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Little Sunbeams.
V.
MAMIE'S WATCHWORD.
* * * * * *
By the Author of this Volume.
I.
LITTLE SUNBEAMS.
By JOANNA H. MATHEWS, Author of the "Bessie Books."
I. BELLE POWERS' LOCKET. 16mo $1.00
II. DORA'S MOTTO. 16mo 1.00
III. LILY NORRIS' ENEMY 1.00
IV. JESSIE'S PARROT 1.00
V. MAMIE'S WATCHWORD 1.00
VI. NELLIE'S HOUSEKEEPING 1.00
_The Set in a neat box_, $6.00
II.
THE FLOWERETS.
A series of Stories on the Commandments. 6 vols. In a box $3.60
"It is not easy to say too good a word for this admirable
series. Interesting, graphic, impressive, they teach with
great distinctness the cardinal lessons which they would
have the youthful reader learn."--_S. S. Times._
III.
THE BESSIE BOOKS.
6 vols. In a box $7.50
"Bessie is a very charming specimen of little girlhood. It
is a lovely story of home and nursery life among a family of
bright, merry little children."--_Presbyterian._
ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,
_New York_.
* * * * * *
MAMIE'S WATCHWORD.
"Thou God Seest Me."
by
JOANNA H. MATHEWS,
Author of the "Bessie Books" and the "Flowerets"
[Illustration]
New York:
Robert Carter and Brothers,
530 Broadway.
1882.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
Robert Carter and Brothers
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. THE DOLL 9
II. HOW BELLE DID IT 27
III. THE BREAKWATER 47
IV. FORBIDDEN PLEASURES 69
V. THE DUCKLING 88
VI. POOR LITTLE WAGTAIL 110
VII. THE FIRST STEP 133
VIII. DISOBEDIENCE 151
IX. ADRIFT 172
X. RESCUE 190
XI. REPENTANCE 212
[Illustration]
MAMIE'S WATCHWORD.
I.
_THE DOLL._
"MAMMA! can I have it? Can I, mamma? Buy it for me, buy it; will you,
mamma?"
"May be so, dear. I will see about it."
"No, not may be; not see about it, mamma! I must have it, and I know
you can afford it!"
The speakers were Mrs. Stone and her little daughter Mamie; the scene,
Miss Ashton's broad, shady piazza, where, at this time, a little fair
was taking place.
And what was the object on which Mamie's heart was so set; for which
she was begging so persistently, you will ask.
Why, just this.
A beautiful doll; a famous, much-talked-of doll, dressed as an infant
by Miss Annie Stanton, for the fair; a doll eagerly desired by all the
children present, as any little girl will readily believe when she
hears that seldom has a doll had such an outfit.
Mamie's eyes were fixed eagerly upon her as she pleaded and entreated
with her mother, holding fast to her hand, and almost dancing in her
extreme anxiety to secure the much-coveted prize.
"Perhaps I can, dear," said Mrs. Stone's rather languid voice, as she
looked smilingly down at her little daughter; "perhaps I can afford it;
but you know, Mamie, that the doll is to be sold to whoever shall offer
the highest price for her."
"Well, _you_ offer the highest price for her, mamma; do, oh, do! Offer
a great deal more than any one else, so I shall be sure to have her. I
want her so!"
"But it is not to be known what each one offers till the fair is over,
Mamie," said her mother; "then, whoever has said they will give the
most, is to take the doll."
"Ask Miss Stanton to tell you," pleaded Mamie.
Mrs. Stone shook her head.
"That would not be fair, Mamie; and Miss Stanton would refuse to tell
if I asked her. I will make an offer for the doll, but you will have to
take your chance with the rest, my darling."
Mamie was so little used to any opposition or contradiction from her
over-indulgent mother that she did not know how to meet it; and, though
it was made thus plain to her that it might not be within her mother's
power to give her the doll, she felt as though the possibility of
disappointment were more than she could bear, and as if it would be
altogether mamma's fault if the longed-for toy did not fall to her
share.
The eager face clouded over, a frown gathered between her eyes, and an
ugly pout upon her lips.
