by those who stand in the place of your parents, your liking or not
liking is no excuse for disobeying. Now, to go on to the great trouble
of all. Did you not hear your uncle tell you not to go upon the rocks?"
"Yes, aunt."
"And could you not have helped going where you were told not to go?"
Etty was ashamed to excuse herself by saying that she wanted the
flowers, so she said nothing. She was beginning to see that her
troubles had been of her own making.
"In every one of these cases you could have 'helped it,' as you say,
by merely doing your duty," continued Mrs. Grey. "If you had risen in
time, you would not have been hurried and fretted in getting ready for
breakfast. You would not have broken your bottle, and spoiled my table,
and lost your own temper, and put yourself out of tune for the whole
day. If you had trusted your uncle as you ought, you would not have
made yourself ridiculous on the wharf as you did. If you had not been
so perverse and unreasonable you would not have spoiled your best dress
and your own temper as well as that of every one else. To conclude, if
you had obeyed your uncle to-day, you would not have run heedlessly
into danger, and thus have sacrificed perhaps the life of your poor
little sister."
"Do you think Stella will die, aunt?" asked Etty.
"I cannot tell. She is very dangerously hurt, and even if she should
live, it may be months before she can walk. Now tell me, Etty, could
you not have helped all these things?"
"Well, I cannot help crying when anything troubles me," said Etty. "I
have so much feeling."
"Feeling for yourself, Etty, not for other people. Selfish feeling,
which makes you hard-hearted and unkind even to your poor little
sister, who would do anything in the world for you. Selfish feeling,
which shows that you have never learned to love God or your neighbors,
but only to love and please yourself—which will and does make you a
torment to yourself and all about you."
"I shall say no more now, Etty, only to recommend you to ask God for
the light of His Holy Spirit to teach you to see yourself as you
really are. There is no use in trying to cure people unless they can
be convinced that they are sick, and there is no use in talking of
amendment to one who cannot see that she is to blame. I shall pray for
you, my child, and I shall continue to take care of you as well as I
can, but I do not know what is to become of you unless you learn to be
a better girl."
"Please don't go away, aunt," sobbed Etty: "don't leave me alone.
Indeed I will try to be a good girl, if you will forgive me."
"I forgive you, my dear Etty, but there is One whom you have offended
more than you have me, whose pardon you ought to ask."
"Please ask Him for me, aunt!" whispered Etty. "And ask Him to make
Stella well."
Mrs. Grey knelt by Etty's bedside, and prayed, and for the first time
in her life Etty really joined in a prayer.
She wanted very much to see Stella, but her aunt said no, and for once
Etty minded without a word.
When Mrs. Grey left her, Etty slipped out of bed, and kneeling down,
she prayed herself, with many tears, that her Father in Heaven would
spare her dear sister; and that she herself might have grace to be a
good girl. That prayer was the beginning of a new life to Etty.
Then feeling a little comforted she rose from her knees. As she did so
she felt a sharp pain in her foot, so sharp that she almost screamed.
She had felt a pain in the foot a good many times during the afternoon,
but her pride would not let her speak of it, lest her aunt should say
something about her thin boots.
"O dear, what a wicked little fool I have been!" said she to herself.
"Now I have hurt my foot and I dare say I shall have to sit still and
be waited on, instead of waiting on Stella."
So it turned out. The next day Etty's foot was found to be so bruised
and inflamed that she could not put it to the floor. Here was an end
to all her hopes of helping her aunt and waiting upon Stella. Instead
of that, she had to be carried up and down-stairs for a month, like a
baby, and all she could do for any one was to give as little trouble
as possible. She had taken a severe cold which settled in her eyes,
already weakened by reading at night, and she could hardly use them at
all.
This confinement was one of the best things that ever happened to Etty.
She learned for the first time to appreciate the kindness of those who
took care of her. She learned to be thoroughly weary of idleness, and
to find it a privilege to be employed. She found out too that much as
she might try, she could not be a good girl without help from above,
and she learned to pray earnestly for the help of God's Holy Spirit.
Her "bad days" became fewer and farther between, and at last ceased
entirely.
Stella, was ill for a long time, and has never been as well as she was
before her fall: but she is happier than ever before, for Etty is now
always kind and affectionate to her.
