than Belle felt able or willing to answer; but it never entered her
mind to suspect her own child.
And, indeed, with all her sad, naughty ways, she had never known Mabel
to tell a wilful falsehood, or to take that which did not belong to
her in a deceitful, thievish manner. She would, it is true, insist that
the thing she desired should be given to her, and often snatch and pull
at that which was another's, or boldly help herself in defiance of
orders to the contrary; but to do this in a secret way, to be in the
least degree dishonest or false, such a thing would have seemed quite
impossible to Mrs. Walton.
"Can it be that one of your little class-mates is so very wicked?" she
said. "Miss Ashton should see to this at once: it is almost impossible
that she should not discover the thief if she makes proper efforts."
How did the words of her unsuspecting mother sound to the ears of the
guilty little daughter who stood in the recess of the window, half
hidden by the curtains, but plainly hearing all that passed as she
pretended to be playing with her dolls?
Would Miss Ashton find her out? Would it not be better to go at once
and confess?
And it was not only fear for herself which led Mabel to hesitate thus:
she was really full of remorse and sorrow for the trouble which her
wicked, selfish conduct had brought upon Belle; and as she saw how
her forgiving little cousin avoided blaming her, these feelings grew
stronger and stronger, till they almost overcame the selfishness which
ruled her. But not quite; and she resolved to make amends to Belle in
some other way.
She thought she was doing this, and showing great generosity, when she
came out of her corner, and said to her mother,--
"Mamma, please buy a very nice locket, and let Belle have it 'stead of
me. I'll give it up to her, 'cause hers is gone."
Whatever suspicions Belle might have had were at once put to flight by
this; but the offer had no charms for her. No other locket could take
the place of mamma's; and she shook her head sadly, as she said,--
"No, thank you, Mabel: I don't want any other locket to make up that
one. I couldn't wear it, indeed I couldn't."
The melancholy tone of her voice brought back all Mabel's
self-reproach, and of the two children she was perhaps really the most
unhappy; but still she could not resolve to confess, though Conscience
whispered that if she told what she had done, there might be more
chance of finding the locket.
Had she not felt too much ashamed and unworthy of praise, she might
have been consoled by all that her mother lavished upon her for
her offer to Belle. Such unheard-of generosity on Mabel's part was
something so new and delightful that Mrs. Walton could not say
enough in its praise; and both she and Mr. Walton began to hope that
companionship with other children, and Belle's good example, were
really doing her good. Little did they think what was the true cause of
the proposed self-denial, or of Mabel's evident low spirits.
When Mr. Powers came home, he was almost as much disturbed as Belle
to hear of the fate of her locket; and when she had gone to rest that
evening, he went to see Miss Ashton to ask if she could take no steps
for its recovery.
He was very grave and silent when he came back; and neither that
evening nor the next morning did he have much to say concerning it,
save that he comforted his little daughter by telling her that he had
good hope it would be found.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XII.
_CONFESSION AND REPENTANCE._
Mabel declared herself not well enough to go to school the next
morning; and there seemed some reason to believe it was really so, so
dull and spiritless and unlike herself she appeared; and her mother
allowed her to remain at home. The true reason was, that she feared to
face Miss Ashton and her school-mates.
In vain did her mother try to find out the cause of her trouble, for it
was easy to be seen that it was more than sickness.
But the day was not to pass over without Mrs. Walton learning this.
For that afternoon Mabel was much startled, and her mother somewhat
surprised, by a call from Miss Ashton. Mabel shrank away from her
teacher, and said she had to go to her uncle's rooms and play with
Belle; and Miss Ashton was not sorry to have her go, as she was about
to ask Mrs. Walton to see her alone.
She said this as soon as the child had left the room, adding that she
had come on what might prove a painful business; and then told Mrs.
Walton all that had passed about the locket on the day before, part
of which she had gathered from the other children, part she had known
herself. She had reason to fear, she said, that Mabel had taken the
locket, as she had threatened to have it, in one way or another; and
had been the only one alone in the room with opportunity to take it
from Belle's desk. She told, also, how strangely Mabel had acted when
she was leaving school the day before; and said, although it might not
be so, she could not help thinking that this might be connected with
the disappearance of the locket. When Mr. Powers had called upon her
the evening before, she told him all she knew, but begged him to say
nothing to or about Mabel until she had questioned the other children,
and found out who had been in the room beside herself. No one else,
so far as she could learn, had been there alone; but the moment Dora
Johnson heard that Belle's locket was lost, she had cried out that
Mabel must have taken it during recess, and that was the reason she had
"acted so queer and mysterious." This was the general opinion among the
class, and they were all loud in their indignation against Mabel. She,
Miss Ashton, had told them they must not judge too hastily; but she
could not herself deny that suspicion pointed very strongly towards the
child.
