_THE CONFESSION._
Monsieur Gaufrau found his class unusually troublesome that morning.
Julia and Kate, generally the two brightest and quickest of all his
scholars, seemed now the most inattentive and dull; answering so at
random, and appearing to pay so little heed to what they were doing
and saying, as to make it very evident that their thoughts were taken
up with something quite different from their lessons. As for
luckless Fanny, her exercise was only half written, and full of
mistakes; and she stumbled through the recitations in a disgraceful
manner. Mary Merton could repeat her lessons; but her conduct was
careless and defiant, and once, when the professor reproved her
slightly, very impertinent.
The old gentleman's patience was quite at an end. Bad marks--sadly
deserved, too--went down to the credit of all four; and the
long-threatened complaint to Mrs. Ashton was made, including Mary as
well as Fanny.
"Much any one has gained by that performance of to-day," said Julia
Grafton, as she and her three guilty companions stood together at the
corner of the square, after school was dismissed. "Fanny certainly
is no better off, and here are three more of us in trouble through
the worry and fuss of it."
"Why don't you preach a sermon on it, and take as a text, 'The way of
transgressors is hard'?" said Mary Merton scornfully.
"And so she might with truth," said Kate. "I am sure we are finding
it so."
"Dear me!" said Fanny; "if you think it such an awful sin just to
move back the hands of the clock a little, what did you do it for?"
"Because I _did not think_," said Kate sadly. "Oh, if I only had, I
should never have done it! And now, how are we to get out of the
difficulty? Why didn't I tell Mrs. Ashton at once?"
"I do not see where the difficulty is, if only Bessie Bradford does
not betray us," said Mary. "Mrs. Ashton suspects nothing, and is not
likely to ask any questions now. In spite of my fright, I could not
help laughing to see those two complimenting one another,--Monsieur
bowing and scraping, and assuring Mrs. Ashton that he was 'désolé' at
being so late; and Madame, with her gracious air, excusing him, and
blaming the poor clock. The only thing I am afraid of is that child."
"She has told it all at home by this time," said Fanny.
"Not she," said Kate. "She promised she wouldn't."
"'Promised!'" repeated Mary; "she only did that because she was
afraid of us. I'll answer for it, she told the whole story the
moment she was safely with Maggie and her nurse."
"'Afraid!'" repeated Julia in her turn; "I wish any one of us had
one-half little Bessie's moral courage and simple honesty. We
threatened her and tempted her,--and all of us who have seen how
eager she is to earn that prize for the lame hoy know how great the
temptation was,--but she could not be turned from the straightforward
truth. She has shamed us all, girls!"
"Oh, it is very easy for you to talk, Julia Grafton," said Fanny.
"You did not touch the clock, and had no hand in the mischief."
"No; or I should feel that I could go at once and tell Mrs. Ashton.
As it is, I cannot."
"You would have no _right_ to do it!" exclaimed Mary, with a look at
Kate's downcast face. "It is share and share alike with us. If you
choose to bring trouble on yourself, you would have no right to do
it, on account of the rest."
"I do not say that I should do it," said Julia. "I have not so much
courage as little Bessie. But it is not Mrs. Ashton I am afraid of."
"Of course not," said Mary; "you are a favourite with Mrs. Ashton.
But what are you afraid of, if not of her?"
"Of the ridicule and anger of the rest," said Julia, colouring
deeply. "You called Bessie hard names, and threatened to send her to
Coventry. You would do the same by me, I suppose, if I do not help
you out in this; and I cannot face it as she did, though I own I am
ashamed of this cowardice. She felt it too, poor little thing!
Kate, did you see her pleading look at you?"
"Yes," answered Kate. "Girls, I wish this day's work could be
undone."
"Well, it can't," said Fanny; "and if you think Bessie is safe, I
don't see why you fret about it."
"I'll tell you what it is," said Mary, "we must all bind ourselves by
a solemn promise not to say a word about it, whether questions are
asked or no. Yes I believe Bessie will keep her word, for we all
know how squeamish she is. Mrs. Ashton will never suspect her, even
if she remembers she was in the room; and the worst we have to fear
is some kind of general inquiry, which can easily be passed over.
Let us bind one another to silence."
