listened to her. But it was not so much what she said as what she
insinuated. However, I was a fool to mind her, for I know of old just
what a mischievous thing she is. She has tried it upon me before. When
I first came to school, she told me some of the girls made a fuss
because I was a shop-girl, and I don't suppose there was any truth in
that either."
"Not one word, I dare say. But now, Amy, promise me one thing. If ever
you think I have done wrong, just come to me as I have come to you and
ask me about it. If we do so, we shall never have any lasting quarrels,
I am sure, and no tattler can make mischief between us. Isn't it almost
time to go to school? I will wait for you and we will go together."
Amy kept Eva waiting while she went up to her own little room, and
there in a short but earnest prayer, asked God's forgiveness for her
jealousy and unkindness and begged Him to pour into her heart "that
most excellent gift of charity, the very bond of peace and of all
virtue, without which whosoever liveth is counted dead before Him."
Dora stared in wonder when she saw Amy and Eva enter the school-room in
their old fashion, with their arms round each other's waists.
"So you two have made up your quarrel," she said, in recess, with her
disagreeable laugh. "Well, it is a fine thing to have a forgiving
temper, especially when it is so much to one's own advantage as it is
to Amy's, in this case."
"There is nothing to forgive, as it happens," answered Eva, coolly.
"Somebody told Amy a set of stories about me which were either entirely
false or else misrepresented, but when she came to hear the truth it
was all right again."
"Amy Preston, you are as mean as you can be," exclaimed Dora. "You
promised not to tell."
"I did not promise not to tell," said Amy. "However, I did not tell."
"How did Eva find out then, I should like to know?"
"Because," said Eva, answering for her friend; "you came to me and told
what Amy said about me. And I remember what I heard an old Scotch woman
say about talebearers, that a dog which would fetch a bone would carry
a bone."
Depend upon it, girls, the old Scotch woman's proverb speaks the truth.
A person who will come and tell you a story about what somebody has
said of you, will tell that person what you have said about them; and
in neither case will the story be the exact truth. Never listen for
a moment to such tales, if you can help it; and if you cannot help
listening, let the words go "in at one ear and out at the other."
If, however, you think your friend has offended you, go and ask her
about it kindly and frankly; and two to one the offence will vanish
into thin air.
But again, I say, never listen to talebearers, for "the words of a
talebearer are as wounds."
"Where no wood is, there the fire goeth out: so where there is no
talebearer the strife ceaseth."—(Prov. xxvi. 20.)
[Illustration]
[Illustration: ESTHER'S BAD DAY, OR, "I COULDN'T HELP IT."
Frontispiece.]
[Illustration]
ESTHER'S BAD DAY,
OR,
"I COULDN'T HELP IT."
IT was a good while after six and a very bright sunny spring morning,
yet Esther was not yet out of bed, when somebody knocked at her door.
"O dear!" said she, in a sleepy, pettish tone, "I wish people would
only let me alone a minute. Come in!"
The last words were spoken aloud, and a very pretty girl, some years
older than Esther, opened the door. She was partly dressed and had her
comb and brush in her hand.
"Why, Etty, not up yet!" she exclaimed. "I thought you would be nearly
dressed. I came to ask if I might finish my dressing by your glass, for
papa wants the painters to begin on my room as soon as they come."
"Of course you can," replied Etty, not very graciously, however. "What
time is it?"
"About half-past six. You ought to be up, Etty."
"Oh, there is plenty of time."
"I don't know. Time slips away very fast in the morning."
Eleanor went back to her roam to look for something she wanted. When
she came back, Etty had scrambled up to the end of the bed next the
window, and, still in her night-gown, and with her hair hanging over
her shoulders, was reading a story-book, which she had drawn from under
her pillow. In the book, perhaps, might be found the cause of her
morning sleepiness. When a little girl reads in bed till her candle
burns out, she is apt to be rather heavy-headed next morning.
"You will be late for breakfast," said Eleanor. "I fear I shall be
late myself, I have been so hindered; but, Etty, I am sure you will be
behindhand."
"O no, I sha'n't. I can dress in ten minutes, easily."
"You cannot dress properly in ten minutes," said Eleanor, busily tying
up her hair; "and, Etty, there is something else besides dressing to be
done before you go down-stairs."
Etty shrugged her shoulders impatiently but made no answer.
Eleanor went on with her dressing, and said no more till she had
finished. Then turning to, Etty, who was still reading, she said,
seriously:
"Now, Etty, you have only fifteen minutes left. You may get ready for
breakfast, perhaps, if you lose no more time."
