THE WICKED GIRL.
Flyaway had only been climbing the outside of the staircase, and would
have done very well, if some one had not rung the door-bell, and
startled her so that she fell from the very top stair to the floor. It
was feared, at first, that several bones were broken and her intellect
injured for life; but after crying fifteen minutes, she seemed to feel
nearly as well as before.
"If ever a child was made of thistle-down it is Flyaway Clifford,"
said aunt Louise.
Still it was not thought best for her to fatigue herself that day by
selling rags, and the wheelbarrow enterprise was put off until the
next morning.
The person who rang the door-bell was Mrs. Vance's girl Susan, who
called for Jennie to go home and try on a frock. Jennie did not
return, and Dotty had a sense of uneasiness all day. The guilty secret
of the three dollars weighed upon her mind. Should she, or should she
not, tell her grandmother?
"I don't know but Jennie would do something to my things if I told,"
thought she; "but then I never promised a word. Here it is four
o'clock. Who knows but she's gone and spent that money, and my
grandmother never'll know what's 'come of it?"
This possibility was very alarming. "Jennie Vance doesn't seem to have
any little whisper inside of _her_ heart, that ticks like a watch;
but _I_ have. _My_ conscience pricks; so I know that perhaps it's my
duty to go and tell."
Dotty drew herself up virtuously and looked in the glass. There she
seemed to see an angelic little girl, whose only wish was to do just
right--a little girl as much purer than Jennie Vance, as a lily is
purer than a very ugly toadstool.
Well, Miss Dotty, there is some truth in the picture. Jennie is not a
good child; but neither are you an angel. There is more wickedness in
your proud little heart than you will ever begin to find out. And wait
a minute. Who teaches you all you know of right and wrong? Is it your
mother? Suppose she had died, as did Jennie's mamma, when you were a
toddling baby?
There, that's all; you do not hear a word I say; and if you did, you
would not heed, O, self-righteous Dotty Dimple!
Dotty ran up stairs to find her grandmother.
"Grandma," whispered she, though there was no one else in the room;
"something dreadful has happened. You've lost three dollars!"
"What, dear?"
"O, you needn't look in your pocket. Jennie found 'em in the rag-bag,
and tried to make me take half; but of course I never; and now she's
run off with 'em!"
"Found three dollars in the rag-bag? I guess not."
"Yes, grandma; for I saw her just as she was going to find em', in a
pair of pockets. I should have seen 'em myself if she hadn't looked
first."
"Indeed! Is this really so? But she ought to have come and given them
to me."
"That was just what I told her, over and over, grandma, and over
again. But she's a dreadful naughty girl, Jennie Vance is. If there's
anything bad she can do, she goes right off and does it."
"Hush, my child."
"Yes'm, I won't say any more, _only_ I don't think my mother would
like to have me play with little girls that take money out of
rag-bags."
Dotty drew herself up again in a very stately way.
"Jennie _said_ she was going to buy you a silk dress and so forth; but
she does truly lie so, 'one to another,' that you can't believe her
for certain, not half she says."
Grandma looked over her spectacles and through the window, as if
trying to see what ought to be done.
[Illustration: "YOU CAN'T BELIEVE HER FOR CERTAIN."]
"You did right to tell me this, my child," said she; "but I wish you
to say nothing about it to any one else: will you remember?"
"Yes'm," replied Dotty, trying to read her grandmother's face, and
feeling a little alarmed by its solemnity. "What you going to do,
grandma? Not put Jennie in the lockup--are you? 'Cause if you do--O,
don't you! She said 'twas her sharp eyes, and she didn't mean to
steal, and 'twasn't your pockets, and she promised she'd give me
half--yes, she truly did, grandma."
"Go, dear, and bring me my bonnet from the band-box in my bed-room
closet."
Then Mrs. Parlin folded the sheet she was making, put on her best
shawl and bonnet, and kid gloves, and taking her sun umbrella, set out
for a walk. There was a look in her face which made her little
granddaughter think it would not be proper to ask any questions.
Mrs. Parlin met Jennie Vance coming in at the gate.
"O, dear," thought Dotty, "I don't want to see her. Grandma says I've
done right, but Jennie'll call me a tell-tale. I'll go out in the barn
and hide."
The guilty secret had lain heavy at Jennie's heart all day. As soon as
her dress-maker could spare her, and a troublesome little cousin had
left, she asked permission to go to Mrs. Parlin's.
"Dotty thinks I meant to keep it," she thought. "I never did see such
a girl. You can't say the least little thing but she takes it sober
earnest, and says she'll tell her grandmother."
Jennie stole round by the back door, and timidly asked for Miss
Dimple.
"I'm sure I don't know where she is," answered Ruthie, with a pleasant
smile; "nor Flyaway either. I have been living in peace for half an
hour."
Ruthie made you think of lemon candy; she was sweet and tart too.
