_A LITTLE LIGHT._
Bessie would have liked to have had a word or two with Kate during
recess, but when she peeped into the other room, she saw all the rest
of the girls gathered around her; and not caring to talk, or to be
talked to by them, she ran away again without being noticed, and
followed her sister down to the music-room.
The girls of the older class were all in a state of great excitement
over the trouble of the morning. Some were anxious, some pitying,
some saying that Mrs. Ashton was making a great fuss about a trifle.
Fanny Berry, who had been weeping and sobbing at intervals through
all the lesson-hours, was now drowned in a fresh flood of tears, and
bewailing her hard fate in having to go to Mrs. Ashton "for a
lecture" after school.
"And I suppose she'll complain to my father too," she moaned. "She
has been saying she would do so the next time any of the masters
reported me; and now she'll tell him this--the hateful old
thing!--and he won't let me go to the birthday party at my aunt's. O
Kate, why did you tell? You promised you would not--you _promised_!
Of course I could not let Mrs. Ashton go on giving you more than your
own share of blame, and so I was forced to speak. It's just as Mary
said it would be if any one told their own part. It must needs bring
the rest into trouble; and after we two had denied it too! You
_ought_ to have stood by us."
"Were you in it too, Mary?" asked Ella Leroy; and she, as well as
most of the others, looked at Mary in shocked surprise. To some of
them it was no very great matter that the four who had had any share
in the accident to the clock should shrink from confessing it, or
even keep silence when Mrs. Ashton had asked who had done it; but a
deliberate denial of their guilt was quite another thing. They
deservedly blamed Fanny for her first falsehood; but they had the
feeling that she had half redeemed her sin when she had, at the risk
of such shame and mortification to herself, acknowledged that, and
her former fault, rather than allow Kate to receive a more severe
reproof than she merited. But Mary, who it seemed had been as much
to blame as the others, had not even then been shamed into telling
the truth, and had still let Mrs. Ashton believe her innocent.
She was heartily ashamed of it now; but she did not choose to let
that be seen, and carried matters with a high hand, tossing her head
and declaring that _she_ was "not going to be such a fool as to get
herself into difficulty just because Kate and Fanny chose to do it."
She reproached Kate bitterly for breaking her promise, and so did
Fanny; both saying that all would have been well if she had not done
so.
"I am sorry," said Kate, taking their upbraidings with a meekness
quite unusual in her. "I am very sorry for the punishment I have
brought upon you, girls; but not sorry that I did not--tell a lie."
"You should have thought of that before," said Mary, "and not let
Fanny and me tell what you so elegantly call a _lie_, and then set
yourself up for being so truthful."
"I do not set myself up for being truthful," said Kate, colouring
deeply; "at least I _have_ not, but, with God's help, I will from
this day," and she looked steadily into Mary's angry face. "I
wish--oh, how I wish!--I had spoken when Mrs. Ashton asked the
general question of the whole class, or that she had asked me first;
and, even to the moment when she called my name, I meant to deny
it--but I could not with Bessie Bradford's eyes upon me."
"Bessie Bradford! little Bessie! and what had she to do with it?"
asked two or three of the girls.
"She had this much to do with it," said Kate, "that she was in the
room yesterday when the clock was broken; and when we resolved to
hide it, we tried to make her as deceitful as ourselves; but we
tempted, threatened, and promised in vain. _She_ was not to be
frightened into wrong for fear of the consequences of doing right;
and, as Julia said, she, baby as she is, shamed us all. Yes, shamed
_me_ at least, and made me feel what a mean coward I was beside her."
"You are a coward, to be sure, if you are afraid of Bessie Bradford,
or what she could do or say," said Mary, pretending to misunderstand
Kate.
"I was not afraid of anything she would say or do," said Kate, not
noticing the contemptuous tone; "but of what she would think of me,
of losing her affection and respect. But"--she went on more slowly,
as if half ashamed, yet determined to speak out--"that was not all I
was afraid of."
"What else, then?" asked Mary,
"Of offending Bessie's Master," said Kate.
She felt it was a bold avowal to make in the presence of all her
classmates--for her who had always been so reckless and careless,
sometimes even irreverent; but she said it, and that with a gravity
which showed she meant it, and that it was no light feeling which had
called it forth.
It was received in astonished silence by the rest. Words like these
were so new from Kate, and there was no need for any one of them to
ask what Master Bessie served. The daily life of the little child
showed to all about her whose work she delighted to do in her own
simple way, which knew no other rule than what would be pleasing and
true to Him.
"But, Kate," said Ella presently, "you don't mean that you call Him
your Master?"
