Mrs. Weston had hardly finished what she was saying to Ethel when Mrs.
Coote’s harsh voice was heard summoning her young charges to their
dinner. They hastened to obey, quite as much for fear that any delay
would anger the woman and bring dire consequences upon themselves, as
from a desire to satisfy their appetites.
The meal, like those that had preceded it, was plain but palatable, and
the healthy little folks found it enjoyable.
“Now go out to your plays again,” was Mrs. Coote’s order when they had
finished; “this is Saturday and I’m very busy, a great deal too busy to
be tormented with a pack of children; so don’t venture to come in again
till you’re called.”
“Let’s go back to that other house,” proposed Harry, when they had
obeyed the order and were out upon the gravel walk leading to the front
gate.
“Oh, no!” said Ethel, “don’t you remember that our mamma used to tell us
not to go too often to any of our neighbors’ houses, because we would
make them tired of us? There was a Bible text she used to repeat about
it: ‘Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbor’s house lest he be weary of
thee, and so hate thee.’ We want them to love us and feel glad to see us
when we go there; so we won’t go very often when we’re not invited. The
grass is dry now on this side of the yard and we can have a nice time
playing here together.”
“Oh, yes,” said Blanche, “we can play ‘Pussy wants a corner.’ That’s
good fun and we’ll be careful not to run too hard and do mischief.”
“And not to make too much noise,” added Ethel; “we mustn’t shout or
laugh too loud, lest we vex Mrs. Coote.”
“Oh, dear!” sighed Harry, “I do like to make a noise. I guess all boys
do, and I do wish we didn’t have to live where the folks want us to be
quiet all the time.”
“But we can’t help it, Harry,” sighed Ethel, “we will just have to try
to be quiet and good all the time.”
“Me will,” assented Nannette; “I is doin’ to be very dood.”
“So’ll I,” said Harry, “but I don’t like it a single bit.”
They played several games; then Nannette began to cry. She was tired and
sleepy. Mrs. Coote heard her, came to the door, and understanding what
was the matter, bade Ethel take her little sister up to their own room
and lay her on the bed.
“And when she wakes up,” added Mrs. Coote, “it will be time for you all
to have your Saturday bath; for everybody must be particularly clean for
Sunday.”
“Yes, ma’am,” returned Ethel, “our own mamma always had us bathed on
Saturday.”
“In which she showed her sense,” said Mrs. Coote. “Now hurry up to your
room every one of you, and see if you can keep quiet there. You may as
well all take a nap, for you have nothing better to do.”
“There, there, don’t cry, Nan dear; we’ll soon get up to the top of
these stairs and into our room,” Ethel said in soothing tones, doing her
utmost to help her baby sister in the weary task of climbing the rather
steep flight of stairs that led to that desired haven.
“I so tired,” sobbed Nan.
“Yes, dear; and these stairs are high for your poor little legs. But
never mind; we’re most up now. Ah, here we are, and you shall lie down
and have oh! such a good sleep, with Blanche on one side and me on the
other and Harry on his own bed over there in the corner.”
Nothing loth, the baby girl cuddled down on the bed; the others climbed
into their places, and tired with their play the whole four were
presently sleeping soundly.
The nap was followed by the promised bath, that by their supper, and
directly upon leaving the table they were sent to bed.
They were taken to Sunday-school the next morning, then brought back to
the house and ordered to stay within doors until the return of Mr. and
Mrs. Coote from church, the latter remarking that she had no intention
of being bothered with other people’s children, and directing Ethel to
teach some Bible texts to the younger ones and commit to memory several
verses herself, all to be recited to Mr. Coote in the afternoon.
Ethel felt dismayed, for it would be a new thing for Harry and
especially so for baby Nan, of whom nothing in the form of lessons had
ever yet been required.
“I’ll try, ma’am,” she said, “but please don’t be hard with them if they
can’t say a verse perfectly, for they’ve never had to learn lessons
before, except to say their A B Cs.”
“High time for them to begin then,” was the curt rejoinder. “Now mind
what I say and do exactly as you’re told, or you’ll wish you had when
Mr. Coote gets hold of you.” With that she walked away, Ethel looking
after her with frightened eyes.
“O Blanche, whatever shall we do?” she exclaimed tearfully. “I’m afraid
Nan can’t learn a verse.”
“Oh, yes, Ethel, she can; so don’t you cry,” returned Blanche, putting
her arms round Ethel’s neck and giving her a kiss. “Don’t you remember
that little one that’s just two words? ‘Jesus wept.’ Nan can learn that
I’m sure; so can Harry.”
“Course I can,” said Harry, straightening himself proudly. “I’m not a
baby, I know that verse now: ‘Jesus wept.’ But, say, why did He do that,
Ethel? what was He so sorry about?”
