_CONSEQUENCES._
FANNY had only just come down stairs after washing her hands when Oney
came out of the milkroom with a very disturbed face.
"Did you see anybody about before you went away, Fanny?" she asked.
"No. Why?"
"Because somebody has been here, and some not very honest body,
either," answered Oney. "The pie I set on the milk-shelf is gone, plate
and all, and a card of gingerbread beside."
"That is queer," said Mrs. Lilly; "nobody could get into the milkroom,
because I had the key in my pocket all the time. I think you must be
mistaken, Oney. How many pies did you bake?"
"Only two; one we had for dinner and the other I set on the milk-shelf
before I went out."
"But nobody could have taken it, Oney, because the door was locked and
no one could get in without the key," argued Mrs. Lilly. "Are you sure
you baked two pies?"
"Now, Mrs. Lilly, don't you think I know?" asked Oney, who did not
quite like being called in question. "Didn't you say yourself that the
pie on the grate was rather overdone, and that I had better heat the
brick oven next time?"
"Very true; so I did," replied Mrs. Lilly. "Let me take a look."
She went into the milkroom, and Oney and Fanny followed her, Fanny
thinking it would look odd if she stayed behind.
"The pie stood just here," said Oney, marking the place, "and the
gingerbread here. I meant to set them up in the cupboard, but I forgot
it. And it is so odd that nothing else is gone. The loaf of cake is not
touched nor any of the cheeses."
"The pie and gingerbread were taken from the outside," said Mrs. Lilly,
who had been using her eyes while Oney was talking. "Don't you see the
crumbs here on the shelf, and the juice of the pie spilled on the edge
of the slat? Somebody has turned the slats and put his hand through,
and that accounts for nothing else being taken. See, here is a piece of
gingerbread in the milk."
"How sorry I am I went away!" said Fanny, speaking quite naturally,
for, I regret to say, she was no novice in the art of telling lies.
"Why, yes, it is a pity, though I don't know exactly what good you
would have done," said Mrs. Lilly.
"Probably if the thief had seen anybody about, he would not have
touched the things," said Oney. "The wonder is that, seeing the doors
all open, he did not enter the house."
"Perhaps that was the very thing that kept him out," remarked Fanny.
"He might think that nobody would leave the house in that way. But,
grandma, I am sure I shut the door, and I will tell you how I know:
because I came back and opened it again to let the cat go in to her
kittens."
"I noticed the open door the minute we came in sight of the house,"
said Oney. "Who could it have been? Do you suppose Willy could have
meddled with them?"
"Dear me, no! I hope not," said Mrs. Lilly, looking startled. "Willy
has been such a good boy lately, I should be sorry to think of his
going back to his old tricks."
"Besides, he has been away all day," remarked Fanny.
"He was down at the barn when we came home, for I heard him singing,"
said Oney. "Here he comes now. Willy, have you been here before to-day?"
Oney tried to speak just as usual, but of course she did not quite
succeed.
Willy was conscious of something peculiar in her manner, and blushed up
to the roots of his hair. "Yes, I came up to get the milk-pails, but
the door was locked," said he. "Why?"
"Some things have been taken from the milkroom—a pie and some
gingerbread," said Mrs. Lilly, adding, kindly, "but you need not look
so distressed. Nobody suspects you."
But Oney was not quite satisfied. The truth was that she had begun with
a little prejudice against Willy because Mrs. Lilly had taken him from
the poorhouse, and besides that, on his first coming to live at the
farm, Willy had now and then been caught helping himself to sugar and
cake, and such matters.
"How long have you been back from the village, Willy?" she asked.
"I don't know; I should think about an hour," replied Willy.
"And what have you been doing all that time?"
"I drove up the cows, and then I came to get the pails, but the door
was locked. So I went down to the barn and did up my other chores."
"Then you didn't come into the house at all, except to get the pails?"
"Why, yes, I went up to my room to change my clothes and put away my
books."
"And you didn't see anybody about?"
"No, of course not. I didn't go round any, only right up stairs and
down again," said Willy, colouring more deeply than before. "Yes, I
know what you think, Oney. You think I got the things, but you are
mistaken; I never touched them. Come now, Oney," he added, in a quieter
tone and smiling; "it isn't fair to put everything on me because my
father wasn't very respectable. You wouldn't like to have me accuse you
of killing Deacon Crane's sheep because your father and grandfather
used to take scalps, would you?"
Oney laughed: "That's so, Willy; I don't believe you had anything to do
with the theft. But the question is, who had?"
"Well, we won't talk about it any more, or let it spoil our Sunday,"
said Mrs. Lilly. "Come, Oney, let us have our supper, for I am sure
we are all ready for it, especially the children. Wash your hands and
face, Willy, and we will sit down."
When Fanny had first come to the farm, her dignity had been very much
hurt by thus sitting down with Oney and Willy at the same table. She
had spoken to her grandmother about it, but Mrs. Lilly only smiled, and
said it had always been her habit ever since she kept house, and she
thought Fanny would have to get used to it.
"But I am not used to it," said Fanny, loftily, "and I don't think my
father would like it at all. He is one of the richest men in Boston,
and my mother belongs to one of the very first families."
"Don't be a goose, child. Your father and Oney were brought up
together, and as for your mother, she knew all my ways before she sent
you here. And when she comes to visit me, she always conforms to them,
whereby she shows her real good breeding. What is good enough for her
is good enough for you."
