"He tan't talt, but he tan bart pretty well," said Frankie, to whom the
question fell.
"Oh! oh! that's too plain," cried one and another laughing; and Maggie,
thinking Frankie did not understand the game well enough to be allowed
to go out, gave a hint to Lily, but not wishing to hurt her little
brother's feelings took refuge in the French language, and said:--
"Ne _guessez_ pas a lui."
Frankie, however, was too sharp for her; there was not much that
escaped him, and he exclaimed in a very aggrieved tone that it was
"not fair," and that Lily should guess at him.
So Lily said "Flossey" was the character; and, amid much laughter, the
young gentleman betook himself to the hall with a pompous air, telling
the little girls to make haste.
"Let's take himself," said Bessie, which being agreed upon, Frankie was
called back almost before he was well out of the room.
"Is he blat or white?" he asked, following Lily's example, and
beginning as she had done at Dora.
"He's white," said Dora laughing; and, in obedience to a suggestion
from Maggie to help him out, she added,--"white, with brown eyes and
red cheeks and brown hair."
"Flossey," cried Frankie triumphantly.
"No, no; not Flossey again," said the children.
"Does he have four feets?" asked the little boy.
"No, only two," said Belle.
"Does he live in the stable?" asked Frankie.
"No, he lives in this house," said Bessie.
"Blackie," said Frankie, who was unable to give up the idea that since
it was not Flossey it must be the little pony owned by his sisters.
"Does he eat hay?" was his next question.
"No," answered Nellie, "he eats fruit and meat and bread and milk, and,
oh! how he does love sugar and candy!"
"Me," cried Frankie, feeling that this description exactly suited
himself.
The character having been guessed at Nellie she now went out, and
Maggie, willing to put Gracie in a good humor if possible, asked her
who they should take this time.
"Mary, Queen of Scots," answered Gracie promptly.
It was not altogether probable that the younger children knew much of
this unfortunate lady, but Gracie's choice was acceded to and Nellie
called.
"Male or female?" was of course the first question.
"Female," answered Dora.
"Old or young?"
"Um--m--m, pretty old," said Belle; "at least she was grown up."
"Is she alive now?"
"No," answered Bessie.
"Where did she live?"
"Well," said Lily, "she lived in a good many places. But not in this
country. Generally in France or Scotland."
"Oh," said Nellie to whom this answer gave an inkling of the truth; but
she passed on to the next.
"Was she good or bad, Maggie?"
"Some think her quite celestial and some think her quite infernal,"
answered Maggie with grand emphasis; "but on the whole I think she was
not either, only rather middling like the most of us."
Nellie felt more confident than ever; but not caring to risk one of her
three guesses as yet, she passed on. The questions she put to Mabel and
Frankie were simple and very easily answered; then came Gracie's turn.
"What was she celebrated for?"
"For cruelty and persecuting people," answered Gracie confidently; and
Nellie's idea was at once put to flight by the reply.
"That's a mistake," said Dora. "You are thinking of another character,
Gracie."
"I'm not, either," said Gracie. "Don't I know history better than any
of you?"
"You don't know _that_, anyway," said Maggie. "Gracie, you _are_ wrong.
_She_ was not the character you are thinking of, and was not celebrated
for that."
"But she _was_," persisted Gracie.
"Nellie," said Maggie, "you need not guess by what Gracie has told you,
for she is not right."
"I'll put my question another way," said Nellie. "Can I ask Gracie once
again?"
All agreed and Nellie asked,--
"Was she celebrated for her beauty and her misfortunes?"
"I shan't tell you," said Gracie snappishly. "If I do, I shan't be
believed, but they'll all go and contradict me. I suppose I know what
I know; and any of you might be proud if you knew as much history as I
do and had kept the head of the class so long."
Gracie had for a moment forgotten how disgracefully she had lost her
place at the head of the history class, but the silence that followed
her ill-tempered speech brought it back to her and increased her
vexation.
"You all think you know so much," she said, throwing herself back
sullenly in her chair.
Bessie had begged Lily to bear with Gracie and not to aggravate her
as she seemed so miserable and out of spirits, and Lily had been very
forbearing; at least, so she thought. But now her small stock of
patience was quite exhausted and she exclaimed vehemently:--
"Gracie, we try to stand you; we do try with all our might and main;
but you use up every bit of standing there is in me!"
