THE MEDICINE.
The morning light streamed pleasantly into Lucy's pretty room, and
there was the little girl quite dressed, and moving about as busily
as Mrs. Maxwell herself. She had been up since the dew-drops began
to sparkle in the sunlight. She could not make up her mind to
confess her fault to her father or Mrs. Maxwell, but she was
determined to be so very good as to quite make up for it. In the
first place, she would put her room in order; that would please Mrs.
Maxwell.
With a tremendous effort she turned her little bed, and then spread
up the clothes with the greatest care. It was her first attempt in
that way, and not very successful, but she was quite satisfied with
it, and walked about surveying it as if it had been a masterpiece of
housewifery.
The doctor was again at the breakfast-table, and he was pleased to
see his little daughter looking so much more cheerful. Harty, as
usual, was in excellent spirits; but his father's rebuke was still
fresh in his mind, and he refrained from teasing his sister, and
contented himself with telling funny stories about school
occurrences, until even Mrs. Maxwell was forced to laugh.
As they rose from the table, Dr. Vale handed Lucy a small parcel,
saying, "Take good care of this, my dear, and leave it at Mrs.
Tappan's on your way to school; it is some medicine for her, which
she will need at ten o'clock. I have a long ride to take in another
direction, so good morning, my little mouse." Having kissed her
affectionately, he jumped into his chaise, and was soon out of sight.
Lucy was unusually happy when she started for school; Harty had not
teased her, Mrs. Maxwell had not found fault with her, and her father
had trusted her with something to do for him.
The summer sky was clear above her, and her feet made not a sound as
she tripped over the soft grass. The wild rose bushes offered her a
sweet bouquet, and she plucked a cluster of buds as she passed. In
the pleasure of that bright morning, Lucy forgot her good
resolutions. She did not think of her kind Heavenly Father while
enjoying His beautiful world. Fear alone brought Him to her mind:
she remembered Him in the storm, but forgot Him in the sunshine.
Lucy was soon at Mrs. Tappan's gate, and was raising the latch, when
the large house-dog came down the walk and stood directly in the way.
She thought he looked very fierce, and did not dare to pass him. She
walked on a short distance and then came back, hoping he would be
gone; but no, he had not moved an inch. While she was doubting what
to do, the school-bell rang; thrusting the parcel into her pocket,
she hurried on, saying to herself, "As it is so late, I am sure
father will not blame me."
She was hardly seated in school, however, before she began to be
troubled about what she had done. "Perhaps Mrs. Tappan was very
ill," she thought; the shutters were all closed, and her father had
called there twice the day before, and had already seen her that
morning. With such thoughts in her mind, of course Lucy did not
learn her lesson; although she held the book in her hand, and seemed
to have her eyes fixed upon it. When she was called up to recite,
she blundered, hesitated, and utterly failed. The tears now filled
her eyes. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it yet wanted a
quarter of ten.
"Please, Miss Parker, may I go home?" she asked.
"Are you unwell?" asked the teacher, kindly.
"No," murmured Lucy.
"Then go to your seat," said Miss Parker, a little sternly; "and
never ask me again to let you go home unless you have a good reason."
"I wouldn't mind her, she's as cross as she can be," whispered Julia
Staples, as she took her seat at Lucy's side.
Lucy knew Miss Parker was not cross, yet she felt a little comforted
by Julia's seeming interested in her trouble, and placed her hand in
hers under the desk, as if to thank her new friend; for Julia Staples
had seldom spoken to her before.
Wearily the hours of school passed away. At last the clock struck
one, and the children were dismissed. Lucy was hurrying off, when
Julia Staples called after her to wait, for she was going that way.
Lucy did not like to be disobliging, and therefore stood still until
her companion was quite ready.
"I hate school, don't you?" said Julia, as they walked along.
Now Lucy did not hate school, she generally found it very pleasant;
but she thought it would seem childish to say so to a large girl like
Julia Staples; so she answered, rather awkwardly, "Yes, I did not
like it to-day."
"I can't bear Miss Parker," continued Julia, "she's so partial; I
know you don't like her, from the way you looked at her this morning."
Lucy did like Miss Parker, for she had often drawn the little girl to
her side, and spoken very tenderly to her, more tenderly than any one
had done since her own mother's death, and she was therefore glad
that they came that moment to the road which led to Julia's home, for
there they must part.
"Good morning," said Julia, not waiting for an answer; "I shall call
for you to-morrow," and Lucy went on her way alone. She had been
almost led to speak unkindly of a person she really loved, because
she was afraid to say boldly what was in her mind.
As she came in sight of Mrs. Tappan's quiet house, she saw her father
coming out of the gate, looking thoughtfully on the ground. He did
not see her, and she had to run very fast to overtake him before he
got into his chaise.
"Father! dear father!" she said, "do stop a minute; is Mrs. Tappan
very ill? Do not be angry with me, here is the medicine."
The doctor looked quite serious while Lucy told him of her fright in
the morning, and her sorrow after she reached school at not having
delivered the medicine. The dreaded dog was standing within the gate
while they were talking without; the doctor called him and made Lucy
look into his mild eye and pat him gently. "You see, my dear," said
the father, as the hand of the little girl rested on the head of the
quiet animal, "that you need not have been afraid of Rover. You
should have remembered that in not delivering the medicine you might
be doing more harm to another than the dog would have done to you.
Even after you were at school, all might have been well if you had
had the courage to tell the whole truth to your teacher; she would
certainly have excused you. I cannot say what will be the
consequence of your foolish timidity. Mrs. Tappan is very ill!"
As her father spoke these words, Lucy's tears fell fast. Not another
syllable was spoken until they reached home. Harty came out to meet
them, calling out to his sister, "Are those red eyes the sign of bad
lessons?" She made him no reply, but hastened to her room to think
on her own folly, and poor Mrs. Tappan.
It was a long afternoon to the little girl; her dinner was sent to
her, and she remained alone until dark. This was the day which had
commenced so pleasantly, and in which Lucy had intended to please
everybody. Alas! the poor child had not asked God's help to enable
her to do her duty, nor had she been faithful in her own exertions.
When the tea-bell rang, she hastened down stairs, hoping to hear from
her father good news about Mrs. Tappan, but he did not appear. Harty
seeing his sister look so unhappy, forbore to tease her, and the meal
passed over in silence. Eight o'clock came, and Mrs. Maxwell gave
Lucy her light, and told her to go to bed. She did not dare to ask
to sit up a little longer, for she knew the request would not be
granted. Feeling like a criminal, the little girl went to her
room--that pretty room, how many unhappy hours she had passed there!
but none more wretched than on that evening.
In vain she tried to sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, the form
of the sick woman would rise before her, and she could almost fancy
she heard her groans. Nine o'clock struck, and ten, yet Lucy was
awake. About eleven she heard the street-door open; then there was a
careful step upon the stairs, and some one moved towards the doctor's
room. She was out of bed in an instant, and hastening towards the
door. It was locked as usual, and before she could open it, her
father had passed. She almost flew along the passage, and sought his
arm as he was entering his room. He clasped her to his breast and
kissed her tenderly, saying at the same time, what she so much wished
to hear, "Thank God, Mrs. Tappan is out of danger. You ought to be
very grateful," he continued, "my dear child, that your fault has led
to no evil; I trust that this will teach you not to let childish
fears lead you to neglect your duty!" Much relieved she returned to
her own room, but no thanks were uplifted from her young heart to Him
who had been pleased to spare the stroke of death.