CHAPTER I.

[Illustration: "She suddenly perceived a dog at her dinner-basket."

p. 13.

]

ELLA CLINTON,

OR

BY THEIR FRUITS YE SHALL KNOW THEM.

BY

MARTHA FARQUHARSON,

AUTHOR OF

"TRY," "LAME LETTY," "MYSIE'S WORK," &c.

WRITTEN FOR THE BOARD OF PUBLICATION.

PHILADELPHIA:

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION,

No. 821 CHESTNUT STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by

JAMES DUNLAP, TREAS.,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District

of Pennsylvania.

_STEREOTYPED BY_

JESPER HARDING & SON,

NO. 57 SOUTH THIRD STREET, PHILADELPHIA.

ELLA CLINTON

OR

"BY THEIR FRUITS YE SHALL KNOW THEM."

CHAPTER I.

"Ella, you are the most provoking child that ever was born. You can

never let a thing alone, but must have your fingers in everything.

You've no more idea of neatness than old Tabby; no, nor half so much.

You come in from school, and bonnet goes here, and book there. It's

no use to talk to you, and one might run after you all day, and then

couldn't keep the house to rights. I declare, you're enough to try the

patience of Job!" So saying, Aunt Prudence set herself energetically

to work, to put to rights the work-basket which poor Ella had most

unfortunately disarranged. "I should like to know," she continued,

"what children were ever made for. I'm sure they're nothing but bother

and trouble, from week's end to week's end."

Poor Ella darted up stairs to her own room, and throwing herself upon

the bed, burst into a fit of passionate weeping.

"I hate Aunt Prudence! I hate her, so I do! She's always scolding and

slapping me. I wish _she_ was dead instead of mother. O mother, mother!

why, O why, did you die and leave me? I can't be good without you. I do

try to be good, but Aunt Prudence always makes me naughty. I can't help

hating her when she's so cross. O mother, mother! come back, come back!"

Poor little Ella was an orphan; though she could remember a time when

she had had a kind father and mother who loved her dearly, and tried

to teach her to do what was right; but her father had been lost at

sea, and her mother, who had never seemed well after she had heard of

the loss of the vessel, had now been lying for nearly a year in the

graveyard of the little town where Aunt Prudence and Ella lived. Ella

was naturally a very warm-hearted, affectionate child, but careless,

thoughtless and meddlesome; faults which, to Aunt Prudence, with her

precise ways and strict notions of propriety and neatness, seemed most

inexcusable. She really loved the desolate child who had been left to

her care, but she had her own way of showing it. She was careful to

provide the little girl with all that she considered necessary for her

comfort, and, as she said, took a great deal of pains to teach her

habits of neatness and order; but Ella, even more than most children,

needed "line upon line, and precept upon precept," and her aunt's

patience was apt to be soon exhausted. Ella's mother had always taken

a great deal of pains to correct her faults, but she was very patient;

always talked with her about the folly and wickedness of her behaviour,

and tried to make her see the reasonableness of her requirements; and

when she punished her, she did it in such a way as to convince the

child that it was done for her good, and not because her mother was in

a passion. But now, when Ella tore her frock, meddled with what did

not belong to her, or what she had been told not to touch, left her

things lying about the room, or did anything else that was naughty,

Aunt Prudence would scold her in loud, angry tones, calling her "the

most provoking, troublesome child that ever was born," or perhaps box

her ears, and send her out of the room. When her mother punished her,

Ella had always felt sorry for her faults, and determined to try to do

better, but Aunt Prudence's angry, impatient way was apt to rouse her

naturally quick temper, and sometimes she flew into a passion, which

only served to convince her aunt that she really was a very wicked

child.

