_THE MISER._
"FRED," said Harry, as the little sisters came into the breakfast-room
the next morning,--"Fred, what have you done with my new top?"
"I declare," said Fred, after thinking a moment, "I do not know."
"That's what a fellow gets for lending you his things," said Harry,
crossly; "you never give them back, and never know where you leave
them. I sha'n't let you have anything of mine again in a hurry."
"I know where it is, Harry," said Maggie. "I'll bring it to you. I saw
it last night."
And away ran Maggie, always ready and willing to oblige; but as she
reached the door, she stood still with the knob in her hand. "Harry,
if I go for it, will you give me a penny?"
"Well," said Harry, "no, I will not."
"If you don't choose to go for it, tell me where it is, and I will go
myself," said Fred.
But Maggie went without another word, and came back with the top in her
hand.
"There's your penny," said Harry, throwing one on the table.
"That's as mean a thing as ever I knew," said Fred, "to want to be paid
for going upstairs for a fellow who has a sprained leg and can't go for
himself. You know mamma said he must not go up and down much till his
ankle was well."
"I'd have thought anybody would have done such a thing sooner than you,
Maggie," said Harry, reproachfully.
Maggie stood with crimson cheeks and a shaking lip. "I sha'n't have
the penny!" she said, angrily. But just then papa and mamma came in
and the bell was rung for morning prayers, which prevented any farther
quarrelling.
But Maggie's troubles were not yet at an end for that morning.
Breakfast was over, mamma gone to the nursery, papa to his library, and
the children were alone in the breakfast-room.
"Midget," said Harry, "you know that pink fluted shell of yours?"
"Yes," answered Maggie.
"If you'll give it to me, I'll give you any two of mine you may choose."
"Oh, Harry, I can't! Aunt Annie gave me that shell, and I want to keep
it for memory of her. Besides, it's my prettiest shell."
"Aunt Annie isn't dead," said Harry. "You don't keep a thing in memory
of a person unless they're dead."
"She'll die one of these days," said Maggie; "every one has to die
sometime, and I'll keep it till then. But I meant I wanted it because
she gave it to me, Harry, and I can't let you have it." But presently,
having forgotten about the penny, and thinking of the library box,
Maggie added, "I'll give it to you for ten cents, Harry."
"Indeed, I shall not give ten cents for it!" said Harry. "It's not
worth it and--why, Mag, you are growing as mean as,--as mean as--"
Harry stopped, for he saw Maggie's color rising and the tears coming
in her eyes, and he was not an unkind boy, who would willingly hurt or
grieve his little sisters.
"She is a real miser," said Fred.
Poor Maggie! This was too much, and she burst into tears.
"Don't cry, Maggie," said Harry. "I did not mean to hurt you, but I do
not know what to make of you."
"What's all this wonderful fuss about money, Bessie?" asked Fred.
"Ask me no _lies_, and I'll tell you no _questions_," said Bessie,
holding up her head and looking at her brothers with a grave, reproving
air, "You talk very unproperly to my Maggie."
At this, the boys shouted and laughed so loud and so long that Bessie
felt as badly as her sister, and saying, "Let's go away, Maggie," they
ran off.
When Mr. Bradford came out of his room, he saw his little girls sitting
at the head of the stairs looking very unhappy. Maggie had been crying;
Bessie had her arm around her waist, as though she were trying to
comfort her, but looked as if she wanted comfort herself.
"Why, what ails my singing birdies this morning?" asked papa. "In
trouble so early in the day?"
"Papa," said Bessie, in a grieved little voice, "we are having very
_misable_ times to-day."
"That is bad," said Mr. Bradford, sitting down on the stairs beside
them; "but tell papa what it is, and see if he cannot help you into
pleasanter times."
"People say things to us," said Bessie.
"And do you not wish people to speak to you?"
"Oh, yes, papa, if they say nice things; but first, nurse called our
shells and sea-weed, 'truck.'"
"Very poor taste in nurse," said Mr. Bradford; "but I would not fret
about that. Is there anything more?"
"Yes, papa,"--Bessie hesitated,--"but I do not like to tell tales."
"But I want to know what the trouble is. I shall not think you are
telling tales when I ask you."
"Harry called me 'mean,' and Fred said I was 'a miser,'" said Maggie,
beginning to cry again. "And I wouldn't be such an ugly thing, now!"
"What is a miser, Maggie?" asked papa.