Dear girls, be careful how you excuse your faults by saying you "can't
help it!" Remember that you can always have God's help by asking for it
in faith and humility, and with Him on your side, you have no right to
say that you "cannot help" doing what is wrong.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: MARTHA, OR, "CHARITY THINKETH NO EVIL." Frontispiece.]
[Illustration]
MARTHA,
OR,
"CHARITY THINKETH NO EVIL."
"I HAVE just been to see Betty Allis," said Emily Dunbar to her cousin
Martha. "She is a great deal better, but she is not able to go to
school."
"Then she has really been sick!" said Martha.
Emily looked at her in surprise.
"What do you mean, Martha? Of course she has been sick. She would not
be very likely to stay out of school just now, unless she was obliged
to do so."
"I don't know that!" returned Martha.
"If a girl has been working for a prize, and finds out that she is not
likely to get it after all, it may be very convenient to stay out of
school a week or two, and then say, at last: 'Oh, of course, I had no
chance. I lost so much time by being sick.'"
"Martha, you have no business to say such things," said Emily. "Betty
is not that sort of girl at ell."
"I think she is exactly that sort of girl!" interrupted Martha.
"And besides," continued Emily, smiling, "I think it as likely as not
that Betty will gain the prize, after all. She was ever so far before
the rest of us, and she has only been out of school a week, you know."
"Very likely she will. She is a rich man's daughter, and I am a poor
man's child; though I dare say she is not so rich as she pretends."
"I don't see that Betty makes any pretence at all," said Emily. "She
seems to me as quiet and unpretending as any girl in school, and I
don't think you have any right to accuse Miss Lyman of partiality. The
fact is, Martha, you have taken such a dislike to Betty Allis, that it
makes no difference what she does."
"Well, I have a right to dislike her," replied Martha. "She has treated
me shamefully, and she is just as proud, and artful, and hateful, as
she can be."
"Who is so proud, and artful, and hateful, Martha?" asked Miss
Margaret, who had been sitting all the time behind the blinds of the
window which opened on the verandah where the girls were now talking.
"Those are hard words to apply to any one."
Martha did not answer, but Emily said:
"We were talking about Betty Allis, Aunt Margaret."
"I am surprised at that," replied Aunt Margaret. "I have always thought
her a very nice girl."
"And so does almost every one," said Emily; "but Martha does not like
her."
"Well, I do not, and I have good reasons for not liking her," said
Martha. "She never loses a chance of provoking and spiting me."
"How does she provoke you?" asked Aunt Margaret.
Martha did not reply.
"Come, Martha, if Betty has done so many bad things, you can surely
tell of some of them."
"Well, she puts on such airs, for one thing," said Martha. "You would
think she owned a whole gold mine, to hear her. The other day, several
of the girls were talking about examination dresses. Miss Lyman wants
all our class to wear white with black ribbons, on account of Annie
Grey's death, you know. Some one asked Betty who was going to make her
dress. 'Oh, I am not going to have a new dress made,' she answered,
with such an air. 'Mamma likes me to wear white, and I have plenty of
white dresses.'"
"I did not see that she put on any airs at all," remarked Emily. "She
just said it as a matter-of-course, and she does wear white a great
deal."
"Well, what else, Martha?" asked Aunt Margaret.
"Well, last March, when there was snow on the ground, I went over to
carry auntie something. I was in a hurry and did not stop to dress
myself, but just put on mother's plaid shawl, and tied my old worsted
scarf round my neck. I was hurrying along, for I did not want to meet
anybody, when I heard some one call me. I turned round, and there was
Miss Betty, dressed up in her blue plush frock, and her cape trimmed
with sable fur, holding up my old scarf as if it burned her fingers.
'Why, Martha, is it you?' said she, in a tone of affected surprise. 'I
did not know you. I found this scarf lying on the snow, and hurried to
come up with you, thinking it might be yours.' I could have boxed her
ears with a good will."
"But why? I do not see anything wrong in that."
"She did it just to mortify me!" said Martha. "She knew I should be
ashamed of such a dirty old thing."
"And so you ought to be," said Aunt Margaret. "I tell you, you will
meet with a great mortification some day if you are not more neat in
your dress and habits. But I do not see that Betty was to blame. From
what you say, it seems that she had not recognized you when she spoke.
I dare say she thought you were some poor body, to whom the scarf would
be a serious loss."
"I don't see what business she had in the lane," said Martha.