Then when Ella, her passion over, would come full of penitence to her

aunt's side, to put her arms round her neck, as she used to do to her

mother, and say how sorry she was, aunt Prudence would push her from

her, saying, "Go away, Ella, I don't want such a wicked little girl

near me. You're the most ungrateful child that ever I saw. If it wasn't

for me, you wouldn't have a roof to cover your head, nor a bite of

victuals to put in your mouth, nor a rag to your back; for your father

didn't leave you a dollar, and yet whenever I try to do my duty, and

make a good girl of you, you fly into a most dreadful passion. No, just

go away out of my sight; I don't want any kisses from such a wicked

child!"

Sometimes such treatment would cause a second fit of rage, and

sometimes it sent her to her mother's grave, to throw herself upon it

and weep as though her heart would break.

We left Ella, this afternoon, crying by herself in her own little room.

At first they were all angry tears; but, though a quick-tempered child,

her passion never lasted very long. She had been accustomed to go to

her mother with all her little troubles, and very bitterly did she feel

the loss of that dear friend, when in need of sympathy and kindness.

Her present trouble made her long for her mother, and then as her angry

feelings subsided, she began to think of that mother's reproofs and

instructions. How often had she warned her of the great wickedness of

indulging her temper, and entreated her to try to govern it! How often

she had talked to her of the kindness of her aunt in taking her, a

poor, friendless, penniless child into her house, and providing for

her, and of the duty of obeying and trying to please her! Ella could

not feel that her aunt was very kind, for she was always scolding

and punishing her, but still her conscience told her she had done

very wrong, and that she ought to obey and love her aunt, and as she

thought of all this, she wept tears of real penitence, and made many

resolutions to behave better in future.

"I will tell aunt Prudence I am sorry, and will try never to be so

naughty again; just as I used to tell mamma, my own dear mamma," said

she to herself.

"Ella!" called out the shrill, sharp voice of her aunt from the foot of

the stairs, "Ella, come down here this _minute_, and get your supper.

What in the world are you staying up there all this time in the cold

for? To catch a cold, and give me the trouble of nursing you through a

spell of sickness, I suppose."

Ella rose and went down into the dining room with the full intention

of acknowledging her faults, and asking forgiveness; but aunt Prudence

looked so cold and stern, that when she tried to speak, the words

seemed to stick in her throat. The meal passed off in almost total

silence, and Ella was glad when it was over. Her aunt spoke to her but

once, and then it was to scold her for spilling her tea.

Ella cried herself to sleep that night thinking of her mother, and her

first thought, on waking next morning, was that she was going to be

very good all day, and not make aunt Prudence scold her once. But alas,

poor child! she forgot to pray for help to keep her good resolutions.

It was late when she waked, and she dressed in great haste lest she

should not be ready for breakfast, for which her aunt would certainly

have punished her. She said her prayers, it is true, for she had been

too well taught to think of omitting them altogether, but she hurried

through them with very little thought of what she was saying, so that

she really did not pray at all, for "God is a spirit, and they that

worship him, must worship him in spirit, and in truth," and he will not

hear nor answer the prayer which comes from the lips only.

Children, if you wish to be kept from sin, to be enabled to perform the

duties of the day in a proper manner, never dare to begin it without

sincere prayer to God for his assistance; and Oh! wherever you are,

at home, at school, in the street, at your studies, or at your play,

remember that the eye of God is upon you, that he notices all your

words and actions, and that you will have to give an account to him for

all that you do and say, and for the manner in which you perform every

duty.

Breakfast over, Ella prepared for school. Taking her satchel of books,

and her dinner basket,--for the school was at some distance, and she

usually carried her dinner in cold weather,--and bidding her aunt good

morning, she set off.

It was the district school which Ella attended, and it was usually

taught by a man in the winter and a lady in the summer. Mr. Burton was

the name of the present teacher. He was not remarkable for patience,

and was sometimes very severe. The school was nearly a quarter of a

mile from Ella's home. She walked along briskly enough, until she had

gone rather more than half way, but then having reached a pond where

the children of the village were in the habit of skating and sliding

in their play-hours, she said to herself, "It was only half-past eight

when I started; I'm sure I might take time to slide a little while. To

be sure Mr. Burton says we must never stop to play by the way, but then

I shall only stay a very few minutes, and if I get to school in time,

it won't make any difference; so I'll just lay my books and my dinner

down on this snow bank, and have a real good slide all by myself."

