointed. You have no idea how very bad your eyes are. They +give you no pain, and therefore you think there cannot be much the +matter with them; but, my dear child, those are not the worst diseases +of the eye which give the most pain. You think that only this +handkerchief keeps you from seeing, but I am afraid that when I take it +off you will still see very dimly--very dimly indeed--nay, Alice, I may +as well tell you all,--I fear, that at present, at least, and perhaps +for many days to come, you will not see at all." + +As Dr. Franks spoke, the smile had gone from Alice's lip, and the color +from her cheek, so that when he was done, instead of the bright, happy +face she had when we came in, she was looking very pale and very sad. +She seemed to have forgotten the handkerchief, her hands hung down in +her lap, and she did not speak a word. Both the doctor and I were much +grieved for her, and Mrs. Scott's tears fell upon her head as she stood +leaning over the back of her chair. Alice did not weep--indeed, she +seemed quite stunned. + +After a while, the doctor said, "Alice, this handkerchief is of no use +to you, and it must be very warm and unpleasant--shall I take it off?" + +Her lips moved, and she tried to say, "Yes, sir," but we could scarcely +hear her. + +It was taken off. Alice kept her eyes shut for a little time, and then +opened them suddenly, and turning them first towards the window, looked +slowly around the room, then shut them again, without saying a word. She +soon opened them, and looking towards the doctor, said, in a low, +faltering voice, "Doctor, is it night?" + +"No, my child, it is not more than four o'clock in the afternoon." + +She was silent a minute, then said, "Is it cloudy?" + +"No, Alice, the sun is shining brightly." + +She was again still for a little while--the tears began to come into her +eyes, and her lip quivered very much, as speaking again, she said, "Are +the windows shut?" + +The doctor again answered her, "No, they are open, and the sashes +raised." + +Poor Alice covered her eyes with her hands for a second, then stretching +out her arms, and turning her head around as if looking for some one, +she cried mournfully, "Mother, mother, where are you?" + +"Here, my own precious child," said Mrs. Scott, as coming round to the +side of the chair, she put her arms around her, and drew her head down +upon her bosom. Alice did not cry aloud, but her tears came fast, and +her sobs were so deep, that it seemed as though her heart would break +with this great sorrow. The doctor said, softly, to Mrs. Scott, +"Persuade her to go to bed, as soon as you can," and then both he and I +went out, for we knew her mother would be her best comforter. + +Mrs. Scott was to leave her home at ten o'clock the next morning, and at +nine Harriet went over to say some parting words to Alice, and I to +receive some last directions from Mrs. Scott about taking care of the +house and furniture for her. I could see that Harriet was almost afraid +to meet Alice, thinking she must be very miserable now that her +blindness was known to her. But though she looked sadly, and turned away +with tears in her eyes when we first spoke to her, she soon began to +talk with Harriet about her journey. She seemed to hope to receive great +good from the physicians in B., and I was glad to find that her mother +had not tried to discourage this hope; for, I said to myself, if nothing +can be done for her, she will find it out soon enough, and every day +that passes will help to prepare her better for it. She seemed much +gratified by Harriet's present of the gold piece, and when she bade me +good-by, said, "I thank you, ma'am, very much, for all your goodness to +me." + +Mrs. Scott, too, begged me to tell the friends who had helped her how +very grateful she was to them, and how earnestly she would pray to God +to reward them for all their goodness to her and her fatherless girl. I +knew by the color that came into Harriet's face, and the tears that +sprang into her eyes, as the good woman spoke, that she had heard her; +and I was glad of it, for I thought that she deserved to be made as +happy as I felt certain such thankfulness would make her, for her desire +to do right, and her readiness to give up her own pleasures for her +friend's good. + +After our friends were gone, I spent some time in giving directions to +Betty about the cleaning and putting away things, so that she might +leave the house in order; and Harriet kept herself from being very sad +by working in Alice's garden, weeding the beds and tying up the flowers, +which, as I said before, had been left during her illness to trail upon +the ground. + +Mrs. Scott had promised to write to me as soon as the physicians had +decided whether they could or could not be of any service to Alice; and +you may be sure we looked very anxiously for her letter. It came about +two weeks after she had left us, and I will copy it for you here, as I +am sure you will like to see it. + + B----, July 2, 18--. + + MY DEAR MADAM,-- + + You were so kind as to ask me to let you know what the doctors here + might think of my little girl's case, and I have only been waiting + for them to make up their minds about it, before I wrote to you. + Yesterday they told me, what I felt long ago, that they could not + help her. This is a great trial, ma'am, but, blessed be God, with + great trials He sends great mercies. I don't know, ma'am, how to + tell you the thankfulness that is in my heart, first to Him, and + then to you and Dr. Franks, and all the other kind friends that + have helped me through this affliction. It is a comfort to me to + feel that every thing has been done for my poor child that could be + done; indeed, I fear it would have broken my heart to think that + something might be done to make her see again, and to feel that I + could never get money enough to pay for that something, if I worked + till I was dead. Oh! I thank God that I have not got that to bear. + + But I am forgetting all this time to tell you how kind everybody + here has been to me. Miss Franks is the doctor's own sister, I am + sure, for she is just such another kind and generous person. The + steamboat did not get here till it began to grow quite dark, and I + was very much troubled, thinking how I should find my way up + through the crowd, and fearing lest my little trunk should get + lost, which had all our clothes in it, or that if I went to see + about that, Alice would get hurt, when a man came on board and + asked for me. He said Miss Franks had sent him with a carriage to + bring us to her house. It was a hired carriage, as I found + afterwards, for I thought at first it was her own; but she would + not let me pay any thing for it. Was not this kind? She had us to + stay at her house the first night, and the next morning took us + again in a carriage to the place where she had got board for us. + This was in a very neat house, and with a clever, good woman. She + is an elderly, single woman, who seems to be pious, and is very + kind to us. Miss Franks sent round her brother's letters, after she + had written on them the name of the street and number of the house + we were staying at, that the doctors might know where to find + Alice. + + The next day three doctors came and brought with them a Dr. W----, + who, they said, knew more about the eyes than any of them. At first + my little girl seemed shy of having so many strangers see her; but + they were so kind to her, that she does not feel at all afraid now. + Indeed, ma'am, everybody is kind to her, and they speak so softly + and pitifully to her, that it often makes the tears come into my + eyes, and my heart feel so full, that I have to go away to my room + and thank God for all His goodness and theirs to her; for you know, + ma'am, goodness to her child, and that a poor blind child too, is + more to a mother than any thing people could do for her. + + Two or three days ago, Dr. H., who they say is at the head of that + Institution for the blind you talked to me about, came to see us, + and he talked so gentle and pleasant like, that Alice loved him + right away. He had some talk with the doctors when they came, and + then he asked Alice if she would not like to know how blind + children, who never had seen at all, read and wrote and sewed, and + told her, if she would come to his house, he would teach her as + they were taught, and that she would find many of them learning + there. Alice seemed very glad to hear that she might learn to do + these things now, and need not wait doing nothing till her eyes got + well, for you know, ma'am, she was always an industrious child, and + it grieves her sadly to sit all day idle. She asked though if I + could come with her, and the kind gentleman said I could come with + her in the morning, and bring her away in the afternoon. This made + my heart jump for joy, for I was afraid he was going to say she + must stay there all the time. She will begin to go next Monday. + + And now, ma'am, I must tell you some more of Miss Franks' goodness. + She has got me some plain sewing, and so many of her friends + promise to employ me in that way, that I hope I shall be able to + live by my needle; and then, ma'am, I think, maybe I ought to send + back what money I have left, to them that were so good as to give + it to me. Will you please, ma'am, to tell me if this would be + right? Alice begs me to send her love to her dear friend, Miss + Harriet, and her dutiful respects to you. She bid me tell Miss + Harriet that she has not spent her gold piece yet. Please, ma'am, + to tell the doctor how kind his sister has been to us, and thank + him for all he has done for us. I am afraid, ma'am, I have tired + you with this long letter; but indeed when I began to write, I + could not help telling you of all the goodness which has been + showed to me. God bless you, ma'am, prays + + Yours, very thankfully, + + MARTHA SCOTT." + +Mrs. Scott was told that those who had given her the money would not +have any of it returned, and she then, I afterwards found, paid every +one in our village to whom she owed any thing, saying, that though they +had told her to make herself easy, she could not be easy while she was +in debt to those who, she knew, needed the money. + +In a few months after she went to the Institution for the Blind, Alice +wrote a letter to Harriet, and from that time they wrote to each other +as often at least as once in a month. It has been now about three months +since Dr. Franks, who had been making a visit in B----, brought Harriet +a letter from Alice, which gave her great delight. You shall read it for +yourself, and see how much reason she had to be pleased with it. + + B----, April 14, 18--. + + DEAR HARRIET,-- + + I am so happy that I can hardly write, or do any thing but tell + everybody near me how happy I am; or when there is nobody near me, + sit down and think of you and your good aunt, and Dr. Franks, and + Susan and Lucy, and everybody that lives at home. Oh, Harriet, we + are coming there--coming home next week--dear home. It is the + middle of April now, and so many flowers will be opening, and the + peach-trees and the apple-trees will be in bloom soon, and they + will look so beautiful. I cannot see them, but I can smell them, + and feel them, and think how they look. Oh, Harriet, how much + better off I am than the poor children who never did see, and who + cannot remember how such things looked! But I cannot write any + more now, except good-by, from your affectionate + + ALICE. + + P. S.--I have spent the gold piece; I will show you how, when I + come. + +Mrs. Scott sent a message to me by the doctor, to ask, with many +apologies for troubling me, that I would get Betty Maclaurin to go to +her house early in the next week, and put every thing in order for her +by Wednesday evening, as she hoped to be at home some time in that +night. Betty liked Mrs. Scott and Alice, and was quite ready to do them +a kindness; so, early on Monday morning, she was at work, and she worked +so industriously in the house, and Harriet so industriously in Alice's +garden, that, before Wednesday evening, both house and garden were in +perfect order. + +Harriet's grandfather had taken so much interest in Alice, that he had +said, when she came home he intended to come to see her; so Harriet +found time, in the midst of all her preparations for her friend's +arrival, to write him what day she was expected; and on Wednesday, not +only he, but her grandmother also, who seldom left home, came to spend a +week with us. I was not in the house when they arrived, and when I came +in, Harriet met me at the door before I had seen them, and cried out, +"Oh, Aunt Kitty! grandpapa's come, and grandmamma too; and only think +what they have brought me--dear, pretty pony--as pretty as ever, with +another beautiful new saddle and bridle. Is it not good in them, and am +I not a happy girl?" + +Now my little readers must not suppose that Mr. Armand had only made +Harriet believe that pony was sold, while he really kept him for her. Oh +no! Mr. Armand always told just the truth, and pony was sold--really and +truly sold--to the gentleman he had spoken of, who had bought him for +his son. This boy was gone to a school at a distance from his home, and +besides, he was now so good a rider that his father thought he might +have a larger horse when he came back, so he was not unwilling to let +Mr. Armand have pony again, when he expressed a wish for him. + +Harriet was indeed a happy girl this Wednesday evening, and still more +happy was she when she set out, after an early breakfast the next +morning, to ride on pony to Mrs. Scott's. As I started at the same time +to walk there, and she would not leave me, she rode very slowly. If any +of you can remember some morning in Spring, when the air, though cool, +had not the least frosty feeling in it, when the grass was fresh and +green, when the trees had put out their first tender leaves, and the +peach and the pear and the apple blossoms looked as if just ready to +open, to have risen early and walked or ridden out, while the leaves and +the blossoms were still glittering with the night-dew, you will know how +delightful Harriet and I found it. We went on, at a brisk pace for me, +and a slow one for pony, till we were in sight of Mrs. Scott's house, +when Harriet looked so eager, that I bade her hasten on. As I spoke, I +cheruped to pony, and he went off in a smart trot, which soon brought +Harriet to the gate. I had then just entered the clear space before the +house, and could see and hear all that passed. Alice was standing at the +open window, looking healthy and happy. As pony stopped, she called out +to her mother, who seemed to be in some other room, for she spoke +loudly, "Mother, mother, here is somebody on horseback--it must be the +doctor." + +"No, Alice, it is Harriet," cried my little niece, as she sprang from +her pony, without much of the caution which she had promised her +grandfather always to use in getting down. + +"Oh! it is Harriet," exclaimed Alice, clapping her hands joyfully +together, and then putting them out to feel her way to the door. Mrs. +Scott came from the next room, and taking her hand, led her to meet us. +The little girls were in each other's arms in a moment, and any one who +had looked at Alice's happy face, and her eyes bright with tender and +glad feelings, would never have believed they saw a blind girl. Harriet +told of the beautiful pony her grandpapa had brought her the evening +before, and Alice passed her hands over him to feel how small he was and +how sleek and glossy his sides were, and promised that she would +sometimes mount him and walk him over to my house with Harriet at her +side. Then they went into the flower-garden, and Alice exclaimed, "Oh, +Harriet! how nicely you have weeded my beds and trimmed my flowers." + +"Betty told you that," said Harriet. + +"Betty told me who did it, but I knew it was done without her telling +me, for I felt them. I did not have to feel my hyacinths and jonquils to +know they were in bloom, for I smelt them, and I know exactly how they +look. My rose-bushes too," said she, putting her hand on one, "are in +bud; they will soon be beautiful. You see, Harriet, I love my garden, +and can take pleasure in it, if I am blind;--but come into the house, +and let me show you the books they have taken pains to make for poor +blind people, and the different kinds of work I have learned to do." + +Alice took Harriet's hand, and walked with a quick and lively step into +the house. When they had entered the door, she left Harriet, and putting +her hands out to feel that there was nothing in her way, passed into the +next room, and soon came out again with her arms full. There were only a +few books--I was sorry to see so few--but they were so large that she +could not well have carried any more. Having laid them on the table, she +opened one, and we saw that the letters were large, and so raised from +the paper that the blind could feel their form, and thus distinguish +them as readily as we can distinguish the letters in ordinary printing +by seeing them. Alice soon showed us how this was done, for passing her +finger over the lines of a sentence on the page to which she had opened, +she read it as correctly as anybody could have done. Then turning with +quickness to a box which stood near, she said, "Now see my work."--There +were baskets she had woven, purses and bags she had knitted, pincushions +and needle-books she had sewed as neatly as possible. Full of animation +and happy as Alice seemed in showing these things, I am certain she was +not half so happy in showing, as Harriet was in seeing them. Having +looked at them myself, I went into the garden to show Mrs. Scott where +some seeds were planted. From the garden I could still hear and see +through an open window what was passing in the parlor, and I was too +much interested in the feelings of these little girls not to attend to +them. I soon saw, however, that they did not think themselves observed; +for Harriet--who had hitherto spoken little, expressing her pleasure in +looks more than in words--as soon as they were left alone, took Alice's +hand, and said, "How glad I am you can do so much!" + +"I knew you would be glad, and that made me show you; and I wish I could +show them to all the kind people who gave mother money to take me to B., +for, you know, if it was not for that, I could not have learned to do +these things,--and you don't know, Harriet, how hard those first dark +weeks were to bear, and how often, when I thought it would be always so, +I wished I was in the grave-yard with my little brother and +sisters;--that was wicked, I know, Harriet, but I could not help it +then." + +Harriet stood with her face turned from me, yet I could see by her +movements that she was weeping. + +Alice put her arm around her, saying, "Don't cry, I am very happy now." + +"And so am I," said Harriet, sobbing, "and I believe that's what makes +me cry." + +"That's funny too," said Alice laughing, and Harriet laughed with her, +though the tears were still on her cheeks. Then Alice told that there +was a kind shopkeeper in B., who had promised to buy all she made, and +that her mother said, she got so much money from him, that she could +afford to keep a woman--Alice hoped it would be Betty--to do the hard +work, and as she would only take in a little plain sewing, she would +then be able to sit with Alice, and could sometimes spare time to read +to her. "And Harriet," she added, "I promised to show you what I had +bought with the gold piece you gave me. I bought the straw for my first +baskets, and the braids and ribands for my first purses and bags, and +the pieces of silk and velvet for my first pincushions and needle-books; +so you see how much it helped me," and she kissed Harriet, little +knowing how much more she owed to her. + +And now, if any of my little readers have thought that Harriet made a +foolish choice, when she gave up her pony to help her friend, they will, +I am sure, change their minds when they remember what a sad house this +was at the time that Alice first became blind, and think that now, as +Harriet looked at Mrs. Scott's contented and Alice's cheerful face, and +saw how much her friend could do and could enjoy, and heard that by her +pleasant employments she could not only support herself comfortably, but +help her mother too, she could say to herself--"This is my work--it is +I who have made them so happy." Who would not have given pony for such a +feeling, even though they had never got him back again? + +When we were going away, Alice very modestly gave me a beautiful +work-basket, a very neat needle-book, and pincushion, all of her own +make. For Harriet she had made a very pretty bag, and hearing that Mr. +and Mrs. Armand were with us, she selected a very handsome purse and +needle-book, and requested Harriet to present them to her grandfather +and grandmother, as the offerings of a blind girl. + +And now, my young friends, I have little more to tell you of Alice. If +you could visit her, you would find her sometimes employed in making +those tasteful and pretty things, by the sale of which she aids in +supporting her mother and herself--sometimes in her garden, feeling for +the weeds and pulling them away from her plants, or tying up her vines, +or cutting flowers to dress their pleasant little parlor--sometimes +walking, leaning on her mother's arm, or on that of some young +companion,--and though you may see her look a little sad when her +friends speak of a beautiful flower, or admire a fine sunset, you will +oftener hear her sweet voice in cheerful talk, or merry laugh, or +singing some pleasant hymn, expressive of her gratitude to God for His +goodness to her. And when you see and hear all this, you will, I hope, +not envy Harriet, for that would be a wrong feeling, but watch every +opportunity of going and doing like her. + +As this has been a very long story, and I do not wish to tire you, I +will now bid you good-by, hoping you will soon wish to hear from me +again. Whenever you do, I shall know it, and shall be quite ready to +have another talk with you. + + +THE END. + + + + +JESSIE GRAHAM: + +OR, + +FRIENDS DEAR, BUT TRUTH DEARER. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +SPRING--MRS. GRAHAM. + + +Spring is here. The sun is shining brightly, and the air is warm, and +the breeze is scented with the blossoms of the apple and the pear. The +trees whose branches have been bare all winter, except when the snow +wrapped them in a white mantle, have now put on a dress of the lightest +and liveliest green. The gardens, too, are beginning to look gayly. +There is in my garden one bed which is especially bright. This is +Harriet's. Here she digs and plants and manages all in her own way, and +here, at this season, she and her little friends may be often seen with +heads bent down to the ground, searching for the first appearance of a +crocus or a hyacinth. If one is seen, a joyful clapping of hands and a +general call for Aunt Kitty announces the discovery. + +Doubtless all my little readers have noticed the changes which this +season brings. How pleasant is the first walk which you can take without +cloaks or shawls! And the first violet or buttercup which is found,--we +never think any other half so pretty. And the brooks which have been +frozen up all winter, now prattle away over the stones, as noisily as +little girls who have just got out from a schoolroom where they have +been obliged to be very still for two or three hours. And the little +birds which have spent their winter in a southern climate, sing as +merrily as if they were glad to get back again to their old homes, or as +if, as Jessie Graham says her grandmother told her, they were thanking +God for giving them such pleasant weather. I wish all little girls would +remember this, and imitate the birds,--thanking their Heavenly Father +for his goodness to them, not only in words when they kneel down to say +their prayers, but in bright looks and cheerful tones through the whole +day. + +Jessie Graham is a very clever little girl, and very like a bird herself +as she goes singing and jumping about when she is out of doors, though +at home she is the most quiet, orderly, housewifely little thing you can +imagine. Her grandmother, of whom I have just spoken, is a Scotchwoman. +She is a widow, her husband having died soon after they came to this +country, and when her only child, Jessie's father, was still a little +boy. Mrs. Graham seemed to have nothing to live on but what she could +make by her own spinning and knitting, her gardening and poultry yard. +Yet she never asked alms, or even received them when offered, saying to +those who would have given them, "I am thankful to God for showing me +that when the time of need comes I shall have such kind friends, but +still more thankful to Him that it has not come yet." Her garden was +small, but in it were often the earliest and best vegetables that were +to be seen for miles around. Some of these she would send by little +Donald to the market of a neighboring town. Donald too had his bed of +flowers, from which he was sometimes able to sell slips of roses or a +few choice bulbous roots. Seeds and slips and roots to plant were given +him by my brother's gardener, who had employed the lad, and had, as he +said, "taken a liking" to him, because he had found him honest, +industrious, and intelligent. With his instructions, Donald became a +capital gardener, and when he afterwards removed to the city, was +employed by my brother in his place. With the wages which he thus +received, Donald was able to add to his garden, till with some work from +himself and constant watchfulness from his mother, it became quite +profitable. He enlarged their cottage, too, so that when he brought home +a wife there was room enough for her without taking any thing from his +mother's comfort. His wife was a good-tempered and kind-hearted young +woman whom he had known from a boy. They have six children, of whom +Jessie is the eldest. She is named after her grandmother; and as she is +almost always at her side, has learned many useful things from her +besides imitating the birds in keeping a thankful and a cheerful heart. +She is constantly busy,--sometimes helping her grandmother in her +housekeeping, or counting her eggs, or feeding her chickens for +her,--sometimes sewing beside her mother, or taking care of her young +brothers and sisters,--sometimes--and I think this is what Jessie likes +best--running after her father, and by his direction weeding a bed or +tying up a branch, picking the strawberries or making up into bouquets +the flowers which he is to take to market. She has the family taste for +gardening, and has already learned from her father a great deal more +about plants than their names. Harriet goes to her always for +instruction about the management of her flowers, and if a friend sends +me a rare plant, is never quite satisfied till Jessie has approved the +soil in which it is placed. It is from Jessie that I learn, in the +spring, where the most beautiful wild-flowers are to be found. + +A stroll in the woods after these wild-flowers is one of the greatest +treats I can offer to my young favorites; and when, about a year ago, I +sent to several of them to come to my house on a fine, bright morning, +prepared for one of these rambles, with thick shoes which would keep +their feet dry if we went into low or damp places, and little baskets in +which to put their flowers, I was very sure there was not one who would +disappoint me. They all came, and Jessie the earliest and the gayest +among them. She had brought her father's trowel to take up the roots, +and away we all went,--the little ones talking as fast and laughing as +loud as they could, and Aunt Kitty listening, as much pleased as any of +them. Away we went,--not by the road, but through the woods,--now moving +swiftly and pleasantly along under the high trees, with the sunlight +falling only here and there in patches on our path,--then suddenly +hedged up by the tangled brushwood, and obliged to climb or jump over, +or to creep through, as some of the smallest of the party managed to +do,--the children now filling their baskets with buttercups, then +throwing them all away because they had found a piece of ground covered +with violets. At last, when the baskets were filled with the roots of +violets and wood-geraniums, and each one had gathered branches of the +wild-rose and clusters of the rich and graceful columbine, Aunt Kitty +remembering that they had yet to walk home, gave the signal to return, +and half unwillingly it was obeyed. After leaving the wood, we followed +a road which enabled me to leave my young companions at their different +homes before I went on to mine. Mr. Graham's was the last house on our +way, and there Harriet and Mary Mackay and I stopped with Jessie, as I +saw her father was at home and wanted to speak to him about some seeds. +Old Mrs. Graham was seated in the low, shaded porch, knitting, and there +I left the children showing her their treasures, while I stepped into +the garden where Mr. Graham was at work. Having finished my talk with +him I went into the house again. The children were still in the porch; +and as I entered the parlor that opened on it, I heard Mary Mackay's +earnest tone wishing that she could walk in the woods and pick flowers +every day. + +"Why, Mary!" said Harriet, "what then would become of your books and +Miss Bennett?"--this was the name of Mary's governess. + +"I would not care what became of them," said Mary, hastily, then added: +"Oh yes, I would care what became of Miss Bennett,--but as for the +books--" + +"Send them to me, Mary," said Jessie, "send them to me, if you are tired +of them, and send Miss Bennett with them." + +"Why, Jessie, do you want to study lessons?" + +"I don't know about the studying, Mary, how I should like that,--but I +would be willing to try, rather than be a poor ignorant girl without any +schooling, as Nancy Orme called me the other day." + +I saw old Mrs. Graham turn quickly round at this, and heard her ask +Jessie, "And what did you say to Nancy Orme?" + +"Nothing, grandmother,--what could I say to her? It is the truth, you +know." + +"It is not the truth," said Mrs. Graham, "and you are a silly child to +say so." + +"Why, grandmother, what schooling have I ever had? You have taught me to +read, and father has begun to teach me to write, and that is all I know +or am like to know." + +"You are a silly child, Jessie, as I said before. You have had the +schooling which is better for little Jessie Graham, the gardener's +daughter, than any that Miss Bennett and her books could give." + +Mary, who really loved Miss Bennett, colored up, and Mrs. Graham said to +her, "Do not be vexed, my little lady, for I mean no offence. Miss Mary +Mackay, who is to be a young _lady_, and must talk to ladies and +gentlemen, cannot do without books and Miss Bennett to explain them. And +I do not mean to say that book-learning hurts anybody, but only that +Jessie, and poor little folks like Jessie, can do without it, and yet +that they must not call themselves without schooling; for what schooling +they really want, God takes care that they may have." + +The girls looked puzzled, and as I had become quite interested in what +the old woman was saying, I was not sorry when my inquisitive little +niece, Mary, exclaimed, "Pray, Mrs. Graham, tell me what you mean, for I +cannot see what schooling little girls have who do not learn out of +books." + +"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Graham, putting down her knitting, taking off +her spectacles, and looking very thoughtful, "I do not know whether I +can tell you just what I mean, so that you can understand me, but I will +try. I think God means that every father and mother shall be teachers to +their own children, or if the father and mother are dead, there is +almost always some friend who is bound to take their place, and then he +spreads out books on every side of them, so that they are almost obliged +to read, unless they wilfully shut their eyes;--for if they look up, +there is the sun in the day and the moon and stars at night, and though +they cannot tell, as I am told some great scholars can do, how far off +they are, and what the stars are named, they can see how much good they +do to us, lighting and warming us, and dividing the year into seasons, +which, everybody who knows any thing of gardening knows, is a great +good, and making day and night. They can learn out of this book, too, a +great deal of God's power and glory, for he must keep all these in their +places, and make them all come back to us day after day, and night after +night, and year after year, without ever failing once. Then, when they +look down on the ground, there is another beautiful book. They may not +be able to call every thing there by its right name, but they may learn +what is good to eat, and what for medicine, and what is only pretty to +the eye,--what soil each plant loves, and how God has provided for each +just what is best for it. And so, if they look at the birds, or the +poultry, or the different animals, they will find each kind has its own +ways, and from each one they may learn as many useful things as from any +book that was ever made. Now, my dear young ladies, this is the +schooling which God provides for us all, and though, as I said before, +learning from books is very good, yet those who cannot get it need not +be altogether ignorant, and of the two, maybe God's schooling is best +for poor people." + +Though I was very much pleased with what Mrs. Graham said, I was afraid +my little girls would begin to think very slightingly of books, so I +stepped out, and telling them that it was time to go home, they gathered +up their flowers, and bidding Mrs. Graham and Jessie good-morning, we +set out. I waited a while, hoping that, as they did not know I had +overheard Mrs. Graham, they would speak to me of what she had said. And +so they did; for I had not waited long, when Mary said, "Aunt Kitty, do +you not think Mrs. Graham is a very sensible woman?" + +"Yes, my dear," I replied, "I do think she is a _very_ sensible woman." + +"I wish you could have heard her, Aunt Kitty, talking about Jessie's +schooling--I liked what she said so much." + +"And what did she say, Mary?" + +"Oh, Aunt Kitty, I cannot remember half--but she said little girls need +not study books." + +"Not all little girls, Mary," said Harriet, interrupting her. + +"Well, Harriet, not all little girls,--but she said that little girls +who could not study books, might still have schooling,--for God gave +them teachers, and then they might look at the stars, and the flowers, +and the birds, and all the animals, and learn, Aunt Kitty, just as well +as we do out of books, and I am sure it must be a much pleasanter way of +learning." + +"But how many little girls are there, Mary, do you think, who, if they +had never studied books or been directed by such sensible teachers as +Mrs. Graham herself, would look at the stars, and the flowers, and the +birds, and learn from them all which they can teach? Unless we see +something more in these than their bright light, their pretty colors, or +their gay plumage, they will teach us little, and it is generally from +books or from some person who has had what Mrs. Graham calls +book-learning, that we learn to look deeper." + +"How did Mrs. Graham come to know so much about them then, Aunt Kitty, +for I do not think she reads many books?" + +"Mrs. Graham, my dear Mary, has been accustomed to associate with people +much better educated than herself, and as she is a very observing and +thoughtful person, she has lost no opportunity of learning. And now, +Mary, you see that book-learning is of more use than you ever before +thought it, for the person who has it, may help to open the eyes of many +who have it not, to read what God has written for us all in the heavens +and the earth." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE SCHOOL. + + +The next morning before Harriet and I had breakfasted, Mary came running +in, her cheeks glowing and eyes sparkling with pleasure, crying out even +before she had said good-morning, "Aunt Kitty, Jessie is to go to school +with me and study lessons,--she is to begin to-day, and I am going to +tell her to get ready at once, so I have not a minute to stay." + +"Stop, stop, my dear," said I, seizing her hand as she was passing me, +"just catch your breath and then tell us how all this was arranged." + +"Oh, I told Miss Bennett how much Jessie wanted to go to school, and she +said she might come if my father had not any objection, and I asked my +father, and he said he had not any,--but I must go, Aunt Kitty, indeed I +must," and breaking away from me, she bounded off. + +She soon came back bringing the smiling Jessie with her, and from that +day Jessie might be seen every morning about nine o'clock going to her +school. She spent only two hours there each day, but as she really +wished to learn, she improved very much, and Miss Bennett said, she +repaid her for all trouble in teaching her, by her good example to our +good-humored but wild little Mary. Jessie seemed to think she could +never say or do enough to thank Mary for inducing Miss Bennett to give +her lessons, and though Mary loved Jessie, and would never let any one +find the least fault with her without a warm defence, I sometimes feared +that Jessie's perfect submission to her will in all things would do her +harm--that she would become quite a little despot. But a circumstance +which happened in their school a short time after Jessie's lessons with +Miss Bennett began, taught us that there was one thing Jessie loved +better even than she loved Mary. I will relate the circumstance, and you +will find out what that one thing was. + +Mary's father had a fine flock of sheep, and one morning as Mary stood +by him while he counted them, watching the lambs frisking from side to +side, Jessie came from the house to tell her that Miss Bennett had been +waiting some time for her. + +"Stay just one minute, Jessie, and then I will go back with you," said +the little idler; "I want papa to be done counting, that I may beg him +for a little lamb--I want a pet lamb. See there, Jessie--that one that +is running along so fast, and then stops to wait for the others, is not +it a beauty? Oh! do, papa, give it to me," said she, as her father +counted the thirtieth sheep, for she knew that this was the full number. + +"Give you what, my child?" asked her father, who had not been paying any +attention to her. + +"That pretty lamb, papa--make haste to say yes, for there is Miss +Bennett's bell ringing for the third time. Stop, Jessie," said the +little despot, catching hold of her as she would have run in, "you shall +not go till I am ready." + +"I am sorry my daughter should let any thing keep her from her lessons. +Besides, you are treating Miss Bennett with great disrespect, and here +she comes herself to see what has become of her truants." + +As Mr. Mackay spoke, he took Mary's hand and walked with the children +towards the piazza where Miss Bennett stood. He is a very good-natured +man, and makes such a pet of his little daughter, that he was quite +ready to excuse her; so, as Miss Bennett was about to speak to Mary, he +said, "I believe, Miss Bennett, I must ask you to excuse her want of +punctuality to-day, for the fault was partly mine. If I had not been as +much engaged in counting my sheep as she was in watching the lambs at +play, I should have heard your bell and sent her to you." + +"I do not wish to punish the fault of to-day," said Miss Bennett, with a +smile, "but to reform a habit persisted in for many days. Can you not +aid me, sir, in devising some mode by which Mary may be reminded that +her studies are of more importance than her play?" + +"Yes, she has just been presenting a petition which I will not grant +till she can bring me proof that she has been punctual and attentive to +her studies for two months." + +"Two whole months, papa?" said Mary, looking quite frightened at the +length of time. + +"Yes, my daughter, two whole months, and--stay, where is Jessie?" +looking around for her. + +"Stolen away, I suppose," said Miss Bennett, "for fear of hearing Mary +scolded. We shall probably find her in the schoolroom." + +"Well, I will go there with you," said Mr. Mackay, entering the house +with the wondering Mary. On they went, Miss Bennett leading the way to +the schoolroom, where, as she had conjectured, they found Jessie, +looking very gravely. + +"Do not be afraid, Jessie," said Mary, laughing, as she entered, "Miss +Bennett has not beaten me. Papa is going to do something to us both, I +think, but I do not know what." + +"You shall soon hear," said Mr. Mackay. "If Miss Bennett will be so kind +as to give to the one who recites the best lesson a card marked merit; +and to the one who is not in her place by the time the bell has ceased +ringing, a blank card, for two months to come, we will then count both +kinds of tickets: for every blank card we will take away one from the +others, and to the little girl who has most merit cards left, I will +give--listen, Mary--the prettiest lamb in my flock." + +"I will gladly agree to perform my part in the arrangement," said Miss +Bennett, "but will add another stipulation. As I would have my little +pupils careful, as well as studious and attentive, I will make no note +of the tickets given for merit, and the girl who loses her tickets will +therefore suffer the consequences." + +"Do you understand?" said Mr. Mackay. + +"Oh yes," said Mary, eagerly clapping her hands, "and I mean to have the +lamb." + +"Yes, sir," said the smiling Jessie--pleased to see her friend so happy. + +"Well," said Mr. Mackay, as he left the schoolroom, "you will begin +to-morrow." + +For some time Miss Bennett had no blanks to give and few merit cards, +for the girls were always in their places at the proper time, and both +knew their lessons so perfectly that it could not with truth be said +either was _best_. After some weeks, however, things fell into their old +course. Mary got most blanks, and most merit cards too, for though +Jessie was both quick and studious, she had less time for study; and +what is of more consequence, she had no one at home to help her out of +difficulties by explaining what she did not understand. Besides, as Mary +had been much longer at school than her friend, the lessons which she +was going over for the second, or perhaps third time, were quite new to +Jessie, who felt her friend's advantages on this account to be so great +that she never dreamed there was any probability of receiving the prize +herself. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MARY--MORE GENEROUS THAN JUST. + + +Harriet and I, walking over one pleasant afternoon to my brother's, met +Jessie sauntering slowly home, and Mary with her. We stopped to chat a +while with them, and then Mary, bidding Jessie good-by, turned back with +us. While I walked steadily on, she and Harriet were sometimes by my +side, sometimes running before me, and sometimes lingering far behind. +As we approached the house, we saw the sheep driven to their pen for +the night. The children were before me, but near enough for me to hear +Mary exclaim, "Harriet, there is my lamb--that is the one I mean to +choose--if it does not grow too large before the time." + +"Maybe you will not have to choose at all," said Harriet, "for Jessie +may get it." + +"Indeed she will not," said Mary. + +"How do you know that?" asked Harriet, "only one month is gone. I wish +she may get it." + +"I do not think that is very kind of you," said Mary, "to wish that +Jessie should get it instead of me, when you know I want the lamb so +much." + +"Why, Mary," said Harriet, "though you may not get it just at this +particular time, you know your father would give you one afterwards if +you asked for it, and poor Jessie may never have another chance to get +one. Besides, I think it will do her a great deal more good than you." + +"I do not see how," said Mary, still in a dissatisfied tone. + +"Why," said Harriet, "you know she knits her own stockings, and her +father has to buy wool--now, she could have the wool from her own lamb +without paying any thing for it." + +"I never thought of that," said Mary, earnestly, while I could not but +smile at Harriet's forethought. "But, Harriet, I should like to get the +lamb," said Mary, after thinking a while, "and then I could give it to +Jessie, you know." + +"But are you sure Jessie would take it from you?" + +"Oh yes! I could make her take it," said Mary, confidently. + +"I do not know that," said Harriet, "if her grandmother told her not; +and you know Aunt Kitty told us Mrs. Graham never would take any thing +for herself when she was very poor." + +"Well," said Mary, in a perplexed tone, "what shall I do?--for I want +her to have it now as much as you do, since you put me in mind how much +good it will do her. Oh! I will tell you, Harriet, what I will do; I +will not study at all, and so I cannot get any merit cards, and I will +stay out late, and get all the blanks." + +As I did not quite approve of Mary's very ingenious plan for obliging +Jessie, I stepped up and said, "Do you think that would be quite right +to your papa and Miss Bennett, who are trying by the offer of this +reward to make you more studious and punctual?" + +"Well, what shall I do, Aunt Kitty?" + +"Do your best, my dear, to win the reward, and let Jessie do the same. +The habits you are thus forming will be of far more consequence to you +than the lamb to Jessie." + +"But I want Jessie to have it," said Mary, whose generous feelings had +now been excited; "besides, I do not think it is a fair trial, for +Jessie has so little time to study." + +"Then, Mary, suppose you and Harriet go every day and help her in her +work at home, so that she may have more time for study." + +"So we will," said Mary, with great animation, "that is a real good +plan; and I will tell you what, Aunt Kitty, I will study and get the +tickets, since you say I ought, but before Miss Bennett counts them, I +will make Jessie take some of my merit cards, and I will take some of +her blanks, so as to be sure that she will have the most; so, you see, I +will have the good habits, and she will have the lamb too. Will not that +be clever?" + +"Very clever on your part, Mary, but I hope you will not find it easy to +make Jessie do a thing which in her would be very wrong. Better lose the +lamb than be dishonest." + +"Dishonest, Aunt Kitty!" + +"Yes, Mary, would it not be dishonest in Jessie to get the lamb by +making your father and Miss Bennett believe that tickets which are in +reality yours, have been won by her." + +Mary looked quite grave for a minute, then brightening up, said, "Well, +Harriet, at any rate it is not wrong to help Jessie, so I will come for +you to-morrow morning." + +"Very well," said Harriet, "I will go with you, and when we have done +all the work, I will help Jessie get her lessons; so, maybe, she may +have the most tickets without taking yours." + +Mary colored, and though she said nothing, I could not help thinking +that she would rather Jessie should get the lamb by any other means than +by having the most tickets. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE DISAPPOINTMENT--THE SECRET. + + +The next morning Mary came over quite early for Harriet, and they ran to +Mr. Graham's full of glee; but they had been gone a very little while, +when they came back looking quite vexed. On my asking what was the +matter, Mary answered, "That cross Mr. Graham would not let us do any +thing." + +"Why, Mary, I never heard Mr. Graham called cross before." + +"Well, Aunt Kitty, he was cross, for Jessie was very glad to see us, and +wanted us to help her pick strawberries, and he would not let us do it, +but said we would tread on the vines,-as if we never picked strawberries +before." + +"Perhaps, Mary, you never did pick them where it was so important to be +careful of the vines. You know Mr. Graham's garden is his only means of +support. But had Jessie nothing else to do which you could have done for +her?" + +"I do not know," said Mary, "we were so vexed that we would not ask to +do any thing else." + +"Do not say _we_, Mary," said Harriet, "for I would have asked old Mrs. +Graham to let me count the eggs and feed the chickens, which Jessie said +was all she had to do besides picking the strawberries, before school, +but you were so angry and talked so loud, that I thought it was better +to come away." + +Mary looked very much ashamed, and hung her head, as she said, "Well, +Aunt Kitty, it is very hard when we mean to do good to be scolded for +it." + +"And did Mr. Graham scold you, Mary?" + +"He looked cross at us, Aunt Kitty, if he did not scold." + +"Mr. Graham might have looked not very well pleased, at the thought of +having his fine strawberry-plants trampled, and still have felt obliged +by your kind feelings to Jessie. But I fear that my little niece must +have been thinking more of herself than of Jessie, more of the credit +which Mary Mackay deserved, than of the assistance she was going to +give, or she would not, because she found one service declined, have +been unwilling to offer to help her friend in some other way."--As I +spoke I put my arm around Mary and drew her to me.--"Was it not so, +Mary?"--she hid her face on my shoulder and was silent,--"Think of it, +Mary, and tell me if I am right." + +In about a minute Mary raised her head, and said very frankly, "Yes, +Aunt Kitty, I believe you are right; and now, if Harriet will go with +me, I will go back and see if we can do any thing else for Jessie." + +But Harriet exclaimed, "We need not go, Mary, for here is Jessie +herself; and now we will tell her what we meant to do, and if she would +like it, we will go to-morrow." + +Jessie was much pleased with the kind intentions of her young friends, +and assured them that they could help her very much, for they could +count the eggs, feed the chickens, and put the kitchen pantry in order, +all which she generally did before coming to school. From this time +Jessie was able to study more, and with Harriet's aid, her lessons were +well learned. Still she gained few merit cards, for Mary studied too, +and was very punctual, seeming quite in earnest about the prize, which +she nevertheless declared, steadily and positively, would be Jessie's. +At this declaration Jessie only laughed, but Harriet seemed quite +puzzled, saying that she knew by Mary's looks she had some plan in her +head. And so it proved she had. The two months which had seemed to Mary, +when her father first named them, so long, were ended at last. Two days +before the tickets were to be counted by Miss Bennett, Mary begged +Jessie to bring hers with her to school, that she might see how many +they would each have before they were given in. + +"It is of no use, Mary," said Jessie, "for I know exactly how many I +have, and I know you have more than twice as many merit cards." + +"I know I have more than twice as many blanks," said Mary, "but that is +nothing, Jessie. I want to see your cards, and I think you might bring +them when I ask you." + +"And so I will bring them, Mary," said Jessie; and when she came the +next morning she brought a neat little box, which she held up to Mary +as soon as she came in sight, calling out, "Here are my cards." + +"That is right, Jessie," said Mary; "now you must leave them with me, +and to-morrow morning they will be here ready for you." + +"Well, Mary," said Jessie, as somewhat reluctantly she gave them up, +"take care of them, because though I cannot get the lamb I would like +Miss Bennett to see that I have been careful of my cards as she wished +us to be." + +Mary promised, and put the box very carefully into a basket where her +own cards were kept. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +JESSIE'S TRUTH. + + +On the day appointed, Harriet and I went over by Miss Bennett's request, +to see the prize delivered to her who should be found to deserve it. A +lamb had been chosen by Mr. Mackay, and without telling Mary any thing +of it, he had had a small silver collar engraved, "reward of merit." +After the lamb had been washed as white as snow, this had been put on +it, and a blue riband tied to the collar by which the lamb might be led, +so that Jessie, should she win it, would have no difficulty in getting +it home. As I entered my brother's house, I met Jessie and Mary in the +piazza. Mary was talking very earnestly, and I heard her say, "There is +your box, Jessie. Don't open it till you give it to papa." + +"But I must open it, Mary. I want to divide the cards, so as not to give +Mr. Mackay much trouble." + +"Nonsense, Jessie--what does papa care for trouble? You must _not_ open +it, I tell you. I have counted the cards, and you will have the lamb." + +"Mary, how can you laugh at me so? You know that I cannot get it." + +At this moment Mary was called away by her mother. I had watched her +closely, and I thought I could see some roguery in the demure smile +which played around her mouth, in spite of her evident efforts to be +serious. As soon as she was out of sight, Jessie seated herself on the +steps and took out her tickets. They were already made into parcels, and +I saw her turn her eyes with a wondering look from one to the +other,--then she loosed the string which tied each parcel together, +counted them rapidly, and then, dropping them into the box, said, "What +does this mean?" + +I began to be quite interested in this little mystery, of which I +suspected Mary knew more than anybody else, so when I went into the +schoolroom, I took my seat at a window, the sash of which was raised, +and which overlooked the piazza, and kept my eye on Jessie. I was +scarcely seated before Mary ran up to her. As soon as she was near +enough to see the box opened and the cards loosed, she cried out in a +vexed tone, "And so, Jessie, you would open the box after all?" + +"Oh, Mary!" said Jessie, "it is the strangest thing--my blank cards are +almost all gone, and here are a great many more merit cards than I had. +Where can they come from?" + +Mary seemed very much amused, and said, "Why, Jessie, I think a good +fairy must have put them there." + +Jessie looked up into her laughing face for a moment, and then said, +"Now, Mary, I know how it came--you put them there just to tease me. +Make haste and let us get them right before they call us. I ought to +have ten merit cards and four blanks, and here are only two blanks and +seventeen merit cards. Take yours, Mary, and give me mine--quick--before +Miss Bennett calls us." + +As she spoke, she held out the box, but Mary stepped back, saying very +positively, "Indeed, Jessie, I will not do any such thing." + +Jessie looked at her a moment, and seeing by her countenance that she +was resolved not to do it, turned round, saying, "Well, I must go and +tell your father just how it is." + +She went towards the door, but before she reached it, Mary caught her +and drew her back, saying, as she did so, "Jessie, if you say a word to +my father or Miss Bennett or anybody about it, I will never play with +you again or love you, as long as I live." + +Her face was red, and she spoke in a very angry tone. + +"Oh! don't talk so, Mary," said Jessie, "please don't talk so. You would +not have me tell your father a story, and it would be just like telling +him a story if I gave him your cards for mine." + +"You need not give them to him," said Mary, "I will do it myself, and +Aunt Kitty said it would not be any harm in me to do it. I told you that +you would have the lamb, and I am determined you shall have it." + +"But I don't want it," said Jessie; "I hate the lamb, and I don't want +it." + +"It is very ungrateful in you to say so, and I know you do it just to +vex me. I know you cannot help wanting that pretty little lamb with its +silver collar; and then it would please your father and mother and +grandmother so much to see the reward of merit on it." + +"But what good would their being pleased do me when I knew I had told a +story to get it?" said Jessie mournfully. + +"You are very obstinate, Jessie," said Mary; "did not I tell you that +you need not say a word, and that I would give papa the cards myself--so +how can you tell a story about it? Besides, I will tell him the whole +truth by-and-by, when I have had my fun out." + +"Will you, Mary, will you tell him the whole truth--and is it only just +for fun?" + +"To be sure it is, or I would not say so,--so now, Jessie, give me the +cards at once like a good girl, and I will love you so dearly," kissing +her as she spoke, "and just go in the schoolroom quietly, and look as +sober as you can while they are counting them." + +With a reluctant hand Jessie gave up the box, saying, "Remember, Mary, +it is just for fun, and you will tell your father before I go home." + +"I will tell him in the right time," said Mary; "but if you do not make +haste into the schoolroom we will not be there in the right time," and +she ran quickly and joyously in--while Jessie followed more slowly and +timidly. + +Mary went straight to her father, who sat with Miss Bennett near a +table, and gave him first a parcel containing her own cards, then +handing him the box, said, "Jessie's are in this box, papa." Her father +took them, smilingly, from her, and she then came and stood by Jessie, +who had placed herself not far from me. The cards were counted. In +Mary's parcel were twenty merit cards and eight blanks, which, taken +from the others, left her only twelve. Jessie, it was found, had only +two blanks to be taken from seventeen merit cards; she could therefore +count fifteen, and the lamb was declared to be hers. I had looked +steadily upon her while my brother and Miss Bennett were counting, and I +saw that she looked very pale, except once when she caught Miss +Bennett's eye, and then her face became very red, and her eyes filled +with tears. As my brother said, "Jessie has won the prize," she looked +imploringly at Mary and whispered, "Now, Mary--please, Mary, tell him +now,"--but Mary turned away and seemed not to hear her. + +My brother went into the next room and led in the lamb. + +Again I heard Jessie's pleading tones, "Now, Mary--please, Mary, +now,"--but Mary said nothing. + +The lamb was led up to Jessie, and my brother, saying to her, "Here is +your prize, my good little girl, which you have well deserved," would +have put the riband into her hand, but instead of taking it, she covered +her face with her hands and sobbed out, "I cannot take it, sir--indeed I +cannot take it, for it is not mine, it is Mary's, and I must tell if she +should be ever so angry with me." + +Mr. Mackay looked around as for some one to explain Jessie's meaning, +but as no one said any thing, he again addressed himself to Jessie +herself: "But, my dear, why should you not take it? Perhaps you think, +because Mary had most merit cards, the lamb should have been hers,--but +you must remember, she had so many more blanks to be taken from them, +that they left her with less than you. As for Mary's being angry with +you, I am sure you need not be afraid of that,--Mary is not so selfish +and unjust as to be angry with her friend for doing better than +herself." + +"Oh no, sir! that is not it--Mary wanted me to have the lamb, but--" + +Jessie stopped, and Miss Bennett now came up to Mr. Mackay and said, "I +believe I can explain this. Jessie is very properly grieved at having +done a very wrong thing. You may remember that I said I would keep no +account of the merit cards given, in order to induce the children to be +careful, but Jessie seems to have forgotten that I did not say the same +of the blanks; of these I did take note, and I am grieved to find, on +reference to my memorandum, that two of Jessie's blanks have been added +to Mary's." + +Miss Bennett spoke in a very grave tone, and looked at Jessie very +severely. She would have said something more, but Mary--who, half +ashamed and half angry, had stood with her eyes cast down and the +corners of her mouth twitching as if she were just ready to cry--now +looked up and interrupted her by exclaiming, "You are very wrong indeed, +Miss Bennett, to think Jessie had any thing to do with it. It was I that +did it, on purpose that Jessie might have the lamb, and she never knew a +word of it till just as we came in, and then she begged me to tell, and +I would not. So there--it is all told now--and the next time I try to +give anybody any thing, it shall be some one who will be more grateful +for it than Jessie." + +Poor Jessie! she cried as if her heart would break, and tried to take +Mary's hand while she said, "Indeed, indeed, Mary, I could not help it." + +But Mary would not be coaxed--she withdrew her hand and turned sullenly +away. Mr. Mackay looked at her sorrowfully, then stooping down he +unclasped the collar from the lamb's neck, and tying the riband in its +place, held it to her while he said, "You have won the prize, +Mary,--take it--but I must take off the collar. I cannot give a reward +of _merit_ to a girl who thinks a lamb more valuable than truth and +honesty." + +It was now Mary's turn to weep and Jessie's to defend her. "Oh! Sir, do +not blame Mary--it was all from kindness to me, sir--indeed it was--and +you know, sir, Mary would not tell a story for any thing in the world." + +"And yet Mary wished you, Jessie, to tell a story, and to take what you +knew did not justly belong to you, and now is angry with you because you +were not willing to do so. Either Mary is not very kind to you, or, as I +said before, she values more the lamb she would have given you, than +the truth and honesty she would have had you give up for it." + +Jessie was silenced for a minute, and though Mary continued to weep, it +was more gently. Mr. Mackay stood before the children, still holding the +lamb,--which Mary seemed as little disposed to take as Jessie,--and +looking very gravely. At length Jessie raised her eyes to him and said, +"I do not think Mary is angry with me because I would not take the lamb, +sir; she is only a little vexed because I did not do as she wanted me +to." + +We all smiled as Jessie said this, and Mr. Mackay answered, "I believe +you are quite right, my dear little girl,"--then, putting his hand on +Mary's head, he added, "My daughter, we will leave you alone for a +little while, to think whether you are most sorry that Jessie Graham has +lost the prize, or that Mary Mackay has not had her own way altogether." + +He was turning away when Mary spoke, though in so low a tone that no one +could hear her. Mr. Mackay, putting his head down to her, asked what she +said, and she repeated, "I do not think it was wrong in me to want +Jessie to get the lamb and to give her my cards that she might get it." + +"Are you quite sure, Mary, that you did wish Jessie to win the prize? Do +you think you would have been pleased that she should have got the lamb +in any other way than by your giving it to her? Still, however this may +be, the wish to give it was generous, and far from thinking it wrong, I +am more pleased with it in my daughter, than even with her studiousness +and punctuality;--but, was it right in you, when your kind intention +could not be accomplished without a very wrong action in Jessie, to wish +that she should do it, and to be angry with her because she would not? +Ought you to have thought so much more of your generosity than of +Jessie's truth?" Mr. Mackay waited a little while for an answer, then +said, "Speak, Mary--was this right?" + +While her father had been speaking to her, Mary had ceased to weep, +though she still kept her head down, and her face covered with her +hands. Even now she could not lift her eyes, though she raised her head +a little as she said, almost in a whisper, "No, papa." + +Jessie, whose eyes had been fixed upon Mary with the most earnest, +anxious look you can imagine, now put her arm quickly around her neck, +exclaiming in a joyful tone, "Then, Mary, you will not be vexed with me +any more, will you?" + +"No, Jessie," said Mary, kissing her, "it was very wicked in me to be +vexed with you just because you were good." + +"Now, my dear Mary," said Mr. Mackay, "in taking blame for your own +fault, and giving to your friend the credit she deserves, you are indeed +generous, and I may now put back the lamb's collar--you _merit_ the +reward." + +As he spoke, he kissed both the little girls. Mary sprang into her +father's arms and hid her face on his shoulder. As she did so, I saw +that there were tears in her eyes, yet she smiled and looked very happy. +In a little while she looked up, and seeing Jessie seated on the floor +playing with the lamb, said, laughing, "Why, Jessie, I thought you hated +the lamb." + +"Not now, Mary," said Jessie, "I love it now." + +And now it will be easy for my little readers to see that the one thing +which Jessie loved more than Mary was "Truth." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE COW. + + +It was but a few weeks after this, that, as Harriet and I were one +evening passing Mr. Graham's house, we saw a man tying a rope around the +neck of his fine cow, which was noted everywhere for her gentleness and +for the quantity of milk she gave. In the yard, not far from the cow, +stood Mr. Graham. He was looking very serious, but did not say any +thing. But poor Jessie!--her arm was over the cow's neck and her face +rested against her side, while she sobbed so loudly that we heard her +before we reached the gate. As I did not quite understand what was +going on, I hesitated a little about entering, but Mr. Graham saw me, +and stepping up opened the gate. As I went in, I said to him, "What is +the matter with my friend Jessie?" + +He tried to smile as he replied, "Only parting with the cow, ma'am. It +is very foolish in her to take on so;--but she has always fed her, and +so the creature knows and follows her, and Jessie feels as if she was +just like a friend." + +"But why are you parting with your cow, Mr. Graham?" + +Mr. Graham colored and turned a little away from me as he said, "It is +not just convenient to me to keep her at present, ma'am." + +I saw from his manner that it would pain him to have me ask further +about his reasons for selling her. Supposing that the cow was already +sold, I asked who had bought her. + +"Nobody yet, ma'am," said Mr. Graham, "I am only sending her to town to +be sold." + +"Then I am very glad I came here before she went," said I, "for I should +like very much to own her, and I will give you gladly whatever you +expected to get for her in town." + +Jessie looked up at this, and as she saw her father hesitate, cried out, +"Oh yes! do, father, sell her to Aunt Kitty, and I can see poor Mooly +sometimes; and then too, if you are ever rich enough to buy her back, I +know she will let you have her again." + +"You are a foolish thing," said Mr. Graham, as he put his hand kindly on +Jessie's head, for we had walked together to the cow--then turning to +me, he told me he would be very glad to sell the cow to one who he knew +would use her well. The business was soon arranged. The cow was to be +taken home at once to my house; but she need not be tied, for Jessie +would lead her there, and there was no difficulty in getting her to +follow Jessie. Mr. Graham went along with us too, to receive his money. +Before Jessie left us I begged her to feed the cow for me. + +"That I will, ma'am," said the delighted girl, "and if you will let me, +I will come every evening and give her her supper, for I am sure she +will like it better, if she takes it from me." + +"I shall be very much obliged to you, Jessie, and as your friend Mooly +may not be quite so gentle with strangers as with you, if you will come +over and keep her quiet when she is milked in the morning, you will be +doing me a favor, and then you can carry back the cup of warm milk which +Harriet tells me your grandmother drinks every morning." + +Jessie looked at me for a moment with a happy smile, and then said, "Oh, +ma'am! how glad I am that you walked by our house this evening. This +will be almost as good as having Mooly at home ourselves." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +SORROW AND SYMPATHY. + + +I could not easily forget poor Jessie's distress, and I found myself +often thinking what could have made Mr. Graham sell so good a cow. +Surely, I said to myself, it cannot be that he is poorer than he has +been, and in want of money which he could not get in any other way. I +knew that he had had rheumatism so badly during the past winter, that he +had not been able to get out to work till quite late in the spring; but, +notwithstanding this, as the seasons had been favorable, his garden did +not seem to have suffered much. Besides, his family were so prudent and +industrious, that I thought they always spent less in the year than he +made, and so, that he was able every year to lay up some money against +worse times. Jessie came over every morning to see her friend Mooly +milked, and to take a mug of milk to her grandmother, which Harriet took +care should be large enough to give the children some milk with their +breakfasts. In the evening she was always ready to give Mooly her +supper; and as I saw her, day after day, come skipping and singing +along, I felt comforted about her father's circumstances, for I was sure +that Jessie at least had not heard of his being in any great distress or +difficulty. One morning a servant came to me to ask whether Jessie +should be waited for, as it was, she said, quite time the milking was +done, and Jessie was not yet in sight. + +"Oh yes! pray, Aunt Kitty, wait," said Harriet, "she will be here +presently, I am sure she will--just wait five minutes." + +As she spoke, she ran to the window to watch for Jessie, and soon called +out, "Here's Jessie; but how slow she comes! Do, Aunt Kitty, look!--You +said, the other day, Jessie never walked, and I am sure she is walking +now as slowly as her grandmother could. Why, now, she has stopped and +turned around as if she was not coming at all. Why, I do believe she is +crying! What can be the matter?" + +She darted out of the room as she finished speaking, and when I reached +the window through which she had been looking, she was already standing +beside Jessie with her arm around her, talking to her. For a long time +Jessie did not speak, but when she did, she seemed very much in earnest, +while Harriet listened with an expression of the most eager interest. At +length Jessie's story, whatever it was, was ended, and Harriet seemed to +have comforted her, for she wiped her eyes, and looked more cheerful as +they passed the window where I stood, walking hand in hand to the yard +where the cow and the dairywoman were waiting for them. In a little +while, Jessie passed by again on her way home. As she dropped a courtesy +to me and wished me good-morning, I saw that her eyes were still red and +her face swollen with weeping, though she had pushed her bonnet entirely +off her head, that the cool breeze might take away the inflammation. +Jessie was such a merry-hearted child that I felt it could be no +trifling thing which had distressed her so much; yet I would not ask +Harriet any thing about it, because I was sure she would speak of it +herself, if Jessie had not made her promise to keep it secret, and if +she had, I would have been sorry that she should do any thing so +dishonorable as to mention it. There was a servant in the room when she +came in, and I saw that Harriet was quite restless during the few +minutes that she stayed. As soon as she went out, Harriet closed the +door after her and began, "Oh, Aunt Kitty! I am so sorry. Jessie is +going away, and Mr. Graham and all--going to some far-off place in the +West. And Jessie says her father has lost a great deal of money, and +that he is so poor he cannot pay for his place, and so they are going to +take it from him. Jessie heard Mr. Butler talking to him about it this +morning, and she says Mr. Butler--" + +"Stop, stop, Harriet, if Jessie only overheard a conversation between +her father and Mr. Butler she was very wrong to repeat it to you, and +the wrong must not go any further--you must not tell it even to me." + +"Oh, but, Aunt Kitty, Mr. Graham told Jessie he did not mind her telling +anybody except her grandmother. He does not want old Mrs. Graham to know +it yet; I do not know why. It was Mr. Graham's talking about his mother +that made Mr. Butler tell him, Jessie says, that, if he thought he would +be able to pay him next year, he would wait for his money till then; but +Mr. Graham said something about a bank breaking down--I did not quite +understand that, Aunt Kitty,--but at any rate, all his money was in it, +and he told Mr. Butler that he never expected to be able to pay him, and +that he must take the house back. Mr. Butler said that he would try to +get some one to buy it who would not want it till next year, so that Mr. +Graham need not go till then; but then, Aunt Kitty, they will have to +go." + +"I am very sorry for it, Harriet, very sorry indeed." + +"I knew you would be, Aunt Kitty, and I told Jessie so, and that you +would try to think of something to help her father, and maybe they would +not have to go at all." + +Harriet was silent and looked earnestly in my face for a minute, then +finding I did not answer her, she said, softly, "Will you not, Aunt +Kitty, will you not help Mr. Graham?" + +"Most gladly, Harriet, if I can, but I do not yet see how. You know I am +not very rich just now myself." + +Harriet looked quite discouraged and thoughtful for a while, then said, +"Could not Uncle Mackay help him?" + +"You know that your uncle is about to travel on account of your aunt's +health, and you may have heard him complain of being kept here much +longer than he wished, in consequence of the difficulty of getting the +money which is necessary for himself. Besides, Harriet," said I, +interrupting her as she was about to speak, "I feel sure, from what I +know of Mr. Graham, that he would not take the money he needs, as a +_gift_ from anybody, while he is well and strong, and only to lend it to +him would be doing him little service, since it would be as difficult to +pay it back as to pay for his house." + +Harriet looked quite desponding, and said, "Poor Jessie, she will have +to go, then." + +"There is but one way, Harriet, which I now think of to prevent it. I +have heard Mr. Graham say that he had more leisure than he liked, and +that he could very well attend to another garden besides his own and +your Uncle Mackay's. Now, if we could get more work and more wages for +him, he could, perhaps, hire a house for the present, and might in time +again lay up money enough to buy." + +"That's it, Aunt Kitty--that's it--that is the very best plan," said +Harriet, eagerly; "do let me run over and tell Jessie about it." + +"Wait, Harriet, till we see some prospect of succeeding in it, before we +say any thing to Jessie. After breakfast we will go over to your +uncle's, and see if we can learn any thing from him likely to profit Mr. +Graham." + +Before I had left the breakfast table, Harriet called out, "Aunt Kitty, +here are Uncle Mackay and Mr. Graham coming this way." When they reached +my gate, however, Mr. Graham passed on towards his own house, and my +brother came in alone. He had just heard from Mr. Graham, that he would +probably be obliged to leave us soon, and seemed much grieved about it. +Mr. Graham had told him that his father had leased his house and garden +from Mr. Butler for twenty-one years--that is, had engaged for that time +to pay a certain sum of money every year for them. When the twenty-one +years were out, Mr. Graham had offered to buy them, on condition that he +should not be asked to pay the money for ten years. During this time, he +had every year put by something towards paying this debt in a savings +bank, and now, when the ten years wanted but a very few months of being +ended, and he thought himself quite ready to pay for his house, he +discovered that the bank had failed, or, as Harriet said, broken--that +is, that it had nothing with which to pay him and others whom it owed. + +My brother thought my plan for helping Mr. Graham would be a very good +one, if we could only find the work and the wages; but this he feared +would not be easy, as there were few persons in the neighborhood who +employed a gardener. + +"There is my friend Dickinson," he said at length, "who told me, when I +saw him last, that he intended to dismiss his gardener, because he could +not keep his children out of the garden, where they were forever +annoying him by trampling on his flower-beds and breaking his flowers. +This would be an excellent place, for he gives his gardener a very +pretty house and some ground for himself, besides a high salary, but--" + +"Oh!" said I, interrupting him, "do not put in a _but_, for that is the +very place we want." + +"Yes, Aunt Kitty," said Harriet, eagerly, "that is the very place." + +"I fear," said my brother, smiling at her earnestness, "that it is a +place which even Aunt Kitty with all her influence cannot get, for Mr. +Dickinson declared he was determined never again to employ a man who had +children, and you know his determination is not easily changed." + +Still, discouraging as the case seemed, I resolved to try, and ordering +the carriage, I asked Harriet if she would like to go with me. "No, +thank you, Aunt Kitty. I would like the drive, but Mr. Dickinson looks +so cross I am always afraid he is going to scold me." + +"Did you not tell me, when we were last there, that you would never be +afraid of him again, after seeing him play so good-humoredly with +William Temple?" + +"Oh yes, Aunt Kitty; and now I remember that, I think I will go, if you +will ask Mrs. Temple, when we get there, to let me play with William in +the nursery." + +Harriet was soon ready, and as the day was bright and the road good, we +had a very pleasant drive of a mile and a half to Mr. Dickinson's. +Before I tell you of our visit, however, you would perhaps like to hear +something of Mr. Dickinson himself, of Mrs. Temple, and of little +William. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +VISIT TO FLOWERHILL. + + +Mr. Dickinson was an elderly gentleman, who had had his own way pretty +much all his life. In the first place, when he was a child, having had +no brothers or sisters, and being of course a great pet with his +father--his mother died when he was too young to remember her--he was +seldom contradicted or opposed in any thing. When he was about fifteen +his father brought home another mother for him, but as he was then at +school, he was little under her control. In about a year she too died, +leaving a little girl who was his half-sister. As he loved this sister +very much, and was not a selfish boy, he would, I doubt not, sometimes +have given up his will to her, but she was taken away by an aunt, who +took care of her, and with whom she always lived till she married. This +sister is Mrs. Temple, and a very pleasant woman she is, and dearly does +she love her brother William, as she showed by naming her first son +after him. When Mr. Dickinson's father died, he was still a very young +man. As he was rich, had nothing to keep him at home, and was desirous +of seeing other countries, he went to England, and was for several years +travelling in Great Britain and on the continent of Europe. He could +tell very pleasant stories of what he had seen and heard abroad, but he +always ended by saying he had never seen any place which he liked half +so well as Flowerhill. This was the name he had given to his home. + +And well might he like it, for it was indeed a beautiful place. The +house was built on the side of a hill. It had no up-stairs, being only +one story high, yet it was so large that a dozen children might have +played in one part of it without disturbing Mr. Dickinson in the other. +Then it was shaded by such beautiful large old elm-trees. And the +garden--there was not such another garden in the country, for Mr. +Dickinson had employed a very skilful English gardener, who had laid it +out with great taste, and he was constantly buying for it choice and +beautiful flowers. People must have something to pet. Now Mr. Dickinson +being a single man, with no children to pet, had learned to make pets of +his flowers. You will probably think, from all I have said, that Mr. +Dickinson, with no one ever to oppose him, and plenty of money to do +what he liked with, must have been a very happy man. When you are a +little older you will learn that those are not the happiest people who +always have their own way. There were very few people who seemed more +fretful and discontented than this Mr. Dickinson. Children, like +Harriet, called him cross, and ran away from him, while older people +often thought him proud and ill-tempered, and were rather distant with +him. Yet those who knew him well, liked him much, for he was a very +upright and honest and kind-hearted man. You will be a little surprised +perhaps at my calling him kind-hearted, but could you have heard from +some poor old people near him, how often he sent them food and fuel in +the winter season when they could not go out to work, and must have been +both cold and hungry but for him, you would not think it strange. To be +sure, they said, he would scold a little when he came to see them, if it +was only because they did not make better fires or boil their soup more; +but they did not mind this, for they had found out that the more he +scolded, the more he gave. Then, though Mr. Dickinson was never quite +satisfied with children, who either talked so loud that they made his +head ache, or so low that he could not hear them, and if they walked out +with him were certain to tread either on his feet or his flowers, he was +always very careful that they should not get hurt when near him, and +would often spend his money and give himself some trouble to gratify +their wishes, if they were not unreasonable. Mrs. Temple and her two +children, William, who was about six years old, and Flora, who was +nearly four years younger, had been spending the summer with Mr. +Dickinson; and William, who was a fine, spirited boy, was a great deal +with his uncle, and took more liberties with him than I believe +anybody--boy or man--had ever done before. + +In driving to Mr. Dickinson's from my house, the road wound around his +garden, and passed, on the other side, the house which had been built +for his gardener. This was a very pretty cottage, with another garden at +the back of it, which, though much smaller than Mr. Dickinson's, and +very simply laid out, looked scarcely less pleasing,--with its raspberry +and strawberry vines--its currant and gooseberry bushes--its roses and +pinks, and its little arbor of grapes, over the entrance to which hung +the fragrant honeysuckle and bright red woodbine. The house was shut up, +but looked as if it might have quite room enough for Mr. Graham's +family. Harriet was sure it was just the thing, and even managed, in the +minute we were passing, to get a peep into the poultry-yard, and to +ascertain that there was good accommodation for all Jessie's ducks and +chickens. + +We found Mr. Dickinson at home. He was reading to his sister, Mrs. +Temple, as she sat at work in a room with sashed doors opening into the +garden. One of these doors was open, and William Temple soon appeared at +it, calling out, "Uncle, do come here and tell me what this beautiful +flower is named?" + +"Not now, sir, not now," said Mr. Dickinson; and then, before William +could speak, added, "Pray, sir, do you not see the ladies, that you take +no notice of them?" + +William came in, and having spoken to me and to Harriet, who was a great +favorite with him, he waited patiently till there was a pause in the +conversation, when he edged up to his uncle, and taking his hand said, +"Come, now uncle,--do come--it will not take you two minutes, and I must +know the name of that flower,--it is the handsomest thing I ever saw in +my life." + +"You are very persevering, sir," said Mr. Dickinson, but at the same +time rose and suffered the little boy to lead him off. + +Mrs. Temple asked if I would not follow them and see this wonderful +flower; to which I readily agreed, as I thought while in the garden I +might find a very good opportunity to speak to Mr. Dickinson about his +gardener. We soon came up with William and his uncle. They were standing +by a large tub, in which was the flower William had so much admired. It +was indeed a splendid plant. When near enough, I heard Mr. Dickinson +pronouncing its name very slowly, while William carefully repeated it +after him. It was so long that I fear poor William with all his trouble +did not remember it long; yet, as you may like to know it I will tell +it to you. It was a Cactus Grandiflora. The flower was not yet fully +open, and on my saying I had never seen one before, Mr. Dickinson begged +that I would drive over the next day and look at it in greater +perfection, which I promised to do, if the weather remained pleasant. As +we returned to the house William drew Harriet off into another walk. Mr. +Dickinson looked after them for a moment, and then said, turning to me, +"William is the only child I ever saw who at six years old might be +trusted in a garden without fear. He will not pluck a leaf without +permission." + +"Well taught children never do," said I. + +"Then, ma'am," he replied, "there are very few well taught children. I +have just had to part with a most admirable gardener, because his +children were in this respect so ill taught, that they did my flowers +more harm than he, with all his skill, could do them good." + +"Have you supplied his place yet?" I inquired. + +"No, ma'am, I have not. I am determined to engage no one who has +children, and I have not yet heard of one who has none." + +"Would it not be as well if you could find one whose children were in +this respect as well taught as William Temple?" + +"That, ma'am, I think would be even more difficult." + +"It is perhaps not common, but I know a man who would, I think, suit you +in all respects." + +"Not if he have children, ma'am," said Mr. Dickinson, with a very +determined air. + +"You have seen his children, and I think must acknowledge them to be +well behaved, for it is of Mr. Graham, my brother's gardener, that I +speak." + +"I never saw his children in a garden, ma'am," said Mr. Dickinson. + +"Suppose I give you an opportunity of doing so," said I, "by bringing +his eldest daughter over with me to-morrow. She is, I assure you, a +great favorite both with Harriet and with me." + +Before Mr. Dickinson could reply to me, Mrs. Temple asked if my brother +was going to give up his gardener, that I was seeking other employment +for him. I replied that my brother would part with him very unwillingly, +but that Mr. Graham had met with great losses, and unless he could +obtain a more profitable situation, would have to move away to some +distant part of the country where living was cheaper, and where his +large family might therefore be more easily supported. I saw that Mr. +Dickinson was listening to me, though he said nothing; so, still +speaking to Mrs. Temple, I explained the cause of Mr. Graham's +difficulties, and then added, "It is for the aged mother of Mr. Graham +that I feel this change most. Your brother and I were children when she +came to this country with her husband, who soon died, leaving her with +this son to support, and nothing but her own labor with which to do it. +Your father and some other friends offered her the means of going back +to her own family in Scotland. She thanked them, but said, there was no +home so dear to her as that where she had lived with her husband, and +that she could not leave him, even in his grave, alone with strangers. +And now--" + +"I will tell you what I will do, ma'am," said Mr. Dickinson, "I will +lend Mr. Graham the money to pay for his house." + +"Ah! but, Mr. Dickinson, how is he to make the money to pay you again?" + +"I will give it to him, ma'am, I will give it to him." + +"That will not do," said I, "for Mr. Graham is a proud man, and as +determined in his way as Mr. Dickinson is in his. He will not receive +alms while he can earn a living." + +Mr. Dickinson was silent a little while, then said, "I do not see what I +can do, for I cannot have children here, that is certain." + +"May I bring little Jessie with me to-morrow, and show you that she, +like William Temple, can walk through a garden without plucking a leaf?" + +"If she be cautioned beforehand," said Mr. Dickinson. + +"No," said I, "I will give her no cautions." + +The children were now again beside us, and William, who had heard the +last part of our conversation, called out, "Oh yes, Uncle, let Jessie +come--do--she is the greatest gardener in the country, and taught me a +great deal,--now I will see if she ever heard of Cac-tus Grand-iflo-ra," +pronouncing every syllable with great emphasis. + +"For once," said Mrs. Temple, smiling, "I will second William's +request,--let the little girl come." + +"Oh, certainly, certainly, ladies, let her come. I have no objection to +her coming--but, remember, I make no promise to employ her father as my +gardener." + +"And, uncle, Mary Mackay too, I love Mary Mackay--pray, ask Aunt Kitty +to bring her." + +William's influence seemed irresistible, and I left Mr. Dickinson's with +permission to bring both Mary and Jessie with me the next day. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +HOPES AND FEARS. + + +We dined at Mr. Dickinson's, and as the weather was warm, waited till +near sunset before we returned home. As we got into the carriage, Mr. +Dickinson said, "I shall expect you to-morrow, if the weather be fine." + +Harriet turned her head anxiously towards the west to see what weather +the setting sun would promise us. It was just then under a cloud, but we +had not gone a quarter of a mile before it shone out very brightly. +Harriet clapped her hands and cried out, "Oh, Aunt Kitty, is it not +delightful?" + +"It is very beautiful, my dear, certainly," said I, looking at the cloud +which glittered like the brightest gold in the sunlight. + +"But, Aunt Kitty, I mean, is it not delightful to think that we shall +have such a fine day to-morrow to go to Flowerhill?" + +"Why, Harriet, are you not a little whimsical, to be so highly delighted +with the prospect of doing to-morrow what, when I first proposed it to +you to-day, you seemed rather disinclined to do?" + +"That was because I thought Mr. Dickinson was cross, but William says he +is not cross at all; and then, you know, Aunt Kitty, Jessie is to go +with us to-morrow, and I am sure, almost, that Mr. Graham will get the +place." + +"I wish I felt sure, Harriet, or even _almost_ sure of it; but Mr. +Dickinson seems very decided not to have any children about his garden." + +"But, Aunt Kitty, when he sees how careful Jessie is, do you not think +he may?" + +"We will hope for the best, Harriet. But even should Mr. Graham not gain +the place, Harriet Armand may gain a lesson from this business, and a +very useful lesson too. Do you see what this lesson is, or shall I tell +you?" + +Harriet thought a minute, and then said, "You must tell me, Aunt Kitty, +unless it is that I must be very careful in a garden, and especially in +Mr. Dickinson's garden." This last was said with a laugh. + +"No, Harriet, it is a far graver and more important lesson than this. It +is, that you must be careful everywhere to do no wrong--not the +least--for that which seems to you a very little wrong may be followed +by very great evil, and by evil to others as well as to yourself. Those +children who have offended Mr. Dickinson, I dare say, thought it no +great harm that they now and then picked a flower, or, in their play, +ran over and trampled down the beds in his garden; yet you see how much +evil has followed,--their own parents have lost their pleasant home, and +now the remembrance of their bad conduct may prevent a good man's +getting a situation which would save his family from great distress. God +has taught us, my child, that wrong-doing always brings suffering, but +what, or how great that suffering may be, we know not. Remember this, +Harriet; and remember, too, that when once the wrong is done, however +bitterly we may mourn over it, we cannot undo it, and the suffering +_will_ follow--we cannot escape it." + +"But, Aunt Kitty," said Harriet, in a low and hesitating tone, "if we +are sorry for what we do wrong,--if we mourn over it, as you say, will +not God forgive us?" + +"Yes, Harriet, He will forgive us, and so take away from us the worst of +all evils--His displeasure. He will pity us, and his 'loving-kindness' +will comfort us under our suffering;--but the suffering must come, and +either by enduring it ourselves or by seeing others endure it, we shall +be taught how much better it would have been if we had not done the +wrong--how wise was that commandment of God which forbade us to do it." + +The sun had set before we were at home. Harriet's first inquiry was, if +Jessie had been yet to feed the cow. She had been, the servant said, and +had gone back home only a few minutes before we arrived. I told Harriet +that after we had taken tea we would walk over to Mr. Graham's together, +and invite Jessie to go with us in the morning. + +"And may I tell her, Aunt Kitty, all about your trying to get the place +for her father, and beg her to be very careful not to touch the +flowers?" + +"No, Harriet, Jessie would, like you, probably feel almost sure of the +place for her father, and the disappointment would be very hard to bear +if he did not get it. Besides, I promised Mr. Dickinson to give her no +caution." + +"But, Aunt Kitty, I may just tell her how cross Mr. Dickinson is, so +that she may feel very much afraid to touch any thing." + +"Harriet!" said I, "have you forgotten already William Temple's +assurances that his uncle is not cross at all?" + +"No, Aunt Kitty, I have not forgotten--I did not mean how cross, but how +_particular_ he is." + +"I think you had better say nothing to spoil Jessie's enjoyment of a +pleasant day. You would do no good by making her afraid to move. Mr. +Dickinson would see quickly enough that she was not acting naturally, +and would place no confidence in the continuance of such extreme +cautiousness." Harriet still looked anxious, and I added, "I can trust +Jessie without any cautions." + +The evening was very still--so still, that, as we walked to Mr. +Graham's, we could hear the grasshoppers jumping from our path, and the +lowing of a cow in a field near us sounded so loud, that Harriet started +as if it had been some strange noise. As we passed the garden we heard +old Mrs. Graham's voice, and though the fence was too high for me to see +them, I soon found that she and Jessie were walking just inside of it, +and therefore near enough for us to hear what they said. Had they been +talking of any thing which they might not have wished a stranger to +hear, I would have spoken to them, but as this was not the case, and as +I was interested in their conversation, I motioned to Harriet to keep +quiet and listen to it. + +"Ah, yes, Jessie, it is a pretty place--a very pretty place," said Mrs. +Graham. + +"But, grandmother," said Jessie, "there are a great many other places +just as pretty." + +"Maybe so, Jessie, maybe so, but there are none, child, we love so +well." + +"But when we get used to them, grandmother, we should get to love them, +should we not?" + +Mrs. Graham was silent for a minute or two, till Jessie said, "Say, +grandmother, should we not?" + +"I was thinking, my dear, and I do not think I could. You would, Jessie, +for the hearts of young people like you are full of hope. You are always +thinking of the pleasure you will have to-morrow, or the next week, or +the next month, and every change, you think, will bring some enjoyment. +But our hearts, Jessie, the hearts of the old, are full of what we +remember of the pleasures we have had already, and which can never come +back to us, and we love the old places best where we can look around and +say to ourselves--'There I had a pleasant walk with such a dear friend; +and, There I sat when I heard such a piece of good news; and so on.' Do +you understand me, Jessie?" + +"Yes, grandmother." After a while, Jessie said in a very low voice, so +that I could just hear her, "Grandmother, did not grandfather live +here?" + +"Yes, my child, and I was just going to tell you, Jessie, that there is +one move I would be willing to make; I would be willing to live near, +quite near, the church, for it is getting to be hard work for me to get +in and out of a wagon, and I cannot walk so far now, and though I am +sure you take good care of grandfather's grave, I shall still want to +see it sometimes myself." + +Flowerhill was quite near the country church in whose grave-yard Mr. +Graham had been buried, and Harriet could not resist whispering to me, +"Oh, Aunt Kitty, it will just do." + +Mrs. Graham said nothing more, and when we entered the house at the +front door, she and Jessie were just coming up the steps which led from +the garden. Jessie was delighted with the promise for to-morrow, and so +often repeated how good it was in Mr. Dickinson to let William Temple +ask her, that I saw Harriet was quite afraid that Mr. Dickinson would +not appear awful enough in Jessie's eyes, and that she longed to add, +"but he is very particular." It was arranged that we were to go quite +early in the morning, that is, by nine o'clock, when it would be still +cool and pleasant. This hour did not make it necessary for us to rise +earlier than we usually did, as we always breakfasted at seven o'clock +in summer. Yet, so much was Harriet excited, that three times in the +night she called out from her little room, to ask if I thought it near +daylight, and she started up in the morning with the first ray of +sunlight. As soon as she was dressed, I sent her for Mary Mackay. Before +breakfast was on table all my company was collected, and a merrier +company was certainly never seen, except Harriet, who, though pleased, +was anxious. Mary jumped, and danced, and laughed, and sung, till +Harriet exclaimed, "Mary, if you do so at Mr. Dickinson's he will think +you crazy. I am sure he would not trust anybody who danced about as you +are doing, in his garden for one moment." + +"I do not care to go in his garden," said Mary, "I would rather a great +deal play under the trees with William." + +"But you must go in the garden, Mary, or you will not see the flower, +and you know you were asked to see the flower." + +"Don't be afraid, Harriet; I'll go in the garden, and when I do, I'll +walk so," putting her hands down close to her side as she spoke, and +mincing her steps as if she was treading on something she was afraid of +crushing. I had a little suspicion that this lesson was intended by +Harriet more for Jessie than for Mary. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE GARDEN--THE LITTLE AND THE GRAND FLORA. + + +As Harriet had been taught always to speak kindly to servants, she was +quite a favorite with them, and her petition to the coachman that he +would drive fast, made him put the horses into such rapid motion that +the mile and a half was soon passed, and we were landed at Flowerhill +before Mary had half arranged her plans of amusement for the day. +Notwithstanding our speed, however, William called out, as we drove up, +"What made you wait so long? I have been watching for you this great +while." + +Mr. Dickinson spoke to the children very pleasantly, and asked very +kindly after Jessie's grandmother. As he caught my eye, however, on +turning away from her, he shook his head with a look which seemed to +say, "Remember, I promise nothing." + +William was so impatient to show Jessie the flower and to exhibit his +own accomplishments as a florist, that he carried the children off at +once to the garden. Mr. Dickinson looked rather anxiously after them as +they went tripping gayly along the walks, and very soon proposed that we +should follow them. I acknowledge that, confident as I had expressed +myself to be, and as I really was, of Jessie's good behavior, my great +anxiety that she should be particularly cautious, made me a little +nervous, a little fearful that she might at least let the skirt of her +dress brush off a leaf, and thus give Mr. Dickinson an excuse for +adhering to his determination. I was, therefore, quite ready to join the +children, who would, I thought, be more quiet when we were near. The +first sight of them, however, set my fears at rest, and I glanced at Mr. +Dickinson with something of triumph. There they stood ranged around the +tub in which was the strange and beautiful flower they were admiring, +yet not a finger was raised even to point at it; on the contrary, they +were holding each other's hands as if they feared their own +forgetfulness. They moved away as we came up, though not far, and +William Temple continued to repeat to Jessie all which he had learned +from his uncle of the nature and habits of the plant. After I had +observed all the beauties of this pride of the garden, and exhibited as +much admiration for them as even Mr. Dickinson could desire, he invited +me to walk with him to a distant part of the garden, where he had some +other plants scarce less beautiful or less rare than this. Little Flora +Temple, who, as I have before told you, was only about two years old, +had held her mother's finger and run along by her side from the house, +prattling all the way of the "pitty fower" which she was going to see. +She now refused to go any farther, saying, "Fola tired--stay, Willy." + +Mrs. Temple looked at Mr. Dickinson doubtfully, but as if to show the +confidence which the good conduct of the children had given him, he made +no objection, saying, indeed, "William will take good care of her,"--so +she was left. + +With a lightened heart, beginning to feel as Harriet did, _almost_ sure +that Mr. Graham would have the place, I went. What happened after we had +left the children, I must tell you as I learned it from themselves. It +seems, that finding her brother too much engaged with Jessie and his new +office of teacher to attend much to her, Flora became weary and teased +him to take her into the house. "Poor thing," said William, "she is +tired standing up. If brother Willy finds a pretty place for her, will +she sit down quite still till he runs to the house for Nursey to come +and take her up?" + +The child assented. Now, unfortunately, just by the Cactus stood a +flower-stand, not intended for a parlor, but large and high, making a +pretty ornament in a garden when covered with small plants, which were +better sunned in this way than if placed on the earth. This flower-stand +was in the shape of a half moon; the shelves looked like steps, and were +quite strong enough to bear Flora's weight, or indeed William's. They +were dry and clean, and seemed to him to offer a very nice and safe seat +for Flora, especially as she would be within sight of the house all the +time. William was only six years old, and perhaps does not deserve to be +blamed very much for forgetting, in this arrangement, that as his back +would be towards Flora in going to the house, and as the other children +were standing behind the flower-stand, neither he nor they would be able +to see her or provide for her safety. They had paid little attention to +her, and supposed, when they missed her, that William had taken her to +the house with him, while he had in reality placed her on the third +shelf, or step, as he called it, of the flower-stand. Giving her a few +common flowers to amuse her, he ran on without thought of harm. Jessie +was still occupied with the strange stalk and leaves of this wonderful +plant, which she was every minute wishing her father could see--Harriet, +equally intent on guarding Mr. Dickinson's treasures from the touch +even of Jessie's dress, and Mary in looking for a weed, of which William +Temple had declared there was not one in his uncle's garden, when they +were all startled by a scream. It was William's voice--then followed a +few eager words, "Jessie, look up--Jessie--Harriet--catch her!" + +Jessie looked up, and there stood Flora Temple on the topmost height of +the narrow flower-stand. Attracted probably by the voices, she had +climbed up, intending, no doubt, to get down to them on the other side. +William, who first saw her, was too far away to help her, and when +Jessie looked at her, she had already become frightened and was leaning +forwards with her arms outstretched. Harriet ran around the stand to go +up to her--Jessie saw it was too late for this--in one instant she was +standing on the tub--the Cactus tub--the next, Flora was in her arms, +the child was safe, and the flower, the splendid flower, the pride of +Mr. Dickinson's garden, and admiration of his guests, lay on the ground. +Falling from such a height, Flora's weight had been too much for Jessie. +She had bent under it, and pressing against the stake supporting the +flower, it had broken, and before Jessie could raise herself, the flower +was at her feet. For a time it was unseen, for all were occupied with +Flora, who screamed as if she had really met the fall she had so +narrowly escaped. Her nurse took her from Jessie, and moved towards the +house with her, followed by all the children, without any one of them +having even glanced at the Cactus. After going a short distance, +however, the girls, finding they could do nothing to pacify her, +returned to look for Mary's gloves and handkerchief, which she had laid +down and quite forgotten in her fright about Flora. As they came near +the flower, Harriet was the first to perceive the mischief done, and to +exclaim, "Oh, Jessie, see what you have done! What will Mr. Dickinson +say?" + +Jessie was a timid child, and Mr. Dickinson seemed to her the most awful +person in the world. Distressed and frightened, she stood for a minute +with her hands clasped, looking down at the prostrate flower without +speaking a word, then suddenly looking up, said, "Harriet, I am very +sorry, but I could not help it, and I must just go to Mr. Dickinson and +tell him I did it." + +"Ah, Jessie! you do not know all," said Harriet, "or it would not seem +so easy to tell him that." + +"It does not seem easy, Harriet," Jessie began--but Mary interrupted +her, exclaiming warmly, "Why, Harriet! I do believe you think Jessie +ought to have let Flora fall rather than have broken that one single +flower." + +"No, Mary, I do not think so, but I wish anybody else had done it rather +than Jessie." + +"Why, Harriet?" said Jessie, "why would you rather anybody else had done +it?" + +"Because, Jessie, I would rather Mr. Dickinson should be angry to-day +with anybody than with you." + +"But why?" persisted Jessie. + +Harriet hesitated--then said, "I may as well tell you, Jessie; for the +only reason Aunt Kitty did not wish me to, was that you would be too +sure, and there's no danger of that now." + +"Too sure of what?" + +"Why, that he would have your father for his gardener,"--and then +Harriet told of all her hopes and fears, and of my efforts, and of the +beautiful house and garden, and six hundred dollars a-year which Mr. +Dickinson gave his gardener,--"And then you know, Jessie, you would not +be too far to come every day to school to Miss Bennett; and see, Jessie, +there's the church," pointing to the steeple, "so near, and you know +your grandmother wants to live near the church, and this was what made +me want you to come so very much that Mr. Dickinson might see how +careful you were, and then I was almost sure he would let your father +have the place; but now--" and she looked down sorrowfully at the +prostrate flower. + +Jessie, who had listened with wondering and eager ears, looked down too +and said nothing. + +After a short pause, Mary Mackay exclaimed, "They are coming,--I hear +Mr. Dickinson--but do not look so pale and so frightened, Jessie. I will +tell you what I will do--I am not afraid of Mr. Dickinson--he cannot do +any thing to hurt me. Now, Jessie, do not begin to say no--I am not +going to tell a story--I am just going to _let him think_ it was I who +broke the flower." + +"No, no, Mary," said Jessie--but before she had finished speaking, Mary +had picked up the broken branch, and stood in the path before the +astonished Mr. Dickinson and myself. Mrs. Temple had excused herself and +returned to the house by another way some time before. There stood Mary +with the branch in her hand--the branch, with its flower broken and +soiled. + +"Mr. Dickinson," her voice faltered, and she evidently began to grow +frightened, but she continued, "I am very sorry, sir, your flower has +got broke." + +Mr. Dickinson turned first red and then pale. He said not a word to +Mary, but turned to me with a look which I well understood--it said as +plainly as words could have done, "You see how right I was about +children." This passed in an instant, for you know looks do not take +long, and before I could say a word to him--before I could even ask Mary +how it happened, Jessie stood beside her. She was very pale. Laying her +hand on the branch which Mary held, she said very distinctly, though her +voice was low, "She did not break it, sir--it was I." + +We were all silent for a moment, and then Mr. Dickinson spoke, "It was +you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then, my dear," he continued, speaking very slowly, "I am very much +obliged to you, for you have saved me probably from a great many such +trials. Had you been as careful and well-behaved as this lady thought +you, I should have been hardly able to refuse her request that I would +take your father as my gardener, at least on trial for one year, and at +the end of that time, I should, it seems, have had little of a garden to +keep." + +Mr. Dickinson walked on without another word or even look at the little +culprits. And I walked on too. You will think me very cruel, and so I +thought myself but a minute after, as I heard Jessie's low, +half-smothered sobs, and the efforts of Harriet and Mary to console her; +but I was really vexed with Jessie, for you must remember I did not know +how she had been so unfortunate as to break the plant,--the children had +been too much frightened even to think of telling us that. Besides, I +was on my way to see a new dairy of Mr. Dickinson's, and as I had asked +to see it, he would have thought my leaving him unpardonably impolite. I +fear, as it was, I must have seemed very inattentive, for I often forgot +to answer him while listening to poor Jessie's sobs, or looking back to +the garden walk where she still stood with her head resting on Harriet's +shoulder, while Mary held one of her hands and talked with even more +than her usual earnestness. What they said I must repeat to you as I +heard it from themselves, since it is necessary you should know it in +order to understand what afterwards happened. + +"I would not cry, Jessie," said Mary, "I would be glad my father was not +to live with such a cross, bad man." + +"Oh, Mary! you do not know how badly father feels about going away. He +thinks it will kill grandmother only to hear about it--and he might have +come here if it had not been for me--I am so sorry I came. What shall I +do, Harriet?--What shall I do?" + +"Let us all go and beg Mr. Dickinson," said Mary; "I am sure if we told +him that Jessie had done it all to keep little Flora Temple from hurting +herself, he could not be so cross." + +"Well," said Harriet, "let us try--we can do no harm--for he cannot be +more angry than he is." + +Poor Jessie was willing to try any thing, though she had little hope. +When she came near us, however, her heart failed her and she drew back. +Mary, who was always ready to be speaker, proposed that Jessie and +Harriet should stay where they were, while she went forward and told the +story. This was agreed to, and we had scarcely entered the dairy when +Mary followed us in. Breathing very hard and quick, and looking quite +flushed and agitated, she began, "Mr. Dickinson--Aunt Kitty--Aunt Kitty, +I am come to tell Mr. Dickinson how Jessie broke the flower." + +"There is no occasion, my dear," said Mr. Dickinson, looking quite +fretted and angry; "I do not care to know how she broke it, it is quite +enough for me to know that it is broken." + +"But I want to tell you, sir," persisted Mary, "because I am sure if you +knew, you would not be angry with her." + +"Angry with her!--I am not at all angry with her. I do not doubt that +she is a very good girl, and that I should like her very much, but not +in my garden, Miss Mary--not in my garden." + +I saw that Mr. Dickinson felt worried, and that Jessie's cause was not +gaining any thing from Mary's application, so taking her hand, I said, +"Do not tease Mr. Dickinson, my dear,--tell Jessie Mr. Dickinson says he +is not angry with her, and that Aunt Kitty loves her better than ever +for having told the truth so readily and firmly." + +Mary looked very much dissatisfied, but as Mr. Dickinson turned his back +to her and talked to me as if she had not been there, it was of no use +to stay, and she soon left us. + +"Jessie," said Mary, when she got back to her, "Mr. Dickinson is a cross +bad man, and I would not mind him at all. He said he was not angry with +you, but he was just as angry as he could be, for he would not hear a +word I had to say about you--but Aunt Kitty says you must not cry, and +that she loves you better than ever for telling the truth." + +Pleased as Jessie was with my praise, it could not comfort her for her +father's loss, or give her courage to meet the dreaded Mr. Dickinson. + +"Harriet," said she, "I do want to go home." + +"Well, Jessie, you shall go--I will ask Aunt Kitty to send you there in +the carriage, and then let it come back for us." + +"No, no, Harriet--then they will all talk to me and want me to stay. +It's only a little way, and I walk every week to the church--why cannot +I just slip through that garden gate and get home without anybody's +knowing it? I shall feel so much better when I have told father and +grandmother all about it." + +"I dare say you will," said Harriet, "for when any thing troubles me I +want to tell Aunt Kitty directly, and your grandmother is just the same +to you. I would tell her all, Jessie, for I am sure she would a great +deal rather go away anywhere than to have had you tell a story." + +"That I am sure of too," said Jessie. + +"Well," said Mary, coloring up, "I did not mean to tell a story, but I +do not see what harm it would have been to let Mr. Dickinson think it +was I that broke his plant, just from seeing the branch in my hand." + +"Oh, Mary!" said Jessie, "I know you would not tell a story, and it was +very kind in you to want to take the blame from me,--but indeed, Mary, +it would not have been right, I'm sure it would not; and badly as I do +feel now, I should have felt a great deal worse if I had not told Mr. +Dickinson all the truth,--but good-by, girls," for they had walked on +while talking, and both Harriet and Mary had gone with her beyond the +gate, "I'll go and tell father, and beg him to let me tell grandmother +all about it. He said last night he wished she knew, only he could not +bear to tell her." + +Jessie's tears had ceased as soon as she determined to go home and tell +her troubles there, and Harriet and Mary parted from her with smiles, +promising to beg me to go back early, and to let them go directly to her +house. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +TRUTH REWARDED. + + +I do not know exactly how long it was before Mr. Dickinson and I +returned to the house, but the children were there before us, and were +already telling the story of Jessie's griefs to William, who was quite +as much distressed for her, and as angry with his uncle as even Mary +could desire. As we entered the piazza where the children stood, I asked +for Jessie. + +"She has gone home," said Harriet. + +"Gone home!" I repeated in surprise. + +"Yes," said William, looking very boldly at his uncle, "and I think she +was very right to go. I would not stay where I was scolded just for +breaking a flower." + +"William!" said Mrs. Temple, in surprise at his violence, for he was +usually very gentle in his temper. Mr. Dickinson folded his arms and +looked at him without speaking, as if he wished to hear all he had to +say before answering him. + +"Well, mother," said William, still trying to speak boldly, though tears +were in his eyes, and he could not prevent the quivering of his lip, "I +do think it was very hard that Jessie should be scolded just for saving +my little sister from being hurt, or maybe killed. I am sure our little +Flora is worth a great deal more than any grand Flora." + +"Saved little Flora!" repeated Mr. Dickinson, "what does the child +mean?" looking at me, while I turned to Mrs. Temple for an explanation. + +"William is right," she answered, "in what he says, though very wrong in +his manner of saying it. I am sorry Jessie has gone without my thanks, +for, from the account given both by William and the nurse, she has +evinced extraordinary presence of mind for so young a child, and has +saved Flora from a very dangerous fall." + +"Fall from what?" + +"From the large flower-stand which stood near the Cactus, on a shelf of +which William seated her while he came to the house for her nurse. Flora +climbed to the top, and would have fallen on the flower, or worse, on +the stake which supported it, had not Jessie saved her." + +"And in saving her broke the flower. I see it all now," said Mr. +Dickinson; "but why did not the child tell me so?" + +"I tried to tell you, sir," said Mary, "in the dairy, but you would not +let me." + +Mr. Dickinson colored, as if he was ashamed to remember how angry he had +been. + +"And, Miss Mary Mackay, I think you had some intention of telling me a +story; of making me believe, if Jessie had let you, that you had broken +the flower; why was this?" + +Mary hung her head and looked very much ashamed, but answered, "I did +not mean to tell a story, Mr. Dickinson, I only meant to let you think +it was I, because it was better for you to be angry with me than to be +angry with Jessie." + +"You only meant to let me think it was you;--and have you been so ill +taught, young lady, that you do not know that in deceiving me by your +looks and manner, you were as guilty of falsehood as if you had spoken +it? But why would it have been better for me to be angry with you than +with Jessie?"--then, without waiting for an answer, Mr. Dickinson turned +to me and asked, "Did I not understand you, ma'am, that Jessie was to +know nothing of your plans, that I might see how she would behave when +unrestrained by any cautions?" + +"I did tell you so," said I, "and was, I assure you, true to my +promise." + +"Aunt Kitty," said Harriet, "after Jessie had broken the flower, I was +so sorry that I told her and Mary all about it." + +"All about what?" asked Mr. Dickinson. + +"About Aunt Kitty's wanting you to have Mr. Graham for your gardener, +sir; and that I thought you would have had him, and have given him that +pretty house and garden, and six hundred dollars a year, if Jessie had +not hurt any thing." + +"Then Jessie knew all this when she told me what she had done?" + +"Yes, sir, it was this that made Mary want her to let you think she had +done it; but Jessie said she should never feel happy if she did not tell +you the truth, and that she was sure her grandmother would rather go +away than have her tell a story." + +"She is a noble little girl," said Mr. Dickinson, "and her father shall +be my gardener, and have the house and garden, and six hundred dollars, +and another hundred besides for Jessie's sake; and if you will excuse +me, ma'am, I will order my horse and ride over to Mr. Graham's at once. +I may overtake the child." + +How happy Harriet looked--how Mary jumped and danced--how William, +springing into his uncle's arms, kissed him, declaring he loved him +better than he had ever done in his life, you may all imagine without my +telling. As soon as they were still enough for me to be heard, I begged +that Mrs. Temple would excuse me, and that Mr. Dickinson would order my +carriage and permit me to accompany him, as I would not miss seeing +Jessie's joyful surprise for any thing. + +The carriage was ordered, and in a very few minutes we were on the road +to Mr. Graham's. We looked eagerly at every turn for Jessie's straw +bonnet and plaided gingham dress, but nothing was seen of her. As we +could not overtake her, and did not wish to startle Mr. Graham's family +by driving unexpectedly to his house, we determined to leave the +carriage at mine and walk quietly over. We had gone but a few steps from +my door when we met Mr. Graham. He colored, on seeing Mr. Dickinson, +and would have turned off without stopping to speak to us. I was sure +from this, he had seen Jessie and heard her story, and that he felt a +little hurt that Mr. Dickinson should have been so angry with her, for +an accident which she could not help. Before he could get out of our +way, Mr. Dickinson was up with him and said, "Excuse me for stopping +you, Mr. Graham, but I have come to apologize to your little girl for my +anger to-day, which I find was very unreasonable. I was told, sir, +before she came to my house, that she had been taught to be careful in a +garden. I find she has been well taught in more important things. She is +a noble child, sir. I shall ask her to appoint my gardener, and if she +offer the place to her father I hope he will not refuse it, for I shall +be pleased to have in my employment a man so well principled as I am +sure he must be." + +Mr. Graham was quite confused, and stood a little while looking at Mr. +Dickinson, as if he did not understand him; then seizing his hand, he +said in a hoarse voice, while his lip trembled like a child's, "God +bless you, sir--God bless you. You have saved me from the greatest +sorrow I ever had--not that I minded the money so much, sir, for thank +God, I am strong yet, and could work for it again--but my mother, +sir--my poor old mother, it would have killed her, sir. I always thought +it would, and this morning when I summoned courage to tell her about it, +though she tried to talk cheerfully, I saw she was struck down, and I +knew if we went away, we should leave her behind--she would never live +to go--and now, oh sir! I can only say again, God bless you!" + +Mr. Graham could not say another word, for the tears came in spite of +him, and covering his face with his hands, he turned away from us, as if +he did not like that we should see him weep. He need not have been +ashamed, for I was sobbing, and even Mr. Dickinson's voice trembled as +he said, "It is your daughter you must bless, Mr. Graham; but we will +leave you now, sir, for I am quite anxious to make my peace with +Jessie." + +We both passed on, knowing that Mr. Graham would rather be by himself +while he was so agitated. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A GOOD CONSCIENCE MAKES ALL PLEASANT. + + +When we asked at the house for Jessie, we were told she was not there, +having followed her grandmother, who, before she returned, had walked +out. On inquiring in what direction they had gone, we were shown a +footpath which led first across a field and then through a wood, down to +a stream of water on which a saw-mill had been built many years ago. The +old mill had been long out of order, and the spot where it stood was so +shut in by trees, and was so still, that but for the occasional sound of +a wagon rumbling over a bridge not far off, or the merry whoop of a +child at play in the wood, you might have fancied, when there, that +there was not another person within miles of you. Mr. Dickinson and I +both knew the place well, and we walked on quite briskly, he leading the +way, for the path was too narrow for even two persons to walk side by +side. We were quite silent, for Mr. Dickinson never talked much, and I +was engaged with my own pleasant thoughts. In less than ten minutes we +came in sight of the old mill, and the open space around it. In this +open space, near to the stream, one large old oak had been left +standing, the roots of which grew out of the ground and then bent down +into it again, so as to form quite a comfortable seat. As we came near +this tree, we heard a child's voice speaking, and Mr. Dickinson, +supposing that Jessie was just telling her tale to her grandmother, +motioned to me to stop. As I was quite sure that Jessie would tell the +simple truth, I had no hesitation in doing this. Mrs. Graham was seated +on the root of which I have told you. Her face was towards the water, +and she was leaning back against the body of the tree. She had brought +her knitting with her, and her needles were moving as quickly and as +constantly as if she had been in her parlor at home. As we stood we had +a good side view of her, though she could only see us by turning quite +around. As Jessie sat on the grass at her grandmother's feet, she was +quite hidden from us, except the back of her head, a part of her dress, +and one hand which rested on Mrs. Graham's lap. We soon found that +Jessie's story must have been told before we came, for her voice ceased +as I obeyed Mr. Dickinson's sign to stop, and Mrs. Graham replied to +her, "Yes, Jessie, this is one of the places that I spoke to you of +yesterday evening that I love so well. Many a pleasant hour have I +passed with your dear grandfather under these shady trees, talking of +old friends and of our home across the sea, and this morning when I +heard that we were to go to a new home among strangers, I came here to +mourn that I must leave it. But, Jessie, this was wrong, and now I feel +it was, for while my child and my child's children are true and honest, +I have much more cause to be grateful than to grieve. If we carry with +us good consciences we shall find some prettiness in every place and +some good in every person." + +"How is that, grandmother? our goodness cannot make them pretty and +good." + +"It does not make them so, Jessie, but it makes us feel them to be so." + +"I do not see how, grandmother." + +"Look, Jessie, at the water, and tell me what you see in it." + +"The blue sky and a white cloud sailing over it, and the trees on the +other side--the water is so clear, grandmother, that I can see every +leaf." + +"Well, Jessie, when we came here last and the water was low and +muddy--do you remember what you saw then?" + +"I could hardly see any thing at all, grandmother, and what I did see +looked black and ugly." + +"And yet, Jessie, there was the same bright blue sky above, and the same +green trees on the other side. Now, Jessie, there is some beauty and +some goodness in every thing God has made, and he who has a pure +conscience is like one looking into a clear stream; he sees it all; +while to him who has a bad conscience, all things look as you say they +did in the muddy stream--black and ugly." + +"Now, grandmother, I know what you mean, and I know it is true too, for +if I had told a story to-day, and so father had got that pretty place, I +am sure I never should have liked it or thought it pretty again; and +then I should have been afraid of Mr. Dickinson, and have felt as if he +made me tell the story, and so I should not have liked him. But now, +grandmother, I think he is a very good man, though he is a little cross +sometimes, and I do not feel afraid of him at all." + +"No, Jessie, those who do right are seldom afraid, for you know the +Bible says, 'the righteous are as bold as a lion.' I am very glad, my +child, of all that has happened to you to-day. You may have harder +trials of your truth than even this before you die, but you will +remember this day, and how happy you have felt for telling the truth; +and you will remember, too, if all the good things on earth are offered +to you as the price of one falsehood, that your old grandmother told you +truth is better than all, Jessie,--truth is better than all. Will you +not remember this, Jessie?" + +"Yes, grandmother," said the child, in a low earnest voice. + +"So may God bless you, my daughter," and Mrs. Graham laid her hand +solemnly on Jessie's head. + +Mr. Dickinson and I had been unwilling to interrupt this conversation, +but he now stood aside that I might pass on, as he thought they would be +less startled at seeing me than at seeing him. Jessie was the first to +hear my step, and, turning her head quickly, to see me. She was on her +feet in a moment, and said, with a bright happy smile, "Oh! I am so glad +to see you, ma'am, for you will hear me, and I can tell you how it was, +and then I am sure you will not be angry with me." + +"I know all already, Jessie, and am only angry with myself that I should +have seemed displeased with you even for a moment. No one is angry with +you now, Jessie, and Mr. Dickinson has come with me to tell you himself +that he is not." + +"Oh! ma'am!" said Jessie, with a little start, though she had just said +she did not feel at all afraid of him. She looked around and saw Mr. +Dickinson already standing close beside her. + +"Do not be afraid, Jessie," said he, "for, as your grandmother told you, +those who do right need not fear any one. If either of us should be +afraid, it is I, for I was very unjust to you in refusing to hear your +excuses, when I might have known, from what had already passed, that you +would have told me nothing but the truth. But I have heard all since, +Jessie, and have come to make amends for my injustice." + +How Mr. Dickinson was to make amends to Jessie I need not repeat to you, +for you have heard it already. But Jessie's joy--this cannot be +described. She was wild with delight. Her grandmother was her first +thought, and as soon as she understood Mr. Dickinson, she was at her +side exclaiming, "Just hear, grandmother--just hear! Father is to have +that pretty place after all, and it is just by the church--and you know, +grandmother, you wanted to be by the church. Oh, grandmother! do tell +Mr. Dickinson how glad you are." + +Mrs. Graham's gladness showed itself in a way that Jessie did not quite +understand. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, while +yet there was a smile upon her lips; and when she attempted to speak, +her voice was so choked with weeping that she could say nothing. +Surprised and disappointed, Jessie turned to Mr. Dickinson, and as if to +apologize for what seemed to her so strange, said, "Indeed, sir, I am +sure she is very glad, though she is crying." + +"I do not doubt it, Jessie," said Mr. Dickinson. + +"I hope not, sir, I hope not," said Mrs. Graham, who had by this time +recovered her voice; "I am both glad and thankful--first to Him," +looking up to heaven, "who gave you the heart to be so kind, and then to +you, sir, whom I hope God will bless for all your goodness." + +Mr. Dickinson soon left us, having an engagement at home. He was to take +my carriage and send Harriet and Mary, who had remained to spend the day +with William, back in it. I begged that they might leave his house in +time to be at home by five o'clock, and I invited Jessie to come over at +that hour to meet them. I will leave you to imagine what a happy evening +they passed, for though they said a great deal, and it all seemed very +pleasant at the time, I doubt whether much of it would look very wise +when written down. I will tell you, however, of three things which were +decided upon. First--Mary Mackay promised to try to remember Mrs. +Graham's lesson to Jessie, that "truth is better than all," especially +as Jessie assured her that she had found it so; for that even before she +knew of Mr. Dickinson's kind intentions, she had felt quite happy at +having told the truth--happier a great deal than any thing could have +made her which she had gotten by telling a story. Next, that Jessie was +to have Mooly back again, Harriet having begged her of me as a present +for her friend. Last, that when Mr. Graham had moved, Harriet and Mary, +and two or three other little girls, of whom the first named was "Blind +Alice,"[1] were to spend an evening with Jessie. + +[Footnote 1: See the story of Blind Alice, by Aunt Kitty.] + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE HAPPY PARTY. + + +It was the first week in September before Mr. Graham moved, and the +beginning of the second before his family were so settled as that Jessie +could fulfil her promise of an evening's entertainment to her young +friends. They were all invited the day before to come at four o'clock, +that they might have an hour to see all the beauties which Jessie had +discovered, and all the improvements which she had made in her new home, +and then, taking tea at five o'clock, might all be at their homes again +before the evening became chill. I had a whispered request from Jessie, +that though there were to be no grown ladies there, I would just come +with the children; a request which you may suppose I did not refuse. +When the afternoon came, I took Mary and Alice and two other little +girls with me in the carriage, while Harriet rode her own pony. Jessie +was waiting in the piazza to welcome us, and William Temple stood +gallantly ready to help us from the carriage; and before the hour was +gone, every nook and corner of the poultry-yard and garden had been +explored. They were both in very nice order, and Alice, as Jessie led +her around the garden, was constantly exclaiming, "How delightful!" +while she inhaled the perfume of roses and pinks, and honeysuckles and +jessamines. It was too late for strawberries or raspberries, but when +this garden was made, Mr. Dickinson had had some fine peach and pear +trees set in it, and these were now covered with ripe fruit, and from +the grape-vine hung large clusters of the rich purple grape. The table +for the children was spread under the grape-arbor, and when at five +o'clock they were called to it, they found,--not cakes and sweetmeats +and tea,--but a dish of warm, light biscuits, of Mrs. Graham's own +making--a bowl of soft peaches with cream and sugar--baskets of pears +and grapes, and a cup of Mooly's rich milk for each child. The sun was +low, and only a few of its rays found their way through the +reddish-colored grape-leaves into the arbor; and, sure I am, those rays +never fell upon a happier group. They were still enjoying their feast, +when hearing some one speak to Mr. Graham, who was busy propping up an +overloaded branch of a pear-tree, I looked around and saw Mrs. Temple +and Mr. Dickinson with Flora Temple in his arms, coming towards the +arbor. + +"Mr. Graham," I heard Mr. Dickinson say, "why have you not taken your +little visiters through the other garden?" + +"Why, sir," said Mr. Graham, "though they are all very good children, +they are not just as used to gardens as Jessie, and they might be +careless--but if you would let me, I would like to take that poor blind +child through the green-house, for she is so fond of flowers, and I +doubt if she ever smelt a lemon blossom." + +"Certainly, Mr. Graham, I shall be pleased to have you take her." + +Mrs. Temple took Flora from her brother and joined the little party +under the arbor, while Mr. Dickinson remained outside, seemingly engaged +with Mr. Graham, but I suspect much more attentive to the merry voices +of the children. At length William called him in, and I am sure no one +who saw him then for the first time would have called him "the cross Mr. +Dickinson." I said this to old Mrs. Graham, and her reply was, "Nothing, +I think, ma'am, makes people so pleasant and good-humored as seeing +happy faces,--especially when they know, as Mr. Dickinson does, that +they made the happiness." + +Our party separated in good time, but not before Mr. Graham had taken +Alice to the green-house. She went with him, not knowing where he was +taking her, and was so delighted with the strange perfume, and so +curious to know from what it came, that Mr. Dickinson, who had followed +them, cut off a cluster of flowers from a lemon-tree for her. After +this, the highest expression of satisfaction with any thing which Alice +ever gave, was to say, "It is almost as pleasant as Mr. Dickinson's +green-house." + +When William was leading me to the carriage, he begged me to put my head +down, as he wanted to tell me a secret. I did so, and he whispered, "I +am coming to spend Christmas with my uncle, and I told him I wanted to +see a play acted, for I never saw one; and he says I shall see one then +and act in it too, and he will write it himself, and it is to be called, +"All for Truth, or the Flower well Lost." + +That I shall have an invitation to see this play I have little doubt; so +my next story for you may be of Christmas merry-making at Flowerhill--at +the cross Mr. Dickinson's. Let this teach my little readers, that if +children are good and pleasant themselves, they will seldom find any one +cross to them long. + + +THE END. + + + + +FLORENCE ARNOTT: + +OR, + +IS SHE GENEROUS? + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A WINTER MORNING. + + +When last I took leave of my young friends, it was autumn, and we were +looking forward to Christmas entertainments at Flowerhill, where a play +written by Mr. Dickinson himself was to be acted. Those of you who have +read Jessie Graham, may remember that I thought it probable my next +story for you would be of these entertainments. + +Mr. Dickinson kept his promise. The play was written; and a fortnight +before Christmas, came William Temple, full of joyful expectation. The +day after his arrival he rode over with his uncle to see me, and to +invite Harriet and Mary to be at Flowerhill the next morning, to hear +the play read, and to receive their parts, for parts they were both to +have. Soon after Mr. Dickinson and William left us, the sky was overcast +with heavy clouds, which, as evening approached, became more and more +wild and dark. I predicted a snow-storm, and Harriet and Mary went to +sleep with little hope of being able to fulfil their engagement. + +The snow-storm came, but it lasted only a few hours of the night, and +the next morning's sun rose clear and bright. Bright indeed, dazzlingly +bright, as its rays fell on the pure, white snow with which the whole +ground was covered, or shone through the icicles, with which every tree +was hung, making them look like glittering diamonds, in each of which +there seemed a tiny rainbow. + +I had ordered the carriage at an early hour, and we had scarcely +breakfasted when the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells told that it was +at the door. Even the horses seemed gayer than usual, and whirled us +along so rapidly, that had not the reins been in the hands of Henry, +whom I knew to be the steadiest and most careful coachman in the +country, I should have been half frightened. William saw us from the +parlor window, and had the door open for us as soon as we were out of +the sleigh. We were just cold enough to enjoy the warm parlor; and as we +drew close to the blazing wood fire, Mary exclaimed, "Aunt Kitty, do you +not wish it was always winter?" + +"No, Mary, for I love spring flowers and summer and autumn fruits." + +"Oh! I had forgotten them," said Mary, "but I am very glad there is a +winter too." + +"So am I, Mary, very glad, and very thankful to Him who gives us the +varying pleasures which make each season welcome." + +We were interrupted by Mr. Dickinson, who came in with the play. He read +it for us, and I am sure no play was ever heard with more pleasure. +Harriet and Mary received their parts, and were now quite impatient to +get home, that they might begin to study them. + +This pleasant morning visit was all which I saw of the Christmas +entertainments at Flowerhill, for on my return home, I found a carriage +waiting for me, and a letter requesting me to come to a very dear +friend, who was both ill and in trouble, and needed a nurse and a +comforter. You may be sure that I made no delay in complying with this +request; but before I tell you any thing of my visit, I would give you +some account of my friend, Mrs. Arnott, and of her daughter Florence, as +she had appeared to me about eighteen months before, when I had spent +some weeks with her mother under very different circumstances. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE VISIT. + + +Mrs. Arnott was younger than I, yet not so much younger but that we had +been playmates in childhood. As we grew older we continued warm +friends. When she married, I rejoiced in her happy prospects, and found +but one thing in Mr. Arnott I would have desired to change--he lived +thirty miles from me, and this was felt as a wide separation between +friends who had been accustomed to meet every day. I soon found that the +separation was to be much greater. Mr. Arnott liked travelling, had a +large fortune, and little to do. He took his wife to England; and after +travelling in England, Scotland, and Wales, they passed over to the +continent of Europe, and having seen whatever was of most interest in +France, Switzerland, and Germany, went into Italy, and spent more than a +year in the city of Florence. Here their little girl was born, and +received her name in remembrance of a home which they had found very +agreeable. When Florence was about two years old, her father and mother +returned to America. They came in the autumn, and joyfully as I welcomed +back my friend, I soon began to fear that she would not be able to spend +many winters with us. Her constitution had always been delicate, and her +long abode in the soft, warm climate of Italy, seemed to have unfitted +her completely for the endurance of our rough and cold northern winters. +The first winter she went out very seldom, the second not at all, and +the third she showed symptoms of serious illness so early, that her +physician advised Mr. Arnott to take her at once to a more southern +climate. They went to Florida, and their delightful country place was +again let for several years, while they spent their winters at the south +and their summers in travelling through the middle and northern states. + +In this way, Mrs. Arnott seemed gradually to acquire more vigorous +health, yet it was not till Florence was more than ten years old, that +they returned to their own home with some hope of being able to remain +at it during the whole year. As soon as they began to feel themselves +settled, Mrs. Arnott wrote to ask a visit from me, requesting that I +would bring my nieces, Harriet Armand and Mary Mackay, with me. She was +very urgent in this last request, saying, that she hoped to benefit her +little Florence by the society of children of nearly her own age, who +had been as carefully educated as she knew Harriet and Mary had been. I +will copy for you a part of my friend's letter, from which I gained +some knowledge of the disposition of Florence, even before I made this +visit. + +"You will soon see," wrote Mrs. Arnott, "that my little girl's education +has been sadly neglected. By her education, I do not mean what is +ordinarily taught in schools. Wherever we have made our home, even for a +few months, we have procured for her the best teachers we could find, +and as she is a child of quick mind, she is quite as well informed as +most children of her age. But to the education of her _heart_, which I +know you will think with me of far more importance, no attention has +been paid. Her father's extreme indulgence to this only child, my feeble +health, and our roving life, have left her so unrestrained, that I begin +to fear she is becoming very self-willed. Yet her temper is naturally so +amiable, and her feelings so affectionate, she is so anxious to please +those she loves, and so grieved at the least appearance of blame from +them, that I hope it will not be difficult to correct her faults." + +As I felt much interested in this little girl, and thought, with her +mother, that the association with other and more carefully taught +children might be serviceable to her, I determined at once to accept the +invitation for Harriet and myself, and if my brother and Mrs. Mackay +would consent, for Mary too. Indeed, I hoped more advantage for Florence +from the companionship of Mary than of Harriet. Harriet was so gentle, +and would yield to her young friend so quietly, that Florence would +seldom discover from her how much she was yielding, and how unreasonable +her own exactions were. But Mary had a strong will, and though she had +been taught that she must on many occasions submit to the will of +others, it was always done with a very great effort. I was quite sure, +therefore, that Florence would know whenever Mary yielded a point to +her, and moreover, that she would be very plainly informed if Mary +thought her demands unreasonable. + +Mr. and Mrs. Mackay readily consented that Mary should go with me, and +Mary was always pleased with the prospect of a visit, especially if the +visit could be made with Harriet and Aunt Kitty. Of my designs for the +improvement of Florence, I did not, of course, say any thing to either +of my nieces. + +Our visit was made in June, when it was too warm to travel in midday, +so, rising very early, we were five miles from home before the sun rose; +and before it became uncomfortably warm, had gone seventeen miles, to a +little village where we were to dine, rest our horses, and remain quiet +till the afternoon became cool, when fourteen miles more of travelling +would bring us to Mr. Arnott's. We arrived there just about sunset. +Florence was playing on the green before the door with a little dog, +which ran jumping and barking beside her, when the carriage swept round +a turn of the road, which brought us in sight of the house. + +Florence had travelled too much, and been, therefore, too much +accustomed to new faces, to run away from us, even had we been +strangers, and we were not strangers, for she had seen us all in the +preceding summer, when her mother had made a visit of a few days in our +neighborhood; so, instead of running away, she called out, on seeing us, +"Papa, mamma, here they come!" and opening the gate, stood ready to +receive us, with a face full of smiles. + +Bed-time soon follows sunset in summer, at least for children. Yet it +came not too soon this evening for Harriet and Mary, who were tired by +their thirty miles travelling. But Florence thought it very unkind in +them to leave her so soon "this first evening." Her entreaties were so +urgent that they would stay a little while longer, that her young +companions would have found some difficulty in getting away without aid +from me. Taking Florence's hand, as she was endeavoring to hold Harriet +and Mary back from following the servant, who was going to show them +their bed, I said, "Did you hear me tell those little girls that they +must go to bed?" + +"Yes," she replied; "but they have been here such a little time, and it +is so early yet; I only want them to stay a little longer." + +"I do not doubt they would try to oblige you, though they are tired and +sleepy, but they are accustomed to do just as I wish them; and I wish +them to go to bed at once. You will have a long summer's day for talk +and play to-morrow, and only a short summer's night for sleep. So now +bid them good-night; and I think you had better go too, for I shall call +you up very early in the morning, as I expect you to show me the garden +and the dairy before breakfast." + +"And the fish-pond, too," said Florence, "the fish-pond, too." + +"Is there a fish-pond, too? Well, all these will require us to rise +early,--shall I bid you good-night, too?" + +"Yes; I may as well go," said she, looking around and seeing that +Harriet and Mary were already gone. + +So closed the first evening of our visit. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE SWING. + + +The morning was cloudless, and the garden looked beautifully, with its +leaves and flowers glittering with dew-drops. But I only saw it from my +window, for though Harriet and Mary, starting from sleep at the first +sound of my voice, sprang eagerly up, and, dressing in haste, waited +impatiently for the tap of Florence, which was to summon us to our +morning walk; they waited in vain. Florence could not be awoke, or when +awake, could not be induced to rise; and breakfast was announced, and we +were all seated at table before she made her appearance. She looked far +more discontented and dull than those whom she had disappointed. This +did not surprise me, for I knew she could not feel very well pleased +with herself; and those who are not, are seldom pleased with others. + +"Well, Florence," said her father, "so you have slept so long that your +friends have lost this fine morning in waiting for you, and have seen +nothing of all you promised last evening to show them." + +Florence colored, hung her head, and replied in rather a sulky tone, "I +could not wake myself." + +"No," said Mr. Arnott, "but--" + +"Come, Mr. Arnott," said I, interrupting him, "the disappointment is +past--we have many other pleasures in store for to-day, we can afford to +postpone this one; and I doubt not Florence will be ready in time +to-morrow. To secure it I will call her myself. May I, Florence?" + +She looked pleased, and replied promptly, "Yes, ma'am." + +I had two reasons for interrupting Mr. Arnott. One was, I thought +Florence was already so much grieved and disappointed that it was +useless to distress her farther. Another, and perhaps a more important +reason was, that I wished to serve this little girl by helping her to +correct her faults; and I felt that in order to be able to do this, it +was quite necessary that she should learn to love me, to place +confidence in my kindness, and take pleasure in my society. Now you will +readily see that she would not be likely to do any of these things, if +through me she were made to feel uncomfortably. + +After breakfast, Mr. Arnott invited the children to take a walk with +him, adding, "I have something to show you, which even Florence has not +seen." + +"Which I have not seen? What can it be? Do, papa, tell me what it is," +said Florence, coming back from the door, which she had reached on her +way for her bonnet. + +"You will know in a few minutes," said Mr. Arnott, "that is, if you will +put on your bonnet and come with me, instead of keeping us all waiting. +See, Harriet and Mary are ready," pointing to them as they now entered +the parlor. + +Florence ran off for her bonnet, saying, however, as she went, "I will +ask nursey--if she knows, I am sure she will tell me." + +"She does not know," Mr. Arnott called out. + +As I love pleasant surprises, especially when children are to enjoy the +pleasure, this little mystery was a temptation to join the walkers too +strong for me to resist, so before Florence came back, I was ready too, +and went off as full of curiosity and pleased expectation as any of the +party. Mr. Arnott led us through the garden into the orchard beyond it. +As we entered the garden, Florence said, "Now I know what it is, +papa--you are going to show us a new flower." + +"Indeed, I am not, Florence." + +As we passed into the orchard, she suddenly exclaimed, "Now I have it, +papa, now I have it; the cherries we were looking at the other day are +ripe, and you are going to get us some." + +Her father smiled, but said nothing. + +"That is it, papa, is it not?" + +"Wait a few minutes, Florence, and you will see." + +"Well, I give it up, now, for we have passed all the cherry-trees." + +Mr. Arnott turned towards a wood which skirted the orchard on the north, +and long before we reached it the secret was told; for, on the stoutest +branch of a magnificent oak, which he had, by removing his fence, +enclosed within the orchard, hung a swing--a new and strongly made +swing, with a very comfortable seat. We all quickened our pace as we +came in sight of it, and many were the exclamations of admiration and +delight from the children. + +"Such a beautiful swing, under such a cool, shady tree, how delightful!" + +Florence jumped, danced, clapped her hands, and at length darted off, +and, bounding into the swing, called to her father, "Come quick, quick, +papa, and swing me." + +"After I have swung your friends, my dear." + +Florence looked disappointed, and both Harriet and Mary drew back, +saying, "Oh no, sir! Swing Florence first." + +Mr. Arnott saw that to persist in his politeness would distress them, so +saying, "I will swing you twelve times, Florence," he touched the swing, +and away it rose, rapidly yet steadily, through the air, higher and +higher each time, till, as Mr. Arnott counted twelve, Florence shrieked, +half with fear and half with delight. Mr. Arnott caught the swing as it +descended, and stopped it. + +"Oh papa! is that twelve?" + +"Yes, Florence; did you not hear me count?" + +"Well, just once more, papa." + +Mr. Arnott stooped and whispered to her--she reddened, and getting down +slowly, said, "Now, Harriet, you get in." + +Harriet got in, and counting for herself, sprang out as the swing +descended for the twelfth time. Mary had her turn, and looked so well +pleased, that, had her father been in Mr. Arnott's place, she would, I +doubt not, have said, like Florence, "Just once more, papa." As she came +out Florence again sprang in. + +"Now, papa, once, only once--or twice," she added, as her father +extended his arm at her entreaty. + +But after giving one toss to the swing, Mr. Arnott turned resolutely +away, saying, "You are never satisfied, Florence, but I will not +indulge you any farther this morning, for the sun is getting too warm +for any of you to be here longer--in the cool of the evening we will try +it again." + +Florence looked not very well pleased, but as we all turned towards the +house, she came out and followed us. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +GIVING. + + +I do not intend to give you a history of what was done by the children +each day of our visit, for this would make a very long story. When it +was fine weather they helped the gardener, as _they_ said, or hindered +him, as _he_ sometimes complained--walked in the orchard, looking for +ripe fruit--or swung, and on a cool evening Mr. Arnott would sometimes +take them out on the river in a pretty little sailing boat, or drive +them two or thee miles in a light, open carriage. When it rained, they +overhauled Florence's toys, of which there were trunks full, or amused +themselves with her books. They seemed to agree very well, at least we +heard of no disagreements, though I fancied, towards the latter part of +our stay, that I sometimes saw a cloud on Mary's brow, but I asked no +questions, and it passed off without any complaint. + +One afternoon, when we had been there about a week, as Mr. and Mrs. +Arnott and I were seated in the piazza enjoying the pleasant breeze, the +children rushed in from the garden, seeming very anxious to give us some +information, which, as each tried to speak louder than the others, it +was quite impossible for some time for us to understand. At length, by +hearing a little from each, we made out that there were ripe +strawberries in the neighborhood--_really ripe_--for the gardener had +seen them, and he said they were as large around as his thumb. + +"And you want me to send for some," Mr. Arnott began,--but, "Oh no, +papa!" "Oh no, sir!" every voice again exclaimed, "we want to go for +them." + +"Go for them!--and pray, young ladies, how will you go?--am I to drive +you?" + +"Oh no, papa! we want to walk; and Andrew"--this was the name of Mr. +Arnott's gardener--"says they will let us go into the garden and pick +them ourselves--and you know, mamma, Eliza can go with us and carry our +baskets," added Florence, anticipating her mother's objection to their +going without some attendant to a place a mile off. + +And so it was arranged, and in a few minutes they set out, Eliza +carrying the baskets, and each taking a shilling to pay for her berries. +It seems they had gone only about half-way, when they met a poor woman +with a sick child in her arms, sitting to rest herself in the shade by +the side of the road. The woman looked so pale and sad that the servant, +Eliza, who was a kind-hearted girl, spoke to her, and asked what was the +matter? + +"Sick and weary," said the poor woman. + +"But how did you come to be in the road here by yourself?--and where are +you going?" asked Florence. + +"Why you see, Miss, I have been to the city, where a great many people +told me that I might make twice as much money without slaving myself to +death, as I was doing, for the children; and so I took this baby and +went; but the baby fell sick, and indeed I think the city air did not +suit either of us, for I fell sick too, and could not work at all, and I +longed so to get home and smell the country air, and see the other +children and friends' faces, instead of strangers, strangers always, +that, as soon as I could walk, I set out, and thank God, I have got only +eight miles more to walk, for I live at M----." + +"But why do you walk?" asked the children. + +"Ah, young ladies, poor folks that have not any money to pay for rides, +must walk. As long as my money held out I got a ride on a cart now and +then for a sixpence, or a shilling, and that was a great help; but I +have not even a sixpence left now to buy a bit of bread if I was ever so +hungry." + +In a moment Harriet's shilling was in the poor woman's hand; Mary's +followed. She burst into tears, and thanked them again and again. +Florence looked at her shilling, then at the woman, and said, "I have +half a dollar at home, and that is four times as much as a shilling, +you know, and if you will wait here till I have got the strawberries I +am going for, you can go back with me and I will give you that." + +"Thank you, my dear young lady," said the poor creature, "but I hope to +get home this evening, and that I shall not do if I stop and go back on +my way--yet," she added, "half a dollar is a great deal. I wish I were +not so tired." + +"Florence," cried Harriet and Mary, both at once, "I will go back for +the money if you will tell me where it is, and the poor woman can rest +here till I come back." + +"My good woman," said Eliza, "you are not fit to walk or even to ride +eight miles to-night. Now our gardener's wife has a spare room in her +house, and she is a kind woman, and will do every thing she can to make +you comfortable; and to-morrow morning, I dare say, the gardener can get +you a lift on some farmer's cart all the way to M. So now, instead of +waiting here, you had better go back at once, and Miss Florence can give +you the half dollar when she comes home." + +"Yes, I will give you the half dollar," said Florence, "and that," she +repeated, turning to Mary, "is four times as much as a shilling, you +know." + +So it was arranged--the woman went back--the gardener's wife +accommodated her--the gardener found a farmer going to M. the next +morning, who promised to take her there on his cart--and when Florence +came home she gave her the half dollar, which, being four times as much +as a shilling, evidently made her, in her own opinion, and in Mary's +too, four times as generous as Harriet or herself. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +GENEROSITY. + + +A few days after the events related in the last chapter, Mary came into +my room to show me a basket and a doll's dress which Florence had given +her. They were neither of them quite new, but they were not at all the +worse for wear, and Mary was quite delighted with them, and with +Florence for giving them. "Aunt Kitty, I do love Florence," said she, +"she is so generous." + +"Is she, my dear?" said I, in a very quiet tone. + +"Why yes, Aunt Kitty, do you not see what she has given me?--and she has +a book for Harriet, a very pretty book, which she means to give her when +she is going away,--and she gives away money; you know she gave half a +dollar to that poor woman the other day." + +"All this, Mary, does not prove that Florence is generous." + +"Well, I do not see, Aunt Kitty, how anybody can be more generous than +to give away their playthings, and their books, and their money." + +At this moment Harriet entered the room. Mary, from thinking that I was +opposed to her in opinion, had become very much in earnest on the +subject, and she called out, "I am very glad you are come, Harriet. Only +think, Aunt Kitty does not think Florence is generous. Now Harriet, is +she not generous--is she not very generous?" + +"I do not know, Mary,--sometimes she is, but I did not think she was the +other day, when she would not give her ripe plum to that poor sick child +who wanted it so much." + +Mary colored; "But, Harriet, I am sure the wooden horse she gave him was +worth more than a dozen plums." + +"I dare say it was, Mary, but the child did not want that." + +Mary became now a little angry, as she was apt to do when she could not +convince those with whom she was arguing. + +"Well, Harriet, I think it is very unkind in you to speak so of +Florence, and to say she is not generous, when she thinks so much of +you." + +"Stop, stop, Mary," said I, "you are now as unjust to Harriet as you +accuse her of being to Florence. She did not say that Florence was not +generous, but only that she had not made up her mind on that subject, +that she had not seen enough to convince her that she was; and this, +remember, was all which I said. Florence may be as generous as you think +her, but you have not told me enough to convince me of it. When we have +known her longer we shall all be able to judge better what she is. In +the mean time I am very glad you like her, for I am very much interested +in her myself." + +"Well, Aunt Kitty, I do like her," said Mary, in a very energetic +manner, "and I am sure I shall never be any better able to judge her +than I am now." + +I made no reply, and the conversation ended. + +Mary did not forget it, however, nor feel quite satisfied with its +termination, for the next morning, as I was sitting in my room alone, +she came in, and after moving about a little while, seated herself by me +and said, "Aunt Kitty, I want to ask you a question." + +"Well, my dear, what is it?" + +"I want to know when you do think a person is generous?" + +"A person is generous, Mary, when he gives up his own gratification or +advantage for the gratification or advantage of another." + +"Well, that was what I always thought, Aunt Kitty--and now I am sure a +little girl does that when she gives away her books and her playthings, +and her money, does she not?" + +"When a little girl becomes tired of books and playthings, Mary, they +cease to amuse her, do they not?" + +"Yes, Aunt Kitty," said Mary, "if she get tired of them,--but I never +get tired of books and playthings if they are pretty." + +"Perhaps you may not, my dear," I replied, "but some other little girls +do, and those little girls are most apt to do so who have the greatest +number of such things. Now, should they give away those of which they +are tired--which had ceased to amuse them--could you say they had given +up a gratification?" + +"No, Aunt Kitty," said Mary, speaking very slowly, for she was beginning +to understand my meaning. + +"Then this would not be what we mean by being generous?" + +"No, Aunt Kitty,--but money--you know nobody gets tired of +money--suppose a little girl gives _that_." + +"Well, Mary, suppose she gives money, and that she knows when giving it +that some kind friend will replace it, or indeed, give her a yet larger +sum to encourage what he thinks a good feeling--could you say she had +_given up_ a gratification--would this prove her to be very generous?" + +As I asked this question I looked in Mary's face with a smile,--the +smile she gave me in return was plainly forced. + +After waiting a moment, during which she seemed to be thinking very +deeply, she spoke again. "Well, Aunt Kitty, but suppose she is not tired +of the books and playthings, and does not expect to get the money back?" + +Mary felt quite sure of her ground now, and looked steadily in my face. +"Then, Mary, she would be a generous girl, provided she did not expect +to receive in exchange for her gift some other _selfish_ gratification +or advantage which she valued yet more highly." + +Again Mary was silent and thoughtful for a while, then said, "Why, Aunt +Kitty, I heard my father say once, when he gave some money to help some +poor sick soldiers, that it was a great gratification to him; did that +make him not generous?" + +"No, no, Mary, for that was not a _selfish_ gratification. That +gratification was caused by the good which he knew the money would do +them,--but if your father had given it for the praise which he expected +to receive for so doing, or if he had done it to please persons from +whom he hoped afterwards to receive some other favor in return--would he +have been generous, do you think?" + +"No, Aunt Kitty," said Mary, promptly. + +"I think, Mary, you are now beginning to understand fully what +generosity is. Remember, to be generous, you must not only give up +something--but it must be something you value--something which is a +gratification or advantage to you--and you must give it up for the +gratification or advantage of another. Ignorant or thoughtless people +sometimes call a person generous because he is careless of money, and +throws it away on foolish, useless things; do you think him so?" + +"No, Aunt Kitty." + +"And why not, my dear?" Mary hesitated. "I have been teaching you a +useful lesson, Mary," said I, "and I would see if you have learned it +well,--tell me, then, why you would not think such a person generous." + +"Because, Aunt Kitty, what he gives up is not for the gratification or +advantage of another." + +"Right, my love, you have learned your lesson well, and will, I hope, +often put it in practice." + +At this moment, Harriet put her head into the room, calling out, "Mary, +do come and see how Florence has dressed up Rover." + +Rover was the name of a dog which had been lately given to Florence, and +which was a great pet with her. Away ran Mary--all her grave thoughts +quite forgotten for the present. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +PARTING SCENES. + + +Though Mrs. Arnott's health was, as I have said, so much improved that +she now hoped to be able to remain through the winter at her own home, +Mr. Arnott was desirous that she should spend some weeks of the summer +at the warm springs of Virginia, from the waters of which she had always +seemed to derive great benefit. Mrs. Arnott was quite willing to do any +thing by which she might hope that her health would continue to improve, +but she acknowledged to me that the idea of taking Florence there +distressed her. + +"Since I have been at home," she said, "and have been able to observe +closely my child's habits and temper, I see much reason to fear that she +has already suffered greatly from the careless indulgence which can +scarcely be avoided when we are always surrounded by strangers. She is +now almost eleven years old, and I feel there is no time to be lost in +endeavoring to correct the faults of her character, and that this can +only be done by a degree of watchfulness, and of steady, yet gentle +control, which I know from experience it is impossible to exercise +either in travelling or at a crowded watering-place." + +"Why should you take Florence with you?" I asked. + +"What else can I do with her?" + +"Send her home with me. You will not be gone, Mr. Arnott says, more than +six weeks. For an object so important as your child's improvement, you +will not, I am sure, my dear friend, hesitate to separate yourself from +her for so short a time. You know nothing pleases me more than to +surround myself with children; and though I acknowledge there is no +teacher like a mother, when the choice lies between a mother at a +watering-place, and--" + +"There is no room to hesitate," said Mrs. Arnott, interrupting me: "I +should rejoice to have Florence with you even were I to remain at home; +and if I can win her consent, your invitation will be gladly and +thankfully accepted, for of her father's wishes I have not a doubt." + +"Well," said I, "you will remember that I leave you in two days, so that +you have little time to lose in deciding." + +"To-morrow," said Mrs. Arnott, "to-morrow I will speak to Florence; then +if she give her consent, there will be no time for change." + +The morrow came, and when I met Mr. Arnott, he said to me in a low +voice, which was unheard by any other person, "I am very much obliged to +you for your offer to relieve us and benefit our little daughter, for a +great benefit I am sure it will be to Florence to be placed with other +children, and under what I know will be your kind and gentle, yet firm +influence." + +Mrs. Arnott looked pale and sad, and complained of a bad headache. As I +saw her look tenderly at Florence, and heard how her voice softened in +speaking to her, I knew what caused both her headache and her paleness. +It was the thought of parting with her child for the first time in her +life. The separation would, I knew, be very painful to this fond mother; +but I also knew that she would willingly bear the pain to herself, for +the advantage which she hoped Florence would derive from it. + +After breakfast, Mrs. Arnott and I passed into another room, where we +had been accustomed to spend the morning, because it was at that time of +the day shaded and cool. We had scarcely entered when the three children +passed the window near which we sat. They seemed very merry, amusing +themselves with the wonderful but awkward efforts made by Rover to catch +an elastic ball that Florence was tossing up. + +Mrs. Arnott called Florence. + +"What is it, mamma?" said she, scarcely stopping from her play long +enough to look around. + +"Come here, my daughter, I have something to say to you." + +Florence came to the window. + +"No, Florence, you must come in, I want to talk to you a little." + +For a moment Florence's countenance was clouded; but it was only for a +moment, when, laughing, she cried out, "Here, Rover, here, sir--come in +with me, Rover, for mamma wants to talk to me, and while she is talking +you can be playing ball,"--and she came racing in, Rover at her heels, +and Harriet and Mary following to see the fun. + +Mrs. Arnott pressed her hand to her forehead, and I saw that all this +uproar increased her headache, but it was impossible for several seconds +to make the children hear us. At length I succeeded in silencing Harriet +and Mary, and in making Florence understand that the noise gave her +mother pain, and that she had better send Rover out. + +"Does mamma's head ache?" she said; "I am sorry for it--but just see +Rover, mamma, try to catch this ball--just see him once--do, mamma--that +can't hurt you, I am sure, and it is so funny." + +Before I could remonstrate, or Mrs. Arnott could refuse, if she intended +to refuse, the ball was thrown. Again Rover, who had been watching every +movement of Florence, was barking, leaping, and turning somersets in the +air; and again the children were laughing, Florence as loudly as ever, +and Harriet and Mary with quite as much enjoyment, though a little less +noise. As I found speaking of little use, I stepped up quietly to the +merry group, and, catching the ball as it rebounded from the floor, put +a stop at once to their mirth and Rover's efforts. + +"Now, my dear," said I to Florence, "your mother wants to speak a few +words to you, so sit down quietly by her while I take Rover out, for she +is in too much pain to be amused by him." + +Florence looked surprised, and for a moment not very well pleased, but +as she found that I spoke gently and pleasantly to the dog, and praised +his beauty, while he ran good-humoredly by my side, rubbing his curly +head against me, her countenance brightened, and she seated herself +without any objection. I beckoned to Harriet and Mary to follow me, and +when we were out of the room, I gave Rover and the ball into their +charge. Telling them to wait in the piazza for Florence, and obtaining +from them a promise that they would be very quiet, I returned. I had +left the door of the room open, and as I reached it, I heard Florence +say, "Oh no, mamma! I had a great deal rather go to the Springs with you +and papa." At this moment she heard my step, and turning, looked quite +confused as her eye met mine. + +"Do not be ashamed, Florence," said I, "that I should have heard you. I +should be sorry if you did not love your papa and mamma well enough to +prefer their company to mine; but I hope you love them so well that you +will do cheerfully what is not quite so pleasant to yourself, when you +are told that it will please them." Florence hung her head, looked very +grave, and said nothing. "Speak, Florence," said I, "would you not be +willing, for your mother's sake, to do what might not be very pleasant +to yourself?" + +After a little hesitation, Florence, without raising her head, said in a +dissatisfied tone, "I don't see what good it could do mamma for me to go +where I do not want to go." + +I would have told Florence of her mother's delicate health, and of how +much more benefit she would probably receive from travelling if she +could be free from care; but Mrs. Arnott, seeming to think there was +little hope of influencing Florence in this way, interrupted me, saying, +"But, my love, why should you not wish to go home with Harriet and Mary? +You know how much you enjoyed your visit of two or three days to them +last summer,--and Harriet has since then got a pony--you might ride on +horseback if you went now." + +"Will she let me ride him?" asked Florence, looking up at me with sudden +animation. + +"I am sure she will," I replied. + +"And may I carry Rover?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, then, I will go, for I should like to ride on horseback; and +then, mamma, I'll have Rover with me, and how odd it will be to see him +jumping up and trying to get to me on the horse, just as he tried +to-day to catch the ball," and she laughed out, and was again all smiles +and good-humor. + +The consent of Florence having been obtained, the preparations for her +visit were soon completed, and as we set out before the sun had risen on +the following morning, there was, as Mrs. Arnott had said, no time for +her to change her mind. + +Florence could not but love her kind and gentle mother dearly, and I did +not wonder to see the tears start as she bade her good-by; but Rover was +to be looked after--the wild-flowers with which the road was lined were +to be admired--the rising sun was to be seen--and amidst all these, +Florence soon forgot to be sad. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +CHANGES. + + +I have nothing strange to tell you of our journey. Mary's father and +mother were expecting us, and we arrived in time to take tea with them, +sending the carriage home with our trunks. After tea, I walked home with +Harriet and Florence, while Rover gambolled along as gayly as if he had +had no travelling that day. + +The next morning there was no difficulty in getting Florence up, for she +was so impatient to mount the pony, that I could scarcely persuade her +to wait till I was dressed and able to go with her and witness her first +lesson in horsemanship. Pony was so gentle that I felt there was little +danger in trusting her on him, and so delighted was she with her new +amusement, that she rode wherever she went, and I think Harriet was only +twice on horseback during her visit, and one of these rides was not +taken for her own pleasure. They seldom went out without me, but one +morning when I was very much engaged, Mary came over to say, that her +governess having gone on a visit to a sick friend, from which she would +not return for two days, her mother had given her permission to invite +her young friends in the neighborhood to spend the next day with her, +and as she was going this morning to give her invitations herself, she +wished Florence and Harriet to go with her. Florence was quite ready to +go, provided she could ride; so pony was saddled, and as I knew where +they were going, and felt there was really no danger in the way, I +allowed them to go without me, sending with them, however, a servant +whom I knew to be careful and discreet. Gay, laughing and chatting, they +set out. The farthest house to which Mary intended extending her +invitations was only three quarters of a mile distant, yet as she had +several calls to make, I did not expect them to return under an hour and +a half, or perhaps two hours. Greatly surprised was I, therefore, when +in about half an hour I heard tones which seemed to me very like Mary's, +but not gay and laughing, as I had last heard them. Then came a few +words from Florence, and there was no mistaking the fact, that her voice +was decidedly sulky. Mary was already in the piazza, when, laying aside +my work, I approached the window. Harriet was not with her, nor was +Florence in sight. With some alarm I inquired, "Where are Harriet and +Florence?" + +"Florence has rode to the stable, and Harriet has gone for the doctor," +Mary replied. + +"The doctor!" I exclaimed, still more alarmed; "for whom? Is any thing +the matter with Harriet?" + +"No, but Mrs. O'Donnel's baby is ill--oh! so ill, Aunt Kitty!--and +Harriet has gone for the doctor, and Margaret has stayed with the baby, +and sent me back to beg you to go there." + +Confused as Mary's account was, it was clear enough that aid was wanted, +and without waiting to ask any further questions, I set out, taking with +me such simple medicines as I thought might be useful, if I should +arrive before the doctor. As I left the parlor Mary followed me, and +begged very earnestly to be allowed to go with me and carry some of my +vials. + +"But Florence, Mary, would you leave her alone?" + +"I do not believe Florence cares to have me stay with her, Aunt Kitty, +and I am sure I do not wish to stay," said Mary, coloring. + +I remembered the angry tones I had heard, and thought it was perhaps +wisest not to leave these children together while they were so evidently +out of temper, so returning to the parlor, where Florence had just made +her appearance, I asked her if she would like to go with me. + +"No," she replied, "I am tired." + +"Then, my dear, rest yourself on the sofa a while, and when you get up, +look in that closet and you will find some peaches. Mary is going with +me, but I will send Harriet to you as soon as I see her." + +"I do not want Harriet or Mary either," said Florence, impatiently. + +I soon found that I had not left all the ill-humor behind when I left +Florence, for we were scarcely down the steps before Mary expressed her +conviction, that "there never was such another selfish girl as Florence +Arnott." + +"Mary," said I, "I once told you that you were hasty in pronouncing +Florence to be very generous; but that was not so blameable as your +present condemnation of her, whatever she may have done. It may be +unwise to be ready to praise so highly on the acquaintance of a few +days, but it is unamiable to blame so severely for a single fault." + +"But, Aunt Kitty, it is not a single fault. I have been thinking a long +time, almost ever since you told me what made a person generous, that +Florence was not so generous as I thought at first; but I do think +anybody that would rather a poor little baby should die than to lose a +ride for themselves, is very selfish, very selfish indeed," repeated +Mary, with great emphasis.--"And now, Aunt Kitty," she continued, "I +will tell you how it was, and then you will see if I am not right." + +"Stop, my dear Mary," said I, as she was about to commence her story, +"you are just now very angry with Florence, and would not therefore be a +fair witness in the case. I had rather hear from some one else how it +was." + +"Why, Aunt Kitty," said Mary, with a very proud look, "you do not think +I would tell you a story, I hope." + +"No, my love, I am sure you would tell me nothing which you did not +believe to be true; but anger makes the words and looks, and even the +actions of people, appear to us very unlike what they really are. +However, you have no time to tell me any thing, even if I wished it, +for here we are at Mrs. O'Donnel's." + +My readers may not be as unwilling as I was to hear what Mary had to +say, so I will tell them what I afterwards heard of the morning's +adventures from Margaret and Harriet, as soon as I have given them some +account of Mrs. O'Donnel and her baby. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A MOTHER AND CHILD. + + +The little cabin, for it was nothing more, in which Mrs. O'Donnel lived, +had been put up only a few months. It was built in a little wood which +skirted the road between my house and the village, and stood so near the +road that the traveller, as he passed along, could hear the baby who +lived there, crying, or the song with which his young mother was hushing +him to sleep. She was a very young mother; and there she lived, you +might almost say, with no one but her baby--for Pat O'Donnel, her +husband, was one of the hands on board a steamboat which went from our +village to H---- every morning and returned in the evening, and though +he was always at home at night, he was away every day except Sunday, +from day-dawn till dark. He had built this cabin, and brought his young +wife and his baby son to live there, that he might spend every night +with them. + +I know nothing more of these people than I have now told you, when the +circumstances occurred which I am about to relate, except that Mrs. +O'Donnel worked very industriously in a little garden which had been +fenced in for her near her cabin, and that on Sunday, the husband and +wife, with their bright-eyed boy, might be seen going to church, looking +clean, and healthy, and happy. But Harriet had become better acquainted +with the family than I, for she loved children, and could never pass +little Jem--this was the name of the baby--without a smile or a +pleasant word, and the child soon learned to know her; and when she came +near, would jump and spring in his mother's arms, give her back smile +for smile, and since he could not talk yet, would crow to her words. The +mother was pleased with the notice taken of her boy, and whenever we +passed the house, would bring him to the low fence nearest the road, and +with a courtesy, and "How d'ye do, ma'am?" to me, would hold him to +Harriet to kiss, sometimes putting in his hand a bunch of flowers for +his young friend, who seldom left home to walk in that direction without +taking some present for him. Even when setting out with Mary to deliver +her invitations, little Jem had not been forgotten; and when I saw +Harriet saving the largest of two peaches I had given her, and putting +it in a little basket which she carried in her hand, I well knew that it +would go no farther than to Mrs. O'Donnel's cabin. Accordingly, when she +came in sight of it, she quickened her pace, saying to her companions, +"I want to stop at Mrs. O'Donnel's a minute, so I will run on; and if +you do not go too fast, I will be with you again before you have passed +there." + +Before she reached the house, she called out for little Jem, and +wondered that neither his laugh nor his mother's pleasant voice answered +her. She would have thought they were not at home, but the door was +open, and Mrs. O'Donnel was too careful to leave it so, when she was far +away. Unlatching the little gate which opened on the road, she crossed +the yard and entered the house. There sat Mrs. O'Donnel, her hands +clasped in an agony of grief, and tears washing her face, and falling +unheeded on that of her poor boy, who lay extended on her lap, no longer +laughing and crowing, but pale and still, with his eyes half closed. + +Harriet's exclamation of, "What is the matter, Mrs. O'Donnel?" roused +the poor mother, who, looking up, said, "Oh, Miss, and glad am I you're +come, for my poor baby loved you, and you're just in time to see him +die." + +"Oh! I hope not, Mrs. O'Donnel," said Harriet. "He will not die. Do you +think he will?" she added, more doubtingly, as again she looked in his +pale face, and kneeling down by him, took the little hand which lay so +feebly by his side. + +"And indeed, Miss, I fear he will die," said the poor woman. "All +yesterday I saw he was not well, and grieved was I to see Pat going this +morning, and leaving me with him all alone--but Pat laughed at me for a +coward, and when I heard him laugh, I took heart and thought it was all +my foolishness--but ah, Miss! it isn't laughing he'll do when he comes +home the night;" and at the thought of her husband's sorrow, Mrs. +O'Donnel sobbed aloud. Soon recovering herself, she continued: "I saw +Pat off, and when he was out of sight I came back, and looked at my baby +as he lay asleep. It was daylight then, and I saw he had a beautiful +color. Now I know the color was just the fever burning him up, but then +I thought he was better, and I was so glad that I couldn't help singing, +though I did it softly for fear of waking him; and little was the work I +did, going back again and again to the bed to see my pretty baby looking +so well--and at last I stooped down to kiss him, and whether I woke him, +Miss, I don't know, but all at once he opened his eyes wide and stared +at me, and he doubled his fists and stretched himself out, and made such +a noise in the throat, that it was dying I thought he was just then--and +I screamed and cried, but there was nobody to hear me, and soon he +stopped making the noise and shut his eyes again, and ever since he has +lain still, just like this." + +Any one who has seen a child in convulsions, will know what had been the +matter with little Jem; but Harriet knew nothing about it, and, you may +suppose her dismay, when, as she was looking at her little playfellow, a +spasm crossed his face, his head was thrown back, his limbs stiffened, +and that distressing noise in the throat was again heard. The mother +shrieked, and Harriet, rushing to the door, screamed to Margaret, who, +with Florence and Mary, was waiting in the road for her, that little Jem +was dying. Margaret was a good nurse, and one of those useful people who +think more of helping those who suffer, than of mourning over them. As +soon as she entered the house, she saw what was the matter, and saw, +too, the very thing which she most needed,--a large pot of water, under +which Mrs. O'Donnel had made a fire before she became alarmed about her +child. In another minute, she had drawn a tub from under a table, poured +into it the hot water from the pot, cooled it to the proper +temperature, by the addition of some from a pail which stood near, and +before Mrs. O'Donnel at all understood her proceedings, her child was +stripped and laid in a warm bath. + +As the convulsion passed off, Margaret said, "Now, Mrs. O'Donnel, your +child is coming to, and you must not be so frightened, for I have seen +many a child have fits, and be just as well as ever afterwards; but you +must be very quiet, ma'am, for if he goes to sleep afterwards he ought +not to be woke; and, Miss Harriet, you cannot do any good crying here, +but if you will get on pony and ride for the doctor as fast as you can, +you will be doing a great deal of good, and Miss Mary had better go back +and tell her aunt." + +In an instant Harriet was by the side of the pony, urging Florence to +get off, that she might mount and go for the doctor. But to this +arrangement Florence strongly objected. My readers must not be too angry +with her, they must remember she had not seen the child, and did not +know how very important even a few minutes might be in such a case as +his. Still, it must be confessed, she thought more of herself than of +any one else, as she replied to Harriet's entreaties, "Why cannot I go +for the doctor? I can carry a message just as well as you." + +"But, Florence, you do not know where the doctor lives." + +"Well, you can go with me and show me." + +"Florence, I cannot walk as fast as the pony can go. Do, Florence, come +down and let me have him." + +Florence did not stir, and Harriet wrung her hands with impatience, as, +turning to the door, she called out, "Margaret, Florence will not let me +have the pony." + +Margaret came out, but neither her remonstrances, nor Harriet's +entreaties, nor the reproaches of Mary, had any effect upon Florence. +Indeed, Mary's reproaches probably only strengthened her resolution, as +it is not by making people angry that we induce them to yield their +wishes to ours. Some minutes were lost in this useless contest, when +Harriet said, "Margaret, I will not wait any longer, I will walk as fast +as I can, and if the doctor is only at home he will soon be here." + +When Mary and I arrived at Mrs. O'Donnel's, neither the doctor nor +Harriet had yet made their appearance. I did for the poor baby all I +could venture to do without a physician's advice, and then watched with +much anxiety for Dr. Franks. I had been there probably half an hour, +when Harriet came in, flushed and panting. "Where is the doctor?" was +the first question. + +"He will soon be here," she replied; "I am sure he will, for Mrs. Franks +knew where he was, and she sent off a boy on horseback for him." + +Harriet looked so heated, that, fearing the effect of further excitement +on her, I determined to return home immediately. So, giving Margaret +some directions, and telling Mrs. O'Donnel that I would see her again in +the afternoon, I left them. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +REPENTANCE. + + +We walked home quite slowly, on Harriet's account. We had been so long +away that Florence would, I thought, have become quite tired of +loneliness and ill-humor, and quite prepared to welcome us with +cheerful, friendly smiles; indeed I should not have been greatly +surprised to meet her on the way, or at least to see her in the piazza +watching for us. But we reached the house--entered the piazza--passed +into the parlor, and still no Florence was seen. I called her, but she +did not answer, and a servant told me she thought Miss Florence had gone +to lie down, as she had told her that she was sick, and did not want any +dinner. I went to her room immediately, and found her asleep. She had +evidently been weeping, for her face was flushed, her eyelids red and +swollen, and as I stood by her, she sobbed heavily more than once. +Harriet had stolen in after me without my seeing her, and as I turned to +darken a window, the light from which shone directly on Florence, she +looked anxiously in my face, and asked in a whisper, "Is she very sick, +Aunt Kitty?" + +I did not like to tell Harriet that I thought Florence more sulky than +sick, so I only replied, "I hope not, my dear. She has cried herself to +sleep, and if awoke now, will probably have a headache, so we will let +her sleep on." + +When we had dined, Mary prepared to return home. Harriet had quite +recovered from her fatigue, and I proposed that she should go home with +Mary and spend the afternoon. She hesitated at this for a little while, +and then said, "I had rather go to Mrs. O'Donnel's with you, Aunt +Kitty." + +"But, Harriet, I would rather you should go to your uncle's." + +Seeing she still lingered by me, and looked dissatisfied, I added, "I +have a very good reason for my wish, Harriet, which, if I should tell it +to you, would, I am sure, make you go cheerfully; but I would rather you +should trust me, and do what I ask without hearing my reason. Can you +not?" + +She readily answered, "Yes," and getting her bonnet, only stopped to ask +that I would let her know how little Jem was as soon as I came back. +This I promised, and she and Mary set out. + +It was on account of Florence that I had sent Harriet away. I had at +first been interested in this little girl for her mother's sake, but I +had now become much attached to her and deeply interested in her for her +own sake. She was naturally a child of quick feelings and warm +affections, and I could not see her anxiety to please me, her loving +remembrance of her father and mother, her constant solicitude about +them, and her delight at hearing of them, without regarding her +tenderly, and earnestly desiring to see that one fault removed, which +was daily acquiring strength, and which would in time destroy all that +was pleasing or amiable in her character. For this one fault, which I am +sure I need not tell my readers was selfishness, I found, too, more +excuse in the circumstances of Florence, than I could have found in +those of most children. She was an only child, and her fond father and +mother had always so plainly shown that they considered her the first +object in life, and thought that every thing should yield to her wishes, +that Florence is perhaps scarcely very much to blame for having learned +to think so too. I had long wished for an opportunity to show Florence +her own selfishness and its great evil, and as Margaret had, while I was +at Mrs. O'Donnel's, told me what she knew of the morning's adventures, I +believed that this opportunity I had now found. That Mary had spoken the +truth to Florence on this subject, I did not doubt; but I was as sure +that this truth had been spoken, not in love, but in anger, and this +never profits any one. I did not think it would be necessary for me to +speak at all, for I thought Florence had now prepared for herself a +lesson which would tell her all I wished her to know, far more forcibly +than any words of mine could do. What this lesson was, how I induced +Florence to look at it, and what were its effects on her, you shall now +hear. + +When Florence awoke, I was sitting by her bedside, and I met her first +glance with a pleasant smile. She cast a wondering look around her, and +again resting her eyes on me, asked, "Where is Harriet?" + +"Gone home with Mary," I replied; "and I want you to make a visit, and +take a drive with me,--so get up, lazy one, and when you have washed +your face and brushed your hair, come to the parlor, and you shall have +some dinner." + +As I spoke, I playfully lifted Florence from the bed, and placed her +standing on the floor, and before she had time to ask any further +questions, or make any objections, I was gone. When she came out, I had +such a dinner prepared for her, as I knew would best please her taste, +and near it stood a small basket filled with choice fruit. Florence was +hungry, and said little till she had finished her dinner. She then asked +where I was going. + +"I am going to take a drive to a farmer's about four miles off, who has +the best cherries in the neighborhood,--but first, I am going to Mrs. +O'Donnel's to see her sick baby, and I want you to go with me, and help +me take her some things which I think may be of use to him." + +While speaking, I laid a small bundle on the table by Florence. She +looked at the bundle, then at me, and then down on the floor. At last +she spoke, "I do not want to go to Mrs. O'Donnel's." + +"Do not want to go to Mrs. O'Donnel's! I am very sorry for that, for I +must take these things to the baby. But why do you not wish to go?" + +"Mary called me selfish this morning, and--and--I do not want to go +there." + +"Mary called you selfish! I will not ask you why she did so, because, as +I would not let her tell me your quarrels, I must not be partial and +hear them from you; but surely to refuse to do a kind action to a sick +baby, is not the best way to convince her that she was unjust." I saw +that Florence hesitated, and pursuing my purpose, said, "Come, put on +your bonnet, and do not let Mary's petulance prevent your doing right, +and deprive me of my companion." + +As she had no objection to make, Florence put on her bonnet, took up the +bundle, and followed me, though I could see it was with inward +reluctance. During our walk I spoke to her cheerfully and pleasantly, +leaving her but little time for thought. + +When we came in sight of the house, she became grave and silent. I, too, +ceased talking. I held Florence's hand, and, as we approached the door, +I could feel that she drew back; but I took no notice of her efforts, +and she entered with me into the presence, to all appearance, of the +dying. Florence had never before stood by the side of one so ill; and to +see the pretty, laughing baby, with whom she had played so gayly but a +few days since, lying so changed; to hear his deep, groaning breath; to +see the poor mother, as she sat, shedding no tear, making no moan, but +gazing on her child with a hopeless agony which none could mistake, was +enough to cause her to turn pale and burst into tears; yet I thought it +probable that Mary's angry speeches were now remembered, and that some +of the bitterness of remorse was in the heart of Florence. No one moved +when we entered. Even Dr. Franks, who was there, remained seated, +holding his watch in his hand, and occasionally making a sign to +Margaret to give the child some medicine which stood on a table by her. +I was myself overcome, for though I had expected to find the child ill, +I had not been prepared for such apparent hopelessness in his case. Poor +Florence! Her lesson was likely to be more severe than I had +anticipated. + +Seeing that I could do no good, feeling that I could speak no comfort +there, I quietly laid down what I had brought on the floor beside Mrs. +O'Donnel, and taking the hand of the weeping Florence, passed out. Dr. +Franks followed me. I heard his step, and turning, when we were far +enough from the door not to be heard within the house, I asked him +whether he had any hope that the child would recover. + +"Only that hope," he replied, "which we feel as long as there is life. +He cannot long remain as he now is; if he recover at all, he will soon +show signs of being better. If I could have been called earlier, even +half an hour earlier, before the child's strength had been so far +exhausted, the case would have been comparatively simple, and easily +relieved; but now--" and he shook his head despondingly. + +Florence had looked up anxiously in Dr. Franks' face while he was +speaking. She now dropped her head, covered her face with her hands, and +sobbed loudly and violently. This caused the doctor to look at her, and +that look probably reminded him of Harriet, for he said, "By the by, I +never knew Harriet so thoughtless as in this business. Why, when she +found I was not at home, did she not ride on for me herself, instead of +waiting for a boy to catch and saddle another horse, a business of half +an hour at least, all which time I was riding away from here, so that it +made a difference of fully an hour in the time of my arriving. That hour +would, in all probability, have saved the child." + +Any excuse for Harriet would have seemed an accusation to poor +Florence's excited mind, and I was silent, but as the doctor said, "That +hour would in all probability have saved the child," her cries became so +wild and distressing, that I moved with her farther from the house, +while the doctor returned to his post. + +"What is the matter, Florence?" said I; "why are you so much distressed? +Is it because you fear the baby will die?" + +"No, no, it's because I've killed him--oh! I've killed him," she +repeated, with almost frantic vehemence; "the doctor says so; the doctor +says if Harriet had rode he would have got well, and I would not let +Harriet ride." + +I never felt my own helplessness, my own littleness, and God's supreme +power, so much as at this moment. Here was the very lesson which I had +wished to teach Florence, which I had brought her there to learn, _the +great evil of her selfishness_. I had wished her to see that pale, +suffering baby--to feel grieved--to be angry with herself, that for a +trifling amusement she had been willing to prolong those sufferings, to +lengthen out his mother's sorrow,--perhaps, to make the lesson more +impressive, I would have been willing that Florence should feel for some +minutes an apprehension that the disease would terminate fatally. But +here was no vain apprehension; the child was, to all appearance, dying; +his physician believed that he would die, and I felt that, if he did, +Florence would always suffer from the conviction that she had caused his +death. As I heard her frantic cries, and saw her agitated frame, I +trembled for the consequences. I stood awed before that Almighty Being +who was teaching me as well as her, the great sin of selfishness, the +suffering which follows all sin, was teaching us that the only path of +safety is that narrow path of right-doing which He has marked out for +us, and that the slightest wandering from this path might lead to woes +of which we had not even dreamed. These are solemn lessons, which I hope +my little readers will learn from the example of others, that they may +never, like Florence, be taught them in their own persons. + +In my fears for Florence I could find no comfort, but in the remembrance +that God, her great Teacher, was also her loving Father. While I was +standing beside her, unable to speak, striving, with mute caresses, to +sooth her agony, with a sudden movement she looked up to me, exclaiming, +"Oh! beg the doctor to make him well." + +"The doctor, my dear Florence, cannot make him well; God only can do +that." + +"Well, beg God, then." + +"I will, dear Florence, and so may you, for He is as near to you as to +me, and He hears the simplest prayer of the simplest child." + +In an instant she was on her knees beside me, exclaiming, in the most +imploring tones, "Oh, God! please to make the baby well,--oh! please to +make him well." + +Florence had often said her prayers, but this was probably the first +time she had ever prayed from the heart. I stooped down to her, and +said--"And please take this wicked selfishness from the heart of +Florence, that she may not do such great wrong again, and bring such +sorrow on herself and others." She repeated my words slowly and +solemnly, adding, "and oh! please make the baby well," and concluding +her prayer with the sacred form to which she had been accustomed, "For +Christ's sake, Amen," she rose up comparatively calm. Hers had been a +prayer of such simple faith as none but a simple-hearted child, and +those who, in the words of our Saviour, become as little children, can +offer, and such prayer always brings consolation. + +"Now, Aunt Kitty, let us go back to the house:"--seeing I hesitated, +Florence added, "you need not be afraid that I will make any noise; I +will be very still. I only want to go where I can see him." + +The fear that Florence would make a noise had not been the cause of my +hesitation. It was on her own account. I had wished Florence, as I have +already said, to feel the evil of her selfishness; I did not wish her to +forget the pain she had suffered and was suffering; I would not have +driven away, if I could, the serious thoughts which were now in her +mind; but her agitation had been so great as to make me very anxious, +and I hesitated to take her back where she might be yet further excited. +She appeared, however, so much in earnest in her wish, that, after a +little consideration, I thought it wisest to indulge her, and we +returned to the house. Florence seated herself on a low stool by +Margaret, on whose lap the baby now lay, and watched him with scarcely +less constancy than his mother. Her lips frequently moved, and I had no +doubt that she was again asking God to make him well. + +I will not weary you by telling you how long we watched there, or +through what changes the little sufferer passed. The sun was not yet +set, when his symptoms were so materially amended that the doctor said +to Mrs. O'Donnel, "Now, my good woman, be comforted; your child is +better, and will, I hope, with care, soon be well." + +The poor mother had uttered no sound for many hours, but now her +long-smothered feelings burst out. With a wild cry she started up, and, +holding out her arms, would have caught her child to her bosom; but the +doctor, pushing her back into her seat, whispered, "Hush, hush--he is +sensible now, and you may frighten him into another fit." + +She hushed her cry in a moment, and remained quiet in her chair; but she +burst into tears and wept piteously. As soon as she recovered her voice, +she exclaimed, "God bless you, sir; God bless you all, for it's good +you've been to me, watching by the poor, lone woman's child, as if he +had been the rich man's son. And he will be better, you say, before Pat +comes. Oh! glad am I, poor fellow, that he didn't see him at the worst." + +When I could look around for Florence, she had left the cabin. I went +out and saw her standing by the carriage, which had been some time +waiting for us. She was speaking eagerly to Henry, and as she turned to +meet me, I saw that she looked much excited, though very happy. I found, +too, that her head and hands were feverish to the touch, and I became +very anxious to get her quietly home. When I proposed going, however, +Florence replied, "Not yet," and turned towards the house. + +I put my arm around her, and drawing her to me, said very seriously, +"Florence, you asked God a little while ago to take away all selfishness +from your heart. Do you remember it?" + +"Yes," she immediately replied, "and I hope he will, now that He has +made the baby well." + +"I am sure He will, Florence, if you only show that you were sincere in +asking it, by watching your own feelings, and resisting your selfish +inclinations." + +"Well, so I will," said Florence. + +"Then, my love, you will do now as I wish you. By remaining longer here +you may make yourself sick from fatigue and excitement, and so, for the +gratification of your own inclinations, give great pain to me and to all +who love you. This would be selfish, would it not?" + +"Yes," said Florence, "so it would, though I did not know it;" and she +entered the carriage without further hesitation. + +This was probably the first time that Florence had ever voluntarily +yielded her own wishes to those of another--the first generous act she +had ever performed. It may seem to my readers a very little thing, but I +felt that Florence had resisted herself, had conquered herself, and this +is never a little thing. + +When we got home I sent the carriage on for Harriet, and giving Florence +her tea without any delay, went with her, early as it was, to her room, +promising, if she went to bed at once, to sit with her till she slept. +She had been accustomed by her mother to say her prayers aloud, and I +was glad to hear, as I listened to her this evening, that she did not +forget to thank God for making little Jem well. She was very much +disposed to talk when she had lain down; but as I was desirous to keep +her as quiet as possible, I told her that in the morning I would hear +all she had to say, and that now I would tell her a story of her mother +and myself when we were children. A story was what of all things +Florence most liked to hear, so she was very attentive to me, and +begged, when I had ended one, that I would tell her another. I took care +that the second should not be very interesting, and before it was +finished, Florence was in a sleep which, though at first disturbed and +nervous, soon became quiet, and from which she did not awake till the +sun was shining brightly on another day. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A GOOD BEGINNING. + + +"Well, Harriet," said Dr. Franks, as he came into our breakfast room +before we had risen from table, "I was half angry with you yesterday, +when I thought you had ridden to my house and then turned back and sent +a boy for me, instead of following me yourself. But my wife saved you a +scolding by telling me you walked there. And now, Miss Simple, pray what +was that for? Of what use is your pony if he cannot bring you for a +doctor when a child is in convulsions?" + +Harriet colored and looked confused, but Florence colored still more +deeply. I saw that the doctor expected an answer, and both the children +looked at me to explain, but I would not interfere. The doctor seemed +annoyed at our silence, and catching hold of Mary Mackay, who was just +entering the parlor, he drew her forward, saying, "Why, Mary Wild," a +name he had long given her, "could not have done a more thoughtless +thing." + +Low and hesitatingly, Florence spoke, "It was not Harriet's fault." + +"It was not Harriet's fault!" the doctor impatiently repeated; "whose +fault was it then, pray?" + +"It was mine,"--the first difficulty conquered, Florence spoke more +boldly--"It was mine. I was riding the pony, and would not let her have +him." + +I knew Dr. Franks well, and I saw that he was about to reply to this +with a severity which, however Florence might have deserved the day +before, would then have been cruel; so before he could speak, I drew her +to me, and said, "Not a word of blame, doctor, for Florence has already +said harder things to herself than you can say to her. Besides, you +would have known nothing of it but for her, and she must not suffer for +her truth telling." + +I was pleased with this little incident, for though Florence had only +done justice to Harriet, selfishness often makes us unjust as well as +ungenerous; and I knew to tell the truth as fully as she had done, must +have given her great pain. I was glad, too, to find that Harriet and +Mary both seemed to feel this, and were very cordial and pleasant in +their manner to her afterwards. + +The next afternoon we went to the farm where we were to find the best +cherries in the neighborhood; and there Florence's new principle of +action displayed itself frequently. She was evidently on the watch for +opportunities to be generous. The best place under the trees, the finest +cherries, for which she would once have striven, she now pressed upon +Harriet and Mary; and whenever she had thus conquered her former habits, +she would turn her eyes to me with a timid appeal for my approval. But +the act on which she evidently most valued herself, was, asking to +return in the carriage, and so giving up the pony to Harriet, when we +were going home. + +It was but a few days after this that Mr. and Mrs. Arnott came for +Florence, on their way home from the Virginia Springs. During these few +days, she continued to manifest the same earnest desire to correct her +faults. I told her father and mother of the interesting scenes through +which she had passed, and of what seemed to be their happy result. Mrs. +Arnott shed tears, and Mr. Arnott shook my hand repeatedly, declaring +that I had done more for their happiness than I could conceive, if I had +brought Florence to see and endeavor to correct this one great fault. + +The evening before we parted, I had a conversation with Florence which +interested me very much. We were walking, and I had purposely taken the +path which led by Mrs. O'Donnel's cabin. When we came in sight of it, +Mrs. O'Donnel was standing at the door with little Jem, now quite well, +in her arms. We spoke to her as we passed, and then Florence said, "I +shall always love little Jem, Aunt Kitty." + +"Why, Florence?" + +"Because, if it had not been for him I should not have found out what a +selfish child I was, or have learned to be generous." + +"And do you think you have learned to be generous, Florence?" + +She colored and seemed confused for a moment, then looking up in my face +said, with great simplicity, "I hope so. Do you not think I have?" + +"I think you are learning, and learning very fast. It was fortunate, +dear Florence, that you discovered the evil of your selfish habits while +you were so young; but the habits even of ten years are not to be broken +in a day. You will often find it difficult to resist them. If you will +write to me when you go away, and tell me all the difficulties and +trials you meet in your efforts to conquer them, I may sometimes be able +to help you. Will you do this? Will you write to me?" + +"Write to you! oh! I shall like it,--at least I shall like to get your +letters, and read mamma just as much as I choose of them." + +"But you must remember, Florence, that my object in our correspondence +will be to give you my aid in learning to be generous. That I may be +able to do this, you must be very honest with me, and tell me whenever +you have done, or even been tempted to do a selfish thing." + +"May I not tell you, too, when I have been generous?" + +"Certainly, my dear; tell me all you wish to tell me of yourself, I +shall be glad to hear it all; but I hope you will soon feel that you +have a great deal more to tell me of your selfishness, than of your +generosity." Florence looked at me in speechless surprise. "Because, +Florence, I hope you will soon become really generous, generous _at +heart_, and then those things which, now that you are only trying to be +generous, it is hard for you to do, which you notice because they are +done with a great effort, will be so easy and so common that you will +forget to tell me about them--that you will not even notice them +yourself." + +"But how, when I get to be so generous, can I have any selfishness to +write you about?" + +"Ah, Florence! we are never quite free from selfishness, any of us, and +the more generous we become, the more plainly do we see selfishness in +acts and feelings which seemed to us quite free from it once. Do you not +feel this yourself? Do not things seem selfish to you now, which only a +week ago you did not think so at all?" + +"Yes," said Florence, in a low voice, and then walked thoughtfully and +silently by my side. + +The next morning Florence returned home, and I did not see her again for +nearly eighteen months. But I heard from her often, for our +correspondence commenced very soon. Her first letters were filled with +her own generous acts,--how she had risen early when she was very +sleepy, that she might not keep nurse waiting--how she had sat quite +still almost all day, when she had wanted to run about very much, +because mamma was not well, and would have been disturbed by noise--how +she had given her cousin Mary her very prettiest book, because she said +she liked it. But it was not long before Florence began to write of her +grief for selfish feelings, which, to use her own language, "if she +tried ever so hard to get rid of them, would come back." Once or twice a +letter came from her full of the bitterest shame and self-reproach for +the selfishness of some action, which, a little while before, Florence +would not have felt to be in the least degree wrong. I rejoiced at all +this, for I saw it was as I hoped; Florence was becoming generous _at +heart_--selfishness was becoming a hateful thing to her, and a strange +thing, which like other strange things, could not make its appearance +without being noticed. I would copy some of these letters for you, but I +have other things to tell you of Florence, which I think will interest +you more than her letters. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A NEW CREATURE. + + +Almost eighteen months after Florence had left us, came that bright and +beautiful winter's morning which I described to you at the commencement +of this book. You may remember that on that morning I accompanied +Harriet and Mary to Mr. Dickinson's to hear a play, which was to form +part of their Christmas entertainments, and that on returning home, I +found Mr. Arnott's carriage waiting for me. The driver brought a letter +from Florence, begging me to come as soon as possible to her sick and +sorrowing mother. The letter was short, and did not tell me what was the +cause of Mrs. Arnott's distress. I immediately packed a trunk, and +sending Harriet home with Mary, prepared for my journey. It was one +o'clock, however, before, with my utmost haste, I could set out, and the +roads were so filled up with the snow of the previous night, that we +travelled slowly, and I had gone little more than half way when the +short winter's day was over. I therefore stopped all night at the same +little inn where I had dined when going to Mr. Arnott's with Harriet and +Mary. The next morning I was again on the road so early that I arrived +at Mr. Arnott's before breakfast,--indeed, before any of the family, +except Florence, was up. She did not expect me so early, and I entered +the house so quietly, that I stood in the parlor with her before she +knew that I had arrived. + +No one who had seen the face of Florence, as her eye rested on me, could +have doubted her delight at seeing me; yet, surprised and delighted as +she was, she made no exclamation, but coming close to me, put her arms +around me, and kissing me repeatedly, said, in a very low voice, almost +a whisper, "How kind you were, Aunt Kitty, to come so quickly! We did +not think you could be here before this evening." + +In the same low tone I answered, "Your letter made me too anxious to +admit of any unnecessary delay. But how is your mother now?" + +"She will be better, I am sure, when she sees you, for I think it is +agitation which has made mamma ill. She slept but little last night, and +is asleep now, which makes me try to keep every thing quiet." + +While Florence was speaking, she was helping me to take off my cloak and +bonnet. Then drawing a large rocking-chair before the fire, she seated +me in it, and kneeling down by me, loosened the lacings of the moccasins +which I had worn over my shoes in travelling, and took them off. Before +she rose, she rested her head for a moment affectionately on my +shoulder, and said, "Aunt Kitty, I am very, very glad to see you again." + +Florence was greatly changed in appearance as well as in manners, since +we parted. She had left me, a child, looking even younger than Harriet, +though, in reality, two years older; but a year and a half had passed, +and she had grown so rapidly, that, though not yet thirteen, she might +easily have passed for fourteen or fifteen. Her face, too, had changed. +Florence had always been spoken of as a pretty child. I suppose she was +so, for she had a fair, smooth skin, very dark, glossy, and curling +hair, and fine eyes; yet her face never particularly pleased me, and +even those who talked of her beauty, did not seem to care much about +looking at her. But now there was a sweet thoughtfulness and +peacefulness in her countenance, which made me turn my eyes again and +again on her with increasing love. Not that I loved her for being +beautiful, but for the serious and gentle spirit, which I was sure had +given the expression, of which I have spoken, to her countenance,--which +would have given the same expression to the plainest features, and which +I would advise all my little readers to cultivate, if they are desirous +of beauty--that beauty which all admire most, and which nothing, not +even old age or disease, can destroy. + +But these changes in appearance were by no means the most important +which I already saw in Florence. In every word and action I saw that she +was thinking more of others than of herself. I have told you how quietly +she received me, never forgetting, in her surprise at my unexpected +appearance, that a loud exclamation from her might awaken and agitate +her mother, while for my comfort she seemed equally considerate. My +readers will, perhaps, think that these things were little worthy of +notice, and gave slight proof of any great change of character in +Florence--slight assurance that she had conquered her selfishness. But +in this they are mistaken. It is precisely in these little things which +occur daily, hourly, in the life of each of us, that a generous nature +shows itself most truly. A very selfish person may, on some rare +occasion, make a great display of generosity,--may even be excited into +doing a really generous action, but it is only the generous in heart who +can be generous daily, hourly, in little as in great things, without +excitement and without effort. Some of my young friends may have been +accustomed to think themselves very generous, yet to keep their +generosity, as fine ladies keep their diamonds, only to be exhibited on +great occasions. Let me assure them that if it is not shown, too, in +everyday life--in thoughtfulness of the feelings of others, readiness to +yield their own gratifications for the advantage of others--it is no +true diamond of generosity, but only some worthless imitation. Others, +perhaps, have wished that they had opportunities of showing how generous +they are. Let them now learn that they have such opportunities every +day--every hour. Whenever your parents call on you to do what is not +agreeable to your inclinations, and you obey them cheerfully, +pleasantly, instead of showing by your ill-humor that you only do not +disobey because you dare not, you are sacrificing your own inclinations +to promote their pleasure, and in so doing you are generous. Whenever +you give up the plays you like best, the walks you most admire, and +choose those which you know will give the greatest pleasure to your +companions, you are generous. You will now be able to judge for +yourselves of the alteration in Florence's character, from her conduct +under the circumstances I am about to relate to you, and I need not, +therefore, trouble you again with such long explanations. + +Soon after my arrival, Florence left the parlor, saying she would go to +the kitchen and tell them to bring up our breakfast, as she did not like +to ring the bell, which was very loud. She returned in a few minutes, +followed by a servant with the breakfast tray. As we seated ourselves at +table, I inquired for Mr. Arnott. + +"He is asleep still," said Florence. "He told me last night to call him +before breakfast, so I went to his room just now to do it; but I knew he +had been up a great deal with mamma last night, and he seemed to sleep +so sweetly, that I just said, 'Papa,' very softly, and as he did not +stir for that, I came out as quietly as I could." + +"So if I had not been here you would have breakfasted alone." + +"No--I should have waited for papa--it is so much pleasanter to +breakfast with him." + +An early ride is a great quickener of the appetite. I was consequently +somewhat longer than usual at the breakfast table, and before I had +risen, Mr. Arnott appeared. After welcoming me very cordially, he kissed +Florence, saying, however, as he did so, "You deserve to lose your kiss +for not calling me this morning. You should never break a promise, +Florence, however trifling it may seem to you." + +"I kept my promise, papa, and called you. Indeed I did," she added, as +Mr. Arnott shook his head, "though I acknowledge I did it very softly." + +"Ah, Florence! we are told of people who, only seeming to keep their +promises, are said 'to keep the word of promise to the ear;' but you did +not even keep yours to the ear, at least not to my ear, for I heard +nothing of your call." + +"But you believe I did call you, papa," said Florence, earnestly. + +"Certainly, my daughter, I believe what you tell me, but I would have +you remember that promises should be kept in the sense in which they are +made, and that, though it should be at some inconvenience to ourselves." + +"I will remember it, papa, but it was _your_ inconvenience I was +thinking of, when I did not awake you," said Florence, smiling. + +"I do not doubt that," said her father. + +While Mr. Arnott and I were conversing, Florence was called out of the +parlor, and as soon as the door closed on her, he interrupted some +observation he was making on the state of the roads, to say, "I am truly +obliged to you for coming so quickly, for it is necessary that I should +leave home immediately on very important business, which I will more +fully explain to you before I go; yet I have not been willing even to +announce my intention of going, till my poor wife could have the support +of your presence." + +When Florence returned, Mr. Arnott asked, "Where is Rover, that he does +not come to share my breakfast this morning?" + +"Why, is my old friend Rover still alive?" said I; "I wonder he has not +been here to welcome me." + +"He would have been, I dare say, Aunt Kitty, for Rover never forgets his +friends, but he is three miles away from here now," and in spite of +Florence's efforts to speak carelessly, her voice trembled. + +"Three miles away from here! What do you mean, Florence?" said Mr. +Arnott. + +"Just what I said, papa. Edward Morton lives three miles away, does he +not? Rover belongs to him now." + +Florence spoke very fast, and turned her face away from her father, so +that he did not see, as I did, that her lip was quivering, and her eyes +were full of tears. + +"Why, Florence, I am surprised at you. I would not have believed it +possible that you could part with Rover to any one. I thought you loved +him almost as well as he loved you." + +Mr. Arnott spoke almost angrily at this proof, as he thought it, of want +of kindness in his daughter for her old playfellow. Florence, unable +longer to control herself, burst into tears, and sobbing, said, "So I +do, papa, love Rover just as well as he loves me, and yet I do not feel +sorry he is gone, for nurse said he kept mamma awake at night barking +under her window; and you know we could not keep him out of her room in +the day, and when she was nervous and in pain, I saw it worried her to +have him there." + +Mr. Arnott's eyes glistened as he drew his daughter to him, and kissed +and soothed her. I remembered the scene with Rover and the ball during +my last visit to Mrs. Arnott, and, I dare say, my readers will remember +it too. After a while Mr. Arnott said, "Well, Florence, it was very +right in you to think of your mother's comfort, and I suppose I must +reconcile myself to parting with Rover for a time--but only _for a +time_, Florence; when your mother gets well, Edward, I doubt not, will +give him back to you." + +"Perhaps he would, papa, but--" Florence hesitated, looked in her +father's face, colored, and looked down again. + +"But what, Florence? Surely you would like to have Rover back." + +"To be sure I would, papa, but I thought a great deal about it before I +gave Rover away, and I chose Edward Morton to give him to, because I +knew he would love Rover and take good care of him; and do you think, +papa, it would be right, after Edward gets to love him almost as well as +I do, to ask him to give him up?" + +"No, my daughter, it would not be right. You have thought very justly." + +I could not help adding, "And very generously too." + +Florence colored with pleasure at our approbation; but Mrs. Arnott's +bell rang, and she left us at once to inform her mother of my arrival. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. + + +Matters of business are never, I think, very interesting to young +persons. I will not, therefore, attempt to give you a very particular +account of the circumstances from which Mr. Arnott's present +perplexities and his wife's sorrowful anticipations arose. All that is +necessary for you to know, is soon told. + +Mr. Arnott had some years before placed in the hands of a merchant, who +was an old and valued friend, a large sum of money to be employed for +him--so large a sum that, if lost, he would be no longer a wealthy man. +His pleasant home must then be given up, and his wife and daughter be +deprived of many of those comforts to which they had been accustomed, +and which delicate health made almost necessary to Mrs. Arnott's life. +This merchant, who had resided in Montreal, had lately died very +suddenly. Not long before his death, some changes had taken place in his +business which made new arrangements necessary to secure Mr. Arnott from +loss. He had urged Mr. Arnott's coming to Montreal, as an interview +between them was very desirable before the completion of these +arrangements. But Mr. Arnott had very imprudently delayed going, till +the death of his friend had made the evil past remedy. The letter which +announced his death, mentioned also, that he had left no will--at least +none had yet been found--and that his nephew would therefore inherit his +property. Mr. Arnott knew this nephew, and thought him to be a very +avaricious, and not very honorable man, and was sure that he would take +every advantage of what he now felt to be his own culpable negligence. +You will easily see how important it was, under such circumstances, that +Mr. Arnott should go as soon as possible, and examine for himself, +whether there yet remained any means of making good his claims. + +When he spoke of his intended departure, Mrs. Arnott turned pale, and I +saw that she was much agitated, but she tried both to look and to speak +cheerfully. Florence, to whom it was quite a new thought, could not so +command herself. She looked from her father to her mother, said in an +accent of the utmost surprise, "Go away, papa?" and burst into tears. + +Mr. Arnott rose, and with an agitated countenance left the room. Mrs. +Arnott knew that her husband had much at present to disturb him, much +which would make any unhappiness in her or Florence peculiarly painful +to him. He was parting from them for a long and dangerous winter's +journey--he left her in feeble health--knew not how long he might be +detained from home, or whether he should ever return to this place as to +a home. As soon as he went out, she turned to Florence, and while her +own voice trembled with emotion, said, "My daughter, we must not let our +regret make us selfish. Remember, your father is the greatest sufferer. +He must not only endure the pain of parting, but he goes to meet great +difficulty and perplexity of mind, and perhaps much hardship. Let us do +our best not to add to his distress by ours. To leave us cheerful and +well, will do much to keep him so." Florence tried to subdue her sobs, +but for some time very unsuccessfully. "Go to your own room, my love," +said the tender mother, as she drew Florence to her and kissed her +cheek, "go to your own room, and come back to us when you can come with +a happy face. It is not an easy effort, Florence, but you can make it, I +am sure, for your father's sake." + +Florence went to her room, and when, in about an hour, she returned to +us, it was with a cheerful face, and all her usual animation of manner; +and though I often saw the tears rush to her eyes when her father's +absence was named, I never again saw them fall. Even when he went, in +their parting interview, she tried to look and speak cheerfully; and, +though some tears would not be restrained, it was not till he was out of +sight and hearing, that she gave full vent to her sorrow. + +Mr. Arnott left us early in January. The weather, during the whole of +this month, was very cold and stormy, and the bleak, cheerless days +seemed drearier than ever after his departure. Mrs. Arnott's health, +too, continued delicate, and yet I felt that she really little needed +me, for she could not have a more careful nurse, a more tender +comforter, than she found in the young Florence. + +The last week in January brought letters from Mr. Arnott. He had just +arrived in Montreal when he wrote. Of course he could say nothing of +business, but he was safe and well, and Mrs. Arnott felt that her worst +apprehensions were relieved. She had tried to be cheerful before, she +was now cheerful without trying. + +February opened with mild, delightful weather. Florence went out one +morning for a walk, but she soon came back with a bounding step, a +bright color, and a countenance animated and joyous. "Oh, mamma!" she +exclaimed, "it is a most delightful day, just such a day as you used to +enjoy so much at the South. I almost thought I could smell the jessamine +and orange flowers." + +"Why, Florence," said Mrs. Arnott, "you almost tempt me to go out too," +and she looked wistfully from the windows. + +"And why not, dear mamma, why should you not go too? It could not hurt +you--do you think it could?--to take a drive in this bright, sunshiny +day. I dare say, Aunt Kitty would enjoy it, too," turning to me. + +Mrs. Arnott smiled; "Not such a drive as I should have strength for, +Florence. I could not go more than a mile or two, and that must be in +the close carriage. No, no, it would be a very dull drive for both of +you. + +"Dull, mamma, a dull drive with you, the first time you were able to go +out after being so long sick? I am sure Aunt Kitty does not think so--do +you, Aunt Kitty?" + +"No, my dear; and, I think, if you will order the carriage, that your +mother will be persuaded to try it." + +Florence was off like an arrow. Every thing was so soon prepared for our +excursion, that Mrs. Arnott had no time to change her mind. Our drive +was a very quiet one, yet Mrs. Arnott enjoyed keenly the change, the +motion, and the little air which she ventured to admit. To see her +enjoyment was very pleasant to me, and put Florence into the gayest +spirits. We went about two miles, and were again approaching home, when +we saw a handsome open sleigh coming towards us, driven by a gentleman, +and almost filled with young people of Florence's age. The bells drew +Mrs. Arnott's attention. + +"Who are those, Florence? Can you see at this distance?" + +"It looks like Mr. Morton's sleigh, mamma," said Florence, coloring. +"But I did not think they would come this way," she added. + +"Come this way!--to go where, my child? Do you know where they are +going, Florence?" + +"Yes, mamma, they are going--at least they were going to M., to see some +animals that were to be exhibited there to-day." + +"And which you have talked so much of, and wished so much to see. I +think it was scarcely kind in Clara and Edward not to ask you to go with +them." + +"Oh, mamma! they did ask me." + +"And why did you not go, Florence?" + +"I meant to go, mamma--that is, I meant to ask you this morning if I +might go, but I thought--that is--when you talked of coming, I liked so +much better to come with you that I gave it up." + +"_That is_," said Mrs. Arnott, smiling, "you thought I would enjoy my +drive more if you were with me, and you thought very truly, but you +should not have broken your promise, Florence, without some apology, +even for such a reason." + +"It was not a positive promise, mamma, and you know it would not take +them out of their way at all to stop for me, and I did leave a note for +Clara, to tell her why I did not go. But what can bring them this way, I +wonder?" + +The sleigh was now quite near, and the gentleman driver, who proved to +be Mr. Morton himself, the father of Edward and Clara, making a sign to +our coachman to stop, drew up alongside of our carriage. Giving the +reins to Edward, Mr. Morton sprang out, and opening the door of the +carriage, shook his finger playfully at Florence, saying, "So, young +lady, this is your good manners, is it?--to tell not only young ladies +and gentlemen, but an old man like me, that you like your mother's +company better than ours, with all the lions, and elephants, and +giraffes to boot. But we have caught you at last;--I may take her, may I +not, Mrs. Arnott?" + +"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Arnott, smiling at his playfulness. + +"How kind it was of you, Mr. Morton, to come so much out of your way for +me!" + +"Kind, was it?--I understand your wheedling ways; but come along, Miss +Florence, you are my prisoner now," and snatching up the laughing +Florence, he bore her in triumph to the sleigh. After seating her there, +and seeing that she was carefully wrapped up, he turned back to the +carriage with more grave inquiries after Mrs. Arnott's health, and +assurances that he would take good care of Florence. + +"I am very much obliged to you for coming for her," said Mrs. Arnott, +"for this exhibition is one which she has long wished to see, and I +should have been grieved had she lost it." + +"As to my coming for her, I could not well help myself," said the +good-humored Mr. Morton, with a laugh. Then turning to me, he added, +"Our friend Florence never thinks of herself, so we feel obliged to +think a great deal of her, and the grave looks and grumbling tones with +which the announcement that she would not go with us was received, +showed me that the only chance I had of making our little party a party +of pleasure, was to overtake and capture her. You were easily tracked by +your wheels, for nobody else seems willing to lose the little sleighing +which this fine weather will probably leave us; but, fine as it is, I +am keeping you out too long in it," seeing Mrs. Arnott draw her cloak +more closely around her, "so good-by." + +Hastily mounting his sleigh, he drove rapidly off, many a hearty laugh +and gay voice mingling their music with the merry bells. + +Another letter from Mr. Arnott came about this time, written cheerfully, +hopefully, though he had not yet made even an effort to accomplish the +objects of his journey. This delay was occasioned by the absence of a +lawyer, who had always been employed by his deceased friend, Mr. +Atwater, and from whom Mr. Arnott hoped to receive important information +and advice. He had been absent when Mr. Atwater died, and no one knew +enough of his movements to be quite certain when he would return, yet +Mr. Arnott determined to wait his arrival as patiently as he could, and +to do nothing till he saw him. He would probably be detained but a short +time after seeing him. + +From the day this letter arrived, Florence began to prepare for her +father's return, and to cast many an eager glance up the road with the +hope of seeing him. But even her father's return was not the most +interesting subject of thought to Florence just now. She knew the +apprehensions of her parents, the change of circumstances which possibly +awaited them. For herself, this change of circumstances was not at all +dreaded; for, though Florence loved her home, and would be sorry to +leave it, she thought it would be almost as pleasant to live in a +beautiful little cottage, covered over with roses and woodbine, with a +pretty flower-garden before the door; and to raise chickens, and make +butter and cheese for the market, seemed to her delightful employments. +Pleasant as this picture was, and it was the only one which poverty +presented to her, Florence saw that her father and mother did not regard +it with quite such agreeable feelings as herself, and for their sakes +she began to think how it might be avoided. + +Mr. Arnott had always been a great lover of music, and to this part of +Florence's education great attention had been paid, yet I had never +heard her play so frequently as now. Had she not been afraid of wearying +her mother, she would, I think, scarce ever have left her piano. She +suddenly stopped, one morning, when I was the only person in the room +with her, in the midst of a piece of music, and turning quickly to me, +said, "Aunt Kitty, do you not think I play very well?" + +I was amazed, for Florence had never seemed to me a vain child. I looked +at her--she met my eye, and did not seem in the least confused. + +"Yes, Florence, I think you do play very well." + +"As well as Miss Delany?" she again asked. This was a young lady who was +a teacher of music, and whom I had once heard play at Mr. Arnott's. + +Still more amazed, I replied, "I am not, perhaps, a fair judge of Miss +Delany's powers, as I heard her play but once, but I think you do." + +"Oh! I am so glad you think so," said Florence, springing from her seat, +"for then I can give music lessons too, and make something for papa and +mamma, if he should lose that money. Do you not think I may, Aunt +Kitty?" + +"Yes, my dear Florence, I do not doubt you can, if it become necessary, +which I hope it will not--but what put such an idea into your head?" + +"I have had a great many ideas in my head about making money, since I +heard papa talking of this business; but I believe what made me think of +this, was Lucy Dermot's coming here last week. Lucy's mother, you know, +Aunt Kitty, is very poor, and I remembered hearing Miss Delany say once, +that Lucy had the finest voice and quickest ear for music of any child +she had ever known, and that she thought it a great pity they could not +be cultivated, for then she might support both her mother and herself +handsomely. So I said to myself, mine have been cultivated, and if they +are not so good as Lucy's, I may do something for papa and mamma with +them." + +Mrs. Arnott came in, and nothing more was said on the subject, but I now +understood Florence's devotion to her music, and the pleasant expression +which her countenance wore when she was practising. It was her generous +motive which gave a charm to what would otherwise have been very +tiresome. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE THREE WISHES. + + +"Run to the window, mamma, run to the window, and see who is come," +cried Florence, a few days after, bursting into the room where her +mother and I were sitting, just before dinner. + +It was not necessary to run to the window, it was only necessary to look +into Florence's joyful face to see that her father had come. I lifted my +eyes to Mr. Arnott's face as he entered: there was no cloud on his brow, +no expression but that of grateful joy in his eyes, and I said to +myself, all has gone prosperously with him. It was even so. The lawyer, +on his return, delivered to Mr. Arnott papers which he had drawn up for +Mr. Atwater, and which, with his will, had been left in his hands for +safe-keeping. These papers fully secured Mr. Arnott's property. He had +lost nothing, but had gained from past anxiety a very useful +lesson--never to put off important business, even for a day. + +In the evening we gathered around the fire, with grateful and happy +hearts, to hear and to tell the events of those weeks of separation. +Already, however, when Florence was not present, Mr. Arnott had heard +from his wife of her constant tenderness, and watchful attention to her +comfort, and from me of her generous plans for aiding them, should the +ill fortune come which they anticipated. He did not praise her in words, +but she could not meet his eye, or hear his tones, without feeling that +she was dearer than ever to her father's heart. Just before we separated +for the night, he drew her to him, and seating her on his knee, said, +"Florence, did you ever read the fairy story of the three wishes?" + +"Yes, papa." + +"Well, I will be your good fairy. Make three wishes, and they shall be +granted." + +Florence laughed gayly. + +"Why, papa! fairies are always women." + +"Well, I will be a magician; they are men, are they not?" + +"Yes." + +"Now make your wishes." + +"What shall I wish for, mamma?" + +"Stop," said Mr. Arnott, "they must be your own wishes; nobody must +prompt them, or the spell is broken." + +"And if I make a wrong wish, may I not take it back, and wish over +again?" + +"No--so be careful what you say." + +Florence became grave, and was silent for a few minutes; then looking up +with a smile, said, "I have two wishes, but I cannot think of a third." + +"Let me hear the two, and you can take a longer time to think of the +third." + +"Well, first, I wish little Jem O'Donnel could be sent to school, and +when he gets big enough, could be taught a trade--that is one wish." + +"That is one wish! I thought that was two wishes." + +"Oh no, papa! only one." + +"Well, let it pass for one. It shall be done, that is, with his parents' +consent, which you must get Aunt Kitty to procure for you. Now for the +second wish." + +"I wish little Lucy Dermot could be taught music, so as to give lessons, +and support her mother and herself." + +"You extravagant girl," said Mr. Arnott, "it is well I limited your +wishes to three, or I should be a ruined man." + +"Oh, papa! fairies and magicians never find any fault with our wishes, +if they are ever so extravagant." + +"Well, Lucy Dermot shall be taught music, if she be able and willing to +learn. Now for the third wish." + +"Oh! I must have till to-morrow to think of that. That is my last wish, +and it must be something very good." + +"To-morrow, then, I shall expect to hear it; and now you may go and +dream of it. Good-night." + +I went down early the next morning to put some books, which I had +finished reading, into their places in the library, an apartment +communicating with the breakfast-parlor by a door, now standing open. +While I was there, Mr. Arnott entered the parlor, and immediately after, +Florence bounded in, exclaiming, "Oh, papa! I have found out my third +wish." + +"Well, my daughter, what is it?" + +"Why, you know, papa, nurse has a daughter, and she is her only child, +just as I am your only child; and she is very good, too, nurse says." + +"Just as you are very good, I suppose." + +"Oh no, papa, I did not mean that; but she is going to be married--at +least, she would have been married a year ago, nurse says, but the man +she is to be married to is working hard to try and get a house for her +to live in first--" + +"And how did you hear all this, Florence? Did nurse know of my promise +to you, and did she ask you to speak of this?" + +"Oh no, papa! she does not know any thing about it. I thought when I had +such a good chance, I ought to do something for nurse; so, when she was +putting me to bed last night, I asked her what she wished for most in +the world, and she said she was so well taken care of that she had not +any thing to wish for; and I said, 'Not if anybody was to promise to +give you just what you should ask for, nurse, could you not find any +thing to wish for then?' and so nurse told me about her daughter, and +said she did wish sometimes she had a home for her, and I thought my +third wish should be for a house for her. Just a small house, you know, +papa, with flowers all about it, and a garden, and a poultry yard, and a +dairy, and--" + +"Stop, Florence--here are half a dozen wishes at once. I will tell you +what I will do. I will have a small but comfortable house built--" + +"And a garden to it, papa?" + +"Yes, a garden and a poultry yard; the dairy can wait until it is +wanted, and the flowers they can plant themselves. This house you shall +give to nurse, and she can let her children have it until she wants to +occupy it herself. It is only right, as you say, that something should +be done for her." + +"Oh, thank you--thank you, papa! That will be my very wish." + +"And now, Florence, your three wishes have been wished, and not one of +them for yourself. Have you no selfish desires, my child?" + +"Oh yes, papa!" said Florence, in a serious tone, "a great many." + +"I should like to know how you find them, Florence?" + +Mr. Arnott meant to express by this, that he never saw these selfish +desires manifested by Florence; but she understood him literally to +mean, that he wished to know how she discovered them, and she answered; +"Why, you know, papa, Aunt Kitty made a little prayer for me once, when +I was very, very selfish, and I thought I would say that prayer every +night till I had no more selfishness left; so every night I went over in +my own mind what had happened in the day, to see if I must say it, and, +papa, there has never been a single night that I have not had to say it, +and I am afraid it always will be so." + +"It will, my dear child, for there is selfishness in our hearts as long +as we live; but while you watch over yourself, and pray earnestly to God +against it, he will give you power always to act generously--to subdue +your selfish feelings." + +I have told you enough of Florence, my dear young friends, to enable you +to answer the question--is she generous? But my book has done little if +it has not made you ask a question of much more importance to each one +of you--are you yourself generous? Before you answer, yes, remember that +the truly excellent are always humble, and that Florence never felt how +much selfishness was in her heart, till she became generous. Should your +conscience answer, no, imitate Florence in her simple, earnest prayer, +and honest efforts to amend, and be assured that the same heavenly +Father will hear and help you. + + +THE END. + + + + +GRACE AND CLARA: + +OR, + +BE JUST AS WELL AS GENEROUS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +AUNT KITTY'S GREETING. + + +Nearly a year has passed, my dear young friends, since first Aunt Kitty +met you with a "Merry Christmas or Happy New-Year." The snow, which then +spread a veil over all things, has long since melted away. The spring +flowers which succeeded it have withered. The summer and autumn fruits +have been gathered. Again winter has stripped even the leaves from the +trees, and we awake each morning expecting to find that again he has +clothed them in robes of spotless white. And now that the season for +holidays and merriment has returned,--now that your friends greet you +not only with smiling faces and pleasant words, but with presents, as +marks of their affection and approbation, Aunt Kitty, too, comes with +her token of remembrance. + +Before she presents it, will you permit her to ask how you have received +those which she has already sent you. Have you learned from "Blind +Alice" and her young friend Harriet, that to do right is the only way to +be happy, and from "Jessie Graham," that it is true wisdom to speak the +simple truth always, and from "Florence Arnott," that selfishness is a +great evil, and will, if you indulge it, bring great sufferings on +yourselves and others? If you have learned these lessons and practise +them, then am I sure that your Christmas will be merry and your New-Year +happy,--that the good-humored tones and ringing laughter of your young +companions will never be changed into wrangling and fretful cries, or +the smiles of your older friends into grave and disapproving looks. That +I think of you, this little book will prove, and though I may not see +you, I shall probably hear of your improvement and enjoyment, and my +holidays will be the pleasanter for them. + +These holidays I shall pass in the country at the house of my friend +Mrs. Wilmot, to whom I have already made a very long visit. There are +residing here six young girls, the eldest little over twelve, and the +youngest under ten years of age. Already they have learned to regard a +walk with Aunt Kitty, as a reward for a well-recited lesson, and to +cluster around her by the evening fire, with wishful eyes and earnest +voices asking for one story more. At any hint of my going home, their +remonstrances and entreaties are so vehement, that, I think, when it +becomes absolutely necessary to leave them, I shall have to steal away. + +I am about to introduce these little girls to you by name, to tell you +how their time is generally employed, how their holidays are passed, and +thus to make you quite well acquainted with them. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +HAZEL GROVE. + + +Mrs. Wilmot was left a widow when her two daughters, Grace and Lucy, +were very young--so young that Lucy, who is now ten years old, does not +remember her father at all, and Grace, who is twelve, has only a very +faint recollection of a gentleman, who, when he was lying on a couch in +the parlor, used to have her brought to him, and kiss her, and give her +some of the candies which he always seemed to have near him. Mrs. Wilmot +found herself not very rich on the death of her husband, and as she was +a very highly educated and accomplished woman, she was advised to keep a +school for young ladies. She did not remove into a city to do this, for +her own pleasant house is near enough to a large town to admit of her +having day scholars from it; and she took no boarders, but four girls, +the children of friends who had known her long, and who were glad to +have their daughters under her care, on any terms. These four girls are +about the age of her own children, and have been educated with them as +sisters. Indeed, as they call her "Mamma Wilmot," but for their being so +much of the same age, a stranger might suppose them all her own +children. Their names are Clara Devaux, Martha Williams, and Kate and +Emma Ormesby. These two last-named girls are twin sisters, and so much +alike that it was formerly frequent sport with them to perplex their +young companions by answering to each other's names. This they can no +longer do, as Kate has grown tall and thin, while Emma is still a fat, +chubby little girl. Mrs. Wilmot, about two years ago, had some property +left her, which would have supported herself and her daughters very +comfortably without the profits of her school, but she had become so +much interested in her young boarders, that she was not willing to part +with them. She gave up, however, all her day scholars, and then wrote to +me requesting that I would visit her, as she would now, she said, have +only her six little girls to teach, and would therefore have leisure +enough to admit of her enjoying a friend's society. As soon as possible +after I received this letter, I went to Hazel Grove, the name of Mrs. +Wilmot's place, taking Harriet with me. + +We arrived at noon of a bright day in October. We had already begun to +enjoy the glow of a fire in the chill mornings and evenings, but, at +that hour, the sun was so warm that it might almost have cheated us, as +well as the little birds and insects, into believing that summer was not +quite gone. + +Hazel Grove is a very pretty place. It fronts a fine, bold river, to +whose very edge the lawn, on which the house stands, slopes gently down. +On the opposite side of the river, the banks are steep and thickly +wooded. On the left of the house, as we approached, lay a large orchard, +which still looked inviting, with its yellow pears and its red or +speckled apples. On the right, was a fine old wood of oak and maple and +beach trees, intermingled with the smaller hazels, from which the place +takes its name. Have you ever, in Autumn, when the nights became cold, +watched the trees, as their green first grew deeper and more vivid, and +then was changed from day to day into every varying shade of color, +from russet brown to pale yellow--from deep rich crimson, to bright +scarlet and flaunting orange? If you have, you may know how gayly this +wood was looking when first we saw it. + +But pleasant as all this was, there was something in the old stone +cottage, with its yard bordered with flowers and shaded with large +black-walnut trees, which pleased me yet better; and best of all was the +view which I caught of the parlor through the open windows. There sat +Mrs. Wilmot in a rocking-chair, with six little girls around her, to +whom she was reading. These girls were all busily at work, except one +bright-eyed, curly-headed little thing, seated on a low stool at Mrs. +Wilmot's feet, whom I afterwards found to be her youngest daughter, +Lucy. She, too, had some work in her hand, but she was so much +interested in what she was hearing, that her needle stood still, while +she looked up into her mother's eyes, as if she would read the story in +them. I had only a single minute to see all this, for the noise of +letting down the carriage steps caused Mrs. Wilmot to look out, and in +an instant the book was laid aside, the work thrown down, and she +hastened to meet us, followed by her children. + +The rest of this day was a holiday to the children, and while Mrs. +Wilmot and I sat talking over old friends and old times, they led +Harriet to their gardens and their baby-houses, their swing, and the +playground where they were accustomed to trundle their hoops and jump +the rope,--showed her the calf, Martha's pet lamb, Kate's and Emma's +English rabbits, Clara's dove, Lucy's kitten, and Grace's puppy, which +were each the most beautiful of their kind that had ever been seen. The +next morning I was introduced to all these beauties, and quite won the +hearts of their owners by my evident admiration of them. When my visits +were over, Mrs. Wilmot called her little girls to their lessons, in +which Harriet, at her own request, joined them. Mrs. Wilmot had a good +library, and while she and the girls were engaged with their studies in +the morning, I was generally there, reading or writing. At dinner we met +again, and the afternoon was passed together in some entertaining and +pleasant way at home, or in driving, walking, or visiting some of the +agreeable people with whom Mrs. Wilmot was acquainted in the town. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE FRIENDS. + + +Amongst the children at Hazel Grove, there were, as you may suppose, +varieties of disposition and character, and though they seemed all to +feel kindly and affectionately to each other, each of them had some +chosen companion, to whom their plans were confided, and with whom all +their pleasures were shared. Kate and Emma, the twins, were almost +inseparable; Lucy Wilmot and Martha Williams walked together, assisted +each other in their gardens, and nursed each other's pets; while Clara +Devaux and Grace Wilmot read from the same book, pursued the same +studies, and sought the same amusements. Yet there could scarce have +been two persons less alike than Clara Devaux and Grace Wilmot. Clara +was gay and spirited, generous and thoughtless. A quick temper often +made her say unkind words, which an affectionate heart made her feel, in +a short time, far more painfully than the person to whom they were +addressed. Grace was, on the contrary, of a grave, serious nature, and +seemed always to take time to think before she acted. She, too, +possessed a very affectionate heart, and the least appearance of +coldness or anger from one she loved, would distress her much, but she +had scarcely ever been known to speak or even to look angrily. In one +thing, however, these girls were alike,--they were both remarkable for +their truth. I do not mean only that they would not tell a story, for +this I hope few little girls would do, but they would not in any way +deceive another, and if they had done wrong, they did not wait to be +questioned, but would frankly tell of themselves. Mrs. Wilmot, in +speaking to me of their attachment, said she was pleased at it, for she +thought they had been of use to each other; that Clara had sometimes +stimulated Grace to do right things which, without her persuasions, she +would have been too timid to attempt, and that Grace had often prevented +Clara from doing wrong things into which her heedlessness would have led +her but for her friend's prudent advice. + +Not far from Mrs. Wilmot's lived a man who was feeble in health and +somewhat indolent in his habits. He had three little daughters, the +eldest of whom was little more than four years old when their mother +died. She was an active, industrious woman, and had always taken good +care of them, but as their father was far from rich, they fared hardly +after her death, and were often sadly neglected. They could not go to +any school except Sunday-school, because their father could not afford +to pay any thing for their education, and at Sunday-school they were +seldom seen, because there was no one to take care that their clothes +were mended and washed in time. + +"Poor children," said Grace one day, when she and Clara had passed them +in walking, "how sorry I am for them! They have no kind mother to take +care of them and teach them as I have." + +"No, but they might go to Sunday-school, if they would," said Clara; +"and they could learn a great deal there." + +"Yes, Clara, but are you sure that we should ever have gone to +Sunday-school, if we had had no one to see that we were ready, and send +us there?" + +"No," said Clara, "I do not think we should." + +The girls walked silently on for a few minutes, when Clara said, "Grace, +suppose we teach these poor little children." + +"We teach them, Clara--what an idea!" exclaimed Grace. + +"And why not? I am sure we can teach them to read and to say hymns and +verses from the Bible, and we shall be learning something more and more +every day to teach them, as they grow older. Come, let us turn back and +ask them if they will come to school to us." + +Clara was already retracing her steps, but Grace put her hand on her arm +and stopped her. "Stay, Clara,--it seems very good, and I am sure I +should like to teach them if I can,--but let us ask mamma about it +first, and if she thinks it right, she will show us the best way to do +it." + +Clara readily agreed to this proposal. When they returned home, Mrs. +Wilmot was consulted. She highly approved the plan, and promised to aid +them in its execution, provided the time which they gave to their little +pupils was taken, not from their studies or work, but from their +amusements. For many months before my visit, Clara and Grace had +commenced their school, devoting one hour each day to these motherless +children. There was something very touching to me in seeing these young +teachers' patient and persevering efforts to instruct their charge. +Especially did it please me to see the gay, pleasure-loving Clara, lay +aside her bonnet, when ready for a walk or ride, put up her battledoor, +or jump from the just-entered swing, when she saw the little girls +approaching. I said something of this kind one day to Mrs. Wilmot, and +Clara, who was nearer than I thought, overheard me. She colored, looked +quickly at me, as if she would speak, and then, her courage failing, +looked down again. + +"What would you say, Clara?" asked Mrs. Wilmot. + +"That if it had not been for Grace, ma'am, I should have often put off +teaching them, and maybe, should have given it up altogether before +this." + +"And how has Grace prevented you, my dear?" + +"Why, the first time I wanted to put off the lesson was once that Mr. +Gilbert called to give me a drive in his new carriage, just as the +children came. But when I said 'let us put them off,' Grace looked very +sorry, and said, I must remember how much trouble we had had in getting +them to come to us; and now, if we put them off for a drive, they would +think we did not care much for the lessons, and would perhaps not come +again. Grace seemed so serious and earnest, that I was ashamed of having +even thought of putting them off; and so I have never said any thing +about it since, though I have been very tired sometimes." + +Grace had entered while Clara was speaking, and now said, "Ah, Clara! +but we would never have begun to teach them if it had not been for you." + +My young readers may understand from this sketch what Mrs. Wilmot meant +by saying that Clara stimulated Grace to do right things, and Grace +prevented Clara from doing wrong ones. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE YOUNG TEACHER. + + +The first Saturday after my arrival at Hazel Grove, I found, after +breakfast, that Clara, instead of getting her books, as usual, produced +some colored silks and a frame for embroidery, in which was an apron +with a border of beautifully shaded white, pink, and crimson rose-buds, +just commenced. At the same time, Grace brought out her paints and +brushes and an unfinished flower-piece, which showed both great taste in +its design and great care in its execution. These things were laid on +the table, and then these two girls seemed to have nothing to do but to +watch for the arrival of some one whom they evidently expected with +impatience. At length Clara cried out, "I see her, Grace--there she is." + +I looked and saw, still at a distance from the house, the figure of a +girl apparently not older than those who were so anxiously expecting +her. She carried a portfolio under her arm, and walked with a quick, +buoyant step, which showed that she was both well and cheerful. + +"Who is that?" said I to Grace. + +"Cecille L'Estrange, ma'am," she replied. + +"And is she coming to take lessons with you?" + +"No, ma'am," she said, smiling, "she is coming to teach us." + +"To teach you!" I exclaimed, with surprise, "why, she is a child, like +yourselves. What can she teach you?" + +"Oh! a great deal more than we have time to learn," said Clara, while +Grace added, + +"She is two years older than Clara and I,--she is thirteen." + +I had no time to ask farther questions, for Cecille was at the door. She +entered smiling, and said, "Ah! you wait for me--but I am punctual, it +is just the time," pointing to a clock on the mantelpiece, which said +exactly nine o'clock. As she spoke, her eye turning towards that part of +the room where I was sitting, she colored, and looked down. Grace, who +always seemed thoughtful of the comfort of others, saw this little +embarrassment, and introduced her to me. + +Either this introduction, or something in my manner to her, set her +quite at her ease; and when I asked if I should be in their way, it was +with a very sweet, engaging smile that she replied, "Oh no, indeed! I +should very much like to have you stay, if you please." + +Before I say any thing more of Cecille L'Estrange, it will, perhaps, be +best to tell my young readers, that she was a French girl, and +therefore, though she understood English perfectly well, and spoke it +better than most foreigners do, she sometimes expressed herself in a +different manner from what an English person or an American would have +done: and when she was very much excited from any cause, either pleasant +or painful, she would bring in a French word here and there, without +seeming to notice, or even to know it herself. These words, however, I +will always translate into English for you. + +I had nothing to do for some time but to watch my companions as they sat +busily engaged, and their silence only broken now and then by a +direction from their young instructress. Seldom have I seen any one who +interested me more than this young instructress. Now that I saw her more +nearly, I still thought that she did not look older than Clara or Grace; +indeed, she was smaller than either of them. Her features, too, were +small; and though, when quite still, there was an earnest, grave +expression in her face, when she spoke or smiled, it was lighted up with +such animation and gayety that she seemed like a playful child. I +watched her very earnestly, for there was something about her which made +me think, that young as she was, and cheerful as she now appeared, she +had felt sorrow and trial. At one time, in moving some things which +stood on the table out of Clara's way, she took up a small bronze figure +of Napoleon Bonaparte. She did not put this down immediately, but +continued to hold it and look at it, till her countenance grew very sad, +and she sighed heavily. Just then, Grace, having put the finishing touch +to a splendid rose, placed the piece before her eyes without speaking. +In an instant all sadness was gone from her face, and, clapping her +hands together, she exclaimed, in French, "What a beautiful flower!" +then, laughing at her own forgetfulness, added, in English, "It is +beautiful! is it not, madam?" showing it to me as she spoke. + +It was beautiful, and I praised it as it deserved. + +A few minutes after this, Cecille, glancing at the clock, started up, +exclaiming, "I must go, it is after eleven!" + +"Wait five minutes," said Clara, "and just show me how to put in that +last shade, and I will soon finish this corner." + +Cecille looked distressed, turned her eyes from the work to the clock, +took the needle from Clara's fingers, and then dropping it, said, "I +will come back this afternoon, and show you; but you must let me go now. +I told my grandmamma that I would come back to her at half-past eleven. +I shall just have the time now to get home before that; and if I stay +longer she will be frightened for me." + +She took up her portfolio, courtesied to me, bade the girls good-by, +again assuring Clara that she would come back, and in less than two +minutes was out of sight. + +"I am sorry," said Clara, as she was putting up her work, "that I asked +her to show me any more to-day, for now she will take that long, +tiresome walk back again." + +"Besides, Clara," said Grace, "you know she is always at work when she +is at home, and she will lose so much time coming twice to-day." + +"Well, I am sure, Grace," said Clara, reddening at what seemed to her a +reproach, "I did not ask her to come again, and I can do no more than be +sorry for it now." + +"Yes, we can do something more," said Grace, "we can walk over after +dinner and tell her not to come." + +"So we can and so we will," said Clara, relieved at once by seeing that +she could do something to remedy the evil. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +CECILLE. + + +When Mrs. Wilmot joined us I told her how much I had been interested by +the young Cecille, and begged her to tell me all she knew of her. + +"That I will readily do," Mrs. Wilmot replied, "but the all is not much. +She has been but a short time near us, for it was only late in the last +winter, when the roads were full of snow and ice, that a stage full of +passengers from B. was upset, not far from us. None were hurt but an old +lady, who had her arm broken. It was quite impossible for her to +continue her journey, yet she seemed, I was afterwards told, much +distressed at being compelled to remain. The pain occasioned by her +removal from the road to a neighboring house caused her to faint; and +before she recovered her consciousness the surgeon had been called, and +every thing was in readiness for setting the arm. A little girl, who had +been travelling with her, stood weeping beside her, addressing her in +French in the most plaintive and tender tones, and by the endearing +title of 'mamma.' As the poor lady revived she spoke to this child in +the most rapid and energetic manner, while she repulsed the proffered +assistance of the surgeon. She spoke in French, which no one present +understood, but it was evident from her manner that she was insisting on +something which the poor child was vehemently, yet respectfully and +tenderly opposing. At length the surgeon said, 'Your mamma, is wrong, my +dear, to leave her arm so long unattended to. It is already swelling, +and every minute's delay will make the operation more painful.' As he +ceased speaking the old lady turned to the child and said something with +great energy. The little girl now, in a very hesitating and embarrassed +manner, explained that the lady whom, when speaking in English, she +called grandmamma, did not want any thing done to her arm. 'She will die +then,' said the blunt but honest and kind-hearted Dr. Willis. The little +girl wrung her hands in agony, and a groan for the first time burst +from the lips of the old lady, showing that though she either could not +or would not speak English, she understood it well. A sentence addressed +to her by the child in the most imploring tone caused the tears to +spring to her eyes. As Cecille,--for she was the child,--spoke to her +grandmother, she had drawn out a small embroidered purse. This action +revealed to Dr. Willis the secret of the old lady's reluctance to have +any thing done to her arm. She was afraid to incur the expense of a +surgical operation. The bluntest people become gentle when their kindly +feelings are excited, and I have no doubt it was with great tenderness +that Dr. Willis addressed himself to Madame L'Estrange in his endeavors +to induce her to accept of assistance which, though necessary to her +life, she would have rejected from the fear that she could not pay for +it. How he managed it I know not; but he did at length win her consent, +to the almost frantic joy of Cecille. + +"A fractured limb is, you know, a very serious thing with an old person, +and it was many weeks before Madame L'Estrange recovered from the fever +occasioned by hers. Dr. Willis saw that she was often painfully anxious +on some subject, and remembering the little purse, he was not long at a +loss to conjecture the cause. Yet it was a subject on which he knew not +how to speak. It was no easy matter, you know, to say to a lady, 'I see +that you are very poor, and I would like to help you.' + +"One morning the doctor found Cecille weeping bitterly. With some +soothing and some questioning he gained her confidence, and found that +the week's board paid that morning had nearly emptied the little +purse--that her grandmother felt that they could not continue to live on +the poor widow, to whose house she had been carried, and where they had +since remained, without the means of paying her,--yet that they knew not +where or how to go. 'And what did you mean to do if you had not been +stopped here? Your money would not have supported you any longer in +another place,' said Dr. Willis. 'Oh sir! if we could only have got to +some large city, grandmamma says I could soon have made money enough for +her and myself too.' 'You make money!' repeated the doctor with +surprise, looking at the delicate figure and soft white hands of the +child. 'What could you do?' 'I can do a great many things. I can +embroider on muslin and silk--I can make pretty fancy boxes--I can +paint--and grandmamma thinks, with some practice, I could take +miniatures.' The doctor listened to this list of Cecille's +accomplishments and shook his head dejectedly. Had Cecille said she +could scrub and she could wash, he could have seen how money could be +made by her, but these fine lady works he had been accustomed to think +only so many ways of wasting time. Fortunately for our little Cecille, +all persons did not consider them so unprofitable. The doctor called at +our house after visiting Madame L'Estrange, and with his own mind full +of Cecille's sorrows, he repeated to me, in the presence of my children, +what he had just heard. Clara scarcely allowed him to finish before she +expressed a determination to have a muslin cape and a silk apron +embroidered, a fancy box made, a picture painted, and a miniature either +of Grace or herself taken. I begged, however, that before giving her +orders she would calculate her means of paying for them. These means +amounted to five dollars a month, which her father had permitted her to +spend as she pleased from the day she became ten years old. Clara soon +found that it would be long before this would remunerate Cecille for +half the employment she was arranging for her. She looked at me in +despair, and seemed half provoked when I smiled at her perplexity. 'Then +I cannot help her,' she exclaimed sorrowfully. 'Stay, stay, my dear,' +said I, 'do not be so hasty in your conclusions. You may help her very +much, though you cannot do every thing for her. How would you like to +take lessons of Cecille, and learn to do these things for yourself +instead of having them done for you?' 'Oh! I should like it above all +things, but will papa let me, do you think?' 'I have no doubt that your +papa will not only let you, but be very much pleased if you choose to +devote a part of your pocket-money to your own improvement. Your +allowance of five dollars a month will pay Cecille a fair price for so +much of her time as will enable her to teach you some one of her +accomplishments, and will leave you something for other pleasures too.' +Clara was delighted with my proposal. I permitted Grace to join her in +her lessons, and for ten dollars a quarter from each of them, Cecille +spends two hours in their instruction on every Wednesday and Saturday +morning. But this is not all she does. She works very industriously at +home, and when her work is completed she brings the article to me, and I +forward it to a friend of mine in the city, who has hitherto been able +to dispose of whatever she has done to great advantage. In this way this +little girl has for some months supported not only herself but her +feeble and aged grandmother." + +"Poor things," said I, "if this is all their support, I fear they must +often want." + +"Indeed, I think you are mistaken. Their clothing is always neat, and +they appear to live comfortably." + +"Then," said I, "they must have some assistance from others; for +according to your own account, the sum which Cecille receives from her +pupils would amount in a year to only eighty dollars. She must gain as +much more from other work to be able to pay even the most moderate board +for two persons; and then what becomes of their other expenses?" + +"Ah! our Cecille, or rather her grandmother, is a better manager than +you would be of her little funds," said Mrs. Wilmot, smiling. "They do +not board, but hire from the widow Daly two rooms in her cottage. For +these they pay only half of what Cecille receives from Clara and Grace. +They keep no servant, but for a trifle obtain each day, from one of Mrs. +Daly's daughters, an hour's assistance in putting every thing around +them into neat order. How they live, I know not; but I am sure Cecille +could not be so cheerful as she is, if her grandmother suffered any +serious want. Of one thing I am sure--they do not run in debt for any +thing; for Cecille, with many blushes and great timidity, begged her +young pupils here to pay her by the month, as her grandmother had +engaged to pay her rent in that way, and would be very much distressed +if she were obliged to be in debt, even for a single day." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE VISIT. + + +If my readers have been only half as much interested in Mrs. Wilmot's +account of Cecille as I was, they will not have thought it too long. +Before it was concluded, I had determined to become better acquainted +with Cecille L'Estrange; and when, immediately after an early, one +o'clock dinner, Clara and Grace put on their bonnets, knowing that they +were going to see her, I asked to walk with them. They were very glad to +have my company, but asked if I would go with them through the wood and +across the fields--there were only two fences to climb, and if they went +by the road, they were afraid Cecille would have set out before they +could get to her house. This suited me well; for I had always rather go +through a wood and across fields, than by a dusty road--so we were soon +on the way. We walked on very quickly, not even stopping to pick the +late fall flowers which we saw, though we marked their places that we +might get them as we came back. The second field we crossed opened upon +Mrs. Daly's orchard, from which we passed through the yard, and would +have entered the house by the back door, had not Mrs. Daly met us and +begged that we would go around to the front. "Not that I care about it, +ma'am," said she to me in an apologizing manner: "front or back, it's +all the same to me; but the good old lady in there"--pointing to the +room near which we stood--"she's a clever body, but she has some queer +notions. I guess she's been a lady born, and she don't like somehow that +people should see them work--so she wants everybody to go to the front +door, and in the parlor, where they only do some of their light works; +and as I said before, it's all the same to widow Daly--so if you please, +ma'am, I'll show you the way round." + +While Mrs. Daly was speaking, I had caught a view through the half open +shutter of the inside of the room to which she had pointed. An old lady, +dressed in a silk wrapper which even at that distance looked old and +faded, was seated in one of Mrs. Daly's high-backed, straw-bottomed +chairs, near a small table on which was spread a clean white towel. A +plate with a slice of bread was before her. At the fireplace stood a +young girl stooping over a furnace of coal, on which was a small pan. +Though she had changed her dress and covered her head with a +handkerchief, probably to keep her hair free from ashes or soot, I had +no difficulty in recognising Cecille. She held a spoon in her hand, and +occasionally used it to turn or stir what was in the pan. I was so much +interested in observing her movements, that I said to Mrs. Daly that I +would let Clara and Grace go to the front door, and speak to Cecille, +and I would await them where I then was. The children and Mrs. Daly had +just left me, when I saw Cecille's glowing and pleased face turned +towards her grandmother, while by the motion of her hand she seemed to +ask for her plate. The old lady held it out, the pan was taken from the +fire, and what seemed to me an omelet was laid on the plate. This, you +know, is made of eggs, and it requires some skill in cookery to make it +well. I judged from Cecille's looks that she thought this was well done. +She was evidently more pleased with her success, more vain of her +powers, in cooking, than in painting and embroidery. From her +grandmother's pleased countenance, I was sure she was praising the +omelet and its maker. After a while, however, the old lady looked a +little sad. She kissed Cecille's cheek as she was bending over her, and +taking the handkerchief from her head, smoothed the hair back from her +forehead. Then she offered Cecille her plate, and seemed to urge her to +take some of her own cookery; but, with a smile and shake of the head, +Cecille turned to a cupboard, and taking from it a bowl of milk and +another plate of bread, placed them on the table. She was just seating +herself by her grandmother, when Mrs. Daly opened the door. After some +words from her, Cecille rose and left the room, and but a few minutes +passed before I was again joined by my young companions. We walked more +leisurely home again, and did not now leave the flowers unplucked. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE BLIND MAN. + + +As we were sitting, one afternoon during the next week, near the parlor +windows, the girls and myself at work while Mrs. Wilmot read out for us, +we heard the gate open, and looking up, saw an old man, whose clothes +seemed to have been long worn, and whose white hairs were covered with a +ragged straw hat, approaching the house. A little boy was with him, and +as he came near, we saw that this little boy was leading him, by which +we knew that the poor old man was blind. He seated himself on the step +of the house, and taking off a bag, which was slung over his shoulder, +drew a violin from it, and began to play. The children wished to go out +and speak with him, and as Mrs. Wilmot did not object, they were soon +gathered round him. I followed them. They listened for a while without +speaking. Then Lucy Wilmot, the youngest of the group, pressed up to his +side, saying, "Cannot you see at all, sir?" + +"No, my little miss. But though I cannot see you, I can hear your +pleasant voice, and I know that you are sorry for the old blind man, and +feel kindly to him, and I am sure that when you know he has had nothing +to eat to-day, though he has come a great way, you will give him +something." + +In an instant all were in motion, and Mrs. Wilmot was soon busy +preparing a plate of victuals, with a dozen little hands waiting to +carry it to the old man, when prepared. After they had given it to him, +the girls came back into the house till the first note of his violin +told them that he had dined, when again they flocked around him. Most +people, and especially most old people, like to tell their sorrows. The +old man was therefore quite ready to answer their questions, and they +soon learned his little story. It was a very sad one. He had removed +some years before with his son's family to a newly settled western +state. The land on which they had made their home proved very unhealthy. +His son and his son's wife were both in their graves. He had been very +ill himself, and had only recovered with the entire loss of sight, and +with a constitution so broken that he felt he had not long to live. "And +glad shall I be," he said, "to lay this weary, sightless body down in +the grave, to which so many I love have gone before me; but first I +would take this poor orphan boy to those who will take care of him." + +The tired travellers had yet fifty miles to go before they would reach +the home of the old man's only remaining child, a daughter, who, though +she had children of her own, would take care of the boy, he said, for +the love of him and of her dead brother. Poor little boy! how sad and +weary he looked, and how bitterly he wept when the old man talked of his +father and mother! + +My little readers will easily believe that this sad story excited great +pity, and they will not be surprised to hear that on Clara Devaux's +proposing that they should give the old man something, each little girl +brought her sixpence or her shilling and threw it into a bag which Clara +herself held. As the proposal had been hers, I was very desirous to see +what she would give, but this I could not do. Whatever it was, it made +no noise as it fell into the bag, from which I thought it must be paper +money, and consequently could not be less than one dollar. + +Some of Grace Wilmot's movements on this occasion excited my surprise +and curiosity very much. As soon as Clara's proposal was made, she ran +into the parlor, took from her work-basket a pocket-book, and taking out +all the money it contained, counted it carefully upon the table before +her. I could see that there were two bills and two silver half dollars. +Grace took one of the bills, and putting the rest of the money away, +turned towards the door, but before she had reached it, she seemed +suddenly to have changed her mind, and going back, returned the bill and +took in its place one of the half dollars. As there was no one in the +parlor but herself, Grace did not suppose she was seen, till raising her +head, she caught my eye, as I stood at the window, looking fixedly at +her. She colored very much, and running hastily to Clara dropped her +half dollar into the bag. + +Now you will say that this was a great deal for a young girl like Grace +to give. So it was, and few little girls could have given so much. But +I had seen that Grace had more money, and that she had thought of giving +more and then had withdrawn it, and I could not help asking myself over +and over again what could have been her reason for doing so, whether she +had kept it back for some more important purpose, or whether it had been +only for some selfish gratification. On the answer to this question my +opinion of Grace Wilmot would, I felt, greatly depend. Though I had to +wait many weeks for this answer, you will learn, when you have read this +little book, that I received an answer, and what that answer was. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +INDIAN SUMMER. + + +About a fortnight after my first arrival at Hazel Grove commenced that +delightful season which we call Indian Summer. I dare say you all know +that by this we mean the two or three weeks of mild pleasant weather +which we generally have in November, after the frosty nights and cold +winds have made us suppose that Winter has come. I have no doubt that +you all love better to be in the open air at this season than at any +other,--that you play more merrily when out, and go in more reluctantly. +But you have perhaps enjoyed the season without exactly knowing the +reason of your enjoyment. Now I would have you, when next there is an +Indian Summer, notice how pure and balmy the air is, and of how deep and +rich a yellow are the beams of the sun. I would have my young friends +observe all the beautiful and pleasant things with which God has +surrounded them, for if they do not, they will fail to give Him, in +return, the tribute of loving and grateful hearts which is due to Him. + +It was on one of these bright, pure, golden days in Indian Summer that I +seated myself as usual after breakfast in Mrs. Wilmot's library, but I +tried in vain either to read or write. Do what I would, my eyes would +turn to the windows, and instead of the words on the page before me, I +saw the leaves on the trees, the white clouds sailing over the bright +blue sky, or the little birds hopping from branch to branch. If I had +had lessons to learn that day I know not what I should have done,--but I +had no lessons to learn, so I threw my book aside, put on my shawl and +bonnet, and was soon walking in that beautiful wood whose appearance on +my first arrival I have described to you. Delightful indeed was my +walk--full of pleasant sights and sounds,--and often did I wish for some +of my young friends to partake of my enjoyments, as I saw a shower of +bright-colored leaves whirling about in the air whenever the wind +stirred the branches of the trees, or a shy rabbit spring away to a +safer hiding-place, or a startled squirrel dart to the topmost boughs +which overhung my path, as the dry leaves rustled under my feet. So I +wandered on, observing all these things, but meeting no one till I had +nearly passed the wood. Then I heard a low, gentle voice singing. I +listened, approaching as softly as possible. Soon I could hear the +words, and found that they were French. It was a hymn describing the +beauties of nature, and expressing the devotion of a grateful loving +heart to Him who made it so beautiful. I afterwards had the words of +this hymn from Cecille, and have tried to translate them into English +verse for you. Here is my translation. + + + CECILLE'S HYMN. + + I. + + Thine, Father, is yon sky so bright, + And Thine the sun, whose golden light + Is shed alike on brook and sea, + On lowly flower and lofty tree. + So Thou, in equal love, hast smiled + On seraph high and humble child. + + II. + + No sea on which the sun doth look + Gleams brighter than yon little brook, + The loftiest tree, the lowliest flower, + Alike rejoice to feel his power; + And Thou, while seraphs hymn thy praise, + Dost bend to hear my simple lays. + +When I was quite near Cecille my steps caused her to look around. She +did not seem at all startled or surprised at seeing me, but with a +pleasant smile held out her hand to me as I bade her good morning. + +"I see, Cecille," said I, "that this lovely weather makes you an idler +as well as me." + +"Not quite an idler, ma'am," she replied, showing me a drawing she had +made while sitting there, of the Widow Daly's cottage and orchard. + +"For what is that pretty drawing intended, Cecille?" + +"I hardly know yet, ma'am. The sun looked so bright and warm, that +grandmamma knew I longed to be in it, so she made me put away my +embroidery and come out, and this was the only thing I could do out +here." + +After looking at it a moment in silence, she added, "Do you not think it +would make a pretty painting for the top of a work-box?" + +"Yes, very pretty; but are you never idle, Cecille?" + +"Not often, ma'am," said she, modestly. + +"And do you not get weary of being always at work?" + +"Weary of working for grandmamma--dear, good grandmamma!" she exclaimed, +with energy. "Oh, no!--never." A minute after, speaking more quietly, +she said, "Perhaps I should get tired, but when the work seems dull and +hard, I always remember what Mr. Logan told me to do." + +"And what was that, Cecille?" + +"He said that at such times I must think of something that grandmamma +wanted very much, and say to myself, this will help me to buy it when it +is done, and he was sure then I would not get tired, or want to put my +work down." + +"Mr. Logan was a very wise man. Where did you know him?" + +"In N., a little village that we went to when we first came over from +France, when my dear papa was with us. He lived there with us for four +years before he went back to France. My own dear papa, how I wish I +could see him!" + +"You remember your father then," said I. + +"Remember him!" she repeated; "why it is only two years since he left us +to go back to France." + +"And what made him leave you, Cecille?" said I--then in an instant, +feeling that my interest in Cecille had made me ask a question which it +might be wrong in her to answer, I added, "Do not answer me, my child, +if it was any thing which you think your father would not wish you to +tell." + +"Oh, no!" said Cecille, smiling, "it was only because some friends wrote +to him to say that if he would come to France, they thought they could +get the king to give him back an estate that had been unjustly taken +from him." + +"And should he get it, would you return to France, Cecille?" + +"Yes, for papa and grandmamma love France so well, that they will never, +I think, be quite happy anywhere else. My mamma is buried there too, on +that same estate." + +"Do you remember her, Cecille?" + +"No--she died when I was a very little baby, and my grandmamma took care +of me just as if she had been my own mamma. Papa told me all about it +the night before he went away from us, and then he divided all the money +that was left of what he had brought from France into two parcels, and +he made me count what he took, and showed me that it was just enough to +pay for his going back; and he told me how much was in the other parcel, +that he was to leave with grandmamma. It seemed a great deal to me then, +but papa said it was very little, and that it could not last long. Then +he told me that he had taught me all he could himself, and had others +teach me what he could not, in order that I might be able to work for +grandmamma and myself, and I must do it when that money was gone, if I +hoped for his blessing." + +"And what made you leave N.?" + +"Because it was such a little village that I could hardly get any work +there. Mr. Logan advised us to go to New York; and we set out to go +there, but the stage broke down with us here, and if it was not that +poor grandmamma had suffered so much, I should be glad it did." + +"You like your home here, then?" + +"Oh, yes! dear Dr. Willis and Mrs. Wilmot are so kind to us. And then it +is so pleasant to teach Clara and Grace, and every month to carry home +some money to grandmamma." + +"Then you carry to her whatever is paid you?" + +"Yes; and after she has taken out what will pay Mrs. Daly our rent, and +any thing else we happen to owe, she gives me back the rest to do what I +please with. I long for this month to be gone, that I may get my +money,--for I have something very good to do with it this month." + +She looked up so pleasantly in my face, that I said, "Will you not tell +me what it is, Cecille?" + +"Yes, if you will not tell, for I want to surprise grandmamma. I am +going to get her some flannel. I have found out already how much it will +cost, and I will have a plenty of money, with a little that I laid by +from the last month, to get it. Then I will get some one to show me how +to cut it out, and it shall be all made before grandmamma sees it. Do +you not think she will be pleased?" + +"Very much pleased, I doubt not," I replied, "and you must let me cut it +for you, and assist you in making it." + +"Will you do that? That will be very kind." + +We were both silent a little while, when Cecille, suddenly looking up, +asked, "Do you not speak French?" + +"Yes," I replied. + +"Then you must come and see my grandmamma. Will you not?" + +"Certainly--with pleasure; but does she not speak English?" + +"A little, but it is not easy to her--and so I do not ask people to see +her who cannot understand her French." + +"Shall I go with you now?" I asked. + +Cecille looked up to the sun and down again, without speaking. I saw she +was a little embarrassed, and said, "You would rather I should not go +to-day." + +"Yes--for it is near grandmamma's dinner-time, and I must go to get it +for her," she added, rising. + +I rose too, and taking her hand, said, "Well, good-by, Cecille--remember +we are not to be strangers any longer." + +"No, no," she said, warmly, "friends--good friends now." She held up her +face to be kissed, picked up her pencil and drawing, and hastened away. +Before she had gone far I could again hear her carolling cheerfully, +"Thine, Father, is yon sky so bright." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +PREPARATION. + + +After this pleasant meeting, Cecille and I, as you may suppose, were +very friendly. I visited her grandmother, as I had promised, and found +her a very agreeable and excellent old lady. I often made my visits to +her when Cecille was obliged to be away, and then she loved to sit and +talk to me of her. I told her that Cecille said she had taken care of +her when she was an infant, and had been to her as her own mamma. She +replied to this, that she had tried to do her duty by her, and that she +had been repaid tenfold for whatever she had done by Cecille's +tenderness and respect. + +"Ah, ma'am," she would say, "you do not know what it is to suffer want. +We often did this, and I would have been sad indeed, if my little girl's +cheerfulness had not made me ashamed. I could then speak little English, +and Mr. Logan, who was our only friend after my son left us, could speak +no French; so that all my comfort came through Cecille. One day, just +before we left our last home, she came running to me, full of gladness, +exclaiming, 'O, grandmamma, I have good news for you.' I thought at +first that my son had come back, or at least that there was a letter +from him; but it was that Cecille, in reading her Bible, had just met +with a verse saying, that 'the young ravens may lack and suffer hunger, +but they that fear the Lord shall not want any good thing.' 'And now, +grandmamma,' she said, 'I am sure you will have whatever is good for +you, for you fear the Lord.' I had often read the same verse in my +Bible, but I had never felt it to be so full of comfort as I did then; +and if ever I live to see my son's face again, and to go back to the +home I love in France, I shall feel that I owe it to that dear child, +for whom I thank God every day." + +Madame L'Estrange always spoke in French, but I have translated what she +said, that my readers may learn from Cecille's example that the +youngest child may do good to the oldest and wisest. I would have them +remark, too, how much wiser it is to cultivate cheerful feelings than to +be fretful and dissatisfied. Do you not suppose that Cecille, though +poor and alone in a strange country with her feeble old grandmother, was +happier with her cheerful temper and her trust in the goodness of her +kind heavenly Father, than those children who fret at being awoke in the +morning, though they are surrounded with every comfort and have the +kindest people to attend upon them,--who sit down with dissatisfied +faces to a breakfast-table covered with good things because they fancy +something which is not there, and who thus go through the whole day +complaining of what they have and wishing for what they cannot get? + +But, interested as I was in Cecille, you must not suppose that my whole +attention was given to her, or that I failed to make friends of Clara +and Grace and the rest of Mrs. Wilmot's children. + +November seemed to be quite a busy month with these young girls, and I +was told by Mrs. Wilmot that they were preparing for an examination, +which would take place early in December, when their friends came to +take them home for the Christmas holidays. This explained to me their +unusual attention to their studies, but I saw there was something more +in their minds, of which Mrs. Wilmot knew nothing. Instead of sitting, +when they were at work, with their kind mamma Wilmot and myself, as they +had formerly loved to do, they now asked to sit together in the +schoolroom; and if, while they were there, either of us entered +unexpectedly, they would shuffle away their work, as if they did not +wish it seen. Harriet was with them at these times, but though I could +not help feeling a little curious about their movements, I would not ask +her any questions, because I was sure, if not bound to secrecy, she +would tell me without questioning. I was not kept many days in +ignorance. Mrs. Wilmot and I were sitting at work one afternoon, when +Harriet came into the parlor and said, "Aunt Kitty, the girls ask you to +go into the schoolroom; they want you to show them something about their +work." + +"I will do it, my dear," said Mrs. Wilmot, rising before me. + +"Oh no, Mrs. Wilmot," said Harriet in most earnest tones, "they do not +want you to go, ma'am; that is," she continued in a confused manner, +"they did not tell me to ask you." + +"Oh, well, my dear child, do not look so agitated," said Mrs. Wilmot +smiling, "I will not go. I suppose I shall hear the secret in time. I am +quite sure there is nothing improper in it, or Aunt Kitty would not be +chosen as their confidant." + +I went with Harriet to the schoolroom, and found that my assistance was +wanted in showing Kate Ormesby how to make up a work-bag which she had +been embroidering in worsted. + +"And why was this a secret?" I asked. + +Clara undertook to explain. They were getting some presents ready for +Mamma Wilmot, and they did not wish her to know any thing about them +till the day of the examination, when they intended to put them on her +table with a note which they would all sign. Then their work was +exhibited. There was a needle-book from one--a pincushion from +another--a pair of slippers embroidered on canvass from a third, and the +work-bag which I have already named. These were the presents prepared by +Lucy, Martha, Emma, and Kate. + +"And now where are your presents?" I asked, turning to Clara and Grace. + +"Mine is not done yet," said Clara. + +"Well, what is it to be?" + +"A locket, set with Grace's hair and mine, and with our names on the +back of it." + +"And yours, Grace?" + +She colored and looked down. + +"Show it to Aunt Kitty, Grace," said Harriet; "I am sure she will think +it very pretty." + +"I do not wonder you are ashamed of it, Grace," said Clara, quickly, +"when you might have had such a handsome one, so cheaply too." + +"It would not have been cheap for me, Clara." + +"Well, I should think a handsome hair bracelet cheap for anybody at two +dollars and a half, but some people never think they can get enough for +their money." + +I saw that these words were very painful to Grace, who turned away with +her eyes full of tears; and as there is nothing more disagreeable to me +than to hear little girls quarrel, I interrupted any farther remarks +from Clara, by urging Grace to show me her present. With a timid manner +she took out of her basket a bracelet of hair, very simply woven, which +she had just commenced. It was pretty, and I said so; yet I acknowledge +I thought, with Clara, it would scarce be handsome enough for such a +locket as she described. Again I asked myself, can Grace be selfish, +that she would not spend her money on a present for her mother? That she +had the money for the bracelet I could not doubt, for I knew that she +had the same allowance for pocket-money that Clara had, and she was able +to buy a locket, which I was sure, from the description, must cost more +than two dollars and a half. Besides, if she had not the money, Clara +could not have expected her to buy it, or have been angry with her, as +she evidently was, for not doing so. These thoughts probably made me +look grave, and, if I might judge from her sad countenance, poor Grace +was little comforted by my praise of her work. I observed, after this, +that there was a little coolness between Clara and Grace. They were not +so constantly together as they had been, and sometimes Clara spoke to +her friend in a very tart tone, while Grace always seemed gentle, and +even humble, as if she was seeking forgiveness for some wrong she had +done. This did not convince me that Clara was right and Grace was wrong, +for I have often seen the person who was most to blame in a quarrel, the +most angry--while the least faulty was conciliating and anxious for +peace. + +After this the girls admitted me into all the mysteries of their little +plot. I assisted them in their work where assistance was needed, and was +consulted on all their arrangements. There was a very interesting debate +on the question whether the presents should be placed on Mrs. Wilmot's +toilet table before she was awake in the morning, and so meet her eye +when she first arose; or whether they should be laid on the library +table, while she was at breakfast. I gave my opinion in favor of the +last arrangement; and at length brought them all over to my way of +thinking, by reminding them that we could not be quite sure Mrs. Wilmot +would sleep on that morning until we were ready for her to awake. + +About a week before the examination Clara's locket was sent home by the +jeweller. She brought it to me, and I saw, by his mark on the paper +around it, that its cost was four dollars. It was plainly but handsomely +made, and the initial letters of her name and Grace's were very prettily +engraved upon the back. When the bracelet was finished they were both to +be sent to the jeweller, who would put them together with small gold +rings. For this Grace would pay him. Clara continued to look, and even +sometimes to speak, as if she thought it would be quite a disgrace to +her locket to be seen in such company. Grace bore this in silence, +though she was evidently much distressed at it. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A DISAPPOINTMENT. + + +The preparations for the examination had not interfered with Cecille's +teaching. She came as regularly, stayed as long, and seemed as welcome +to Clara and Grace as when they had only their usual employments. It was +the last Wednesday in November, and just one week before the day fixed +for the examination, that, knowing Cecille would be at Hazel Grove, I +determined to walk over and spend the morning with her grandmother. On +my way I met Cecille. She was walking very briskly, but stopped to shake +hands with me. + +"I am going to see your grandmother, Cecille," said I. + +"I am very glad; I will not now have any thing to make me sorry to-day. +This is one of my bright days. Do you know why?" + +I shook my head. + +"No?--Do you not know that this is my pay-day? Grandmamma will soon have +her flannel, if you help me as you promised, and she wants it in this +weather." + +I congratulated Cecille on her coming pleasure, promised her my help, +and we parted. + +I spent my morning very agreeably with Madame L'Estrange, yet I +listened to Mrs. Daly's clock, which stood on the mantelpiece, and +watched its hands with as much impatience as if I had been weary and +longed to get away. The truth was, I was impatient for Cecille's coming, +which I had determined to await, that I might have the pleasure of +seeing her happy looks when her wishes were accomplished and the money +was actually in her hands. Did you ever observe how slowly the hands of +a clock appear to move when they are watched? I thought this morning +that the hour from ten to eleven was the longest I had ever passed. It +did pass, however, and at length I saw the hour hand at eleven and the +minute hand at twelve. Now I began to watch the windows, for I thought +that Cecille must soon be in sight. But here again I was disappointed, +and both her grandmother and myself had more than once expressed our +surprise at her delay, before she appeared;--and then I could scarcely +believe it was the same Cecille whom I had seen in the morning, bounding +along as if her feet scarce touched the earth. She walked now slowly and +pensively, and I even fancied once that I saw her wipe her eyes. + +As she came near the house, however, she looked up and her step became +more brisk. She entered the room where we sat. I looked at her +anxiously, but she turned her face away as if she could not bear to meet +my eye, and walking straight up to her grandmother, put a parcel into +her hand and stood still by her side. + +"You do not speak to your friend, my dear," said Madame L'Estrange +without opening the parcel, about which she seemed to feel no curiosity. + +Cecille put her hand in mine without speaking--then looked again at her +grandmother, who had by this time slowly unfolded the packet. She looked +at its contents, and then lifting up her face with a smile to Cecille, +said, "Ah, little pilferer! where is the rest?" + +In a choked voice Cecille answered, "There is no more." + +"There is no more!" exclaimed Madame L'Estrange; "why how is this, +Cecille? This is but half of what you have always received for a month's +teaching." + +Cecille tried to answer, but in vain. Her throat swelled, her lip +quivered, and throwing herself upon her grandmother's bosom, she burst +into tears. Madame L'Estrange was, as you may easily suppose, greatly +distressed. She stroked Cecille's hair, pressed her lips to her head, +calling her at the same time by every endearing name which the French +language furnishes, and repeatedly asking, "What is the matter? Has any +one been harsh to my child? Cecille, what have they done to you, my +darling?" + +"Nothing, grandmamma," sobbed out Cecille; "I was only grieved because I +had no more money to bring you to-day." + +"My dear child! I am ashamed of you, Cecille. You should have been more +thankful for this, which will pay Mrs. Daly, and we owe no one else." + +"I know it, grandmamma. Besides, Clara will pay me next week when her +father comes for her, and that is a very little while to wait." + +"And what made you grieve so unreasonably, Cecille?" + +Cecille looked at me with a half smile as she answered, "Because I +wanted that money just to-day very much, grandmamma." + +"And why just to-day, Cecille?" + +"Ah, grandmamma! that is a secret," and Cecille now laughed with as much +glee as if she had never cried in her life. + +The old lady laughed too; but she said, "Take care, Cecille,--it is not +well for little girls to have secrets from their grandmammas." + +"This is a very harmless secret," said I. + +Madame L'Estrange looked at me with some surprise as she said, "You know +it then?" + +"Yes," said I; "but you must not be jealous that Cecille chose me for +her confidant, all little girls do. Mrs. Wilmot's children have just +been consulting me on a very important secret." + +"They told me about it to-day," said Cecille quickly, "and I asked them +to let me tell grandmamma. They were quite willing I should, so you need +not mind speaking of it." + +The story of the examination and of the presents prepared for Mrs. +Wilmot on that day, was soon told to Madame L'Estrange, who entered into +the little plot of the children with great enjoyment. After we had +talked of it a while, I said to Cecille that the bracelet Grace was +preparing did not please Clara very much, and indeed I scarcely thought +it handsome enough for the locket. + +"I wish she had told me sooner," said Cecille, "I would have shown her +how to weave a handsome one. I learned from a lady who came over from +France with us. I have done several since I came here for Mr. Brenner +the jeweller." + +"Then perhaps you made the one which Clara wanted Grace to buy, and was +half angry with her for not buying." + +"I dare say it is one of mine; but if it is, Grace could not buy it, for +it would cost two dollars and a half, and she had but little more than a +dollar left after paving me to-day." + +"How did you find that out, Cecille?" asked her grandmother. + +"Because, grandmamma, Grace saw that I looked very sorry when Clara said +she could not pay me, and she followed me out and begged me to take what +she had left, and to pay her back when Clara paid me." + +"You did not take it I hope, my dear." + +"No, grandmamma, though I would have done it if I had not known that you +would dislike it, and so I told Grace." + +"You were right, Cecille, in not taking it. Better even weep as you have +done to-day for an ungratified wish, than borrow money and perhaps be +disappointed in your expectation of repaying it." + +"I shall not be disappointed in that, grandmamma, for Clara says she +will certainly pay me the next week." + +"Clara no doubt once thought, my dear, that she would certainly pay you +to-day. She may be mistaken again." + +"Clara was very sorry, grandmamma," said Cecille kindly. + +"I do not doubt it, my dear. She is, I dare say, a good little girl and +means well, but she is thoughtless, or she would not have spent her +money even on a present for Mrs. Wilmot before she had paid her debts. +What she owed to you was in truth not her own, but yours." + +"Grandmamma, don't be angry with Clara. You could not help loving her if +you knew her, she is so generous." + +"I am not angry with her, my dear. I do love her for her kindness to +you, and from many things you have told me, I believe she is generous, +but, Cecille, she is not just." + +"That locket cost a great deal, I dare say, grandmamma, and then Clara +gives something to everybody that asks for money. She is so generous." + +"Generous but not just, Cecille, when she gives what she already owes to +another." + +I saw that Cecille was hardly satisfied with her grandmother's views of +Clara, and yet they were so true that she could not oppose them. + +For my part, I had been thinking of Grace. My readers will not have +forgotten that Grace's having changed the bill she at first intended +giving the blind man for a half dollar, and her contenting herself with +giving her mother a bracelet of her own weaving, instead of spending +money on her present, as the other girls had done, had made me fear that +she might be a little selfish--that her money might be saved for some +gratification that should be entirely her own. I now began to hope that +Grace was not less generous, but that she was more just than Clara. + +"Is not Grace generous too?" said I to Cecille. + +"Is not Grace generous!" she repeated, as if surprised at my question. + +"Have you ever thought that she was selfish?" I asked in yet stronger +language. + +"Grace selfish!" exclaimed, Cecille: "oh, no! I never saw her do a +selfish thing." + +"Do you think her as generous as Clara?" + +"As generous as Clara," she again repeated, and then said doubtfully, +"Clara is so generous." + +"You do not think then that Grace takes as much pleasure in giving to +another as Clara does?" + +"Oh, yes! I think she does. Grace never seems so happy as when she +happens to have what another person wants." + +"In what then is she less generous than Clara?" + +"Why"--Cecille stopped suddenly--thought a little, and then said, "I do +not know what could have made me think so,--only that I never saw Grace +give all that she had in her purse as I have seen Clara do." + +"Perhaps that is because Grace remembers what Clara seems sometimes to +forget, that she has no right to give away that which belongs to +another." + +"Clara does not give away what belongs to another." + +"Does not Clara's father allow her as much money as Mrs. Wilmot allows +Grace?" + +"Yes--just the same." + +"Then how is it that Grace could pay you and Clara could not? If Clara +has given away what should have been paid to you, she has given away +what did not belong to her. In her generosity she has forgotten justice, +while Grace seems to have remembered, 'to be just before she was +generous.'" + +The clock striking twelve interrupted our conversation, by reminding me +that it was time to return home. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +PLEASURE AND PAIN. + + +The third of December had been fixed for the day of examination, and the +children at Hazel Grove were so industrious that some days before that, +both the presents and the studies were completed--except the bracelet, +which went on very slowly indeed--but which Grace assured Clara should +be ready in time. For the last few days, when the girls were out of +school, time seemed to pass as slowly with them as it did with me on the +morning I sat with Madame L'Estrange expecting Cecille. Now, as then, +however, it did pass. + +The first of December had been a stormy day, but the next morning was as +clear and bright as if no cloud had ever been seen. But it was so cold +that even the children preferred gathering around the fire to running +out, and for me, I could scarcely persuade myself to look out. Poor Dr. +Willis! how he shivered, and how cold even his horse looked, as he drove +up to the gate at Hazel Grove, where he had been sent for, to visit a +servant who was sick. He came in, rubbing his hands, and declaring it +was the coldest day he had felt this year. "Ah! young ladies," said he, +"you none of you know the comfort of this warm fire as I do. You must +ride three miles facing this northwest wind before you can really enjoy +it. But even that," he added a moment after, "is better than to sit +still in the house with little or no fire as some poor people must do. +By the by," he continued, turning to Mrs. Wilmot, "I stopped to see +Cecille and her grandmother on my way here, and very glad I was to see +them enjoying a blazing fire." + +"I have been thinking of them this morning, and fearing that they would +not be prepared for this suddenly severe cold," said Mrs. Wilmot. "How +do they get their fuel?" + +"It was wanting to know that which made me call this morning. Poverty +certainly sharpens the wit, for that little child"--Cecille was so small +that everybody thought of her as a little child--"manages as well as any +man could do. The widow Daly supplies them with fuel for a small +additional charge to her month's rent. The old lady needs a warm fire, +for her dress is not thick enough--she ought to have flannel." + +"And has she not?" + +"No--I asked Cecille about it and she colored up and looked as much +distressed, poor child, as if it had been her fault that her grandmother +was without it. She shall have it, she says, in a few days, as soon as +she gets some money that she is expecting. I offered to lend her some +till then, but her grandmother had forbidden her borrowing." + +"In which I think she is very wise," said Mrs. Wilmot, "but I wish +whoever owes her money, knew how much she needs it just now; they might +pay her, even if it be a little before the time. No one I hope would be +so cruelly unjust as to keep her out of her little earnings one day +after they were due." + +I could not see Clara's face as I tried to do at this time, for she was +looking out of the windows, but Grace colored as violently and looked as +confused as if she had been guilty of what her mother thought so wrong. +Her confusion attracted Mrs. Wilmot's attention. "Grace," said she, "you +do not owe Cecille any thing I hope." + +"No, mamma, I paid her the last week." + +Mrs. Wilmot turned to speak to Clara, but she had left the room. Dr. +Willis, having warmed himself, now asked to see his patient. This +withdrew Mrs. Wilmot's attention from Cecille, and she probably did not +again think of what had passed,--at least she asked no more questions +about it. She left the parlor with Dr. Willis, and soon after I rose to +go to my room. In going there I had to pass through the library. There +were heavy curtains to the windows of this room, and as I entered, I +heard sobs which seemed to come from behind one of these curtains, and +then Grace, who had left the parlor a little before me, saying, "Do not +cry so, Clara, pray do not cry so. Let us carry Cecille what money we +have--that will be some help, you know, and your father will be here +this evening and give you the rest." + +"How often must I tell you, Grace, that I have not any money? Did you +not see me give all that I had to the jeweller?" asked Clara +impatiently. + +"Yes, dear Clara,--but I have some." + +"But I will not take your money, I tell you, after your saving it up so +carefully." + +"Yes, Clara, you will take it, if you love me as you used to do; you +know I did not save it up for myself, Clara,--you know I would have +given it all to that poor blind man, if I had not promised you to buy a +bracelet for your locket. How glad I am now that it was not enough for +the bracelet, so that we can have it for Cecille." + +"And if I take it for Cecille," said Clara, "I should like to know how +the locket will get fastened to the bracelet." + +"Oh, never mind that," said Grace, "we can sew it on now and have it +fastened better by-and-by, mamma will not care how it is done. So come, +Clara, I know you will feel a great deal better after you have seen +Cecille and given her some money, and told her how soon you hope to have +the rest for her." + +I heard no more, but after I went to my room I saw the two girls, +wrapped in their cloaks, set out for Cecille's; so I knew that Clara had +been persuaded. + +Early in the afternoon of this day the children began to gaze from the +windows which looked towards the road for the carriages of their +friends, who were expected to attend the examination of the next day and +to take them home on the day after. In about two hours after their watch +commenced, a carriage arrived with Mr. and Mrs. Ormesby, and shortly +after Mrs. Williams came, but the evening passed away--it was +bed-time--and nothing had been seen or heard of Mr. Devaux. Clara +became so agitated that as Mrs. Wilmot bade her good-night, she said to +her in an affectionate and soothing tone, "Do not look so distressed, +dear child, your father will be here perhaps before you are up in the +morning." + +But Clara rose the next morning to fresh disappointment. Her father had +not come. Knowing the cause of her anxiety, I was much interested in her +feelings and observed her closely. She ate but little breakfast, and +every time the door opened she turned quickly towards it. + +The other children were full of interest about their presents. They had +been placed on the library table when Mrs. Wilmot went into the +breakfast parlor. With them was the following note, sealed, and placed +so that it must attract her attention the moment she entered the room: + + "DEAR MAMMA-- + + Accept these keepsakes from your affectionate and grateful + children, Clara, Martha, Kate, Emma, Grace, Lucy." + +Clara was so much absorbed in her anxiety about her father's delay that +she seemed to have little interest in these arrangements, and Grace was +occupied with her. Thus to the younger children was left the management +of an affair which had occupied all their minds so long. I had +undertaken to get Mrs. Wilmot to the library, so, after breakfast, +calling her out of the parlor, I led the way thither and walked directly +up to the table. The children followed, and were in time to see her +glistening eyes as she read the note, and to receive her caresses as she +raised her head and saw them standing near the door. After the first +emotion of receiving the presents had subsided, they were examined and +admired. "This," said Mrs. Wilmot, as she clasped the locket on her arm, +"is a joint present, I suppose, from Grace and Clara. It is too +expensive to have been from one." + +"The bracelet only is mine, mamma," said Grace in a low voice, as if +again she felt a little ashamed of her present, "Clara bought the locket +herself." + +"My dear Clara, how long you must have been saving your money, and how +much self-denial you must have practised before you could pay for so +costly an ornament! It is paid for," she added inquiringly, as she saw +the color mount to Clara's very temples on hearing her praise. + +"Yes, ma'am," said Clara, and Mrs. Wilmot again fastened the locket, +which she had unclasped while asking her question. + +"Is not this hair yours and Clara's, Grace?" asked Mrs. Wilmot, bending +down her head to examine the bracelet. + +"Yes, mamma." + +"And who wove the bracelet for you?" + +"I wove it. I know it is not handsome enough for the locket, mamma, but +it was the best I could do, and I had not money enough to buy one." + +"It is very neatly done, my dear, and if it were less pretty than it is, +I should thank you for it far more than for a handsomer one which had +cost more than you could properly give. But I thank all my children, and +accept all their presents with pleasure, because I am sure they all know +that they cannot be generous without first being just. You would none of +you," she continued, looking tenderly round upon them, "you would none +of you grieve me, by giving me that which was not really your own, and +nothing is your own till it is paid for--not even the premiums you are +to have to-day, and which you must now come to the schoolroom and win by +well-said lessons." This was said gayly, as Mrs. Wilmot turned towards +the schoolroom, whither she was followed by all the children--all +light-hearted and happy, except Clara. + +Poor Clara! how painfully she felt every word Mrs. Wilmot had said. +Whatever were her faults, she had always been quite sure that she had +one virtue--generosity, and now she began to feel that, in this instance +at least, she had been very ungenerous, for she had gratified herself in +making the most costly present to her mamma Wilmot at the expense of +poor Cecille. And when she entered the schoolroom, there stood Cecille, +whom the girls had invited. How she shrank from meeting her eye! How she +dreaded to approach her, lest Cecille should ask if her father had come! + +Some of Mrs. Wilmot's friends from the neighboring village arrived, and +then the examination commenced. Examinations I doubt not you have all +attended, but perhaps none conducted exactly as this was. The object +here, was not to show which scholar was best, or how far one surpassed +all others, but how good all were. Each little girl was encouraged to do +her best, and they all rejoiced in the success of each one. After they +had been examined in their various studies, some of their work was +exhibited--among the rest, Clara's embroidery and Grace's painting. +These were very highly extolled, and Cecille, being pointed out by Mrs. +Wilmot as their teacher, received many compliments, and some persons +from the village inquired her terms, and thought she might have several +pupils there when the holidays were over. I was much pleased to hear +this, as it promised greater gain for my little friend. + +Clara had appeared well in all her studies, her work had been admired, +her young companions had evinced their affection for her in a hundred +different ways, and Mrs. Wilmot had spoken to her with more than her +usual tenderness, because she saw that she was distressed by her +father's delay. Yet, notwithstanding all this, Clara had never been so +unhappy as on this day. All coldness, however, had vanished between her +and Grace, who never passed her without a pressure of the hand, or some +soothing word or action. As the day passed on and the afternoon wore +away without any tidings of Mr. Devaux, the color deepened on Clara's +face, and she grew so nervous and agitated, that I, who watched her +closely, expected every moment to see her burst into tears. All this +distress must have appeared very unreasonable to those who supposed that +it was caused only by anxiety about her father, whom Mrs. Wilmot had not +very confidently expected. But there were three persons +present--Cecille, Grace, and I--who better understood its cause. On her +father's coming would depend Clara's power of keeping her promise with +Cecille. Cecille's present want of the money, of which perhaps Clara +would have thought little but for the remarks of Dr. Willis on the day +before, was sufficient to make her earnestly desirous of paying her: but +Clara had yet another reason; she dreaded lest Mrs. Wilmot should hear +of this debt. + +My young readers will have learned from the remarks made by Mrs. Wilmot +in the morning to her children, even at the very moment of receiving +their presents, how strict was her sense of justice. No principle had +she endeavored to inculcate on her pupils more earnestly than this, and +Clara could not forget that she had only the day before called the +person cruelly unjust, who should keep Cecille's money from her for a +day. It was the first time Clara had ever desired to keep secret from +Mrs. Wilmot any thing she had done, and this, my dear young friends, is +the worst of all unhappiness, to have done what we are ashamed or afraid +to confess. Clara had been perhaps a little vain of her locket and of +her generosity, as she thought it, in making such a present, but I have +no doubt she would now gladly have changed places with Grace, and have +been the giver of only the humble bracelet. I do not think Grace was now +at all ashamed of her bracelet--indeed she seemed to love to look upon +it; and well she might, since it was a proof that not even Clara's +contempt or anger, or the desire to show her regard to her mother, could +make her forget the principles of justice which that dear mother had +taught her. She had proved her generosity by giving all she had--all +that was her own--but she had refused, for any reason, to spend that +which was not her own. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE DISCLOSURE. + + +The day was past, the visiters from the village had left us, and we were +gathered around the parlor fire to spend our last evening together, for +the next morning our little party at Hazel Grove would separate. Mrs. +Wilmot had promised to return home with me for the holidays. Grace had +long ago promised to spend that time with Clara, and Mrs. Wilmot had +been prevailed upon to consent that Lucy should accompany her friend +Martha. + +The sound of carriage wheels drew Clara and Grace to the window. + +"Oh, Clara!" exclaimed Grace, "it is your father." + +"Yes," said Clara, joyfully, "I know the white horses,--but why do they +not drive to the door? What is papa going to the stables for?" + +The question was soon answered. A servant entered with a note for Mrs. +Wilmot; she glanced at it and then handed it to Clara, saying, "There, +my dear Clara, you will find there is no further cause for anxiety. Your +father has been detained by business, but he has sent the carriage for +you and Grace." + +Clara had seized the offered note, and was reading with such eagerness, +that I do not think she heard what Mrs. Wilmot said. As she saw from the +note that her father was not coming,--still more, that he would have +left home before she could arrive there the next day, on business which +might oblige him to be absent for some weeks--the thought that she must +either keep Cecille waiting during all that time, or make the dreaded +betrayal of her fault to Mrs. Wilmot, oppressed her so much that she +burst into tears. + +"Clara, my dear child, what is the matter?" said Mrs. Wilmot drawing to +her side. "This is something more than sorrow at not seeing your +father." She paused, but Clara did not speak. "Is there any thing you +wished him to do for you, my dear? Surely, if there is, you will not +hesitate to speak your wish to me." Clara was still silent. "I am +grieved at this silence, Clara, I thought you loved me and confided in +my affection; but perhaps you would rather speak to me alone. Come with +me to the library." + +Mrs. Wilmot then left us, leading Clara with her. She closed the library +door after her, and we could then hear only the low murmur of her voice +or Clara's heavy sobs. Grace seemed very anxious. She approached the +library door at one time as if she was going in,--then went to the +farthest part of the room from it. At length, her mother opened the door +and called her. Grace sprang to the door and was admitted. There was +something sad in the tone of Mrs. Wilmot's voice, which made me certain +that Clara had told her all; but I did not hear how she had told it, +till many days after, when Mrs. Wilmot related the scene to me as I am +about to describe it to you. + +As soon as they entered, Mrs. Wilmot seated herself on a sofa, and +placing Clara by her side, strove to win her confidence by every +soothing and affectionate word and action. At last with great effort +Clara said, "You will be so angry with me, mamma Wilmot, if I tell you, +that you will never love me again." + +"Clara, I am angry only with those who are obstinate in doing +wrong--never with those who confess their faults and try to amend." + +"But you will think me so cruel and unjust." + +"Cruel I cannot believe you to have been, Clara, and if you have +committed an act of injustice, and you may by confiding in me be +assisted in making amends for it, it is a new reason, my child, why you +should speak at once. What is it, Clara?" Mrs. Wilmot's eye rested just +then on the locket which she wore on her wrist, and this prompted the +question--"Clara, did you speak the whole truth to-day when you told me +this locket was paid for? Do you owe nothing on it?" + +"No, mamma Wilmot; nothing on that, but I owe--" she stopped. + +"Not Cecille, Clara," said Mrs. Wilmot; "you could not be so +thoughtless--so selfish--as to keep her hard earnings from her for a +single day, for any purpose of your own. Speak, my child, and tell me it +is not so." + +Clara spoke not--moved not--except that her head sunk lower and lower, +till it almost rested on her knees. "Tell me, Clara, if you have done +this wrong, that I may make amends for it at once. Do you owe Cecille?" + +"Yes," faltered Clara. + +Mrs. Wilmot rose, and after calling Grace, seated herself at the library +table and wrote a few lines to Cecille, in which she was about to +enclose the price of a month's tuition, when Grace, who had seen her +counting it out, said, "Mamma, Clara does not owe Cecille so much, she +paid her some." + +"Clara," asked Mrs. Wilmot, "how much do you owe Cecille?" + +"I do not know exactly, ma'am." + +"How much did you pay her?" + +"All that Grace had. I do not know how much it was." + +"How much was it, Grace?" + +"One dollar and fifteen cents, mamma." + +The money was enclosed, Mrs. Wilmot sealed the note and handed it to +Grace, bidding her give it to a servant and tell him to take it +immediately to Cecille. "But stay, Grace," she added, laying her hand on +her arm and looking into her face, "you owe her nothing?" + +"No, mamma--nothing," said Grace, meeting her mother's eye fully. + +"God bless you, my child, for saving me that pain. I can wear your +bracelet, Grace, with pleasure, for it has cost no one sorrow; but this +locket, Clara,--you must receive it again, for I cannot wear it." + +Mrs. Wilmot, while she was speaking, had taken the bracelet from her +arm, and severing with a small penknife the silk which fastened the +locket, replaced the bracelet on her wrist, confining it with a pin, and +approaching Clara, laid the locket on her lap. + +This was the deepest humiliation, the severest punishment that could +have been inflicted on poor Clara. + +She started up, flinging the now unvalued locket on the floor, and +falling on her knees, clasped Mrs. Wilmot's hand, exclaiming, "Oh, mamma +Wilmot! forgive me, and love me again." + +Mrs. Wilmot seated herself, and raising Clara, said, "I do forgive you, +my child, and it is because I love you, Clara, that I am so deeply +pained by your doing wrong; but I must see some effort to amend--some +proof that you have learned to regard what belongs to others, before I +can again confide in you. I will give you an opportunity of recovering +my confidence. You are now in my debt to the amount of one month's +payment of Cecille, for I will return to Grace the money which she lent +you. When, by _economy_ and _self-denial_, you have paid this debt, I +shall think that you have learned that you have no right to gratify even +your amiable and generous feelings at the expense of another--that you +have learned to be just before you are generous,--and then, Clara, I +shall again confide in you as well as love you. But remember, it must be +by _economy_ and _self-denial_, not by any present from your father or +any increase of your allowance. When this task is accomplished, give me +back the locket, and I will wear it, with both pleasure and pride. Till +then, you must wear it yourself, Clara. It may be useful to you by +reminding you of your task and the reward of your success." + +Clara wept--but more gently. There was now hope before her, and when +Mrs. Wilmot kissed her and bade her good-night, though she was sad and +humbled, she was more composed than she had been since telling Cecille +that she could not pay her. Her fault had now been told--there was +nothing to conceal, and this would have made her feel far happier than +she had done, even had her punishment been much more severe than it was. + +It must have been very mortifying to Clara to wear the locket herself +before those who knew for what purpose she had bought it; but so anxious +was she to regain her mamma Wilmot's good opinion by compliance with her +wishes, that she appeared at breakfast the next morning with it on her +wrist sewed to a piece of riband. She looked very unlike the lively and +high-spirited Clara, for she was silent, and if others spoke to her, +while answering them, she colored and seemed abashed. + +Mrs. Wilmot had prepared a parting present for each of the children--for +the four youngest, books, for Grace a very handsome paint-box, and for +Clara, a work-box with many colored silks for her embroidery. After +breakfast, calling them to her own room, she delivered these presents to +them, commencing with the youngest. To all except Clara she said, that +they were premiums or rewards for their good conduct. To Clara she said, +the box was a mark of her affection and her approval of her _as a +scholar_. Clara felt this distinction, and stood still without +attempting to take her box. + +"Why do you not take it, Clara?" asked Mrs. Wilmot. + +She burst into tears as she replied, "I do not want it, mamma Wilmot, +till you can love me just as well as you used to do." + +"I do love you, my dear Clara, just as well as ever," said Mrs. Wilmot, +kissing her; "but I will keep the box, since you wish it, until I can +restore to you my full esteem and confidence, and then we will exchange +gifts," touching the locket with her finger. + +In an hour after this scene, we had said "good-by" to each other, and +were travelling on our different roads. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE REWARD. + + +Mrs. Wilmot was with me three weeks, and then returned home to prepare +for receiving her children again. It was from a letter of hers that I +learned what I am now going to tell you. + +Clara returned wearing the locket. Did you ever read a fairy tale in +which a young prince is said to have been presented with a ring that +pricked his finger whenever he was in danger of doing wrong? Clara's +locket was to her what this ring was to the young prince. Whenever she +was about to spend money either on her own fancies or the fancies of +others, it would remind her that till her debt was paid, the money in +her purse was not hers, and that to be truly generous, she must first be +just. A month passed, and she took to Mrs. Wilmot nearly two dollars, +which was all that remained of her pocket-money after paying Cecille. +Mrs. Wilmot praised her for the effort she had made to do rightly, and +Clara was almost happy. Another month went by. + +Cecille came to give her morning lesson, and immediately after it, Clara +and Grace appeared at the door of the room in which Mrs. Wilmot was +seated. + +"Come in, my children," she said very pleasantly, for she thought she +knew their errand. + +They walked up to her. Clara paid her debt even to the last penny. + +"Now, mamma Wilmot," said she, when it had been received, "can you +confide in me again?" + +"Yes, Clara, fully, entirely, far more than before you had ever made it +necessary that I should try you as I have done. Before that trial I +_hoped_ that you would persevere in doing right at the expense of some +pain to yourself, _I am now sure_ that you will. I always knew that you +had right feelings, Clara, and I loved you for them; I now know that you +have right principles, and honor you for them. Why do you smile, Grace?" + +"Because it seems so strange, mamma, that you should talk of honoring a +little girl like Clara." + +"A little girl, Grace, who resists the temptation to do wrong and +steadily perseveres in doing right, is as deserving of honor as any one, +and I repeat that I honor Clara." + +Tears stood in Clara's eyes, and her cheeks were flushed with emotion. + +"Then, mamma Wilmot, you will not be ashamed to wear the locket?" + +"No, my love, I shall be proud to wear it." + +Clara took something from Grace, saying, "You must let me put it on, +Grace." + +"But you must first sew it to my bracelet," said Mrs. Wilmot, taking off +that which Grace had woven and which she wore tied with a piece of +riband. + +"No," said Clara, "here is the bracelet as well as the locket," and she +produced a very handsome hair bracelet, fastened to the locket with +small gold rings, and clasped it with a most triumphant air on Mrs. +Wilmot's wrist. + +"You did not weave this, Grace." + +"No, mamma, Cecille wove it, and I paid her for it just what the +jeweller pays her, and then I got Mr. Brenner to put it on the locket, +and yet I have some of the money left that I have saved up these two +months." + +"Why, have you been saving too?" + +"Yes, mamma, Clara would not let me spend my money on her, because she +said you told her she must practise self-denial, and it would not be +self-denial if I gave her what she wanted." + +"That was being a little extravagant in your understanding of what I +meant, Clara; I only intended that you should be self-denying in the use +of your own money." + +"Was I wrong to refuse Grace?" asked Clara anxiously. + +"No, my dear--not wrong. It was more than I demanded of you, but with +your understanding of my words, it was quite right." + +"But, mamma," said Grace, a little impatiently, "I was going to tell you +that Clara and I both have some money left, and now that we see how much +we can save, we thought--that is, we wanted to ask you whether we could +not do some good with it." + +Mrs. Wilmot smiled. + +"Don't laugh at us, mamma: it is not very foolish--is it?" + +"Foolish, my child!--it is very wise; and if I smiled, it was with +pleasure that my children should have had such a thought. This is being +truly generous. Older people than you sometimes make the mistake of +calling those generous who value money so little that they throw it away +without thought or care; but the truly generous value it much, because +they know that it can buy clothing for the naked, and food for the +starving. What they so value, they can neither keep from those to whom +it is due, nor throw away on foolish trifles. So, you see, the truly +generous are just and economical. But what _good_ have you thought of +doing first with your money?" + +Clara now spoke: "We thought first we would try to get some good clothes +for the Sandfords, that they may go to Sunday School." + +The Sandfords were the three little girls whom Clara and Grace taught. I +cannot repeat to you all that Mrs. Wilmot said in reply to this +proposal, but I can tell you what she did. She went with the girls to +make their purchases, showed them how to lay out their money most +advantageously for their little pupils, cut out the garments for them +when the cloth was brought home, and directed them how to make them. In +this work Martha and Lucy, Kate and Emma assisted--so that their kindly +and generous feelings were awakened, and they too began to save from +their own selfish gratifications to give to those who were in want. + +Mrs. Wilmot now takes the children with her when she goes to visit the +sick and the poor around her, and in these visits they often find some +object for their charity. Sometimes it is an old woman who needs a +flannel wrapper--sometimes, a child who is walking on snow and ice +without shoes. These they would once, perhaps, have passed without +notice; but now they do, what we all should do--they look out for +opportunities to do good. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE RETURN. + + +In the commencement of this book, I told you that I was again at Hazel +Grove. Again Harriet and I arrived in October, when the woods were +bright with many colors. We were received with even more joy than on our +first visit, and though some weeks have passed since I began to tell you +of my young acquaintances here, they seem quite as unwilling to hear of +my return home as I then told you they were. + +And I have seen Cecille too, and her good grandmother. They are still at +the widow Daly's cottage, but times are greatly changed with them since +we parted. Cecille is no longer a teacher for money--though she is never +so well pleased as when she can gratify her companions by imparting to +them some of her own accomplishments. She assists too in all their works +of charity, and seems to think the poor have double claims on her +because she knows what their trials are. She will leave us ere long, for +Mr. L'Estrange having regained his estate, is preparing his home in +France for the return of his mother and daughter, and will come for them +in the Spring. Cecille will, I am sure, part with us with pain; yet she +will soon forget her pain in her grandmother's pleasure--and in the +midst of our sorrow, we shall none of us, I hope, be too selfish to +rejoice in her prosperity. + +Mrs. Wilmot's children will all spend their holidays at Hazel Grove this +year. I have promised to remain with them during that time, and Madame +L'Estrange and Cecille are to be with us on Christmas day. We are +anticipating great enjoyment on that day. I should like to be able to +tell you how it passes; but that I must do in another book,--for if I +keep this till then, it will be too late to bring you Aunt Kitty's Merry +Christmas. + + +THE END. + + + + +ELLEN LESLIE: + +OR, + +THE REWARD OF SELF-CONTROL. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE BIRTH-DAY PARTY. + + +"Who will be invited to your party?" asked Harriet of Anna Melville, the +eldest daughter of my old friends, Col. and Mrs. Melville, who resided +in the town of H., and to whom I had been making a visit of some weeks. + +Anna was a lively good-tempered girl, who wanted only two days of being +twelve years old. For the last week, she had scarcely been able to speak +of any thing but the party which was to be given on her birth-day, and +to which Harriet's question referred. + +"Who?" said Anna in reply; "oh, all the girls I know. Let me see--there +are Helen Lamar, and Lucy Liston, and Mary and Ellen Leslie--" + +"Ellen Leslie," exclaimed Emma, a younger sister of Anna who stood near +her listening, "Ellen Leslie--why, Anna, you surely will not ask her. +You know she will get into a passion with somebody before the evening is +over; or even if she should not, we shall all be so much afraid of +offending her that there will be no fun." + +"But, Emma, if we do not ask Ellen, Mary will not come, and you know +none of us would enjoy ourselves half so much if Mary were not here." + +"No, we should not; but at any rate I will take care not to bring out my +handsome doll and my best teacups, for if Miss Ellen gets angry, she +will not mind breaking them." + +Having overheard this dialogue, I felt no little curiosity to see the +two sisters who were so differently regarded by their young friends. + +The two days passed away slowly enough to the expecting children; but +they did pass, and the birth-day arrived. All was bustle and preparation +at Col. Melville's. Anna superintended and directed and hurried every +one, and was dressed herself an hour before the time appointed for her +visiters. At length, just as she had become weary of watching for them, +and was beginning to express her opinion that no one was coming, a group +was seen approaching. Then came another and another, till twenty young +girls, neatly dressed, and with smiling, happy faces, were collected. +Among the latest arrivals were Mary and Ellen Leslie. I had seen them +from the windows before they entered the house, and was much pleased +with their appearance. They wore very simple white dresses, and their +hair fell in natural ringlets over their shoulders, unconfined and +without ornament of any kind. As they entered the parlor, all the girls +went forward to welcome them; but it was easy to see that the gladness +which all expressed was more for Mary than for Ellen--their greetings +being made something in this way: + +"Oh, Mary! I am so delighted to see you--and Ellen too!" + +But for the conversation between Anna and Emma Melville which I had +overheard, I should not have known how to account for this difference, +for Ellen was not at all less pleasing in appearance than Mary. Indeed +she would have impressed many persons more agreeably, for Mary's +countenance, though very gentle, was very serious, while Ellen's was gay +and animated. + +All was pleasantness in the little party for about an hour, when the +children were called to tea. I did not go to the table till they were +seated. When I did, I saw that there was a cloud on Ellen Leslie's face, +but what had caused it I could not discover. When tea was over, the +various entertainments of the evening commenced. On one side of the +parlor, around a table, was seated a group of girls playing what they +called an historical game--that is, amusing themselves with cards +containing questions and answers on historical subjects. In this game, +the questions were held by one person, and the cards containing the +answers were distributed equally among the rest of the players. As a +question was asked, any girl who found among her cards an answer which +seemed to her the correct one, read it. Sometimes two or three would +begin to read together, and so long as they could bear to be laughed at +without losing their tempers, those who made the greatest mistakes, +perhaps contributed most to the merriment of the party. At this game +about eight or ten girls were engaged. A few others amused themselves +with dissected maps, and the rest gathered together in one corner of the +room with Emma's cups and saucers, baby-house and doll. + +From the brightening up of Ellen Leslie's countenance when the +historical cards were produced, and her evident desire to make one in +that game, I had felt quite sure that she was well acquainted with its +subjects, and so it proved. For some time her answers were ready and +correct, while her laugh was first and loudest at the blunders made by +others. At length, the questions seemed to relate to a portion of +history on which Ellen was not so much at home, and once and again her +answer was followed by a laugh. In the first laugh which she thus +excited Ellen made a feeble effort to join, but it was very feeble. At +the second, her face flushed, she looked gloomily down, and from that +time, though she sat with the cards in her hands, she did not answer a +question or take any part in the game. After a while some wonder was +expressed that no answers could be found to several of the questions. +All around the table carefully examined their cards and declared they +did not have them, except Ellen--she remained silent, and held her cards +without looking at them. + +"Ellen, perhaps you have them," said Anna Melville. + +"You can see," said Ellen, laying her cards down before Anna. + +"Oh no!" said Anna quickly, "you look at them yourself." + +"I do not suppose I should know the answers if I saw them," said Ellen +sulkily; "and besides, I am tired playing," and she rose from the table. +As she moved off to a distant part of the room and seated herself alone, +I glanced at Mary and saw her eyes fixed on her sister with such an +expression of sorrowing tenderness, that for her sake I determined to +try whether I could not restore Ellen to a happier mood. I approached +her with a book of prints, and seating myself near her, drew a stand +towards us and invited her to look at them with me. She looked as if she +would like to refuse, but ashamed probably to do this to one so much +older than herself, she contented herself with remaining sulkily silent, +scarcely glancing at first at the pictures as I turned the leaves and +announced the different subjects. At length, however, some anecdote I +told attracted her attention. She asked a question--she smiled--she +laughed aloud. Again I turned my eyes upon Mary Leslie. She was looking +at me with a countenance so full of thankfulness and lit up with so +sweet a smile, that I no longer wondered at her young companions loving +her so tenderly. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE SISTERS. + + +The next day an old gentleman, a Mr. Villars, dined at Mr. Melville's. +Mr. Villars was a widower. His wife had been a sister of Mrs. Leslie, +the mother of Mary and Ellen. She had been long dead, but having never +married again, he had remained much attached to her family, and having +had no children of his own, he had always taken a deep interest in Mary +and Ellen, petting them quite as much and perhaps scolding them a little +more than their father. He was a favorite with children generally, for +he interested himself in their amusements and pursuits. + +"And so, Miss Anna," said he, as he entered the parlor in which we were +sitting after dinner, "you had a party last night. Pray, why was not I +invited? Mary Leslie made me quite envious, I assure you, by telling me +of the enjoyment you had." + +"And what did Ellen say?" asked the talkative and thoughtless Emma +Melville. + +"Oh, Ellen! I never mind her reports, for if they are not agreeable, I +always suppose something has happened to put her out of temper. Poor +child! poor child!" + +This exclamation was made with deep feeling, and we were all grave and +silent till Mr. Villars, turning to me, said, "I must not let you, +ma'am, who are a stranger to her, suppose that our little Ellen has no +good in her. She is, I assure you, a very affectionate child, and though +she is so ready to fancy herself neglected or ill treated, and so quick +to resent it, she is very grateful for kindness, and you have quite won +her heart by your efforts to amuse her last evening." + +"I am pleased," I replied, "to have made so agreeable an impression, but +I was repaid for my efforts by the interest she excited. I believe what +you say, sir, that she is affectionate and grateful--indeed, that her +feelings are as quick as her temper. Forgive me if I add, that it seems +to me it must be in some degree the fault of those to whom her education +has been confided, that, with such qualities, she is not more pleasing +and amiable." + +"You are right, ma'am, it is their fault. I have done my best to correct +it, but all in vain. She has been spoiled from her very birth, for her +mother's health had even then begun to fail, and she was quite unequal +to the management of so spirited a child. Ellen was but four years old +when that gentle mother died, Mary was seven--" + +"Is it possible," said I, interrupting him in my surprise, "that there +is so much difference in their ages?" + +"Yes," he answered, "three years. Mary is now thirteen, though she does +not look like it, and Ellen is only ten. Well, as I was about to tell +you, Mary at seven was a sedate, quiet, thoughtful child, and Mrs. +Leslie, when she became sensible that she could not live long, used to +talk much to her of Ellen's claims on her kindness, and dependence upon +her tenderness, when she should be gone from them. She taught her to +pray morning and evening that God would make her gentle and kind to her +little sister, as her mother had been to them both. Mary, I am sure, has +never forgotten or omitted that prayer." + +"Poor Mary!" said I, "these were very sad thoughts and heavy cares for +one so young." + +"So they were, ma'am, and so I once ventured to tell Mrs. Leslie. Never +shall I forget her reply. 'Ah, brother!' said she--she had always called +me brother from the time of my marriage with her sister--'ah, brother! a +mother, and a mother near death, sees far more clearly the dangers of +her children than any other can do. My gentle Mary has a strength of +character you little dream of, and though never very gay, she will not +long remain unreasonably sad; but my poor Ellen,--with a nature so +affectionate that she cannot be happy unless she is loved, and a temper +so passionate that she will often try the forbearance of her best +friends almost beyond endurance,--how much suffering is before her! Do +not blame me, if before I go from her, I strive to make Mary's love for +her such as her mother's would have been--such as not even her faults +shall be able to overcome. Mary's path through life will be smooth, she +must support Ellen through her rough and thorny way.' I did not feel +that all this was right," continued Mr. Villars, "for I think that every +one should bear the consequences of their own faults; but I could not +argue with a dying woman, and I comforted myself that all would come +right,--that Mary would forget all this, and scold and cross her sister, +just as other elder sisters do," tapping Anna Melville playfully on the +head as he spoke, "or that Mr. Leslie would control her. But I was +mistaken, it has never come right. Mary, I verily believe, has never +crossed Ellen's wishes in her life; and if Mr. Leslie has ever attempted +to do so, she has almost always stormed or coaxed him out of his +design,--more frequently stormed, for she has not patience for coaxing." + +"And how does she get what she wishes from you?" asked Col. Melville +with a smile, for he knew that Mr. Villars was very indulgent to both +the children. + +"Why, the cunning jade," said Mr. Villars laughing, "I will tell you +how. A long time ago I repeated to her Aesop's fable of the sun and the +wind, and told her, Mary was the sun and she was the wind. Then, Uncle +Villars, said she, whenever I want to make you do any thing, I will send +Mary to you; and she has been true to her word,--she always sends Mary." + +"And what was the fable, Mr. Villars?" asked Emma Melville. + +"Why, that the sun and the wind had a great quarrel once about which was +the strongest, and a traveller passing by while the quarrel was at its +height, they agreed that it should be decided in favor of the one which +should soonest get his cloak from him. So the wind rose in its might, +and blew and blew upon the poor traveller: but all in vain; he only +wrapped his cloak more closely round him. Then the sun came out and +beamed right down upon the man brighter and brighter, and warmer and +warmer: but not long; for the traveller was very soon glad to throw off +his thick, heavy cloak. So the sun conquered, as kindness and +gentleness, Miss Emma, always will, sooner than blustering and +storming." + +I saw little more of Mary and Ellen Leslie during this visit to H., and +it was more than two years before I returned there again. When I did, I +found that great changes had taken place in the situation of these young +girls. Their father had been dead for more than a year. Mr. Leslie was a +merchant, and was thought quite rich even by his most intimate friends; +yet when he died, and his affairs were examined, it was found that he +was poor--so poor, that, after his debts were paid, his children would +have nothing. But Mr. Villars it was thought would provide for them. He +did take them to his house for a few months, till Mary, whose health had +become enfeebled by her close attention to her father during his long +illness, grew well and strong again;--but then reports began to be +whispered about that Mr. Villars had lost much of his property through +Mr. Leslie--that he was in debt, and could no longer afford to live as +he had done. Then it was said that he must give up his servants, that he +must let or sell his house and go to board in some cheap country place. +Mary and Ellen would not go with him--he would leave them in H., for he +could only pay their board--they must do something for their own +support, and that could best be done among their old friends. +Accordingly when I came to H., I found Mr. Villars gone, his house +occupied by another family, and Mary and Ellen boarding with a widow who +lived in a very plain, small house, in one of the humblest streets of H. +Mary, I was told, gave lessons in music to two or three pupils, and +gratefully accepted any employment offered her, either of plain sewing, +embroidery, or fancy work. At first, she had some day scholars, and she +would probably have soon obtained a large school, for the children were +attached to her and the parents pleased with her success as a teacher, +but Ellen had undertaken to assist her, and her passionate temper so +often evinced itself, that both parents and children were displeased, +and the school was soon broken up. + +"And what does Ellen do?" I asked. + +"Assist her sister in the work when she can," replied Mrs. Melville, +from whom I had heard these things. "But I fear," she added, "that she +much more frequently hinders than assists her. Indeed, Mary would scarce +have to contend with any difficulty but for Ellen, for many would be +glad to have her in their families, could she be persuaded to leave that +little termagant." + +"Poor Ellen!" said I, "the bad name which she contracted in childhood +cleaves to her, when perhaps she may be greatly changed." + +"Not if we are to trust the report of Mrs. Maclean, with whom they +board. She tells sad tales of Ellen's irritability and Mary's +long-suffering. To be sure, we are likely to hear the worst of the case +from her, for, though an upright woman, she is irritable herself and +very positive, and I dare say she and Ellen have had many quarrels." + +My first visit in H. was to these children, for children they still +were, though thus thrown on the world to provide for themselves, Mary +being little more than fifteen and Ellen not yet thirteen. The room in +which I found them was small, but Mr. Villars had seen it comfortably +furnished before he left them, and it was neatly kept. Their clothing +too was comfortable and neat, though very plain. But there was on +Ellen's countenance an expression of sullen gloom, and on Mary's, of +sweet, yet sad resignation, which was more distressing to me than even +an appearance of want would have been, because it was a stronger +evidence of unhappiness. Poverty cheerfully borne is but a slight evil +in comparison with a repining temper. But I have learned, since that +time, much more of Mary and Ellen than was then known to Mrs. Melville +or any other person, and I will now tell their story from the time of +their father's death, without interrupting the narrative to explain to +you how I heard this or that particular. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +ORPHANS. + + +Mary, I have already said, had nursed her father through his long, +tedious illness. She had seen him grow weaker and weaker, and she was +therefore in some degree prepared to see him die. But with Ellen it was +very different. Mary always tried to save her pain. She would not let +her spend much time in the sick-room; and indeed, though Mr. Leslie was +a very fond father, and was always glad to see Ellen, he never wished +her to remain long,--for, if she thought him very ill, she would weep so +passionately that it agitated him, and if she thought him better, she +would be very noisy in her gladness. Then, if she attempted to do any +thing for him, she would move in such a hurried manner, that it was +awkwardly done, if she succeeded in doing it at all. All this proceeded +from Ellen's never having learned in any way to control her feelings. It +was love for her father which made Ellen weep or laugh, and caused her +to move in haste when she was told to hand him any thing; but Mary loved +her father quite as well as Ellen, and when she saw him suffering, tears +would often stream down her cheeks, yet she would keep down every sound +which could call his attention to her sorrows. If he was more +comfortable, you might tell it as soon as you entered the room by the +bright smile upon her face, yet she never disturbed his repose by loud +talking and laughing, and though delighted when called on to serve him, +she knew, that really to _serve_ him, she must move very quietly. This +was what is called self-control, and without it let me tell you, my +young friends, that however kind your feelings may be, however good your +intentions, you will never make yourselves either useful or agreeable to +others. Poor Ellen! she had it not--she had never learned to control +either her temper or her feelings, and you will see how sadly she +suffered in consequence. + +I have told you that Mary, from being much with her father, was in some +degree prepared for his death, while to Ellen it was quite unexpected. I +need not tell you that to both of them it was a very sad event,--the +youngest of you can feel how very sorrowful it would be to part with the +father who has played with and patted you, who has nursed you in +sickness, and taken care of you in health, and been kind and loving to +you always,--to part with him, not for a day, or a week, or a month, or +a year,--but for as long as you live,--not to have him go where, though +you cannot see him, you may hear from him and know that he is well and +happy, and still cares for you, but to have him lie down in the grave, +the still grave, from which no voice of love can come to you. But +perhaps, if you were obliged to part with your father, you would have a +tender mother left to sooth you and take care of you; but Mary and Ellen +Leslie had not this comfort, and when they saw their father carried out +in his coffin, they might have felt that, except their kind Uncle +Villars, there was no one who would care very much if they were laid +alongside of him. As you grow older you will discover that persons who +grieve together, who sorrow for the same things, love each other far +more dearly than those who are only glad together. I cannot very well +explain to you why this is, but we all feel it,--and Mary and Ellen +Leslie felt it, as they lay the night after the funeral folded in each +other's arms, helpless, and but for one kind heart, friendless orphans. + +Yet even then poor Ellen had a grief which was all her own. "Oh, Mary! +you were never in a passion with poor papa, and said angry words to him +and grieved him. Oh, dear Mary! do you think he remembers them now?" + +Dear children who read this little book, hear me and forget not my +words,--this is the bitterest grief of all, to feel that you have given +pain to that kind heart which is gone from you, which never can come +back to hear your repentance or forgive your injustice. Save yourself +from such sorrow by kindness and gentleness to your friends, and +obedience to your parents while they are with you. + +Mr. Villars soon removed these children from their now sad home to his +smaller and humbler, but more cheerful residence. Mr. Villars had never +been engaged in any business. His property was small, and while his +wealthier friend and brother-in-law, Mr. Leslie, had surrounded his +family with elegancies and luxuries, he had been obliged to content +himself with comforts. I say _obliged to content himself_, but I do not +know that Mr. Villars ever desired more. Indeed, I should have thought +him an unreasonable man if he had,--every thing around him was so neat, +so perfectly comfortable, and all was kept in order so quietly by the +very best old housekeeper in the country, who had lived with him ever +since his wife's death, and who thoroughly understood his ways. It was +no slight praise to good old Mrs. Merrill, his housekeeper, to say that +she understood Mr. Villars' ways, for I assure you they were by no means +so easy to understand as those of most people. Mr. Villars had lived so +long alone, with nobody's tastes to consult but his own, that he had +acquired all the set habits which people generally suppose to belong +only to an old bachelor. He was thought very whimsical, and certainly +often did things which to the rest of the world seemed very odd; and +though, when he gave his reasons, every one was compelled to acknowledge +them to be very good, they were often such as would have been thought of +by few but himself. Mrs. Merrill was a very kind woman, and received +Mary and Ellen with great tenderness, but she too had her oddities as +well as Mr. Villars. Like most persons who have had little to do with +children, she was constantly afraid of their getting into some trouble +or mischief, and she watched these girls, the youngest of whom was then +twelve years old, with as much care as if they were only four or five. +Even Mary felt this unusual degree of attention to be an unpleasant +restraint, but to poor Ellen, who had all her life done just as she +pleased, it was perfectly intolerable, and she could not restrain the +expression of her impatience under it. + +"Be very careful of the light, Miss Mary, and do not put it so near the +curtains, my dear," said Mrs. Merrill, on the second evening that Mary +and Ellen Leslie had passed in their new home, as she was giving them +their night lamp, after they had said good-night to their uncle. + +"I will be very careful, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary with a smile. + +"And Miss Ellen, I am busy just now and cannot go with you to your room, +but your sister will untie your clothes, I dare say, if you ask her +kindly, and I will come by-and-by, and see that they are nicely folded +and put away." + +"I always fold my clothes myself," was the somewhat ungracious reply to +the good woman's well-meant offer. + +As the sisters entered their room Ellen shot the bolt of her door, +exclaiming, "There, we are safe from that teasing Mrs. Merrill!" + +"Oh, Ellen! she is very kind, and we must not forget, my dear sister, +that there are not many in the world now, who take interest enough in us +to care what we do." Ellen was softened and went tearfully to bed. Mary +soon followed her, and they were just comfortably arranged when some one +tried to enter, and finding the door bolted, tapped. + +"Who _is_ that?" exclaimed Ellen impatiently. + +"It is only I, Miss Ellen," answered Mrs. Merrill, "I have come to put +the light out and cover you up nicely." + +"The light _is_ out and we _are_ covered," was the peevish reply which +arose above Mary's "Thank you, Mrs. Merrill, we are in bed already." + +"Oh, Ellen! how could you speak so angrily, and hurt the kind old +woman's feelings." Ellen could not bear to hurt anybody's feelings, and +the next moment she was out of bed, had unbolted the door, and was +running barefooted through the hall, calling to Mrs. Merrill. Mrs. +Merrill was half way down stairs, but she came back, hurried and +alarmed, exclaiming breathlessly, "What is the matter, my dear, what is +the matter?" + +"Nothing, ma'am," said Ellen very respectfully and penitently, "except +that Mary said that I had hurt your feelings, and I am very sorry for +it. I only meant to say we were in bed already." + +"Hurt my feelings--oh dear, no! poor child! and did she make you get up +for that," putting her hand kindly on Ellen's head as she spoke--"oh no! +you did not hurt my feelings--I never mind what children say." + +Ellen flirted off and jumped into bed more angry than ever, that Mrs. +Merrill should have thought Mary had made her get up to speak to her, +and that she should think her of so little consequence as not to mind +what she said. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +AN UNRULY SPIRIT. + + +We cannot give an account of half the disputes between Mrs. Merrill and +Ellen which were generally reported to Mr. Villars by both parties, +until he was ready to go anywhere from his hitherto quiet home, in +search of peace. And yet, when the difficulties in which he had become +involved through Mr. Leslie began first to be perceived, and Mr. Villars +to fear that he must leave his home, it seemed dearer to him than ever. +Besides, he would say to himself, as he sat thinking over the threatened +changes--What is to become of these poor children--and my old +servants--and Mrs. Merrill--good Mrs. Merrill--who, I am sure, never +expected to leave me, and is now too old to look out new friends? +Distressed by such thoughts, it is no wonder if Mr. Villars looked sad, +and sat silent for hours together, sometimes looking out of a window +sometimes turning his eyes upon a book which he generally held in his +hand, as an excuse for not talking; though it was easy to see that he +was not reading,--or if he was, it must be the same page, over and over +again, as he never turned a leaf. Mary had noticed all this, and it +grieved her greatly, for except Ellen, there was no one now in the world +whom she loved half so well as her Uncle Villars. She tried at first to +amuse him by talking to him; but finding that, though he always answered +her kindly, he would at such times soon leave the parlor where they were +seated, and go, either to his own room or to the library, she determined +not again to disturb him when he seemed so thoughtful. But though Mary +ceased to talk to her Uncle Villars, she could not cease to observe him +and to wish that she knew the cause of his sadness. This cause she at +last thought she had discovered in the differences of Ellen and Mrs. +Merrill. Vainly did poor Mary try to accommodate these differences, her +efforts generally ended in making both of the disputants displeased with +her. It must not be thought that Mrs. Merrill was cross and +ill-tempered. On the contrary, all her difficulties with Ellen arose +from her desire to do what was kind and right by an orphan girl placed +in her charge, for Mr. Villars before he brought his nieces home had +said, "There will of course, Mrs. Merrill, be many things in which these +girls will require the attention of a woman to their conduct and their +comforts. In these things I know I may trust to your goodness,"--and +Mrs. Merrill was determined his trust should not be disappointed. + +Mary and Ellen had walked out together one afternoon, and when they +returned, laid their bonnets carelessly upon the table in the parlor. +There they remained, till Mrs. Merrill came in to see the table prepared +for tea. "Miss Mary, Miss Ellen, why, here are your new crape bonnets. +You should always put them away as soon as you come in; crape is very +expensive, my dears, and very easily injured." + +Mary rose and removed the bonnets from the table. Ellen remained seated +with her head bent over a piece of paper, on which she seemed to be +drawing. + +"Miss Ellen," said Mrs. Merrill, "did you hear what I said?" + +"Yes, Mrs. Merrill, I heard you." + +"I will put both bonnets away, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary; "I always put +Ellen's away for her." + +"Well, my dear Miss Mary, that may be very kindly meant in you, but it +would be far better that your sister should learn to do without you." + +Ellen did not even look up--Mary moved towards the door, with the hope +that if the bonnet was once out of sight all would be quiet, but Mrs. +Merrill saw the movement, and irritated by Ellen's disregard of what she +said, she exclaimed, "Stop, Miss Mary; I am sorry to find fault with +you, who are generally so good, but I do not think it right in you to +interfere, when I would have your sister learn to wait on herself. I am +sure it is for her own good. I am sure it is not for my sake I take the +trouble." + +Mary looked earnestly at Ellen, but the head was perseveringly bent +down, and except that her face had become quite red and her pencil moved +very fast, any one might have supposed that she had not heard a word of +what was passing. There stood Mary, with a bonnet in each hand, +perfectly irresolute, afraid to speak to Ellen lest she should cause +her to say something saucy--afraid to oppose Mrs. Merrill, who it was +evident was now very determined. At length she ventured to say, "Ellen +is busy drawing, Mrs. Merrill--" + +Before she could add another word, Ellen, who scorned to offer any +apology for her inattention to Mrs. Merrill's wishes, threw aside the +paper and pencil, saying, "I am not busy at all--I was only making marks +on the paper, Mary." + +"I knew it--knew it," said Mrs. Merrill; "you were only making marks to +show me that you did not care for me. + +"Give me that bonnet, Miss Mary," taking Ellen's from her as she spoke, +and laying it again on the table, on which in the mean time she had +arranged every thing for tea. "There--let it lie there till Mr. Villars +comes in. I will see if he thinks that a proper place for a young lady's +bonnet." + +Ellen smiled scornfully. + +"Oh, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary, with tears in her eyes, "do not plague +poor Uncle Villars about it." + +"I assure you, Miss Mary Leslie, I am not the one to plague your Uncle +Villars. Many a year I have lived with him, and a quiet home we have +both had of it till now, and the same will he say, I will be bound!" + +"Ellen, dear Ellen, I am sure you would not do any thing to worry our +good, kind Uncle Villars; come, dear Ellen, and take your bonnet up +stairs." + +"Mary, I wish you would let me and my bonnet alone. I did not ask you to +take it up." + +"Well--but, Ellen, poor Uncle Villars looks so sad already. Do not be +obstinate, dear Ellen." + +"I am not going to say or do any thing to Uncle Villars, Mary, and I +think it's very hard if I am to be blamed for every thing--even for his +looking sad; but nobody ever finds fault with me that you do not take +their part." + +"Oh, Ellen"--but Ellen turned away, and Mary with a heavy heart walked +off with her own bonnet as she saw her Uncle Villars entering. Now, any +one who has read this scene will perceive that Mrs. Merrill, although +she was right in the thing itself which she would have had Ellen do, was +very wrong in her manner of enforcing it. The only right way to govern +any one is by giving them confidence in your kindly feelings towards +them--by love. Now, Ellen was a spoiled child, and could not have +confidence in the kindly feelings of any one who thwarted her. Mr. +Villars saw all this, and therefore he had great patience with Ellen, +and generally soothed her into some concession to Mrs. Merrill; very +little would satisfy her kind spirit; and so the storm would for the +time pass over. But these storms so frequently returned, that Mr. +Villars felt, unless something could be done to arouse Ellen's own mind +to a conviction of the evil of her temper and a determined effort to +subdue it, she must always be unhappy herself, and the cause of +unhappiness to others. As Mr. Villars became more interested in Ellen, +as it was natural he should do from feeling that she was now wholly +dependent on him, his anxiety on this subject increased, and he often +found himself imagining different methods for correcting her faults. + +One of Ellen's bad habits, and that which perhaps most materially +interfered with Mrs. Merrill's comfort, was late sleeping, or rather +lying in bed, for Ellen was in reality not asleep for an hour before +Mary could induce her to rise,--but Ellen said if she was not asleep, +neither was she wide awake. You may wonder that this practice should +have interfered with Mrs. Merrill's comfort, as by keeping Ellen out of +the way it would seem rather to promote her quiet; but Mrs. Merrill +prided herself on her orderly housekeeping, and while she was too kind +to let Ellen go without her breakfast, she was greatly annoyed at having +to keep the table waiting for her. Mary would have taken some breakfast +to her sister in their room, and so have obviated the difficulty; but +this Mrs. Merrill would on no account permit, lest the carpet or the +bedclothes should be slopped with tea or greased with butter. A few +mornings after the scene with the bonnet, Mary having risen as usual and +dressed herself, began her efforts to arouse Ellen. + +"Ellen--wake, Ellen--I hear Uncle Villars moving about in his room." + +Ellen, without speaking or opening her eyes, turned over and covered +herself up more closely. + +Mary spoke again, "Ellen--Uncle Villars has gone down stairs--he will +ring the bell for breakfast presently." + +Ellen did not stir. + +Mary touched her,--put her arm around her and tried to raise her; Ellen +flounced off to the other side of the bed, exclaiming, "Mary, let me +alone." + +"Oh, Ellen, jump up--there's the breakfast bell--you know nothing puts +Mrs. Merrill so much out of sorts as our being too late to breakfast +with Uncle Villars." + +"I do not care for Mrs. Merrill's being out of sorts--cross old woman; +she might just as well let me have my breakfast up here as not. I will +lie half an hour longer just to spite her." + +"But, Ellen, Uncle Villars--" + +"Uncle Villars does not care a pin about my getting up, if he only has +you to sit by him; you know that as well as I do." + +"Well, I care, Ellen--" + +"Oh do, Mary--go, and eat your breakfast, and let me alone." + +Another ring of the breakfast bell hurried Mary off, exclaiming, "Make +haste, Ellen, and you may get down yet before we are done--I will eat +very slowly." + +The affectionate kiss with which Mr. Villars saluted Mary was followed +by the question, "Where is Ellen?" + +"Miss Ellen is not awake yet, I suppose, Miss Mary." + +Mary at that moment heard Ellen's step on the floor above, and answered +quickly, "Oh, yes, Mrs. Merrill, she is awake and up." + +"Well," said Mr. Villars with a good-humored smile, "if she is up, we +may hope she will soon be down." + +Mary did hope so, and she seated herself cheerfully by her Uncle +Villars, while Mrs. Merrill poured out coffee. The nice hot cakes and +Uncle Villars' pleasant chat made Mary quite forget her promise to eat +slowly, until just as she was concluding her breakfast, Mrs. Merrill, +approaching the door, said, "Your sister stays so long, Miss Mary, I +will go and see if she wants any thing." + +"I will go, Mrs. Merrill," said Mary, starting up; but it was too late, +and she seated herself again, exclaiming, "Oh! I am so sorry." + +"Poor child," said Mr. Villars, "you look as much frightened as if you +were afraid that Ellen would be beaten. Mrs. Merrill may scold a little, +but cheer up, I am sure she would not hurt Ellen for the world." + +"Oh no, Uncle Villars, I know she would not; it was not that which made +me feel sorry." + +"What was it then, child?" + +Mary looked down and colored as she said, "Ellen is not used to being +crossed at all, you know, Uncle Villars, and Mrs. Merrill is not used to +Ellen's ways, and so they do not understand each other; and--and--I am +sure when they come to you, Uncle Villars, it must worry you who always +lived so quietly before we came." + +Mr. Villars did not see exactly what Mary was coming to, but he +answered, "It has disturbed me, my dear, very much, I acknowledge, but +more for Ellen's sake than my own." + +"I have seen, Uncle Villars, how very badly you felt about it; and I +have been thinking--perhaps--you had better send us away." + +Mary gave this advice slowly and hesitatingly, and as she looked up upon +concluding it, her eyes were full of tears; for Mary loved her Uncle +Villars dearly, and she was old enough to know something of her own and +Ellen's situation, and to feel how sad it would be for them to be sent +away from the house of their best friend to live among strangers. Mr. +Villars saw the tears in Mary's eyes, and he understood all her tender +and generous thoughts, and drawing her to him he laid her head on his +shoulder, and putting her hair aside, kissed her forehead, calling her, +"Dear child--dear child." He was silent a moment, and any one who had +looked closely at him would have seen that his own eyes glistened; then +he added, "It is one of my chief sorrows, Mary, that we shall be obliged +to part; but not for the reason you think--not on poor Ellen's +account--though I sometimes hope it may be the cause of good to her." + +At this moment the parlor door was thrown open, and Ellen entered +hastily. She was followed by Mrs. Merrill, neither of them wearing very +placid faces. Mr. Villars, not desiring to hear the complaints on either +side, rose from table, and still holding Mary's hand, said, as he gave +Ellen his morning kiss, "Eat your breakfast, my dear, and then come to +the library; you will find Mary there, and I have something to tell +you." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A SURPRISE. + + +When Ellen came into the library, she was surprised to see how very +grave her uncle Villars looked. She turned her eyes on Mary, and saw +that she had been weeping. Ellen would have asked what was the matter, +but she was afraid that it was something connected with her and her +wrong doings, and she thought it the safest course to be silent. Mr. +Villars did not leave her long in doubt. Drawing her to him, he said, "I +see, Ellen, that you are anxious to know what has distressed Mary so +much; it is the thought of parting with her old uncle--for, Ellen, my +dear child, I shall have to part with you both." + +Before we attempt to describe Ellen's emotions, we must, to make them +understood, tell our readers that Mrs. Merrill had more than once, when +very much provoked by Ellen, hinted her conviction that Mr. Villars +would not long be able to endure such an unquiet house--that he would +certainly be obliged to send his nieces out to board, and that she +doubted not people might be found able to curb the most unruly spirit. +On such occasions, Ellen, being angry too, had very valorously declared, +that she was ready and willing to go anywhere to get rid of Mrs. +Merrill. But we regard things very differently when they are only talked +about or threatened, and when they actually come. Ellen felt now that +she was neither ready nor willing to go. This, however, she was too +proud to acknowledge. Tears rushed to her eyes, but she kept them back, +and would have answered boldly, perhaps saucily; but as she raised her +head, she again saw Mary's sad face, and the thought that her sister was +to suffer for her fault, subdued her spirit. Bursting into tears, she +wept for a minute without speaking. Mr. Villars passed his hand kindly +over her head, saying gently, "Poor little girl!--poor little girl!" +Encouraged by this kindness, she at length exclaimed, though sobs still +impeded her utterance, "Please, Uncle Villars, let Mary stay--don't +send Mary away--I'm sure she is good--I can't help my bad temper--I try +to do right--and if Mrs. Merrill would only let me alone, I am sure I +would not trouble her; but send me away--I don't mind going--I shall be +very glad to go,"--here Ellen's pride and anger were again conquering +her better feelings,--"yes, I shall be very glad to go--I don't want to +stay anywhere with people that don't like me"--again Ellen raised her +head stiffly, and again she saw Mary, whose tears were now +streaming--"but oh! Uncle Villars, let Mary stay--I know you love Mary, +and she will always be good." + +Mr. Villars had not interrupted Ellen. At first he was too much +surprised at the feelings she expressed to do so, and then he continued +silent, because he desired to hear all she had to say. When she stopped +speaking, he said, "Ellen, do you suppose that I would send either of +you away if I could help it? You are my children, now," and putting out +his hand for Mary, he clasped both the weeping girls in his arms,--"both +my children, and I love you both; but some of my property, as well as +all your father's, has gone to pay his debts. They were honest debts, my +dear children, and the people to whom they were owed wanted their money, +and we must not regret that they have got it; but we are poor now, and +we cannot continue to live as we have done. I must soon leave you to go +on a journey to a distant place, with the hope of recovering some money +which is due to your father's estate. I know not how long I may be gone; +and even when I return I may not be able to come back to my old home, +but may be obliged to look out some cheap country place where I can +board for little money. To this place I shall not take you with me. I +have good reasons for not doing so. Listen to me, and I will try to make +you understand these reasons. I am now an old man, and it is very +probable that I may not live many years. I once hoped that when I died I +should be able to leave you sufficient property to support you in the +way in which you have been accustomed to live; but this, I now fear, +cannot be. You will be obliged to do something by which you may make +money to assist in supporting yourselves. Many women, you know, support +themselves entirely by their own work. Do you remember the young girl +who came to make your mourning? She not only supplies her own wants, +but those of an infirm mother, by her work." + +"And must we go and hire ourselves out to people to sew for them as she +does?" asked Ellen, with a heightened color and a curling lip. + +"No, my dear Ellen, you could not do that, even if I wished it. Miss +Fenner has been taught to make dresses,--she learned it as a trade, just +as a shoemaker learns to make shoes or a carpenter to build houses. You +have never learned it, and I fear nobody would hire you." + +Ellen colored now from shame as much as she had just done from pride. + +"But," Mr. Villars proceeded, "there are some things you can do. You can +embroider and paint, and do many fancy works for which the rich are +ready to pay money. Mary understands music well. She may give lessons in +music, and you can both of you teach a few small children. In this way, +that is, by doing whatever you can, you may make enough to clothe +yourselves. This is all I shall expect you to do at present,--I will pay +all your other expenses; and also I will continue to pay for your +French, Italian, and music lessons, till you have become so perfectly +acquainted with them as to be able to teach them yourselves. You will +then be always able to support yourselves respectably, even when you +have no Uncle Villars to help you." + +I cannot attempt to describe to you the feelings with which Mary and +Ellen had listened to their uncle. They scarcely understood him, and +what they did understand seemed like a strange dream. That they, who had +always been waited on and surrounded with every luxury, should be +obliged to work for money to buy their clothes--just like those whom +they had been accustomed to call the poor--it seemed impossible; and +they looked at Mr. Villars steadily, with the hope that they should +discover something like a smile--something which would make them believe +that it was a jest, or, as Ellen said to herself, "just done to frighten +me." But on Uncle Villars' face there was no smile--all was graver, +sadder than usual. He read their thoughts, and, as if to assure them of +the truth of what he had said, told them to put on their bonnets and he +would show them their future home. They obeyed him, and he took them to +that small plain house in which I found them living, and introduced them +to Mrs. Maclean as her future lodgers. + +The next day Mr. Villars called at Colonel Melville's, and having +related to him and Mrs. Melville his arrangements for Mary and Ellen, +asked what they thought of them. They both exclaimed together, "They +will never do--they will never do!" + +"Why," proceeded Colonel Melville, "here are two children, Villars--two +mere children--the eldest is only fifteen, I believe;" he paused, and +Mr. Villars nodded. "Well, these children, hardly out of the nursery, +you are going to--" + +Mr. Villars interrupted him somewhat impatiently, "Going to place them +in a comfortable room, with a kind and honest woman--going to demand of +them that they shall do just as much as they can to help themselves, and +no more; for all which they cannot do without injury to their health, I +will. My children shall not want--at least while I live," and the old +man's voice trembled. "From you, my friends, I ask that while I am +absent you will watch over them. Do not let them want any thing +necessary for comfort. I have told them to come to you, Mrs. Melville, +for advice in their outlay of money. I would wish their wardrobe to be +suited to their circumstances--plain, but neat, respectable, and +comfortable. If it be necessary at any time, Melville, advance money for +them, and I will repay you." + +"Mr. Villars," said Mrs. Melville, earnestly, "I will do all you wish, +if you persist in this plan, but I pray you think better of it. I do not +doubt that Mrs. Brown would take Mary into her school as a +sub-governess, and her services in this capacity would pay for Ellen's +board and tuition, till she could do something for herself." + +"My dear Mrs. Melville, I have not told you all the reasons which make +me prefer my plan to yours--fair as yours seems. Poor Ellen's ungoverned +temper must be subdued; but before Mrs. Brown could reduce her into a +proper behaved boarding-school Miss, she must inflict and Ellen endure a +course of discipline which would break Mary's heart to witness. Now I +would give Ellen a discipline which she cannot escape from--which she +will feel it is vain to fret against--which will be steady and +unyielding, but never cruel and tyrannical,--the discipline which was +God's own appointment for man--labor and privation. Do you think me +right now?" he asked. + +"I think that you may be. I hope that you are," said Mrs. Melville. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. + + +In a fortnight Mary and Ellen had taken possession of their neat plain +room at Mrs. Maclean's, and Mr. Villars had set out on his journey to +some place in Carolina. It was autumn, but the weather had not yet +become at all cold. Mrs. Maclean was a lover of flowers, and the little +court-yard before her house was really gay with its golden marigolds, +its pink and white artemisias, and its purple dahlias. We have said that +Mrs. Maclean was a widow. She had no children of her own, and it was +with real pleasure that she prepared for the reception of these young +girls. Mr. Villars had sent over the furniture for their room, and she +had begged that they would come over themselves and direct its +arrangement. And how patiently did she obey their directions! Now the +bedstead was put behind the door, because Mary thought that the right +place for it; and now wheeled into the corner near the fireplace, +because Ellen thought it would look best there. The looking-glass was +hung first in one pier and then in the other, and then moved back again +to the first. In short, every piece of furniture made a journey around +the room before it found an abiding place, and yet Mrs. Maclean showed +no weariness or impatience,--a fact on which Ellen dilated with great +emphasis to her uncle in Mrs. Merrill's presence--declaring that "Mrs. +Maclean was so good-natured, she was sure she should love her dearly." + +When Mr. Villars took the sisters to their home on the evening before he +left H., Ellen carried him up to their room--explained to him all the +advantages of its present arrangement--and especially challenged his +admiration for the mantelpiece, on which Mrs. Maclean had placed two +china mugs filled with her brightest flowers. More pleasant than all to +Mr. Villars, was her satisfaction. While his children smiled so +cheerfully and appeared so animated, he felt that there was little to +regret in their change of circumstances. It was noon the next day before +Mr. Villars was at leisure to make his farewell visit at Mrs. Maclean's. +As soon as he came within view of the parlor windows, he saw Ellen +standing at one of them, looking out. She saw him too, and running out +opened the little gate for him. + +"Oh, Uncle Villars, I thought you were never coming, I have been looking +for you so long." + +"That was very unprofitable labor, Ellen, for it could not bring me here +any sooner. Where is Mary?" + +"Up stairs in our room--come softly, Uncle Villars," here Ellen lowered +her voice to a whisper, "come softly, and I do believe you may get close +up to her without her knowing it--she is so busy sewing." + +Ellen tripped lightly on herself, and Mr. Villars with a smile followed +with as quiet a step as possible. They ascended the staircase, the door +was opened without the least noise, and Ellen, motioning to her uncle to +stand still, stole on towards her sister. Mary sat near the window, but +though her face was towards it, she was not looking out. Her head was +bent down over a piece of embroidery, and her fingers were moving +quickly while she sang in a low suppressed voice to a cheerful tune an +old song, the words of which ran thus-- + + 1. + + I will not be a butterfly, + To sport beneath the summer sky, + Idly o'er ev'ry flower to roam, + And droop when winter storms have come. + + 2. + + I will not be an ant, to soil + Myself with low, debasing toil, + To crawl on earth--to yon bright heaven + No wing upraised, no effort given. + + 3. + + But I will be a bee, to sup + Pure honey from each flow'ry cup; + Busy and pleased around I'll fly, + And treasure win from earth and sky + +As she finished her song, Ellen, who now stood close beside her, though +unperceived, took up the strain and warbled, + + Busy and pleased around I'll fly, + And treasure win from earth and sky. + +"Ah truant!" said Mary, with a smile, "you will not win much treasure, I +am afraid. See how much I have done while you have been looking out for +Uncle Villars, and all your looking has not brought him." + +"No--but if I could only persuade you to take your eyes from your work +and just give one glance over your shoulder, he would be here I know; +try it, Mary." + +"No, butterfly, I mean to be a bee, and you shall not tempt me to lose +time." + +"There, Miss Bee, is that losing time?" asked Ellen, as, putting a hand +on each side of Mary's head, she turned it suddenly round to where Mr. +Villars stood, amused by the scene. + +"Why, Uncle Villars!" exclaimed Mary, dropping her work in her surprise +and pleasure, and hastening to meet him, "how long have you been there?" + +"Long enough to hear most of your song, Mary. But what pretty work is +this?" asked Mr. Villars, as he picked it up and handed it to her. + +"A cape which Mrs. Melville sent me this morning to embroider for her; +and see, she has sent Ellen some cambric handkerchiefs to hem." + +"And how much have you done to them, Ellen?" + +"I have done half a side to one of them." + +Mr. Villars shook his head, and Ellen coloring, said, "Well, Uncle +Villars, I do hate so to hem handkerchiefs; it is all the same thing +over and over again. Now there is some pleasure in embroidering." + +"But my little girl must learn to take pleasure in winning treasure," +said Mr. Villars, pleasantly. + +"I should like very well to have the treasure, Uncle Villars, if you +mean money, but I do not see much pleasure in winning it." + +"But I do not mean money only, Ellen, that is the treasure of earth; but +you remember the bee won that of the sky too, and I would have you, my +dear child, win the best of all treasures, a disciplined, well-regulated +mind and heart; and the surest way to do this, is by steady +perseverance in what you know to be right, however disagreeable it may +be to you; and to encourage you, let me tell you that the things you +like least will become pleasant to you as soon as you have made up your +mind to do them, because they are right." + +This was Mr. Villars' parting lesson to Ellen, for it was soon time for +him to be on board the steamboat which was to take him to New York, on +his way south. He left them, with many charges that they should write to +him at least once a fortnight; and that they should apply, if any +difficulty occurred, to Colonel and Mrs. Melville for advice, and, if +necessary, for assistance. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A HOLIDAY. + + +"Poor things," said Mrs. Maclean the next morning at the breakfast +table, when she saw Ellen's eyes fill with tears at some mention of her +Uncle Villars, "Poor things! it is no wonder you feel bad to part with +such a good friend; but you must cheer up, he will soon be back again; +and now I will tell you what--instead of setting down to mope in your +room to-day we will just make a holiday of it. I will put my ironing off +for once, and we will borrow Deacon Foster's horse and shay--the shay +will carry us all three easy enough--and I will drive you out to my +brother-in-law's farm. Were you ever there?" + +"No--never." + +"Well--I can tell you there ain't many such farms as Tom Maclean's, and +you'll get some of the finest peaches there that you've seen this year. +So now I'll go for the horse and shay, and you can put these cups and +saucers in the cupboard for me, and get your bonnets on by the time I +come for you." + +Ellen's face brightened with the anticipated delights of the day--a ride +of three miles, and then the privilege of sauntering at will through +gardens and orchards, of a sunny day in October--who can wonder at her +enjoyment of the thought? Even Mary felt that she might take a holiday +"for once," as Mrs. Maclean said, without being a butterfly. So the cups +were soon put away, and the bonnets tied on, and soon came Deacon +Foster's horse and shay, and Mrs. Maclean driving. Mary and Ellen jumped +in, and found, as Mrs. Maclean had told them there would be, plenty of +room; and Mrs. Maclean cheruped to the horse, and away they went--not +very fast, yet fast enough to get over the three miles in much less time +than Mary and Ellen wished. And yet they could scarcely be sorry when +they reached the low, but large stone farmhouse, with its field of +clover on one side, in which three or four cows were grazing, and its +orchard on the other, where among pear and apple trees they could catch +glimpses of the red and yellow peaches which Mrs. Maclean had praised so +highly. And Mrs. Tom Maclean, and Susy and Martha Maclean, came to +welcome them with such pleasant looks and words, that nothing seemed +wanting to their gratification. All the morning they walked about with +Susy and Martha for their guides--had fruit from the orchard, milk from +the dairy, and more flowers from the garden than they could carry home. +When called in to dinner they found Mr. Maclean there. He too received +them very kindly, and talked of their Uncle Villars, regretting that he +had met with any troubles, as he heard he had, and that he should have +been obliged to leave his own pleasant home. + +"Mrs. Merrill seems almost broken down about it," continued Mr. Maclean; +"and she teld me that you was agoing to keep a school for young +children: now I'm a thinking of sending our Susy and Martha to you for a +while. A little more schooling won't do 'em any harm, and they can go in +with the market-cart every morning, and come back home in it when market +is over. You can help them, I dare say, and then what they pay will help +you--and that's what I call right." + +Mary thanked Mr. Maclean, and said she would do her best to "help" his +daughters, who smiled at each other, and looked much pleased with the +arrangement. + +"Well now," said Mr. Maclean, "I should like to know what you're going +to charge?" + +To this Mary could only answer, whatever he thought right. + +"That won't do--that won't do," said Mr. Maclean; "you sell the +schooling, and I buy it: it is the one that sells that always ought to +fix the price." + +"Tom, how you talk," said his wife; "you might as well tell a baby about +fixing prices, I dare say. Don't you know what you've paid before for +schooling?" + +"Yes, I paid a dollar a month apiece; but that wouldn't be fair now--for +then they went to a man, and only learnt books; but I guess now they'll +find out how to be handy with the needle too, and that's worth as much +as book learning to a woman--so I think double the old price would be +fair now. I'll tell you what, miss," he added, turning to Mary, "to +encourage you, I'll make it a dollar a week for the two, and I'll send +it in to you every Saturday; how will that do?" + +Mary thought it would do very well. Knowing nothing of the labor of +teaching, and as little of the value of money, she thought a dollar a +week a great sum to be given her. It was really a generous offer in Mr. +Maclean, who, being uneducated himself, could not estimate very truly +the value of her services in educating his daughters, and who knew, +besides, that he could have them taught at some common day-schools for +less. + +The happiest day must have an end, and the western sky was still bright +with the sun's last beams, when Mary and Ellen alighted at their own +door, leaving Mrs. Maclean to drive home the borrowed chaise. + +The next morning Mary awoke very early--much earlier than usual, and try +as much as she would, she could not sleep again. I have told you that +even in her early childhood Mary had been thoughtful, but now you must +remember she was over fifteen years old, and had already experienced +such changes as might have made a person of much gayer temper grave. But +not even these changes had tended to sadden Mary so much as Ellen's +waywardness had done. The charge which she had received from her dying +mother Mary never had forgotten, and it had been recently and forcibly +repeated by her father. Though Mr. Leslie did not know himself the +extent of those losses through which his children had been left so very +destitute, he knew enough to make him suffer much anxiety about them in +his last illness. Especially had he feared for Ellen,--so young, so +thoughtless, and so arrogant in temper. To Mary, who was ever at his +side, and who showed so much of a woman's care and thoughtfulness that +he often forgot she was but a child, these anxious feelings were +expressed; and again did she promise to her father, as under like +circumstances she had done to her mother, that she would never part from +Ellen--that she would love her--and bear with her--take care of her, and +if it were necessary, work for her support, even as her mother would +have done had she lived. And faithfully did Mary fulfil her promise of +loving Ellen and bearing with her, and pleasant did she feel it would be +to take care of her, and even to labor for her. And Ellen loved her +sister Mary too, and for her sake would have done almost any thing +except control her temper, or restrain the expression of any angry or +dissatisfied feeling. But it was just this temper and these feelings +which gave Mary most pain, and were likely to make her task most +difficult. In all which these sisters had to do, they must depend +greatly on the kindness and good-will of others. Mary knew this, and she +knew too that kindness and good-will were not to be gained by a display +of passionate, wilful tempers. Especially did Mary dread any thing of +this kind in the school they were about to begin, and her morning +thoughts--the thoughts which would not let her sleep again when once she +had awoke--were all of how she might most gently, and with the least +danger of displeasing Ellen, impress upon her how much patience and +self-control would be needed in teaching a set of rude, ignorant +children. Before she had come to any decision on this important point, +Ellen awoke, and with more animation than she usually evinced at such an +early hour, exclaimed, "Why, Mary, not up yet--and our school to begin +to-day!" + +"But not for three hours yet, Ellen--it is only six o'clock." + +"But I thought you were always up at half-past five." + +"So I am; but I have been thinking so much about this school this +morning that I have forgotten every thing else." + +"What about it, Mary--about what you should teach?" + +"No, Ellen--not just that; but I have been thinking how unpleasant and +difficult it will be." + +"Do you think so? I think I shall like it." + +"So should I, Ellen, if I were sure that the children would all be +smart, and pleasant tempered; but it must be very hard to teach dull +children; and if they are obstinate and ill-tempered we shall be so apt +to become impatient with them, and then, you know, all comfort will be +at an end." + +"But I don't see why you should think they will be dull; I am sure Susy +and Martha Maclean seemed to be very pleasant children." + +"So they did, but there are four other children, you know, whom Mrs. +Maclean has engaged for us, and of whom we know nothing." + +"Well, I dare say they are clever children. For my part I don't think +children are ever ill-tempered unless people are cross to them, and if +you are afraid that I shall be cross to _your_ scholars, Mary--" + +Mary interrupted Ellen's hasty speech, saying in a gentle tone, "I am +afraid, dear Ellen, that _our_ scholars will often tire us and try our +patience very much; but Uncle Villars says that whatever we do, we +should do cheerfully, so I will not talk of my fears any more." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE SCHOOL. + + +A week passed away, and nothing occurred in the little school to make +Mary think again of her fears. Ellen seemed to like being a teacher; and +if she laughed and talked and played with her pupils a little more than +was quite consistent with her new dignity, they liked her all the better +for it, and learned, from a wish to please her, more than they would +perhaps have done if more constrained. As for Mary, Mrs. Maclean said, +"It was just a wonder to see how that young bit of a thing, that was +nothing but a child herself, would sit sewing so steady like, and never +seem to be thinking of any thing but her work; and yet if any of the +young ones got in a snarl, and Miss Ellen's voice only sounded quick +like, she was up in a minute, and helped them so quietly along that +they hardly knowed that she was a helping till they got through." + +Ellen had even exerted herself to rise early, that she might be ready +for her scholars; but the second Monday morning after the commencement +of her labors she seemed to find this an unusually difficult task, and +when Mary, who had been some time below stairs, came back to tell her +that it was eight o'clock and breakfast was ready, and unless she +dressed herself quickly the children would be there before their room +was in order, she exclaimed, "Those children! I am sure I wish I had +never seen them or heard of them. It is bad enough to have to teach the +stupid things, without being obliged to get up at daybreak for them." + +"Daybreak, Ellen!" said Mary, moving the window-curtain and letting in a +stream of sunshine. + +"Well, I don't care what time it is, Mary, it is earlier than I choose +to get up, and earlier than I would get up, if it was not for them; and +there would be some comfort in it if one thought they would ever learn +any thing: but for such a stupid set!" + +"Stupid, Ellen!--why Mrs. Maclean and I have just been saying what +bright intelligent children they were." + +"Well," said Ellen, who had now talked herself into a really angry mood, +"I suppose they do not learn because they have such a stupid teacher in +me. I dare say if you will hear their lessons, they will do better." + +"No, Ellen, I think they do learn--learn more with you than they would +do with a grave, quiet person like me." + +"I do think, Mary, you are the most contradictory person I ever saw in +my life. When I hoped the children might be clever, you were sure they +would be stupid; and now that I think them stupid, you have found out +that they are wonderfully intelligent." + +Mary finding that whatever she said tended only to increase Ellen's +displeasure, did not remind her that the fears she had expressed had +been quite as much of the impatience of the teacher as of the stupidity +of the scholars. + +Mrs. Maclean's call to breakfast on this morning was quickly and gladly +obeyed by Mary, for she thought Ellen's irritation would subside sooner +if she was alone. At any rate, thought Mary, when Ellen comes to say +her prayers, her ill-humor will pass away. With this hope she went to +the breakfast table, and when Ellen followed, received her so +cheerfully, that her frowns soon began to wear away and the tones of her +voice to grow more pleasant. They had not yet risen from the table when +Anna Melville rushed in, sparkling with joyous expectation. + +"Mary and Ellen, papa is going to carry us to see the caravan of animals +at N., and if you were not going to have school to-day, he would carry +you with us. Must you have school? Can't you manage so as to go?" + +Mary was delighted at the prospect of such a pleasure for Ellen, and she +answered quickly, "We cannot both go, Anna--but Ellen can." + +"I am sure, Mary, I don't see how I can go any more than you. Any one +would think, to hear you, that I did nothing at all in the school." + +"You know, Ellen, that I cannot mean that, for you do a great deal more +than I, but I can take your place and give you a holiday for one day." + +"Yes, and have Uncle Villars think when he comes back again that I have +done nothing but amuse myself while you were at work. I thank you, +Anna--but I cannot go to see caravans. I must stay and keep school." + +Anna stood irresolute. + +"Mary, cannot you go?" said she at last. + +"Thank you, Anna," said Mary, "but I should not enjoy it unless Ellen +could go too." + +"Mary, I beg you will not stay at home on my account." + +Anna saw that neither of the sisters was going, and she bade them good +morning, and left the house with a much more serious face and more +sedate step than that with which she entered it, for ill-humor has the +property of making all unhappy who come within its reach. As Anna opened +the door, Mr. Maclean's market-cart drove up with Susy and Martha. The +children stood for a moment, after leaving the cart, to look at her, and +before she was out of hearing Ellen was calling from the house, "Susy, +Martha, if you stand all day staring there I might as well have pleased +myself by going with Anna Melville, as have stayed at home to teach +you." + +"Did you want to go, Miss Ellen?" + +"That is of no consequence," said Ellen, "for if I wanted to go ever so +much I could not." + +"Oh yes--but you could," said the kind-hearted girls; "now do go, and +we'll get our lessons just the same, and say them all to you to-morrow." + +"That may suit you just as well, but your father would hardly be willing +to pay his money if you were left to get your lessons by yourselves." + +"Oh, I'm sure my papa wouldn't mind about it." + +Ellen impatiently pushed the child nearest to her into the room, saying, +"I do wish you would go to your lessons, and hush talking about what +does not concern you!" + +It will readily be believed that Mary had to help Ellen and the children +through many a "snarl," to borrow Mrs. Maclean's significant, though not +very elegant expression, on this day. But the evil did not stop there. +Three of the girls were sent home weeping and indignant, to complain +that Ellen Leslie had called them by some unkind or disgraceful epithet. +These girls brought back the next morning messages from their parents, +intimating that they were sent to school to Mary Leslie, and that it was +hoped she would teach them herself. Poor Mary! she scarce knew how to +meet this difficulty. To comply with the request would grievously wound +and displease Ellen, who had really, till this unlucky day, given no +just cause of complaint; not to comply with it would as certainly +displease several of those on whose support her school depended. But +better lose their support--better lose any thing, Mary said to herself, +than create unkind feelings between Ellen and myself. So she tried to +pacify the children and satisfy the parents without making any change in +the arrangements of the school.--Perhaps, had Ellen seconded her +efforts, she would have succeeded, but Ellen could not forget the +mortification she had received from this affair, and scarce a day passed +that she did not by some petulant word or action increase the +dissatisfaction of her pupils or their parents, till one by one they +were withdrawn. With them went the most certain profits of the sisters; +yet it was with real satisfaction that Mary saw the door close upon the +last scholar who left them, for she hoped now to see Ellen again +cheerful and pleased as when they first came to Mrs. Maclean's. She +turned smilingly towards her from the window at which she was standing, +to express her satisfaction, and was surprised to find her weeping +bitterly. + +"Ellen, my own dear little sister, what is the matter? Surely you are +not sorry that those children are gone who have plagued you so." + +"No, Mary, I am not sorry they are gone, but I am sorry that I made them +go. I know they all hate me, Mary, and their fathers and mothers hate +me." + +"Ellen--my dear Ellen--people don't _hate_ each other for such little +things." + +"Oh yes, Mary--I heard the children say they hated me. Nobody will ever +love me, and I can't help it--I am sure I can't help it; for I try to be +good like you--but I can't, Mary--I can't. I wish I was dead, and buried +with poor papa and mamma." + +"Ellen--my dear Ellen! this is very wicked and very cruel, Ellen. You +know that I love you, Ellen--that I love you dearly--better than I love +any thing else in the world, and yet you want to die and leave me here +by myself: what would I do without my own little sister!" Mary's voice +became choked, and she too sobbed aloud. Ellen felt then that she had +indeed been wicked and cruel to desire any thing which might grieve this +loving sister. From this time she did try, and try successfully, to +control her temper towards Mary herself, rarely being betrayed into any +petulance towards her; or, if she were, endeavoring the next moment to +atone for it, by double tenderness of manner and speech. But, impressed +with the conviction that she was disliked by all others, she became +daily more and more irritable towards them, more and more careless and +defying in her manner, till she created the very dislike she had at +first only fancied. Naturally affectionate, Ellen could not but suffer +under a consciousness of this dislike, and hence the gloomy +dissatisfaction which I noticed in her countenance on my first visit to +Mary and herself after my return to H----. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +GREAT TRIALS. + + +Mr. Villars had now been gone six months, and the business which had +taken him south, and which he had not supposed would detain him half so +long, was not yet completed. Colonel Melville heard from him frequently, +for to him he expressed all his wishes respecting his children, as he +always called Mary and Ellen. Soon after the school was given up, he +wrote to ask that Colonel Melville would let him know all he could learn +about it, as Mary's account of her reasons for discontinuing her +teaching was so confused and imperfect, that he was afraid there was +something which she had not liked to tell. Before Colonel Melville had +found time to reply to this letter, he received another from Mr. Villars +to say that he had already learned all which he had requested him to +ascertain, from Ellen, who had of her own accord written a full +statement of the whole business, for fear, as she wrote, that he might +blame Mary if he did not know all. "Poor child," Mr. Villars wrote to +his friend, "her letter is a very sad one. Few things can be more sad +than to see childhood, the brightest and most joyous period, the holiday +of our lives, made miserable by evil passions. And yet, with all its +sadness, Ellen's letter gave me pleasure, for it shows that she is +beginning to feel the influence of that discipline from which, you know, +I hope so much for her. She is beginning to learn the secrets of her own +heart--to see that from the evil there, arises much of the suffering she +endures. She must yet see more of this--feel more hopeless, more +despondent--learn that there is no rest for her on earth--no rest for +her anywhere except in making it the most earnest desire of her heart +and effort of her life to do right--in a perfect willingness, when she +has done this, to leave every thing which concerns her to the care of +her Heavenly Father, and in such entire trust in that Heavenly Father's +goodness, that even when she suffers she shall feel that it is his love +which corrects her faults." + +Perhaps you would like to see something of the letter which made Mr. +Villars feel at once so much grieved and so hopeful for poor Ellen. I +have it with me, and will extract a few sentences from it for your +perusal. After giving a very fair account of the school, of the pleasure +she at first felt in it, of the pains she took to please and improve the +children, she relates very truly all which took place on that unlucky +Monday morning--how reluctant she was to rise--how fretted with Mary for +trying to persuade her that things were not so bad as she felt them to +be--how disappointed that she could not go with Anna Melville, yet how +unwilling to let it appear by her going that she was of no consequence +at all, but that Mary could do just as well without her--how +dissatisfied with herself for all these things--how that dissatisfaction +made her impatient with the children--and how that morning's impatience +was deepened into dislike by their resentment--their readiness, as she +said, to give her up just for one cross word--their thinking so much +more of Mary, who had never done any thing for them, than of her who had +taken so much trouble with them. After this account Ellen adds, "And so +it is always, Uncle Villars--everybody loves Mary without her caring for +it or trying to make them love her; and I want them to love me, and do +every thing I can to make them love me, and yet they never do,--nobody +but Mary. Even you, Uncle Villars, though you were always very kind to +me, did not love me as you loved Mary. I know it is because she is so +good, and I have such a wicked, bad temper. But, Uncle Villars, I cannot +help my temper--indeed I cannot, for I have tried very often, very often +indeed. Many a time I have said to myself, when I got up in the +morning--I will be good and kind to everybody to-day, and I will not say +a cross word, or give an angry look, let them serve me ever so badly, +but when people tease and worry me I forget it all. And so now, Uncle +Villars, since I cannot help it, I mean to try not to care about it at +all--not to love anybody except Mary, who loves me so much that I never +get angry with her now, and you who were always so kind to me." + +The letter here broke off abruptly, and was continued again several days +after in these words: "What I was writing to you the other day, Uncle +Villars, made me feel so bad that I had to put down my pen and cry. +Since that, I have hardly thought of any thing else, and I am more and +more convinced that it all comes from my bad temper; but that is no +comfort, since I cannot help it. I am afraid you will think me very +wicked, but I cannot help wishing I was dead. I think, then, when people +saw me lying so pale and still, and knew that I could never say an angry +word again, they would feel sorry for having been so hard upon me, and +they would look kindly at me and speak kindly of me. I think of these +things a great deal, but do not tell Mary so, for it would distress her. +I am almost sorry for having written all about these feelings to you, +Uncle Villars; but my letter must go now, for it has taken me a great +deal of time to write so long a one, and I want you to know all about +the school, for fear, as I said before, you should blame Mary." + +About a month after Colonel Melville had received the letters of which I +have spoken from Mr. Villars, I met Mrs. Maclean in one of my morning +walks. + +"And how are Mary and Ellen Leslie this morning, Mrs. Maclean?" asked I. + +"Middling, ma'am, middling," replied Mrs. Maclean; "Miss Mary's looking +a little pale, but I think it's trouble more than sickness." + +"Trouble! why, I hope nothing has happened to disturb her." + +"Nothing more than usual, ma'am; but that sister of hers is enough to +worry out a saint; and I'm sure that's Miss Mary, if there ever was +one." + +"I fear Ellen is no favorite with you, Mrs. Maclean." + +"Indeed, ma'am, and she was a very great favorite when first she came to +me, for she was a lively, sprightly thing as ever I seed, but when she +gets in her tantrums, she's more than mortal flesh can bear." + +"But what do you mean by her tantrums, for I acknowledge I have never +seen any thing in her which did not appear to me very excusable in a +spoiled child." + +"Well, ma'am, it may be so; that spoiled child may excuse it all; but, +as I said, it's very hard for them to bear that didn't spoil her. Now, +only this morning she asked me quite civil like for some more sugar in +her tea; and I, to be just as civil as she, said, 'Come, help yourself, +for I am afraid I won't suit you.'--Says she, 'I'm sure I'm not so very +hard to be suited, and if you don't choose to help me I can go without.' +And then I was mad at her perverse ways, and I said, 'Well, and if you +can't put out your hand and help yourself, you can go without.' 'Yes,' +says she, 'that's a very good excuse to save your sugar.' And then she +keeps a-throwing out her insinuations of my stinginess, and how sorry +her Uncle Villars would be for boarding them where they couldn't get +enough to eat and drink; till I answered her, and says, 'Well, I'm sure +he can't be no sorrier than I, for I would rather eat but one meal a-day +in peace and quiet, than to take my good, hearty, three meals a-day with +you quarrelling over them.' With that, up she gets, and says, 'I won't +take my meals at anybody's table that don't wish me to, and I will never +eat another meal at your table if I starve to death;' and sure enough, +off she went up stairs without her breakfast. I shouldn't have minded +that much, but poor Miss Mary went without her breakfast too, and had a +good cry besides." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE INVITATION. + + +When I repeated to Mrs. Melville the conversation I had had with Mrs. +Maclean, we were just passing in to dinner, and she bade Anna, as soon +as we had dined, go over and invite the Leslies to pass the afternoon +and evening with her; adding, in a lower tone, to me, that such was +Ellen's wilfulness, she would not be at all surprised to hear that she +had held her purpose for all day, or even for several days. Anna did not +need to be reminded of her errand, but went over to Mrs. Maclean's quite +early, and quickly returned, bringing Mary and Ellen along with her. It +was now May, and Emma Melville having reported the spring roses to be in +bud, the children soon left the parlor, where Col. and Mrs. Melville and +I were seated, and from the windows of which, a few minutes after, we +could see them walking around the flower-beds in the garden, and +occasionally stopping to search for, or to communicate some new token of +the advancing season. Our observations on them were interrupted by the +sound of the door-bell and the entrance of a servant, who, handing Col. +Melville a card and a letter, announced that the gentleman who brought +them was waiting to see him in the next room. Col. Melville only glanced +at the card, ran his eye hastily over the letter, and handing them both +to Mrs. Melville, went to meet his visiter. "The Rev. Mr. Wallace," said +Mrs. Melville, as she looked at the card, in a tone which indicated that +to her at least he was a stranger. "And the letter," she added, as +opening it she looked at once at the name of the writer, "is from Mrs. +Herbert." + +"And who is Mrs. Herbert?" I asked. + +"Did you never hear of her? She is a sister of Mr. Leslie. I have not +seen her since her marriage, fifteen years ago; but if her maturer years +have fulfilled the promise of her early life, she must be excellent +indeed." + +"You say you have not seen her in fifteen years; has she never visited +her brother in all that time?" + +"No--she removed on her marriage to the western part of the State of New +York; and as Mr. Herbert was not wealthy, the expense of travelling so +far has perhaps had something to do with keeping her away." + +"But Mr. Leslie was long thought a very wealthy man; did he not assist +his sister?" + +"I have heard that he offered to do so; but as he had disapproved her +marriage with one who had so few worldly advantages to offer as Mr. +Herbert, it was probably regard for her husband's feelings which made +Mrs. Herbert decline his aid, replying, as I was told she did, with +every expression of grateful affection for her brother, but adding the +assurance that they had enough for happiness." After a few minutes' +silence Mrs. Melville added: "I doubt not they were very happy, for he +seemed worthy of her, and that is, I assure you, high praise. What a +blow his death must have been!" + +"His death!" I exclaimed--"is he dead?" + +"Yes; I thought I had mentioned that she was now a widow: he died about +the same time with Mr. Leslie. His death was sudden, and I fear he left +her and her three children but illy provided for. Had it been +otherwise, she would, I am sure, before this time have endeavored to do +something for Mary and Ellen; for I know that Mr. Villars wrote soon +after their father's death, informing her of their entire destitution, +and of those embarrassments on his part which would prevent his doing +all he wished for them." + +Mrs. Melville had scarcely ceased speaking, when the door between the +two parlors was opened, and Mr. Melville entered, accompanied by a very +benevolent-looking old gentleman, whom he introduced as Mr. Wallace, +saying, as he presented him to Mrs. Melville, that he was a near +neighbor of her old friend Mrs. Herbert, of whom he could give her very +late intelligence, as he had been only about a fortnight from home. + +"I have just been speaking of Mrs. Herbert," said Mrs. Melville, +addressing herself to Mr. Wallace, "and though it has been fifteen years +since we met, there are few of whom I retain a more admiring and +pleasant remembrance. I was indeed grieved when I heard of Mr. Herbert's +death." + +"It was a terrible blow," said Mr. Wallace, "the more terrible from +being so sudden; but Mrs. Herbert is a mourner from a yet more recent +affliction--the death of her eldest child and only daughter." + +"Indeed! such repeated and heavy strokes--how has she borne up under +them?" + +"As one who, though a devoted wife and mother, is likewise a devoted +Christian. The strokes have been indeed as you say, heavy, but she has +bowed to them, and kissed the rod which she knew was in a Father's hand. +You who remember her, madam, will not be surprised to learn that no +selfish sorrow has made her forgetful of her remaining duties." + +"She has yet two children, I believe," said Mrs. Melville. + +"Yes--two fine boys, whose education is scarcely commenced yet, as the +eldest is but thirteen years old. Her orphan and destitute nieces, too, +who, I understood, were with you this afternoon, she feels to have +strong claims upon her, almost as strong as those of her own children. +To these claims she had not hitherto been able to attend, for she had +scarce recovered from the first bewildering effect of her husband's +death, when the symptoms which had already alarmed her in her daughter's +health, deepened into decided consumption, and her whole time was +necessarily given to her till death released her from her cares." + +"And will she now be able to give a home to these poor girls?" + +"Only to one of them," said Mr. Melville,--"to Ellen." + +"And separate them!" exclaimed Mrs. Melville; "that will never do." + +"So Mrs. Herbert thought at first," said Mr. Wallace, smiling, "but she +has been in correspondence with Mr. Villars on the subject, and she has +yielded to his arguments, on the one condition, that the children +themselves consent to the arrangement." + +"That I am sure they will never do," said Mrs. Melville. + +"In that case, Mrs. Herbert's power of being useful to them ceases, +since Mr. Villars has decided that the eldest must on no account +relinquish the advantages of her position here, as neither he nor Mrs. +Herbert are in circumstances to ensure them future support independently +of their own exertions." + +"Mr. Villars is certainly a very eccentric man," said Mrs. Melville; +"does he suppose that a few years could make any difference in Mary's +claims upon the people of H., or their willingness to give her their +support, if she were then compelled to teach." + +"Mr. Villars is eccentric," said Mr. Melville; "yet for what seemed to +us strange, he has always had some good reason to give, as I doubt not +he has now." + +"Well, here come the children," said Mrs. Melville; "we shall soon hear +their decision, and I suspect you will find that Mr. Villars' limitation +is a complete hinderance to Mrs. Herbert's kind intentions." + +The door was thrown open as Mrs. Melville spoke, and the children, +unconscious of a stranger's presence, came laughing and talking in. Even +Ellen looked pleased, which I was especially glad to see, as her usual +gloomy countenance would have impressed a stranger unfavorably. Mrs. +Melville led Mary and Ellen to Mr. Wallace, and introduced him to them +as a friend of their Aunt Herbert. To their inquiries respecting their +aunt and her family Mr. Wallace replied very fully. The children having +said that they had never seen her, he described her appearance, her +manners, her character--spoke of their cousins George and Charles +Herbert, whom he represented as spirited, manly, but kind and +affectionate tempered boys. + +"And my cousin Lucy?" said Mary. + +"Was one of the loveliest and most engaging young persons I ever saw, +when she was on earth," said Mr. Wallace; "she is now, I hope, an angel +in heaven." + +"Is my cousin Lucy dead?" said Ellen, who had hitherto been a silent +listener. + +"Yes, my child, she has now been dead for more than two months, after +enduring for almost two years very great suffering. During all that +time, though I saw her very often, I never heard a complaining word from +her. All her grief was for her mother. Even when she was dying she +thought of her, and the last words we could distinguish from her were, +'Our good heavenly Father will comfort you, mother.'" + +"Poor Aunt Herbert!" exclaimed Mary, touched with sympathy for such a +loss. + +"Yes, my dear child," said Mr. Wallace, "you may well pity her for +losing such a daughter, her only daughter; your Aunt Herbert hopes that +you will do more than pity her, that you will send her by me another +daughter in your sister Ellen, to whom she will be just such a mother as +she was to Lucy Herbert. She wished to have you both come to her as her +daughters, but your Uncle Villars does not think it wise that you should +leave H. just at present; he consents, however, that Ellen should go to +her aunt, if you are both willing." + +From the moment Ellen's name was mentioned, the sisters had sat looking +earnestly into each other's eyes. + +"Ellen," said Mr. Wallace, "will you not go with me, and be another Lucy +to this good aunt?" + +"I could not be like Lucy--I am not good enough; and I cannot leave +Mary--I cannot leave Mary for anybody." + +Mary threw her arm around Ellen, and drew her closely to her side, +answering all Mr. Wallace's arguments only with her tears, or a silent +shake of the head. Colonel Melville attempted to influence her, and then +she spoke: "Oh! Colonel Melville, I cannot let Ellen go: I promised my +mother, when I was a very little girl, and then I promised my father +when he was on his death-bed, that I never would part with Ellen, and I +cannot do it." + +"Mary," said Colonel Melville, "I do not wish you to do it; none wish +you to do it, unless you feel it to be not only right but desirable, and +all I would ask of you now is that you and Ellen too would think before +you decide on a question of so much importance. As respects your +promise, you could not have promised that she should not leave you, +because about that, you know, she will one of these days have a will of +her own, and you cannot prevent her going from you if she chooses it. +Now Ellen's home with you is not, I fear, a very happy one,"--Ellen +colored and looked down at these words,--"and you have it not in your +power to make it so; and here your kind aunt sends and asks her to come +to her and be her daughter, promising to cherish her as her own dear +child. Mrs. Herbert will educate Ellen as few are capable of doing, and +so enable her to be of use to herself and to you too, if the necessity +for your labors continue. And there will be no force exercised over +Ellen's wishes there, more than here. I doubt not if, after six months +or a year's trial of her home there, she should be dissatisfied, and +wish to return to you, she will be permitted to do so." + +"Will she, sir?--May she come back if she should wish to?" asked Mary +quickly, turning to Mr. Wallace. + +"Certainly, my dear; your aunt's desire is to make Ellen happy, and that +could not be done by keeping her against her will. But I would not have +you make up your minds in a hurry--take to-night to think about it. You +have, I hope, been taught to pray; ask your heavenly Father to direct +you to what is best for you. I intended to set off to-morrow afternoon +on my way home, but I will wait till the next morning for Ellen, if you +will give me your answer in the course of the day, or to-morrow." + +And so it was determined. The children consented to defer their decision +till the next day, and Colonel Melville advised that nothing more should +then be said on the subject. I saw, however, that though they did not +speak of it, Mary and Ellen both thought of it; for more than once I saw +Mary's eyes fill with tears as they rested on her sister, and Ellen +herself perceiving it at one time, shook her head, and said with a +smile, "You need not be afraid, Mary; I shall not leave you." These +thoughts, however, did not interfere with Ellen's enjoyment of her +supper, which, from the appetite with which it was eaten, was, I doubt +not, the only regular meal she had made that day. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE DECISION. + + +Mr. Wallace stayed that night at Colonel Melville's. We had the next +morning just assembled around the breakfast-table, when there was a ring +at the door-bell, so loud and so hurried, that, surprised and startled, +each one turned towards the door to watch for the entrance of the +ringer. The servant had probably been as much startled as we, for she +moved with unusual quickness, and scarce a minute passed from the ring +to the entrance into the breakfast parlor of Ellen Leslie, flushed, +breathless, and evidently agitated. Without speaking to, almost without +looking at any one else, she walked up to Mr. Wallace, and holding out +her hand, said, "I have come to tell you, sir, that I will go with you." + +"I am very glad to hear it, my dear; but sit down, get your breath, and +then we will talk about it." + +"I don't want to talk about it," said Ellen, in an impatient tone; "I +want to go. How soon can we go, sir?" + +"This afternoon at five o'clock, if you can be ready so soon." + +"I am ready now," Ellen began, but Mrs. Melville, who had risen from the +table on her coming in, now approached her, and taking off her bonnet, +insisted that she should sit down, and take some breakfast before she +said any thing more about going. Ellen looked at the breakfast-table, +and seemed to find some attraction in it, for she drew nearer to it, +then suddenly turning to Mrs. Melville, said, "But Mary does not know. I +must go and tell Mary." + +"I will send for Mary. Anna, go over to Mrs. Maclean's, and tell Mary +she must come and take her breakfast with us." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Melville," said Ellen; "I am sure I am much obliged to +you, for Mrs. Maclean would not give me any breakfast this morning, and +poor Mary felt so badly about it, that I dare say she has not eaten +any." + +In a moment, I saw the whole reason of Ellen's unexpected resolve, of +her hurry and agitation. She had doubtless refused to go down to +breakfast--Mrs. Maclean had refused to let her breakfast go up to +her--angry words had probably ensued--Ellen had declared she would go +away--Mrs. Maclean, instead of expressing sorrow or apprehension at such +a threat, had hoped she would, and Ellen, too proud to retract, too +wilful to hesitate, had started off at once; and thus, the decision +about which she had been advised to think so carefully and prayerfully, +was made in a fit of anger, and carried through for the gratification of +proud and resentful feeling. + +Anna Melville was gone a longer time than was usually found necessary +for a message to Mrs. Maclean's. Mary returned with her, and her eyes +showed that her tears had been just hastily wiped away as she entered +the parlor. Neither of the sisters ate much breakfast, for Ellen was +still too angry and Mary too sorrowful to feel hungry. Mrs. Melville +placed Mary by her at table--Ellen was at the other end--and was careful +that nothing should be said in relation to Ellen's departure till +breakfast was over. She then took Mary's hand, and leading her into the +next room, closed the door after her. They were gone almost an hour, and +when they came back, though Mary's eyes were red and swollen, her +countenance was much more composed. Ellen looked anxiously at her as she +entered, and going up to her, took her hand and said, "Are you sorry I +am going, Mary?" + +"I am sorry and glad too, Ellen," said Mary, pressing her lips to her +sister's forehead; "sorry to part with you, but glad, very glad that you +are going to such a good, kind aunt as Mrs. Melville says our Aunt +Herbert is." + +"I do not care so much about that, for I am sure she cannot be more good +and kind than you are, Mary," and Ellen passed her arm around her +sister's waist, and laid her head affectionately on her shoulder; "but I +am very glad that I shall not have to go back to that hateful Mrs. +Maclean." + +"Hush--hush, Ellen. Mrs. Maclean is quick in her temper, but she has +been often very kind to us, and you should not call her hateful." + +"She may be very kind to you," said Ellen, "I do not know any thing +about that; but I do not call it kindness to tell me that she would +rather go without her meals than eat them with me, and then to refuse to +give me my breakfast. I told her I would never darken her door again, +and I never will. I will not go back even to pack my trunk or get my +things." + +Mary looked as if she were about to remonstrate with her sister, but +Mrs. Melville interposed, saying, "It will not be at all necessary, +Ellen, that you should; I will go over with Mary and assist her in +packing your trunk, and get such things as may be necessary for you on +your journey, of which I shall be a better judge than either of you, as +I am an older traveller. In the mean time, you had better go around and +say good-by to some of your old friends in H. Anna will go with you." + +While Mrs. Melville was speaking, Colonel Melville and Mr. Wallace, who +had walked out together after breakfast, entered. + +"Well, my little fellow-traveller," said Mr. Wallace cheerfully, "will +you be ready at five o'clock?" + +"Yes, sir," said Ellen; then after hesitating a moment she added, "You +say, sir, that if I want to come back to Mary I can." + +"Yes, my dear, if you want to come back after you have been six months +with your Aunt. In a shorter time than that you could form no judgment +of what your life there would be; but if then you wish to return, I am +sure that nothing will be done to detain you." + +"There, Mary, you hear that," said Ellen with great animation; "by that +time Uncle Villars will have come back, and then you can leave +that"--Ellen looked as if she wanted to say hateful again--"Mrs. +Maclean, and we will all, I dare say, live together just as we used to +do." + +"Mrs. Merrill and all," said Colonel Melville slyly, for he had heard +from Mr. Villars something of Ellen's disagreements with Mrs. Merrill. + +Ellen colored very much, but after a minute's hesitation, she said, +"Well, even Mrs. Merrill was not so bad as Mrs. Maclean." + +Our party now separated; Mary and Mrs. Melville went to Mrs. Maclean's, +and Ellen and Anna set out to make their visits. Three o'clock brought +us all together again for dinner. The flush had now faded from Ellen's +cheeks, and it was easy to see that being no longer sustained by anger +or resentment, her heart had begun to fail her at the thought of the +approaching separation from her sister. But there was now no time for +the indulgence of feeling. Immediately after dinner Ellen's baggage was +brought over; then she had to change her dress for that in which she was +to travel--then to have all the arrangements which Mrs. Melville and +Mary had made of those things that would be necessary to her comfort on +the journey explained to her; and before this was completed the carriage +was at the door, and her adieus must be made. Ellen started as she heard +this announcement, and flung herself into Mary's arms, exclaiming amidst +sobs and tears, "Oh Mary, if you could only go with me! if you could +only go with me, Mary!" + +Mary said not a word, but she folded Ellen closely to her heart, as if +to part with her were impossible, and wept over her as if that heart +were breaking. Anna and Emma Melville sobbed from sympathy, and the rest +of us stood around, silent and tearful spectators of the scene. + +"My dear children," said Mr. Wallace at last, "you are needlessly +distressing yourselves; remember it is but a visit Ellen is going on. +She shall come back, I again promise you, in six months, if she desire +to do so." + +"And Mary," said Colonel Melville, going up to her and taking her hand, +"it will not do to keep Mr. Wallace waiting. For Ellen's sake, my dear +girl, control yourself." + +Mary unclasped her arms from her sister, and as Mr. Wallace approached +to lead Ellen away she looked imploringly in his face, and exclaimed in +the most earnest tones, "Oh! be good to her, sir, be very good to her." + +"I will, my dear child, I will," was all that the kind old gentleman +could say. + +A silent kiss to Ellen from each of the party, and Mr. Wallace led her +out to the carriage. The next moment the sound of wheels told that they +were off. Mary had stood listening for that sound. As it fell upon her +ear she turned from us into an adjoining room, and her quick, heavy sobs +reached us where we stood, showing that she had gone there to weep +alone. We left her undisturbed for some minutes, and then Mrs. Melville +went in and talked soothingly and cheeringly to her. Mary had learned +early to control her feelings for the sake of others, and she soon came +out with Mrs. Melville, looking and speaking calmly, though often, in +the course of the evening, I saw a tear steal down her cheek without her +seeming to notice it. Just before night, Mary rose and took her bonnet +to return home. "Stay, Mary," said Mrs. Melville, "you are not going to +leave us so soon. I will send over to let Mrs. Maclean know that you +will not return to-night, and the messenger can bring any thing you may +want." + +And so Mary stayed that night, and the next day, and a week; and still, +as she talked of going home, new reasons were found for delay. Her +obliging temper and gentle manners rendered her so pleasing an inmate, +that all found it painful to part with her; and at last it was arranged +that she should remain at Colonel Melville's till Mr. Villars returned, +continuing there to employ herself with her needle or pencil, and giving +lessons in music, as she had hitherto done, to a few pupils. Leaving her +to be loved and cherished by this kind family, we will follow Ellen to +her new home. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +NEW FRIENDS. + + +Little can be told of Ellen's journey. In ten minutes after leaving +Colonel Melville's she found herself on board a steamboat, surrounded by +a crowd of strangers. Unaccustomed to such scenes, she was bewildered by +the confusion and bustle around her, and clung to Mr. Wallace as if he +had been a friend of long years, instead of an acquaintance of a day. +But so kind and good was Mr. Wallace, so thoughtful of Ellen's comfort, +so considerate of her feelings, and so indulgent to her wishes, that +under any circumstances he could not long have seemed a stranger to her. +Ellen had travelled very little, and she soon began to feel an interest +in what was passing around her. Mr. Wallace exerted himself to amuse +her, pointing out to her the places they passed, or describing those +through which their route lay. Thus engaged, Ellen's griefs were +forgotten till she retired to her berth for the night, and then the +remembrance of the sister, without whose good-night kiss she had never +before slept since she could remember, came so vividly upon her, that +bursting into tears, she sobbed herself to sleep. She was awakened early +the next morning by the chambermaid, who came, at the request of Mr. +Wallace, to assist her in dressing. From her Ellen learned that they had +arrived in New York. Here Mr. Wallace remained a day and a night, that +he might show Ellen something of the largest city in which she had ever +been, and give her one good night's rest before they set out on the most +fatiguing part of their journey. The next day they went by a steamboat +to Albany, and from thence travelled on the railroad or the canal for +three or four days and nights, passing through several large towns, of +which Ellen saw nothing except the one street that formed part of their +road. It was four o'clock in the afternoon when they entered the village +of G----, situated on a small but beautiful lake. There Mr. Wallace +resided, and here was the church in which he preached. He took her to +his own house and introduced her to his wife, a lady with manners as +kind and countenance as pleasing as his own. She placed some raspberry +jam with bread and butter, both of her own making, on the table, and +while Ellen partook of it, Mr. Wallace had his own little carriage +prepared, and having placed her baggage in it, called to her to take her +seat beside him. They were soon on the way to Mrs. Herbert's farm, +which, though also on the borders of the lake, was three miles distant +from G----. Ellen did not talk much on the way, for she could think of +no more questions to ask about her Aunt Herbert or her cousins, and she +could not talk of any thing else. It was a lovely afternoon. Though +still early in May, the season was unusually forward, and the air was +soft and balmy as June. As they approached Mrs. Herbert's place, the +road descended to the very edge of the lake. There was not a ripple on +the water, and its smooth surface glittered like gold beneath the beams +of the almost setting sun. Orchards and gardens were full of bloom, and +the long low farmhouse, which was so surrounded with trees that you +scarce saw it till you had reached the very door, looked like the abode +of peace and gentleness. Two boys who were fishing in the lake from its +bank, about fifty yards from the house, were the only persons in sight. +When they first saw the carriage, they stood looking steadily at it for +a few minutes, as if to ascertain whose it was, then dropping their +fishing rods, ran towards the house. + +"There they go to give notice of our coming. Poor Charley, George has +left him far behind. How hard he tries to get up with his brother! +Suppose we stop and take him up," said the good-natured Mr. Wallace, at +the same time checking his horse and standing up in the carriage to +beckon to Charles. + +The tired boy gladly obeyed the summons, having only one narrow field +and a fence between him and the road. + +"There, Charley," said Mr. Wallace as he helped him up the side of the +carriage and placed him by Ellen, "you have been the first to see cousin +Ellen, if George has carried the news of her coming to mamma." + +"Oh! cousin Ellen," said Charles, "how glad I am you have come, it will +make mamma so happy!" + +Ellen looked with surprise upon her cousin Charles, he was so much +younger and more delicate than she had expected to see him. Mr. Wallace +had said that the eldest of Mrs. Herbert's sons was thirteen years old, +and Ellen had forgotten to ask the age of the other, but she had +supposed him to be nearly if not quite twelve. He had said too that they +were manly, and Ellen had concluded that they must be very large for +their age, and very strong and robust. But Charles, though really ten +years old, looked scarcely eight, he was so small, fair, and delicate, +having always had very feeble health. Yet he was manly in his feelings, +and so ambitious to equal his brother George's exploits, that he would +do many things that some older and stronger-looking boys would not have +attempted. + +Ellen had just recovered her surprise, and decided that she liked +Charles better as he was, with his light brown curls, his fair childish +face, and bright laughing blue eyes, than she would have done if he had +been a great, blustering boy, when the carriage stopped at the door of +the house, where already stood George, flushed and panting with his +race, and Mrs. Herbert. Ellen was never very slow in determining the +feelings with which she would regard any one, and she often afterwards +said, that she loved her Aunt Herbert as soon as she looked upon her. +Few faces were so well calculated to produce such an impression as was +Mrs. Herbert's. She was in deep mourning, and wore one of those close +plain caps commonly called widow's caps, under which her brown hair, +being parted in the middle of the forehead, was put smoothly back behind +the ears. The upper part of her face was serious in its expression, but +the mouth, if it did not actually smile always, looked so gentle and +pleasant, that you thought it was going to smile. When Ellen first saw +her, however, she was actually smiling, though tears were in her eyes, +as again and again she pressed her niece to her heart, and kissing her +tenderly, thanked her for coming to her, and called her her daughter +Ellen. + +"Cousin Ellen," said George, who looked just as Ellen had expected, +tall, and stout, and sun-burned, "Cousin Ellen, we are very glad to see +you." + +"Not cousin Ellen--sister Ellen, my son; you are all my children now," +said Mrs. Herbert, as again she folded Ellen in her arms. + +"You must always live with us then," said Charles; "we shall not let you +go away again." + +Ellen, half bewildered among so many new claimants of her affection, had +scarce spoken a word in reply to their greetings. She now looked around +for Mr. Wallace. He saw the look, and understood it. + +"Stay, stay, Charles, it takes two, you know, to make a bargain, and I +have already promised that if Ellen wish it she shall go back in six +months to her sister Mary--from whom, I assure you, it was no easy +matter to get her away. So if you would keep her, you must make her love +you so much in six months that she will not choose to leave you." + +"So we will," said Charles, "so we will; and we'll bring sister Mary +here too, mamma--won't we?" + +"I hope so, my son; for Mary, too, I consider as my daughter, and would +gladly have had her come now, if Mr. Villars had consented." + +Ellen looked gratefully at her aunt, and began to doubt whether she ever +should wish to leave her. + +Ellen seemed so much fatigued after the first excitement of her arrival +was over, that Mrs. Herbert had tea prepared immediately, and directly +after it she led Ellen to her chamber. This was a small room opening +into her own. It was furnished very plainly, as was indeed every room in +Mrs. Herbert's house; but nothing could be more neat than its +appearance, with its clean white window-curtains and coverlet. Mrs. +Herbert assisted Ellen to undress herself, and when she was ready to lie +down she kissed her tenderly, saying, "Good-night, my love: you will not +forget before you sleep to thank our kind heavenly Father for bringing +you in safety to us. We are early risers here, but I shall not wake you +to-morrow, for you want rest." + +Ellen lay down with very pleasant thoughts of her new home, but all +thoughts were soon forgotten in a sound sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +NEW THOUGHTS. + + +Ellen slept so soundly that for a long time she did not even dream, or +at least she did not remember any dreams; but at last she thought she +was back again at H., sitting with Mary in their own room, and Mary was +sewing and singing as she sewed, + + But I will be a bee, to sup + Pure honey from each flow'ry cup; + Busy and pleased around I'll fly, + And treasure win from earth and sky. + +And Ellen tried to sing with Mary, but in spite of all her efforts she +could not make a sound, and she woke with her fruitless exertions. The +sun was shining brightly on her window curtains, and she soon saw she +was not at Mrs. Maclean's; yet still she heard singing, and it was the +very same tune which she had fancied in her dream, but there were +several voices, and Mary's was not among them. The music ceased very +soon after she awoke, and Ellen lay wondering who had been singing so +early, and whether they sang the words as well as the tune of Mary's +song. She had been awake fifteen, or perhaps twenty minutes, when her +door was cautiously opened, and Mrs. Herbert entered very softly. + +"Oh--you are awake, Ellen," she said, as Ellen raised her head from her +pillow to see who was entering: "I have looked in upon you once or twice +this morning, but you were asleep, and I would not awake you." + +"But I have been awake some time now, Aunt Herbert, and I want to know +who it is that has been singing, 'I will not be a butterfly;' I was +dreaming about Mary's singing it, and when I first awoke and heard it, I +thought she was here." + +"You did not hear those words, my dear, but only the tune, which the +boys and I were singing to our morning hymn." + +"Morning hymn?" repeated Ellen, looking inquiringly at her aunt, as she +slowly proceeded in dressing herself. + +"Is that a strange thing to you, Ellen?" asked Mrs. Herbert with a +smile; "I hope you will be up to-morrow in time to join us in singing +it: but now your breakfast is ready," and Mrs. Herbert led the way to +the room in which they had taken tea the evening before, where Ellen +found George and Charles. They greeted her very affectionately, begged +permission to call her Ellen, because they should then feel more at home +with her, than if they were obliged to say cousin or even sister Ellen, +and before they had risen from breakfast had made many plans for her +amusement. Charles would have carried her off at once to see his puppy, +but Mrs. Herbert stopped them. + +"I must have Ellen," she said, "a little while to myself this morning. +This afternoon she shall go with you, if she like." + +After the boys had gone out Mrs. Herbert went with Ellen to her room, +and assisted her to put it in neat order. When this was done, Ellen in +turn assisted her aunt in setting the breakfast things away and +arranging the parlor. + +As Ellen was rather of an indolent nature, and Mary had ever been ready +to do for her what she did not like to do for herself, she had scarcely +ever been actively employed for so long a time; yet she did not feel at +all tired, but found herself more than once, when her aunt Herbert was +silent, humming, + + Busy and pleased around I'll fly, + And treasure win from earth and sky. + +When Mrs. Herbert's domestic arrangements were completed, she said, +"Now, my love, you have been of great service to me, and I must try to +be of some service to you. I cannot expect you to study to-day, but we +will unpack your books, and arrange some plan for your studies, which +you will then be able to commence to-morrow." + +When this had been done, it still wanted two hours to the dinner time, +and Mrs. Herbert proposed that Ellen should sit by her and assist her +with some needle-work. "And then," she added, "we shall be able to talk +more quietly than we could do while moving about. There are many things +that you can tell me, of which I am anxious to hear." + +Ellen was much more willing to tell than she was to sew, but she was not +yet sufficiently at ease with her aunt Herbert to object to any thing +she proposed, and she accordingly found her thimble and scissors, and +seating herself by her aunt's side, took the work she gave her without +any expression of dissatisfaction. + +"And now, Ellen," said Mrs. Herbert, when the work had all been so +explained that there were no more questions to ask about it, "I want you +to tell me something about Mary--is she like you?" + +"Mary like me!" exclaimed Ellen; "oh no, Aunt Herbert, Mary is more like +you than she is like me." + +"Indeed! does she look like me?" + +"Well, I do not mean exactly that she looks like you, but she looks +pleased like you, and moves about quietly, and never seems to be out of +patience: everybody loves Mary." + +There was something in the tone in which these last words were said +that made Mrs. Herbert raise her eyes from her work and look at her +niece. Ellen caught the glance, colored, and hung her head. + +"And everybody loves Ellen too, I hope," said Mrs. Herbert, with a +smile. + +Ellen's head drooped yet lower, and she did not answer. + +"Speak, my love; you were not jealous I hope of the love which was given +to Mary?" + +"Oh no, Aunt Herbert, I was not jealous of Mary; that is, I did not want +people not to love Mary, but I did wish that they would love me too, and +not to be so cross to me." + +"Poor child," said Mrs. Herbert, feelingly, "was every one cross to +you?" + +"No, not every one. Mary never was cross to me--nor poor papa--nor Uncle +Villars; though Uncle Villars did not love me as much as he did Mary." + +"And why was this, Ellen? Did you think there was any reason for it?" + +Mrs. Herbert spoke very gently, but again Ellen hung her head and looked +abashed. + +"Do not be ashamed to tell me, my love, what you thought was the cause. +I love you, Ellen, very much, and all the more for telling me so freely +what you think and feel. I think it a sad thing--a very great evil, not +to be loved; and perhaps the cause of this in your own case may be one +which, if I knew it, I could help you to remove." + +"Oh no, Aunt Herbert, nobody can help me, for it is just my own bad +temper."--Ellen was now weeping, and it was amidst sobs that she +continued--"I cannot help it; I am sure I try to be good, and to please +people and to make them love me. I do think I try a great deal harder +than Mary does, and that makes me feel so much worse when they say +unkind things to me; and then I cannot be still like Mary, but I get +angry and talk back to them, and that makes them dislike me more and +more, and I am sure it is not my fault, for I cannot help it." + +Mrs. Herbert laid aside her work, put her arm around Ellen and drew her +to her side, and laying her head upon her shoulder, spoke soothingly and +tenderly to her, till she ceased to weep. When Ellen's sobs were hushed, +she said, "My dear child, Aunt Herbert knows how you feel and how to +feel for you, for she has suffered just as you do, from just such a bad +temper." + +"You, aunt Herbert!" exclaimed Ellen, raising her head and looking at +her aunt with surprise, "did you ever have a bad temper?" + +"I had just such a temper, Ellen, as you describe; wishing to be loved, +anxious to please, so anxious that I was willing to do any thing for it, +except control my hasty feelings or keep back my rash words." + +"And how did you get over it, aunt Herbert?" + +"The first step towards my deliverance from the evil, Ellen, was feeling +that it was my own fault." + +Ellen's face turned very red, and she answered quickly, "How can it be +my fault when I try so hard to help it?" + +"My child, the fault must lie somewhere; whose is it if it is not +yours?" + +"I didn't make myself," said Ellen, sullenly. + +"And would you say, my dear Ellen, that the fault is His who made you?" + +Ellen was silent--she dared not say this with her lips--yet it was the +language of her heart. + +"Ellen, since you began to notice your bad temper has it not become +worse?--are you not more easily made angry now than you were formerly?" + +Mrs. Herbert paused, but Ellen did not answer. + +"Speak, my dear Ellen, you must place confidence in me, if you would +have my help in getting rid of this evil. Is it not as I say, Ellen?" + +"Yes," whispered Ellen, again hiding her face on her aunt's shoulder. + +"Whose fault has this been, Ellen?--has God, do you think, continued to +make your temper worse and worse?" + +"I have lived with such cross, ill-natured people," murmured Ellen. + +"Mary has lived with the same people; has it had the same effect on +her?" + +Ellen was silent. + +"My dear child," said Mrs. Herbert, "I have not asked these questions to +give you pain. It is not to mortify you, but to give you hope, that I +would have you feel the fault to be yours, for your own fault you may +correct; not so with the faults of others. And now, having convinced +you, I hope, that the fault is your own, the next question is, what has +been your fault--shall I tell you this, my love?" + +Mrs. Herbert spoke so gently--so affectionately, that Ellen could not be +angry. She answered very softly, "If you please."--"What this fault was, +Ellen, your own words have shown. You say you have loved others and +tried to please them, but you said nothing of loving God, and trying to +please Him. You do not seem to have thought that the angry feelings and +hasty words which displeased your friends were an offence to Him. You +have thought of your temper as an unhappiness for which you were to be +pitied, rather than as a great wrong for which you were to be blamed. +You have even had hard thoughts of God, as if he had caused this +unhappiness. Think of His kindness and love to you, Ellen, and be +ashamed of such thoughts. Who but He gave you so tender a father--so +kind a sister as Mary--and so generous a friend as your Uncle Villars? +Look up at the sky and see the sun which He has placed there to give +light and warmth--look around you on the earth, and see the flowers +which clothe it with beauty and the fruits which it produces for your +gratification--and be humbled, Ellen, that you should have thought this +good God unkind?" Mrs. Herbert paused, for she was overcome for a moment +by her own emotions.--"Do you not feel His love, Ellen?" she asked at +length. + +"But he did not make all these good and beautiful things for me," said +Ellen, speaking in a whisper, as if she were ashamed of her own cavils. + +"If not made for your gratification, Ellen, why were you created with +senses to enjoy them--why have you eyes to see, the sense of smell for +this delicious perfume which the breeze is bringing to us, and taste to +find pleasure in your food?--But the half of His love I have not yet +told you. Do you not remember, Ellen, that knowing you to be +weak--seeing that you would meet trials and temptations in the +world--that you would commit great faults and endure great sufferings in +consequence of those faults--He sent His son into the world to show you +how these trials might be borne and these temptations resisted, to teach +you that He loved you even when you were sinning and suffering, and if +you would but love Him in return and strive to please Him, He would aid +your weak efforts, would pardon your sins, and give you peace here and +heaven hereafter? And it is in this way, dear Ellen, that you can alone +hope to get rid of that bad, sinful temper which has caused you so much +pain. Think much of the goodness and love of your kind heavenly Father, +that you may love and strive to please Him. This will make you watchful +over the first beginnings of evil, the first rising up of angry feelings +in your heart, and you will strive then to overcome them before they +have become strong by indulgence. Yet with all your efforts, Ellen, I do +not promise you that you will not often fail; but as you learn to trust +in the love of God, you will acknowledge your faults to Him even as you +would to an earthly father, and humbly ask Him to pardon and help you: +and He will, Ellen,--He will help you, and through His help you shall +conquer all evil." + +Mrs. Herbert was silent, and Ellen remained for some time with her face +concealed, neither speaking nor moving; at length she whispered, "And +you will try to love me, Aunt Herbert, though I have told you how bad I +am." + +"I love you, dear child, a thousand times better for having told me, and +I will never love you less for faults which you honestly acknowledge and +earnestly strive to correct." + +"And you will not tell George and Charles." + +"Never: but now go to your room, and wash your face, lest that should +tell them that you have been grieving." + +Ellen obeyed, and she removed the redness from her face, but the +thoughts and feelings which her Aunt had awakened, did not depart from +her mind. Ellen had heard of God's goodness and love before, but never +had they been so urged upon her--never had she been made so to think +about them and to feel them; and the impression was abiding, for her +Aunt was ever ready to awaken her observation to new proofs of that +goodness and love. She had now a new reason to endeavor to conquer her +faults,--the desire to do right--to obey God and please Him. + +It must not be supposed, however, that any lesson, however well +remembered and deeply impressed, could overcome in a day or a week, or +even a month, the habits of Ellen's whole life. On the contrary, she had +yet often to exclaim, with bitter sorrow, "Oh, Aunt Herbert! do you +think I ever shall do right?" But she never now thought it was the fault +of others when she did wrong; and although on such occasions she was +grieved, more grieved than formerly, she never long felt hopeless, for +she remembered that her Aunt Herbert had once been like her, and that +the same heavenly Father who had aided her aunt to overcome the evil of +her nature, loved her, and would hear her prayers. Yet she still had +many terrible sufferings to endure from the evil which she had so long +indulged, and some of these I will relate to you. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +PASSION, AND ITS FRUITS. + + +I have said that Charles Herbert's health had never been very strong. He +had in consequence been a petted child, and though Mrs. Herbert never +failed to rebuke any improper temper ever manifested by him, she never +checked his mirth or playfulness, even when something of the spirit of +mischief entered into it. Thus, while Charles was one of the most +amiable and affectionate boys in the world, he was often, to a person as +irritable as Ellen, one of the most provoking. + +"What shall be done to the owner of this?" exclaimed Charles, as, +running up the steps to the piazza in which Ellen was standing, about +ten days after her arrival, he held up a letter addressed in very +legible characters to "Miss Ellen Leslie," and what was more, in +characters which Ellen knew to be Mary's. "What shall be done to the +owner of this?" Then answering his own interrogatory, "She shall speak a +speech, sing a song, or tell a riddle." + +"Charles, give me my letter," said Ellen, trying to get it from him; but +he eluded her grasp, and springing on the bannister surrounding the +piazza, held it far beyond her reach, while he continued to answer her +demands with, "The speech, the song, or the riddle, Ellen. Surely, a +letter is worth one of them, and such a long letter too, the lines are +so close." + +While he ran on thus, Ellen, who had commenced with entreaties, +proceeded to commands, angry threatenings, and bitter accusations. + +"I'll tell your mother, sir, that you took my letter from me; stole it, +for it is stealing to take other people's things. I would not be so +mean; but I will see what she will say to you, sir; I will see if she +will let you take every thing away from me, and ill treat me, just +because I have not anybody to take my part," and overcome by passion, +Ellen burst into tears. + +In an instant Charles was at her side. "Oh, Ellen, don't cry; here is +your letter. I am sure, Ellen, I did not mean to make you feel so bad by +my foolish play; take your letter, Ellen." + +"I won't take it," said Ellen, passionately, "I won't take it. I know +why you give it to me now; you think your mother is coming, and you +don't want me to tell her; but I will, sir." + +Ellen had not time to say more, for Mrs. Herbert stood before them. + +"Ellen--Charles, what is the matter?" + +"Charles took my letter, and would not give it to me, though I begged +him, till he thought you were coming, and then he wanted me to take it, +that I might not tell you; but I would not take it from him, for I think +it is very hard if he is just to take my things, and keep them as long +as he likes, and then give them back to me, and never get even a +scolding for it," was Ellen's passionate reply. + +"Mother, you know that I was only playing with Ellen," was the +explanation of Charles. + +"It is not a kind spirit that finds sport in another's suffering, +Charles."--Charles hung his head, pained and abashed by his mother's +rebuke.--"There is your letter, Ellen. I think I may promise for Charles +that he will never again pain you and displease his mother by such +thoughtless conduct, and we will forgive him now." + +But Ellen's anger had been too thoroughly aroused to be so easily +appeased, and many hours had passed before her face lost its resentful +expression, or her manners their cold reserve towards Charles. + +Not far from Mrs. Herbert's house the lake set up into the land, forming +a deep but narrow bay, and dividing her farm into two almost equal +parts. Across this bay was laid a rude bridge only two planks in width, +and with no defence but a slender hand-rail on the sides. It was of +course never used by horsemen, but was sufficiently safe for +foot-passengers. On the farther side of this bay lived the man who +attended to Mrs. Herbert's farming business. The dairy had also been +built near his house, for the convenience of his wife, who attended to +it. To this dairy was a favorite walk with the children, the +good-natured Mrs. Smith never failing to treat them to some of its +products. + +Ellen had been about five weeks with her aunt when she and Charles set +out together on this walk. The sun was only an hour high, yet it was +still warm, and she sauntered slowly along. Charles had lately become +very expert in walking on stilts. As this was a very recent +accomplishment, he was still very vain of it, and might generally be +seen looking over the heads of people taller than himself. Especially +did Charles pride himself on his ability to go on stilts over the +bridge, which was in reality as safe for him as the dry ground, so long +as he kept steadily on. On the afternoon of which we are speaking, he +was elevated as usual, and would at one time stride rapidly on before +Ellen, and then turn and come slowly back to her, and then wheel around +and around her, ever, as he went and came, discoursing, not of what he +could do, but of what his brother George could, for proud as he might be +of his own powers, Charles was always ready to acknowledge that George +excelled him. Ellen's temper was perhaps a little influenced by the +sultry weather. However this may be, she certainly did not feel very +pleasantly, and had more than once during their walk evinced +considerable impatience. Several times she begged that Charles would not +wheel around her so, as it made her dizzy--that he would keep farther +off, as she was afraid of his stilts striking her--and at length she +exclaimed, "Do, Charles, talk about something else besides what George +can do. I am sick of hearing of it. I wonder if there is any thing that +you think he cannot do." + +Charles was vexed at this disrespect to George, and there was a little +malice in the reply, "Yes, I don't think George can write poetry, as +some other people I know can. I found some poetry this morning," he +added, looking archly at Ellen, "and I am sure you will like it when you +see it published in the G---- Mirror." + +Ellen's face became crimson. Did any of my young readers ever attempt to +write poetry? If so, they have only to remember how carefully they +concealed their first effort, how much abashed they were at the idea of +its being seen, how sensitive to the least appearance of ridicule, to +understand the cause of Ellen's blush. Ellen had made more than one +effort, but there was only one of her productions which she had ever +thought of sufficient importance to preserve. This was a piece addressed +to Mary, which she had kept with the hope that she might one day gather +courage to send it to her. She had supposed it safe at the very bottom +of the black silk bag which she carried on her arm, but she now began to +fear, from the manner of Charles, that he had in some way got it. In +this she was right. Ellen had not been so careful as she supposed in +putting the paper into her bag, and afterwards, in drawing her +handkerchief out, it had fallen unperceived upon the floor. Here Charles +had found it. He read it, and saw by the handwriting it was Ellen's. +Remembering the letter scene, he faithfully resolved not to tease her +about it, but after he should have shown it to George, to give it to her +without saying a word of his acquaintance with the contents. Ellen had +vexed him now, however, and it was impossible to avoid making use of +such an excellent mode of punishment. Charles saw Ellen's blush, but +this proof of his power only stimulated him to fresh mischief. He +stopped, and taking off his cap drew the paper from the inner side of +the crown lining, where it had been carefully placed to secure it from +the observation of others. Ellen, in the mean time, desirous of +appearing quite unconcerned, passed on to the bridge, and was already +upon it when Charles overtook her, exclaiming, "Stop, Ellen: what are +you running off for? stop and hear it," which only made Ellen walk the +faster. + +"Well," said Charles, "you have no idea what you are losing," and he +commenced repeating a piece of doggerel which had been manufactured by +some boy he had known in G---- + + "The gardens were full of bright young greens, + The patches were full of corn and beans." + +The artifice was successful. Ellen, relieved from her fears, turned +round with a smile to listen, and Charles, planting his stilts in such a +manner that she could not pass him in either direction without +approaching nearer to the edge of the narrow bridge than she would like +to do, held a paper in his hand high above her reach, and read from it +in a loud voice, and with much flourish and parade-- + + + "To Mary. + + Companion of my early years, + Who shared my joys, who soothed my tears." + +"Let me go, Charles," exclaimed Ellen, endeavoring in vain to pass. + + "Who smiled when others' looks grew dark?" + +"Let me pass," almost shrieked Ellen, mad with anger, and losing all +control of herself. "I will not stay to be laughed at," and she began +with all her strength to push against one of the stilts. + +"Oh! Ellen, just hear this line--'Whose patient love--'Stop, stop, +Ellen, you'll throw me into the water," cried Charles hurriedly, as he +felt the stilt yielding to the efforts of Ellen, to whom increasing +anger lent new vigor. Ellen pushed on, either not hearing or not +heeding. Perhaps she had not time to stay her hand, for it was but a +moment and the stilt had passed off the bridge. Then came a crashing +sound, as the hand-rail yielded beneath the weight of Charles--then a +sharp cry of terror--a sudden plash--and Ellen stood alone upon the +bridge, gazing in wild dismay upon the waters which had closed silently +over the just now gay and animated boy. + +But Ellen had not been the only spectator of this scene. The cry of +Charles had been echoed from the bank. There had been a quick rush of +some one to the spot where Ellen stood. She was conscious of a plunge +into the water, on which her eyes were riveted with a stupifying, +bewildering horror. How long it was she knew not--it seemed to her +very, very long--ere George, for it was he who made the rush and the +plunge, was seen swimming to the shore, bearing with him a body, which +appeared to have no power to support itself, but rested a lifeless +weight on his supporting arm. Ellen followed his every movement with a +fixed, wild stare--she saw him land, still clasping one arm around that +body--then her Aunt Herbert met him, and helped him to carry it. Ellen +had not seen her before, but she now remembered that echoing cry, and +knew that it had been hers. In all this time Ellen had uttered no +sound--made no movement; but now Mrs. Herbert called her. Ellen drew +near--near enough to see that still, pale face, with the bright eyes +closed and the dripping hair hanging around it--to see the clinched +hand, in which a remnant yet remained of the worthless paper for which +she had done this. Ellen covered her face with her hands and shuddered. +"Ellen," said Mrs. Herbert, and her voice was gentle as ever, though +melancholy and full of pity, "he may live yet; at least let us not think +of ourselves till we have done all we can for him. Run, Ellen, to Mr. +Smith's--send him for the doctor--quick, quick, Ellen--then home--have a +fire made--blankets got ready--send the first person you meet to help +George and me in bearing--God grant," she exclaimed, suddenly +interrupting herself and letting her head drop for a moment on the cold +face which rested on her bosom, "God grant we may not be bearing the +dead!" + +Ellen flew rather than ran to Mr. Smith's, repeating to herself on the +way the words which had put new life into her, "He may live--he may +live." On the way she met a laborer, whom she sent forward to join her +aunt and George. Her message to Mr. Smith delivered, she waited not to +answer one of the many questions urged upon her, she did not seem to +hear them, but rushing back, passed the sad, slow procession about half +way, and had the fire made, the bed and blankets prepared, before they +arrived. Then came the agony for her. To see that lifeless body, as she +was called upon to help her aunt--to touch those cold limbs--to watch +and wait in vain for some token of returning life--some mark that she +was not henceforward to regard herself as a murderer--this was agony +indeed. + +Under Mrs. Herbert's direction all the usual restoratives for persons +rescued from drowning were resorted to, and even before the physician +who had been sent for appeared, some warmth was restored to the limbs, +and a faint tinge of color to the cheeks. Oh the joy of that first hope +of success--the yet greater joy, when those lips, which they had feared +were sealed forever, unclosed, and a feeble voice proceeded from them +murmuring "Mother." + +"He is safe enough now," said the physician. Up to this moment Ellen had +not made a sound expressive of her feelings. She was deadly pale, and +had any one touched her, they would have found that she was scarcely +less cold than the limbs she was chafing; but she was perfectly still. +Now, however, as the physician's welcome words reached her ear, she +clasped her hands together, uttered one cry, and would have fallen, had +not George caught her. She was taken to her own apartment, and the +doctor having given her a composing draught, ordered her to be put +immediately to bed. Notwithstanding this, fever came on, and before +morning Mrs. Herbert was called from her now quietly sleeping boy to the +delirious Ellen. Ellen's constant cry during this delirium was, "I have +killed him--I have killed him," repeated in every variety of tone, now +low and plaintive, now wild and phrensied. At length, towards morning, +she fell asleep. + +Mrs. Herbert having seen that Charles was still quiet, and having +obtained George's promise to call her if he awoke and inquired for her, +returned to Ellen's room, and lay down beside her. Ellen continued to +sleep for several hours, at first uttering low moans, and muttering to +herself, as if disturbed by unpleasant dreams, but afterwards becoming +quite still, and sleeping easily and naturally. Mrs. Herbert had arisen, +and was seated beside her when she awoke, which she did with a start. +She gazed for a moment at her aunt with some wildness in her +countenance, but as Mrs. Herbert smiled upon her, this expression passed +away, and putting out her hand to her, she said, "Aunt Herbert, I have +had such a dreadful dream. I dreamed that I killed Charles. It is not +true," she exclaimed quickly, "is it?" and Ellen raised herself on her +elbow, and looked searchingly into her Aunt's face. + +"No, my dear Ellen--Charles is almost well again." + +"_Almost_ well again," she repeated, and then was silent for some +minutes, during which she lay with her eyes closed. At length tears +began to steal down her cheeks, and in a low, tremulous voice, Ellen +said, "I remember all now, Aunt Herbert: I hoped it was a dream; but I +remember it all now, and I know that if you and George had not been +walking that way just then, Charles would have been drowned, and I +should have killed him--have killed your child--my own dear cousin +Charles. Aunt Herbert, do you not wish I had never come to you?" + +"So far from it, dear Ellen, that the more proof I have of the strength +of this evil in your nature, the more rejoiced I am that by coming to me +you have given me the power of helping you to subdue it. You were the +occasion of very bitter suffering to me yesterday evening, Ellen; and +yet, now that God in His mercy has restored my child, I can be thankful +even for this lesson to you, if it influence you as I hope and believe +it will--if you learn from it to dread anger as the beginning of murder. +Human passion, Ellen, is like a raging sea, to which only the infinite +God can say, 'hitherto shalt thou go, and no farther, and here shall thy +waves be stayed.'" + +Ellen remained quite still. Tears slowly trickled down her cheeks; but +she did not, as was usual with her when agitated, weep violently. She +seemed softened, subdued, humbled. + +After some minutes had passed thus, she said, "Aunt Herbert, it seems as +if I never could forget yesterday evening; and as if, so long as I +remembered it, I never could be angry again. But I have so often thought +I was cured, that I am afraid; do pray for me, Aunt Herbert--pray to God +that I may never forget." + +Mrs. Herbert was accustomed to pray with her children morning and +evening, and she now knelt by Ellen's bed, and in the simple language of +a child revealing its feelings to a father, poured out before God all +those feelings of which Ellen's heart and hers were full. Fervently did +she thank Him for having given them back, as if from the very grave, her +beloved boy; for having saved the dear child beside her from the +wretchedness of having taken away the life of another; and earnestly, +solemnly did she pray that he would cast out from her that evil spirit, +which, if it were indulged, would destroy her soul's life--would take +from her that eternal life which the blessed Saviour had come into the +world to reveal as the portion of all those who loved God and obeyed His +commands. + +Mrs. Herbert did not suffer either Ellen or Charles to rise on this day. +When they met the next morning, nothing could be more touching than the +humility with which Ellen entreated the forgiveness of Charles, and the +generosity with which he declared that it was all his own fault, and +that he never would tease her again. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +A PLEASANT CONCLUSION. + + +I Fear my story has seemed hitherto sad and gloomy to my young readers; +but this could not be avoided, for over the fairest scenes and happiest +circumstances, one such uncontrolled temper as Ellen's will spread +sorrow and gloom. This temper was no longer uncontrolled, and what has +since passed of her life is in beautiful and delightful contrast with +its earlier portion. I say her temper was no longer _uncontrolled_. Her +nature was as sensitive as ever--as quick to feel joy or pain, pleasure +or displeasure; but Ellen had learned to rule these feelings, and not to +be ruled by them--not to speak or act as they dictated, till satisfied +that the speech or the action was right. + +I cannot deny myself the pleasure of relating one or two scenes, which +may illustrate the effect of this change upon the happiness of Ellen's +future life. + +The bloom of spring and the sultriness of summer had given place to the +varied foliage and cool bracing breeze of November. It was a bright but +cool day, and a cheerful fire blazed in the open fireplace of Mrs. +Herbert's parlor. Around it were seated all her own family, and Mr. and +Mrs. Wallace, who were spending the day with her. All the ladies of the +party had some employment for the fingers. Mrs. Wallace had brought her +knitting, Mrs. Herbert was sewing on a shirt, and on Ellen's lap lay a +half-stitched wristband, which had just been put down at the request of +Charles, that she might sew a ball for him. Mr. Wallace loved children, +and was very observant of them. For some minutes he had silently watched +Ellen, interested by the patience with which she had listened to the +manifold directions of both her cousins, and once, when her work seemed +nearly completed, had taken it all out, to make some alterations which +had occurred to George as desirable. As she gave Charles the ball and +resumed her wristband, Mr. Wallace said, "Ellen, do you remember at what +time you came here?" + +"Yes, sir; in May last." + +"But what time in May?" + +"I do not know what day of the month, sir," said Ellen, looking up with +some surprise at her friend. + +"It was the tenth of May," said Mr. Wallace; "and now do you know what +day of the month this is?" + +"The tenth of November, sir, I believe." + +"You are right, it is the tenth, and your six months of trial are +finished. You can now fairly judge between your home here and in H----; +and as I shall be obliged to return to H---- in a week or two, on the +same business which caused my visit there in the spring, if you desire +to return, we can again be fellow-travellers. What say you to it, +Ellen?" + +Ellen glanced rapidly at her Aunt Herbert, and meeting her eyes fixed on +her earnestly, tenderly, turned hers as quickly to the floor. She +remained silent, but her cheek, now red, now pale, and the quivering +motion of her lips, showed her agitation. + +"Speak, my love," said Mrs. Herbert, laying her hand on Ellen's, "speak +just as you feel. You have a perfect right to choose your home, and +whatever the choice may be, none can complain." + +"Oh, Ellen," began Charles, who did not altogether approve of his +mother's neutrality, but a look from Mrs. Herbert silenced him. + +Ellen opened her lips more than once as if to speak, but seemed unable +to utter a word. Suddenly she turned again to her aunt, and passing her +arms around her neck, hid her face upon her bosom. Mrs. Herbert folded +her arms around her, and in a voice which in spite of herself faltered, +asked, "Do you stay with us, Ellen?" + +"Yes," said Ellen, looking up with a face on which there were both +smiles and tears. + +George seized her hand and shook it warmly, while Charles shouted for +joy; and in the exuberance of his delight, threw his ball first to the +ceiling and then across the room, making it pass in its second transit +so near Mrs. Wallace's head that the old lady started and dropped her +knitting. + +"And what shall I tell Mary, Ellen?" asked Mr. Wallace. + +"That she must come to me, sir." + +"I shall say that you have not forgotten her." + +"Forgotten Mary!" exclaimed Ellen; "oh no--tell her I never thought so +much of her goodness to me or loved her so dearly as I do now. Oh, how +happy I shall be when she comes!--but I cannot leave Aunt Herbert," and +Ellen again put her arm around her aunt's neck. + +"You are my daughter now, and daughters, you know, do not leave their +mothers willingly even for their sisters," said Mrs. Herbert, with an +affectionate smile. + +Ellen returned the smile as she answered, "Yes, and that is not all." + +"What more is there, Ellen?" asked Mr. Wallace. + +"Why, I first learned to be happy here, sir; and I am afraid if I went +away, that--that--" + +"That you would forget the lesson?" inquired Mr. Wallace. + +"Yes, sir." + +"There is no danger of that, I think, Ellen--it is a lesson you have +learned very thoroughly," said Mrs. Herbert; "and it is one," she added, +"not easily forgotten." + +Something more than a year had now elapsed since Mr. Villars' departure +for the South, and still his return was delayed. He now wrote that he +hoped by the next spring to bring the business which had taken him there +to a prosperous conclusion. The property which he was endeavoring to +recover had risen in value of late, and should he be successful, Mary +and Ellen would possess fortune sufficient for all their reasonable +wants. But as Mr. Villars, though hopeful, was not certain of success, +he was still unwilling that Mary should leave H. for her Aunt Herbert's, +thus relinquishing the employment she had already received there, while +for the same reason he rejoiced that Ellen was under the care of one so +capable of giving to her a thoroughly accomplished education as was Mrs. +Herbert. + +Winter passed away; spring again brought flowers and perfume and balmy +airs to all--and to Ellen bright hopes. Mr. Villars had written lately +more sanguinely than ever of his success, at any rate, when he wrote +last, in a week the lawsuit on which all depended would be decided. He +would then return, and then Mary and Ellen would meet. You have seen +that during the year of their separation a great change had taken place +in Ellen's character, and you will readily believe that there had also +been some alteration in her personal appearance. She was now fourteen, +and she had grown tall and womanly in figure, while there was far more +of the glad-heartedness of early childhood shining in her face, than +could have been seen there a year before. Her heavy indolent movements, +too, were replaced by a springy, elastic step. In a word, Ellen was +happy, and that happiness showed itself in words, and looks, and tones. +No sullen resentment clouded her brow, no angry passion made her voice +harsh, no bitter self-reproach for unjust thoughts and unkind speeches +lay heavy upon her heart; all looked kindly on her, and Ellen no longer +feared that she was not loved. + +It was about three weeks after the reception of that letter from Mr. +Villars to which we have alluded, that returning from an afternoon's +ramble with her cousin, Ellen, on entering the piazza, saw through the +open parlor window a gentleman's head. Her heart beat quickly--it might +be her Uncle Villars; she approached nearer the window, and looked +anxiously in--there was a lady, but too tall for Mary. Ellen forgot that +Mary was seventeen, and had had a year in which to grow, since she saw +her. The lady turned her head--the next moment the sisters were in each +other's arms. "My own dear Mary!" "My darling Ellen!" were their only +words--their feelings, who shall describe? + +"And, Uncle Villars, you can live in your own house again, now, and have +poor Mrs. Merrill back--can you not?" asked Ellen, after Mr. Villars had +announced that he had gained the object of his southern journey. + +"Yes, Ellen, for it is no longer necessary for me to be so careful of +my expenditures, since you and Mary no longer want any assistance from +me. The house has been unoccupied for some months, and Mrs. Merrill is +already there getting every thing in readiness for us against we +return." + +Ellen seemed lost in thought for a moment, then looking up with a merry +smile, she said, "Uncle Villars, I have a puzzle that is more difficult +than the fox and the goose, and nobody can help me with it but you and +Aunt Herbert." + +"Well, what is it, Ellen?" + +"Why, how am I to stay with Aunt Herbert and George and Charles, and yet +go with you and Mary?--One thing is certain, I cannot part with any of +you." + +"I have thought of this myself, Ellen, and I have a plan for the +accomplishment of your wishes, if you can win your Aunt Herbert's +consent to it." + +"What is it?" exclaimed Ellen, eagerly. + +"That she should remove to H., which was her own early home, and which +offers much greater advantages for the education of her sons and their +entrance into life, than their present situation." + +"That would be delightful," said Ellen. + +The day after this conversation, Mrs. Herbert was walking with Mr. +Villars over to the Dairy Farm, as the residence of Farmer Smith was +called. In passing the bridge she related to him the circumstances +attending the fall and rescue of Charles--the great distress of Ellen, +and the unremitting and successful efforts she had since made to +overcome that evil nature which had so nearly produced such fatal +consequences. + +"Since that time," continued Mrs. Herbert, "though I have seen Ellen's +temper tried, and her anger excited, I have only known that it was so by +the sudden sparkle of the eye, or the quick flush of the cheek. She +knows the danger of yielding for a moment, and you can see on such +occasions that her whole nature is aroused to resist the evil, to subdue +the passion. Of late these conflicts with herself are very rare, for she +grows every day more gentle and forbearing. I cannot express to you, Mr. +Villars, how dear she has become to me. To her cousins she is a patient, +affectionate sister, to me a tender and devoted daughter; our home will +long be darkened by her departure. How can I let her go from us--yet how +can I ask you and her sister to give her up!" + +Mrs. Herbert spoke with deep emotion, and Mr. Villars felt that there +could not be a more fortunate moment for his proposal. When Mrs. Herbert +first heard it, she shook her head, and looking around her said, "I +cannot part with this place, Mr. Villars, it has too many endearing +associations." + +"If by parting with it you mean selling it, there is no necessity for +your doing so; let Mr. Smith, whom you know to be an honest man, +continue to farm it as he now does: you can even spend part or the whole +of every summer here, for travelling costs little now. The board which, +as the guardian of Mary and Ellen, I should feel bound to pay you, would +meet any difference in the expense of your establishment here and in +H----; and the advantages which your care would ensure to them, I would +endeavor to repay to your boys in the direction of their education and +the advancement of their objects in life." + +And Mrs. Herbert consented, and Ellen's puzzle was solved. + +It was decided that Mrs. Herbert should remove in the following October. +In the mean time Mary and Ellen would both remain with her, while Mr. +Villars would return to H----, to make the necessary arrangements for +her reception there. Mrs. Merrill had been delighted at being recalled +as Mr. Villars' housekeeper; her happiness was complete when she learned +that he was again to live alone. Mr. Villars took care, however, that +Mrs. Herbert's house should be so near his own that no weather should +prevent daily intercourse between her family and himself. In this house, +when I next visited H----, I found my young friends established. + +Ellen I soon discovered was as great a favorite with her young +companions, and as welcome a guest at their gatherings, as her sister +Mary. Calling at Mrs. Herbert's one morning, I found Ellen and Mary +dressed for a walk, which I insisted they should not give up on account +of my visit; so after chatting a while with me, they went out. After +they reached the door Ellen turned around, saying earnestly, "Remember, +Uncle Villars." + +"Yes, gipsy," said Mr. Villars playfully; "and do you remember that I +mean to say no to your very next request, just to prove that I have a +will of my own." + +Ellen did not seem much disturbed by this threat, for she laughed gayly +as she closed the door. + +"I suspect, sir," said I, "that it is difficult to tell which has most +influence now, the sun or the wind," alluding to the names which he had +formerly given the sisters. + +"No--no," replied he, "the truth is, they are both suns now, and the +consequence is, that they make me do just what they please." + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Aunt Kitty's Tales, by Maria J. McIntosh + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42837 *** |