Spring had come with its soft, warm breezes, the grass was springing up
fresh and green, the trees were putting forth their leaves, the woods
were full of violets and anemones, and the little birds, while busy
building their nests, were filling the air with their happy songs of
praise. The winter term of school was over; Mr. Burton had left, and
the children had holidays for a few weeks, until it should be time for
the summer school to commence. Ella rejoiced in the return of spring.
She had been confined to the house for several weeks, until both she
and her aunt were heartily tired of it, but now she was quite well
again, and able to run about, and keenly did she enjoy the privilege
of rambling through the woods in search of wild flowers, or working in
the little spot of ground which her aunt had given her in the corner
of the garden, digging up the soft earth and planting roots and flower
seeds; and in these employments she was, to her great delight, allowed
to spend most of her time, because, as aunt Prudence said, "She was
glad to get her out of the house, for there was no such thing as
keeping it to rights when she was in it."
"Why, Ellie child, what are you doing there?"
It was Mary Young who spoke. She had been taking a walk, and on her way
home passed through the graveyard, that being her shortest route, and
in so doing she had come suddenly and unexpectedly upon Ella, who was
seated upon the ground, with a trowel in her hand and a small basket
beside her. Ella, looking up and showing a face all wet with tears,
answered:
"Planting violets on mother's grave."
"And watering them with your tears, you poor little thing," said Mary,
sitting down and putting her arms around the child. "Ellie dear, I wish
for your sake, that your mother was alive; that aunt Prudence of yours
isn't very kind to you, is she?"
"No, not like mother was. O Mary, I do want to see my mother so bad,"
sobbed the poor child, laying her head on Mary's shoulder, "and aunt
Prudence says I never will if I don't be good, and I can't be good
without mother. Somehow, I'm almost always bad now-a-days."
"Why, Ellie, I don't think you're so very bad. I'm sure you don't tell
lies like some children I know. You always speak the truth, even when
you know that you'll be punished. I know you used to play and whisper
in school sometimes, and blot your copy-book, or spill ink on your
copy, or lose your books or pencil, or forget to bring them to school,
and I know Mr. Burton used to get very angry, and scold and whip you,
and to be sure it was naughty, but I don't think it was so _very_
wicked; not half so bad, I'm sure, as telling lies."
"But, Mary, you told me to tell a lie one day when I came late to
school; what made you do that, if you think it is so wicked?"
"Oh, because I didn't like to have you get whipped; I knew Mr. Burton
would whip you so hard, and besides, I thought it wasn't a very bad
story, because it wouldn't do any body any harm--only save you from a
beating."
"Yes; but I remember my mother told me never, never to tell a lie;
that it was very wicked, even if it didn't do any body any harm. But
those are not all the naughty things I do, Mary; I'm always forgetting
not to meddle, and always leaving my things about, and then when aunt
Prudence scolds me, and boxes my ears, I get so angry, I feel as if I
could almost kill her."
"O my! Ellie! that is very wicked; I didn't think you were so bad as
that."
"Yes, I know it's very wicked, for I remember how mother used to talk
to me about governing my temper, and that she said, when I got so
angry, it was the same as being a murderer; but I can't help it; when
aunt Prudence gets so mad, it always makes me mad too."
"Well, now, I wonder if it isn't just as wicked for her, as it is for
you," said Mary.
"Oh, but she's grown up, you know; and I'm only a little girl."
"Well what of that? The Bible doesn't say big people may get angry, but
little people mus'n't do it."
"No," said Ella, "I never heard that it did, and I know my mamma didn't
get angry like aunt Prudence, but I never thought about it being
wicked for her. But, O Mary, I wish I had somebody to help me to be
good!"
"I would like to help you if I could, Ellie, but I'm just as bad as
you are," said Mary. "I've heard people talking about getting good by
praying, but I never tried it, so I can't tell you how it would do, but
perhaps Miss Layton can when she comes."
"Miss Layton! who is she?" asked Ella.
"Haven't you heard about her? she's the new teacher, and they say she's
very pious and good."
"Is she? when is she to come, Mary?"
"Week after next. Aren't you going to school, Ellie?"
"Yes, aunt Prudence says she is tired enough of having me about, and I
shall go as soon as ever school begins again. I hope Miss Layton won't
be as cross as Mr. Burton was; don't you, Mary?"
