by all, and had its effect. For since _she_ believed that Mabel had
not the locket, the rest thought that she must have some good reason
for her faith; and no more was said in words, though poor Mabel could
not but feel that she was curiously and suspiciously gazed at by every
child in the school, as if they expected to read her guilt or innocence
written on her face. Still, on the whole, matters were not so bad
as she had feared they would be. Miss Ashton was as kind and gentle
as usual, and, like her own family, seemed to wish to believe her
innocent till she was proved guilty; while Belle was more affectionate
and patronizing than she had ever been before, and returned with
reproachful or defiant looks every cold or scornful glance that fell to
Mabel's share. The search of the cloak-room for the missing treasure
had proved quite fruitless. Miss Ashton had taken the trouble to have
every thing moved from the room, the floor had been thoroughly swept,
and even the corners and edges of the carpet turned up; but all in
vain. There was no trace of the lost locket; and Miss Ashton and her
mother had decided that they could only wait and see what time would
do. Whoever had taken it, such a thing could not remain long hidden: it
must be discovered and brought home to the guilty child.
So Miss Ashton told Mrs. Walton when she called to see her again on
this unhappy matter; and she would not say, though she gave Mabel the
benefit of the doubt, that in her heart she believed her to be that
child; and the mother could only hope and pray that it might not be so.
Still it was a most uncomfortable and unhappy matter. Such a thing had
never happened before in the little school; and it was sad to believe
that there was a thief among that young group.
But good was brought out of all this discomfort and unhappiness. The
change in Mabel was surprising as well as encouraging. She clung to
Belle, and to Belle's faith in her, in a way that was really touching,
and which went far to convince her friends and teacher that she was
really innocent of more than she had confessed. And, contrary to her
usual custom, she did not try to excuse herself for what she had done,
but was truly penitent, and ready to acknowledge that this trouble had
arisen from her own fault. If Belle would have taken them, she would
have thrust upon her all her own possessions; and now whenever she saw
a pretty thing, she wanted it, not for herself, but for Belle, and
was constantly begging her papa and mamma to buy this, that, and the
other for her little cousin. And as she became more and more unselfish
and yielding towards Belle, she became so towards others, and more
obedient and docile to her parents; till the self-willed, outrageous,
spoiled elf seemed really changing and quieting down into a tolerably
well-behaved, reasonable little child.
That she was really repentant and desirous to make amends to Belle,
she showed in a very decided manner when her birthday came around, as
it did about three weeks after the loss of the locket.
At this time her Grandmamma Walton was accustomed to send her two gold
half-eagles; a large sum for a child like Mabel, and which the old lady
probably supposed was put away with care, or used to some good purpose.
But hitherto it had always been frittered away in toys, candies, and so
forth, Mabel claiming such and such portions of it to spend when some
trifle struck her fancy.
At the time the locket was first lost, her mother had told her that it
would be a good thing if she should spend the money which would come on
her next birthday on a new one for Belle; and Mabel had readily agreed.
But Mr. Walton, knowing nothing of her good intentions, had bought a
handsome locket, and given it to Belle to take the place, as far as
might be, of the one which was gone. Belle had thanked him prettily,
and admired the gift; then gave it to Daphne to put away.
"Where I can't see it, Daffy, 'cause it makes me feel like crying when
I think it was not a bit my own mamma's like that other one I lost."
It was in vain that Daphne tried to persuade her to wear it: the child
seemed to have a half romantic, but touching sensitiveness on the
subject, which could not be overcome.
But Belle now having her uncle's gift, Mrs. Walton told Mabel that
she could spend the money in some other way to gratify her cousin;
and Mabel thought of first one thing, then another, which she could
purchase for Belle.
But she had not yet decided upon any thing when her birthday came,
and with it the usual gift from her grandmother. Running into Belle's
nursery on that morning, she found her little cousin standing by the
side of old Daphne, who, with her hands over her face, was rocking
herself to and fro, moaning and crying, while Belle seemed to be
trying to comfort her. Near by stood another colored woman, looking
troubled also, though not in the deep distress which Daphne showed.
In Daphne's lap laid the contents of Belle's little purse and
money-box,--pennies, five and ten cent pieces, and so forth.
