FORGIVEN.
IT was a very, very sad time for Hetty. She did not know, when she used
to cry and bewail herself over her misfortunes, that she could be as
unhappy as she was now. She longed for news of little Flo, and many a
time did she steal up to Adelaide Terrace to question Mrs. Goodenough,
at times when she knew that Mr. Eyre was out.
Worthy Mrs. Goodenough gave her scant information, and less comfort.
If she might be believed, Mr. Eyre spent a good deal of his scanty
leisure in telling her that he thought Hetty very little better than a
murderer, and that she should never so much as see Miss Flo again.
Hetty was so dejected that she believed all this, and even thought that
Mr. Eyre did not say a word too much; but Matty stoutly declared that
Mrs. Goodenough invented these speeches for Hetty's benefit.
Mrs. Hardy had no reason to complain of Hetty now, for she worked
hard all day, and never cared to go out, except for her melancholy
pilgrimage to Adelaide Terrace, or to go to church.
Meantime, little Flo was really very ill, and suffering greatly both
in mind and body. Her terror about the big black dog was such that the
doctor said that no questions must be asked about her part in the day's
misadventures, nor must she be in any way reminded of them.
Mrs. Eyre, however, did not forget poor Hetty, and she took some
trouble to find out that the story she had told her master was the
true one. The shrimp-girl, and a lad who had met the poor girl in the
lane, and put her into the right road, confirmed Hetty's story. Not
many women, with little Flo before their eyes, would have taken so much
trouble about poor, heedless Hetty, who certainly was fortunate in her
mistress.
After about a month Flo got better. The pain decreased, and she became
calmer and more like her little self. Of course, Mrs. Eyre was anxious
to get home, for the three children there were both unhappy and
troublesome under Mrs. Goodenough's care. So as soon as it was at all
safe Mr. Eyre came to R—, and Flo was carefully conveyed home.
Up to this time the child had not spoken of Hetty since her mother
had silenced her constant cry for her. But as she grew stronger, and
returned to her familiar home and her familiar habits, Mrs. Eyre became
aware that there was something weighing on little Flo's heart,—some
question that was often on her lips, though she seemed afraid to ask
it. A little questioning soon made the child speak out.
"Mamma, you bid me speak no more of Hetty. I know the big dog must have
killed Zelica, but did he kill my dear Hetty too?"
"Oh no, my dear child. Hetty is quite well, and safe in her mother's
house."
"Then why might I not speak of her?"
"You misunderstood me, dear; you kept calling, calling, and I only
meant to quiet you."
"But if Hetty was not hurt, why did she not stay with me and nurse me,
mamma?"
"Well; dear, Hetty was to blame about that day—she had left the hut
while you were asleep, to search for Zelica, I believe; but, indeed, I
do not know exactly what happened. Papa sent Hetty away."
Flo was too well taught to question papa's doings; but that very
evening she began begging him to bring Hetty back.
"I want her so much. I do love Hetty. Just tell her that 'Miss Flo'
wants her, and I know she will come at once. She loves me so."
"My dear, I sent her away because it was through her carelessness that
this accident happened to you. When mamma has time, she will look about
for a nice, kind girl to carry you; and now we'll say no more about
Hetty."
To this hint Flo declined to attend. She was very weak, and mamma had
others to attend to now, and could not devote herself to Flo as she did
while at R—, and Flo cried for Hetty far too often for her own good,
and began to look as bad as ever.
Hetty, no longer daring to come to the house, used now to waylay Mrs.
Goodenough on her way home, to ask about Miss Flo. One day the old
woman did not appear at her usual time; it was quite evening before she
came, but Hetty waited all the time.
"Well, Hetty, here you are, to bother me about that child, that's the
worrit of the whole house! The crossest, complainingest little worry
that ever I did see! Morning, noon, and night, the cry is—"
Here Mrs. Goodenough paused. She had very nearly said the word
"'Hetty,'" but that, she thought, would rejoice the poor girl, so she
substituted "'Zelica.'"
"'Zelica! I want Zelica!' That's always on her lips; little peevish
brat! I wonder how her mother keeps her hands off her!"
"I declare," cried Hetty, "I never thought of that. I suppose they
think Zelica is lost."
"Lost she surely is, and a good thing too. But that redic'lous child
thinks some dog ate her! She was in such a state this morning,
declaring I hurt her lifting her up, that we could get nothing done.
That's why I'm late. Mrs. Eyre's going to get a girl in your place,
otherwise I'd have to quit; but I suppose I shan't be turned out this
time, as you're not there to carry tales."