"Yes I do, and I know one thing, if she is as cross, she can't be very
pious, for the Bible says people ought to be kind and patient, and it
says, 'By their fruits ye shall know them,' so I'm sure if they don't
try to govern their tempers, they can't be Christians."
"Aunt Prudence is kind about some things, Mary," said Ella, going on
with her work, "she gave me a corner of her garden for my own, and she
lets me work in it a great deal, and gives me all the seeds I want, and
she lets me come here whenever I please, though she does think it is
very foolish, and she gave me that rose bush to plant at mother's feet,
and sent Jake, our gardener, to plant that willow tree. There I have
planted all my violets, and I must go now, for it's almost tea time,
and aunt Prudence won't like it if I'm late. Won't you call for me on
the first school day, Mary? I don't like to go alone."
"Yes; good bye, Ellie."
"Good bye, Mary."
Ella looked forward to the commencement of school with mingled
feelings. She thought a great deal of what Mary Young had said about
Miss Layton, and wondered if she were anything like her mamma, and if
she would really help her to be good. She sometimes felt as if she
could hardly wait for the time to come, that she might satisfy herself
on these points; and sometimes she wished vacation was longer--it was
so much pleasanter to work in her garden, or wander about in the woods
and fields gathering spring flowers, than to be shut up in the school
room, and obliged to learn lessons.
The long looked for day had come at last. Nine o'clock was the hour,
but Mary and Ella set off for the school room a little after eight,
that they might be sure to be in season. It was a lovely morning and
they enjoyed their walk very much. Though it was still quite early when
they reached the school-house, they found it already half-filled with
girls and boys, some seated on the benches, others collected in little
groups here and there, talking in whispers to each other, while many a
curious glance was sent across the room to the teacher's desk, where
sat a pleasant-looking young lady, with a blank book before her, in
which she was writing down the children's names.
"Come let's give her our names," said Mary, pulling Ella forwards as
she spoke.
"You are scholars, I suppose," said Miss Layton, looking kindly at
them; "what are your names?"
"Mine is Mary Young, and this is Ella Clinton."
The teacher wrote their names in the book, and then asked where their
parents lived. Mary told her where hers resided, and then said, "Ellie
has no parents, but lives with her aunt, Miss Prudence Clinton, in the
same street that we live in."
"So you are an orphan, my poor child!" said Miss Layton, drawing the
little girl to her, and kissing her cheek, "I know how to pity you, for
I am one also; but we have a kind heavenly Father, Ellie, who, if we
put our trust in him, will never leave nor forsake us."
Ella's heart was full; no one had ever spoken so kindly to her since
her mother's death, and she longed to throw her arms around the lady's
neck, and ask her to love her, and teach her to be good; but she was a
rather timid child, and afraid to venture. She turned hastily away, and
walked to her seat, where she laid her head on her desk, to hide the
tears that _would_ come, she hardly knew why.
When Miss Layton had written down all the names, she rung the bell, and
the children took their seats. She waited a moment, until the slight
bustle attending the movement was over, and all were quiet; she then
said, "I wish you all to give me your attention; I have a few words
to say to you before we begin our school. Dear children, we have met
together this morning, for the first time as teacher and scholars; most
of your faces I have never seen before; but we expect to spend some
months in each other's society, and it is very desirable that we should
begin and carry on our intercourse in a manner that will make it both
pleasant and profitable to us all. But for any community of people to
be able to live pleasantly together, it is necessary for them to have
some form of government. There must be a head; some one to direct and
control, or there will be endless quarrelling and confusion. Now, in
a school, that place is naturally and properly filled by the teacher.
Your parents, my dear children, have sent you here to be under my
care; it will be my duty to direct your studies, and do all that I can
for your mental and moral improvement, to treat you with kindness and
forbearance, and to require of you only such things as are just and
reasonable. It will be your duty to obey me, to be kindly affectioned
one toward another, and to improve your time by steady industry. In
short, it will be the duty of each of us, to be 'diligent in business,
fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.' God, my dear children, has given
to each of us a work to do, and he will take notice of, and one day
call us to account for, the manner in which we perform our allotted
tasks. If we are God's children, we will strive to serve and please
him; and if we strive to do our duty because we wish to please him,
we are really and truly engaged in his service. The more you know, my
dear children, the more good you will be able to do in this world; now
is the time for you to gain knowledge, and that is the work which God
has given you to do; and the work he has given me, is to do all in my
power to assist you in gaining that knowledge, which is to prepare you
for future usefulness. I do not wish you to attend to your studies, as
many children do, from fear of punishment, but from love to God and an
earnest desire to please him; and I can assure you that if you act from
that motive, you will find a great deal of pleasure in the performance
of your duties."
