AN UNTHANKFUL ORPHAN

My name is Mary Cary. I live in the Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum. You

may think nothing happens in an Orphan Asylum. It does. The orphans are

sure enough children, and real much like the kind that have Mothers and

Fathers; but though they don't give parties or wear truly Paris clothes,

things happen, and that's why I am going to write this story.

To-day I was kept in. Yesterday, too. I don't mind, for I would rather

watch the lightning up here than be down in the basement with the

others. There are days when I love thunder and lightning. I can't flash

and crash, being just Mary Cary; but I'd like to, and when it is done

for me it is a relief to my feelings.

The reason I was kept in was this. Yesterday Mr. Gaffney, the one with

a sunk eye and cold in his head perpetual, came to talk to us for the

benefit of our characters. He thinks it's his duty, and, just naturally

loving to talk, he wears us out once a week anyhow. Yesterday, not

agreeing with what he said, I wouldn't pretend I did, and I was punished

prompt, of course.

I don't care for duty-doers, and I tried not to listen to him; but

tiresome talk is hard not to hear--it makes you so mad. Hear him I did,

and when, after he had ambled on until I thought he really was

castor-oil and I had swallowed him, he blew his nose and said:

"You have much, my children, to be thankful for, and for everything you

should be thankful. Are you? If so, stand up. Rise, and stand upon your

feet."

I didn't rise. All the others did--stood on their feet, just like he

asked. None tried their heads. I was the only one that sat, and when he

saw me, his sunk eye almost rolled out, and his good eye stared at me in

such astonishment that I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it, I truly

couldn't.

I'm not thankful for everything, and that's why I didn't stand up. Can

you be thankful for toothache, or stomachache, or any kind of ache? You

cannot. And not meant to be, either.

The room got awful still, and then presently he said:

"Mary Cary"--his voice was worse than his eye--"Mary Cary, do you mean

to say you have not a thankful heart?" And he pointed his finger at me

like I was the Jezebel lady come to life.

Mary Cary: "Frequently Martha" · 第 4 / 36 题