"Do let me be, Eleanor!" answered Etty, angrily. "I know what I am
about! I wish you would go away and mind your own business!"
"Very well," said Eleanor, and quietly gathering up her dressing things
she left the room without another word.
Etty looked at the clock and then at her book.
"I will only read to the end of this paragraph," said she. "That will
not take long, and I can easily get ready after that."
But it is not always easy to stop at the end of a paragraph, and Etty
read on till she was startled by hearing the church clock strike seven,
followed by the energetic ringing of the breakfast-bell at the foot of
the stairs.
"O dear!" exclaimed Etty, throwing down her book and scrambling out of
bed. "Now I shall be late again; that will be the third time this week,
and uncle will be angry. It is all Eleanor's fault. She ought to have
made me got up."
Etty hastened to dress, but as usually happens at such times, she
found that the more she hurried, the less she got on. She broke her
boot-lacing and could not find another. She had been in such a hurry to
get to her story-book the night before, that she had neglected to braid
up her hair, and it was all hanging in what nurses call "witch-knots,"
and the more she pulled at it, the worse it snarled.
"Now where is that ribbon! I am sure it was here last night. I suppose
Eleanor has put it out of place. O dear, I do wish people would keep
out of my room and let my things alone!" snapped Etty, tumbling over
the things on the dressing-table.
"There, now!" As she spoke, she overturned a tall bottle of cologne,
which, with its pretty bronze holder, had been one of her birthday
presents. She had often been told never to set the bottle down out of
the holder, but she had a trick of leaning it against the side of the
glass.
The tall bottle fell on a pretty hand-mirror with a carved frame, and
both were broken to pieces. At this new calamity, Etty burst into
tears, and throwing her brush to the farther end of the room, she flung
herself down on the floor and cried so as to be heard all over the
house.
The family were becoming tolerably well used to Etty's "tantrums," and
as they were at prayers, nobody moved till the prayer was finished.
"Please, aunt, may I go and see what ails Etty?" said Stella. She was
Etty's younger sister, but as she slept with Eleanor, she had not seen
Etty that morning.
"No, my dear, I will go myself," said Mrs. Grey.
Stella said no more, but she looked very uncomfortable, not to say
distressed.
"You need not look so unhappy, my dear Stella," said Eleanor. "You
don't think mamma will be unkind to Etty, do you?"
"No," said Stella, "aunt is never unkind to any one; but Etty does go
on so when she gets one of her bad days. Aunt is not used to her, and I
am afraid she will be very much displeased."
When Mrs. Grey went up-stairs, she found Etty still lying on the floor,
crying and sobbing.
"What is the matter now?" asked Mrs. Grey. "Why are you not ready for
breakfast?"
"O dear, I wish I was dead! I wish I was dead!" sobbed Etty.
"Etty, if I ever hear you say that again, I shall punish you!" said
Mrs. Grey. "Stop crying directly, and tell me what all this is about.
How came this bottle broken, and the mirror, too? And here is the
cologne running all over the bureau. What have you been about?"
"It is all Eleanor's fault," sobbed Etty, getting up from the floor.
"She came in here to dress, and she has put all my things out of
place so that I cannot find anything; and looking for my hair ribbon,
I knocked down the bottle and broke it and—" Etty was going to wish
herself dead again, but she stopped just in time.
"Is not this your ribbon?" asked Mrs. Grey, taking up one which was
hanging on the glass in plain sight.
"I don't care, I could not find it," Etty was beginning, but her aunt
stopped her.
"I do not want to hear any more now. Dress yourself and come
down-stairs as quickly as you can?"
Esther and Stella Grey were orphan children, who had come to live with
their uncle and aunt. Mr. and Mrs. Grey had adopted the children as
their own, and treated them kindly in every respect.
Stella was very happy in her new home—happier in fact than she had ever
been before. She was a quiet little thing, very gentle and good; but
not at all pretty, and not particularly bright.
Etty, on the contrary, was both pretty and intelligent; but she was far
from being as pleasant a child to live with as her sister. Esther had
always been the favorite with her mother, who was not by any means a
sensible woman. Ever since she could remember she had been petted and
indulged, and talked about before her face as "a very peculiar nervous
child," "a child requiring very delicate management," till she had
learned to think that she was really something remarkable; whereas she
was only a passionate little girl, whose health had been injured by
over indulgence, and whose disposition had been almost spoiled by her
being permitted to tyrannize over her younger sister as much as she
pleased, and to indulge in such fits of passion as we have seen, on the
least provocation.
