_THE PRIZES._
Maggie and Bessie had been going to school about a week, when one
morning Miss Ashton said she wished all her little scholars, except
Bessie, Belle, and Carrie Ransom, to write a short composition for
her. This was received with some very long faces and a good many
ohs! and ahs! of which Miss Ashton took no notice. Maggie and Gracie
were the only two who seemed to be pleased with the prospect.
Maggie, as we know, had been accustomed to composing a little. Her
"History of the Complete Family" had been of great use to her in
this, as well as her habit of writing letters to her friends whenever
she found an opportunity. So she looked upon Miss Ashton's order
more as a pleasant pastime than as a task; and she and Gracie Howard,
who was also a good writer and fond of composition, seized upon their
slates and pencils with great satisfaction.
Miss Ashton said each child might take as a subject the history of
yesterday, and tell what she had done or what happened to her; that
she would give them half an hour, and at the end of that time they
must all hand her something, even if it were only a few lines; but
she trusted each little girl to do her best.
"Miss Ashton," said Bessie, "could not I make a little composition
too? I can't write, but I can print it."
"No, dear," answered Miss Ashton, "you have had enough study for
to-day."
"But composition is not study," said Bessie fretfully; "and I want to
do it, if Maggie does. I think I might;" and Bessie's lips looked
rather pouty.
"Bessie," said her teacher, "what was the bargain you and I made with
your mamma?"
The child's face cleared instantly, and in her own demure little way
she said, "Oh, I did forget, Miss Ashton! Thank you for putting me
in mind. I'm 'fraid you're disappointed in me to do a thing like
that."
"No," said Miss Ashton, smiling; "I do not expect any of my little
scholars to be perfect; and I am satisfied if, when they feel wrong
and are told of it, they try at once to correct the naughty feeling.
But now we four must keep quiet, and not disturb the others while
they are writing. Bring your slates here, and we will have a
drawing-lesson."
The three little girls soon gathered about her, and, lifting Bessie
upon her lap, she made Belle and Carrie stand on either side, and
told them they were all to try who could draw the best cow. She
would try herself.
In a few moments, the three children had finished; Miss Ashton had
done first, and the four slates were compared. There could be no
doubt that Miss Ashton's cow was decidedly the best. _That_ they had
expected, but each child had hoped her own might be the next best.
Carrie was not disappointed, her cow was pretty fair; but those drawn
by Belle and Bessie were very extraordinary-looking animals--Bessie's
especially. In fact, it looked like nothing so little as a cow, and
might rather have been taken for a table with four crooked legs going
down, and three still more crooked sprawling in the air. The first
four were supposed to be the legs of the creature; the last three her
horns and tail.
"Oh, what a cow!" said Carrie; "she hasn't even a head."
Bessie hastily drew a round O for a head, which did not improve the
cow, but made her look funnier than ever; and Carrie, saying, "What a
looking thing!" went off into a fit of laughter.
Bessie flushed up angrily, stretched out her hand towards Carrie's
slate, and in another moment the drawing would have been wiped from
it, when, before Miss Ashton could speak, she drew the hand back, and
said in a gentle but grieved voice, "I did it as good as I knew how."
"Yes," said Belle, firing up in defence of her "inseparable," and
casting a scornful glance at Carrie's slate; "and her cow is a great
deal prettier than yours, Carrie, and she is a _great deal better_
than you."
"No," said Bessie, laying her head with a penitent little sigh
against Miss Ashton's shoulder, "hers is the best, Belle; mine is not
half so good."
"But you say you did the best you could," said Miss Ashton, tenderly
smoothing down the curls on the dear little head.
"Yes, I truly did," said Bessie.
"And, Carrie, did you do your best too?"
"Yes," said Carrie.
"And Belle?" said Miss Ashton.
"Yes," answered Belle.
"So did I," said their teacher; "and none of us can do more."
"I think, maybe, I could make a little better one if I was to try
hard," said Belle.
"Then you may all try again; and since you agree that my cow is the
best, you can take her for a pattern."
So they all tried to make one like Miss Ashton's. Carrie's was much
like her first attempt, neither better nor worse; but in Bessie's and
Belle's a great improvement was to be seen.
