RECONCILIATION.
"ARE you sure you feel well enough to go over to your Italian lesson,
Ethel?" asked Emily, the next day but one, as Ethel came down with her
hat on and her books in her hands.
"Oh, yes. I think so; if I ride. I want to go particularly to meet Anna
Burgers; but I will stay at home, if you think best, Emily."
"I dare say it will not hurt you, if you ride both ways; but you know
Matthew says you must be careful about walking at present. And by the
way, Ethel—but never mind," said Emily.
"Never mind what? What were you going to say?"
"I was going to ask you to go and see if Mrs. Smith will come and wash
on Monday; but it is of no great consequence."
"I will go," said Ethel. "It is only a little out of my way. Perhaps
Anna will go with me."
"But you will have to cross the common, you know."
"Nevertheless I will go," said Ethel, smiling rather sadly, for she
knew what Emily meant. Many cows were pastured on this common, and cows
had always been among her special bugbears.
Ethel had to wait for the horse-car, and was rather late; so that when
she arrived at the school-room, nearly all the girls were assembled.
She stopped in the ante-room to dispose of her hat and shawl, and, as
she did so, she heard Ellen Davis say decidedly:
"Well, I know one thing; if I were Anna Burgers, I would never speak to
Ethel Dalton again as long as I lived."
"That won't be Annie's way, I know," said Margaret Fleming. "She will
be very angry for a little while, and then she will get all over it;
especially if Ethel begs her pardon. Anna never can 'keep her temper,'
whether good or bad," concluded Margaret, laughing.
"Ethel won't beg her pardon," said Delia Wilkins, in her usual sneering
tones. "Ethel will never think she has done anything wrong. There is
one comfort about it: she will never dare to 'preach' any more. If she
does, we shall know how to answer her."
Ethel well knew to what Delia alluded. Delia and two or three other
girls of her set were in the habit of cheating at lessons. They stole
their translations, read their verbs and declensions from bits of paper
concealed in their hands, and Delia boasted of having all her elder
sister's corrected exercise-books in her possession. Old Mr. Burgoine,
the French teacher, who was very nearsighted, very good-natured, and
not a little absent-minded, had never discovered these tricks; but the
Italian teacher was very much sharper-sighted, and was, moreover, used
to the evasions of former pupils,—French and Italian girls. She had
several times found out Delia and her friends, and had exposed them in
a way calculated to make them feel very small indeed. Delia had vowed
vengeance upon her; but a number of the older girls, with Ethel at
their head, sustained the signorina, and declared that she did quite
right,—that such practices were dishonourable and wicked, and ought to
be exposed.
"We shall not hear any more lectures from her," continued Delia. "And
I don't believe Anna Burgers will take her part after this—Ethel has
been so wonderfully religious lately there has been no living with her.
Anybody can see now what it all amounts to."
"I don't deny that Ethel did very wrong, and that she is a great
coward: but that is no sign she is a hypocrite."
"Well, now, 'I' think it is."
"A hypocrite is one who pretends to be what he is not, in order to
deceive people," said Margaret, with an admirable imitation of the
clear, precise tone and manner of Mr. Goodman, the teacher of logic and
mathematics. "You will allow that, I suppose, young lady."
"Yes, I suppose so," returned Ellen, as Delia was silent.
"Well, then, Ethel is not a hypocrite; for she never pretended to
be anything else than a coward. But when Delia pretends to have her
lesson, when she does not know one word of it—I leave you to make the
application for yourselves."
"Well done, Margaret. Delia is no match for you, that is certain,"
exclaimed Ellen Davis, and one or two others; and Ellen added, "You
have certainly profited by Mr. Goodman's instructions. No wonder he
says you are his favourite pupil. You wouldn't be so long, though, if
he knew how you made fun of him behind his back."
"I don't make fun of him," said Margaret. "I only imitate him."
All this time, Ethel was standing at the outer door, uncertain what to
do,—whether to go away, or go into the school-room as if nothing had
happened. It had never occurred to her that all the girls would hear
the story.
"But I must just take it as part of my punishment, I suppose," said
she, wiping the tears from her eyes: for she was very sensitive to the
opinions of her schoolmates. She went to the door as she spoke, and met
Anna face to face.
She had considered a good deal as to how she should encounter Anna,
and, perhaps, it was as well that both were taken by surprise.
"Oh, Ethel! I am so glad you have come," said Anna, as naturally and
cordially as if nothing had happened. "Dr. Ray said he did not believe
you would be able to stir; and I was coming over to see you. Will you
show me about this translation a little? I have had hardly any time to
study, and I can't make head or tail of it."
