WHAT MADE THE DIFFERENCE?
"O Mother! Fanny Bell, and Mary Green, and ever so many of the girls,
are going into the woods to-morrow afternoon, and they want us to go
with them. May we, mother?" said Belle and Nannie together, as they came
running into the room where their mother was.
"I'll see about it," she said; "it will depend upon what kind of girls
you are."
"Oh, we'll be very good, mother, if you will let us go."
"We'll see," said their mother.
The morrow came, and with it the desired permission. Pretty early,
Nannie, who was on the watch, saw them coming, and called out to Belle,
"Here they are!" Belle ran out.
"Are you going?"
"Yes."
"Is Nannie?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I'm so glad Nannie's going," cried one voice and another. "Yes, I'm
so glad."
"I don't see," said Belle to herself, "why they should be so glad Nannie
is going. They don't seem to care about me at all."
With rather a cross tone of voice, she called to Nannie to make haste
and get ready.
Just as they were starting, Charlie came in, and seeing Nannie with her
bonnet on, he called out:--
"O Nannie, where are you going? I want you to show me the pictures in
your new book."
"I can't this afternoon, Charlie; I'm going into the woods."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Charlie; "I like so much better when you're at home."
"It does not make any difference to Charlie whether I'm at home or not,"
Belle said to herself.
When they started there was such a strife who should walk with Nannie,
that Belle was very nearly left to walk alone. Their walk led through
the pretty lane bordered with lime-trees, at the back of Dr. Merry's
house, then on past Grannie Burt's house, when it turned off into a
little path, across the field that was worn quite smooth by the boys
going nutting. This path brought you at last to a stile. Over this stile
they all climbed, and now were in the woods. What a beautiful wood it
was! The trees opened here and there to let in the sunlight, which
danced in and out among the green and yellow and russet brown leaves of
the trees, changing into every hue of autumn. On the ground, springing
up everywhere, were the dark leaves and bright red berries of the
cranberry and bilberry; while down by the brook the greenest of all
mosses covered the stones, and converted any old log that came in their
way into the softest of seats. Then, what a wild and roaring little
brook that Stony Brook was! You could follow it all the way through the
woods by only stepping from stone to stone, and every little while you
might see a great hole scooped out in the rock, where the water lay dark
and silent, or a little precipice over which it dashed and foamed. This
was a favourite wood with the children. In summer they often spent whole
days there, gathering wild flowers or the beautiful fern leaves, which
grew in every nook and corner. And now that the bright autumn leaves
were scattered everywhere, and the tempting berries covered the ground,
they found employment for many a spare hour. To-day the little girls
had gathered leaves and berries till they were tired, when Ellen Bates
said,--
"Let us choose a queen, and crown her."
"What will you crown her with?" said Mary Green.
"Oh, these bright leaves will do," said Nannie; "we can put them
together by the stems."
Now when it was first proposed to choose a queen, Belle thought, "They
always choose the prettiest one for a queen--I know they will choose
me;" so she said with great eagerness, "Oh yes, let us have a queen!"
"Let us have Belle for our queen!" cried one of the girls.
"Oh no, we want Nannie!" said two or three at once.
"A crown of red leaves will look pretty with Nannie's red hair," said
one of the girls, laughing.
"I don't care," said another. "We all love her best, and I don't intend
to crown anybody I don't like, if they _are_ pretty."
Belle stood looking on with pretended indifference, for she did not want
the girls should know how much she cared about it.
"All that vote for Belle hold up a bunch of berries; and all that vote
for Nannie hold up an oak leaf."
The girls laughed, and held up their hands. There were six oak leaves,
and only two bunches of berries.
"I'd rather Belle would be queen," said Nannie, though it cost a little
effort to say it; for she was as much pleased with the honour as any one.
"But we had rather not," the girls said. "You cannot help yourself; so
sit down while we make your crown."
Belle was too proud to show her disappointment, so she sat down and helped
to make the crown. Very pretty she looked as she sat on the mossy bank,
while her hands worked in and out among the bright coloured leaves. A
stranger looking at the two sisters, would have wondered why the girls
had passed by Belle, and chosen the plain though pleasant-faced Nannie.
So one would think that looked only on the outside; but could one have
looked within, they would soon have understood the reason of the choice.
After the crowning of the queen, which was performed with all due
ceremony, the children went home, following Stony Brook till it poured
its waters into the little river on which the village was built.
After they reached home, Belle went upstairs, and sitting down by the
window, gave free vent to the angry thoughts she had been keeping under
all the afternoon.
"I don't see," she said to herself at last, "what makes the difference.
