_A LETTER._
On Saturday, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford drove out to Riverside, taking
Maggie and Bessie with them.
So eager were the children to carry the good news to Jemmy Bent and
his mother, that their parents thought it as well to go on to the
cottage by the creek at once; knowing that the little girls could
take small thought or enjoyment in anything else till this business
was settled; therefore James was told to drive there first, instead
of turning in at Grandpapa Duncan's gate.
The cottage looked rather neater and more comfortable than it did two
years ago, when Maggie and Bessie first went there to see lame Jemmy.
Mary was older and stronger and could do more work, and it was her
pride to keep things as tidy as possible around her brother. He
looked quite at his ease, sitting in his wheeled chair, which stood
on the grass plat in front of the little house; and, as the carriage
stopped at the gate, his pale face lighted up with surprise and
pleasure when he saw whom it contained. A visit from any of Mr.
Bradford's or Mr. Duncan's family was a treat to Jemmy in more ways
than one.
Mrs. Bent was at home, and asked the visitors to step in; but Mrs.
Bradford said they would rather stay outside for the few moments they
could remain.
After asking how Jemmy was feeling, and how he enjoyed the lovely
weather, Mr. Bradford told for what purpose they had come: to bring
to Jemmy the ticket of admission to the hospital with all its
comforts, and the possibility, even _probability_, of his being so
far cured as to enable him to walk with crutches or a cane.
Maggie had imagined that Mrs. Bent and her children would be
overwhelmed with delight and gratitude; and had that morning pleased
herself and Bessie by describing the scene which she supposed would
take place.
"Their emotions will be quite too much for them, Bessie," she had
said; "at least they ought to be, and I s'pose they will, for that's
always the way in things you read about. They'll be so full of
surprise and joy and gratitude they won't know what to do with
themselves."
But, to the astonishment and indignation of both children, especially
of Maggie, Mrs. Bent's "emotions" took quite a different turn from
what they had expected. She burst into tears, and wrung her hands,
exclaiming, "O sir! I never could, no, never could! To send my poor
boy away from me! Oh no, sir! no, indeed! And to one of them
hospitals too! I'd never do it--not if I work my fingers to the
bone!"
And Mary, seeing her mother so excited, began to cry too at the
thought of parting with the brother who had been such a care to her
for so long; while poor Jemmy, who had felt grateful and pleased
beyond measure at the prospect of receiving such care and help as
would make him less helplessly crippled than he was now, gazed at his
mother in dismay; and our little girls stood looking on, thoroughly
crestfallen and disappointed at this reception of their offer.
"Mrs. Bent," said Mrs. Bradford kindly, "I know it seems hard for you
to part from your helpless boy, even for a time; but surely you will
not refuse to let him go when you think of the benefit it will be to
him. Could you not bear this lesser sorrow for the sake of seeing
Jemmy able to move about by himself? You can see him now and then; I
will myself take care that you have the means to reach him; and in a
year or so, perhaps less, he may come back to you, able to do
something for himself, it may be even to be a help to you. I am sure
he has the will for that, if he had but the way and the strength. Is
it not so, Jemmy?"
Jemmy smiled, and put out his poor thin hand gratefully to the lady;
then broke forth,--
"O mother! let me go, do let me go! Oh, if you knew what it was to
lie here! I do try to be patient, and I'm willing to stay so, if the
Lord thinks it best; but sure He's sent us this hope, and you won't
throw it away. Say you won't, mother, and let me try; and oh, do
thank the dear lady and gentleman and the little ladies!"
"Let me speak to you a moment, Mrs. Bent," said Mr. Bradford; and,
calling her aside, he showed her all the advantage the place would be
to Jemmy, and soon talked her into a more reasonable and gentle mood,
while Mrs. Bradford spoke cheerfully to Jemmy and his sister of all
the comforts and pleasures which would be furnished for him in this
refuge for such poor crippled children as he.
No fear about Jemmy. He was eager enough about it to satisfy the
children, and Mary too could not now be sufficiently grateful for the
care and kindness offered to her brother.
"You'll please to excuse me, ma'am," said Mrs. Bent, coming back;
"and I see now it's kindness itself in the dear little ladies that
have been such good friends to my boy from the first, and a great
blessing for him; but at the first it seemed cruel like to send him
from me, and as if I was willing to be rid of him."
