A SNAKE IN THE GRASS.
Next morning, when Barbara was building the kitchen fire, she heard
the sound of small boots, and, looking up, saw Horace, who had run
down stairs in such haste that as yet he had put on but one sleeve of
his jacket.
"Ho, Barby!"--Horace considered it a waste of breath to say "good
morning,"--"what were the first words she said?"
"Let's me think," replied Barby, with an air of deep reflection.
"'Where did this thing came from?' Them's the first words she said."
"That all? Poh! If I'd known that, I wouldn't have touched to make it!
Did you tell her Ike Davis couldn't? and he's learned the joiner's
trade, too."
"There, now, if I didn't forget to say dat!"
"Why, Barby, I wouldn't have thought that of you, now!"
"But she liked it. She was just as pleased."
"Pleased, was she? Did she clap her hands?"
"Yes; clapped 'em hard, she did, and laughed."
"Will she put it in her cabinet, think, Barby?"
"O, yes; she said it's what she did always want."
Horace's face brightened like the moon sailing out of a cloud. Grace's
cabinet held nothing but choice articles, and was kept as orderly as a
paper of pins.
"See here, Barby; you needn't tell Gracie I asked you any questions."
When the children met that morning, Grace threw her arms about her
brother's neck,--
"O, Horace, dear, there never was anything so nice as my little
dining-table."
"Poh!" exclaimed the boy, dipping, swallow-like, this way and that, to
avoid a kiss.
"Why, you dear little brother, mayn't I kiss you for thanks?" said the
affectionate sister, trying to find a spot on his face which was not
in motion. She succeeded at last in touching his forehead with her
lips.
"There, _once'll_ do," said Horace, impatiently; for he considered
kissing an amiable weakness, and only submitted to it as a painful
duty.
"O, pshaw!" said he; "such a fuss over just nothing!"
And this was all the remark he would deign to make concerning a piece
of work which must have cost him many days of hard labor. Still, he
was proud of his success, and for a long while afterward felt the
keenest delight in seeing that table brought out for exhibition to
visitors, or standing in a corner adorned with his sister's work-box.
Grace had a bright face this morning, as Mrs. Clifford noticed at
once. She sent her letter to the post-office by her father, then had
a frolic with Horace, who was rather "wildish," and with little Katie,
who, for a wonder, did not appear to be cutting a tooth that morning,
and was "as cunning as a baby can be and live."
As Grace entered the school-room, she met Mahla Linck, whose white
face warmed to a glow at her friendly greeting.
"She's the girl that thinks it's of no use to try for the prize,"
thought Grace. "Poor thing, I'll soon make her understand that she
needn't be afraid of Grace Clifford."
The school was called to order, and the teacher, a tall, fine-looking
young lady, began to read the morning lesson in the New Testament. A
part of the beautiful Sermon on the Mount was repeated by teacher and
pupils. When they came to the words, "Whatsoever ye would that men
should do unto you, do ye even so to them," Grace involuntarily
glanced across the room to Mahla, who sat resting her head on her
hand. Such a hand! You could trace its veins as easily as the blue
lines in white paper. Her pale hair shone in the sun like threads of
gold.
Grace's eyes were fixed on the little girl with a sort of fascination.
If anything could be done to help poor Mahla, she would do it. What
though by helping her she should lessen her own chance of the prize?
Never mind. Hadn't Christ made the Golden Rule? Grace had fought out
the battle with herself the night before. She had put her hand to the
plough, and would not look back.
When recess-time came, Mahla had no heart for play, but kept her seat,
still vexing herself over a question in analysis, which was buried in
a fog.
Grace watched her with real pity. It was almost unaccountable, she
thought, how any one who had ever studied "Colburn's Mental" could be
puzzled by anything in analysis. But Grace was a natural
mathematician, and Mahla was not.
When school was over at noon, the pale young German girl still sat
biting her slate pencil, and pressing one colorless hand upon her
throbbing temples.
"Now, what is it, Mahla?" said the sweet voice of Grace Clifford, as
she came and leaned over her friend's shoulder, her face covered with
smiles. "I do believe you're puzzling over the same thing that vexes
everybody so to-day. Want me to show you just a speck? For you'll
catch the headache, Mahla, if you think so hard."
Mahla gave a sigh of relief.
"I don't know, Gracie; things seem to spin round and round; I can't
get a start."
[Illustration: Grace helping Mahla.]
"Let's look at it, Mahla. Do piece work--three men--how many days?
It's that same old firm of A, B, and C. How long suppose they've been
in company? I just believe they set up a shop in the ark?"
Mahla laughed a little, the first time for that day; and it did her
good. "Well, now, if those old patriarchs A, B, and C--" But we will
not follow Grace in her explanation. She never wearied till Mahla's
eyes brightened, and she cried out, "O, how stupid! Why couldn't I
see that before? You make things so clear! You do beat everything in
arithmetic, Gracie!"
Then Mahla laid aside her slate and book with a smile of heartfelt
satisfaction, and made ready to eat her dinner of plain bread and
butter and Dutch cheese. Grace dropped an orange into her basket.
"Good by, Mahla. If you have any more trouble with those horrid
questions, let me know, please. Remember, we belong to the Ruby Seal
and are bound to help one another."
Mahla looked up with a face full of joy and gratitude, and tried to
speak her thanks. But a swelling in her throat choked her voice.
