Anger.—Folly produces Self-contempt, and the Neglect of others.
Mrs. Mason had a number of visitors one afternoon, who conversed in the
usual thoughtless manner which people often fall into who do not consider
before they speak; they talked of Caroline’s beauty, and she gave herself
many affected airs to make it appear to the best advantage. But Mary,
who had not a face to be proud of, was observing some peculiarities in
the dress or manners of the guests; and one very respectable old lady,
who had lost her teeth, afforded her more diversion than any of the rest.
The children went to bed without being reproved, though Mrs. Mason, when
she dismissed them, said gravely, I give you to-night a kiss of peace, an
affectionate one you have not deserved. They therefore discovered by her
behaviour that they had done wrong, and waited for an explanation to
regain her favour.
She was never in a passion, but her quiet steady displeasure made them
feel so little in their own eyes, they wished her to smile that they
might be something; for all their consequence seemed to arise from her
approbation. I declare, said Caroline, I do not know what I have done,
and yet I am sure I never knew Mrs. Mason find fault without convincing
me that I had done wrong. Did you, Mary, ever see her in a passion? No,
said Mary, I do believe that she was never angry in her life; when John
threw down all the china, and stood trembling, she was the first to say
that the carpet made him stumble. Yes, now I do remember, when we first
came to her house, John forgot to bring the cow and her young calf into
the cow-house; I heard her bid him do it directly, and the poor calf was
almost frozen to death—she spoke then in a hurry, and seemed angry. Now
you mention it, I do recollect, replied Caroline, that she was angry,
when Betty did not carry the poor sick woman the broth she ordered her to
take to her. But this is not like the passion I used to see nurse in,
when any thing vexed her. She would scold us, and beat the girl who
waited on her. Poor little Jenny, many a time was she beaten, when we
vexed nurse; I would tell her she was <not> to blame now if I saw her—and
I would not tease her any more.
I declare I cannot go to sleep, said Mary, I am afraid of Mrs. Mason’s
eyes—would you think, Caroline, that she who looks so very good-natured
sometimes, could frighten one so? I wish I were as wise and as good as
she is. The poor woman with the six children, whom we met on the common,
said she was an angel, and that she had saved her’s and her children’s
lives. My heart is in my mouth, indeed, replied Caroline, when I think
of to-morrow morning, and yet I am much happier than I was when we were
at home. I cried, I cannot now tell for what, all day; I never wished to
be good—nobody told me what it was to be good. I wish to be a woman,
said Mary, and to be like Mrs. Mason, or Mrs. Trueman,—we are to go to
see her if we behave well.
Sleep soon over-powered them, and they forgot their apprehensions. In
the morning they awoke refreshed, and took care to learn their lessons,
and feed the chickens, before Mrs. Mason left her chamber.