GEORGE and Wilfred were at no pains to conceal from Charity that
they had not forgiven her for having drawn upon them their father's
displeasure. They had almost ceased to tease Edwin, probably from a
fear of arousing it again, but they had now turned their powers to the
far from difficult task of "paying Charity out," as they called it.
They felt pretty sure that it would be long before she would appeal to
her uncle on her own behalf, readily as she had done it for the sake of
her brother. In the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Hawke they did not venture
to molest her, but at no other time of day was she safe from unkind
remarks and jokes.
It was very hard to bear, yet Charity did bear it, and that so
patiently that neither her uncle nor her aunt knew anything of what was
going on. Lottie by turns grumbled at the boys for being so "tiresome,"
and wondered at Charity for "taking it all so meekly—" little thinking
of the words spoken by our Saviour, "Blessed are the meek; for they
shall inherit the earth."
But it was not from Lottie that Charity looked for help. It was to the
Fountain of Strength that she went for assistance. And she never forgot
her aunt's words,—
"There is always time for one glance upwards."
Many a time as she endured the boys' provoking words, with flushed
cheek and unsteady lip, yet without a look of anger in return, they
little knew of the mental "glance upwards" which was the secret of her
gentleness. Few words are needed at such a time:
"Please help me to be patient, for Jesus Christ's sake," was often
breathed up from little Charity's heart, and received its answer in the
feeling of quiet peace which no unkind words could disturb.
It was not always equally easy. Sometimes they went so far as to make
allusions to her home and father, and this always broke her down.
Lottie found her on one of these occasions, sobbing afterwards most
bitterly, and could not help remarking—
"Well, I do think, Charity, you are going almost too far. Of course one
oughtn't to get angry, but if you are so very meek, and never say one
word in answer, they will only grow worse and worse."
"Oh no, I hope not," sighed poor Charity. "If only they would not say
such things—"
"As what George did—that Edwin had been quite spoiled by uncle, and you
not taught to behave properly? Oh, I shouldn't care about that. What
does George know about your home? They only say it to provoke you."
"And it does—that makes it worse," said Charity, sadly. "If I did not
feel angry, I should not mind so much."
"If that is all, you may be satisfied, I should think," said Lottie.
"You certainly bear it wonderfully. It almost provokes me to see you so
quiet."
Charity shook her head.
"You don't mean it, Lottie. You know it is wrong to get out of temper.
It is not like—"
Charity paused, colouring.
And Lottie looked curious. "Not like what?"
"I was going to say that it was not like the Lord Jesus Christ," said
Charity in a low tone. "You know if we love Him, we must pray to be
made like Him. Papa often said so."
Lottie looked at her in silence for some minutes.
"I wish I were more like you," she said. "'I' never can keep my temper
when I'm provoked."
"But, Lottie, every one may. We only have to pray—and to try—"
"You can, because you are a Christian like mamma," said Lottie,
abruptly, and the words sent a thrill of joy through little Charity.
"I'm quite different."
"But you may be one too," said Charity, humbly. "You know the Lord
Jesus has promised to cast out no one that goes to Him."
A lump seemed to rise in Lottie's throat. "I wish I could," she said.
"I know I should be happier."
And then, drawing her hand away, she ran out of the room. But her
cousin's words were not forgotten, and before long they bore fruit,
though not in the course of a week or a month.
This little conversation was a great help to Charity, in her struggle
to "suffer long and be kind," through all the boys' unkind treatment.
Her hope and aim were to conquer them by kindness—not to "be overcome
of evil," but to "overcome evil with good."
The task was a long one, requiring much patience and many prayers, but
Charity did not despair of success, nor would she let Edwin despair.
Often the poor little fellow shed tears of distress at the manner in
which she was treated, and at his own inability to defend her. But
Charity soothed him, and made him promise not to breathe a word of what
passed to her uncle or aunt.
"If only I might tell Aunt Lottie," Edwin often said, "I'm sure she
would have them punished."
"But I don't want them to be punished for me," said Charity. "I want to
make them love me, Edwin, and then they will be kind. They would not
dislike me so much if I had not been in such a passion with them, and
asked uncle to speak to them."
"They oughtn't to dislike you," cried Edwin, indignantly. "It is very,
very wrong of them. Oh, I do wish I were a great strong boy like
George."
"I don't," said Charity, smiling. "I would rather keep you, my dear
'little' brother, than have a great strong one. Never mind it all,
Edwin. In a little while, I think they will be kinder. You know
'Charity suffereth long,' and I haven't borne it long yet."
"I think you have—very long," said Edwin, sighing. "And you are always
kind to them."
"No; I don't feel so, Edwin. I often feel angry, and I know it is
wrong. But there is Lottie calling you, so you must run away."
A few days after this, the five children went to spend a long afternoon
in a neighbouring wood. Lottie and her brothers had often been there
before, but Charity and Edwin had not yet walked so far, and it was
a great treat to them. The boys carried a basket full of bread and
butter and plain cake. Charity was in better spirits than she had yet
been since her arrival, and she walked lightly along by Lottie's side,
enjoying the bright sunshine and the cheerful singing of the little
birds, while Edwin ran about and shouted with delight. It was not that
either of them forgot the past, or ceased to grieve for the dear father
they had so lately lost. But they were both very young, and it was not
surprising that at times the thought of their sorrow should be for a
while banished.