Time flies very rapidly when children are playing, and while the rest

of Mr. Burton's pupils were entering the school-house in answer to the

bell, Ella was taking just one more and one more slide across the pond.

She was on the side opposite to the one where she had left her books,

when she suddenly perceived a dog at her dinner basket. She made all

the haste she could, but he was too quick for her, and was off with the

contents of the basket before she reached the place. She chased him for

a long distance, for she felt quite unwilling to lose her dinner, but

at length he was quite out of sight, and she gave it up in despair.

All out of breath with running, she returned to the spot where she had

left her books, and picking them up, hurried on to school, for she now

began to be quite frightened at the thought that it must be long past

school time, and thinking to shorten her walk by going across a field,

she climbed the fence, but in doing so caught her dress and tore a long

slit which she must stop to pin up, and that took her much longer than

it would have done to go by the road. She had at last almost reached

the school-house, when she was met by two of the scholars who were

going for water.

"Has school commenced, girls?" asked Ella.

"Yes! nearly an hour ago, I should think," said Sally Barnes. "How on

earth did you come to be so late? You'll catch it, I can tell you; for

the master's got the headache this morning, and he's as cross as a

bear."

Ella burst into tears. "Oh!" said she, "I just stopped a few minutes to

play on the ice, and then a dog ran away with my dinner, and I had to

run after him. O dear! what shall I do? I wish I had come straight to

school."

"Never mind, Ellie," said Mary Young, who was a very kind-hearted girl,

and felt sorry to see her cry, "you can just tell him that your aunt

sent you on an errand, and you couldn't get back any sooner."

"But that would be telling a lie, Mary, and I could never do that,"

replied Ella, for with all her faults she was a perfectly truthful

child. "My mother always told me it was a dreadful sin to say what was

not true, and when she was dying she told me never, never to tell a

lie. Oh no, I wouldn't tell him that to keep him from killing me."

"Oh, let her alone, Mary," said Sally, "if she fancies a whipping, I'm

sure she's welcome to it for all I care. But come along or we'll catch

it too."

"You had better take my advice, Ellie," said Mary, turning to go.

Ella hung up her bonnet and cloak in the hall, entered the school room,

and went to her seat as softly as possible, in hope that the teacher

would not notice her. Vain hope!

"Ella Clinton!" he called out in his sternest tones, "come here to me."

Trembling with fear she obeyed. "Do you know what time it is, miss?"

said he, looking at his watch. "Ten minutes to ten; nearly an hour past

school time. Where have you been?"

Poor Ella caught at the desk for support. The room was so still that

the ticking of the watch could be distinctly heard.

All were waiting in breathless silence for her answer.

"Speak!" thundered the master, "where have you been?"

"I stopped to slide a little on the ice, and"--

"You did, did you? I'll teach you to do that again. Hold out your hand

here. I'll make an example of you. You needn't think you'll escape a

flogging because you're a girl," and taking hold of her little tender

hand, he brought his heavy ruler down upon it again and again, until

the palm was all blistered, and then sent her to her seat without one

word of commendation for having told the truth.

"I say, Jim," whispered one boy to another, "that's what folks get for

telling the truth."

"What are you whispering about there, sir?" called out the teacher.

"I wasn't whispering; I was just saying, the lesson over to myself."

"Well, sir, keep your eyes on the book when you move your lips, or I

shall flog you for whispering."

"I'm not going to be such a fool as to tell on myself just to get a

licking," muttered the boy, with his eyes fixed on the book.

Poor Ella! everything seemed to go wrong with her that day. So much

time had been lost, and her mind was so taken up with her troubles,

that it seemed impossible to learn her lessons, and she failed in every

one; for which she was of course punished. She lost her place, and was

in disgrace all day. She would have been without her dinner also, if

some of her kind-hearted schoolmates had not shared with her. Oh, how

long the day seemed! but it was over at last; school was dismissed, and

Ella walked slowly and sadly homeward, dreading the moment when aunt

Prudence should learn the sad accident which had befallen her dress.

