Hattie's was not the simple faith of "Mamma says so," so sweet in
little children. Mamma might or might not do as she had said she would,
according to the convenience of the moment.
So it was no marvel that Hattie thought it no great harm to escape
punishment or gain some fancied good by stretching the truth, or
even telling a deliberate falsehood; or that, having a great love of
talking, a story should outgrow its true dimensions in her hands;
or that she did not see what was honest and upright as well as some
children.
But with Gracie Howard it was very different.
Truth, and truth before all things, was the motto in her home, the
lesson which from her babyhood had been taught to her by precept and
by example; and the conscience which, in Hattie, was so easily put to
sleep, would not let her rest. In vain did jealousy and ambition try to
reconcile her to the act of dishonesty and meanness into which she had
allowed herself to be drawn; in vain did she argue with herself that
"it was all Hattie's fault;" she could not betray Hattie when she had
done this just for her; or "there was no way of putting the mat back
now; she could not help herself." Gracie sinned with her eyes open, and
her conscience all alive to the wickedness of which she was guilty.
But her stubborn pride was beginning to give way in one point; for she
had no mind to "lose the fun of the fair," as Hattie said,--though even
the fair had lost some of its attraction with this weight upon her
conscience,--and she resolved to send for her mother, and tell her she
would ask Miss Ashton's pardon.
So when the long, weary afternoon had worn away, and Mrs. Howard came
home, Gracie rang the bell, and sent a message begging her mother to
come to her.
Mamma came thankfully; but one look at her little daughter's face was
enough to convince her that she was in no softened mood, in no gentle
and humbled spirit. It was with a sullen and still half-defiant manner
that Gracie offered to do what was required of her; and her mother
saw that it was fear of farther punishment, and not real sorrow and
repentance, which moved her.
"I suppose I ought not to have spoken so, mamma," she answered, when
her mother asked her if she did not see how very naughty she had been;
"but Miss Ashton is so unjust, and Nellie provokes me so."
"How is Miss Ashton unjust?" asked Mrs. Howard.
Gracie fidgeted and pouted, knowing that her mother would not be
willing to accept the charges she was ready to bring.
"She's always praising Nellie for every thing she does, mamma; and in
these days she never gives me one word of praise, even when every one
has to see that I do the best. And--and--I b'lieve she tries to make
me miss, so Nellie can go above me in the classes."
"Gracie," said her mother, "you know that that last accusation is
untrue. As for the first, if Miss Ashton is sparing of her praise, my
daughter, it is because she knows it is hurtful to you. Nellie is a
timid child, trying to do her best, but with little confidence in her
own powers; and praise, while it encourages and helps her to persevere,
does not make her vain or conceited. But Miss Ashton sees that that
which is needful for Nellie is hurtful to you; for it only increases
your foolish vanity and self-esteem, and it is for your own good that
she gives you a smaller share. You have, unhappily, so good an opinion
of yourself, Gracie, that praise not only makes you disagreeable, but
disposes you to take less trouble to improve yourself. Let me hear
no more of Miss Ashton's injustice. When you deserve it, or it does
not hurt you, Miss Ashton is as ready to give praise to you as she
is to another. You say you are willing to ask her pardon for your
impertinence; but I fear that you do not really see your fault."
"Are you not going to let me come out, then, mamma?"
"Yes, since you promise to do as I say; but I fear you are in no proper
spirit, Gracie, and that you will fall into further trouble unless you
become more submissive and modest."
"Hattie was here this afternoon, mamma," said Gracie, as she followed
her mother from the room.
"So I understood," said Mrs. Howard, who had been waiting for the
confession, having been informed of the circumstance by the servant.
"I left my mat in school yesterday," said Gracie, "and she thought I
would want it, and came to bring it back."
She spoke in a low tone and with downcast eyes; for Gracie was so
unused to deceit that she could not carry it out boldly, as a more
practised child might have done.
Something in her manner struck her mother, who turned and looked at
her.
"Did Hattie bring you any message from Miss Ashton?" she asked.
"No, mamma: she only came about the mat; and she begged me to ask Miss
Ashton's pardon," answered Gracie with the same hesitation.
But her mother only thought that the averted face and drooping look
were due to the shame which she felt at meeting the rest of the family
after her late punishment and disgrace.