I know I'm a great deal prettier than Nannie;" and she went across and
looked at herself in the glass. "Yes, I am a great deal prettier, and
yet the girls all love Nannie better. And I can learn a lesson twice as
quick, and yet Miss Taylor likes Nannie better than me, and helps her
out of all her difficulties. And father, and mother, and sister Mary,
all think there's nobody like Nannie, and they are always scolding me
for something or other. I wish people would love me as they do Nannie. I
would rather be the ugliest person in the world and be loved." She was
silent for a moment, while conscience brought before her all the kind
acts Nannie was always doing for somebody. How ready she was to give up
her own pleasure, and do anything for others. Then she went off into a
pleasant day-dream, in which she was very good, always did just right,
and everybody loved her. All the old women in the village thought no
one could do anything for them like Belle Merry; her mother thought she
never could spare Belle, and Charlie was never satisfied when Belle was
away. She forgot, when she was dreaming, how, when her father said Granny
Burt had no one to read to her, she said "she hadn't time to read to an
old woman."
She forgot how often, when her mother had asked for some little help,
it had been given so pettishly as to make that mother's face grow sad.
She forgot how often, when Charlie had made some little request for
entertainment, she had turned away, until now he never asked Belle
for anything when Nannie was in the room. Yes, she forgot all this,
she forgot all the hard part of doing right, and her dream was very
pleasant--so pleasant, that at last she said, with great determination,
"I mean to be so kind and good, that they will all love me. I'm going to
try. I'll begin at once, to-night."
So she started down-stairs. Poor Belle! how many times had she come out
of her little room and gone down-stairs with the same determination to
do better, and how many times had she failed!
And how many times had Nannie come out of the same little room with the
same resolution, and almost always succeeded! What made the difference?
If you had been there sometimes with Nannie, you would have found that
she did one thing that Belle had not done. She knelt down and asked God
to help her.
There was the difference. Belle was trying to make herself good, Nannie
was praying to Jesus to help her.
As Belle came into the sitting-room, her mother said to her, "You ought
to have come down immediately to help to set the table, Belle; Nannie
set it for you."
Belle said nothing, neither did she thank Nannie, who looked up for a
moment, then went on reading.
"Belle," said her mother, "you may fill the water-pitcher, since Nannie
has done your work for you."
"I didn't ask her to do my work," said Belle, as she took the pitcher.
"That's always the way," she said to herself; "now I came down-stairs
feeling pleasant enough, and mother began scolding me because I hadn't
set the table. There's no use trying. I wasn't to blame."
Who _was_ to blame?
After supper Belle sat down with a book she was busy reading. Just as
she began, her father asked her to bring his slippers.
"In a minute," she said, without looking up, while she went on reading.
Nannie, seeing Belle so much interested, ran off and brought the slippers,
and received a pleasant "Thank you!" from her father. Belle was not so
much interested in her book as not to hear the "Thank you," and it again
excited the angry feelings.
"I was going in a minute," she said to herself. "Nannie needn't have
been in such a hurry. I wasn't to blame."
Who _was_ to blame?
"I wish one of you would take Charlie to bed," said their mother, as she
came in with her basket of mending. Here was a good opportunity to help
her mother, and Belle put down her book with determination, and said,
"I'll take him."
"No," said Master Charlie, "I don't want Belle to put me to bed;--I want
Nannie. You go, Nannie," he said, putting his little arms around her
neck, and looking up beseechingly. So Nannie laid down her book and took
Charlie to bed.
Poor Belle! She held her book up to hide the tears that would come.
"There's no use in trying," she thought. "It wasn't my fault if Charlie
wouldn't let me."
Whose fault was it?
Dr. Merry had seen it all. He saw the struggle it had been for Belle
to put away her book, and he saw the tears fill her eyes when Charlie
refused; and now, as he got up to go to his surgery, he whispered to
her, "Be strong and of a good courage. For the Lord thy God, he it is
that doth go with thee."
"What could her father mean?" Belle kept thinking it over and over.
"Be strong and of a good courage"--she knew well enough what the words
meant, but why should her father say them to her. She wondered if he
knew she was trying to do better, and was almost ready to give up.
"Be strong and of a good courage,"--she said it again. "Of good courage,
means not to be afraid, not to give up, to go on trying, no matter how
hard it is. But I don't see the use in trying. It's always the same,
everything goes wrong. I may as well give up at first as at last."
There was a Bible lying by her on the table, and, almost without thinking,
she took it up, and began turning over the leaves to find the words; she
knew where they were, for she had seen them many times. She found the
place, and read over again the words,--
"For the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail
thee, nor forsake thee."
"I can't do right,--there's no use trying;" but while she said it, she
was reading over again the last part, "He will not fail thee."
"I wonder," she said, brightening up as the thought struck her, "if that
is what father meant! I can't do right myself, but God will help me."