All this did Mrs. Goodenough say, with the amiable wish to make Hetty
miserable; but this time she failed, for Hetty did not know what
she was saying. She was thinking about Zelica, and Zelica's little
mistress, and now with a hasty "good-evening" she turned away and
went quickly home. Mrs. Goodenough immediately made a kind of general
proclamation that "Hetty Hardy was getting to be a greater fool every
day."
Hetty went home, and procured a sheet of notepaper and Matty's pen and
ink. She then sat down to write. It took her a long time, but at last,
with a deep sigh, she folded up her paper, caught up Zelica from her
comfortable nook by the fire, and ran out into the now almost dark
evening.
The Eyres were at supper, or tea, as they called it. Flo was on her
sofa, looking smaller than ever; presently Lina and Edgar ran off to
play, and Mr. Eyre drew a chair over and sat down near Flo.
"Come, my little girl, you haven't eaten any of the nice bread and jam
I cut for you. Try to eat a little bit, Flo. Why are you crying? You
make poor mamma and me very sad."
"I can't help it, papa. I am so sorry for poor dear Hetty. I do want
Hetty—I love her."
"What is that?" cried Mrs. Eyre, as a slight noise was heard.
"It was the window. I suppose the sash has closed a bit. I must see to
it to-morrow, or it may catch somebody's fingers."
But the sash had not closed—quite the contrary. Some one outside had
pushed it up a tiny bit more, and behold!—in walked, fat, snow-white,
and beautiful as ever, Mrs. Zelica! Purring loudly, she marched over
to the sofa, sprang up, curled herself up in her own particular
place, and looked at the astonished assembly with a condescending
and self-satisfied air. What a fuss a little dog would have been in!
What waggings of the tail, and ecstatic wriggles, mingled with small
strangled squeals of joy at seeing his dear mistress again! But Zelica,
being but a cat, just blinked at them all, and felt important.
"Why! Oh, my Zelica! Is this you? Then he didn't eat you? Where have
you been? Who brought you? Oh, mamma! 'Twas Hetty—my dear, dear Hetty!
Oh, run, call her to me! I do love Hetty!"
Mr. Eyre sprang up and went to the door; but Hetty was gone.
Flo did not know how to make enough of Zelica. But the loving little
heart was not satisfied. Mrs. Eyre, who had gone to the window when her
husband ran to the door, had found poor Hetty's letter, but she slipped
it into her pocket, and said nothing about it until the children were
in bed. Then she said,—
"John, there was a letter left on the window-sill. I have it here. I
did not want to excite poor Flo. Here it is, dear; read it to me."
For she had baby in her arms.
"'My dear mistress,'" began John, in a stern tone of voice, which,
however, softened as he read on,—
"'I hope I may be forgiven for writing to you. Mrs. Goodenough told
me to-night that Miss Flo still cries after Zelica. I did not know that
she was well enough to care for her yet. I found her at the station
that day; she must have followed me there.'"
"'Dear mistress, try to forgive me. I am too sorry to know how to
say it. I do not feel as if I could ever be happy any more. After all
your kindness, and the master's, such a return to make and, loving
Miss Flo with all my heart, to be so wicked about her. I know master
was right to send me off, and he never could trust me any more. I am
glad Miss Flo has forgotten me. I pray continually that she may grow
strong and well, and I hope your new girl will be fond of her, and
patient with her.'"
"'If you could say you forgive me, maybe I could be more at rest.
Sometimes I get stupid, thinking of Miss Flo; for indeed, ma'am, though
you may well not believe it, I do love both of you, and I think I shall
never forget what I felt when I got back to the hut, and could not find
her.'"
"'I remain, ma'am,'"
"'Your poor, bad servant,'"
"'HESTER HARDY.'"
"Poor girl," said John Eyre to himself, as he folded up the letter.
"That old Goodenough! Why, Flo thought Zelica was dead; and as to
forgetting Hetty, I wish she had!"
"It would be very ungrateful of her if she had, for Hetty was very good
to her."
"Poor girl!" said the master again.
"John, dear, I must have a girl; and, to be frank with you, I would
rather have Hetty than a stranger. She is so gentle and patient, and so
perfectly truthful. She is a really good girl, and it is not so easy to
find a really good girl. Besides, Flo is too ill to be reasonable, and
she will not like any stranger, because she is longing for Hetty."
"Well, dear, I know I told the girl never to let me see her face again,
but—I suppose we had better make our poor little Flora as happy as we
can while we have her with us. But I tell you fairly, I think we ought
never to lose sight of the girl when she has the cart of Flo. She is so
terribly heedless, though, as you say, a good girl for all that."
