KITTIE IN TROUBLE.
A year has gone. Autumn has come again, and changes have taken place
during that time at Wood Cottage. A little baby sister arrived for
Kittie, and she was very happy in the possession of her new treasure.
Baby Ella was now three months old, and Kittie often held her in her
arms for a few minutes, when mother was busy. Harry was now at the
age when he was continually in mischief; but he dearly loved his
sister Kittie, and was a nice little playmate for her.
Ben had been nine months at Mr. Goodall's as shop and message boy,
and was getting on well. He earned sufficient to keep himself in
clothes now.
But there had been an anxious time, too, at Wood Cottage; for one day
the father had been injured at the wood-yard, and had been brought
home in a cab, with a broken leg, and a slight cut on his head.
This happened about six weeks after baby Ella's birth, and it was
quite a shock to Mrs. Gray; for the cab drove up to the garden gate
while she was hanging out some clothes. Two men lifted her husband
out, and his white pale face filled her with dismay.
But the doctor assured her his injuries were not dangerous, and with
care he would be back at work in six weeks' time.
Every care was bestowed on him; but six weeks had passed, and he was
not able to resume his work yet, for he had sustained a shock that it
was not easy to get over. Ben wheeled a large chair into the garden
every morning after breakfast when fine, and here the father sat,
well wrapped up, for an hour or two in the sunshine. He was very
anxious to get back to his work, and hoped to be able to do so in
another week. Meanwhile, Ben was a great help at home. As soon as
he was back from his work, he would throw off his jacket, and turn
his hand to anything that eased the mother.
He was not above doing many things to aid her in the house; and she
looked forward gladly to the time he could return of an evening, for
he could nurse Baby Ella, and wash and dress Harry or put him to bed;
and when the evenings were fine, he took them very nice rambles,
while Mrs. Gray got on with her sewing.
One day Harry Gray had been limping slowly up and down the garden,
and then sat down at the further end on a log of wood which lay there.
After a few minutes he heard a sharp cry, and turning his head saw
Kittie and Harry rolling on the ground by the kitchen door. They had
evidently had a fall. He could not rise quickly, so the mother was
first on the spot. She raised the children up, and found that Harry
had cut his forehead and hurt his knee, while Kittie had only grazed
her arm.
"This comes of disobedience," said Mrs. Gray, gravely, looking at
Kittie as she led her, and carried the little boy into the house.
"What is it all about?" asked the father.
"Kittie has been disobedient," she answered, as she soothed Harry's
cries and prepared to bathe his forehead.
"I am sorry for that; come and tell me about it, Kittie."
Kittie was sobbing piteously and holding her arm. It was two or
three minutes before she could reply:
"Mother told me not to lift Harry, and I tried to carry him down the
steps, and we both toppled down."
"You see, father, Kittie is always trying to carry Harry, and he is
far too heavy for her, and they have fallen once or twice. This
morning I forbade her to do it again, but she has disobeyed, and you
see the consequence. I told her I should punish her if she lifted
him again; and, as she has done so, she must take her tea alone
to-night; and see how poor Harry is hurt, too!"
"How came you to be so disobedient, Kittie?" asked her father.
"I forgot, father, and I wanted to lift him down the steps," sobbed
the little girl.
"But you said that before, Kittie. Little girls must not forget.
Perhaps father will take little Harry up the garden now; you had
better stay here, we cannot speak to you till after tea."
Father looked lingeringly back as he led Harry away, but he knew
mother was right, and Kittie had been growing rather thoughtless
lately; so he only said, "I am sorry."
Of course Kittie was very miserable, and she did not know how to keep
quiet. "Mother, speak to me; don't look grave," she kept saying, and
when she found her mother did not answer, she said, "and I s'pose God
is angry too, and now there is a black spot made on my heart. What
shall I do?"
"I am not _angry_, Kittie," replied her mother, "only very sorry, and
you know what washes sin away, you know Whom to go to. But I cannot
talk to you now."
"I am going to tell Jesus all about it, mother. Can I kneel down?"
"Oh! yes," replied her mother. So Kittie slipped off her chair and
sobbed and prayed, and her mother caught the words, "Wash me, and I
shall be whiter than snow."