"Probably the same business that you had," replied Emily. "She goes
over to the Home two or three times a week to read to Mrs. Grimes, the
blind woman, and I suppose she has a right to take the shortest road,
if she pleases."
"That going over to the Home is just another specimen of her," said
Martha. "She likes to have the old ladies make a fuss over her, and to
have all the managers say what a charitable, amiable girl Betty Allis
is. You would not catch her doing any such thing unless she were sure
that people would hear of it."
"Martha, how can you say so?" interrupted Emily. "You know how she
helped poor Julia Curtis with her lessons, all the time her eyes were
weak, so that she might not lose her place in school. The girls all
wondered how Julia could keep up so well; but nobody would have known
it if little Fanny had not let out the secret: for Betty made Julia
promise not to tell."
"She knew it would come out somehow, or she would not have taken all
that trouble," said Martha. "Then her name sounds so silly for a girl
fifteen years old Belly Allis! Why does she not call herself Elizabeth?"
"Perhaps for the reason, amongst others, that it is not her name,"
replied Aunt Margaret, drily. "She was christened Betty at her
grandmother's special request."
"She likes the name, though, for she says so," persisted Martha. "Then
she makes such a parade of goodness. Miss Lyman said one day, last
Lent, that she wished the girls to use their prayer-books in church;
and the very next morning, Betty, instead of putting her head down, as
she had done before, kneeled down and kept her head up and her book
open before her all through the prayers and the Litany. Then she got up
with such an air, as if to say, 'Just see how good I am!'"
"I fancy the air was in your imagination," said Emily. "I sat by Betty
all through Lent and saw none of those airs that you speak of. Betty
is a great deal more serious than she used to be, and I think she is
trying hard to be a good Christian girl; but I am sure she makes no
parade of it."
"Pray, Martha, what were you doing all through the prayers that you had
so much time to observe Betty?" asked Aunt Margaret.
Martha blushed, but made no answer.
"I think you are cherishing a very wrong spirit," continued Aunt
Margaret, seriously; "a spirit which makes you see wrong in everything
which Betty does or leaves undone."
"That is just so, Aunt Margaret," said Emily. "I don't want to hurt
Martha's feelings, but I am sure she is wrong in that. One Sunday Betty
puts fifty cents into the collection and Martha thinks she does it to
make a display. Another day she puts in a five-cent piece, and Martha
thinks she might have saved something more than that out of all her
pocket-money. And that is just the way all the time."
"Such a spirit is a very dangerous one for anybody to cherish,"
continued Aunt Margaret. "It shows a great want of that charity,
without which all our doings are nothing worth:"
"I don't think it is fair to accuse me of want of charity, Aunt
Margaret, considering how I saved—"
"How you saved all your pocket-money to give away," said Aunt Margaret,
as Martha checked herself. "I am aware that you used a great deal of
self-denial in that matter, my dear. I was very glad to see it. But,
Martha, St. Paul says, 'though I give all my goods to feed the poor,
and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.' So you see that it is
possible to be very liberal without being charitable at all."
"Charity means LOVE, does it not, Aunt Margaret?" asked Emily.
"Yes, my dear. St. Paul, in that beautiful thirteenth chapter of First
Corinthians, gives us a description of this greatest of graces. He
tells us both what it is, and what it is not, and assures us that
unless we have it, our greatest gifts and graces are as nothing—
"'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, though I have
faith so that I could remove mountains, though I bestow all my goods to
food the poor, or give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it
profiteth me nothing.'"
"I advise you to examine your feelings toward Betty by the aid of this
chapter, and see if it does not throw some light upon them."
"If she had not served me such a mean trick, I should not care so
much!" said Martha. "But it was so shameful in her to go and tell Miss
Lyman and get me into disgrace. I don't believe there is another girl
in the school who would have done such a thing."
"What did she do?"
"She went and told Miss Lyman of something I did, and got me into
disgrace," said Martha.
"You don't know that it was Betty," said Emily.
"I do know!" returned Martha, angrily. "There was not another person
who could have seen me."
"You do not know for certain that any one told," persisted Emily. "Miss
Lyman never said so, and you have no proof against Betty except your
own fancy."
"Of course you will take her part against me," said Martha. "All I have
to say is that I can't bear her, and never shall."