Ethel's eyes filled with fresh tears, but she was determined not to
cry. She put her arms around Anna's neck and kissed her.
"You are the very best girl that ever lived," said she.
"What! Because I want you to help me with my translation?" asked Anna,
and then added, were gravely, "Ethel, I suppose we may as well have it
out. I never was more angry in my life than I was at you that night.
I thought your leaving me alone with Mary in that way was something I
never could forgive. I think 'now' it was very wrong. You know I can't
think that wrong is right just because you do it."
"Of course not," said Ethel. "I don't wish you should. It 'was' mean
and wicked."
"I thought, for a while, I could never forgive you in the world,"
continued Anna; "but you know it is not my way to keep up a grudge.
Then came your note, and, of course, I could not be angry after that,
you know."
"I 'don't' know," said Ethel. "Every one doesn't forgive because they
are asked to do so."
"Well, I think it would be a very hard-hearted person who did not.
Anyhow, that isn't my way. Besides, I got thinking about something
else. I will tell you some time," said Anna, looking down, and then
cheerfully, after a moment's silence, "I don't like to have to forgive
people. I would rather think that there is nothing to forgive. But you
know I can't do so in this case, for I do think it was wrong."
"I am sure I am glad to be forgiven," said Ethel. "It seems to me I
shall never be happy again till that poor girl is well. How is she?"
Anna shook her head. "She is very little if any, better," she replied.
"She doesn't know any one, and lies stupid almost all the time. But
you mustn't take all the blame of that, Ethel. It was very thoughtless
in me to let Sarah go out: but Mary's fits don't so often come so near
together; and she had one only last week: so I didn't think of there
being any danger. But come, sit down here, and tell me what this means."
"Well, I declare!" said Delia, as, a few minutes later, she came out of
the school-room and found the girls with their heads together over one
book. "Well, I declare!"
"Do you?" asked Anna, bluntly. "What do you declare?"
"What a wonderful fine scene, to be sure! 'Forgiveness Displayed; or,
The Reconciled Enemies.' Girls, come and look at the tableau."
"I told you just how it would be," said Ellen Davis. "I knew Anna would
never keep angry for three days together."
"You make that remark as if you thought it rather derogatory, Miss
Davis," said the signorina, who had come in, as usual, without being
seen or heard. "Pray, how long ought a Christian to 'keep angry,' as
you say? You think much of the Bible, you Protestants. Who is it that
says, 'I say not unto thee until seven times: but, until seventy times
seven'!"
"I don't pretend to be a Christian," said Ellen, rather sullenly.
"Indeed! I was not aware that I had any heathens or Mohammedans in my
class. We will send for the good missionary, Miss Dalton's brother, to
convert you, Miss Davis. I do not know what grounds of quarrel Miss
Burgers and her friend may have had, but I think they are quite right
to—to—I do not know the English phrase. We say 'riconciliarsi.'"
"To make it up," said Ethel. "We did not have a quarrel, exactly," she
continued, making a neat effort to speak quietly, though her burning
cheeks and trembling hands showed her agitation. "I did Anna a great
injury. I was very wicked and selfish, and did great harm; but Anna has
been good enough to forgive me. That is all."
"I don't know what you have done, but I think you are two very good
girls," said the signorina, who, with all her spirit and sharpness in
school, was a soft-hearted little body. "I dare say you will be better
friends than ever. Come, young ladies, let us lose no more time."
"Anna, will you walk with me across the common?" asked Ethel, after
school was out. "I have an errand to do for sister Emily."
Before Anna could answer, Delia "put in her word."
"Oh, go by all means, Anna. Ethel is such an excellent companion. The
first cow you meet, she will run away screaming, and leave you to face
the dreadful animal alone. Then you can have a chance for another
affecting scene."
Ethel made no answer, and Delia went on imagining various perils to
which they might be exposed in crossing the common.
"I'll tell you what it is, Delia Wilkins," said Anna, at last breaking
out quite unexpectedly, "you talk about cowards, and you are ten times
as great a coward as Ethel. It is the meanest and basest kind of
cowardice to strike one who you know will not or cannot strike back.
You know perfectly well that Ethel never can defend herself from your
tongue; and so you think you can use it against her just as you please.
If Ethel is a coward, you are no better—so there!"
"Don't, Anna," said Ethel. "Let Delia say what she pleases. She cannot
say worse of me than I think of myself. Only there is one thing, Delia,
that I think you ought to consider, not so much for my sake as for your
own. Some day or other you will have to be judged yourself; and I am
afraid it will go hard with you, if it is measured to you again with
the same measure that you deal to other people."