“Because Lazarus, the man He loved, was dead and his sisters, Mary and
Martha, were so full of grief. He loved them, too, and was sorry for
them.”
“Tell us the story ’bout it, Ethel,” requested the little fellow.
Ethel complied, and then he and Nan repeated over and over the short
verse, “Jesus wept.”
“Now we must learn ours, Blanche,” said Ethel.
“I’ve thought of one that mamma used to teach us,” returned Blanche: “‘I
love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me.’”
“Yes, I remember that mamma taught us that, and that she said they were
God’s own words. Let’s all love Him and He will love us and care for us
even if nobody in all this world does. I’ve thought of a verse too:
‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of
such is the kingdom of heaven.’ Mamma said they were Jesus’ own words
and they meant that I might pray to Him, telling Him all my joys and all
my troubles, and He would listen even more lovingly than she did when I
told them to her, and would give me strength to bear them or help me out
of them. Oh, I have often been so glad, since dear mamma and papa went
away to heaven, so glad to know that; and I have told my troubles to
Jesus and I’m sure He has heard me and helped me to bear them, and that
He will help me, and everybody that tries it, to bear every trouble and
trial He sends.”
“But what for does He send troubles and trials?” asked Blanche. “I
should think if He loves us so much He wouldn’t let us have any at all.”
“I remember I asked mamma that once,” replied Ethel thoughtfully, “and
she said it was to make us good and to keep us from loving this world
too well; just as she sometimes punished us to make us good, because to
be good is the only way to be happy; and she taught me this verse, ‘As
many as I love I rebuke and chasten; be zealous therefore and repent.’
Oh,” added the little girl, with a burst of tears, “if we only had mamma
now to help us to be good!”
“She and papa have gone to be with God, you know, Ethel, and don’t you
believe they ask Him to help us to be good?” asked Blanche, tears
shining in her eyes also.
“Yes, yes, indeed!” returned Ethel, “and it makes me so glad to think of
that.”
“O Ethel, you have to say more than one verse, haven’t you?” asked
Blanche.
“Oh, yes, so I have. ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be
saved,’ is another one that mamma taught me. I’ll say it. Such a sweet
verse, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed,” returned Blanche.
“Saved from what, Ethel?” asked Harry. “I don’t want to live here with
these horrid folks. I wish He’d saved us from that.”
“But it would be a great deal worse to live in that dreadful place where
the devil and his angels are,” said Ethel with grave earnestness; “and
that’s what mamma said Jesus would save us from; that and the love of
sin. Oh, now I remember some verses she taught me about heaven: ‘And God
shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more
death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain;
for the former things are passed away.’ Oh, just think, children! never
a headache, or backache, or heartache, or hurt feelings, or any sort of
pain or ache, but always to feel bright and happy and well. And that’s
where papa and mamma are—well and glad all the time.”
“O Ethel, how delightful!” exclaimed Blanche. “And then oughtn’t we to
be glad for them?”
“Yes, indeed! though we can’t help being sorry for ourselves and each
other, because we must do without them till we get there too.”
Jane, the servant girl, opened the door and looked in at that moment.
“Come, you young uns, and eat your dinners,” she said. “You’s to eat
fust this time ’fore de folks gits home from church.”
The children obeyed right willingly, but were disappointed to find only
the usual plain fare.
“I ’spected a nice dinner to-day,” grumbled Harry; “chicken or birds,
and mashed potatoes and cranberries and good pie and cake.”
“O Harry, dear, hush, hush!” Ethel said warningly, but half under her
breath. “I’m afraid you’ll get beaten or starved if—if they should find
out that you talked so.”
“Oh, it’s too hard!” sighed Blanche. “I didn’t want to stay with that
hateful, cross old Aunt Sarah though.”
“I didn’t either,” said Harry. “But ’most everybody’s bad to us since
papa and mamma went away.”
Here Jane, who had gone back to her kitchen, poked in her head at the
communicating door. “You’d better stop talkin’ and get you dinners eat
up ’fore the folks gits home from chu’ch; ’cause ef ye don’t maybe
you’ll have to stop hungry.”
The thought of that alarming possibility at once silenced every
complaint, and hardly another word was spoken till their appetites were
fully satisfied. A hasty washing of hands and faces followed and was
scarcely over when the Cootes returned, and the little folks were
summoned to the study and required to recite their verses of Scripture
to the frowning, loud-voiced, impatient dominie, while the dinner for
him and his wife was being set upon the table. It seemed a dreadful
ordeal to the trembling little ones, and a great relief when it was over
and they were ordered up to their own room for the remainder of the day.