Mrs. Walton was much distressed, but also much displeased, that Miss
Ashton, or any one else, should believe Mabel to be guilty. She had
never known her to practise deceit or dishonesty of any kind, she said;
and insisted on sending at once for the child and questioning her.
Miss Ashton did not object, hoping to be able to judge from Mabel's
manner whether she were guilty or not; and Mrs. Walton, saying she was
determined to hear all that the children had to say on the subject,
sent the nurse to bring both Belle and Mabel.
"Is Miss Ashton gone?" asked the latter when the messenger came.
"No, mademoiselle," said Nanette.
"Then I shan't go. I don't want to see her," said Mabel. "Belle, don't
go. Stay and play with me."
But Belle, who was very fond of her teacher and always liked to see
her, and who, moreover, had a faint hope that she might have brought
some good news about the locket, insisted on going to her aunt's room;
and Mabel, dreading the same thing and yet not daring to stay behind,
reluctantly followed.
Mrs. Walton and Miss Ashton looked from one to the other of the
children as they entered; and as the former saw Mabel's downcast,
shamefaced look as she came forward, her heart sank within her.
What if Mabel should be really guilty, after all?
"Did you find any thing of my locket, Miss Ashton?" asked little Belle,
as soon as she had welcomed the young lady.
"Not yet, dear; but I have some hope of doing so," answered Miss
Ashton, looking at Mabel. "Now, I want you to tell your aunt and myself
all you can about it. You are quite sure you did not touch it after I
saw you put it in your desk?"
"Quite, quite sure, ma'am; and I never went to my desk after that,
'cept to put away my slate; and there's nothing more to tell about it,
Miss Ashton, only how I went there to give it to Daphne, and couldn't
find it. It was perferly gone," and Belle gave a long sigh, which told
how deep her loss lay.
"Mabel," said Mrs. Walton, suddenly, "did you see Belle's locket after
it was broken?"
Mabel hung her head more than ever, stammered and stuttered, and
finally burst into tears.
Belle looked at her, colored, and hesitated; then stepped up to her,
and putting her arm about her shoulder said,--
"I don't b'lieve Mabel did take it, Aunt Fanny: I don't think she could
be so mean to me. I _tried_ not to b'lieve it, and now I don't think I
do. Please don't you and Miss Ashton b'lieve so either, Aunt Fanny."
Belle's "love-charity" was too much for Mabel. Taking her hands from
before her face, she clasped them about her cousin's neck, and sobbed
out,--
"Oh! I did, Belle. I did take it out of your desk; but I never, never
meant to keep it,--no, not even to show to the locket-man; but I
couldn't find it to put it back; and I'm so sorry, I'll just give you
any thing in the world of mine, 'cept my papa and mamma."
Mabel's words were so incoherent that all her hearers could understand
was that she had taken the locket; and though Belle had been obliged
to try hard to believe in her cousin's honesty, the shock to the faith
she had built up was now so great that her arm dropped from Mabel's
shoulder, and she stood utterly amazed and confounded. Mrs. Walton,
too, sat as if she were stricken dumb; and Miss Ashton was the first to
speak, which she did in a tone more grieved and sorrowful than stern.
"And where is the locket now, Mabel? Did you say you cannot find it?"
Mabel shook her head in assent.
"What have you done with it?" asked Mrs. Walton, in a tone that Mabel
had never known her mother use to her before.
The whole story was at last drawn from the child, accompanied with many
sobs and tears. Belle put full faith in all she said, and almost lost
sight of her own trouble in sympathy for Mabel's distress. Her arm went
back about her cousin's neck, and her own pocket-handkerchief was taken
out to wipe away Mabel's tears.
But Miss Ashton plainly did not believe her story, and even her
own mother was doubtful of its truth; for it was told with so much
hesitation and stammering.