"I told Hattie you would not wish her to stay with me, mamma; but she
would not go right away, but I would not let her stay very long."
"I am glad you were so honest, dear," said Mrs Howard.
Honest! Gracie knew how little she deserved such a character, and her
mother's praise made her feel more guilty than ever.
She was received with open arms by the other children; for Gracie was
the eldest of the flock, and, in spite of her self-conceit, she was a
kind little sister, and the younger ones quite shared her own opinion,
thinking no child so good and wise as their Gracie. And they had missed
her very much; so now they all treated her as if she had been ill or
absent, and made much of her.
But for once Gracie could not enjoy this, and it only seemed to make
her feel more ashamed and guilty. What would mamma say, what would all
say if they only knew?
Mrs. Howard had told Gracie that she might either go to school early
in the morning and make her apology to Miss Ashton before the other
scholars came, or she might write to her this evening, and send the
note to her teacher.
Gracie had chosen to do the last; but when the younger children had
gone to bed, and she tried to write the note, she found she could not
bring her mind to it. Her conscience was so troubled, and her thoughts
so full of her guilty secret, that the words she needed would not come
to her; and as her mother saw her sitting with her elbows upon the
table, biting the end of her pencil or scrawling idly over her blotter
and seeming to make no progress at all, she believed, and with reason,
that Gracie was not truly repentant for what she had done, and had
only promised to beg Miss Ashton's pardon in order that she might be
released from the imprisonment of which she had tired. Gracie was not
usually at a loss for ideas or words where she had any thing to write.
"I can't do it," she said pettishly at last, pushing paper and pencil
from her. "I s'pose I'll have to go to Miss Ashton in the morning, and
I b'lieve I'll go to bed now. Good-night, mamma."
And Gracie went to her room, wishing to escape from her own thoughts,
and bring this miserable day to a close as soon as possible.
But the next morning it was no better; and now it seemed harder to go
to Miss Ashton and speak than it would be to write. But it was too late
now: she had no time to compose a note, "make it up" as she would have
said, and to copy it before school, and she must abide by her choice
of the previous night.
She started early for school, according to her mother's desire, with
many charges from her to remember how grievously she had offended Miss
Ashton, and to put away pride and self-conceit and make her apology in
a proper spirit.
Had there not been that guilty secret fretting at Gracie's heart, she
might have been induced to be more submissive; but, as it was, she felt
so unhappy that it only increased her reluctance to make amends to Miss
Ashton and acknowledge how wrong she had been.
She asked for her teacher at once when she reached the house, anxious
to "have it over;" and, when the young lady appeared, blurted out, "I
beg your pardon, Miss Ashton."
Miss Ashton sat down, and, taking Gracie's half-reluctant hand, drew
her kindly towards her.
"It is freely granted, my dear," she said. "And are you truly sorry,
Gracie?"
Gracie fidgeted and wriggled uneasily; but we who know what she had
done can readily believe that it was more pride than a strict love of
the truth which led her to say to herself that she was "not sorry," and
"she could not tell a story by saying so."
"I beg your pardon, ma'am, and I won't do so again," she repeated,
seeing that Miss Ashton waited for her answer.
Miss Ashton did not wish to force her to say that which she did not
feel, and she saw that it was of no use to argue with her in her
present stubborn mood; but she talked quietly and kindly to her,
setting before her the folly and the wrong of the self-love and vanity
which were ruling her conduct, and day by day spoiling all that was
good and fair in her character.
"See what trouble they have brought you into now, Gracie," she said;
"and unless you check them in time, my child, they will lead you deeper
into sin. I scarcely know you for the same little girl who first came
to me, so much have these faults grown upon you; and they are fast
destroying all the affection and confidence of your school-fellows.
Why, Gracie, I have heard one little girl say that 'Gracie thought so
much of herself that it sometimes made her forget to be very true.'"
Gracie started. Was this the character her self-love was earning for
her? she who desired to stand so high in all points with the world.
Ah! but it was for the praise of man, and not for the honor and glory
of God that Gracie strove to outshine all others; and she walked by her
own strength, and the poor, weak prop must fail her and would lay her
low.
"Forget to be very true!"