Grace felt strangely happy as she bounded out of the school-yard; yet
the exquisite joy which throbbed at her heart, and called tears to her
eyes, was not so much happiness as blessedness. She had obeyed the
Saviour's Golden Rule in a sweet, unselfish spirit, and had her
reward.
Just outside the gate she met Isa Harrington, who had been waiting for
her impatiently. "What did keep you so long, Gracie?"
"O, I was talking with Mahla," replied Grace, who did not care to make
a parade of her generous deeds.
"It's right kind in you to take so much notice of Dutch girls,"
pursued Isa, who was extremely anxious to make the most of Cassy's
absence, and win Grace's favor as far as she could, not caring how
much flattery she used for the purpose.
"Why, Isa, she's a respectable German--Mahla is."
"O, yes, Gracie; but her ma used to work at your house before she was
married. Wouldn't catch Cassy Hallock making so much of their hired
girl's children. One of the kid-glove sort Cassy is, or would be if
she was only rich."
"Not proud, Isa Harrington."
Isa cleared her throat.
"Deary me, no! I declare, I forgot I was talking to _you!_ You'll
never hear a word against Cassy, and I don't blame you, Grace
Clifford."
Grace's joyous mood changed; she looked vexed. Why would Isa persist
in saying little hateful things, which pricked like cambric needles?
"We girls would like to see Cassy Hallock stand up so for you--that's
all," added Isa, shutting her mouth firmly, as if her teeth were all
on edge.
"Well, so she would. Cassy never would hear me abused. She's not a
milk-and-water sort of person; and that you know, Isa Harrington!"
Isa cleared her throat again with a provoking cough, which said, as
plainly as words, "O, couldn't I tell you something surprising if I
only would!"
"Isa Harrington," said Grace, impetuously, "what's that you say?"
"I said nothing at all," replied Isa, demurely.
"But you _look_ mighty wise. I'd sooner a body'd speak right out than
to look so wise; I would _so_, Isa."
"Ah, Gracie. I could tell a heap of things I reckon; but no good--you
wouldn't believe a word."
"Speak out," said Grace, severely, as she proceeded to curl a
dandelion stem.
"Ahem! Remember that time you had the oyster supper at your house,
don't you, Gracie? Well, did you stay in the room with the company? I
always wanted to know."
"Yes, Isa, part of the time. Why?"
Isa rolled her eyes, and looked unutterable things.
"O, nothing, only Mrs. Hallock was there, you know. Ahem! Well, next
day, Mrs. Hallock said to her husband, and Cassy was right there in
the room--"
Isa hesitated. It seemed to be her painful duty to stop.
"Do go on," said Grace. "If it's ever so bad I want to hear it."
"I just happened to think, Gracie, dear, you haven't promised not to
tell."
"And I'll not promise any such thing, Isa," cried Grace, spiritedly.
"Then I've said all I'm going to," replied Isa, folding her arms in a
hard knot.
"But you're not going to leave off right in the middle! Now, Isa,
that's not fair."
"Well, no more it isn't fair for you not to promise."
By this time they had nearly reached Captain Clifford's, for Isa had
walked a long distance out of her way to accompany Grace.
"Isa Harrington, I think you might tell."
"Gracie Clifford, I think you might promise."
"Isa, I'd never dare. 'Twould fly out of my lips when I saw Cassy, and
I couldn't help it. Don't make me tell a lie!"
Grace ate her dinner that noon in silence. What dreadful thing could
Mrs. Hallock have said to her husband?
"Nothing much, I reckon; Cassy wouldn't go and tell stories about me!
I'll trust Cassy as long as I live."
Grace twirled her regard-ring about her finger. "I'd be crazy if I
believed my best friend was false!"
Still the thought troubled her. Grace had asked Cassy's views
regarding the prize. To her it seemed a thousand pities that Cassy
should have gone away, and so missed all chance of it. Cassy's reply
was just like her. She didn't care her little finger for the prize.
"It wouldn't probably be worth more than five dollars, any way; and as
she had five dollars already, what could she want of any more?" She
didn't see why Grace should want it, either; but if she did, Cassy
hoped she'd get it. "If Mahla feels badly, you can give her
something," added Cassy, sagely.
Grace pondered over this letter for some time. It was short and to the
purpose, for its writer never wasted words. Grace fancied, too, that
it was rather cool; but every time a doubt tried to creep into her
mind, she shut it out, saying to herself,--
"Cassy's my dear friend: I'll trust Cassy as long as I live."
From this time Mahla Linck seemed to take a fresh start in arithmetic.
Grace knew very well that as much as she helped Mahla, just so much
she hindered herself. In everything but figures Mahla excelled. Her
copy-book was a pattern of neatness; she could spell quite accurately;
and as for geography, she was at home all over the world. But if left
to herself, she was sure to spoil the whole by her dulness in
arithmetic.
Miss Allen was not possessed of "long patience," and dear little Mahla
could make nothing of her scientific explanations. But Grace had a way
of shedding light on that dismal book, which, though called _Ray's_
Arithmetic, was quite rayless to Mahla. So the poor child turned to
her new friend with joyful eagerness.
Grace did not falter; but she had one trial. Every night Captain
Clifford said, smiling,--
"Well, daughter, how comes on the studying? Any nearer the prize?"
And Grace had to answer, slowly, "O, pa, don't go to expecting I'll
get it, please! Mahla's the one."
When she had said this, her father would turn again to his newspaper,
looking slightly disappointed. Then Grace felt a pang of regret; but
it soon passed away, and never left a sting.