Mrs. Walton turned to Miss Ashton, with a look which the young lady
hardly knew how to answer, except by one which asked that the children
should be sent away again; which was done.
"You do not believe what Mabel says, Miss Ashton?" said Mrs. Walton.
"I do not see how it can be so," replied Miss Ashton: "I do not believe
there is a child in my class who is not honest; and they all love Belle
too much to think of teasing her in any way. Moreover, I know that not
one of them was in the cloak-room from the time of the short recess
till they were dismissed; and had any child had the will, I do not see
that she had the opportunity, to take the locket."
"But your servants?" questioned the anxious mother.
Miss Ashton shook her head sadly.
"My mother's two older servants have been with us for years," she said,
"and are quite above suspicion. The younger one, the colored girl,
Marcia, who sometimes waits on the children, and now and then goes into
the cloak-room, was not in the house. Her sister was sick, and she had
been allowed to go to her for the day. She is not, I fear, strictly
honest, and has now and then been detected in picking and stealing;
and, although I have never known her to take any thing of much value,
there is no saying how far temptation might lead her; but, as I say,
she was not at home at the time. I grieve to distress you farther, Mrs.
Walton; but I do not see that Mabel's story can be true."
"What do you think she has done with the locket?" asked Mrs. Walton, in
a trembling voice.
"How could I tell, my dear madam?" replied Miss Ashton, looking with
pity at the other lady. "It may be that she has really lost it, but in
some other way than the one she relates; or it may be--that she has it
still."
"Impossible!" said Mrs. Walton; but although she said the word, the
tone of her voice told that she did not believe it impossible. "Mabel
is a troublesome, spoiled child, I allow," continued the poor mother;
"but I have never known her to tell me a deliberate falsehood, and to
make up such a story as this."
"I will have the school-room thoroughly searched," said Miss Ashton;
"and whether the locket is found or no, we will at least give Mabel the
benefit of the doubt, and treat her as if she were not more guilty than
she acknowledges herself to be, unless it is proved that she knows more
about it than she says;" and then she rose, and, shaking hands with
Mrs. Walton, once more said how sorry she was for the trouble she had
been obliged to bring her, and went away.
Meanwhile the two children had gone back to Belle's nursery, where that
dear little girl set herself to the task of consoling Mabel as well as
she might.
But this was a difficult matter. So long as she had her own way, Mabel
generally cared little whether or not people thought her a naughty
girl; but as she was really pretty truthful and upright, she was
now half-heartbroken at the idea of being considered dishonest and
deceitful. She could not quite acquit herself of the latter, since she
had taken advantage of Belle's absence to do that which she would not
have done in her presence, and now she was very much ashamed of it; but
this seemed to her very different from telling a falsehood, which she
plainly saw Miss Ashton, and her mother too, suspected her of doing.
She threw herself down on the floor of the nursery in a passion of
tears and sobs; and when Belle, sitting down by her, begged her not to
cry so, answered,--
"I will, I will: they think I told a story, mamma and Miss Ashton do.
I can't bear Miss Ashton,--horrid, old thing! She made mamma think I
did. She's awfully ugly: her nose turns up, and I'm glad it does,--good
enough for her."
"Oh! Mabel," said Belle, "Miss Ashton's nose don't turn up. It turns
down about as much as it turns up, I think. I b'lieve it's as good as
ours."
"I shan't think it is," said Mabel. "I'm going to think it turns up
about a million of miles. And, Belle, 'cause everybody thinks I took
your locket to keep, and told a wicked story about it, I shall never
eat any more breakfast or dinner or supper, but starve myself, so
they'll be sorry."
Belle was too well used to such threats from Mabel to be very much
alarmed at this.
Mabel went on, trying to make a deeper impression.
"I shan't ever eat any more French sugar-plums," then as the
recollection of a tempting box of these delicacies came over
her,--"'cept only there are three candied apricots in the box papa
brought me last night. I'll eat two of them, and give you the other;
and then never eat another thing, 'cause nobody believes me; and it is
true,--oh! it is."
"I b'lieve you, dear," said Belle. "I don't think you would be so bad
to me,--truly I don't."
"Don't you?" said Mabel, turning around her flushed, tear-stained face;
"then I'll give you two apricots, Belle, and only keep one myself; and
then starve myself. You're real good to me, Belle, and nobody else is.