On reaching the wood, a discussion began as to what path they should
take. The boys declared for one, and Lottie for another. Charity's
bright look was overcast as she listened to the hot argument that
followed, and at length she whispered to Lottie—
"Couldn't we go their way, and come back yours?"
"No, we couldn't," said Lottie, pettishly. "It's too bad. The boys
always want their own way about everything."
"You don't want yours, of course!" said George, meaningly.
"Not always, as you do. You ought to let Charity decide."
"Catch me doing any such thing," returned George, rudely. "Of course
she would go your way just to provoke me."
The colour rushed into Charity's face. "No, I should not," she said,
quietly. "Lottie dear, won't you come the boys' way this once, just to
please me?"
The boys looked completely silenced, and Lottie annoyed.
"I don't care about the path," she said. "But I don't see why George is
always to have his own way."
Charity said no more, but she looked beseechingly, and after a minute's
wavering Lottie gave way, with an ungracious—
"Well, do as you like. I suppose we shall have to give up to them in
the end," and she walked along the path in silent displeasure.
The boys cared little for the latter fact. They were only vexed at the
manner in which they had obtained their will; for after the way in
which they had treated Charity, it was not pleasant to feel that they
ought to be grateful to her. They managed to keep clear of her until
sufficient time had passed, as they thought, for it to be supposed that
they had forgotten the matter.
If Charity was disappointed at their conduct, she had at least the
comfort of an approving conscience. Lottie's annoyance soon gave way,
and she and her two cousins hunted about for flowers, ran races, and
played games, so merrily that George and Wilfred were ere long fain to
join them, though it cannot be said that their presence added much to
the pleasure of the others.
Five o'clock came, and the basket was opened, the contents being
arranged upon a small cloth laid on the ground. They had a very
cheerful "tea" as they called it, and then began to think of returning
home. Another discussion now took place between Lottie and her
brothers. This time Charity felt it to be only fair and just that
the former should have her turn in choosing the homeward route. She
kept her opinion to herself until asked for it, and then gave it very
gently, but the boys were not a little vexed with her, as she could
plainly see.
They gave way at length, but Charity soon found that her walk home was
to be less pleasant than her walk there had been. First, the boys ran
so fast that the tired girls could hardly keep up with them. Then they
began throwing small pebbles about, and more than one came with a sharp
rap against Charity's hat. Whether by accident or no she could not
say, but she tried to believe it was, and to keep down the tears which
threatened to rise, while Lottie grumbled and scolded in a manner that
only made the boys worse.
[Illustration: A DIFFICULTY.]
Presently they arrived at a very high, awkward stile, and the boys did
not lose this opportunity of making themselves disagreeable. They went
over first, and no sooner had Lottie with some difficulty scrambled to
the other side, and assisted Edwin to do the same, than they rushed
forward, seized hold of them and drew them away.
"Now we'll see," George exclaimed mockingly. "We are going to look on,
while the agile, light-footed Miss Charity Mitchel gets over the stile.
She was very anxious to come this way, no doubt to show off her powers,
SO she shall make the most of her opportunity."
"I did not know there was any stile this way," said Charity, as she
stood on the other side. "Please let Lottie help me, George. I have
hardly ever climbed stiles, and I am sure I could not get over this
alone."
"Then you'll have to stay there all night," shouted Wilfred. "It's to
pay you out for choosing to come this way."
Tears came into Charity's eyes, as she again glanced at the four
awkward crooked bars, placed so very far apart, and the long step that
must be made on the other side down upon a narrow, unsteady plank of
wood. If she missed the latter, she must have a fall of several feet
into a deep ditch, and might hurt herself severely. Lottie saw the
same, and was struggling angrily with her brother.
"Let me go, George! I tell you she is as likely as not to fall. Don't
you know she hardly ever climbed a stile until she came here?"
"Then it's high time she should learn," responded George, holding her
tight. "It's of no use you struggling, for you won't go to her till she
is on this side. It's to teach her not to be so fond of interfering."
In vain Lottie fought, for George was far the stronger of the two.
Edwin was in the same way Wilfred's captive, positively crying with
distress at his helplessness. Charity could not bear to look on and
feel that it was all on her account.
"Don't, don't, Lottie—don't, Edwin!" she cried. "I'll try to get over,
and I daresay I shall manage it. Never mind."
She began to climb at once, though trembling with fear. It was easy
to reach the top bar, and get half over it, but there she remained
clinging helplessly.
"Step down, Charity," cried Lottie, eagerly. "You are quite safe; only
take care to put your foot on the plank."
Charity caught her breath painfully and made the attempt. Whether she
missed the plank, or whether she lost her hold of the bars, she never
afterwards knew. But the next moment, with a terrified cry, she fell
into the ditch.
Lottie screamed, and the boys rushed forward. With some difficulty
George climbed down, and half pulled, half lifted her up upon the
grass. She looked very white, and lay without speaking, while they all
crowded round her, asking if she were hurt.
"I don't know," she tried to say, but her voice failed her. A kind of
grey look came over her face, and her eyes closed. Charity had fainted
away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]