That was all the satisfaction Fanny could get from her grandmother. She
consoled herself with thinking that, after all, Oney was not a common
servant, and that none of her fine friends need know anything about the
matter.
After tea was over, Mrs. Lilly sat down in the door to enjoy the
beautiful summer evening. Fanny sat on the step at her feet, and by and
by Willy came and joined them.
"How do you like your new teacher, Willy?" asked Mrs. Lilly.
"Oh, ever so much," replied Willy, warmly. "Only think! He has been
to Jerusalem and to the Sea of Galilee—to the very places. He told us
to-day how he and a Scotch gentleman hired a boat and went out fishing
at night just like the apostles—to see how it would seem, you know. And
he described the places to us, and said he would show us some pictures
of them—I forget the name—the kind you look at through a glass, you
know."
"Stereoscopic pictures," said Mrs. Lilly. "Mr. Brandon has been a great
traveller."
"And he has seen the Dead Sea and Mount Sinai and Nazareth and
Bethlehem," continued Willy, with enthusiasm.
"I don't believe it," said Fanny. "There are no such places now as
Nazareth and Bethlehem and those places in the Bible; are there,
grandma?"
"Why!" exclaimed Willy. "Why, Fanny!"
"To be sure there are, child," said Mrs. Lilly; "didn't you know that?
Jerusalem is still a city, though not like what it used to be, and so
are Nazareth and Bethlehem. Thousands of people go from all over the
world to visit them every year. I will find you a book of travels which
tells all about them. I must ask Mr. Brandon to show me his pictures. I
should like to see them very much."
"It would make the story seem very real if one could see all the places
with one's own eyes," remarked Oney. "I am something like Fanny in
that. I find it rather hard to believe that there is such a place as
Jerusalem, where people are living and going about at this minute."
"I don't suppose they are going about much just now," remarked Willy;
"I suppose it is about the middle of the night there. That seems
strange, too, doesn't it, Fanny?"
Fanny did not answer. She was very much ashamed to have exposed
her ignorance before Oney and Willy. For the ignorance itself she
did not care. As they sat in silence for a few minutes, looking
over the fields, they saw a small, active figure come down from the
mountain-side and cross the pasture.
"There goes Sarah Leyman," said Willy. "What a queer thing she is,
anyhow! I dare say she has been roaming over the mountains all day
long."
"Maybe it was Sarah that helped herself to the pie," remarked Oney.
"Possibly, though I don't like to think so," replied Mrs. Lilly.
"She is none too good for it, or her father either," said Oney.
"Poor thing! She has not had any great chance in her life," said Mrs.
Lilly, sighing.
"Well, I don't know," remarked Oney. "To be sure, her father is a
downright wicked man and does not believe in anything, but her aunt
Sally, that she was named for, was an excellent woman. And think how
many people have tried to make Sarah go to Sunday-school!"
"Yes, but there is the example at home all the time, Oney. And then she
has always been used to such a roving, out-of-door life that I suppose
she would really find it hard to settle down. It is a pity, for she is
naturally very smart, and might be as good a woman as the one for whom
she was named."
"But if you think she is so smart and might make such a good woman, why
is it you don't want me to play with her, grandma?" asked Fanny.
"Because, my dear, I think she is a great deal more likely to do you
harm than you are to do her good. She is very wild and reckless, uses
bad language, and has many bad habits."
"She will make fun of anything, even of the Bible," said Willy; "and
she doesn't care any more about Sunday than her father does. I heard
him going on the other day down at the store, and he said he would as
soon do a day's work on Sunday as on any other day."
"That wasn't saying much," said Oney, dryly.
"That's just what Squire Holden told him. 'Sam,' says he, 'you ain't
very fond of doing a day's work any time,' says he. Then Sam began to
swear and to talk against the Bible, till Squire Holden told him either
to shut up or quit the store."
"It is no wonder that poor Sarah doesn't amount to much," said Mrs.
Lilly, sighing again. "How thankful children ought to be who have good
homes and kind friends to tell them what is right!"
"I guess we 'are' thankful," said Willy. "Ain't we, Fanny?"
"Of course," said Fanny, but she did not feel what she said. It had
never yet entered her head or her heart to be thankful for anything.
"But some children do have good homes and kind friends to teach them,
and yet they don't turn out well," remarked Willy. "They lie and swear,
and do all sorts of bad things."
"Such children are a great deal more to be blamed than poor Sarah,"
said Mrs. Lilly. "You know, Willy, the Bible says that to whom much is
given, of him will much be required. But it is growing late, and we
must be up early in the morning, so we will have prayers and go to bed."
Fanny was not sorry to hear this, for she felt very uncomfortable both
in mind and body. She was mortified at having made such a display of
her ignorance. She knew that she had been very wicked, and she was
afraid of betraying herself or being found out.
Besides, she began to feel very sick. She had eaten half a raspberry
pie and a large piece of gingerbread up at the spring, and did not
want her supper in the least, but the bread and honey and cold ham and
sponge-cake and coffee were all so good, and she was so afraid that
her grandmother would suspect something wrong if she did not eat as
usual, that she made a hearty meal. The consequence was that she felt
very sick and her head ached violently. She hastened to bed, hoping to
forget her troubles in sleep, but she passed a restless night, and in
the morning was too ill to get up.