Oh, if little children who like to appear well only knew how such pouts
and frowns disfigure the faces which God has made to be so pleasant
and so fair, they would surely beware how they let Discontent set his
hateful mark upon them!
"But I want it so; and I must have it," Mamie muttered fretfully.
"Yes, dear; we shall see," was Mrs. Stone's answer, as she went forward
to the table where the baby doll lay in her glory.
"Tell me what you are going to give," said Mamie, as her mother bent
forward with a smile, and whispered her offer to Miss Stanton.
"Ah! but that is a secret, Mamie," said the young lady, drawing forth
the paper on which she wrote the names of would-be purchasers with the
sum each one proposed to give; and putting down Mrs. Stone's, and the
amount she had offered for the doll. "No one is to be told till this
evening."
"Did you offer the _most_, mamma?" repeated Mamie, upon whose mind it
seemed impossible to impress the fact that no one would know this till
the appointed time.
"I doubt if any one will give more than I will," said Mrs. Stone, who
thought that she had really offered more than the value of the doll, as
indeed perhaps she had done, so anxious was she to gratify her little
daughter.
Mamie's face cleared a little.
"I do want it so," she said less fretfully, but still with much energy
in her tone.
"Yes, I believe the children all do," laughed Miss Annie Stanton; "at
least, I can answer for several, Maggie and Bessie among them."
"I don't believe anybody wants it so much as I do," persisted Mamie.
"I've been thinking about it and thinking about it till I feel as if I
could not bear to give it up. Oh, I must have that doll, I must!"
Somebody who was passing paused at her side as she spoke, and turning
her eyes from the doll, they met those of Miss Ashton fixed rather
anxiously upon her. Mamie's color deepened, and she looked a little
ashamed, for she hardly knew herself how much she valued the good
opinion of her teacher, and now it seemed to her that her last speech
had been rather obstinate and selfish.
"I mean if I could have it quite fairly, Miss Ashton," she said, as if
in answer to the lady's look, for she had spoken no word.
"Of course," said Miss Ashton, smiling; "we would not believe you
wished to do what was unfair, even to gain the doll, Mamie."
"No," answered Mamie half reluctantly; "but you can't think how much I
want it, Miss Ashton. I'm sure none of the others care as much as I do
about it."
"I do not know about that," said Miss Ashton. "Look at Belle, Mamie.
How do you think she feels?"
Mamie turned and looked at Belle.
Her little schoolmate stood beside the doll, quite absorbed in
regarding its beauties,--not that they were new to her, for she had
watched the progress of its magnificent wardrobe from the very
commencement,--her eyes wandering from one pretty trifle to another
with longing, almost loving, interest; her fingers touching them now
and then, but so daintily and so carefully that there was no fear they
would come to harm through her handling. Miss Stanton had found it
necessary to warn off more than one little pair of hands that day, lest
they should mar the splendor of that wardrobe, or its mistress; but
there was no need of this with Belle, so gently and delicately did she
smooth and touch them. Her face was very wistful as Mamie looked at
her, showing plainly that her desire for the beautiful doll was quite
as great as Mamie's own, and that her disappointment would be quite as
severe if it did not fall to her lot.
Mamie watched her for a moment, and then, leaving her mother's side,
walked slowly over to the corner of the table where Belle stood.
"Isn't she lovely?" she said, meaning the doll.
"Yes," answered Belle. "I should think she is! Oh, I want her so! Don't
you, Mamie?"
"Indeed, I do," said Mamie with quite as much emphasis as Belle had
used. "Indeed, I do."
"But I don't s'pose you want her as much as I do," said Belle; "least I
don't s'pose you need her so much."
"Why not?" asked Mamie, half resenting such a supposition.
"'Cause you have your little sister to play with," said Belle, "and
I have no sister, nor any mamma to play with me," she added with a
half-smothered sigh.
That appeal seldom failed to touch the hearts of Belle's playmates and
companions; the child's longing for her lost mother was so great, her
sense of loneliness, at times, so pitiful; and the years which had
passed since her mother's death seemed to have little or no power to
weaken these in her loyal little heart.
Mamie stood silent. The doll was not yet hers to give up; but she now
had a feeling as if she ought to wish that Belle, rather than herself,
should be the fortunate possessor.
