Punishment is a very puzzly thing, but I believe in it when really
deserved, only when I punish myself it does not always turn out well.
When I leaned over the new bridge, and got my dress all paint, and Aunt
Sarah Cobb couldn't get it out, I had to wear it spotted for six
months which hurt my pride, but was right. I stayed at home from Alice
Robinson's birthday party for a punishment, and went to the circus
next day instead, but Alice's parties are very cold and stiff, as Mrs.
Robinson makes the boys stand on newspapers if they come inside the
door, and the blinds are always shut, and Mrs. Robinson tells me how bad
her liver complaint is this year. So I thought, to pay for the circus
and a few other things, I ought to get more punishment, and I threw my
pink parasol down the well, as the mothers in the missionary books throw
their infants to the crocodiles in the Ganges river. But it got stuck
in the chain that holds the bucket, and Aunt Miranda had to get Abijah
Flagg to take out all the broken bits before we could bring up water.
I punished myself this way because Aunt Miranda said that unless I
improved I would be nothing but a Burden and a Blight.
There was an old man used to go by our farm carrying a lot of broken
chairs to bottom, and mother used to say--“Poor man! His back is too
weak for such a burden!” and I used to take him out a doughnut, and this
is the part I want to go into the Remerniscences. Once I told him we
were sorry the chairs were so heavy, and he said _They didn't seem so
heavy when he had et the doughnut_. This does not mean that the doughnut
was heavier than the chairs which is what brother John said, but it is a
beautiful thought and shows how the human race should have sympathy, and
help bear burdens.
I know about a Blight, for there was a dreadful east wind over at our
farm that destroyed all the little young crops just out of the ground,
and the farmers called it the Blight. And I would rather be hail, sleet,
frost, or snow than a Blight, which is mean and secret, and which is the
reason I threw away the dearest thing on earth to me, the pink parasol
that Miss Ross brought me from Paris, France. I have also wrapped up my
bead purse in three papers and put it away marked not to be opened till
after my death unless needed for a party.
I must not be Burden, I must not be Blight,
The angels in heaven would weep at the sight.
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