"An ugly old man, who makes believe he hasn't any money, when he has a
whole lot in bags in a chest, and doesn't eat anything but crusts, with
an ugly, thin cat who hunches up her back," said Maggie.
Maggie's idea of a miser was taken from a picture she had once seen.
"Then my rosebud does not look much like a miser," answered Mr.
Bradford, patting Maggie's round, smooth cheek.
"But he meant I was _like_ a miser, and they laughed at Bessie," said
Maggie.
"But I quarrelled and said a cross thing to them, papa," said Bessie,
who was always ready to own when she had done wrong.
"What did you say?"
Bessie repeated what she had said to the boys, making the same mistake
she had done before, and her father could not wonder that they had
laughed. He asked a question or two more, and soon knew the whole story
of the penny and the shell.
"And it is very hard to have people say such things when it is a good
purpose, papa," said Maggie, wiping her eyes as she finished.
"So it is, Maggie; but it is what we must all look for, more or less in
this world. When we are trying to do good, other people will sometimes
misunderstand us, think that we are doing the wrong thing, or perhaps
doing the right thing in the wrong way; and they may tell us so, or
make unkind remarks about us. But if we feel that we are doing right,
and know that we are about the dear Saviour's work, we should not mind
that. Yes, and we must bear to be laughed at too, my Bessie. I do not
think though that your brothers have meant to grieve you so much. Fred,
I know, will sometimes tease, but Harry is not apt to be unkind or
provoking."
"No, papa," said Maggie. "Harry is a very good, kind brother."
"So I think," said papa. "Do the boys know why you are so anxious to
earn money?"
"No, papa. I did not tell them, 'cause I thought maybe they would laugh
at me."
"They shall not laugh at you, I will answer for that. But, although
they were not very polite or kind in their way of telling you so, you
can scarcely wonder that your brothers were surprised at your wish
to be paid for any little favor you might do them. You are generally
so obliging and willing, so ready to run and to do for the pleasure
of helping others, that I myself might have thought you selfish and
disobliging, had I heard you asking for pay without knowing your
reason. And I would not do so again, dearie. Whatever you may be able
to save by denying or taking any pains with yourselves, or may make by
doing any little extra work for mamma or any one else, well and good;
but I would not ask to be paid for such small things as you are in the
habit of doing every day for those around you. You must not be too
eager to gain money for _any_ purpose."
"Not for a good one, papa?"
"No. Never do wrong that good may come of it."
"Do you think I was like a miser this morning, papa?"
"No. I do not think Fred quite understood the meaning of the word
himself when he used it in that way. To be miserly, or like a miser, is
to try to save and put by money only that we may look at it, and count
it over, taking pleasure in the thought that we have it, not in using
it for our good or pleasure, or that of others. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, papa. You mean if Bessie and I were to put all our money into
that box of mamma's, and just count it and count it, and never take any
out, or spend it for the library or anything else, we would be little
misers even if we are not old men?"
"Papa," said Bessie, "yesterday morning at prayers, you yead about the
lord who went away and gave his servants money to take care of, and
how one of them put his money in a napkin, and dug a hole in the ground
and hid it there; and when his lord came home, he was angry with him,
and punished him. Was that man a miser?"
"Yes, dear, I think we may call him a miser; and I am glad my little
girl remembers so well. We may be miserly with other things than money.
If we do not use any of the gifts which God has given us as he intended
we should do, for our own good and that of others, we are misers; and
it is as wrong to do so as it would be to waste them, or throw them
away. Suppose you were to say, 'These are very small hands and feet
which God has given to me; they are not nearly as large as papa's or
mamma's, or even as strong as my brothers; they cannot do much work,
so they shall do none at all; I will not run up and down stairs, or go
little errands: I will not rock the baby, or amuse Franky, or do any
other thing which might save my mamma some trouble; I will not even
play about, or go out to walk, but just sit still and do nothing all
day long. Or, this is a very young mind of mine, it knows very little,
and cannot understand everything, so I shall not try to learn and add
more knowledge to that which I have. I cannot do much for the praise
and glory of God who made me and gave me every good thing I have, so I
shall not try to please him at all. I will take and keep all he gives
me, but I will not use it or enjoy it, nor let others do so.' This
would be like the poor foolish man who buried his talent, instead of
making use of it for his lord. It would be like a miser."