Mrs. Grey soon found out that she had undertaken a very troublesome
task; but she was a kind good woman and used to children, and she was
determined to do the best she could by the poor spoiled child.
When Etty came down at last, she found breakfast over. Her uncle was
reading the paper, Eleanor was washing the breakfast dishes, and Stella
dusting the room.
"Come, Etty, eat your breakfast," said her aunt, kindly, but decidedly.
"Eleanor wants to put away the table."
Etty took her seat with a very dissatisfied face. "Everything is as
cold as it can be!" said she, pettishly. "And I can't bear fish-balls."
"Well, there are plenty of nice potatoes, and bread and butter."
"I hate—" Etty was beginning, but Mr. Grey stopped her.
"Eat your breakfast and say no more about it, Esther!" said he,
sharply. For he had nerves as well as his niece, and her whining grated
upon them sadly. "You have made quite disturbance enough for one
morning."
Etty shrugged her shoulders and made up a face, but she was afraid of
her uncle and said nothing more. She drank two cups of coffee and was
just about pouring out a third, when her aunt stopped her.
"No more, Etty! Two of those cups are quite enough for any little girl."
Etty rose from the table with a flounce, and gave the coffee pot a push
which sent it off the table. Stella was close by and caught it, but not
in time to save Etty's dress from a deluge.
"There now, see what you made me do, you awkward little toad!"
exclaimed Etty, angrily, giving her sister a push. "I wish you were
a thousand miles off, Stella Grey. You are always getting me into
trouble."
Stella, who was used to her sister's hasty speeches, did not reply; but
Eleanor answered for her. She was very fond of Stella, and did not like
to hear her falsely accused. "Why, Etty, Stella did not touch you. She
caught the pot and risked her own hands to save you from being scalded.
You ought to be ashamed to speak so to your sister!"
"Never mind," whispered Stella. "Don't say anything to her, you only
make her worse."
"Etty," said Mr. Grey, "go up and change your dress, and don't come
down again till you are in a good humor. Let me hear no crying, or
slamming of doors, either," he added, sharply. "We have had quite
enough for once. I begin to wish that child had never come into the
house," he said to Mrs. Grey, as Etty left the room, followed presently
by Stella. "She destroys the whole comfort of the family."
"She is certainly very troublesome," replied Mrs. Grey, sighing.
"However, we must have patience. I really think she is improving. She
has not had one of these bad days in some time."
"Since when?" asked Mr. Grey.
"Since last week," answered his wife, smiling. "She used to have them
every other day when she first came. But I begin to think with you that
we shall have to be more decided with her. However, we will try to get
on quietly to-day, so that the pleasure of the excursion may not be
spoiled for poor Stella."
Meantime Stella was up-stairs coaxing Etty to stop crying and change
her dress so as to be ready for their lessons at nine o'clock.
"Come, Etty, do," she urged. "You will not be ready when Miss Beach
comes, and then you will have a bad mark again. Do put on your other
dress."
"I won't!" said Etty, passionately. "I wish I was dead! They would
never dare to treat me so if my own mother was alive, but because I am
an orphan they think they can abuse me as they please."
"Oh, Etty, how can you say so? I think they are so kind."
"They may be kind enough to you, but they are not kind to me," retorted
Etty. "You know they are not, but you don't care what becomes of me. If
you had loved mamma, you would not be so contented here. But you never
did. I do really believe you are glad she is dead, because you know she
always loved me the best."
Stella could bear a good deal from Etty, but this was too much. She
burst into tears, and ran out of the room.
Etty, having succeeded in hurting somebody's feelings, began to feel
better herself. She knew that she had uttered a wicked falsehood, but
she did not mind what she said at such times. She grew quite cheerful
over the wound she had inflicted on her unoffending sister, and by
the time Miss Beach rang the bell, she was ready to come down-stairs
singing and as pleasant as possible, her face making a great contrast
to poor Stella's red eyes and trembling lips.
But cheerfulness which is built on the suffering of others is not
likely to be very lasting, and a new cause of trouble soon appeared.