This did not mend matters in Gracie's present state of mind, but led to
a pretty severe quarrel between her and Lily which the others vainly
tried to heal, Lily being rather provoking, and Gracie obstinately
sullen and ill-tempered.
It ended in a violent burst of tears from the latter, and a declaration
that she would go home at once. But this was impossible, since it was
now evening; and the children's supper-time being near at hand, Mrs.
Bradford could not just then spare a servant to go home with Gracie.
No soothing or coaxing proved of any avail, nor did Lily's repentance;
for she was sorry now that she had been provoking, and would readily
have kissed and made up if Gracie could have been persuaded to do so.
Gracie said that she would not stay where Lily was, and went sulkily
upstairs to the room where Maggie and Bessie slept.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XI.
_CONFESSION._
Gracie expected and wished to be left to herself till it was time to
go home; at least she thought she did, and she had quite made up her
mind that if any one came and begged her to go down to supper she would
steadily refuse.
She stood there with all manner of unhappy and wretched feelings,
wishing vain and fruitless wishes, as she had so often done since she
had fallen into this sin,--that she had never allowed Hattie to tempt
her into doing what she knew to be wrong; that grandmamma had never
made this plan or offered to put a price on the different pieces of
work; that she had never gone to the school, or that Nellie had never
belonged to it; but still she did not think of wishing that she had not
thought so much of herself or been so very anxious above all things to
be first.
Poor Gracie! Only those can tell how unhappy she was who have
themselves so fallen and so suffered. There was no way out of her
trouble but by confessing all the truth, and she could not bring
herself to that.
She had not closed the door when she came in, and presently she heard a
gentle foot-fall, then Bessie's soft voice, saying, "Are you in here,
Gracie?"
There was no light in the room save the faint glimmer of moonlight
which came through the window, and as Gracie stood in the shade, Bessie
did not at first see her.
"Yes, I'm here, but I don't want any supper, and I'm not coming down
till I go home," answered Gracie, not as ungraciously as she had
intended to speak, for somehow she could not be disagreeable to dear
Bessie.
"Supper is not quite ready yet, and you shall have some up here if you
had very much rather not come down," said Bessie with a coaxing tone in
her voice; "but you'd better come down, Gracie. They're all very sorry
for you and don't think you meant to be cross, 'cause Nellie said she
was sure something troubled you for a good many days, or you did not
feel well, and that often made people impatient, so we ought not to be
mad at you."
Gracie made no answer, but presently Bessie heard a low sob.
"Gracie, dear," she said, coming closer to her little friend and
putting her arms about her neck, "something does trouble you, doesn't
it? Couldn't you tell me what it is, and let me see if I could comfort
you? Sometimes it makes people feel better to tell their troubles and
have some one feel sorry for them."
The caressing touch, the tender manner, the earnest, pleading voice
were too much for Gracie, and, throwing herself down on a chair, she
buried her face in her arms and sobbed bitterly.
Bessie let her cry for a moment, for the wise little woman knew that
tears often do one good for a while, and contented herself with giving
soft touches to Gracie's hair and neck to let her know she was still
beside her and ready to give her her sympathy.
At last Gracie raised her head and said brokenly, "Oh, Bessie, I am so
bad! I am so wicked!"
"I don't think being rather--rather--well, rather cross, is so very
_wicked_," said Bessie, hesitating to give a hard name to Gracie's
ill-temper, "and if you are sorry now and will come downstairs, we'll
all be very glad to see you."
"Oh, it isn't that," sobbed Gracie. "Bessie, if you knew what I've
done, you'd hate me. I know you would."
"No, I wouldn't," said Bessie. "I'd never hate you, Gracie. I'd only be
sorry for you and try to help you."
"You can't help me. No one can help me," said Gracie, in a fresh
paroxysm of distress.
"Can't your mamma? Mammas generally can," said Bessie.
"No, not even mamma," answered Gracie. "Oh, Bessie, I do feel as if it
would be a kind of relief to tell you; but you'd hate me, you couldn't
help it; and so would every one else."
"Every one else need not know it because you tell me," said Bessie.
"Tell Jesus, and ask Him to help you, Gracie."
"Even He can't," said Gracie; "at least--at least--not unless I tell
other people who ought to know it."
"Do you mean He would want you to tell it?"
"Yes, I s'pose so," almost whispered Gracie.