Before the half-hour was up, Maggie and Gracie had finished their
compositions, and laid down their slates; but some of the children
were still poring over theirs, having very little written. At last
Miss Ashton said the time was up, and sent Belle to collect the
slates, saying she should read the compositions aloud.
Some were very well done, Maggie's and Gracie's the two best; but
with some it was plainly to be seen that the young writers had taken
little or no pains. One little girl had written only,--
"I got up, and I stayed up till I went to bed. That is all I know."
At which, when it was read out, the other children laughed; but the
little girl herself felt rather ashamed, and wished she had tried to
do better. But Miss Ashton found no fault, laying each slate aside
without remark, but when she was through, and it was nearly twelve
o'clock, said that her uncle wished to say a few words to all the
school. Then the folding-doors were opened, and presently a
white-haired old gentleman walked in and stood at Mrs. Ashton's table.
He was as pleasant-looking an old gentleman as it would be easy to
find, with a merry twinkle in his eye, and a kind smile on his lips;
and when he spoke it was in a hearty, cheery voice that it did one
good to hear.
"My dear children," he began, "I do not mean to keep you long, for
school-hours are about over, and I suppose you would rather be at
your play than listening to an old man. God has not given me any
children of my own, but I love all the young folks, and like to make
them happy, and to help them along in any way I can. Now I have a
plan to propose to you, and it is this. I will give five prizes on
the first of next May. Two will be for composition--one for each
class, to be given to the young lady, or little girl, who shall
produce the best composition; the subject to be chosen by herself.
The next two will be for general good standing in the classes,
perfect lessons, and punctual attendance, etc. All these, of course,
will be bestowed according to the judgment of your teachers and the
number of your good marks. But the fifth and last prize, and the one
which I consider the most important, will be given according to the
choice of the scholars of both classes, to her who has proved herself
the most obedient, truthful, and unselfish among you; in short, to
her who shows in her life and conduct that she remembers and
practises the two great commandments which our Saviour gave us--viz.
'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all
thy soul, and with all thy strength; and the second is like unto it,
Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.' You shall yourselves say
to whom this is due, who has best proved that she has the fear of God
and the love of her neighbour in her heart and before her eyes. And
since I believe that such a child will rejoice in the power of doing
good to others, I will tell you what I mean to offer as a reward.
"In a certain hospital at a short distance from this city, where
little deformed children and cripples are nursed and cared for and
often cured, I own a bed; that is, I pay for its use, and it is
occupied by any needy child whom I may choose to send there. At
present, it is taken up by a little girl who has been in the hospital
for two years, and who was dreadfully lame when she went there. Now
she is so nearly cured that she walks without her crutches, and the
doctors say that by the spring she will be quite well.
"When she goes away, her place will be ready for some other poor
child who may need such care as she has had; and to the girl whom the
voice of her school-mates say has earned the right to it shall be
given the choice of its next occupant. Do you understand me, little
ones? This bed, with all the comforts and kind care which belong to
it, shall be given to any crippled child named by the girl who shall
first be chosen by the whole school as the most deserving of the
pleasure. Perhaps some among you may not know any one, at present,
who stands in need of it; but, if you will make inquiries among your
friends, I think you cannot fail to find some poor child to whom it
will be a great blessing. And now, I will keep you no longer, but
say good-bye to you, hoping to meet you all here in the spring, and
that you will all do so well that we shall have a great deal of
trouble in deciding who are to receive the prizes."
To describe the buzz of tongues, the exclamations, wonderings, and
questionings that followed as soon as Mr. Ashton had gone, would be
quite impossible. It was twelve o'clock, and two or three nurses
were waiting in the cloak-room for their little charges; but they
found it hard work to coax them away. Miss Ashton had gone
down-stairs with her uncle and mother, kindly giving Maggie a few
minutes to talk off her excitement before she called her to her
music-lesson, which she knew would meet with small attention just at
present.
"Oh, I hope, I hope, I _do_ hope I shall gain a prize!" said Maggie,
clapping her hands, jumping about, and uttering each succeeding
"hope" with more and more energy. "I must have one. Oh, I must!"
"Which one do you mean to try for, Maggie?" asked Nellie Ransom.