While Jennie, with the kind assistance of Prudy, was hunting for
Dotty, Mrs. Parlin was in Judge Vance's parlor, talking with Jennie's
step-mother. Mrs. Vance was shocked to hear of her daughter's conduct,
for she loved her and wished her to do right.
"My poor Jennie," said she; "from her little babyhood until she was
six years old, there was no one to take care of her but a hired nurse,
who neglected her sadly."
"I know just what sort of training Jennie has had from Serena Pond,"
said Mrs. Parlin; "it was most unfortunate. But you are so faithful
with her, my dear Mrs. Vance, that I do believe she will outgrow all
those early influences."
"I keep hoping so," said Mrs. Vance, repressing a sigh; "I take it
very kindly of you, Mrs. Parlin, that you should come to me with this
affair. I shall not allow Jennie to go to your house very often. You
do not like to wound my feelings, but I am sure you cannot wish to
have your little granddaughter very intimate with a child who is sly
and untruthful."
"My dear lady," said grandma Parlin, taking Mrs. Vance's hand, and
pressing it warmly; "since we are talking so freely together, and I
know you are too generous to be offended, I will confess to you that
if Jennie persists in concealing this money, I would prefer not to
have Dotty play with her very much; at least while her mother is not
here to have the care of her." It was hard for Mrs. Parlin to say
this, and she added presently,--
"Please let Jennie spend the night at our house. She may wish to talk
with me; we will give her the opportunity."
Mrs. Vance gladly consented. She had observed that Jennie seemed
unhappy, and was very anxious to see Dotty again. She hoped she had
gone to return the money of her own free will.
When Mrs. Parlin opened the nursery door at home, she found Jennie
building block houses, to Flyaway's great delight, while at the other
end of the room sat Dotty Dimple, resolutely sewing patchwork.
"O, grandma," spoke up Flyaway, "Jennie came to see me; she didn't
come to see Dotty, 'cause Dotty don't want to talk. There, now,
Jennie, make a rat to put in the cupboard. R goes first to rat."
Innocent little Flyaway! She had long ago forgotten her pique against
Jennie for being "so easy fretted," and jumping her down from the
table.
Wretched little Jennie! The new blue and white frock, just finished by
her dress-maker, covered a heart filled with mortification. Dotty
Dimple would not talk to her. It seemed as if Dotty had climbed to the
top of a high mountain, and was looking down, down upon her.
Dotty did feel very exalted to-day; but there was another reason why
she would not talk with Jennie: she might have to confess that grandma
knew about the money; and then what a scene there would be! So Dotty
set her lips together, and sewed as if she was afraid somebody would
freeze to death before she could finish her patchwork quilt.
Mrs. Clifford, who did not understand the cause of Dotty's lofty mood,
took pity on Jennie, and tried to amuse her. After a while, Dotty came
softly along, and sat down close to her aunt Maria, ready to listen to
the story of the "Pappoose," though she had heard it fifty times
before.
She did not see Jennie alone for one moment. Grandma Parlin did.
"Jennie," said she, taking her into the parlor to show her a new
shell, "are you going with our little girls, to-morrow, to sell rags?"
"I don't know, ma'am, I'm sure," replied Jennie, looking hard at the
sofa. She longed to make an open confession, and get rid of the
troublesome money, but had not the courage to do it without some help
from Dotty.
"O, dear," thought she, "I feel just as wicked with that money in my
bosom! Seems as if she could hear it crumple. If Dotty would only let
me talk to her first!"
But Dotty continued as unapproachable as the Pope of Rome. Eight
o'clock came, and the two unhappy little girls went slowly up stairs
to bed. Dotty, in her lofty pride, tried to make her little friend
feel herself a sinner; while Jennie, ready to hide herself in the
potato-bin for shame, was, at the same time, very angry with the
self-satisfied Miss Dimple. She was awed by her superior goodness, but
did not love her any the better for it. Why should she? Dotty's
goodness lacked
"_Humility_, that low, sweet root,
From which all heavenly virtues shoot."
"Here, Miss Parlin," said Jennie, angrily, as she took off her dress;
"here it is, right in my neck. I should have gone and given it to your
grandmother, ever so long ago, if you hadn't acted so!"
Dotty pulled off her stockings.
"I 'spose you thought I was going to keep it. Here, take your old
money!"
"You did mean to keep it, Jane Sidney Vance," retorted Dotty, as
fierce as a thistle; and finished undressing at the top of her speed.
The money lay on the floor, and neither of the proud girls would pick
it up. Jennie, who always prayed at her mother's knee, forgot her
prayer to-night, and climbed into bed without it. But Dotty, feeling
more than ever how much better she was than her little friend, knelt
beside a chair, and prayed in a loud voice. First, she repeated the
"Lord's Prayer," then "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild," and "Now I lay
me down to sleep." She was not talking to her heavenly Father, but to
Jennie, and ended her petitions thus:--
"O God, forgive me if I have done anything naughty to-day; and please
forgive _Jennie Vance, the wickedest girl in this town_."
Then the little Pharisee got into bed.