Bessie considered a moment. That Gracie was full of a vain, foolish
pride and self-conceit, she knew; also that she was not the Gracie of a
year or two since; but that she would wrong any one she never dreamed,
and she could not imagine any cause for this great distress.
"Gracie," she said, "I think by what you say that you must have done
something to me. I can't think what it can be; but I promise not to be
angry. I will be friends with you all the same."
"It was not you; no, it was not you; but, Bessie, it was such a
dreadful thing and so mean that you never can bear me after you know
it. You are so very true yourself."
"Have you told a story?" asked Bessie in a troubled voice.
"Not told a story, but I acted one," sobbed Gracie. "O Bessie! sit down
here and let me tell you. I can't keep it in any longer. Maybe you'll
tell me what to do; but I know what you'll say, and I can't do that."
Bessie did as she was requested, and, in as few whispered words as
possible, Gracie poured her wretched story into her ears.
Bessie sprang to her feet, and her arms which she had clasped about
Gracie's neck fell away from it. It was as the latter had feared; this
was so much worse than any thing Bessie had expected, she was herself
so truthful and upright, that her whole soul was filled with horror and
dismay. No wonder that Gracie was distressed. This was indeed dreadful.
"I knew it, I knew it," said Gracie, burying her face again. "I knew
you never could bear me again. It seemed as if I couldn't help telling
you, Bessie; but you never, never will speak to me again. I wish--I
wish--oh, I almost wish I was an orphan and had no one to care for me,
so I could wish I was dead, only I'm too bad to go to God."
Sympathy and pity were regaining their place in Bessie's heart in spite
of her horror and indignation at what Gracie had done, and once more
she sat down beside her and tried to soothe and comfort.
She succeeded in part at least. Gracie's sobs grew less violent, and
she let Bessie persuade her to raise her head. Then they sat side by
side, Bessie holding her hand.
"What would you do, Bessie?" asked Gracie. "I know I ought to tell, but
I don't see how I can. It will be such a disgrace, and all the girls
will have to know, and I've made such a fuss about myself, and always
thought I never could do any thing that was very bad. And now this."
And now this!
Yes, after all her boasting, after all her self-confidence, her belief
that she could not and would not fall into greater sin through her own
conceit and vanity.
Bessie knew all this; knew how confident Gracie had been in her own
strength; knew what a bitter shame and mortification it must be to
have this known; knew that it must be long before she could regain the
trust and respect of her schoolmates after this thing should once be
told. During the last few months Gracie had lost much of the liking and
affection of her little friends; but not one among them would have
believed her capable of deliberate deceit or of that which was not
strictly honest.
Ah! it was a great and terrible fall. Bessie felt this as well as
Gracie.
But she knew also that there was but one thing for Gracie to do; but
one way in which she could have any peace or comfort once more.
Bessie was not the child for Gracie to put confidence in, if she
expected advice that was not plain and straightforward.
"What _shall_ I do, Bessie?" she repeated.
"I think you'll have to tell, dear," said the pitying little voice
beside her.
Gracie actually shrank in a kind of terror at the thought; and yet she
had known that this was what Bessie would say.
"Oh! I can't, I can't; I never can," she moaned.
"But, Gracie, dear," said the little monitress, "I don't think you
will ever feel happy and comfortable again till you do; and Jesus is
displeased with you all the time till you do it. If you told about
it and tried to make it up to Nellie, then He would be pleased with
you again. And then you could have comfort in that even if people were
rather cross to you about it. And, Gracie, Maggie and I will not be
offended with you. I know Maggie will not; and we'll coax the other
girls not to tease you or be unkind to you about it."
"Don't you think it was so very wicked in me then?" asked Gracie. "O
Bessie! you are such a good child, I don't believe you ever have wicked
thoughts. You don't know how hard it is sometimes not to do wrong when
you want to do it very much,--when a very, very great temptation comes,
like this."
"Yes," said Bessie, "I think I do, Gracie. And you are very much
mistaken when you say I never have naughty thoughts. I have them very
often, and the only way I can make them go is, to ask Jesus to help
me, and to keep asking Him till they do go, and the temptation too.
Perhaps, when you had the temptation to do this you did not remember to
ask."