"I b'lieve if I had a little sister I should not care so much about
dolls," continued Belle, with an air of deep consideration; "but this
doll does seem so very _real_ and live; doesn't she, Mamie?"
Mamie assented, with a half impatient, though unspoken wish that Belle
did not care so very much about the doll.
"Belle," she said, "if I do have her, I will let you play with her a
great deal; and sometimes I'll let you take her to your own house, if
you'll be careful of her."
Belle shook her head.
"That wouldn't be like having her for my very own, Mamie; I'd like to
make believe that she was my sister if I had her, she's such a very
real doll."
"S'pose none of us have her; but somebody who is a stranger to the
school," said Lily Norris, who had just drawn near, and who easily
guessed what the other children were talking about. "Wouldn't that be a
shocking occurrence?"
"Yes," said Belle, giving a long sigh at the possibility of such a
catastrophe. "Shocking! But we'll have to bear it, perhaps."
"Belle!" called Bessie Bradford from the other end of the piazza
where she stood behind the flower-table; "Belle, how long you've been
away from our table!" and recalled thus to a sense of her duties as
saleswoman, Belle ran back to her post, which she had been tempted to
quit for a closer view of the coveted doll, so often seen, but of whose
perfections she never tired.
"I hope Mr. Powers will be the one to give the most for the doll, so
Belle can have it," said Lily to Mamie, when Belle had left them.
"Don't you want it yourself?" asked Mamie.
"Yes," answered Lily; "but I think I'd 'most rather Belle would have it
than any one. She seems to feel as if it would be a kind of company
for her; and she's very lonesome sometimes. She don't have such large
families as we do, you know; nothing but herself and her papa. Yes, I
think I would rather Belle should have it than to have it myself."
Mamie felt that she could not make up her mind to be as generous as
Lily, were the opportunity offered to her; and still she wished that
she could be so. Lily was not "one bit selfish," she saw; neither was
Belle, spite of her intense desire to possess the doll, at all inclined
to be jealous or ill-tempered about it, as Mamie felt she might be
herself if another child carried off the prize.
"Belle used to fret and cry like every thing if she didn't have what
she wanted," she said to herself; "but she doesn't now. I wonder why;"
and again there came a disagreeable consciousness to Mamie that she had
not improved in this respect as much as her little schoolmate.
The excitement and anxiety respecting the doll increased rather than
lessened as the day wore on and the fair drew near its close. Every
papa and mamma, grandmamma, uncle, or aunt, who came in, was introduced
to the young lady, and besought to "offer a whole lot for her."
But none were as eager as Belle and Mamie, though the former did not
show the impatience Mamie had displayed. Her papa was seized upon the
moment he entered the fair, it is true; and begged to offer so much for
the doll that he should be sure to gain it for his little daughter;
but she did not insist that she _would_ have it, as Mamie had done, or
worry and fret her father.
And somehow, she scarcely knew why, this seemed to keep Mamie a little
in check. It really appeared as if Belle, lonely little Belle, needed
the doll more than she did. True, Belle had "lots of toys," but so had
she; and then she had a baby sister at home, and Belle had none, and
"no mother;" and Mamie really caught herself wondering if she could
resolve to wish that Belle, rather than herself, might have the doll,
and if she ever could be so generous as to give it up to her if it were
in her power to do so.
The day passed on, evening came, the fair was drawing to its close,
having proved a most triumphant success, and the time for announcing
the name of the doll's purchaser had arrived. This was proclaimed by
Mr. Stanton's voice from his sister's table at the end of the piazza,
and instantly every little saleswoman had deserted her stand, and they
all flocked to the place of interest.
"I hope it is you, papa; oh, I hope it's you! I could almost pray it
might be you," said Belle, holding fast to her father's hand, and
squeezing it tight in breathless expectation, as all waited to hear the
name of the happy owner.
Mr. Powers smiled down at her rather sadly. He could not help a feeling
of amusement, and still he did not like to see her so eager, so excited
over that which might prove a disappointment.
Mamie, who stood near, watched her, too; curious, despite her own
interest in the grand affair of the day, to see what Belle would say
and do if another than her papa should prove to be the munificent
purchaser.