You're the only friend I have left in the world," she concluded in a
tragic whisper, as she sat up and dried her eyes.
"I'll try to coax them not to think you did mean to keep it and tell a
story about it," said her little comforter.
"Belle, what makes you so good to me, when I was so bad to you?" asked
Mabel.
"'Cause I want you to love me, and be good to me too," answered Belle.
"And, besides, Jesus don't want us to be good only to people who are
good to us. He wants us to be good to people who are bad to us too."
Mabel sat looking at her cousin in some wonder.
"Do you care very much what Jesus wants?" she asked presently.
"Why, yes," said Belle: "don't you?"
"What does He think about me, I wonder?" said Mabel, musingly, without
answering Belle's question, which indeed answered itself, as the
recollection of some of her cousin's naughty freaks returned to her.
But she said nothing about these; for Mabel's speech brought a thought
which she hastened to put into words, thinking that it might give the
latter some comfort.
"Oh! Mabel," she said eagerly, "He knows all about the locket; and if
you do tell the truf, He b'lieves you, and I am sure He's sorry for you
too, even if you was a little naughty about it."
It was a pity that the mother and the governess were not there to
see the way in which Mabel's face lighted up. They must have been
convinced that, however much she had been to blame, the story she now
told was true. Guilt could never have worn that look at the thought
that the all-seeing Eye read her heart and believed in her innocence.
And if there was any lingering doubt in little Belle's mind, it was
cleared away by that look.
"Now I truly know she is not telling a story," she said to herself,
"'cause she looks so glad that Jesus knows all about it; and if she
had, she would be frightened to think He knew she was so wicked."
"It's nice to think Jesus knows about it and b'lieves you, isn't it?"
she said aloud.
"Yes," said Mabel; "and I love Him for it, and I do love you too; and
I'll always love you till I'm all starved and dead. Belle, I know you
do care what Jesus wants, 'cause you try to be good and kind. I've just
a good mind to try too. Maybe if I do, He'll make them find out where
that locket went to."
Now perhaps Mabel's two resolutions did not agree very well the one
with the other; but there was no fear that the first would hold good
longer than till supper-time, nor was the hope of reward for herself
the best motive for the second. But Belle, and perhaps a higher ear
than little Belle's, was glad to hear her say this; and indeed it was a
token for good. For Mabel was beginning to see the beauty and sweetness
of Belle's conduct, and the warmth and light of her example were taking
effect on that perverse and selfish little heart. Belle was proving a
"sunbeam" to Mabel, though she did not know it herself.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XIII.
_MABEL'S GENEROSITY._
It would be impossible to tell how troubled and disturbed poor Mrs.
Walton was by Miss Ashton's story. So was Mr. Walton when he came
home and heard it. It was hard to think that their own and only child
could be guilty of such a thing; and yet suspicion pointed so strongly
towards her that it was almost impossible to believe otherwise. They
talked it over between themselves, and with Mr. Powers when he came;
and then the children were called, and told to repeat all they knew
once more.
Mabel's story was in no way different from that she had told before,
save that it was given with far less hesitation and difficulty, but in
no other respect did it vary from the first; and here was ground for
hope that it was true.
Belle, too, told her tale with the same straightforwardness and
simplicity that she had done before, but it threw no light on what was
so dark; and, as she had done from the first, she carefully avoided
throwing any blame on her cousin, and concluded in these words, uttered
in a pleading voice:--
"Please, papa, and uncle, and Aunt Fanny, don't believe Mabel took my
locket to keep: I don't believe she did, not one bit; and I don't want
any one else to think she did."
"Why do you think she did not, dear?" asked Mr. Walton.
"First I _tried_ not to think she did," said Belle; "and then when I
told her Jesus knew if she was telling the truf, she was glad, and felt
better about it, so that made me quite sure. If she had hidden it on
purpose to keep it, she would be afraid if she thought Jesus knew it."
Her words brought great comfort and new hope to the father and mother.
"Let's all think she didn't do it, unless we have to be very, very
sure she did; and please kiss her, and make up with her, Aunt Fanny,
'cause she feels so bad about it," persisted Belle, drawing her cousin
forward, as she stood hanging her head, half-sullen, half-shamefaced,
and sorrowful at the suspicion she felt cast upon her. "Aunt Fanny, if
I had my own mamma here with me, I would feel very dreadful to know
she thought I hid something to steal it, and told ever so many stories
about it."
