XIII.

_AND LAST OF THE SUNBEAMS._

HOW long she stayed there she did not know, now crying, now ceasing,

and crouched there in a kind of dumb remorse and misery which would

have been a severe punishment for even a worse fault than that of which

she had been guilty. She wanted to come out and learn what was going

on downstairs, and yet she did not dare to: she felt as if she could

not bear to see that look upon mamma's face again. Then she would shed

more bitter tears. She imagined and wondered over many things. If mamma

died and went to heaven, would she know what she had done, and be so

grieved and displeased at her unkindness that she would love her no

longer? Were people in heaven ever troubled about the naughty things

their loved ones did or had done upon the earth?

So she sat all in a heap, behind the old chairs and tables, perplexing

her poor little brain, and racking her heart with all kind of imaginary

consequences to this morning's occurrence. By and by she heard the

servants calling her, but would not answer; then her father's voice,

but now she believed that he must know all; "it had come out in some

way," and she was afraid to face him and did not stir. Ruth opened the

door at the foot of the garret stairs and called her name, even came up

and looked about the open space, but did not see Carrie crouched in her

far corner, and the little girl never stirred till she was gone.

Next she heard Nellie calling her from the garden below, her voice

troubled and anxious.

"Carrie," she said, "Carrie, dear! where are you? Do answer if you can

hear me. Mamma is growing so troubled because we can't find you."

Here was a scrap of comfort. Mamma was at least alive enough to inquire

for, and be anxious about her. She crept to the window and looked down

to where Nellie stood, calling still, and turning her eyes in every

direction.

"Here I am, Nellie, I'll come down," she answered, ran down the stairs,

opened the door, and then, her courage failing her once more, stood

still and peeped out.

Papa stood at the door of mamma's room, and saw her at once. A pale,

tear-stained, miserable little face it was that met his eye, and

stirred his pity.

"My poor little woman!" he said, holding out his hand to her: "why, how

woe-begone you look. Have you been hiding because you were frightened

about mamma? That was not worth while, and mamma has been asking for

you, and every one looking for you this ever so long. Come and see

mamma, she is better now, and looks like herself again."

Carrie came forward, still with hesitating steps and hanging head; and

her father, taking her hand, led her into mamma's room.

Mrs. Ransom lay upon the sofa, looking very white still, but with a

smile upon her lips, and her eyes bright and life-like as usual; and

the timid glance which Carrie gave to her mother's face reassured her

very much.

Still she felt so guilty and conscious, such a longing to confess all,

and yet so ashamed and afraid to do it, that her manner remained as

confused and downcast as ever.

Nellie stood behind her mother, leaning over the head of the couch,

and looking troubled and anxious, but her face brightened when she saw

Carrie.

Daisy, with the most solemn of faces, was seated in a little chair

at mamma's feet, gazing silently at the pages of "Baxter's Saint's

Rest," held upside down. Not one word could Daisy read, she barely

knew her letters; but she had found Baxter in the little rack which

held mamma's books of devotional reading, her "prayers books," Daisy

called them; and believing any work she found there must be suitable

to the day, and the state of mind she considered it proper to maintain

while mamma was ill, she had possessed herself of it, and was now fully

persuaded that she was deriving great benefit from the contents thereof.

"So you ran away from mamma," said Mrs. Ransom, caressing Carrie's hand

as she buried her face in the sofa-pillows beside her mother's. "Did

she frighten you so? What a poor foolish mamma it is to be so startled

at such a harmless little thing as a mouse, is it not, dearie? I hope I

should not have been quite so foolish if I had been well and strong. My

poor Carrie!"

Worse and worse! Here was mamma blaming herself and pitying her! She

could say nothing, only nestle closer to her mother, and try to keep

back the sobs which were struggling to find way.

Mrs. Ransom was quite well again by afternoon, and able to join the

family at the dinner-table; but although the spirits of the other

children rose with her recovery, Carrie still continued dull and

dispirited.

She accompanied her father and Nellie to church in the afternoon.

Happening to turn his eyes towards her during the service, Mr. Ransom

saw her leaning her head listlessly against the back of the pew, while

her lips were quivering and tears slowly coursing one another down

her cheeks. He wondered what could cause it. There was nothing in the

sermon to touch her feelings, indeed she probably did not understand

one word of it. He drew her towards him, and passing his arm about her

let her rest her head against his shoulder where she cried quietly for

a few moments, and then, as if this had relieved her, dried her eyes

and sat up.