It was done; Mary and Fanny giving their word for this with much
energy, Julia more slowly, and Kate with a hesitation and
unwillingness which provoked the ridicule of the two first; and then
they parted, Mary and Fanny going one way, Kate and Julia another.
Meanwhile, Bessie had gone home with a heavy heart. Maggie and Jane
both noticed how dull she was, but could not find out what ailed her;
though the former seemed rather hurt that Bessie should have any
secret from her.
Mrs. Bradford, too, saw that her little girl was not in her customary
spirits; and when she found that she did not, as usual, give her an
account of all that had passed in school that morning, she asked her
if she were "in any trouble."
"Yes, mamma," said Bessie. "I have a _very great weight on my mind_,
and it makes it worse because I can't tell you; but it is not my own
secret, and so I s'pose it's not for me to talk about."
"You have not been doing anything wrong in school, dear?"
"No, mamma; I think not. I did want to do what was wrong for a
moment, 'cause it seemed as if it would be a great help to a good
thing; but I asked Jesus to help me to know what He would like me to
do, and I think He did let me see it would not be His work if it came
by a wicked way."
"But you are not sorry now, dear, that you were not suffered to do
wrong that good might come of it?"
"No, mamma; I am very glad, and very much grateful; but I feel sorry
about some other people. I think they fell into a very bad
temptation, and did not try to get out of it."
"Well, I will not ask you any more, since you do not feel at liberty
to speak about it," said Mrs. Bradford.
"I feel very badly not to tell you, mamma; but it was of accident
that I was there and saw it, and I did not quite know what was the
rightest thing to do where it was not my own secret. And there were
a good many troubles about it, and they all came so fast, and it made
a great trouble in my mind; and so maybe I made a mistake to say I
would not tell you. But indeed, mamma, I did not mean to be naughty."
"I do not believe you did, my darling; and we will not say another
word about it, except that you may always be sure that the safest
rule is to have no secrets from your mother."
Mrs. Bradford could give a pretty good guess at the cause of Bessie's
trouble, though not, of course, at the particulars. She knew that
her little girl was a great pet and plaything of the elder scholars;
and she saw plainly, from what Bessie had innocently said, that they
were in some scrape into which they had tried to draw the child, or
at least to make her hide it; and, also, that the little one's
honest, truthful spirit had been shocked and grieved at the want of
honour in her schoolmates. Bessie was thoughtful and out of spirits
all day, and really dreaded the coming of school-time the next
morning. But she would not ask her mother to let her stay at home,
for she wanted to know for herself if any further trouble had arisen
about the clock; and, more than this, the brave little soul had a
feeling that, if she stayed away, the girls might think she did so to
avoid any questions, and was afraid to tell the truth.
She wondered how Kate Maynard would meet her, and if she would really
keep her threat of not speaking to her, or noticing her; and it was
with a beating heart that she saw the young lady coming down the
street as she and Maggie went up Mrs. Ashton's stoop the next morning.
But she found that Kate had forgotten her threat, or thought better
of it; for she came up and met her as usual. No, not as usual
either; for Kate's manner was half hesitating and constrained, as if
she were doubtful of the greeting she should receive from Bessie.
Her frolicsome spirits seemed to have flown away; and Maggie, looking
up to the brilliant black eyes, wondered to see how they had lost
their merry light.
Thoughtless and inconsiderate as she was, Kate Maynard was not
accustomed to deceit and meanness, and they sat uneasily upon her
conscience.
The children went to their schoolroom, Kate to hers; and both her
eyes and Bessie's instantly sought the clock. It was gone!
Kate had the back room to herself just then, for those of her class
who had arrived were gathered in the hall or cloak-room; and,
refusing their invitations to join them, she wandered to the window
and stood listlessly gazing out.
Bessie watched her for a moment through the open doors, and then,
going up to her, touched her hand, and said, in a wistful, pleading
tone,--
"Katie?"
There was an unspoken question in the one word, and Kate heard and
felt it. But she had no answer for it, nor could she meet the clear,
steadfast eyes that were raised to her face. She did not withdraw
her hand from Bessie's; but neither did she seem to notice the child,
and stood steadily gazing out of the window, but seeing nothing.