She was considering, as she walked along, what would be her wisest

course of action, and remembering that her mother had often told her,

if she would come and inform her immediately of an accident, without

any attempt at concealment or deception, she would not punish her;

she thought she would try that plan with her aunt. For once, Ella

remembered to put her hood and cloak, her satchel and dinner-basket, in

their places. She then entered the sitting-room, where Miss Prudence

sat in her easy-chair beside the fire, stitching away industriously

as usual. She looked up from her work as Ella opened the door, and

exclaimed:--

"Why, Ella Clinton! where have you been, and what have you been about,

to get that great, long slit in your dress? Come here to me this

instant, and tell me how you tore it."

"I was just climbing a fence, aunt Prudence," sobbed the child, "and it

caught and tore."

"Climbing a fence! and what were you doing that for, I'd like to know?

Do you think I'm made of money, and have nothing to do with it but to

spend it in buying dresses for you to tear up this way? You haven't

worn that dress three weeks, and just look at it now; nearly ruined.

You're always climbing fences and trees. A perfect tom-boy you are,

besides being the most careless, troublesome, ungrateful child I ever

laid my eyes on. But I'll see if I can't put a stop to it. You shall

just sit down here, and darn that yourself, and do it well too, and not

a mouthful of victuals shall you have until it's done; and you deserve

a good switching before you go to bed. Now just stop your crying, for

I'll not have it."

It was very late before Ella got her supper that night, for darning was

a new business to her, the rent was a very long one, aunt Prudence very

particular, and she herself, after all the labours and troubles of the

day, very weary, and fingers and eyes ached sadly, long before the task

was accomplished.

"It's no use to try to be good," sobbed the poor child to herself, as

she wet her pillow with her tears. "I did mean to be good to-day, but

the more I try, the more I can't. Oh, mother, mother, I can't be good

without you! I wish I was dead too, and I do believe aunt Prudence

wishes I was. I don't believe she loves me at all, for she never kisses

me, nor calls me her dear little girl, like you used to, and she's

always scolding me, and calling me bad and troublesome."

Ella did not stop to play on the way, next morning, but went directly

to school; nor did she climb fences or trees again for some time,

but still she was almost always in disgrace, and continually getting

punished, both at home and at school, for there was scarcely a day

that she did not fail in one or more of her lessons, or forget or lose

something; either her book, pen, pencil or ink.

At last Mr. Burton called upon her aunt to complain of her carelessness

and indolence. "I can't help it, Mr. Burton," said aunt Prudence;

"I've tried as hard as ever anybody could, to make her orderly and

industrious, but I can't do it. She's a very bad child I know, but I

can't help it. I'm sure I've done my duty. There's never a day passes

over my head, that I don't give her a scolding or may be a whipping,

but it don't seem to do a bit of good; indeed I believe she grows worse

instead of better. She's enough to try the patience of Job, as I often

tell her, and such an awful temper as she has got! you never saw any

thing like it. I used to think she was a tolerably good child while her

mother was living, but there's no doing any thing with her lately. The

more I scold and punish her, the worse she seems to grow: I don't see

that she'll ever be good for any thing, but there's one comfort, I've

done my duty by her."

It was very true; Ella _was_ growing worse and worse. She made

many resolutions to do better, but try as hard as she might, aunt

Prudence never seemed to notice it; never gave her a word of praise or

encouragement, and always found something to scold her for, and so the

poor child grew discouraged, and gave up trying. "It's no use to try to

be good, and please aunt Prudence," she would say to herself, "for she

always scolds me just the same. Mother used to smile, and tell me she

was glad to see me trying to do right, and then it seemed easier, but

aunt Prudence never does, and I won't try to _please_ her any more."