"You are wrong, Martha, and you must know that you are wrong," said
Aunt Margaret, gravely. "If you examine your own conscience you will
see that it is so."
Martha did not reply. She was not without religious principle, and
lately she had been feeling very anxious to become a true Christian.
She had tried to give herself to her Saviour, but something seemed to
hold back. She had no comfort in prayer, she did not feel as if God
heard her, and all her efforts to do good and to love Him seemed hard,
up-hill work. Now, as she thought over what her aunt had said to her,
she began to wonder whether she had not found out her real hindrance,
in the spirit which she had allowed herself to cherish toward Betty
Allis.
Martha was a truthful girl. She was very much in earnest, and disposed
to be honest in her self-examination. As she read over the description
of Charity, she paused at every verse, and compared herself with the
words.
"Charity suffereth long and is kind." Kind she certainly had not been.
She had never lost an opportunity of saying and doing unkind things
where Betty was concerned.
"Charity envieth not." It was rather hard for the naturally proud
girl to admit to herself that she had envied her rich school-mate, that
a great part of her dislike to Betty arose from the expensive furs,
from those same fine white dresses, and the carriage, and the
man-servant that called for Betty on rainy days; but One was dealing
with Martha who would not let her deceive herself. Yes, it was even so.
"Charity thinketh no evil." She had thought of nothing else. She had
put an evil construction on every act of Betty's, however simple, and
she was always looking out for bad motives in all she said or did.
"Rejoiceth not in iniquity." Had she not been secretly glad that
unlucky day when Betty was surprised into laughing aloud in church, and
was afterwards reproved by the clergyman? Had she not rejoiced openly
whenever Betty gained a bad mark, or had an imperfect lesson?
There is no use in our going over the whole chapter, though Martha
did so to the very end. Then she closed the book and knelt down. She
shed many tears as she prayed, but when she rose, her face was full
of quiet peace. She had overcome her hindrance for that time. She had
acknowledged her sins, and prayed for forgiveness, and for grace to
resist her besetting sin, and something in her heart told her that her
prayer was granted.
"You were right about Betty Allis and me, Aunt Margaret, and I see I
have been wrong all through!" said Martha, after breakfast, when they
were alone together in the dining-room.
Martha was washing the breakfast things, which was a part of her
regular duty.
"I am very glad you do," replied Aunt Margaret. "To see when you are
wrong is more than half the battle. But, Martha, had you never known
before that you were wrong in cherishing such a spirit? Had not your
conscience told you so?"
"Yes, Aunt Margaret, but I would not listen. But I cannot think it was
right in Betty to tell Miss Lyman of me. It was none of her business
what I did."
"Perhaps not. Nevertheless, Martha, you must forgive, if you would be
forgiven."
"I hope I have done so, aunt. I could not help it," added Martha, in a
low tone; "when I thought how He forgave me. I would like to be friends
with Betty if I could, but I don't know how to set about it."
"Pray for guidance, and keep your eyes open," said Aunt Margaret.
"Depend upon it, your way will be made plain."
"Martha," said her mother, opening the door, "suppose you run over to
auntie's and carry her these fresh ducks' eggs. She likes them very
much, and they will just come in time for her breakfast, if you do not
stop to change your dress. You can go through the lane."
"Auntie," was a great-aunt of Martha's, a very old lady. She
breakfasted very late, and Martha often ran over to her house with a
plate of warm biscuits, a dish of freshly gathered berries, or some
other dainty which it was thought the old lady might fancy. She hastily
throw on her sunbonnet, and without even taking off her white apron she
went to carry the eggs. She staid nearly an hour, doing various little
services for auntie, and sharing her morning cup of coffee. As she was
returning, she overtook Betty Allis, who was walking slowly in the same
direction.
"Just like her!" was Martha's first hasty thought. "Sure to meet me if
I look like a fright!"
But she checked herself the next moment and gave Betty a cordial
greeting. "Why, Betty, I did not expect to see you out this morning."
"And I am not sure that I ought to be out," replied Betty: "but the
morning seemed so pleasant that I could not bear to stay in the house,
so I went round to the Home for a little while. Have you been to see
your aunt?"
Martha explained her errand.
"It must be nice to have an old lady of one's own to go and see!" said
Betty. "I wish you would take me to visit your aunt some day, Martha.
Do you think she would like to see me?"