"No," said Kate; "I pretend to nothing of the sort, and you know it;
but when I saw Bessie waiting for my answer, and knew of what and of
whom she was thinking, I could not help feeling that another ear was
listening and waiting too; and so--I dared not. There!" and Kate
drew up her head defiantly. "You may laugh at me, you may sneer at
me, you may call this humbug; but it is what I felt, and why I
answered as I did; and I am not ashamed to own it. I tell you
because you feel, some of you, that I have meanly broken my promise.
It was a _mean_ thing to make it; it would have been meaner to keep
it than it was to break it; and it was better to be false to that
promise than false to my own conscience and to God. But I never
meant to betray any one but myself; and, Fanny, I am only too sorry
if you are worse punished for what I have done;" and she held out her
hand to her schoolmate.
Fanny was vexed as well as distressed, but she could not resist
Kate's frankness; and she laid her hand in hers, saying, "I suppose I
ought not to complain; it was my fault in the first place."
Not one of the girls had laughed, not one had sneered; not one but
had been more or less touched by Kate's unusual earnestness, and the
way in which she had set herself to atone for her past fault.
"Kate would think we were all perfect, if we took Bessie Bradford for
our pattern," said one, half jokingly, but not unkindly.
"Not exactly," said Kate, smiling; "but I believe if we took Bessie's
standard of right and wrong, and tried to follow it as truly as she
does, we should not go far out of the way. I would not be ashamed to
have it said that I had profited by such an example. If her light is
a little one, it burns very clearly."
"But if Bessie had been guilty herself, do you believe it would have
been so impossible to tempt her?" said Fanny. "If she had expected
to be punished, would she have been so ready to confess?"
"Have you forgotten the japonica?" asked Kate. "I thought of that
too."
"What japonica?" said Fanny.
"Oh, true! you were not at school that day," answered Kate, laughing
at the recollection. "I will tell you."
Now this was the story, and, as I know more about it than Kate, I
will tell you myself, instead of giving it in her words; and to do
this, I must go some way back.
Miss Ashton was in the habit of giving a few moments of recreation
during the morning to her four younger scholars. Sometimes, if the
day were pleasant, she let them run on the piazza or in the old
garden; and, when she did this, she used to ring for Marcia, the
coloured servant-girl, to come and help the children put on their
wrappings. Bessie did not like this girl, she could not tell exactly
why; but she had, as yet, never allowed this dislike to make her rude
or unkind to Marcia.
But one day, when she was down in the music-room with Maggie and Miss
Ashton, she saw Marcia do something which she thought gave her good
reason for her dislike. The cook had set a dish of stewed pears on
the edge of the piazza to cool; and Bessie saw Marcia steal out from
the kitchen, and take three of the pears, swallowing them, one after
the other, as fast as possible, and then run away. She told Maggie
of this, but they agreed they would not "tell tales about it" to any
one else.
From that time Bessie would never suffer Marcia to do anything for
her. She would rather stay in the house than allow the girl to put
on her cloak or shoes; rather go thirsty than take a glass of water
from her hand.
One morning, about a week before the affair of the clock, Harry said
at breakfast, "Papa, the police caught a lot of burglars round in the
next street last night."
"What are burglars?" asked Maggie.
"Thieves and robbers, who go about breaking into people's houses, and
taking what does not belong to them," said Harry.
"And did they come into the next street to ours?" asked timid Maggie,
with wide-open eyes.
"Yes; but you needn't be afraid. They wouldn't take you, any way;
and they most always get found out, and taken to prison," said Harry,
thinking more of comforting Maggie than of sticking closely to facts.
"_We_ know a burglar that hasn't been found out, and taken to prison;
don't we, Maggie?" said Bessie gravely. "She _burgles_ very badly
too, and when she has done, she licks her fingers."
The boys shouted, and the grown people could not help laughing too.
"Don't be vexed, little daughter," said papa, as he saw the cloud of
displeasure overshadow Bessie's face. "Come and sit here on my knee,
and tell us what your burglar did."
"She's not mine at all, papa; and I am glad she is not, for I don't
like her, and she is wicked too. Mrs. Ashton thinks she is pretty
good, but she went and burgled three pears out of the dish, and ate
them right up."
The boys were more amused than ever, and kept up their laughter till
their father told them the joke had lasted long enough; but he had so
much difficulty in keeping his own face straight as he thought of
Bessie's indignant tone and look, and of the way in which she had
used the word, that he did not try to explain its proper meaning to
her just then; and, smiling, he kissed her, and said gently, "If she
goes on doing such things, Bessie, she will be found out in time, and
punished too, though she may not be taken to prison."
When the little girls went to school, they found Mrs. Ashton in the
cloak-room, tending a stand of plants which she had just placed in
the window.
"I hope none of you will hurt my plants," she said. "They need the
sun, and this is the best place for them, so I shall trust that you
will be careful and not touch them. There, I shall put this bench
here, and none of you must go on the other side of it. I would not
have them broken for a great deal, especially this white japonica."