Notwithstanding, Etty's so-called talents, she was backward in her
lessons; and reading till twelve o'clock the night before did not tend
to make her head clear. She found her sums in arithmetic unusually
puzzling, and made so many mistakes in her Latin rules that she had to
study them over again. She could not make sense of her reading lesson,
and declared there was no meaning in it, and she was all the more cross
that Stella's Latin lesson was unusually good. By the end of the school
hours, she was once more in a thoroughly bad humor.
"Well, are the lessons finished?" asked Mrs. Grey, entering the
school-room at twelve o'clock. "Come then, girls, hurry and dress
yourselves, that you may be ready when the carriage comes."
"Where are we going, aunt?" asked Stella.
"Wait patiently, and you will see," replied Mrs. Grey, smiling. "Only
be sure you are ready by one o'clock, for there will be no time to lose
in waiting. Put on your gray skirts, and dresses that can be easily
washed. Your ginghams will be the best."
"I shall not wear my gingham dress—so!" said Etty, as they went
up-stairs. "I shall wear my new muslin."
"I am afraid aunt will not like it," replied Stella. "She said anything
that would wash."
"Well, and won't the muslins wash, stupid?"
"Yes, I suppose so, but you would hardly want to have your new dress
done up so soon. I shall put on the gingham."
"I declare, I won't go with you, if you do, Stella Grey," said Etty,
stamping her foot.
"You will not look fit to be seen."
But Stella was learning to have her own way, when she knew she was in
the right. She said no more but went to her room and dressed herself as
her aunt had directed.
Etty, meantime, was fretting and fuming over her toilet as usual,
because she could not make up her mind what to wear. She would not
wear the gingham—that was all about it. The muslin was pretty enough
for anything, but Etty had forgotten to sew on certain hooks and eyes
without which the sash could not be worn, and the dress without the
sash could not be thought of.
Finally she pitched upon the most unsuitable thing of all—a black
barege, her very best summer dress, which she had not yet worn. She was
just fastening it, when her aunt called to her from the stairs: "Be
sure you put on your thickest boots, Etty!"
"Those thick leather boots with this thin dress—how they will look!"
said Etty. "I am sure my cloth boots will be thick enough this dry day.
It has not rained for a week."
Etty had lost so much time in making up her mind that she was not ready
when the carriage came to the door.
"Come, children, we have no time to lose!" called out Mr. Grey. "Are
you ready?"
"I am ready," said Stella, entering Etty's room. "Shall I help you,
Etty? But what made you put on that dress?"
"Because I don't want to look like a charity school-girl, as you do!"
was Etty's snappish reply. "Every one will think you are a servant!"
"No, indeed! I am not half fine enough for a servant," said Stella,
shrewdly. "But come, Etty; do hurry. What hat are you going to wear?
Let me get it for you."
"Do go along and leave me alone!" said Etty, crossly. "You are trying
to hinder me on purpose to get me found fault with."
"Come, children," again called Mr. Grey. "We cannot wait for you any
longer."
Stella ran down-stairs to say that Etty would be ready in a minute.
When all were in the carriage, Etty came down. In the bustle of getting
settled and driving off, Mrs. Grey did not notice her dress, and it was
not till they had gone several squares that she observed how Etty had
disobeyed her orders.
"Why, Etty!" she exclaimed. "What made you put on that dress, of all
others? You will have it utterly spoiled."
"There is no help for it now," said Mr. Grey. "If Etty spoils her
dress, she must take the consequences. She will not have another new
one at her disposal to spoil this summer."
Etty flounced and frowned, but said nothing till they came to the
steamboat, which was just ready to leave the dock. Then a new trouble
came up. She declared that she could not and would not go on board the
boat—that she knew she should be drowned, and that Stella should not go
either.
"Very well," said Mr. Grey. "Then, get into the carriage and go home,
but Stella shall go, if she chooses. Come, make up your mind one way
or the other; but do not stand there making yourself ridiculous any
longer."
This was new treatment to Etty, who was used to being soothed, and
petted, and admired for her weak nerves and delicate sensibilities. But
she had no notion of being left behind, and finally went on board the
boat, just the moment before the plank was taken away.
The party were to proceed to a rocky point some miles off, spend
the afternoon in exploring it, and return in the evening, when the
steamboat would call for them. The place was beautiful and the weather
lovely—the luncheon was very nice.
And all might have been pleasant only for Etty.
She spoiled every one's comfort. She would go nowhere where the
rest wanted to go: she persisted in being afraid where there was no
danger, and in being foolhardy in dangerous places, and she cried five
different times in three hours. Her dress was torn in a dozen different
places before the day was over, and her thin boots cut to pieces so
that she could hardly walk, and the stones hurt her at every stop.
