_OPENING THE DOORS._
CLARIBEL hoped that Mr. Hausen would go away and leave her, but after
the girls had gone, he returned, and sat down by her side.
"My poor little girl," said he as he took her hand in his, "why will
you make yourself so miserable, when everybody wishes to make you
happy? Why should you take such jealous fancies into your head, and
make yourself so wretched over them? Why should you think that people
want to insult you?"
"Because—because I am different from other people," answered Claribel.
"You know I am, Mr. Hausen. You know I am a frightful little scarecrow,
and never can be anything else."
"I know no such thing, Claribel. You are lame, to be sure, and
unfortunate in other respects, but, you have a very fine head and
beautiful eyes, and a face that might be very attractive if only—"
"Well, if only what?" asked Claribel, with animation.
"If only you would banish that ugly scowl and try to look good-natured
and kind."
"Oh yes, it is easy to say that," returned Claribel, bitterly. "It is
easy for people to look good-natured and kind when everything goes to
please them and everybody likes them. I would be good-natured and kind
myself, if I had a home and friends, and a fine figure like Tilly, or a
beautiful fair skin like Fanny. Nobody could help being cross who was
afflicted as I am, I know."
Mr. Hausen took from his pocket-book two card photographs, one of which
he handed to Claribel. It was only a head and face, or vignette, as it
is called.
"Oh how sweet, how lovely!" exclaimed Claribel. "I never saw a nicer
face."
"You don't think she looks cross and unamiable?"
"No, indeed! She looks like an angel. Ah, if I were only like that
lady!"
"Then you would be worse off in some respects than you are now, as you
will see by this other picture," said Mr. Hausen, handing Claribel the
other photograph.
It represented the same face, but on a body terribly deformed, and what
is called hump-backed. Claribel uttered an exclamation of surprise and
pity.
"Both of these pictures are portraits of the same person, as you see,"
said Mr. Hausen. "You perceive that she was more deformed than you
are. Perhaps you have heard some of the girls speak of Miss Baldwin,
a teacher who died here last term. You say she looks like an angel,
and she certainly was as nearly ripe for heaven as any person I ever
saw. Her father was supposed to be very wealthy. He gave his daughter
an expensive education and every possible advantage, for he was fond
and proud of her, unfortunate as she was. But he was a careless,
self-indulgent man, and given to speculation. He was supposed to be
rich, till one day he died very suddenly, and then it was discovered
that he had absolutely nothing—that he did not own so much as the house
he lived in; and poor Miss Baldwin, who had been brought up in every
luxury, found herself fatherless and penniless at the same time."
"Poor thing!" said Claribel, much interested. "What did she do?"
"She sold her jewels and other valuables, of which she had a great
many, and paid off the servants and such bills as were for necessaries,
and then she looked about for means of making herself useful and
independent at the same time. A friend recommended her to me as a
teacher. She came here and lived with us till she went to her home in
heaven, and I am sure that if ever the words, 'Well done, good and
faithful servant,' were spoken to any one, they were to her. Now, my
dear child, you have, I think, talents quite equal to Miss Baldwin's,
and your advantages are likely to be as good as hers. Why should not
you be as useful and as happy as she was?"
"I don't know," said Claribel, slowly; "I never thought I could be
anybody. I wouldn't so much mind if I could only learn, so as to do
something for myself and make myself famous."
"I don't quite like that way of putting it," said Mr. Hausen. "I would
rather hear you say, 'If I could do something for others and make
myself useful.'"
"But people liked Miss Baldwin," said Claribel, after a little
consideration, "and nobody likes me—nobody. The girls don't like me,
and even my own father was ashamed of me; Priscilla said so."
"Then Priscilla was very wrong. Your father was not ashamed of you; he
may have erred in judging what was best for you, but I will show you
some letters from him which will convince you that your welfare was
his one object in life. But, Claribel, let me ask you a question. Why
should you expect any one to like you? What have you ever done for any
one—for the girls here, for example—that should make them like you?"
Claribel looked as if struck with a new idea. "I never thought of
that," said she. "I never thought I could do anything."
"My dear, shall I tell you what I think is, and has been, your greatest
trouble in life—worse than your lameness, a great deal?"
"Yes, please."
"It is that you have grown up to think only of yourself. You have never
been taught to work or care for others; and instead of thinking what
you can do for those around you, you think all the time of what they
ought to do for you. You expect everybody to be kind to you, but you
are not kind to anybody. You would not fret so about your personal
appearance if it were not for that. If you would only interest yourself
for those around you, you would learn to like them, and you would not
be all the time worrying over fancied insults."
Claribel blushed and held down her head over the old cat, which was
still purring in her lap.
"Above all, my dear," said Mr. Hausen, gravely, "if you would only
think that you have a Father and a home in heaven,—a Father who loves
you and desires your happiness, who has given you friends, fortune, and
opportunities of mental and spiritual improvement,—a home where, if you
will, you may be as beautiful as any angel, and that for ever,—if you
will learn to live for that Father and that home, believe me, you will
find this world a very different place from what it seems now. I see
you have a very pretty Bible. Do you read it?"
"Not much," answered Claribel, frankly. "Sometimes I do, because it was
mother's, and she loved it."
"Claribel, will you promise me to do two things for the next term?"
"If I can," said Claribel.