How far she had done this, even Miss Ashton did not dream; but it
seemed to Gracie that she had chosen her words to give her the deepest
thrust, and she bowed her head in shame and fear.
But Miss Ashton, knowing nothing of what was passing in that guilty
young heart, was glad to see this, and believed that her words were
at last making some impression on Gracie, and that she was taking
her counsel and reproof in a different spirit from that in which she
generally received them.
Strange to say, in all the miserable and remorseful thoughts which had
made her wretched since yesterday afternoon, it had not once entered
her mind how she was to face Nellie when the poor child should make
known the misfortune which had befallen her.
One by one the children came in, and how awkward Gracie felt in meeting
them may readily be imagined by any one who has suffered from some
similar and well-merited disgrace. Still she tried, as she whispered
to Hattie she should do, to "behave as if nothing had happened;" and
when little Belle, after looking at her wistfully for a moment as if
undecided how to act, came up and kissed her, saying, "I'm glad to see
you, Gracie," she answered rather ungraciously, "I'm sure it's not
so very long since you saw me," and sent the dear little girl away
feeling very much rebuffed.
And yet she really felt Belle's innocent friendliness, and her sweet
attempt to make her welcome and at her ease; but pride would not let
her show it.
Nellie was one of the last to arrive, and her troubled and woe-begone
face startled Gracie and smote her to the heart.
"Such a dreadful thing has happened to me," said Nellie, when she was
questioned by the other children; and the tears started to her eyes
afresh as she spoke.
"What is it? What is it?" asked a number of eager voices.
"I don't know how it can have happened," said Nellie, hardly able to
speak for the sobs she vainly tried to keep back. "I have been so, so
careful; but there is an ugly spot like ink or something on my mat.
I can't think how it ever came there, for I put it in my desk very
carefully when school began yesterday, and did not take it out till I
got home, and I did not know there was any ink near it. But when I
unrolled it last evening the stain was there, and mamma thinks it is
ink, and she cannot get it out. And I've taken such pains to keep the
mat clean and nice."
And here poor Nellie's voice broke down entirely, while Gracie, feeling
as if her self-command, too, must give way, opened her desk and put her
head therein, with a horrible choking feeling in her throat.
"We'll all tell Mrs. Howard it came somehow through not any fault of
yours," said Lily. "Never mind, Nellie, yours is the best mat, anyhow:
we all know it;" and Lily cast a defiant and provoking glance at
Gracie, which was quite lost upon the latter.
Lily had suggested on the day before, that when Gracie came back to
school they should "all behave just as if nothing had happened," just
what Gracie intended to do; but generous Lily had said it in quite a
different spirit from that in which Gracie proposed it to herself.
But Gracie's rebuff to Belle, and the seeming indifference with
which she treated Nellie's misfortune, roused Lily's indignation once
more; for she thought, as did many of the other children, that Gracie
did not feel sorry for Nellie's trouble, since it gave her the greater
chance of having her own work pronounced the best.
[Illustration]
"Yes, we will tell Mrs. Howard," said Dora Johnson: "yours was really
the best mat of all, though Gracie's was almost as nice; and we will
tell her something happened to it that you could not help, and perhaps
she will not mind it."
"Perhaps a vase standing on it would cover the spot," said Laura
Middleton.
Nellie shook her head.
"No," she said, "that would not make it any better. Mrs. Howard said
that the best and neatest mat must take the highest premium, and mine
is not the neatest now. I wouldn't feel comfortable to do any thing
that was not quite fair, even if you all said I might."
"That was not quite fair!"
More and more ashamed, and feeling how far behind Nellie left her in
honesty and fairness, Gracie still sat fumbling in her desk, looking
for nothing.
"Well," said Dora, "we'll speak to Mrs. Howard about it, and see what
she says: won't we, Gracie?"
Gracie muttered something which might mean either yes or no.
"Augh!" said Lily, "what do you talk to that proudy about it for? She
don't care a bit. I b'lieve she's just glad and wouldn't help Nellie if
she could."
Gracie made no answer: she was too miserable for words or to think of
answering Lily's taunts, and she would have given up all thought of
having any thing to do with the fair to have had Nellie's mat safely in
her possession once more. Oh, if she had never yielded to temptation or
to Hattie's persuasions!