"I suppose I ought to wish most for the one for the lame child," said
Maggie, pausing in her antics and looking thoughtful; "but I'm afraid
I don't, so that's a sure sign I should not deserve to have it. No,
I'd never get it; for I know I should not be the best child in the
school. But I think maybe I could earn one of the others, and I will
try for both; but most of all I'd rather have the one for
composition. If I knew any one who would like to go to the hospital,
I'd try for that; but I don't."
"O Maggie," said Bessie, "don't you remember Jemmy Bent?"
"Why, to be sure," said Maggie. "Well, I'm just glad enough Jemmy
did not hear me say that. He would think me too unkind to go and
forget him. But, any way, I know I'd never earn _that_ prize. I
shall just do everything in the world to get the composition one."
"So shall I," said Gracie; "and I hope I'll be the one."
"I'm going to try too," said Dora Johnson; "but only one of us can
have it. So all the rest will have to be disappointed."
"Oh dear!" said Maggie; "I didn't think about that. I'll be very
sorry to have you all disappointed."
"You seem to be very sure you'll get it," said Fanny Leroy, rather
snappishly.
Maggie coloured.
"Well, I did feel most sure," she said. "I only thought about trying
very hard to earn it, and I forgot all the rest wanted it too, and
were going to try."
"But I think you'll be the one to have it, Maggie," said Bessie.
"Well, little mouse," said Kate Maynard, dancing in, catching up
Bessie, and carrying her off to the other room, where she seated the
child on her desk, and took a chair in front of her,--"well, little
mouse, and what makes you so sure Maggie will get the composition
prize for the other room?"
"She wants it so very much, and is going to try so hard," said Bessie.
"But, as Maggie just said herself, all the others want it too, and
mean to try."
"Yes," said Bessie, smiling back into the merry black eyes; "but my
Maggie is very smart. She has a great deal of _make up_ in her, and
can tell such beautiful stories all out of her own head, and she can
write them too."
"Come here, Maggie," said Kate, as the child, whose classmates were
leaving, peeped around the door for Bessie,--"come here; I want to
have a little talk with you about these prizes."
Maggie came slowly forward.
"Is that the way you mean to come when you are called up to get the
composition prize?" said Kate. "Hurry up, tortoise, or you won't be
here before recess is over."
At this, Maggie turned about as if she would have run away; but two
of the larger girls caught her, and drew her over to Kate's desk.
"What are you afraid of, dear?" asked Kate, as Julia Grafton lifted
the blushing child to her knee, and held her fast. "What is the
reason you don't like me?"
Maggie made no answer, except by wriggling her head and shoulders,
and putting up both arms, so as to cover her face as much as possible.
"Miss Kate," said Bessie gravely, "you could not 'spect Maggie to be
very fond of you."
"Why not?" asked the laughing Kate. "You are very fond of me, are
you not?"
"Not much," said Bessie. "But I'd be fond of you if you did not
tease my Maggie. I shouldn't think you'd like to be such a trouble
to any one, Miss Kate."
"I should like to know how I am a trouble to her," said Kate.
"You look at her."
"Look at her!" exclaimed Kate; "and is Maggie not to be looked at?
Why, I look at you too, mousie; but you do not seem to mind it."
"You don't look at me that way," said Bessie, feeling quite sure that
Kate understood what she meant. "When the doors are open, you look
at Maggie in a way to tease her, and make her miss her lessons. The
other day you made her miss three times."
"Pshaw! that's nonsense," said Kate, half-vexed, half-amused.
"You did," said Maggie, taking down her arms, the sense of her wrongs
overcoming her bashfulness. "That was a very hard lesson, but I knew
it quite well; but I could not say it when you stared at me, and
shook your head at me, and laughed at me; and I missed and missed, so
I had to go down foot, and I was next to head before. And it wasn't
my fault, and it's too bad, now!" and the tears welled up to poor
Maggie's eyes.
"So it was, Maggie," said Miss Maynard; "and I am truly sorry, I did
not think, but I promise not to do so any more. Will you kiss and be
friends?"
Forgiving little Maggie was quite willing, and the treaty was sealed
with a kiss; the child feeling more relieved than Kate would have
thought possible, at the thought that those mischievous eyes would
not work her any more trouble.
"Maggie, come to your music, dear," said Miss Ashton's voice at the
door.
"There, now! Miss Ashton will see she has been crying, and I shall
get into trouble," said Kate.