Who could resist her?
Not the mother certainly! who, only too glad to believe her child
innocent of more than she had acknowledged, put her arms about her and
gave her a kiss of forgiveness; while Mabel laid her head against her
mamma's shoulder, and cried there such gentle, penitent tears as she
had seldom shed before. For the sweeter and kinder Belle was to her,
the more deeply repentant she felt for the wrong she had really done
her. And not for the matter of the locket alone did she sorrow: she
remembered and felt remorseful for many another selfish, unkind act and
speech, and she could not but contrast with shame her cousin's conduct
with her own.
"Dear, little Belle!" said her uncle: "hers is the charity that
'thinketh no evil.'"
Mr. Walton said this, knowing nothing of the rules by which Belle had
lately tried to govern her behavior to Mabel as well as to others.
"Yes," said Mr. Powers, drawing his little daughter fondly towards him,
and kissing her forehead,--"yes, I believe Belle is really trying for
that charity which may keep us in love and peace with God and man."
"Papa," whispered Belle, with her arms about his neck, "it used to be
real hard not to think Mabel was the spoildest, worst child that ever
lived, and that would do all kinds of bad things; and now I don't like
to think that about her, or to have other people think so. Is that
'cause I tried to have love-charity for her? Bessie said it was when I
told her."
"Yes, darling, I think so."
"And, papa, Maggie said one of her nice, pleasant-sounding things. She
said when we were like sunbeams ourselves it made things look bright
and good that would look ugly and dark if we were not nice and bright
ourselves. Maggie makes sunniness and shinyness herself, and so does
Bessie; and they try all they can to think people wouldn't do bad
things."
After the children had been dismissed for the night, there was some
discussion between their parents whether or no it would be better for
Mabel to go to school till the mystery was cleared up; but it was at
last decided that there should be no change, and she should go as
usual.
"If she will," said Mrs. Walton, to which her husband replied,--
"I think, my dear, it is time that Mabel was learning to do what she
_must_, and not what she _will_. I fear we have ourselves to blame
for much of this trouble, which has arisen from the wilfulness and
selfishness we have too long overlooked."
But Mabel was so subdued by her trouble, and by her sorrow for her past
misconduct to Belle, that she offered no resistance to going to school
the next day, further than to say she did not want to go.
"Oh, yes, dear!" said her father: "there is no reason why you should
not."
"I'm afraid the children won't believe me about Belle's locket," she
whispered; "and they'll look at me."
"But if you stay away it would seem as if you were really guilty," said
Mr. Walton. "I do not think your school-mates will be unkind to you;
and if they are, you must bear it as a part of the punishment for your
naughtiness to Belle. Mamma and I think it better you should go. If you
are innocent, you need not be afraid."
And Mabel, quite broken-spirited, submitted without any of the loud
outcries with which she usually met any opposition to her wishes.
"I know that they'll all be mad at me, and point at me, and every
thing," she sobbed, as she started for school with Belle and the two
nurses.
"If any of them are so bad to you, I will tell them to have
'love-charity;' and if they don't, I won't be friends with them any
more, but be very offended with them indeed," said Belle, forgetting
that her new rule could work more ways than one, and hold good for
others than Mabel. Just now she was so full of forgiving pity and
sympathy for her cousin that she thought only of helping her and doing
battle in her behalf.
Mabel's fears were well founded, as it proved. She was met with looks
askance, and cold words; while Belle was greeted with a more than
usual share of affection. And Dora Johnson, who was not very careful
of other people's feelings, and was apt to say rather rude and unkind
things without much thought, said in a whisper, loud enough for Mabel
to hear,--
"Before I'd come to school if I was a locket-thief!"
Belle heard this too, and at once fired up in Mabel's defence.
"Before I would too, and before Mabel would!" she said, her bright eyes
flashing with indignation as she took her cousin's hand in a protecting
manner; "and because she isn't a thief is the reason she comes; and she
only took it out of my desk to look at, and didn't mean to steal it a
bit. But somebody else must have: I don't know who. And if everybody
don't be friends with her, they needn't be friends with me either; and
I won't have 'em, but will be awfully mad with 'em."