One morning Ella reached the school room unusually early; it still

wanted nearly an hour to school time, and there were but two other

scholars present. A few moments had been spent in talking together,

when Ella, who had been walking about, looking into the desks,

suddenly exclaimed, "Why Mr. Burton has left his desk unlocked! O

girls, let's play school! I'll be teacher and have you for my scholars."

The others assented. I have told you that one of Ella's faults was a

habit of meddling with other people's things.

She now proceeded to take out Mr. Burton's inkstand, copper-plate

copies, ruler, &c., and place them on the outside of the desk.

"Oh! Ella!" exclaimed Rachel Frost, "aren't you afraid to touch Mr.

Burton's things? Why he'll whip you like everything if he finds it out."

"Oh, but he won't know it, Rachel, for I'll put them all back before he

comes, and I know you and Louisa won't tell."

"No, of course we won't; but you'd better take care, or he may come in

and catch you."

"No danger," said Ella, "he never comes more than ten minutes before

school time." And secure in this confidence, she went on playing

teacher until in bringing down the ruler upon the desk, in imitation

of Mr. Burton when he would call out "Silence!" to the scholars, she

accidentally hit the inkstand.

The glass was shivered by the blow, and in an instant the black streams

were running over the desk, and the copies.

Poor Ella was terribly frightened. "Oh! what shall I do? what shall

I do?" she exclaimed, bursting into tears. "Oh! I wish I hadn't been

meddling."

Her schoolmates were very sorry for her, and did all they could to help

and comfort her, but the mischief could not be undone.

They wiped up the ink, as well as they could, and replaced the ruler

and the copies in the desk. When all this had been done, Louisa said,

"Now come, girls, let's go off somewhere till school time, and Mr.

Burton will never know who did it. He'll may be think it was Jonas

Hand, because, you know, he always makes the fires and sweeps the room."

"But I don't want him to think it was Jonas," said Ella, "it wouldn't

be right for me to let Jonas be punished for what I did."

"But," said Rachel, "I don't believe he will punish Jonas, because

he'll tell him he didn't do it, and there's no need for Mr. Burton

ever to know _who_ did it. The door is always left unlocked in the

morning, and it might have been somebody who doesn't belong to the

school at all. So come along, Ellie, for if you are found here you'll

be suspected, and you'll not deny it I know, and I can't bear to see

you whipped."

Ella yielded, for she trembled with fright at the thought of Mr.

Burton's wrath, when he should discover the mischief she had done.

They walked away a short distance to a place, where they were out of

sight, but not out of hearing of the bell, and there they remained

until they heard it ring for school. Then hurrying in, along with the

others, they seated themselves and tried to look as though nothing had

happened. Ella took out her book and seemed to be unusually intent upon

her lesson; but though her eyes were fixed upon the page, the words

conveyed no meaning to her mind; so much were her thoughts taken up

with the events of the morning.

"Attention!" said Mr. Burton in a voice which made every scholar start;

"some one has been at my desk meddling with its contents; a thing which

I have positively forbidden and shall severely punish. Can any of you

tell me who it was?"

"It wasn't me;" and "It wasn't me;" "I don't know anything about it;"

"I just now came in," answered one and another.

"Silence!" exclaimed the teacher angrily, bringing his ruler down on

the desk with a loud crack. "I didn't ask who didn't do it, but who

_did_. Jonas Hand, come forward here, sir, and you Mary Young, and

Sallie Barnes, and Henry Harris. You were the only scholars here when

I came, and it must be that you know who did this mischief." They

tremblingly obeyed, but each and all protested their own innocence, and

their utter ignorance of the author of the mischief.

"I say it _must_ have been _one_ of you," said Mr. Burton, "and the

sooner you confess, the better it will be for you. Which of you did

it?" There was no reply. Mr. Burton was growing pale with passion.

"Tell me instantly," said he, "which of you it was, or I shall let you

know that I'm not to be trifled with. Which of you got here first?"