The old feeling of jealousy rose in Martha's heart, but she put it down
by a brave effort, and answered cheerfully:
"I am sure she would like it very much. She is always fond of young
people. I think you must be fond of old people, Betty, you go to the
Home so much."
"I am," replied Betty. "I do love to hear the old ladies talk. One
learns so much from them. It must be strange," she added, thoughtfully,
"to look back upon such a long life."
"We shall know how it seems some time," observed Martha, "that is, if
we live."
"I shall not," said Betty, abruptly. "I shall never live to be old."
"How do you know?" asked Martha.
"I heard the doctor say so," answered Betty. "He told mother that I had
consumption, and that though, with good care, I might last on for a
year or two, I should never be well, and I might be taken worse at any
time."
"Why, Betty!" exclaimed Martha. "Do you believe it? Didn't it make you
feel dreadfully?"
"It did, just at first," said Betty; "but I don't mind it so much now,
only for mother's sake."
"I don't think the doctor ought to have said so!" said Martha. "He
cannot know for certain."
"I believe he feels quite sure," replied Betty. "You know they have
ways of finding out those things. He did not tell me, either. I only
heard it by accident; but after all I am glad I know the truth. Come
into our garden and let me give you some roses."
"I am not fit to be seen!" said Martha, glancing at her dress.
"I am sure you look very nice in that pretty calico dress and white
apron. Besides there is no one to see you. Do come in!"
Martha yielded, and Betty led her from walk to walk, culling roses and
other flowers with an unsparing hand. As Martha was going away, Betty
detained her.
"Martha, there is one thing I wish to say to you now,
because—because—something might happen that I should never see you
again." She paused a moment, and went on in a firmer voice: "Martha, I
know that you have never liked me, and that you think I do things to
spite and mortify you; but, indeed, indeed it is not so. I have always
wanted to be friends with you, for I liked you from the first, but if I
have ever done or said anything to hurt your feelings, I am sorry, and
I beg your pardon. I cannot afford to have any quarrels now, you know,"
she added, with a sad smile. "I must be in charity with all men."
"You never did, Betty—never but once," said Martha, as soon as she
could speak. "I mean when you told Miss Lyman about my walking in the
lane with my cousin instead of coming to school. I did wrong, I know,
but it did not seem fair that you should tell of me."
"But, Martha, I did not tell of you," said Bettie, earnestly. "What
made you think I did?"
"I thought you were the only one who could have seen me," replied
Martha, blushing. "There is no other house which overlooks the lane but
yours."
"Miss Lyman could have seen you herself from the recitation room when
the leaves were off the trees," said Betty. "At any rate, Martha, it
was not I who told. I never knew a word of the matter till I heard it
in school. Is there anything else?"
"Nothing!" replied Martha. "You have never done me an injury, that I
know of. The truth is," she added, coloring and looking down, "that I
have always been envious and jealous of you, Betty, and I have tried
to justify myself by making out that you were the one to blame. I have
been thinking over the matter, and I see how mean and wicked I have
been. It is I who ought to beg your pardon, and so I do."
"Don't say any more about it, but let us be friends, and love one
another!" said Betty, kissing her. "Come and see me, won't you? You
know I cannot go out a great deal now."
"Don't you mean to come to school any more?" asked Martha.
"No, I have done with school," replied Betty, sadly. "You will have the
prize after all, Martha, and without any trouble, for there is no one
else near you."
Martha burst into tears. "I don't care for the prize!" she sobbed. "I
would rather not have it."
"Oh, but you will not feel so by-and-by," replied Betty. "But, Martha,
just let me say one thing. Dear Martha, do try to be a true Christian.
Try to love God with all your heart, to please Him and to work for Him.
That is worth all the prizes in the world. Think how I should feel now
if I were not sure that He loved me and had forgiven all my sins for
His dear Son's sake!"
"Then you are not afraid to die?" said Martha.
"I cannot say that," honestly replied Betty. "When I think of dying, I
do feel afraid; but I try not to dwell upon that. I think about what
is beyond—about seeing my Saviour and all the saints in glory. Doctor
Courtland told me that was the best way, and I find it so. But I must
not stay out any longer. Do come and see me as soon as you can!"
Martha promised, and went slowly homeward, her heart very full of
prayers and resolutions.
"What kept you so long?" asked Aunt Margaret.
Martha told her the story of her meeting with Betty.