"Now I am going to rest a while and then we will go and see the cave,"
said Mr. Grey, when they had finished their lunch; "but none of you
must venture on the rocks without me. They are dangerous in many
places."
Stella was searching for shells on the sandy beach, near the place
where they had lunched, when Etty joined her.
"I am going up there to get some of those wild-flowers, instead of
poking about here," said she, pointing to some flowering shrubs which
grew at a little distance, "and I want you to go with me."
"Uncle said we must not go on the rocks without him, you know," said
Stella.
"He did not say on these rocks: he said on the rocks by the cave."
"He said on the rocks," persisted Stella; "and I know we ought not to
go."
"Of course you won't go if I want you to," said Etty. "It is enough for
you to know that I wish to do anything to set you against it. I don't
care, I shall go alone."
"Please don't," pleaded Stella, but Etty was already on the rocks.
In a few minutes Mr. Grey, who was taking a little nap, was startled by
a cry of distress.
There stood Etty on a narrow ledge, over a deep pool, clinging to a
small, slender bush, and screaming with all her might; while Stella,
with a pale face but steady step; was walking along the dangerous path
towards her sister.
"Stop, Stella, I command you!" called Mr. Grey. "Etty, keep still and
be quiet. I will see what can be done."
But Etty was past hearing reason. As Stella drew near her, she threw
herself forward and seized hold of her sister. Stella tottered, lost
her balance, and both the children fell into the pool below. When Etty
came to herself she was lying on the bed, in a room of the fisherman's
little house on the point, with Eleanor and the fisherman's wife
attending upon her, but Stella was not to be seen.
"Keep still, Etty," said Eleanor, as Etty tried to rise.
"But where is Stella? I want Stella!" cried Etty.
"Stella cannot come to you, and you must not go to her," said Eleanor,
seeing that Etty was determined to get up. "You have done terrible
mischief by your perverseness and folly, Esther, and the only amends
you can make is to try and do no more."
There was something in Eleanor's tone which quieted Etty at once.
"Is Stella dead?" she asked, in an awestruck whisper.
"No—at least we hope not—but she has not revived yet, and we fear
that her head is hurt. Be quiet now, and drink the tea Mrs. Fiske is
bringing you."
It was a long time before Stella came to herself, and when she did, she
knew no one. She was carried on board the steamer and laid on one sofa
and Etty on another. As the boat drew near to the wharf, Stella opened
her eyes, and seeing her aunt bending over her, she said, feebly:
"Please, aunt, don't scold Etty."
Etty hid her face and cried bitterly but silently, as she remembered
all her unkind speeches to Stella. She was put to bed in her own room,
and left alone for what seemed an age. At last Mrs. Grey came in and
sat down by her bed.
"Oh, aunt, how is Stella?" exclaimed Etty, starting up.
"She is better," replied her aunt. "The doctor hopes she will live. You
ought to be very thankful." Mrs. Grey paused a little and then said:
"Etty, what has been the matter to-day? What has made you behave so
badly?"
"I don't know, aunt," replied Etty. "It has been one of my bad days."
"What do you suppose makes you have bad days, Etty?"
"I don't know, aunt," repeated Etty. "I can't help them."
"Are you sure of that, Etty? I am not so, by any means."
Etty looked surprised.
"Let us go over the day's history and see if it could not be helped.
What was the first trouble?"
"Being late for breakfast, aunt—no, breaking the cologne bottle was the
first trouble."
"Well, both of these troubles came from the same source—not getting up
in time. How did that happen?"
"I was so sleepy, aunt."
"You should not have been sleepy. From half-past nine till six is long
enough for any little girl to sleep. Did you go to bed as soon as you
came up-stairs?"
Etty hesitated.
"I know you did not," continued Mrs. Grey. "Your candle was new last
night and it was more than half burned out this morning. What were you
doing?"
"Reading, aunt."
"Then the first trouble came from your disobeying my direct commands.
Could you not help that?"
"Yes, aunt, I suppose so."
"And could you not have got up when Eleanor called you?"
"Yes, aunt."
"Then here were two troubles which certainly could have been helped,
and which being helped would have prevented most of the others. I will
pass over your conduct at the breakfast-table and at your lessons; but
could you not have dressed yourself as I told you instead of following
your own perverse fancy?"
"I did not want to wear that dress," murmured Etty.