"We all came about the same time," said Mary Young, "Jonas and Harry

had just reached the gate, as Sallie and I came round the fence corner,

and I think the mischief must have been done before that, sir, for I'm

sure it wasn't done afterwards."

"You needn't expect me to believe that," said Mr. Burton; "I know very

well it was one of you four, and you've just entered into a conspiracy

to shield the guilty one; but I'll fix you. You shall tell me instantly

which of you did it, or I'll give every one of you such a flogging as

you never had before. Now I'll give you just three minutes to make up

your minds;" he added, taking out his watch.

The room was still as death, save the tick, ticking of the watch, and

an occasional sob from Sallie Barnes, who had covered her face with

her apron, and was crying heartily. Mary Young stood with her head

erect, her cheeks burning, and her eyes flashing with indignation.

Jonas looked frightened and despairing, Harry indignant and defiant.

Meantime a fierce struggle was going on in Ella's breast. Should she

sit by and see others punished for what was her fault alone? or should

she expose herself to certain and severe chastisement by confessing her

guilt? It was a hard choice. Her whole frame trembled with the violence

of her emotions. One instant she was ready to start up and confess her

fault; the next, she trembled at the thought of the punishment which

would be sure to follow.

"The three minutes are up," said Mr. Burton, taking up his ruler, and

catching Jonas by the arm; "what have you to say for yourselves now?"

"I didn't do it, sir, indeed I didn't; don't whip me," gasped poor

Jonas.

"Who did then, you scoundrel?" exclaimed the teacher, at the same time

striking him with all his force, "who did it? answer me that."

Ella could bear no more; she sprang from her seat, and the next instant

she was beside the angry man, saying, "Don't! Oh! don't whip him, Mr.

Burton, I did it."

"You did it, did you?" he exclaimed, as, pushing Jonas aside, he caught

hold of her, and shook her violently. "Yes, I might have known it was

you, the most meddlesome, troublesome scholar in the school; but I'll

teach you how to meddle with _my_ things!"

"Oh! I'll never do it again; indeed, _indeed_ I won't," said Ella.

"No, I think you won't," sneered the angry man, "for I'll give you such

a dressing, as you won't want again in a hurry."

Never, in all her life, had Ella had such a terrible whipping. It

was several weeks before she entirely recovered from its effects.

Aunt Prudence was very angry indeed, when she heard an account of the

matter.

"Nobody," she said, "should abuse her brother's child so. She was bad,

she knew, but that was no reason why she should be half killed. She

would sue Mr. Burton for damages, and make him pay well for it, and

Ella should never go another step to that school while he taught it.

She wasn't going to have her murdered, just for spilling a little ink.

Mr. Burton isn't fit to teach!" she continued; "a man that can't govern

his temper better than that, and treat children like human beings,

instead of like brutes, isn't fit to have the control of them. For my

part, if I could have my way, he should be sent to the State's prison;

it would only be too good for him. And you, Ella, you're the most

foolish child that ever was seen! Why on earth couldn't you let the

man's things alone? and when you had done the mischief, why need you go

and tell on yourself? You'd a great deal better have let those great

boys and girls take the whipping, for they were a great deal better

able to bear it, and besides, it would have been divided amongst the

four of them."

"But, aunt Prudence, it wouldn't have been right to let them be

punished for what _I_ did; and besides, poor Jonas gets so many

beatings at home from his drunken father, and Mary Young is always so

kind to me. Oh! I couldn't _bear_ to see them whipped for what was my

fault!"

"Nonsense, child!" said aunt Prudence; but she turned her back to Ella

and wiped her eyes, and she was kinder to the poor, motherless child

that evening, than she had ever been before. She actually put her arms

around her, and kissed her.

"O aunt Prudence!" exclaimed Ella, her face beaming with delight, "I

could almost thank Mr. Burton for whipping me so hard; it makes you so

kind."

"You're thankful for very small favours then, I think," said aunt

Prudence, getting up and going to the other side of the room to set a

chair in its place.