Mr. Stanton took the list from his sister's hand, and casting his eye
over it, proclaimed aloud that Mrs. Benjamin Howard had offered the
largest sum for the doll, and hence it was hers. This was not Gracie
Howard's mamma, but her grandmamma; but still each young hearer felt
sure that the prize would be bestowed upon Gracie or one of her little
sisters. For whom else could Grandmamma Howard want it?
When Mrs. Howard's name was announced, Belle's face wore, for a moment,
a look of blank and utter disappointment, and Mamie's was not more
pleased. But still the latter kept her eye on Belle, and it seemed as
if it only needed a display of temper from her to produce the same from
Mamie.
But that did not follow. Choking back her sobs, and dashing some
bright drops from her eyes, Mamie saw her raise her face towards her
father, and say some words which did not reach her own ear; saw Mr.
Powers smile tenderly down on his little daughter as he answered her,
and presently Belle was smiling and bright again.
Mrs. Stone was agreeably surprised that her own little spoiled child
made no loud outcry over her disappointment. It is true that Mamie
could not or did not refrain from a pout and a fretful "I declare, it's
just too bad! I wanted it so, and--and--so did Belle."
And she was half inclined to feel resentful towards kind old Mrs.
Howard, and to think she had no right to have purchased the doll; and
later, when Maggie and Bessie came to her and said,--
"Mamie, we feel that it would be only taking a polite interest in Mrs.
Howard for us all to go and congratulate her on having the doll," she
refused to join her companions in doing so.
But when she saw them all, even Belle, going up with cheerful and
pleased faces to where the dear old lady sat, she felt ashamed to
be left out, and fell into the ranks, standing by while Lily Norris
delivered herself of the following speech, composed on the spur of the
occasion by Maggie, who was too shy to speak it herself, and so begged
Lily to be spokeswoman.
"Dear ma'am: while we have to mourn for ourselves, we have also to
rejoice for you, and to congratulate you because you have the doll; and
we do it with all our hearts, 'cause you have been so kind and good to
us about the fair."
This little oration was pronounced by Lily without the slightest
embarrassment or faltering; for, although not conceited, she was a
self-possessed little monkey, and now she felt that the credit of the
performance was due to Maggie, and not to herself.
And lest there should be any mistake on this head, she added, almost in
the same breath with the concluding words of the speech, "The praise of
making that up is Maggie's, not mine;" and retired within the ranks of
her schoolmates.
Their congratulations were received by Mrs. Howard with much pleasure,
and by all such as heard them with some amusement; after which a
farewell look was taken of the famous doll, who was now carried away by
her owner.
Mamie was petted and made much of by her not over-wise mother, because
she bore her disappointment so well, for it was something so new to
see her conduct herself in such a peaceable and sensible manner when
she was crossed in any way, that Mrs. Stone was surprised as well as
pleased.
Mr. Stone, too, and even her brother Walter, had each his word of
praise for Mamie as they drove home; and she really felt herself quite
a heroine, because she had not cried and fretted like any baby.
But in spite of this consciousness of superior virtue, which was all
the more pleasing because it was somewhat of a novelty, Mamie felt that
Belle had been, to use her own words, "even better" than she had.
Belle had not shown even a shadow of sulkiness or ill temper; and yet
her heart had seemed to be set upon the doll even more than Mamie's own.
"Belle is always so good now," she said to herself, "and yet she used
to be so spoiled, and to be provoked if she did not have every thing
she wanted, and cry about it just--just like me. I wish I could grow as
good as she is now. Everybody says she has improved so. I wonder how
she does it. Some time I'll ask her."
Such were Mamie's thoughts and resolutions as she lay in her bed that
night, and she dropped off to sleep on this last.
The opportunity for putting it in practice came sooner than she had
supposed probable; for it was vacation, and she did not expect to see
Belle at school every day, as was usual.
[Illustration]
II.
_HOW BELLE DID IT._
"WHY, Belle! Is that you?"
"Why, yes, Mamie! Is that you?"
These very unnecessary questions were put by the two little schoolmates
as they stood facing one another within the saloon of the drawing-room
car attached to the train which was on its way to Boston.