Mabel stood a moment in wonder at this unusual state of affairs; and
then, full of the business which had brought her, broke forth with,--
"Belle! Belle! Make Daphne dress you very quick. Papa is going to take
us out to buy something very nice for you with a whole lot of money
grandmamma sent me; and then he is going to take us for a nice long
drive in the Park, and let us run about and feed the swans and see the
animals. Make haste! make haste!"
Belle shook her head sorrowfully.
"I can't leave Daphne, Mabel," she said. "She has a great trouble.
Somebody went and did something naughty, and the people thought it
was Daphne's boy,"--Daphne's boy was her grandson,--"and they've taken
him to prison; but this woman knew it wasn't him, and they say he can
come out if he can get a whole lot of money; and this woman came to
tell Daphne; but she hasn't money enough, and I haven't either, and
papa has gone away to Philadelphia, and won't come back till day after
to-morrow; and what can we do?" and Belle's eyes filled, as she told
the story of her old nurse's trouble.
"And won't you come?" said Mabel.
"No, thank you, Mabel: I couldn't."
"Now go, and take yer pleasure, my honey," said Daphne, ever-mindful of
her little lady's happiness. "I'll make you ready."
"No, no, Daffy: I couldn't leave you. Oh! I do wish papa was home. He
would fix it all, and get poor Peter out of prison. You are real good,
Mabel; but I couldn't care much about the very prettiest present if I
had to leave Daphne all alone when she is so sorry."
Mabel hesitated, and thought of those two bright golden pieces. Here
was a chance to give Belle a real pleasure, if she chose. She knew
Belle well enough to feel sure that she would far rather help her old
nurse out of this trouble than to have the most beautiful gift for
herself; and Mabel believed that any thing might be done with that sum
of money, which was her own to spend as she pleased.
But, as we know, Mabel and Daphne had never been, and were not yet, the
best of friends; and it was partly Daphne's fault too. She had no faith
in Mabel's improvement, and watched with disdainful and unbelieving
eyes her little attempts to be less selfish and wilful. And Mabel knew
this, and returned the old woman's dislike with all her little might.
So how could she resolve to give up her cherished plan for Daphne's
relief? To be sure, it would give Belle more pleasure, but it would
give far less to herself; and, indeed, she was not quite sure that she
did not feel just the least satisfaction in Daphne's trouble.
"It serves her right for being so cross to me all the time," she said
to herself; but then came a feeling of shame at the unkind thought, and
she was glad that Belle did not know of it.
"Belle would give the money if it was hers, to get Peter out of prison,
I know," she thought, nothing doubting that the two half-eagles could
do this; "and maybe it would be the best way to show her I do love her,
and am sorry for being so naughty to her about the locket. I'll just do
it; but I better do it pretty quick or I'll change my mind about it,
'cause I don't want to one bit."
She rushed from the room, leaving Belle to think that she was vexed at
her refusal to go out with her; but in two minutes she was back with
the gold pieces, which she thrust into Belle's hand, saying,--
"There, Belle, if you would rather take that black boy out of prison
than have a pretty present for you and me to play with, you may. I will
give you my money for it; but I don't do it 'cause I love Daphne, not
one bit."
It was not a very gracious way of bestowing a favor, it was true; but
it was such a piece of unwonted self-denial from Mabel that her hearers
were all taken by surprise, and did not know what to say. Belle stood
with the gold pieces in her open hand, looking from them to Mabel, and
then at Daphne, who was looking amazed and bewildered in her turn.
But now Mrs. Walton appeared.
When Mabel had run back to her mamma's room for her half-eagles, as
she took them from her box she told some incoherent story, which Mrs.
Walton had not understood, but which speedily brought her after her
little girl to see what was to be the fate of the money. There was no
knowing what freak might have taken the child.
"I want Belle to take those to bring Daphne's black boy out of
prison, mamma; and she seems as if she didn't want to," said Mabel,
half-pouting.
Then Daphne understood; and, rising, courtesied to Mrs. Walton, and
told her story; ending by saying that she had not known what Miss Mabel
meant, and she begged Mrs. Walton's pardon, and she had not thought of
taking the child's money: "Bress her heart! an' I didn't desarve it,
cos I did take such a scunner at her."