"But, papa," said Maggie, "I don't think I _could_ be a miser with my
hands and feet. Why, I would think it was dreadful to sit still all
day and do nothing. They will move sometimes even when I don't mean
them to; and if I want them to keep still, they seem to forget and just
move of themselves."
Mr. Bradford smiled as he remembered how true Maggie's words were. It
did indeed seem impossible for those restless little hands and feet to
keep still; they must always be busy about something, and he knew that
she could scarcely have a greater punishment than to be forced to sit
quiet for ten or fifteen minutes at a time.
"Papa must take his hands and feet away now," he said, "or they will be
late at the office. The hands and the head, too, have a good deal to do
to-day if they are to feel at liberty to go to Riverside to-morrow; so
kiss me for good-by."
Mr. Bradford stopped in the breakfast-room, where the boys still were,
and telling them of what their sisters were trying to do, and how
earnest they were about it, said he hoped they would neither tease nor
laugh at them, but would do all in their power to help them.
Harry and Fred were really sorry when they heard how distressed the
little girls had been, and promised to do nothing more to trouble them.
"I cannot quite promise not to laugh at Bessie, papa," said Harry. "She
says such droll things in such a droll way, or twists something about,
and comes out with it with such a grand air for such a mite of a thing
as she is, that a fellow can't help laughing."
"The greater the difficulty, the greater the kindness to your little
sister, my son. I know it is hard, sometimes almost impossible, to
help smiling, or even laughing outright, at some of Bessie's speeches;
but you may avoid doing so in a loud, boisterous, mocking way. Put
yourselves in her place, boys, and think how you would like it."
"I'm sure I do not mind being laughed at, papa; at least, not much,"
said Harry.
"No," said Fred, "that he don't; so he never is laughed at. The other
fellows say it's no fun teasing him, he's so cool about it."
"But Bessie does mind it," said his father, "and so does Maggie; and
we are not to judge that a thing is right and kind because it is not
disagreeable to ourselves. You know your Aunt Annie is exceedingly
afraid of a mouse."
"Indeed, she is," said Fred. "She'll squeal and jump on a chair, and
turn as white as a sheet, if she only suspects there is one in the
room."
"It is real honest fear, too," said Harry, "no make believe about it. I
am real sorry for her, too; it must make her so uncomfortable."
"Yes," said his father. "She was frightened by one when a child, and
cannot overcome her fear of them. Now I am not in the least afraid
of mice; indeed, if they were not so mischievous, I should enjoy
seeing them play about the house; but would you not think me cruel and
unfeeling if I were to allow a mouse to be in the room with Annie,
while I either amused myself with her fears or was quite careless of
them? Would you think I was doing as I would be done by?"
"No, sir," said both the boys.
"Then you see the golden rule teaches us not only to avoid doing those
things to others which are painful to ourselves, but also to put
ourselves in their places, and to say, 'How should I wish to be done
by if I felt as they do?' There, I have given two little lessons this
morning,--one to my girls, and one to my boys,--and shall have to read
a third to my self on the meaning of the word punctual if I do not
hurry away. Good-by to you."
As soon as their father had left them, Maggie and Bessie ran away to
mamma's room. Maggie, always eager for anything new, begged that she
might have one of her towels to begin to hem it at once. But mamma said
it was time for their walk, and they must go out first. They found
not only Mr. Hall, but also their friend, Colonel Rush, in the park,
and Bessie introduced them to each other, saying, gravely, "Mr. Hall,
please to know Colonel Yush; Colonel Yush, please to know Mr. Hall."
The two gentlemen smiled, shook hands heartily, and certainly seemed
well pleased to know each other. Perhaps it was partly because they
were both so fond of the dear little girls who stood beside them.
When the children went home, mamma had a towel neatly folded and begun
for Maggie. She sat down at once, sewing away in a great hurry, and
saying to Bessie that she was going to finish it that day. Presently
mamma, seeing that she was moving along the hem pretty fast, came and
looked at her work.
"Oh, Maggie, Maggie!" she said, "this will not do, my dear child. Such
long, crooked stitches! Why, you can sew much better than this."
"Yes, mamma, but then I am in such a hurry to finish it."
"But you must not be in such a hurry, dear, that you cannot take time
to do it neatly. Suppose, when the towel is done, I were to hand you
three cents and say, 'I am in such a hurry, Maggie, I shall only give
you three cents.' Would you think that quite fair?"