So it was talked of a little more, and the arrangements made for
moving Jemmy to the hospital in a few days, when the place would be
vacant and ready for him. By the time this was done, Mrs. Bent could
look at the thing in its proper light, and was profuse enough of
thanks and blessings. But the first impression was not readily done
away with; and when they left, Bessie took her seat in the carriage
with a very sober face; and Maggie, who was highly disgusted with
Mrs. Bent, broke forth with some opinions by no means complimentary
to that good woman.
"Well," said Grandpapa Duncan, when he had heard all about the
prizes, and the visit to Jemmy, "I am sure our lame boy will say that
your going to school has been a great blessing to him, since it has
brought this about."
"Why, yes," said Maggie thoughtfully, "so it has. I'm sure I'd never
have thought our going to school could be of use to Jemmy. Doesn't
it seem queer, grandpapa? But it was all Bessie. I'd never have
earned that prize."
"Yes, she would, grandpapa," said Bessie. "Miss Kate told me so
yesterday. She said if they had not voted for me, all the large
class would have voted for Maggie, 'cause they thought she was so
true and good about Gracie's composition; so I told Maggie this
morning it was just as much her present to Jemmy as mine. And we
always like to be halves in things, grandpapa. And I told Miss Kate,
Maggie deserved it more than me, 'cause I was very tempted about the
composition, and she was not one bit."
"But she knew better than that, and I'm glad of it," said Maggie,
with a decided nod of her curly head.
"She didn't say so," replied her sister: "she only said, 'O Bessie!'
and just kissed me."
"There's a letter and a large parcel for Miss Maggie on the
library-table," said Patrick, when they reached home that afternoon.
"A letter for me? Oh, lovely!" said Maggie; and away she ran, with
Bessie after her, both eager to see what the parcel contained, and
whom the letter was from.
The parcel was a large one, carefully wrapped up, and the letter lay
upon it.
"Why, that's Uncle Horace's monogram! What can he be writing to me
about when he saw me yesterday, and will see me again to-morrow? I
just expect this is another of his lovely surprises--the dear,
precious lamb!" said Maggie, who, provided an epithet came handy, was
not always particular as to how it fitted. "Let's open the parcel
first."
No sooner said than done; and, when opened, it was found to contain a
rosewood writing-desk, the very counterpart of the one given
yesterday by Mr. Ashton to Nellie Ransom. The children at first took
it to be the very same.
"Why, it's Nellie's prize!" exclaimed Maggie.
"Was there a mistake about it, and did they like your composition the
best after all, and send it to you, I wonder?" said Bessie.
"If they did, I wouldn't take it now," said Maggie; "it would be too
mean to Nellie. But let's see what Uncle Horace says."
The letter was quickly unsealed, and there appeared a long line of
verses. Maggie was in too much of a hurry to try and make out for
herself Colonel Rush's rather illegible handwriting, and she rushed
with it to her father.
"Papa, papa! please read it for us. May Bessie's name is at the end
of all this lot of po'try, but we know very well her papa made it up;
and we are in such a hurry to know about the desk. Please read it
for us right away."
Papa took the letter, and read aloud the following verses:--
"My dear cousin Maggie,--for 'cousin' you are,
Since your 'uncle' and 'aunt' my papa and mamma,--
You will be much surprised when this letter you see,
To find that it comes from a 'subject' like me.
"But papa and mamma--I have heard 'Love is blind'
Declare I've a very remarkable mind;
That I'm 'lovely' and 'perfect,' I'm 'brilliant' and 'wise,'
That I'm really a 'wonderful child of her size.'
"Mamma sits by my cradle, and murmurs these things
In the pauses of all the sweet songs that she sings;
While into the pillow I nestle my head,
And smile with approval at all that is said.
"Then she says 'sister-angels are whispering to me.'
Who besides her sweet self? for papa it can't be,
No 'angel' is he. I can't quite make _him_ out.
Of mamma and myself, you'll perceive, I've no doubt.
"Your prize composition _I_ think very fine,
And I'm a good judge, you'll allow, Maggie mine:
Your 'subject' well chosen; ideas well expressed;
To my baby-notions 'tis clearly the best.
"But on one point, dear Maggie, you make a mistake;
Your faith in my father I rudely must shake.
You call this same soldier the 'bravest of braves,'
Now listen, and hear how this Colonel behaves.
"Whene'er I determine to take a good cry,--
A most innocent treat when no strangers are nigh!--
Why, what does this hero of so many fields,
But snatch up his cane, and then take to his heels.
