AN ANNOUNCEMENT.
All the family at the cottage were awake at sunrise the next morning,
and there was an unusual bustle throughout the house. Mrs. Maxwell
was flying about with a duster in her hand, giving her orders to the
servants, and working twice as busily as any of them. The large room
opposite to Lucy's was open, and being put in thorough order. This
room had been occupied by Lucy's mother during her illness, and had
been kept closed since her death. It had always seemed a gloomy
place to the little girl; she had peeped in when the door chanced to
be open to air the apartment. Now it was undergoing an entire
change; the shutters, so long fastened, were thrown back, and muslin
curtains fluttered in the morning breeze; neat covers had been placed
on the dark bureau and table; and on the latter Mrs. Maxwell was
placing a large India work-box that had belonged to Mrs. Vale, and
which Lucy had not seen since she was a very little child.
Before going down to breakfast, she stepped in to see the pleasant
change more closely; she was startled by meeting a mild glance from a
sweet face on the wall. It was her mamma's portrait that looked thus
gently upon her, and she almost expected the kind face to bend down
to kiss her, as it had been wont to do when that dear mamma was
alive. Lucy had never seen this picture before, and she could not
help wondering where it had come from, and why it was placed there,
where none of the family could see it. Indeed, she was thoroughly
puzzled to understand what could be the cause of all this commotion
in the usually quiet house.
Mrs. Maxwell poured out coffee in silence, and Lucy asked no
questions; but before they rose from the table, Harty came bounding
into the room, crying, "Guess who is coming here, Lucy."
"Isn't it cousin Jack?" asked Lucy, almost sighing to think what a
life she should lead with the two boys to tease her.
"Guess again," said Harty; and she did guess all the aunts, cousins,
and friends that had ever been to make them a visit, but in vain.
When Harty had enjoyed her curiosity long enough, he said, "Well,
Miss Mouse" (a name he often called her), "sister Rosa is coming home
to live, and she is to tell us what to do, and be like a little
mother for us! That's what father told me."
Lucy did not know whether to be glad or sorry at this news; she had
not seen her sister for many years, and perhaps she might be afraid
of her, and perhaps Rosa might not care for such a little girl as
herself, even younger than Harty.
The excited boy was in a state of great delight, and he talked to
Lucy until she quite entered into his feelings. "Won't it be nice,"
he said, "to have Rosa at home? I shall offer her my arm when she
goes to church, and lead you with the other hand. I shall lend her
my 'Swiss Family Robinson;' I mean to put it in her room, that she
may read it whenever she pleases. But she need not attempt to make
me mind her, for I sha'n't do it; I am not going to have any girl set
over me!"
"Oh, fie! Harty!" said Lucy, "to speak so of sister Rosa before you
have seen her."
"Before I have seen her!" repeated Harty; "I remember her perfectly;
I have not forgotten how I used to play--she was my horse--and drive
her round the house; you were only a little baby then."
"Not so very little," answered Lucy, pettishly, for her brother had
made her feel as if it were a disgrace to be young.
While they were talking, Julia Staples called to walk with her to
school. Lucy soon told her all about her sister's expected return.
"I should not think you would like it!" said Julia; "she'll want the
nicest of everything for herself, and make you wait on her, as if you
were her servant."
Before they reached the school-house, Lucy was quite sure that Rosa's
coming would make her unhappy. Julia Staples had been talking with
little thought, but she had roused evil feelings in Lucy's mind which
were strangers there. She was not naturally envious, but now her
heart burned at the idea that her sister would always be praised, and
go out with her father, while she would be left at home with no one
to care for her. Children do not think enough of the harm they may
do each other by idle conversation. Julia might have encouraged Lucy
in feeling kindly towards her expected sister, and have made her look
forward to the meeting with pleasure; but she filled her mind with
wicked, envious thoughts.
Do my young friends ever think whether they have roused wrong
feelings in their companions? Two children can hardly talk together
for half an hour without having some influence over each other, for
good or for evil. The wrong thought that you have planted in the
heart of a child may strengthen, and lead her to do some very wicked
thing when you have forgotten the conversation.
A traveller once took some seeds of a very valuable plant with him on
a journey. From time to time he cast them in the fields as he
passed, and when he was far away they sprang up and were a great
blessing to the people who owned the fields. A wicked traveller
might have scattered the seeds of poisonous plants, which would have
grown up to bring sickness and death to all who partook of them. Our
life is like a journey, and whenever we talk with the people around
us, we cast some seeds in their hearts, those which may spring up to
bless them, or those which may cause them sin and sorrow.