Mrs. Walton seized Mabel in her arms, and covered her with kisses;
while she lavished upon her the most extravagant words of praise and
admiration. Mabel had expected this when her mother should come to
hear of her offer to Daphne; and, more than this, she had been farther
helped to make it by the belief that her mother would not let her be a
loser.
"But you shall not spend your birthday gift for that, my darling," she
said: "perhaps papa can see to it until Uncle Frederick comes home. We
will go and ask him, and tell him what a good, generous girl you are."
Far wiser would it have been if Mrs. Walton had let Mabel learn to
do good to others by making some sacrifice of her own wishes; but she
could not bear to have her darling deprived of the slightest pleasure,
on this day of all others. So bidding Daphne take heart till she should
see what Mr. Walton said, she took both children with her to tell him
the story.
Mr. Walton listened, and then kindly said he would go and find out the
truth of the case at once; and if he thought it right, he would give
bail for the lad, for that was what was needed.
"But," he said, "if I do this, I should go at once, that Daphne and her
boy may not be kept in misery longer than is necessary; and then my
little girls must lose their promised morning in the Park. The promise
was made to you first: are you both willing to give up this pleasure
for Daphne's sake?"
There was no doubt about Belle; but, as Mr. Walton added, "it was
Mabel's birthday, and she must decide."
Now indeed Mabel's generosity and self denial were put to the proof,
certainly far more than Belle's. The latter loved her faithful old
nurse too dearly to hesitate for one instant; and, even had it not been
so, the sacrifice was by no means so great for her as for Mabel. The
Park with all its attractions was no new thing to Belle: many a drive
and ramble had she had there; but to Mabel, who was a stranger in the
city, it was not so familiar, and had not yet lost its first charm for
her. And she had been so delighted with the thought of passing the
morning there! How could she give it up for Daphne?
Her father waited for her answer, and would not let his wife speak
when she would have proposed some other plan; Belle watched her with
wistful eyes; and she could not make up her mind to the sacrifice. She
hesitated, pouted, frowned; and there were all the signs of a coming
storm.
"Very well," said her father, gravely. "I had hoped that my Mabel was
really learning to care a little for others, but I fear it is not
so. It must be as she decides. We will go for our pleasure, leaving
Daphne's boy to stay another day in prison, for I have other business
to attend to later in the day; or we will give up this little treat to
save her and him much suffering. Which shall it be, Mabel?"
"I said she could have my birthday money," whimpered Mabel; "and mamma
said I was as generous as any thing."
"Ah! it did not cost you much to give up the money, my child," said her
father. "You and Belle have more toys and pretty things now than you
know what to do with; but you are not generous enough to give up that
on which you have really set your heart."
Mabel looked over at Belle once more, and as she met the beseeching
look in her eyes remembered that here was really the chance to show her
cousin that she wished to make up for her past unkindness.
She dropped the pocket-handkerchief which she was pettishly twisting
into a string, lowered her raised shoulders, and running to Belle
threw her arms about her neck, and said,--
"We'll give up the Park, and let papa go to let out Peter, Belle,--so
we will. I'll be generous, even if I don't want to."
So it was settled, and Mr. Walton went on his errand of mercy; of which
I need say no more than that it was successful, and Peter set free, to
the joy of Belle and Daphne.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XIV.
_FOUND._
A fortnight, three, four, five weeks passed away; and still nothing
had been seen or heard of Belle's lost treasure. For the first few
days the children could talk of nothing else; and it was only Belle's
determination to stand fast by her cousin and take her part, that
prevented them from treating Mabel with open slights and coldness. Dark
looks and cool words would certainly have fallen to her portion, but
for Belle; and she knew and felt this, and it is only justice to her to
say that she was grateful to Belle accordingly.
But by and by the affair became an old story, as every thing does in
time, and the children ceased to wonder over it; and Mabel, though
never much of a favorite, was allowed to come with them and join in
their games as usual. Only the little cousins thought much about the
locket; Belle still grieving over her loss, and Mabel mourning it
almost as much, with a feeling of guilt and shame added to her sorrow
for her cousin's sake.