Carrie had taken a resolution, and the very taking of it had done her

good, and made her feel less guilty and unhappy. Papa was so kind and

good that she began to think that after all perhaps it would not be so

very hard to tell him all, and confess how naughty she had been. Even

if he punished her very much, the punishment could not be worse to bear

than this, she thought. She would tell him as soon as they reached

home, and she could find an opportunity to talk to him alone.

But alas for poor Carrie's hopes of unburdening her mind at once! On

the way home from church a gentleman joined her father and went to the

house with him, came in, stayed to tea, and actually remained all the

evening, even long after her bedtime and Nellie's.

Nor was this the last drop in Carrie's cup.

Daisy met them at the gate when they returned from church, brimming

over with excitement, which was speedily taken down when the strange

gentleman, laying his hand on her little round head, turned to her

father and said,--

"Your youngest son, Mr. Ransom?"

"My daughter,--another little daughter," said Mr. Ransom, quickly,

knowing Daisy's sensitiveness on this point; but the wound was given

past recall, and the stranger was henceforth looked upon as a man

capable of breaking any and every commandment among the ten.

"I s'pect that man never ermembers the Sabbaf day to keep it holy;

and I don't b'lieve he ever says his p'ayers," said Daisy, severely,

regarding him with an air of great offence as he walked on with her

father to the house.

"I think he does. I believe he's a very nice gentleman," said Nellie,

much amused.

"No, I fink not," said Daisy, decidedly. "I b'ieve he slaps his wife

fee times ev'y day. He has the look of it."

Nellie laughed outright.

"He hasn't any wife," she said.

"He'd do it if he had one then," persisted Daisy, who, in general the

most forgiving and soft-hearted of little mortals, could not overlook

the offence of the visitor, "'cause he calls people sons. Augh! People

that slap their wives so much that they kill 'em have to be took to

prison," she added reflectively, and as if she found some consolation

in the thought. "Hannah told me so. She knew a man that was."

"Hannah had no business to tell you such stories as that," said Nellie.

"Mamma wouldn't like it at all, Daisy."

"Then I'll tell her she mustn't do it," said Daisy; "but, Nellie, do

people that kill mice have to be took to prison?"

"No," said Nellie, "mice are very troublesome and mischievous, so it is

not wrong to kill them. But it would be very wicked to tease them or

hurt them more than we can help."

"I'm glad of that," said Daisy, "'cause I wouldn't like you and Carrie

to go to prison."

"No, I should think not," said Nellie, "but Carrie and I did not kill a

mouse."

"Oh, yes! you did," said Daisy, "least you squeezed him up in the bed

so he had to kill hisse'f afterwards."

"O Daisy!" said Nellie.

"It's the truf," answered Daisy, as one who knows. "Hannah found him

'most dead in your bed this morning, 'tween the mattresses, and she

said you must have put him there last night, but you didn't know it,

and afterwards he killed hisse'f about it. I saw him when he was dead,

and going to be frowed away."

Nellie shuddered, the thought was very painful to her that the mouse

should have come to his death in such a way; but Carrie felt worse

still, and turning round and resting her arm upon the back of a rustic

chair which stood beneath a tree, she laid her head upon it, and cried

as she had done in the morning when she was hiding in the garret.

Nellie comforted her as well as she could, but Carrie was hard to

be consoled; and felt as if she was never to hear the last of those

unlucky mice, and the consequences of her own naughtiness.

Mr. Ransom sat up late that night, long after his visitor had left,

and the family gone to rest. All his little children he supposed to

be long since fast asleep; and he was just preparing to turn out the

lights and go upstairs himself, when a slight sound in the hall without

attracted his attention. The patter of small bare feet it sounded like,

and the patter of small bare feet it was, as he was assured a moment

later when a little white-clad figure presented itself at the open

door, and looked wistfully at him with pitiful, beseeching eyes.

"Carrie! my child! are you ill? What is wrong?" he asked in much

surprise.

"No, papa, not ill, but,--but"--Tears choked her voice, the little feet

ran over the floor, and she had clambered upon his knee, and with her

face hidden in his bosom sobbed out her confession.

"I've been awake so long, papa," she said, "and I thought I never could

go to sleep till I had told you, and I could not wait till morning, so

I came out of my bed down here to find you. Oh! please forgive me, and

do you think mamma can ever forgive me for being so cruel to her, and

trying to think it was all nonsense about her being so afraid of mice?

And then to think that poor little mouse was killed just for me! Nellie

and I never knew he was there when we turned the bed over, but he

wouldn't have been in our room if I had not brought the mice upstairs;

and now Ruth says she don't know when we'll be rid of them, and mamma

will be troubled and frightened with them for ever so long. And Nellie

and Daisy have been real helps to mamma, and I talked so much about

helping her too, but I've only been a bother and trouble to her, and

never did a thing for her after all."