"Then I may see her to-morrow?"
"Yes; but don't tell Flo till you are sure of her."
So it came about that once again Mrs. Eyre tapped on the half-closed
door of Mrs. Hardy's house, and was told to "come in."
"Why, if it isn't Mrs. Eyre!" cried Matty joyfully.
"Mrs. Eyre! Matty, you're a—But it is, for all that. Ma'am, I'm nearly
ashamed to face you."
"You have no cause to be, Mrs. Hardy. Hetty is a good girl, and, if she
was heedless, we must remember that she is very young. It was a great
misfortune; but, you know, if the dog had not awakened my poor little
girl, no harm would have been done. Where is Hetty?"
"I sent her into town for some things we wanted, but she must soon be
home. A dog, did you say? I've heard nothing of a dog. Indeed, Hetty
does not rightly know yet what happened to Miss Flora."
"Well, Hetty went, as you, I am sure, know, to look for the little cat.
Zelica led her a regular chase, and when she got back the child was
gone."
"Yes," said Matty, "and the shawls on the path, and the cat's basket
all torn, and some shrimps a girl gave her all mashed up. Oh, ma'am!
she dreams of it often—you never saw the like."
"What had really happened was this. Flo woke up to find the dog—a big,
rough-haired creature-tearing at the cat's basket; and, I confess, I
think it was well for Zelica that she was not in it; but the dog would
not have hurt Flo on any account; in fact, he did not touch her. She
screamed for Hetty, the dog got at the shrimps and tried to eat them,
and while he was at that work my poor little girl got up and tried to
run away. She actually dragged herself some way down the steep path,
when the dog came after her, and she fell. Mr. Eyre thinks that the
creature saved her from falling over the edge, for he was sitting
between her and it, in great distress. He belongs to the stationmaster,
and is a most good-natured dog, very fond of children."
Matty had seen her sister come in, but Mrs. Eyre did not, her back
being turned to the door. Hetty stood, listening and trembling, and now
seemed about to steal out again; but Matty stopped her.
"Now, Hetty," said she, "you know what really happened."
Mrs. Eyre turned round, and Hetty covered her face with her hands. Mrs.
Eyre fully expected a burst of tears, and "Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am!"
but there were neither tears nor words.
"My poor girl! My poor Hetty! Have you never a word to say to me?"
"No, not one." Mrs. Hardy spoke for her. "There's something come to the
girl, ma'am, for dear knows her tears and her tongue used to be ready
enough. I used to be tired hearing, 'Oh I'm so sorry, mother!'"
"Oh, I used to say that," said Hetty; "but I was only sorry because
things were broken, or because you were angry. I was not sorry for my
own fault, because I did not think it a fault—only a misfortune. Though
Matty warned me, and made me promise to pray against it, I never did—I
forgot. I thought how unlucky I was to be so thoughtless; but since
I've been at home I've been thinking, and I see now that it's a sin.
Oh, ma'am, if you could only forgive me, I'd take heart and try to do
better. I'll take Matty's way now, for I'm sure it's the right one."
"You are quite right, Hetty. We are all of us more given to one fault
than to others, and only God can cure us of them. He gives us time, and
grace, and many lessons; some, sad ones. This has been a sad one to
you, but you see it has opened your eyes to your sin. As to forgiving
you, I do indeed, Hetty, and so does Mr. Eyre."
"And Miss Flo? Oh! Does she forget me altogether?"
"Forget you? No, indeed—she is never done crying for you. And she is so
ill and so weak that you must come back to her, Hetty."
Hetty opened both mouth and eyes as wide as ever she could, and uttered
the most extraordinary shout; the poor girl really did not know what
she was doing.
"Hetty! Behave, do! To yell like that in a lady's very ears! Eh! Here
come the tears! I've got my poor Hetty back again. I didn't know that
one with a silent tongue and dry eyes. You're a lucky girl, Hetty, to
have such people to do with as your master and mistress; and indeed,
ma'am, the girl's been breaking her heart after you."
Matty took her sister away into the other room, where she kissed her,
and coaxed her, and cried with her, and altogether contrived to quiet
her so that she was in a fit state to set out at once with her mistress.
"Dan shall bring your things up in the evening, Hetty," said her
mother. "And now, my dearie dear, remember this time as long as you
live, and don't fall back into idle ways. Remember what Matty said to
you: you'll find it's true. These thoughtless doings are real sins, and
it's only God can change your heart. God bless you, Hetty! I'm glad for
you, child."
On the way to Adelaide Terrace Hetty asked many questions about Flo's
state.
