GERTIE'S PENITENCE
GERTIE'S state of mind in the days which followed her act of deception
was miserable beyond description. Again and again her mother's words
seemed to ring in her ears:
"God, who sees the wrong, will one day set it right."
Ah! If only she had not yielded to the temptation.
The faithful voice of Conscience would not let her rest. It spoke to
her in the silences of the night, and upon awaking Gertie seemed to
hear again the still, small voice.
At last the little girl felt that she could bear it no longer, and
determined to confess it all to her mother.
Then, when the moment came, her courage oozed out of her finger-tips,
and she kept her own unhappy secret still locked in her bosom.
Poor Gertie at this time, was more to be pitied than even little Ella
herself. It so happened that on the day when Rupert purchased Marcia's
birthday present, Gertie chanced to come upon Ella in tears, over her
schoolwork, during the dinner hour.
"What's the matter?" she asked in a concerned voice.
"My head is aching so," replied the child, "I don't feel as if I could
learn anything."
"Let me help you," said Gertie, looking over her shoulder.
Ella's task was a returned lesson in geography.
"Oh if you only would, Gertie, I think I should soon know it."
Gertie then coached the little girl in her somewhat lengthy lesson,
and within the space of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the
difficulties were all surmounted.
"Thank you ever so much, Gertie," cried Ella, when her lesson was
perfectly learnt; "you are kind and good to me."
"Which is more than you deserve," said a girl who, in passing by,
chanced to hear the remark. "I wouldn't have anything to do with a
story-teller like you."
Ella's colour flushed into her cheeks, leaving her afterwards so white
that Gertie was frightened.
"Don't you mind what she says," whispered she; "disagreeable little
cat—that's what I call her!"
With this, Gertie glanced angrily at the retreating figure of the
offender.
But Ella was now sobbing bitterly. "Sometimes I think," said she, "I
can't bear it much longer."
Could Ella but have known it, her trouble was nearly at an end. That
same afternoon in school Gertie was strangely unlike herself. Several
times she glanced in Ella's direction, and to her imagination the child
she had so cruelly wronged, seemed as if she were slowly pining away.
She pictured her breaking down beneath the load of false accusation;
she even went further, and thought of her as cold and still in death.
"Mother and the rest would cover her little coffin with flowers," mused
she with a strangled sob; "but I couldn't put any there, because I gave
her only thorns in her lifetime."
At this juncture, to the surprise of everybody, Gertie Snowden leaned
her head on the desk, and burst into a passion of tears. Ella, for the
moment utterly forgetful of school discipline, went straight out of her
seat and asked her eagerly what was the matter.
"Aren't you well, Gertie?" she cried.
"What is it?"
Never before had Gertie been seen to cry in school and the effect was
electrical.
"Go to your seat, Ella," said Miss Merton in a dignified voice; "I'll
attend to Gertie."
"No, no, let her stay," sobbed Gertie, hysterically; "only Ella can do
me any good."
"Explain yourself," said the governess in bracing tones, for she had a
great objection to a scene.
"I can't bear it any longer, Miss Merton," faltered Gertie unhappily.
"Ella didn't use the Key at all. It was I who took it, and—and hid it
in her desk."
The miserable confession was out at last.
"Why did you wish to injure Ella Russell?" queried Miss Merton in her
coldest tone.
Ella almost hung upon Genie's answer.
"I didn't mean to injure her at all," sobbed the girl. "I put the book
in the nearest desk I could find, because I wanted to hide it in a
hurry."
Ella felt a tremendous throb of relief—relief in being cleared in the
eyes of her school-fellows, and also in knowing that Gertie had not
injured her in malice. Miss Merton was silent for a while, grieved to
the heart for having so misjudged one of her little pupils.
"Speak to me, Miss Merton," at last cried poor Gertie; "say you forgive
me."
"I think," replied the lady gravely, "it is for Ella to say that."
Then Ella, who had remained by Gertie's side, notwithstanding Miss
Merton's command, put her arms around the little girl's neck, and
kissed her before the whole class. At this spontaneous action more than
one pair of eyes grew moist and dim.
"Ella, are you sure you forgive me?" said Gertie, now utterly
repentant. "I've been so horrid to you, and now—"
"Now," interrupted Ella, tears standing in her own eyes, "you're as
brave as a lion."
Little else was said, but of this one thing Gertie Snowden was assured,
namely, Ella's full and complete forgiveness.
So touched was Dorothy Grey by the whole scene, that her slumbering
conscience awoke at last.
Rising to her feet, she said, her cheeks crimson with shame—
"Miss Merton, may I speak a minute?"
"Yes, Dorothy," came the answer; "what have you to say?"
"Please, Gertie isn't the only one who has used a Key for her
arithmetic—I have done so several times."
Poor Miss Merton looked grieved beyond measure.
"Girls, girls," she said, "how could you deceive me so?" The plaintive
note in her voice was rendered more effective by the tears of genuine
distress in her eyes. Then, recovering both her composure and her
dignity, she went on: "I shall not discuss the matter any further now;
the only thing I have to say is just this—in the name of myself, and
the whole school, I wish to apologize to Ella Russell for the false
accusation which has been laid to her charge. Ella,—" here she looked
kindly into her little pupil's face—"you have been brave and patient
under trial, my child, and no one is more truly glad than I am that
your name is cleared of all stain."
A short while after this, school broke up. As it befell that afternoon,
neither Kenneth or Rupert managed to catch the four-thirty train, and,
in consequence of this, Gertie and Marcia reached home first.
Mrs. Snowden was greatly concerned on seeing the two children arrive
with tearstained faces. Marcia, although she was not present when
Gertie confessed her wrongdoing, had heard all about it, and her loving
little heart was sore within her.
"My dear children," asked Mrs. Snowden, "what is the matter? Surely
nothing has happened to the boys!"
"No," said Marcia, "they just missed the train. We could see them
coming into the station as we started off."
"Oh well, there's another about twenty minutes later, so that's not a
serious matter."
As neither of the girls volunteered anything further, Mrs. Snowden
pressed inquiries. Then came out, with sobs and tears, the whole
unhappy story.
The mother's face grew grave and sorrowful as she listened, her
disappointment being almost too deep for words.
"Gertie," said she, at the close, "I would never have believed that a
child of mine could do such a thing, and I trusted you so implicitly.
Poor little Ella, how hard and cruel it has all been for her!"
Gertie sobbed again, her heaviest grief being that she had proved
unworthy of her mother's trust. Oh, the sting of it all Gertie felt
almost in despair.
"Mother," she cried, "it will just break my heart if you don't forgive
me."
Mrs. Snowden's arms were immediately outstretched, and, with her eyes
full of tears, she drew her sorrowful little daughter into her embrace.
"Dear child," said she tremulously, "there is One other of Whom you
must ask forgiveness; you know Whom I mean."
"Yes, mother," sobbed Gertie, "you mean God, don't you? I've been
asking Him in my heart, lots of times, but I don't feel somehow as if
He heard me."
"He always hears, Gertie, be sure of that," was the answer; "and for
your comfort, let me remind you, 'the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth
from all sin.'"
Then followed a quiet talk with mother, which neither Gertie or Marcia
were ever likely to forget.
Not very long afterwards the boys returned home, brimming over with
indignation at Gertie's dishonour.
Before making their way into the dining-room, they deposited the monkey
in the stables, giving the little creature a certain amount of freedom
on her chain.
As soon as they opened the dining-room door, they could see that
something serious was the matter.