There certainly could be no doubt in the mind of either that the one
was Belle and the other Mamie; and the above exclamations were only due
to the surprise felt by each one at the sight of the other.
"Yes, it is I," was Mamie's answer. "Where are you going, Belle?" she
questioned in the next breath.
"To Netasquet," replied Belle; "and Lily Norris is there now."
"Why, I am going there too!" exclaimed Mamie, in a delighted voice;
"all of us are,--papa and mamma, and all the boys, and Lulu and me. How
very fortunate, Belle, that so many of us are going there together!
Won't we have nice times?"
"Um--m, well, maybe so. Maggie and Bessie are not going there," said
Belle in a tone which told that she thought all pleasure questionable
in which her last-named two little friends did not share.
"They've gone to Newport, haven't they?" said Mamie.
"Yes, their papa has bought a house there, and now they'll go there
every summer. Papa and I are going to make them a good long visit by
and by; but first we have to go to Netasquet."
Belle said this with a sigh, as if even the prospect of the "good long
visit" could scarcely console her for the present separation from
Maggie and Bessie.
"Who are you with?" was Mamie's next question.
"Papa and Daphne and Uncle and Aunt Walton," answered Belle.
"Oh! and Ma--bel?" said Mamie, following the direction of Belle's eye,
and seeing the head of her little cousin, Mabel Walton, peeping out
from the door of a compartment at the end of the car.
"Yes. You don't seem very rejoiced about Mabel," said Belle, who
had noticed the tone in which Mamie uttered the last words,--a tone
expressive of any thing but pleasure.
"An' no wonder," muttered old Daphne, Belle's nurse, who stood behind
her young mistress; but Mamie, thinking it as well to change the
subject of conversation, only said,--
"Don't you want to see my little sister Lulu, Belle?"
"Yes," answered Belle with alacrity, and would have followed Mamie at
once to that part of the saloon where her friends were seated, if
Daphne had not interfered, saying,--
"You just come back to your pa, honey. De hosses done pullin' us now,
and dey're gwine for put to de injine, and dere'll be a screechin' an'
a shakin' an' a jerkin' fit to knock de bref out of yer. 'Sides, I've
foun' out it's best to stick close to yer pa when we're trabellin'
roun'. Come to lose sight of him, 'taint easy sayin' what'll become of
us."
And with a fearful recollection of having been "gone off with" by the
cars on one occasion, when she had been separated from her papa, Belle
rushed back to the compartment of her own party, and, in dread of such
a catastrophe occurring again, clung to him till the train was speeding
on its way. Then she felt safe; neither she nor papa could leave the
cars while they were rushing on at this rate.
But after some time, just as she was beginning to tire of looking
out of the window, and watching the rapidly changing scene without,
Mamie's face showed itself at the open door of the compartment; and
having nodded in her own free and easy way to the party in general, she
said to Belle's papa,--
"Mr. Powers, couldn't Belle come with me to see our Lulu?"
Mr. Powers consented, finding that his little daughter wished to go,
and Belle, slipping from his knee, took Mamie's outstretched hand,
looking back, however, at her Cousin Mabel.
"Mabel can come too if she likes," said Mamie; but Mabel, feeling that
there was a want of cordiality in the invitation, plumply and poutingly
refused it; upon which Mamie looked rather relieved.
Mabel and Mamie were never the best of friends; each one called
the other "a horrid child," "selfish," "hateful," and other such
uncomplimentary names; not always in one another's hearing, it is true;
but Mamie knew pretty well what Mabel thought of her; and Mabel, on her
side, felt that Mamie regarded her with no friendly eye.
Some little readers may know the reason why; others may wish to ask it.
It was this:--
_Both_ were spoiled, selfish children, allowed to do pretty much as
they pleased, and each one so accustomed to having her own way that
they were almost sure to clash and quarrel when they were thrown
together. Out of school, that is; in school Miss Ashton's authority and
the peace-making efforts of their little classmates kept matters pretty
smooth; but in their play-time, or when they met one another elsewhere,
there was apt to be some falling out which each always declared to be
entirely the fault of the other. Mabel, a quiet child, to whom words
did not come easily, would generally relieve her feelings by "making
faces" at Mamie, in which ugly practice she had become quite an adept;
but Mamie had a sharp little tongue of her own, and put no check upon
it if she chose to say biting or taunting things to Mabel.