"I don't see how you can bear the sight of me, ma'am, nor Miss Flo
either."
"You'll soon know what she thinks about it, Hetty. And you know, if you
had got back and found her still asleep, so that no harm was done, your
fault would have been exactly the same, yet you would have expected me
to forgive you. It seems to me, therefore, that we ought to forgive you
now. You must learn not to measure a fault by its consequences; you
were wrong to leave the child, and it would have been just as wrong if
poor Black Rover had not visited the hut while you were absent. Do you
understand, Hetty?"
"I think I do, ma'am. Oh, I must try very hard."
"Ah! Hetty, trying hard won't do, not by itself. I will talk to you
about this some day soon. But now, here we are at home," Mrs. Eyre
said, as she knocked at the door.
Mrs. Goodenough opened it; her face was really worth seeing when she
recognised Hetty.
"You see, Mrs. Goodenough, I've brought Hetty Hardy back, and you will
be pleased, I hope, to hear that it is partly your doing. She wrote to
me after hearing from you that Miss Flo was still fretting after the
cat. Stay here for a moment, Hetty; I will just say a word to the child
and then call you."
But it was Flo's weak little voice that called—
"Hetty! Oh Hetty! My own good Hetty! Come to me quick!"
It was not for a few days that Mrs. Eyre found time for the talk with
Hetty which she had promised her. But one morning, Flo being asleep,
and the others out, Mrs. Eyre said: "Hetty, you know you and I were to
have a serious talk; for I did not say what I wished to say to you that
evening."
"I remember, ma'am. You were saying that trying hard won't do, by
itself. Ma'am, if you'll believe me, Matty told me that when I was
coming here, that first time, and I never minded. I didn't really
understand. But I do now. I see plain enough that it is not in my own
strength that I can cure my heedlessness. And I know now that it is
a sin, and not just a misfortune, as I used to call it. But indeed,
ma'am, I do not think I could ever forget this lesson."
"Perhaps not. But, Hetty, try to think of what I am going to say to
you. You are an affectionate girl, and so, to please those you love,
you would do nearly anything. When you ran off to search for Zelica, I
know well it was because the loss of the little cat would have grieved
Miss Flo so much. But you see what came of it, and you know now that
you did wrong. Now, had you asked yourself, not what would please Miss
Flo, but what it was your duty to do—then you would have stayed at your
post, and the child would have been safe."
"So it always is, Hetty. The moment our motive is less than the
highest; the moment we act to please this person or that, without
remembering that we have to please God, that moment we go wrong. I want
you to pray, as Matty said to you; but, dear Hetty, pray that God will
give you such a love for Him, your Father, who sent His Son to save you
from your sins, that to please him may become the first thought of your
heart. Will you do this, Hetty? Do you understand me?"
"I do, ma'am. You've said the like to me before, and so has Matty,
but I didn't heed; I seemed not to understand. But all the time I was
so unhappy about Miss Flo, those thoughts seemed to come back to me.
And I will pray, as you tell me, ma'am. Indeed, I do love Him even
now, though not as I ought; for He has been very merciful to me. Oh,
ma'am!—when I think that she might have been killed! How could I have
borne it, when it was my doing?"
"Indeed, Hetty, we all have much to be thankful for."
Well, if Hetty was not entirely cured of her heedlessness, she was
certainly cured of treating it as a mere misfortune, for which she was
to be pitied. And the best proof of her improvement was that in no long
time Mr. Eyre quite laid aside his distrust of her, and ceased to be
uneasy if she was left in charge of Flo.
Flo was very ill for a long time, and often they thought that a few
weeks more would see the close of her suffering and her life. But she
at last began to improve; and, to the great joy of all who loved her,
she continued to get steadily better, until at last she could walk
about nearly as well as Lina. She grew a great deal, too, and health
brought back her pretty pink colour, and the unchildlike gravity
vanished from her face.
Indeed, if the truth must be told, Miss Flora was rather a troublesome
lassie for a time; for it seemed as if all the fun and frolic she had
missed had to be got through somehow. But she sobered down again,
and is a very good girl, and a great comfort to her parents. Lina is
married, and Flo is the home daughter, helping her mother, and caring
for the younger children.
As to Hetty, after ten years of faithful service, she left her dear
mistress, and still dearer Miss Flo, to become the wife of Fred Smith,
who is now postmaster in the very office where she was once too late
for the London post, thanks to the attractions of Punch and Judy. And
as Fred is a good, steady, God-fearing man, we may hope that she will
be as happy as she deserves to be, I think; even though she once earned
the name of Heedless Hetty.
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.