The one pure white blossom upon the plant was certainly a beauty, and
the children did not wonder that Mrs. Ashton was choice of it.
The day was so mild and lovely that, when Miss Ashton sent the little
ones out for their fifteen minutes' play, she told them that they had
all better put their things on, and run out in the fresh air; and, as
usual on such occasions, she rang for Marcia to come and help them.
Bessie would not let the coloured girl do anything for her; but, as
she was very anxious to go in the garden with her playmates, she
tried her best to put on her own things. With Belle's help she
contrived to put on her hat and cloak; but, even with the aid of the
other two, it was found next to impossible to manage those
troublesome leggings with all their numberless buttons; and it took
so long that, at last, Miss Ashton, hearing their voices, came to
tell them that they were losing too much time, and must go down at
once.
She found Bessie sitting on the bench which stood before the flowers,
and the other three little girls all tugging and pulling away at one
legging, while Marcia stood leaning against the door and laughing.
"Bessie," said the lady, "why do you not let Marcia do that for you?
I want you to go down right away."
"I don't want Marcia to do it," answered Bessie.
"You must let her, or else stay in the house," said Miss Ashton. "I
cannot have the others kept from their play to help you."
"We like to help her," said Belle.
"You must go out at once, Bessie. Will you let Marcia help you, or
no?"
"No," said Bessie, with a pout; for she was not in a good humour that
morning, and she felt as if her dislike to Marcia was very strong.
"She shan't touch me, and I'd rather stay in the house."
"Very well," said Miss Ashton. "I am sorry you are so naughty, but
the rest must go."
She sent the others away, and Marcia after them, and went back to her
room, leaving Bessie alone. The little girl sat still for two or
three moments, feeling very angry, and swelling with pride and
impatience; thinking that Miss Ashton was very unkind, and Marcia,
oh, so wicked! and that she wished she had never come to school, even
for Maggie's sake.
Presently she saw the coloured girl's head peeping round the door at
her. Marcia was good-natured, if she was not very trustworthy; and
she felt sorry when she thought of Bessie sitting there all alone,
and so she had come back to see if the little lady would not be glad
of her help after all.
"Go away," said Bessie angrily.
"Don't little miss want Marcia put 'em on now?" said Marcia.
"No, I don't; go away," said Bessie; and as she spoke, she raised one
of her leggings which she held in her hand, as though she would have
thrown it at Marcia. The girl laughed and disappeared, leaving
Bessie feeling, the next instant, very much ashamed; and then a very
sad thing happened.
The legging had caught on something behind her, and she turned her
head to see what held it, giving it at the same time an impatient
little pull. One of the buttons had caught upon the stem of the
japonica; and alas, alas! as Bessie twitched it away, the white
blossom was broken short off, and fell upon the floor! Ah, how
frightened the poor child was when she saw what she had done! The
flower had fallen behind the window-curtain, where it might have lain
for a long time without being noticed; and, with all the people who
were going and coming in this room, it might easily have seemed that
it had been broken without the knowledge of the person who did it.
But no thought of concealment entered Bessie's little heart; and,
after one moment's pause of astonishment and alarm, she picked up the
broken flower, and ran with it to Mrs. Ashton's room.
The lady was just preparing to hear a recitation, when a fumbling was
heard at the lock, as though a small hand were trying to turn it;
then the door opened, and Bessie appeared. One hand was held behind
her; and she stood looking up at Mrs. Ashton, with her colour coming
and going.
"Well, Bessie, what is it?" asked Mrs. Ashton.
"Ma'am," said Bessie, and then she stopped, and drew a long breath.
"Have you any message?" asked Mrs. Ashton, who was near-sighted, and
did not notice the expression of the child's face.
"No, ma'am," said Bessie; "but"--
"Then run away. Why do you interrupt us now?"
"Because I have to make trouble for you, ma'am," said the poor little
thing.
"That is just what I do not wish you to do. If you have anything to
say, you may tell me by and by."
"I'll have to tell you now, or you might think somebody else did it,"
said Bessie; and, as she spoke, she drew her hand from behind her,
and showed the broken flower. "I'm very sorry, ma'am, but I broke
your flower."
Mrs. Ashton's pale face flushed angrily, then grew calm again.
"How did that happen, Bessie? Did I not tell you not to touch the
flowers?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered the child, the tears beginning to run slowly
down her cheeks; "and I didn't mean to touch them, and I didn't go on
the other side of the bench. It was with my legging--I don't quite
know how; but it was 'cause I was naughty. I was mad with Marcia,
and was going to throw my legging at her; and somehow it knocked the
flower and broke it. But I know I did it; and I thought I ought to
tell you very quick, or you might think it was Marcia, or some one
else."
"I am glad you are so honest, Bessie," said Mrs. Ashton. "Put the
flower down, and I will talk to you about it by and by."
Bessie laid the japonica on the table, and turned to go, then turned
back again.