Miss Layton now read a few rules, saying that she should expect them
to be strictly observed. She then told the scholars to take out their
Testaments to read, but not expecting to have any call for them, they
had not brought them; and finding that to be the case, she read a few
verses herself, sung a hymn, and then requested the children to rise
and stand a few moments while she offered a short but fervent prayer
for the blessing of God upon their labours. She next proceeded to class
them, and give them their lessons for the day. Everything that the
teacher did, was done quietly, without noise or bustle, and it seemed
natural for the children to be quiet too, and to most of them the hours
of school passed quickly and pleasantly away.
"Don't you like her, Mary?" said Ella to Mary Young, as they walked
home together that afternoon.
"Very much so far, Ellie, but people don't always show what they are
the first day."
"Well, I don't believe she'll ever be as cross as Mr. Burton," said
Ella.
"I hope not, I'm sure," replied Mary.
Ella was very anxious to secure the esteem and friendship of her
new teacher, and for a week or two learned her lessons so well, and
observed all the rules of the school so carefully, that it seemed
as if she had really overcome her bad habits of carelessness and
inattention; but alas! it was not so. Miss Layton required her scholars
to learn their lessons at home. They might look them over in school,
but that was all. School hours were to be spent principally in writing,
ciphering, and reciting.
The first week, Ella was very careful to learn her lessons perfectly
before she went out to play, or to work in her garden; but one bright,
warm afternoon in the latter part of the second week, she found it so
much pleasanter out of doors, than in the house, that she determined to
take a walk first, intending to get her lessons afterwards. Her walk
took more time than she expected, and she found some wild flowers,
which she admired so much that she dug them up and carried them home
to plant them in her garden, saying to herself that it would not take
long, and she would still have time for her lessons; but she was
surprised in the midst of her employment, by a call to supper, and
then a play mate came in to spend the evening and stayed until Ella's
bedtime, and as she knew it would be worse than useless to attempt to
persuade aunt Prudence to allow her to sit up any longer, she went to
bed, with the determination to rise early and learn her lessons in the
morning. But when morning came, she found her bed so comfortable that
she slept on until she had barely time to dress for breakfast; then
after breakfast her aunt sent her on an errand, and it was school time
before she could look at her books.
Ella was very much alarmed, for Miss Layton required very perfect
recitations, and expected her scholars to be very punctual in their
attendance. She hurried off to school, got there barely in time, and
then discovered that she had left her spelling book and geography at
home. Then her slate pencil was missing. She was sure she had either
put it in her pocket, or laid it in the corner of the desk, the night
before, but in vain she lifted everything in the desk and turned her
pocket inside out. The missing pencil was nowhere to be found.
The spelling class was called. Ella missed the first word that came to
her, then the second. "Ella," said Miss Layton, "how many times did you
go over your lesson?"
Ella hung her head and made no answer.
Miss Layton repeated her question.
"I didn't learn it at all," replied Ella, in a low voice.
"Then go to your seat," said her teacher, "and never come to me to
recite a lesson that has not been learned, and remember that at the
next recitation you take your place at the foot of the class."
Ella obeyed, feeling very much ashamed. The geography class was called
next, but, remembering what had been told her, she sat still in her
seat.
"Ella," said Miss Layton, "why do you not come to your class?" "I
haven't learned the lesson, Miss Layton," said Ella.
Miss Layton said nothing further at the time, but looked very much
displeased. It was now the hour for ciphering; all the other girls took
out their slates and pencils, and were soon busily engaged. Ella alone
sat idle. Mary Young handed her a pencil, but just then Miss Layton
came up and asked, "Why are you not at work, Ella?"
"I've lost my slate pencil, ma'am."
"She can take this one of mine," said Mary Young; "I've got two."
"No," said Miss Layton, "that is against the rules; I allow no
borrowing nor lending. As Ella has been so careless as to lose her
pencil, she must sit idle while the rest are at work, and Ella, you
must remain in after school, and tell me how it happens that you have
so strangely failed in your lessons to-day."