"I don't pretend to be religious, as you do," returned Delia. "If I
did, I would try to be consistent."
"It makes no difference whether you or I pretend to be religious or
not," said Ethel. "You will not be judged by that—of—"
"Well, there, I don't want to hear any more," interrupted Delia. "I
don't believe anything will ever cure you of preaching. I think you
had better wait till you see whether that poor girl lives or not,
before you say any more. It does not become a murderer to be quoting
Scripture."
Ethel turned deadly pale, and caught at the door for support. Margaret
and Anna sprang to her aid, and Ellen brought her a chair.
"You are a coward, Delia, and no mistake," said Margaret. "Never mind,
Ethel; we all know what Delia is. She is like Mr. Goodman's little pug
dog. If she did not bark and bite, nobody would take any notice of her.
Do you feel better? Shall I get you some water or anything?"
"I should like to have some water," said Ethel. "It is silly to mind it
so much, but I have not been well lately. Emily thought I had better
not come out, and I dare say she was right. Delia, I have only one
thing more to say to you. You may think and speak as ill of me as you
please,—even to calling me a murderer, as you did just now;—but if you
excuse yourself from doing what you know is your duty, on the ground of
my inconsistency or that of any other professing Christian, you will
make a mistake which you will regret forever. Come, Anna, I should like
to get out into the fresh air."
"Good for Ethel," said Margaret Fleming. "Delia, I don't see how you
could have the heart to speak to her so, when you saw how badly she
felt, and how ready she was to own her faults. Your tongue will bring
you into worse trouble than Ethel's, if you don't mind."
"Never you mind my tongue. You look out for yourself," retorted Delia.
"My tongue makes people mind their own business, and think twice before
they meddle with me," and she left the room.
"I cannot understand how any girl can like to make herself so
disagreeable," said Margaret. "There is not a person in the school who
does not dread and dislike Delia Wilkins, clever as she is; while poor
Ethel, with all her affectations, never made an enemy in her life."
"I never heard Ethel answer her so promptly," said Mary Rose.
"Generally, she 'wilts down,' as the boys say, and cries or creeps away
without a word. Poor girl, how badly she feels."
"I dare say this affair will make a change in Ethel," said Margaret.
"She is really and truly one of the best girls in school, and would
have great influence, only she spoils it all with her silly fears and
affectations. I am glad that Anna has made it up with her. They have
been friends so long that it seemed a pity they should quarrel."
"I dare say it was very good in Anna," said Ellen, with a toss of her
head and a twist of her mouth, which she meant to express a great deal
of force and dignity; "but 'I' should not have done it. If anybody
treats me ill, I don't want any more to do with them. They may be
as sorry as they please, but it does not mend matters. I never can
care for them or trust them again. I dare say it is very, foolish and
wicked, and all that," she added, with an air which showed plainly that
she did not think anything of the sort; "but that is my way, and I
can't help it."
"How many friends do you think you would have left in the world, if
people were to do so by you?" asked Margaret, who was Ellen's cousin,
and pretty well acquainted with her life and manners at home. "Suppose
grandmamma had treated you so after that affair with Anne, what would
have become of you?"
"That is none of your business that I can see," returned Ellen,
colouring violently; "but, of course, I am always wrong in your eyes.
Of course I am a heathen and a wretch, because I don't belong to the
church, and don't pretend to be what I know I am not."
"Now, Nelly, that is not true, as you know," said Margaret, kindly.
"You know whether I have ever taken your part, and stood up for you, or
not. I did not mean to, hurt your feelings by alluding to Anne. I only
want to make you see that, even as regards this world, your principle
won't work. We must all forgive, because we all need forgiveness—not
only from God but from one another. Fortunately, you are like a good
many other people,—a good deal better than the principles you profess,"
she added, smiling.
"And I don't think you are as good as the principles you profess," said
Ellen, mollified and smiling in her turn, "or you would not have come
down on Delia so savagely. I never saw her so entirely taken down and
shut up."
"Of course I am not so good as my principles: 'that understands
itself,' as Mr. Burgoine says," returned Margaret. "I was vexed at
Delia for her ungenerous attack on poor Ethel; and, really, she needs
'taking down and shutting up,' as you say, now and then."
"I don't think the taking down and shutting up process is very good for
the one who performs it," remarked Mary Rose. "I know I am very apt to
get my conscience a little pinched in doing it."
"You! Oh, you are the rose without a thorn, we all know," said Ellen.
"You should never attempt to do anything sharp or savage. Margaret is
of another kind: she is a brier,—a sweet brier, if you like; but still
with plenty of 'prickers,' as the children say. Come, Maggy, are you
ready?"