Perhaps nothing could have done Mabel more good than this sense of
the wrong she had done her cousin: it made her see how indulgence in
selfishness and wilfulness may bring trouble and distress which we
never intended or dreamt of in our perverse mood. Moreover she felt
abashed whenever she remembered that the most, if not all of her
school-mates, and perhaps her teacher too, believed her guilty of even
theft. It is not usually good for people to be unjustly suspected;
but in this case it did Mabel no harm. It made her less exacting and
domineering at school, and the wish to make amends to Belle made
her more yielding and unselfish at home. So her old bad habits were
somewhat broken in upon, and the praise and credit which she gained
from her parents and little cousin were so pleasing to her that they
caused her to persevere and try to do still better. It was not the best
motive for improvement, to be sure; but it was something gained in
the right way; and by and by Mabel came to the discovery that she was
really happier when she was good than when she was naughty.
One day when she and Belle were paying a visit to Maggie and Bessie,
she gave what the other children considered a very striking instance
of improvement. She had brought with her a very beautiful doll, and
to this doll little Annie had taken a desperate fancy; but it was
not thought safe to trust it to her hold, although she begged for it
piteously. Baby though she was, Annie knew that she never obtained any
thing by screaming for it; but she pleaded for the doll, which was
held beyond her reach, with kisses and many pretty, broken words,
till it was hard to resist her; while Mabel was surprised that she did
not scream and cry for that which she wanted so much, and could not
help thinking that the little one behaved far better than she would
have done herself. And at length her heart was moved so that she could
refuse Annie no longer, although no one had thought her unreasonable to
do so.
"S'pose I sit down here on the rug by Annie, and let her hold it while
I watch her very carefully," she said to Nurse, who was vainly trying
to divert baby's attention by offering her every thing else proper for
her to have.
"I don't know, dear," said Mammy, divided between the wish to indulge
her pet, and the fear that the doll would come to harm in Annie's
keeping.
"I'll be very careful of it," said Mabel. "Put her down here by me, and
I'll teach her how to hold it nicely."
Nurse obeyed, and the baby was made happy; while her little sisters and
Belle looked on in pleased surprise at Mabel's novel generosity.
"Mabel," said Maggie, "I'm going to make you a compliment; and it is
that I never saw a child improve more than you do 'most every day. I
expect one of these days you'll be quite a benefactor."
"I expect she will too," said Belle. "What does it mean?"
"Somebody who is very generous and does a great many kind things for
people," said Maggie.
"Then I'm certain you and Bessie are benefactors," said Belle,
pronouncing the long word slowly, as if she were not quite sure of it.
"We try to be," answered Maggie, demurely.
"I'm sure you are too, Belle," said Bessie.
"Yes: she just is," said Mabel. "But I s'pose you don't think I am one."
"Um--well--not quite," said Bessie, not wishing to hurt Mabel's
feelings, but too truthful to say what she did not think; "but we have
great hopes of you, Mabel. We think it was pretty _benefacting_ of you
to let Baby Annie have your new doll in her own hands. It must have
been pretty hard work."
"Yes," said Maggie: "we didn't expect it of you, Mabel; and we're very
agreeably disappointed in you."
Praise from her playmates was something quite new and very pleasant to
Mabel, and she began to feel pretty well pleased with herself.
"Yes," she said, with an air of superior virtue, "I b'lieve I'm growing
pretty good now."
"You oughtn't to say that," said Bessie: "you ought to say, 'Perhaps I
am a little better than I used to be, but I hope I'll be better yet.'"
"Why?" asked Mabel, feeling that she was not properly appreciated in
her new character.
"Because," answered Bessie, "it is not the fashion for people to talk
about their own goodness. They ought to wait and let other people do
it."
"Well," said Mabel, "I'm sure you were doing it; and so why can't I do
it too?"
"But it's _yourself_, you know," said Maggie; "and because 'every crow
thinks her own young one the blackest,' that is not any reason for her
to talk about it."
"Crows caw, not talk, Maggie," said Bessie, the matter of fact.
"Oh, well!" said Maggie, "the lesson out of the proverb is all the
same."
"I didn't mean to be proud about it," said Mabel, quite humbly; "but I
couldn't help feeling a little nice when I thought I wasn't so naughty
as I used to be. Mamma says I am better, and papa says so too."
"And we say so too," said Bessie, kissing her, the first kiss she had
ever given her of her own free will; "and we are very glad of it,
Mabel."