"'What a coward!' you'll say. Yes, indeed, 'tis most strange;
For whene'er I do cry, it is but for a change;
One cannot be cooing and smiling all day,
Sometimes I have tried that, but find it don't pay.
"But one thing, dear Maggie, you've made very clear,
That I am 'an angel' doth plainly appear;
Then mamma says the same, and I know you're both true:
I believe it myself,--between me and you.
"Excuse my bad grammar, I must make the rhyme,
I'll do better some day, if you'll but give me time;
And, as for my manners, I'm sure that I mean
Not the least disrespect to our little May Queen.
"Yes, I fully believe such a 'treasure' as I
Must have flown from some spot very near to the sky;
And I know gentle spirits _do_ whisper to me,
And teach me sweet lessons of what I must be.
"They tell me I must be a good little child,
A baby obedient, patient, and mild;
They tell me to love all the good and the true,
And therefore, dear Maggie, I have to love you.
"And Bessie, the darling! she, too, has some claims
For her own precious sake, to say nothing of names,
But my own sweet '_ersample_' she says she will be:
They tell me to profit by what I may see.
"But now let's to business. I think you approve
Of doing kind 'favours' for those whom we love;
And if they deserve it, why, so much the better,
For here is the gist of this wonderful letter.
"I must own, my dear cousin, I thought it a shame
This prize for fine writing fell not to your name.
In the judge's decision I can't quite agree,
So, dear little maiden, it seemeth to me
"That your 'subject' herself should do what she can;
And, after some thought, I have hit on this plan:
To send you this prize for the story you tell
Of the 'angel' who loves you so truly and well,
"But remember, my darling, you always will find
That a heart that is generous, truthful, and kind,
Where self and deceit and envyings hard
No entrance can find, is its own best reward.
"And the smile of the Shepherd, who dwells up above,
And watches His lambs with the tenderest love,
Will always be ours when the victory we win,
By the help of His grace in the conflict with sin.
"And now this long letter I'll bring to a close,
The thought it has cost me, oh, nobody knows!
With much love to yourself, and to Bessie the same,
I'll say no more, Maggie, but just sign my name,
"Your 'subject,' MAY BESSIE."
Maggie went into ecstasies of delight over this letter, as well as
over the beautiful gift which accompanied it; but Bessie, although
she shared to the full her sister's pleasure in the latter, could not
be persuaded to say she thought the verses so very fine.
"Why, what's the matter with it?" said Maggie, "I think it's lovely."
"I don't think it's so very nice," answered Bessie, gravely regarding
the letter with an air of comic displeasure.
"Well," said Maggie, "maybe it's not so very po'try, but it
jingle-jangles so nicely. I wish you would like it."
"I do like what it says about you and May Bessie," said Bessie; "but
it's not nice about my soldier at all. He's not a coward."
"Oh, that's only for fun!" said Maggie. "You know that it's only
_pretend_ that May Bessie wrote it. The colonel did it himself; and
he always does run away when the baby cries."
"Yes," said matter-of-fact Bessie, half unwilling to admit even so
much against her hero; "but that does not make him a coward. But,
Maggie darling, I couldn't speak about how glad I am that this very
lovely surprise has come to you. And I think this is better than if
you had the real prize in school."
"Oh yes, a great deal better!" said Maggie. "Mr. Ashton is very good
and kind; but then he is not any one of ours, and it's a great deal
more pleasure to have a prize from our own May Bessie than from him.
And besides, Bessie, I don't know how I _could_ have walked up and
taken it before all those people. Sometimes I thought I would almost
rather not have the prize than do that."
But if the letter was not altogether to Bessie's satisfaction, the
desk certainly proved so; and it was long before she and Maggie tired
of examining it and its complete fitting out. The first use Maggie
made of it was to answer May Bessie's letter, which she did in rhyme,
rather halting rhyme it was now and then, to be sure; but she and
Bessie were satisfied that it was a gem of poetry; and, as the baby
found no fault with it, we must take it for granted that she thought
so also.
It was delightful, too, to see how pleased all the schoolgirls, large
and small, were to hear of Maggie's good fortune, and to read the
letter from May Bessie, which she permitted them all to see.
"Miss Kate," said Maggie, looking up into the laughing eyes which
were no longer a terror to her, "it's very kind of you to be so glad
for me."