So now you will understand the reason of Mamie's dissatisfied "oh! and
Ma--bel?" when she heard of whom Belle's party was composed. Probably
Mabel was not much more pleased when her cousin told her whom she had
met without in the saloon.
But Belle, who was at peace with Mamie, and who was extremely fond
of babies and very little children, was only too glad to accept the
latter's invitation, and go with her to play with her little sister.
Lulu, a bright, cunning child nearly three years old, soon made friends
with Belle, and graciously received all the petting and coaxing that
were lavished upon her.
But, pet and darling though she was, and though Mamie seemed both proud
and fond of her, Belle could not but perceive that Mamie domineered
over the little one, and sometimes needlessly contradicted or crossed
her. Sometimes Lulu would take such things quietly; at others she would
resist or fret, thereby making a disturbance, and annoying those about
her.
Belle noticed all this, though she made no remark; but Mamie did not
fail to perceive that she looked at her once or twice with wondering
disapproval, when some petty act of tyranny or selfishness showed
itself towards the little sister.
And once, although Belle meant no reproof, Mamie felt reproached and
ashamed.
For Mrs. Stone had given to each of the three children a cake. Mamie's
and Belle's were alike, being the only two of the kind that the stock
on hand afforded. Lulu's was quite as good if she could have thought
so; but it did not strike her in that light, and she clamored for "a
tate lite Mamie's."
"There are no more, my darling. Change with her; will you not, Mamie?"
said her mother.
But no; Mamie, too, fancied her own cake the best, and she flatly
refused to exchange with her sister, who sat upon papa's knee, holding
the despised cake at arm's length, and regarding it with a comical
expression of displeasure. Lulu put up a grieved lip at this, and
would probably have burst into a loud cry, for there is no denying
that she, too, was somewhat over-petted and spoiled; but Belle stepped
forward and put her own cake in the baby's hand, taking the rejected
dainty in exchange.
"That is a kind, unselfish little girl," said Mr. Stone; "but are you
sure you like that cake quite as well, my dear?"
"I can eat this one quite as well, sir," answered Belle, too truthful
to say that she did really like the one as well as the other, and then
added, "Lulu is so little, sir, I s'pose it makes more difference to
her than to me."
She did not look at Mamie, nor did her manner seem to throw any blame
on her; but the latter did feel thoroughly ashamed to think that
a stranger should yield that which she had refused to give up for
the sister over whom, at times, she made so much ado; and she ate
her cake with very little real enjoyment. At first, too, she felt
rather provoked with Belle for being more unselfish than herself;
but presently that feeling passed away, and she looked at her with
admiration, as she thought, "She is better than I, a great deal better."
For spoiled though she was, and at times extremely perverse, fretful,
and selfish, there was much that was good in Mamie Stone; and one of
her best qualities was that she was always quick to see and acknowledge
what was worthy of praise in others, and she was also honest with
herself, and ready to confess her faults.
But then the trouble was that she was too often satisfied with allowing
that she had been wrong, and took little or no pains to correct
herself, and to strive against such naughtiness for the future.
Of late, however, Mamie had felt the wish to be a better and more
amiable child; and she would often please herself with imagining how
she would grow less selfish and exacting, more willing to give up her
own will to that of others, more obedient and respectful to her parents
and elders.
But when the time arrived for these good resolutions to be put in
practice they always seemed to fail her; temptation came in her way,
some small trifle crossed her, and she saw herself, her own wilful,
pettish, perhaps disobedient little self, not one whit improved by all
those good resolutions and delightful dreams of the wonderfully good
child she had intended to become.
Still she did honestly wish to do better; but she did not seem to know
the right way to set about this; perhaps she had not a good motive;
perhaps it was from the desire to have people say what a good girl she
had become; how much she had improved; to receive such praise as she
often heard bestowed upon some of her young companions,--Belle for
instance.
"A kind, unselfish little girl," her father had called Belle; and Mamie
would have been very much pleased to hear papa say that to her; but he
never did,--and why? Because she never deserved it. Mamie felt that,
although it did vex her that it was so. And she would really like to
deserve it, she thought.