All this, and much more, the sorrowful little penitent poured into her

father's ear.

Mr. Ransom had no mind to punish or scold her: he saw that she was

already sufficiently punished by the remorse and anxiety she had

brought upon herself, and he thought that this was likely to prove

a lasting lesson to her. Besides, the thing was quite a new offence

of its kind; for Carrie was generally not only obedient, but also

regardful of what she believed to be her mother's wishes, whether

expressed or not; and he did not desire to be hard with her now that

she saw her fault so plainly, and was in such a humble, repentant frame

of mind.

So although he talked seriously to her, he did so very kindly and

quietly,--poor Carrie thought she had never known her father so

kind,--nor did he talk very long that night, but soon carried her up

to bed in his arms, quite soothed and comforted; and so great was the

relief of the confession, that the poor little weary head was scarcely

on the pillow before she was fast asleep.

No sooner were she and Nellie awake in the morning than she told her

sister the whole story, feeling that she could no longer keep the

secret from her, but making her promise not to tell the boys, lest they

should tease her, which Carrie felt she could not bear.

The hardest of all was yet to come, the confession to her dear, gentle,

tender mother. Mamma would look so surprised and grieved, would be so

shocked to think she could be so cruelly thoughtless.

But it was gone through with bravely, not very steadily it is true, for

Carrie's voice failed her more than once, but she did not attempt to

hide or excuse any thing.

And oh! how much lighter her heart was when it was over, and mamma knew

the worst.

Perhaps Mrs. Ransom was not as much surprised as Carrie had expected

she would be: it may be that she was prepared to hear the story which

Carrie had believed would shock and distress her so much; and the

readiness with which she granted her forgiveness but made her little

daughter feel all the more repentant for having been so heedless of her

comfort.

It was a healing repentance now, though, with the sting and bitterness

gone from it; and Carrie felt as if she should never be fretful and

cross again; no, not even with Ruth She would try to be so helpful,

so considerate and good now, she thought; but she would make no "fuss"

about it, or talk as though she meant to do such very fine things, only

to fail after all perhaps.

Nellie and Daisy had said and promised far less than she had done, but

their actions had spoken for them.

"What is that you are doing, Nellie?" she asked, when all the little

housekeeping tasks accomplished, her reading and practising finished,

Nellie brought her workbox and sat down to sew. "Why! those are the

slippers mamma was going to work for Johnny, are they not?"

"Yes," said Nellie.

"And are you going to help her with them?"

"I am going to work them all," answered Nellie. "Mamma began them, but

she found it tired her eyes, and she was anxious that Johnny should not

be disappointed, so I told her I would work them."

Carrie sat a moment silent.

"And I suppose," she said at length, "that that was the reason you said

you would not have time to make the bracket for mamma?"

"Yes," said Nellie, quietly.

"O Nellie!" said Carrie, "how much better you are than I am. You are a

real, true help to mamma: you think of and you do what is really useful

to her, but you don't talk about doing such great things. And Daisy,

too; when I think about her giving up her white mice that she really

had a right to keep, 'cause mamma said she could, I do feel too ashamed

and mean for any thing. Nellie,"--after another little thoughtful

pause,--"do you think a good way to show mamma how sorry I am would be

to spend all my saved-up money for mouse-traps?"

"Well, no, I don't," said Nellie. "I do not think that would do any

good, for papa has bought several this morning; and there is one set

in every room in the house, so that we hope the mice will soon all be

caught."

"Then what can I do to show mamma how sorry I am?" asked Carrie.

"I think mamma knows it already, dear; and the best way is just to be

careful to think about what she would like, and then to be very sure

to do it;--and--and I think one good way would be not to quarrel with

Ruth, and not to make trouble in the nursery."

"Ruth is so hateful," murmured Carrie.

"I don't think Ruth would be cross to you if you would be a little more

patient and good in the nursery," said Nellie. "You know, Carrie, dear,

how often poor mamma has to go to the nursery to make peace, or to take

the baby, because you will not wait for what you want, or will not

stand quiet to be dressed, or something like that."

"Yes," owned Carrie, half reluctantly, "and Ruth never does be cross

to you or Daisy; and when I am good she is pretty decent. But, Nellie,

such things as that do not seem like a real help."

"But they _are_ the best help: mamma says so, and I've found it out

for myself, Carrie," said Nellie.

"Nellie, would you ever have believed that I could do such a thing as

to keep those mice?"