"No, I did not," said Gracie. "But, Bessie, it never seemed to me that
I _could_ do a thing that was not quite true and honest. And I suppose
it has come because I thought too much of myself and wanted too much to
have my work the best. It was not that I cared about the money, for you
know that was for Jessie and her grandfather; but I wanted every one to
say mine was the best; and it made me so mad that any one should say
Nellie's was better than mine. If I had not cared so very much, Hattie
would not have persuaded me, for I _did_ know it was horribly mean. You
never had a temptation like this, Bessie."
"I don't know," said Bessie slowly. "I think I once had one something
like it. Don't you remember, Gracie, that time you lost your prize
composition and we found it in the drawer of the hall-table?"
"Yes," answered Gracie, "and how cross I was about it, and how hateful
to you and Maggie."
"Well," said Bessie, "I had a very hard temptation that time. I found
the composition first, and I wanted to leave it there and not tell any
one, 'cause I wanted Maggie to have the prize so much; and at first it
did not seem so very wrong to me, and I tried to think I _ought_ not to
tell, because then my own Maggie could have the prize; but I did not
feel sure about it, so I asked Jesus to let me see what I ought to do,
and then I saw it quite plain, and knew I must take the composition to
you. But it was a dreadful temptation, Gracie."
"Yes," said Gracie with a sigh, feeling deeply the difference between
herself and her dear little playmate who had so bravely resisted
temptation. For she knew how very anxious Bessie had been that Maggie
should gain the prize.
"But you did not _do_ the thing you were tempted to do," she said.
"What would you do if you had, Bessie?"
"I should go right away and tell my mamma; and perhaps she could find
some way to help me out of it," said Bessie. "Anyway, she ought to
know, and she will tell you what you ought to do."
"Oh, it will make mamma feel dreadfully," said Gracie. "She was always
telling me I would fall into trouble some day because I thought too
much of myself; but, oh, dear! she never could have believed I would do
this. Wouldn't you feel awfully, Bessie, if you had done it?"
Yes, indeed. Bessie felt that she should; it almost seemed to her that
she should die if she had such a weight on her mind and conscience, and
she felt for Gracie most deeply.
But still she knew that Gracie would never feel right again till she
had made confession, and she once more urged it upon her; confession to
God and man; and at last Gracie promised.
Promised with many tears and sobs; but that promise once given, she
became in haste to have it over and to go home to her mamma at once.
"Ask your mamma to let me go home as soon as she can, Bessie," she
pleaded. "Tell her I do not feel well, for I do not really. My head
aches and I feel all shaky, as if I could not hold still; and I don't
want to see any one down stairs again or to have any supper."
Bessie was about to leave her to do as she was asked, when Mrs.
Bradford came in.
"Gracie and Bessie," she said, "are you here? You were so long in
coming that I feared something was wrong. Will you not come down and
have some supper, Gracie?"
Gracie did not speak, but held fast to Bessie's hand.
"Mamma," said the little girl, "Gracie does not feel well, and she
would like to go home as soon as you could send her. She's quite
trembling, mamma. I feel her."
Mrs. Bradford took Gracie's hand in hers and found that it was indeed
cold and trembling, while her temples were hot and throbbing; for
over-excitement and worry had made her really ill, and the lady saw
that she was more fit for bed than for the supper-room.
She told Gracie she should go home immediately, and putting on her hat
led her down stairs, and calling Mr. Bradford, begged him to take the
poor little girl home and explain matters to her mamma.
Gracie clung to Bessie for a good-night kiss, whispering, "I will do
it, Bessie; no matter what comes after, I will do it."
Mr. Bradford took her home,--it was not far from his house,--talking
cheerfully by the way and trying to keep her amused; but, though Gracie
felt he was kind, she hardly knew what he was saying, her mind was so
taken up with the thought of the dreadful secret she had to confess.
Mrs. Howard was startled, as was only natural, to see her little girl
coming home so much before she had expected her; and Mr. Bradford's
assurance that he did not think there was much wrong with Gracie, and
that she would be well after a good night's sleep, did not quiet her
fears, especially when she looked in Gracie's face.
She quickly undressed her and put her to bed; but, longing as Gracie
was to have her confession over, she could not tell it while the nurse
was in the room; and it was not until she was safely in bed, and the
woman sent to prepare some medicine, that she gave vent to the tears
she had managed to keep back before her.
"There, there, my darling," said her mother soothingly. "You will be
better soon. Do not be frightened; this is only a little nervousness."