"You can, easily. The first is, to read two chapters in the Gospels
every day, taking them in course. You may read as much more as you
like, but read at least two. The second is, that you will try not to
let pass a chance of helping somebody, no matter how small the chance
may be, if it be no more than picking up a book. Will you promise me
these two things, my child?"
"Yes, I will," said Claribel, after a little consideration. "I like
you, Mr. Hausen. I think you are a good man. But I thought you would
ask me to pray every day, and I didn't like to promise that, for fear I
shouldn't do it."
Mr. Hausen smiled. "I think that will come of itself presently," said
he. "Good-bye, my child; and may the Father of the fatherless bless and
lead you!"
Claribel thought more and to better purpose during the next two or
three days than she had done in all her life.
The girls all noticed how quiet she was and that she no longer seemed
to resent their little attentions and offers of assistance. And being
themselves a kindly, good-natured set, they forgot all her past
ungraciousness, and did their best to make her feel that they bore no
malice toward her.
One afternoon, when almost all the girls had gone out in the boats,
Claribel took her book and went down to a certain shady verandah, a
great resort of the girls on summer afternoons. She had taken the
"Tales of the Crusaders" from the library, and was quite absorbed in
the most interesting parts of "The Talisman," when Fanny Morey came out
with her work and seated herself at the other end of the broad steps.
The girls sat in silence for some minutes, and then Fanny uttered an
exclamation of surprise and regret:
"Oh dear! How sorry I am! Now, that is too bad!"
"What is the matter?" asked Claribel, looking up. "I thought you had
gone out boating with the others?"
"Well, I didn't," said Fanny. "I stayed at home on purpose to get on
with my work. I am making some little shirts to send home to mother's
new baby, and now I have made a mistake ever so far back, and I shall
have to pull it all out. Oh dear! What a shame!"
"What mistake have you made?"
"I have dropped two stitches and knit over them."
Claribel hesitated a minute; and then laying aside her book, she said,—
"Come here and let me see. Perhaps I can take them up for you, or take
back the stitches. Don't pull it out till I try."
"Oh, will you? How nice!" exclaimed Fanny. "But I am afraid you can't
do anything with it. Just see what a state it is in!"
"It does look rather badly," said Claribel, inspecting the work, and
rather repenting of her offer as she remembered that she had left Sir
Kenneth in the midst of the combat. "I will see what can be done.
But, Fanny, there is a great deal prettier way than this of knitting
shirts—with a scalloped border."
"Yes, I know; I saw some in a shop in Milby. But I don't know the
stitch, and I can't find any one to show me."
"I will show you," said Claribel. "I have made many of them. I will
tell you what I would do: I would pull all this out and begin again the
other way. I will show you the stitch and all about it."
"But then I shall lose so much time," said Fanny, dolefully.
Once more Claribel thought of Sir Kenneth, but only for a minute.
"I will tell you what I will do," said she: "I will pull it out and
begin it for you, and then knit it up to where it is now. I can do it
very soon, and then I can show you the stitch, and you can knit the
rest yourself."
"Oh, will you? How good you are! But you want to read?"
"Oh, never mind. The book will keep."
"I can read to you while you are at work," said Fanny, struck with a
bright thought; "or will that put you out?"
"Oh no, not after I have set the pattern. But perhaps you won't care
about this book?"
"Oh yes, I shall, if it has a story in it," said Fanny, possibly making
a little stretch, for the truth was that her reading heretofore had
been confined to the general run of little story-books which require
neither thought nor imagination, and any book which needed effort
of mind or any previous knowledge was like a lesson to her. But she
read well, and it was impossible not to catch a little of Claribel's
enthusiasm.
"Why, here are the girls coming home. It can't surely be half-past
five!" said Fanny, interrupting herself. "Oh, Claribel, what a great
piece you have done, and how pretty it is! But do you suppose I can do
it?"
"Of course you can. Why not? It is only to pay attention at first, till
you are used to the stitch."
"Paying attention is just what is the hardest thing for me to do," said
Fanny, frankly. "Miss Reynolds is always scolding about it. But I am
sure I will try, Claribel, if you are kind enough to show me."
That night, when Mrs. Richardson made her rounds, she found Claribel's
light burning, and Claribel herself reading in her Bible.
"Time for lights to be out, my dear," said she, kindly.
"Oh, Mrs. Richardson, can't I just finish this chapter about the
ruler's daughter?" asked Claribel. "It is not very long, and I want to
see what became of her."
Mrs. Richardson smiled: "Yes, dear, you may finish the chapter, and
then you must, go to bed directly."
Claribel finished the story, and then looked up with eyes swimming with
tears:
"Wasn't it lovely? And then to think of His remembering to tell them
to give her something to eat! I suppose he thought they would forget,
they were so glad and so surprised. But it seems such a little thing to
think of—for him."
"Nothing is little to him that concerns the welfare of his children,"
said Mrs. Richardson.
"Oh, Mrs. Richardson, do you think I could ever be like that? Do you
think if I should ask—"
Claribel did not finish the sentence, but looked eagerly into her
friend's face.
"I know, Claribel, that he has said, 'If ye shall ask any thing in my
name, I will do it,' and also, 'If we ask any thing according to his
will, he heareth us.'"
"But I can't be sure that I am asking according to his will, can I?"
asked Claribel, doubtfully. "I can't be quite sure what his will is."
"In this case, you can be quite sure, because it is his will that all
his children should be good and holy. So if you ask God to give you his
Holy Spirit, and to make you like him, you may be sure he will hear
you. Try him, my child, and see."