"I think it was Belle that made me a better girl," said Mabel: "she
was so good to me, I had to be. 'Least she was pretty mad with me at
first: wasn't you, Belle? And before I did a thing to her too; but
afterwards she was real good to me. And you and Maggie were good to me
too; and everybody liked you, so I thought it must be nice to be good,
and I would be too. And I b'lieve I do like it better."
"You see example is better than practice," said Maggie, meaning
"precept;" "and so 'cause Belle was good and kind herself, that put
you in a mind to be so; and that ought to make you very happy, Belle.
I find it is very true that if 'evil communications corrupt good
manners,' good communications also corrupt evil manners."
Little Belle had not said much while the others were talking on this
subject, but now she said quite softly to Bessie,--
"Bessie, do you think that I was a little sunbeam to Mabel? You know I
said I wouldn't be; but papa told me that verse out of the Bible 'bout
our Father making His sun to shine on the evil and the good, and he
said that meant we ought to be good and like sunshine to everybody, if
they were good or if they were bad."
"Yes: I do think you were, Belle," answered Bessie; "and I b'lieve our
Father was very pleased with you, 'cause you know Mabel was pretty evil
when she first came here; and it was very hard for you, most of all
about the locket."
"Yes," said Belle, with a sigh; "and now I've had to make up my mind
never to find my locket. Papa told me I had better. He says there is no
hope of finding it now."
Meanwhile Maggie was congratulating Mabel still further on her improved
conduct.
"We're very glad, Mabel," she said, "that we can be friends with you;
for we wouldn't have liked you to be 'a heathen man and a publican' to
us. We wouldn't like to be in that case with anybody, but 'specially
with Belle's cousin, 'cause we're so very fond of her."
"So am I," said Mabel, looking affectionately over at Belle.
And this was true. Mabel had really learned to love Belle dearly and
to trust her entirely; and, what was still better, she was becoming
anxious to copy the pretty lady-like behavior, ready obedience, and
sweet unselfishness, which she saw practised in the daily life of her
cousin, and her little friends, Maggie and Bessie Bradford.
Not that it must be thought that all went smoothly on every occasion.
Belle, as well as Mabel, had a firm will and a high temper, and she had
been much indulged and somewhat spoiled by her father and nurse; so
that now and then the two children would fall out about some trifle,
and perhaps have some quick words, and, it might be, pout and sulk
at one another for a while. But Belle was generally mindful of the
"sunshine" she was to shed about her, and so was soon ready to make
up and yield the disputed point; and then Mabel would be shamed into
repentance, and there would be harmony and peace between them once
more.
Yes: little Belle had truly proved a "sunbeam" to Mabel, throwing light
upon the right way, and not only pointing it out to her so plainly that
she could not miss it, but making it _look_ so bright and attractive
that she turned with some willingness to walk there, pleased to follow
in the steps of her little example.
And the sunshine which she set herself to shed upon Mabel's way was
reflected farther still on all about them, till where there had been
discontent and weariness now reigned harmony and happiness; and all was
peace.
* * * * *
Dora Johnson was a fat, chubby little thing, round as a ball, and like
the "Dumpling" her school-mates called her; looking as if she was never
troubled by a pain or an ache. But she was subject now and then to a
pain and fulness in her head, for which the best remedy was a turn in
the open air; and when one of these attacks came on in school, Miss
Ashton always allowed her to go for this, knowing that Dora was a child
to be trusted, who would return to her studies as soon as she was able.
Taken in time, they passed away soon with but little trouble, and her
kind teacher was watchful to prevent them as far as possible.
"Dora, my dear, does your head trouble you?" asked Miss Ashton, as she
saw the child press her hand to her forehead, while her face flushed
suddenly.
"Yes'm," answered Dora, dropping her book.
"Then wrap your cloak about you and go for a turn on the piazza or in
the garden, till you are better," said the lady.
Dora gladly obeyed, thankful for the relief which the fresh, bracing
air would bring to her throbbing head. Going for her cloak, she threw
it around her, ran downstairs and out upon the piazza. Her step was
light; and whatever sound her little feet might have made upon the
floor was drowned by the loud and continuous hammering made by some
workmen, who were tinning the roof of a neighboring house.
Dora walked once or twice the length of the piazza, and was beginning
to feel better, when she heard the sound of voices below; and presently
she saw the cook come out from the kitchen-door, followed by Marcia,
the colored girl. Cook had a large bundle in her arm, and was evidently
going out.