"THERE comes Prinkie!" and the girls in Miss Winthrop's class made
room for the new-comer. This was a rosy-cheeked girl with sparkling
black eyes and, what the girls noticed particularly, a new hat. Prinkie
Brown, as they called her, reveled in new hats. She had a new one for
Thanksgiving, another for Christmas, one when her mother came from
New York, and now at Easter she was out in still another! Old Mrs.
Brown was wont to say: "Prinkie is chock full of vanity and ought not
to be indulged in her love of fine clothes;" but Mr. Brown was a rich
man, and seldom refused to gratify any desire or whim of either wife
or daughter, and so Prinkie had new hats and dresses to her heart's
content. No, I am mistaken.
When did new hats or new dresses ever give any one a contented heart?
True, to look into the young girl's face you might think she was very
happy; but her happiness was short-lived. A whisper reached her ears.
"Did you ever see such a vain girl?" said Ella Clark to the girl next
to her.
"No; Prinkie grows more like a peacock every day. I don't believe she
ever thinks of anything beyond new clothes."
"Now you watch her. When Miss Winthrop asks her a question she simpers
and looks down at her gloves and smooths her laces as if she thought
those things were the most important."
"I suppose she does think _just that_!"
Now Prinkie did not hear all of this, but she caught enough of it to
understand the drift of the talk, and she was angry and mortified.
"Like a peacock," indeed! Was a girl to be called names because she had
a new hat? When would one wear new clothes if not on Easter Sunday?
Was not the church and Sunday-school room tastefully decorated? It was
real mean of those girls to spoil her enjoyment of her new hat by such
ill-natured remarks. True she had not been quite satisfied. Her gloves
were not an exact match for the hat, and she had pouted a little that
morning over the fact, and grandma had vexed her by saying "Mary"--her
real name is Mary--"Mary, I am afraid that in dressing for the day you
are thinking more of yourself and too little of the meaning of Easter."
Was it true, as they all seemed to think, that she thought of nothing
else than her clothes? What was the superintendent saying: "Let us not
lose sight of the event we celebrate to-day. We would be miserable
indeed were it not for this most glorious truth that our Christ is
not a dead Christ, but a living Saviour. And in our admiration and
enjoyment of these decorations, these floral offerings which you have
brought, in these symbols let us not forget what we symbolize. The
resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord is our theme; let us sing with
joyful voice:
Hail, all hail, victorious Lord and Saviour,
Thou hast burst the bonds of death!"
Prinkie sang with the rest, and only Miss Winthrop noticed the troubled
expression which rested upon the young girl's face. Miss Winthrop was
very much troubled about her class; they were girls from twelve to
fifteen years old. Some of them were church members, but nearly all
seemed given over to frivolity. During the winter just passed there
had been some religious interest in other classes in the school, yet
these girls, absorbed in school, children's parties, and dress, had
frittered the time away, and, so far as their teacher could see, had
made little progress in the divine life. She had come before them this
Easter morning with a heavily burdened heart. She had prayed that they
might awaken to a newness of life, that the Easter lessons might sink
into their hearts, that the shackles of sin and frivolity which held
them might be broken, that they might henceforth abound in the fruits
of righteousness. And now as she listened to their chatter and noticed
their enjoyment of their fluttering ribbons, and heard the light tinkle
of their bangles, she sighed over the apparent failure of her hopes
for them. She turned towards them at the beginning of the lesson-hour,
saying:
"Girls, we ought to be very bright and happy this morning, else we
should be very sad. If we have a part in this rejoicing, if it is
_our_ Saviour of whom we sing 'The Lord is risen indeed' then we have
a right to be glad. If He who is risen is one whom we have rejected,
then we have no call to rejoice; why should we care? Some of us have
professed to be his friends, and the nearer we have been living to him,
the more faithful to our vows we have been, the more precious He is to
our hearts, the more we may rejoice in the truth of the resurrection.
Whether we have hitherto been living for Christ or not, this is a good
time to begin anew. 'Like as Christ was raised up from the dead, even
so we also should walk in newness of life.' Let us put away old things
that have been hindering us and serve in newness of spirit. Let this be
a real true Easter to every one of us." There was more of that earnest
talk and it seemed to sink into the hearts of those who heard it. I can
only tell you how one acted upon the lessons of the day. The hardest
lesson had been the whispered words which she overheard; but the tender
pleading of Miss Winthrop had softened her and she walked homeward
alone, having turned away from the fluttering group. She was thinking:
"The girls call me vain--and say I am like a peacock, and Miss Winthrop
is sad over me, and all for the same reason. I don't like to have the
girls talk about me, and I don't like to have Miss Winthrop sad; I
wonder if I am such a giddy girl! I suppose it is true; I do think too
much of dress. I suppose I might look nice without thinking so much
about it and without showing that I do. Miss Winthrop talked about
newness of life--I wish I could be made over all new. Then I wouldn't
be Mary Brown. Yes, I might; I am _Prinkie_ Brown now. I won't be
called Prinkie any more. I'll be Mary, and I will live for something
better than dress."
"Prinkie," called Mrs. Brown as the young girl came down stairs after
putting away the new hat which had become less precious.
"Mamma, please do not call me that any more. And will you please not
let any one else call me so? I hate the name and I am going to be Mary
Brown after this."
Mary could not tell her mother that she had resolved to "walk in
newness of life," for Mrs. Brown was not a religious woman, and the
child felt that she would not understand her. But to her grandmother
she said as she lingered in her room at evening:
"Grandmamma, this has been a true Easter to me!"
This was a year ago, and Mary Brown still wears new hats, from time
to time, and still dresses as seems to befit the daughter of a man of
wealth, but no one calls her "Prinkie." No one would think of comparing
her to a peacock; for she walks in newness of life; every Sabbath is to
her a glad Easter.