Bessie longed to say something, but she could not seem to find words
for what was in her heart; and, while she hesitated, the other girls
flocked in. Mrs. and Miss Ashton came too; the bell was rung, and
all must go to their seats.
School was opened; but the folding-doors were not closed as usual,
when this was over.
Rapping upon the table with a paper-folder, to call the attention of
all in both the rooms, Mrs. Ashton began,--
"I have a few words to say before the business of the morning
commences; but I would first ask if any one here has a confession to
make to me?"
She paused for a few moments, while a dead silence reigned in both
rooms. Five of the twenty girls gathered there knew well what she
meant, but not a voice broke the stillness; while those who were
ignorant looked from one to another in great astonishment.
Mrs. Ashton went on.
"Yesterday morning the clock, which usually stands upon that
mantelpiece, was in good order. I wound and set it with my own
hands; but at noon it was found to have stopped, thereby, as all of
the older class are aware, misleading Monsieur Gaufrau, and making
him late for his lesson. The clock had been wrong once before, and,
not wishing it should be so again, I took it to the clockmaker. He
examined it before I left the store, and said at once that it had
been seriously injured--so seriously that it was doubtful if it could
be repaired; and that these injuries had come from a fall or heavy
blow, he thought the former; and that it was quite impossible that
the hands, which had stopped at ten minutes past twelve, could have
moved after the works had been so shattered. I must therefore
believe that the injury was received at that time; and that, as some,
if not all of you, were in the room, that there are those among you
who know of it. Most of the little ones had gone home; I think all
but Maggie and Bessie Bradford. Maggie was at her music-lesson;
Bessie could not have reached the clock, and I think,"--she looked
kindly at Bessie,--"I think if any harm had happened to it through
her means, that she would have come at once and confessed it.
Therefore we may put the little girls out of the question; but if any
one among them knows anything and chooses to speak, she may do so,
though I shall not compel her."
Bessie drew a long sigh of relief, and so did more than one of the
elder girls.
Poor little child! She had so dreaded that Mrs. Ashton would ask her
questions to which she felt that she must give a straightforward and
plain answer; or that she would, at least, say something which would
oblige her to speak, and own that she had been in the room and seen
the accident.
And Bessie was as unwilling as any little girl could be to draw upon
herself the ill-will of her schoolmates. She wanted to be loved by
all about her; and, as you know, was an affectionate, clinging child,
accustomed to be petted and treated with all tenderness. So her
little heart had been very downcast at the thought of the cold looks
and words, and unkind behaviour, which she feared would fall to her
share if she should feel herself obliged to tell what she knew; and
she was very grateful to Mrs. Ashton for sparing her from this.
The lady paused again, to give any one who chose to speak the
opportunity to do so; but all were silent.
"I shall put the question to each of you in turn," said Mrs. Ashton,
"trusting that none of you are so hardened as to tell a deliberate
falsehood, however you may have reconciled your consciences to a
deceitful silence. Ella Leroy, did you break the clock, or have you
any knowledge of how it was done?"
Mrs. Ashton's manner was stern, and her tone severe, as they were apt
to be when she was displeased; and all of the little girls felt
thankful that they were not to be questioned. Maggie thought she
could not possibly have answered as much as "No;" and it frightened
her even to hear Mrs. Ashton's voice.
But Ella Leroy answered promptly,--
"No, ma'am."
"Bertha Stockton, do you?"
"No, ma'am."
"Mary Merton, do you?"
"No, ma'am," came, with equal readiness, from Mary's lips.
Bessie's heart beat fast, and for a moment her eyes fell, as though
she herself had been the guilty one.
One or two more answered, with truth, that they knew nothing of the
matter, and then,--
"Fanny Berry?" said Mrs. Ashton.
"No, ma'am," answered Fanny, but not as boldly as Mary had done; for
she was not used to open falsehood, and it did not come readily to
her. Mrs. Ashton looked steadily at her for a moment; then passed on
to the next.
"Kate Maynard?"
To the astonishment of all, to the anger of some, and to the relief
and delight of one little heart, Kate rose slowly, and answered,
"Yes, ma'am."
"You know who did it?"
"I did it myself, madam."
Mrs. Ashton looked grieved, as well as surprised.