"How you do act!" whispered Hattie to Gracie. "If you don't take care
they will suspect something."
"I can't help it," returned Gracie in the same tone: "it is such an
awful story that we have told."
"It is not a story," said Hattie; "we've neither of us said one word
about the mat."
This was a new view of the matter; but it brought no comfort to
Gracie's conscience She knew that the acted deceit was as bad as the
spoken one, perhaps in this case even worse.
She felt as if she could not bear this any longer, as if she must
tell, must confess what she had done; and yet--how? How could she
lower herself so in the eyes of her schoolmates? she who had always
held herself so high, been so scornful over the least meanness,
equivocation, or approach to falsehood!
A more wretched little girl than Gracie was that morning it would have
been hard to find; but her teacher and schoolmates thought her want
of spirit arose from the recollection of her late naughtiness and the
feeling of shame, and took as little notice of it as possible.
And Lily, repenting of her resentment when she saw how dull and
miserable Gracie seemed, threw her arms about her neck as they were
leaving school, and said, "Please forgive me my provokingness this
morning, Gracie. I ought to be ashamed, and I am."
But Gracie could not return, scarcely suffer, the caress, and dared not
trust herself to speak, as she thought how furious Lily's indignation
would be if she but knew the truth.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
X.
_A GAME OF CHARACTERS._
At home or at school, studying, working or playing--for the latter she
had little heart now--Gracie could not shake off the weight that was
upon her mind and spirits. Even her work for the fair had lost its
interest; and as for the mat, Nellie's mat, she could not bear the
sight of it. She went to sleep at night thinking of it, and trying to
contrive some way out of her difficulty, though she would not listen to
the voice of her conscience which whispered that there was but one way;
and she woke in the morning with the feeling that something dreadful
had happened. Appetite and spirits failed; she grew fretful and
irritable, and her mother imagined that she must be ill, though Gracie
resolutely persisted that there was nothing the matter with her, and
that she felt quite well.
"Gracie," said Mrs. Howard one morning after three or four days had
passed, "it appears to me that you are not doing much on your mat. How
is that?"
"I don't care," answered Gracie, fretfully. "I don't believe I'll
finish it. I'm tired of the old thing."
"That will not do, my child," said her mother. "You have undertaken to
do this for your grandmamma and for the fair, and I cannot have you
stop it now without some good reason. Bring the mat to me."
Gracie went for the mat very unwillingly, though she dared not refuse
nor even show her reluctance.
"It really does you credit," said Mrs. Howard, taking it from her
hands: "it is so smooth and even, and you have kept it so neat. But
you must be more industrious, dear, if you are to have it finished
in time. And see, Gracie," she continued, looking at it more closely,
"these last few lines look not _quite_ as nicely as the rest. There is
a difference in the work, and you will have to take more pains than you
have done here. It looks almost as if another person had worked it. You
have not let any one help you with it, have you?"
"No, mamma," replied Gracie in a low tone and with a frightened
feeling. Was there really such a difference between her work and
Nellie's that it was so easily detected?
It had not occurred either to her or to Hattie, perhaps they did not
know, that the work of two different hands seldom or never matches well
upon embroidery in worsted, and that it is almost sure to be perceived.
She was dismayed at the thought that her mother had noticed this, and
now every stitch that she took seemed to make the difference more
plain, take what pains she might.
She began to feel angry and indignant at Hattie for leading her into
this sin, shutting her eyes to the fact that, if she had not allowed
proud and jealous thoughts to creep into her heart, temptation would
not have had so much influence over her.
She no longer took any pleasure in the society of her little friend,
and shrank from her in a way that Hattie perceived, and by which she
was hurt; for she was disposed in her own mind to throw all the blame
upon Hattie, forgetting that she was really the most to blame, since
she had been better taught, and saw more clearly the difference between
right and wrong.
As for Nellie, poor, innocent, injured Nellie, Gracie felt as if she
could not bear the sight of her; and when she saw in what a gentle,
patient spirit she took her great misfortune,--for so all the children
considered it,--she grew more and more ashamed and lowered in her own
sight. Pride and self-esteem could not now blind her to the fact that
Nellie was better, far better, than herself.