"O mamma, mamma!" cried poor Gracie; "you ought not to be so kind to
me. You don't know how bad, how very bad I am."
"Is there any thing especially wrong just now, Gracie?" asked her
mother gently.
"Yes, mamma; oh, yes. I have--I have--put your head closer, mamma, and
let me whisper;" and then, with her face hidden against her mother's
shoulder, came the confession, made with many bitter tears and sobs.
Mrs. Howard was greatly shocked; she could hardly speak when she heard
all.
"Shall you ever be able to forgive me, mamma?" sobbed Gracie. "I know,
I know you think me perfectly dreadful, but if you could try me just
this once, and see if I ever do such a thing again. Indeed, I don't
think I could. I know I am not too good to do it, as I thought I was
before; but I have felt so dreadfully ever since I did it, I don't
think I could ever punish myself so again."
"I can believe that you have been very unhappy, my child," said her
mother; "indeed I have seen it, though I did not know the cause. But
you have need to ask a higher forgiveness than mine."
"I will, mamma," said Gracie; "but--but--I suppose Nellie and the other
children must be told?"
"I fear so, Gracie," said her mother. "Nellie must be righted and have
her own mat again, and I do not see how we are to avoid having the rest
of the children hear this terrible thing also. I must see Miss Ashton
in the morning and talk it over with her, and we will arrange what is
best to be done. But now you must try to be quiet and go to sleep. You
are over-excited and will be really ill, so I can allow you to talk no
more. But before you sleep, my child, make your peace with your Father
in heaven, and ask Him to help you to bear the punishment you have
brought upon yourself by your naughty pride and ambition."
Gracie obeyed her mother as well as she was able; and, truly repentant,
we may hope, at last fell into a troubled sleep.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XII.
_THE FAIR._
The next day was Saturday, when there was no school, so that Mrs.
Howard was able to see Miss Ashton and tell her the sad story, quite
early in the morning.
Miss Ashton was much grieved and surprised; for, as she told Mrs.
Howard, although she had known that Gracie's high thoughts of herself
and belief that she was wiser and better than any of her companions
often led her into exaggeration, yet she could not have believed her
capable of any thing that was really mean and dishonorable.
She was distressed, too, at the thought of the exposure and
mortification which must follow; for it seemed necessary, for Nellie's
sake, that not only Grandmamma Howard, but the whole school should
know the truth. She and Mrs. Howard talked it all over for some time,
but neither of the two ladies saw any way to avoid this disgrace
for Gracie. They would willingly have spared her the punishment, if
possible, for she had already suffered severely, and she seemed so
truly humble and repentant that her mother did not believe there was
much fear she would again fall into this sin.
Mrs. Howard had thought last night that perhaps she ought to deprive
Gracie of any share in the fair; but that must make her disgrace
very well known, and now she hoped that there was no need of further
punishment to make her see and feel her great fault.
And now Grandmamma Howard must be seen and told the sad story. Mrs.
Howard knew that she would be much distressed that her kind plan should
turn out so badly. Neither Gracie's mamma nor Miss Ashton had quite
approved of that plan; especially on Gracie's account, but they could
not well say so and cross the good old lady.
It was as they had feared. Grandmamma was very much grieved and
disturbed to know that what she had intended to be a help and a
kindness, had only proved a source of trouble, and an encouragement to
Gracie's besetting sin.
There yet remained to Mrs. Howard the still more painful task of
telling Nellie how she had been wronged. She would have thought it
right to make Gracie do this herself, had it not been that the child
was really ill that morning, and in no state for further excitement;
and it was not just to Nellie to put off the confession any longer.
Nellie was filled with amazement. Much as she had wondered over the
unfortunate spot upon the mat she supposed to be hers, she had never
dreamed of a thing like this, nor had she the least suspicion of the
truth. Indeed, how should she?
She was a quiet child, with a more wise and thoughtful little head
than those who did not know her well would have given her credit for;
but words did not come to her very readily, and, after the first
surprise was over, she only said to Mrs. Howard, with the tears in her
eyes,--
"Please tell Gracie I am not angry with her, and hope she will be
friends with me once more. Let's try not to think about it any more
than we can help; will you, Mrs. Howard?"
Generous, forgiving Nellie! How ashamed Gracie felt when her mother
told her this, and she contrasted Nellie's conduct with her own.