"You, Kate? and yet you kept silence when I asked for confession?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Kate steadily, yet not boldly or defiantly, after
her usual manner of receiving reproof from her teachers; "and I am
afraid I should still have kept silence, if you had not asked me so
directly."
"I did not look for this from, you, Kate," said Mrs. Ashton slowly.
"Heedless as I know you to be, I did not believe you capable of even
an acted deceit."
Kate hung her head in shame, thinking that she not only would have
been guilty of this herself, but that she had tried to draw an
innocent young child into the same sin. But the little one had stood
firmly to the right, refusing, in her own simple language, even to
"behave a story." And the trial and temptation had been far greater
in her case than in that of her older schoolmates. The last proof of
her steadfastness had, happily for her, not been needed; but Kate
knew well enough that neither would that have failed, had it been
called for.
"How did it happen?" asked Mrs. Ashton.
"I had the clock in my hands," answered Kate, "and, as I went to put
it in its place, it fell from them."
"And how came you to have the clock in your hands? What were you
doing with it?"
"I wanted to put back the hands."
"And why, may I ask?" said Mrs. Ashton, in astonishment. "Did you
imagine that I should not find that the clock was wrong?"
"I--we--I"--stammered Kate, fearing to betray the others who would
not speak for themselves, and yet feeling that she could scarcely
avoid doing so,--"I wanted Monsieur Gaufrau to be--to think he was
too early, so as to gain a little more time before the French lesson."
"And one acted deceit thus led to another," said Mrs. Ashton. "It is
generally the way. Your lessons were not ready, then, I take it; and
you wished _dishonestly_--yes, _dishonestly_, Kate--to gain more time
to prepare them."
"My lessons for Monsieur Gaufrau were ready," said Kate, in a low
voice.
"Then you have not even this poor excuse, but were guilty of this
foolish deception merely that you might have a few minutes more for
play and idle talk. You will remain and see me after school. Had
any of the others any part in it?"
"Excuse me, madam," said Kate. "I have answered for myself. Allow
the rest to do the same."
Bessie could hardly keep still. Pity for Kate,--for going to Mrs.
Ashton after school seemed a very terrible thing to the little
children, who were all rather in awe of the lady's grave, somewhat
stern manner,--indignation at those who were allowing more than her
own share of blame to fall on her, and the strong desire to come to
her relief by telling what she knew, were almost too much for the
little girl. But she could not break her promise to say nothing
unless she were asked, and so felt obliged to hold her peace.
Mrs. Ashton passed on to the next.
"Julia Grafton, had you any hand in this?"
"I knew of it, ma'am; but I had nothing more than that to do with it."
"Julia forgets," said Kate quickly. "She tried to dissuade me from
it, but I would not listen. She was not at all to blame, Mrs.
Ashton."
Fanny could keep silence no longer; her better feelings mastered her
shame and fear, and, rising, she stammered out, "I--I--Mrs.
Ashton--it was me--my lesson--I was not ready--it was my fault--I
suggested"--and here Fanny's voice was lost amid tears and sobs.
Bessie began to cry too; Maggie put her arms about her and joined in;
and Belle and Lily each put up a grieved lip in sympathy. Miss
Ashton, seeing the disturbed state of her little flock, rose hastily,
and after whispering to her mother, closed the doors; and no more was
heard of what passed in the other room.
Miss Ashton had wished from the first that the older girls should be
examined without the knowledge of the little ones, but her mother had
decided otherwise; and the great Teacher above had overruled her wish
for His own purposes, for He had a little instrument of His own
unconsciously working for Him, and leading a wavering heart into the
ways of truth by the light of her own steady example.
But Miss Ashton, knowing nothing of this, was sorry that her lambs
had heard so much; especially when she found that their minds were
quite distracted, and that it was almost impossible to settle them to
the business of the day. She had to overlook a good many things that
morning.
She was all the more sorry when, as Maggie and Bessie were going
down-stairs with Jane, on their way home, she heard the former say,
"Bessie, I'm not going to say anything unkind about Mrs. Ashton; but
when I say my prayers to-night, I'm just going to tell our Father how
very thankful I am that He did not give her to me for my teacher.
I'm very sure she'd bring down my hair with sorrow to the grave, if
she was."