Meanwhile the change in Gracie was exciting the wonder of all, the
pity of some, of her young friends and schoolmates. Only Hattie held
the clew to it; and she was surprised that such "a trifle," as she
considered it, should have such an effect upon Gracie and make her so
unhappy.
But Gracie was not a really bad or deceitful child, although she had
suffered herself to be led so far astray. She was not naturally more
unkind or selfish than most of us who have not the love and fear of
God before us; indeed she was what children call "generous" in giving
or sharing what she had, and she was always glad to do a helpful
or obliging act for another. But she had always trusted to her own
strength, and believed she could not fall, and now she was learning
that her high thoughts of herself, and her carelessness of what she
considered little faults, had made her an easy prey to temptation and
the indulgence of a foolish pride and jealousy had led her into this
great sin into which she had not imagined she could fall. But although
she saw this now, she was not truly repentant; for she would not take
the only right and true way to make amends; and spent her time wishing
vain wishes, and trying to contrive some way out of her difficulty
without bringing disgrace upon herself or losing her character for
honor and truthfulness among her young companions. It troubled Gracie
far less to think how she already stood in the eyes of God, than it did
to imagine how she might appear in the sight of her earthly friends if
this thing were known.
There was a small children's party at Mrs. Bradford's. Gracie did not
care to go; indeed she would much rather not have done so: but her
mother had accepted for her, and she had no good excuse for staying
away.
She was more restless and miserable than usual that afternoon: she
set up her opinion against that of all the rest, found fault with her
playmates in every game that was begun, was more than usually sure that
she knew every thing and could do better than any one else, and, not
having her wits and thoughts about her, miserably failed in all the
plays in which she meant to shine.
"What shall we play now?" asked Bessie at length, when they had all
tired of some romping game.
"Let's take a little rest, and play 'Characters,'" said Gracie, who was
very good in this, having no match among her present playmates save
Maggie.
"Well," said Maggie, willing to please her if possible, although she
saw some objections to the game just now; "we'll play it; but it is
rather hard for the younger ones, so we must take easy characters.
Who'll go out?"
"I will," said Lily; "but mind you do take an easy one. Somebody we
know very well, not any history or jography character. I don't want to
bother my head about lesson people when I'm playing."
"Very well," said Maggie; and Lily went out, singing loudly in the hall
that she might "be sure and not hear."
"Let's take Cromwell," said Gracie, always anxious, no matter what her
frame of mind, to display her knowledge.
"No," said Maggie, "that's too hard for Lily; and she wants us to take
some one we know."
"I should think any goose might know about Cromwell," said Gracie.
"We did not know about him till a few weeks ago," said Dora Johnson.
"We've only just had him in our history, and I don't b'lieve Lily knows
much about him."
"Then take Lafayette," said Gracie.
"Lily means some of the people we have in our own lives," said Bessie.
"Make haste: she'll be tired."
This was seconded by Lily's voice calling from without, "Why don't you
make haste? I should think you were choosing a hundred people."
"Let's take Flossey," said Belle, looking at the dog, who had jumped
upon a chair beside Maggie, where he sat with a wise and sedate air as
if he were listening to all that passed, and ready to take his share in
the game.
This was agreed upon by all but Gracie, who declared that it was
"ridiculous to choose a dog," and she had "a great mind not to play the
game in such an absurd way."
Lily was called in and proceeded to ask her questions.
"Male or female?" was the first, beginning at Dora.
"Male," answered Dora.
"Black or white?" asked Lily.
"Neither," said Belle, who was next in turn, "least he's not black at
all; but he's some white."
Lily looked rather puzzled at this.
"And what color besides is he?"
"Brown," answered Bessie.
"A brown and white man," said Lily. "Oh! I know. It's old black Peter."
"No, no, no," echoed around the circle.
"Not one scrap of Peter is white," said Mamie Stone. "He's the blackest
old man I ever saw."
"Part of his eyes are white and his teeth too," said Lily, who was
generally pretty sure of her ground when she stated a fact. "Where does
he live?"
"In this country," said Nellie.
"In this city?"
"Yes," answered Maggie.
"Is he good or bad?"
"Good, most generally," answered Mabel; "only sometimes pretty
mischievous."