Josephine was not used to the woods, and she did not know which way to
go to find the road. She had paid no heed to the path by which she had
reached the place where the leaves were obtained.
She had been so vexed and angry, because her companions would not let
her ride, that she had not even looked to see which way they went when
they left her.
She sat on a stump and cried till she was tired of crying, and till
she found it would not get her out of the woods. Then she got up, and
looked around her; but she could not tell in what direction the road
lay from her. She listened, and could hear no sound. It was plain that
Katy and Jenny had left her alone.
The solemn stillness of the forest awed her, and she was afraid to stay
there, with no human being near her. Once a cat-bird uttered a terrible
scream, and Josephine had nearly fainted with terror.
She thought it must be some awful monster to make such a hideous noise,
and as soon as she was able to do so, she ran away from the spot as
fast as her feet would carry her.
As she hastened through the bushes, and over the dry leaves, a
partridge, alarmed by her presence, rose from the ground, and flew
away, making a whirring noise with his wings that made Josephine scream
with terror.
The poor girl wandered about for two hours in the woods, till she was
so tired she could walk no longer. She thought of the Children in the
Woods, and others who had been left in the forest, and she was afraid
she should never see her friends again.
I think she was more frightened than hurt, for there was nothing in the
woods that was disposed to injure her. The cat-birds, the partridges,
and even the snakes, if there were any there, were more afraid of her
than she was of them. If they saw her, they would run away as fast as
they could.
Josephine sat down upon a log, and wished she had not been so angry and
stubborn. She even thought it was not fair of her to ask the girls to
draw her in the wagon.
While she was thinking of what she had done, and wondering what would
become of her, she heard footsteps in the distance, and presently one
of the boys shouted her name with all his might.
“Here I am,” replied Josephine, getting up and walking in the direction
from which the sound had come.
In a moment she saw Frank Lee; and pretty soon half a dozen of the boys
came up to the place.
“Where have you been, Josephine? We have been looking for you for more
than an hour.”
“I have been trying to find my way to the road.”
“You are ever so far from the road,” said Frank. “Why didn’t you go
back with the girls?”
“They wouldn’t let me ride on the wagon.”
“Wouldn’t they?” added her brother, who was one of the party. “That
was too bad, Josey, for you to ask them to drag you.”
“I was so tired that I did not feel able to walk,” replied Josephine,
who wanted to give the best excuse she could.
“We won’t stop to talk about it now,” added Frank. “Father and mother
have come, and you can tell them all about it, Josephine.”
The boys led the way back to the picnic grounds; but Josephine was so
tired she could hardly get back; and when she joined the party, she was
completely worn out by the fatigue and anxiety of her lonely walk.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Lee said any thing about the matter till they got
home. They came in the carryall, and Josephine rode back. The rest of
the children walked home, singing like larks all the way.
“You got lost in the woods,--did you, Josephine?” said Mrs. Lee, in the
evening.
“Yes, ma’am. Those rude girls left me alone, when they knew I could not
find the way back,” replied Josephine, who wished to make her side of
the question appear as well as she could.
“Is that the whole story, my child?” asked Mrs. Lee, with a smile.
“I wanted them to draw me in the wagon, and they wouldn’t.”
“Wasn’t that asking rather too much of them?”
“I don’t know but it was; but they needn’t have left me there all
alone.”
“What could they have done?”
“I think they needn’t have left me,” repeated Josephine, not very
pleasantly.
“You insisted on going with them, though they told you they were going
a long distance, and you would be very tired. I don’t think you can
reasonably blame them.”
“They knew I wasn’t used to the woods.”
“You told them that you wouldn’t go with them unless they drew you on
the wagon. You might have followed them without any difficulty.”
“I didn’t think they would leave me.”
“I don’t know what else they could do. You would not go with them; and
the least they could do was to let you have your own way.”
“I won’t go with them again,” pouted Josephine.
“They did not want you to go with them. It was only at Flora’s request
that they consented you should go. Josephine, you have got a bad habit,
which I hope you will cure before long.”
“A bad habit, ma’am?” said Josephine, looking up at Mrs. Lee, as though
she thought it very strange that she should have a bad habit.
“Yes, my child. I noticed it when you first came here. It has made you
very unpopular with your playmates. When I went to the picnic this
afternoon, I found that nearly all the girls were glad you had left
them. They all said Katy and Jenny had done just right in leaving you.”
“It was very rude of them,” said Josephine, beginning to cry. “I
haven’t done any thing to make them hate me so.”
“I hope they don’t _hate_ you, but they don’t like you. I do not wonder
that they don’t like you, either. You may call it rude, but the girls
can never like you while you try to make servants of them.”
“Why, Mrs. Lee!” exclaimed Josephine.
“You may be surprised, but I have seen you send Flora upon a dozen
errands in half an hour.”
“I have asked her to do something for me very often, perhaps; but I
only asked it as a favor.”
“One should not ask too many favors. Now let me give you a rule, which
I hope you will follow. _Never ask others to do for you what you can
just as well do yourself._ You will have to ask many favors of your
friends; and they will most cheerfully confer them, if you do not ask
too many.”
“The girls said I was always asking them to do something for me. But I
am sure I did not mean any thing wrong, and I will try to do better.”
“You are very polite to your playmates,” added Mrs. Lee; “and
politeness is a good thing in a little girl; but we should be sure
that it is true politeness, for there are two kinds.”
“I never knew there was more than one kind of politeness,” said
Josephine.
“There are two kinds: one which comes from a kind heart, and which
is a desire to promote the happiness of others. The other kind is
nothing but cunning--such as the fox practises when he wants to catch a
chicken. It is selfish--put on to make others do as you wish them to
do. I am afraid your politeness was somewhat of the latter kind.”
“I am glad to know it, and I will try to do better.”
And she did try to do better. Though she did not at first succeed, her
friends saw that she was trying to improve, and they were very kind and
very indulgent to her; so that before she returned to New York, she
was liked as well as any other little girl in Riverdale.
[Illustration]