"I was surprised when you told me," answered her sister, "but I was

just thinking, Carrie, that it was really not so very much worse than

the way I behaved while I was studying so much and tiring myself out

over those 'Bible subjects.' I think I was horrid to mamma and to all

of you then."

"Yes, you were," said tactless Carrie.

"I was thinking so much more about being wise and knowing a great deal

than about being good and a help to mamma," continued Nellie, not

offended, though she had winced a little at Carrie's plain speaking,

"that it seems to me now that I was almost as naughty as--as"--

"As I was to keep the mice?" said Carrie.

"Yes, as you were to keep the mice. I don't think I thought any more

about mamma than you did, and I know several times I made a good deal

of trouble for her which might have been helped if I had been more

careful."

"You've quite given up your Bible subjects, haven't you?" asked Carrie.

"Yes, I made up my mind to be contented with those I had. They would

show Miss Ashton I had thought of what she said, but I know she would

think it was right for me to leave them. I've made up my mind too,

Carrie, not to be so very anxious about my books and studies."

Here Daisy came running up to them.

"Nellie, what'll make me grow very fast?"

"I don't know," said Nellie: "what do you want to grow very fast for?"

"So I can have a birdie," said Daisy. "Papa said I was too little now,

least he said he would give me one when I was bigger. If I was to plant

myse'f and then pour water on my foots like they do on the flowers'

foots, then wouldn't I grow pretty fast?"

"No," said Nellie, "you'd only be all wet and muddy, and then you'd be

sick."

Daisy sighed.

"Oh, I do want a birdie so," she said. "I'd love my birdie more'n my

white mice; oh! a great deal more. Nellie, if I was a birdie, or a

white mouse, would you love me the most?"

"I'd love you whatever you were," said Nellie, turning to kiss the

sweet, dimpled cheek beside her: "I couldn't help it."

"If I was an ugly bug crawling about, would you love me?" questioned

Daisy.

Nellie laughed.

"Yes, I'd try to," she answered.

"Nellie, if I was that ugly bug crawling about, would you smash me?"

"Not if you were not doing any harm," said Nellie. "That would be

cruel."

"I'm glad," said Daisy, with unmistakable signs of relief in the

assurance. "I wouldn't like my sister to smash me even if I was a bug.

Nellie, mamma said God sometimes made people sorry 'cause He thought

it was good for 'em to make 'em better: does He send bugs and spiders

'cause it is good for 'em too, and birdies just to make 'em glad?"

Daisy's questions were sometimes quite beyond Nellie's powers of

answering: indeed they often puzzled older and wiser people. But she

tried to explain to her little sister that even bugs and spiders were

made for some good purpose; and after this Daisy looked with more

respect upon those obnoxious creatures, and was even upon one occasion

heard to say,--

"Good, little, very ugly spider, maybe God has some work for you to do,

so I won't smash you, but let you do it."

While Nellie was talking to Daisy, Carrie rose and went in search of

her father. She found him in the library.

"Papa," she said, going close to him, "I think I ought to ask you to

give my bird to Daisy. She deserves it a great deal more than I do for

giving up her white mice, and I do not think I ought to have it. Nellie

will take care of it for her, and she does want a bird so much."

Mr. Ransom lifted her upon his knee.

"You really think this, Carrie? You really wish that Daisy should have

your bird?"

"Yes, papa, it really seems the most right for her to have it. I

thought so ever since you brought the birds home and she wanted one so

much, but I felt as if I could not tell you to give her mine; but now I

think I would feel better if you let her have it instead of me."

"Do as you please, my dear child," said her father, kissing her. "Daisy

certainly does deserve a reward for her self-sacrifice."

To describe Daisy's delight when Carrie took her up stairs, and leading

her up to the bird said that it was hers, would be quite impossible.

"Are you sure you don't mind, Carrie? Would you just as lieve I'd

have him, for my own?" she exclaimed. "Oh! I am so glad, so glad!

When I have a camel wif two humps on his back, I'll give him to you,

Carrie,--I really will."

The bird was henceforth called Daisy's, but I believe that he afforded

quite as much satisfaction to the former little owner as he did to the

present one; for she had the care of him as much as if she had kept him

for her own; and it was thought best that he should still hang in her

room so that he might not be separated from Nellie's bird.

* * * * *

And now good-by to my "Little Sunbeams." If they have shed light in any

shady places, brightened any youthful eyes, or cheered any innocent

hearts; if they have poured even the faintest ray upon the safe and

narrow path which leadeth upward to Eternal Light,--the recompense is

great; and may the blessing of the Master go with them, and prosper

them, it may be, for His glory.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation errors repaired.