"Ma'am," she said, "if you are going to scold me, would you have
objections to do it now? I guess the young ladies would just as lief
wait, and I don't like to think about it so long."
The young ladies had all been listening to the child, and feeling
great sympathy for her in her trouble; while they could not help
admiring her straightforward truthfulness and generous fear lest
another should be blamed for her fault; but at this speech every book
in the class went up before the owner's face to hide the smiles which
could not be repressed. Even the corners of Mrs. Ashton's grave
mouth gave way a little.
"I am not going to scold you, Bessie," she said. "I will never scold
any one who truthfully confesses an accident; so I shall say no more
about the flower. But what makes you so pettish and unkind to
Marcia? You do not behave well to her. Has she done anything to
you?"
"No, ma'am, not to me," said Bessie, drying her tears.
"To Maggie or Belle then? I know she is mischievous sometimes, and I
will not let her annoy you; but you must not behave so to her."
"She did not annoy any of us, ma'am. She is very good to us, only I
don't let her help me."
"Why not, if she does not trouble you?"
"I can't approve her; she is too wicked," said Bessie.
"What makes you think so?" asked the lady, who saw there was
something at the bottom of all this, and thought it better to settle
the difficulty at once.
"She is a burglar," said Bessie solemnly.
"A _what_?" exclaimed Mrs. Ashton.
Now, as we know, our Maggie and Bessie were both fond of a long word;
and as soon as they understood, or thought they understood, the
meaning of one, put it in use on every occasion. And, besides,
Bessie thought it sounded better to ears polite to use the new one
she had heard that morning, than it did to say _thief_ or steal; so
she answered,--
"She is, ma'am. Maybe you don't know it, but she is a burglar. I
saw her burgle three pears out of your dish; and she put her fingers
in the dish too, and then licked every one of them."
The emphatic tone of disgust in which these last words were uttered,
and the expression of the child's face, told that the uncleanliness
of the trick, as well as its sinfulness, had gone far to horrify her.
The whole thing--look, tone, and words--was irresistible. All
discipline was at an end; and Mrs. Ashton herself could not help
joining in the merry laugh that was raised by the class.
Bessie would have been angry again; but the thought of her late
passion, its sad consequences, and her present repentance, kept her
temper in check, and she stood silent. Mrs. Ashton recollected
herself, and raised a warning finger to the amused line of girls
before her, as she saw Bessie's disturbed face; and, drawing the
child to her, she kissed the grieved lips, and said kindly,--
"I am sorry Marcia did such a naughty thing, Bessie; but she has not
been as well taught as some of us, and we all do wrong sometimes, and
need forgiveness from one another as well as from God."
"Yes, ma'am," answered Bessie meekly, "and I was very naughty to be
so angry. Please to 'scuse me, and I'll try not to be cross to
Marcia again. And I'm very sorry about your flower."
"I shall not care about my flower if it serves to teach you a
lesson," said the lady. "That is quite forgiven; and you need not
distress yourself over it. Now you may go."
Bessie drew Mrs. Ashton's head down to her.
"And may I go and tell Marcia I am sorry I was so angry with her?"
she whispered.
"Certainly," said Mrs. Ashton; and Bessie went away.
Mrs. Ashton waited a moment till her class had settled into quiet,
and then, taking up the broken flower, she said,--
"I do not regret the time spared from the recitation which this
little incident has occupied. The loss of my flower has furnished
lessons to more than little Bessie; lessons which we will all do well
to lay to heart, and which may prove of far more value than that
which we should have learned from our books. I trust they may not be
lost."
So much of all this as had come to her own knowledge Kate told to
Fanny, who laughed with the others, but found in the story fresh
cause to feel ashamed that she had been so far outdone in truth and
generosity by a little child.
The dreaded interview with Mrs. Ashton took place after school. Kate
and Fanny found her more grieved than angry, more hurt at their
deceit and want of confidence in her than at the injury to her clock.
She talked long and seriously to them, not failing to point out the
difference between their conduct and that of little Bessie; and she
was both touched and gratified when Kate told, not without tears, of
the part they had acted towards the child, and of the influence of
the little one's example in leading her to confession and repentance.
Mrs. Ashton told the girls that she should inflict no further
punishment upon them than an apology to Monsieur Gaufrau, and a
confession of the deception that had been practised upon him; and she
was still better pleased when Kate told her that this had already
been done, and that she had, in her own name and Fanny's, begged his
pardon before the whole class.
"For," said she, with many blushes, "as long as I had started on the
right track, I thought I would not stop half-way."
"Then do not stop half-way, and do not turn back, my child," said
Mrs. Ashton, holding out her hand to the young girl; "you have
farther, much farther to go, Kate, before you reach the goal. Oh,
take heed that your steps turn neither to the right nor to the left
from the way of truth and uprightness."