"Do you think so?" said Kate. "I am truly glad for you, Maggie. We
are better friends than we used to be, are we not?"
"Oh yes," said Maggie; "partly 'cause I'm not so shy as I used to be,
and partly 'cause you have improved a good deal in doing unto others.
You do not tease half as much as you used to, Miss Kate."
"Thank you for the compliment," said Kate, laughing and tossing
Maggie's long curls about her face till they covered it as with a
veil.
"Maybe Miss Kate wanted the best girl prize, and knew she would not
have any chance if she teased so much," said Belle.
"Much chance I'd have of 'the best girl prize,' as you call it," said
Kate. "No, Belle; I never set myself up for that."
"But you ought, oughtn't you?" said Belle, with solemn gravity.
"Ought what?" asked Kate. "To be the best girl in the school?"
"No," answered the child; "but to try to be."
"And take the prize from your Bessie!" said Kate, pretending to be
shocked at the idea.
"No," said Belle, who sometimes presumed on being a privileged
character, and said things to the older girls which none of the other
little ones would have dared to say. "No, Miss Kate, I don't think
there's goodness enough in you for _that_. But you might try to be
the best that you could."
"What would be the good when there was no chance of the prize?" asked
Kate, much amused.
"To please Jesus," said Belle. "Bessie's mamma told us about that
that time I lived there while papa was away. She said we must only
try to do the thing that was right, 'cause it was right, no matter
what people thought of us; not to try to be or to do the best so as
to be rewarded."
"Well done, little Belle," said Fanny Berry; "how nicely you have
remembered and repeated your lesson!"
"But I didn't always remember to do it," said Belle; "not that time I
climbed on the wall. I made believe in my heart I was not doing
anything naughty; but myself knew I was, and God knew I was too; and
so He gave me good enough for me."
The girls laughed.
"Bessie always keeps the truf in her heart," said Belle, looking
fondly after her little friend, who had run into the other room to
tell Miss Ashton about Maggie's gift; "and I think that's the reason
she always keeps it in her living."
"Yes," said Julia Grafton; "that is it."
"I think we've all improved a little over these prizes," said Maggie.
"'Cept only Gracie," said Belle; "she's dis-improved very much. She
is not half so nice as she used to be."
"But we won't remember the faults of others now," said Miss Ashton,
who just then came back with Bessie to congratulate Maggie. "I am
glad to say that I think more good than harm has come from these
prizes, though I feared at first it might be the contrary. I think,
with Maggie, that almost all have improved, some in one way, some in
another. Lessons have been learned by us, which were not learned in
books; and I am thankful that little, if any, jealousy, unkindness,
or hard feeling has arisen among you; and that a true generosity and
willingness for the success of others have been shown in more than
one instance. I was a little doubtful of the plan when my uncle
first proposed it; but it has really been of service in more ways
than one."
"Mamma said it would do us no harm to try for those things, if we did
not let ourselves become too anxious," said Maggie.
"No," said Miss Ashton; "not so long as we do so from a right motive,
and remember that the praise of God is more to be desired than the
praise of man. He has said 'those that honour Him, He will honour;'
and I think we have proved it so here in school."
This was the last day of school for our Maggie and Bessie; and, sorry
as they were to leave their kind teachers and pleasant companions,
they were delighted at the thought of all the pleasure promised to
them this coming summer, and at the hope of having mamma give them
lessons again in the fall.
They were first to spend a few days at Riverside, going there with
Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie; and a little later were to travel with
papa and mamma, winding up the summer at dear old Chalecoo, where
they had already passed one such pleasant season. Such visions of
wonder and delight danced before their minds; such "adventures" as
Maggie expected to meet with, furnishing "subjects" for endless
compositions, to say nothing of the continued history of the
"Complete Family;" such plans for the help and comfort of dear mamma,
who had said she was sure this trip, undertaken for her good, would
be of a great deal more service to her if she were allowed to have
her little girls with her; such letters as they were to write to
console those who were left behind;--why, there was no end to them
all, and, fast as the little tongues were accustomed to chatter,
Maggie declared that the days were not half long enough for all the
thinking and talking they had to do now.
And now, like their schoolmates, we must say good-bye to Maggie and
Bessie; and I hope you have found that earning her prize was not the
only or the holiest work for her Master done by our Bessie at School.
THE END
W. JOLLY & SONS, PRINTERS, ABERDEEN