Ella burst into tears. She felt very much ashamed, and very
uncomfortable sitting there doing nothing while all the rest were
busily employed. Sallie Barnes, who had borne a great dislike to Ella,
ever since the affair of the broken inkstand, when she came so near
being punished for her fault, was sitting opposite, and presently when
Miss Layton was not looking that way, she began pointing her fingers at
Ella, and shaming her. Ella was crying and Sallie mimicked her. Ella
began to grow very angry. Sallie continued her teasing until at last,
in a transport of rage, Ella picked up a book and dashed it across at
her tormentor. She missed her aim and the book fell on the floor. Miss
Layton saw it fall, but did not see who threw it.
Rising from her seat, she crossed the room, and asked, "Who threw that
book?"
"Ella Clinton," said Sallie Barnes; "she threw it at me."
"Did you, Ella?"
"Yes, ma'am; and I'll throw another at her, if she doesn't quit
pointing at me and mocking me," said Ella, passionately.
"Ella," said her teacher, sternly, "you are showing a very wicked
temper. Go and sit down on that bench near my desk; and you, Sallie,
tell me what you were doing to her."
"I didn't do anything," replied Sallie.
"Take care, Sallie; are you sure you are speaking the exact truth?"
said Miss Layton.
"I didn't touch her, nor say a word to her," said Sallie.
"Sallie, answer me immediately and properly. You certainly did do
something to Ella; what was it?"
"I was only shaming her a little, because she sat there crying just
like a great baby."
"You did very wrong, indeed," said Miss Layton.
"I'm sure I didn't hurt her," said Sallie, sullenly.
"Yes, you did, Sallie," replied her teacher, "you hurt her feelings:
and that is often harder to bear than bodily pain. I shall punish you
by making you stand out on the floor fifteen minutes."
School had seldom seemed so long to Ella, and yet she was almost sorry
to hear Miss Layton say, "School is dismissed;" so much did she dread
being left alone with her justly offended teacher. Miss Layton sat at
her desk, reading, until the other scholars had all gone, and she was
left alone with Ella; then, closing her book, she called the little
girl to her.
"Ella," said she, taking her hand and drawing her close to her side,
"you have had very good lessons, and behaved very well all the time
that I have been your teacher, until to-day. Now, tell me, my child,
how it happens that to-day you have behaved so badly, and recited so
poorly."
Miss Layton spoke very kindly, and Ella felt encouraged to open her
heart to her, and tell her the whole truth; how she had put off
learning her lessons, first for one thing, then for another, until
there was no time to do it, and then, in her haste to get to school in
season, had forgotten her books.
"I am glad, Ella," said Miss Layton, when the child had finished her
story, "that you have told me the truth, instead of trying to contrive
false excuses. I can forgive anything sooner than falsehood, for that
is so very wicked. But you have been guilty of several very serious
faults, Ella. Your first wrong step was preferring pleasure to duty.
There is an old saying which I think is very true, 'Procrastination is
the thief of time.'"
"What does procrastination mean, Miss Layton?" asked Ella, "I don't
think I know exactly."
"It means deferring, delaying, or putting off until another time what
ought to be done now. When we have a duty to perform, we should always
attend to that first, and take our pleasure afterwards. But your worst
fault to-day, Ella, was getting into such a dreadful passion. Don't you
know, my dear child, that the Bible tells us that, when we indulge in
angry passions, we break the sixth commandment, which says, 'Thou shalt
not kill?'"
"Yes, ma'am, I know that; my mother used to tell me so, and I often
think I never will get angry again, but I can't help it, when anybody
teases me."
"No, Ella, if you trust in your own strength, you certainly cannot;
but, my dear child, if you ask help of God, he will enable you to do
it. I am afraid that you forgot to ask God this morning, to keep you
from sin through the day, and if so, it is no wonder that you have
behaved so wickedly."
"I did say my prayers this morning, Miss Layton," said Ella; "mamma
told me I must always do it, and I always do."
"Ah, but, my child, did you really pray? did you think of the meaning
of the words you were saying, and really desire what you were asking
for? did you pray with your heart, or was it with your lips only?"
Ella hung her head. "I was in a hurry," she said in a low tone, "and
said them very fast, for fear I wouldn't be ready for breakfast."