"Maggie will not say anything about it, if she can help it," said
Bessie. "She never tells tales. Mamma has brought us up not to."
"What a wise mamma!" said Julia, laughing. "But did not Maggie tell
Miss Ashton the day Kate made her miss."
"No," said Bessie; "she did not tell any one but mamma. We have to
tell _her_ all our troubles, you know."
"But about these prizes, Bessie," said Kate. "Since you 'have to be
rather lazy,' I suppose you do not hope to gain any."
"I know mamma would not like me to study so much as to gain the
composition or perfect-lesson prize," said Bessie, "so I did not
think much about those, 'cept for Maggie; but"--
"But what?" said Julia, as the child hesitated. "Have you a hope of
winning the other from the whole school by being the best girl in it?"
"Not such a very _hope_," said Bessie; "but oh, I do wish so very,
very much that Maggie or I could have it! I'd just as lief she'd
have it, 'cause we'd both do the same with it."
"Then you know some child to whom you wish to give the bed in the
hospital?" asked Kate.
"Yes," said Bessie; "and he deserves it very much. He is such a good
boy, Miss Kate. If he had to earn it for himself, I know he'd get
it. He is a great deal better than any one in this school."
"There's a compliment for us," said Fanny Berry.
"And he is a cripple, is he?" said Kate.
"Yes'm; shall I tell you about him?"
"Of course," answered Kate.
"His name is Jemmy Bent," said Bessie, "and, a good while ago, he
fell off a stone wall and hurt his back very much, so he had to lie
in bed all the time. He and his mother and his sister Mary live in a
little red house by the creek that is near Riverside, where Grandpapa
Duncan lives; and grandpapa and Aunt Helen are very good to him; and
his mother wanted to buy a wheel-chair, so that he could be out in
the nice air and sun; but she was too poor, and grandpapa let Maggie
and me earn the chair for him. And since he had the chair, he has
been better and stronger; and grandpapa thought if he could go where
he would have very good care, perhaps he might be made quite well.
So he took a doctor, who knew a great deal, to see Jemmy; and the
doctor said he never would be very well, but he thought he could be
cured so much that he could go about on crutches. But he said he
must have care all the time, and be where he could be 'tended to
every day. But he said he ought not to be brought to the city,
'cause he was used to living in the country, and it was better for
him. So grandpapa wanted to put him into a country hospital, where
they take lame children--maybe it was the very one the prize
gentleman told us about; but it was so full they had no room for
Jemmy. So he has to wait, and Maggie and I were very sorry about it.
But Jemmy did not know what grandpapa tried to do, so he was not
disappointed. It would be a very happy thing for Jemmy if he could
ever be so well as to walk on crutches, for now he has to be wheeled
about in his chair, and cannot take one step on his feet."
"And he is such a very good boy, is he?" said Kate, when Bessie,
having talked herself out of breath, came to a pause.
"Oh yes!" said the child; "you could not find an excellenter boy
anywhere, I'm sure. He's so patient and so happy; and he never frets
or is cross, though he has a great deal of pain to bear. And if he's
tired of being in one place, he cannot move himself, but has to wait
till some one comes to roll his chair. Sometimes he and his mother
and sister used to be hungry too, and did not have enough bread to
eat; and, do you b'lieve, not a bit of butter on it! But Aunt Helen
found that out, and she takes care of them now, and finds work for
Mrs. Bent and Mary, so they need never be hungry any more, or cold
either. And mamma helps them too; so they're rather com'fable now."
"Your Jemmy seems to have found good friends," said Kate. "And so
you and Maggie earned his easy-chair for him; and now you want to
earn this hospital-bed for him, do you?"
"Oh, so much!" The tone said as much as the words, as did the
glowing cheeks and wistful eyes. There could be no doubt that the
wish was heartfelt; and Kate, taking the earnest little face between
her hands, kissed it warmly, and said,--
"You're a darling, and Maggie's another. I think your mother has a
pair of you."
"Yes," said Bessie innocently; "and there are two more pair of us,
Harry and Fred, and Frankie and baby."
The girls laughed again; and Kate, catching the child up in her arms,
began to dance with her about the room, which was the signal for a
general frolic that lasted till Jane came to take the children home.