"Oh Ella, were you not afraid to approach the great God in that
irreverent manner?" said Miss Layton. "Did you forget that, 'God is a
spirit; and they that worship him, must worship him in spirit and in
truth?' It is mocking the great God, when you repeat a form of prayer
with your lips, while you are not praying in your heart, and that is
a dreadful sin. The Bible tells us: 'By their fruits ye shall know
them,' and you, Ella, have shown by your actions this day, that you are
a child of wrath, even as others; that you have a very wicked heart--a
heart at enmity with God; and, Ella, unless your heart becomes changed,
you can never be fit to dwell with him; you would not be happy in his
presence--in the presence of Him who is of purer eyes than to behold
sin, and cannot look upon iniquity--even if allowed to go where he
is; and every moment that you remain as you are, you are in danger of
losing your immortal soul. O Ella, pray earnestly to God, to give you a
new heart, for he alone can do it."
Ella was crying very bitterly. "O Miss Layton," said she, "will you
ask God to forgive me, and to give me a new heart, and help me to pray
right?"
"I will, my dear child," replied her teacher, and kneeling down, with
her arm around the weeping child, she offered a short but earnest
prayer, asking her heavenly Father to forgive the sins of that day and
of all their lives, asking him to give the child a new heart--a heart
hating sin and loving holiness, and to teach her to love prayer, and to
pray aright.
[Illustration: "O, Miss Layton! You are more like my mamma, than
anybody else."
p. 59.
]
They rose from their knees, and Ella, throwing her arms around her
teacher's neck, exclaimed, "O Miss Layton, you are more like my mamma
than anybody else; nobody has ever prayed for me since she died, and I
have so wanted somebody to help me to be good. You will help me now,
won't you, dear Miss Layton?"
"I will do all I can, Ella," replied her teacher, returning the
embrace, "but, my dear child, no one but God can really help you to be
good. Promise me that you will every day ask him to help you."
"I will," said Ella, "and I will try to pray with my heart. But, Miss
Layton, aunt Prudence says it is no use for such a wicked child as I
am to pray; she says God won't hear me, and I would have stopped, but I
remembered mother told me always to pray, and I thought she knew best."
"Your mother was right, Ella," said Miss Layton, "for unless you pray,
you will certainly never grow any better. Jesus said, 'I came not to
call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.' But come, my dear, it
is getting late; you may put on your bonnet now, and get your books
together, and we will go home."
"I'm glad you go my way, Miss Layton, so I don't have to go alone,"
said Ella.
"Don't you like to walk alone, Ella?"
"No, ma'am, I always want somebody to talk to."
Miss Layton locked the school-house door, and taking Ella's hand they
walked slowly homewards.
"How long is it since your mother died, Ella?" asked Miss Layton.
"A whole year, Miss Layton. Oh it seems such a long, long while, and I
do want to see her so much!"
"Your mother must have been a very good woman, I think, Ella."
"O yes, Miss Layton, she was so, _very_ good! I never saw her do any
thing wrong; but when I used to tell her so sometimes, she always said,
no, she was not good, she was a miserable sinner."
"And she was quite right, Ella, for the best of mortals are in the
sight of God but vile, polluted sinners. The Bible tells us 'they have
all gone out of the way; there is none that doeth good, no not one.'
But I trust your mother was a true Christian: one who loved God, and
tried to serve him. She seems to have taken a great deal of pains with
you, and I hope you remember her instructions. I hope you are a good
girl at home, Ella."
Ella was wiping away her tears. She never could talk much of her
mother without crying. "No, Miss Layton," said she, "aunt Prudence says
I am the worst child she ever saw, and I know I'm very naughty; but
it's no use to try to be good, for I can't do it. I used to be good
when my mother was living, but I can't be good without her to help me."
"Ah, Ella, that is quite a mistake. Your mother could not make you
good, if she were here, for she could have no power to change your
heart, and make you hate the evil, and love the good. God alone can do
that, and though your mother has been taken away from you, he is ever
living, and ever present, and if you ask him for help--ask with your
heart, and for Jesus' sake--he will hear and help you."
"But, Miss Layton, I _was_ a pretty good girl when my mother was alive;
even aunt Prudence says so."
"That may be so, but I think it was only because you had not so many
temptations to do wrong. Your mother probably knew better how to manage
you, and keep you out of the way of temptation, than your aunt does;
but you had the same wicked heart then that you have now, and if you
behaved well only because you had no temptation to do otherwise, you
were not _really_ any better than you are now. God looks not merely at
the outward conduct, but at the _heart_, at the _motives_, and unless
you do right from a desire to serve and honour him, he can see nothing
good in you. Ask him, my dear child, to give you right feelings, and
right motives, and to help you to perform every duty from an earnest
desire to please him."