"But I never can remember in time," she said to herself. "I wonder how
Belle does it. People used to say she was spoiled when she first came
to this country, and knew Maggie and Bessie and all of us, and went to
Miss Ashton's school; and now every one says she is so good and sweet;
and so she is too. And she has a right not to be so good as me, too,
I s'pose, 'cause she has no mother, and her father and old Daphne do
spoil her dreadfully, every one knows that."
If "spoiling" meant indulgence, Belle certainly had her share of that;
but, only child and motherless though she was, it was not the weak and
foolish yielding to every whim and temper which had nearly been the
ruin of poor Mamie's mind and character, and which were fast doing
their own ill work even with little Lulu's sweeter and more docile
disposition.
"I'm going to ask Belle how she does it," Mamie said again to herself;
and saying this recalled to her mind that she had made the same
resolve on the day of the fair; but until now she had never had the
opportunity to carry it out.
Now, ever since that time, Mamie had not ceased to plume herself on
her good behavior on the occasion, and her mamma had bestowed upon her
praise enough to turn half a dozen little heads.
So, her mind full of this, Mamie began the conversation in this manner.
"Weren't we good that day, Belle?"
"What day?" asked Belle, surprised, as she had reason to be, at this
sudden reference to a matter she had well-nigh forgotten.
"Why, _that_ day; the fair day," answered Mamie; "were we not good?"
"Oh, yes," said Belle, still rather surprised; "every one was very
good; and we made such a lot of money for Jessie and her grandfather.
It was all very nice."
"But _us_, _we_, you and I, I mean," persisted Mamie. "Were we not good
about the doll?"
"Well, yes, I s'pose so," said Belle, her great black eyes fixed
wonderingly on Mamie. "But I don't know if we were any better than all
the rest, and I think maybe I was not so good; for I was real provoked,
at first, that I could not have it, and it was very hard work for me
not to cry. But, do you know, Mamie, I think now I am glad Mrs. Howard
had it, and gave it to Nellie Ransom, 'cause Nellie does not have so
many toys and pretty things as most of us children in the school, and
she was so very pleased to have it."
"Um--well, I don't know about that," said Mamie, reflectively. "Mamma
says I behaved beautifully about that doll, and the next morning she
took me to Bruner's, and let me choose the prettiest one that was
there; but it wasn't so lovely as _that_ one; but I don't think I'm
such a mountain of goodness as to be so very glad Nellie had it instead
of me. I'd 'most as lief _you_ had had it as to have it myself, Belle."
"Oh, thank you, dear!" said Belle, flushing with pleasure, and kissing
her playmate with as much gratitude as if she had really bestowed the
doll upon her.
"I would," repeated Mamie, feeling more and more virtuous; "and I do
think that you were real good. Tell me how you do it, Belle;" and
she lowered her voice and drew closer to Belle, so that no one might
overhear her.
"Do what?" asked Belle, more and more mystified by Mamie's obscure
manner of expressing herself.
"How is it that you try not to be--well--not to be
spoiled--or--or--selfish--or to stop yourself when you feel like being
naughty. For you do try, Belle, I know; and I would like to, too, and
to have people say I try to cure myself and am good; but every time I
make up my mind, I will go and forget, and am naughty again, and then
it is too late."
"But I'm _not_ always good," said Belle; "sometimes I am quite naughty,
though I do know better than I used to. But you see, Mamie, papa is
always sorry then, and that helps me to remember about being obstinate
or selfish or naughty. I don't like to grieve papa, so I have to try
to be good, so as to keep him as glad as I can."
"Is that the reason?" said Mamie. "Well, I like to please my papa and
mamma too; but then it is such a bother, and I cannot remember always."
"Well," said Belle, solemnly, and with the air of one giving advice in
a grave matter, as indeed she was; "there's another thing that might
help you more than that if you could think about it, Mamie. Bessie put
me in mind of it. She said it always helped her when she felt provoked,
and felt like being in a passion with any one; and it does help me to
be good. It is remembering that our Father in heaven sees us all the
time, and knows all the naughty things we do, whether they are much
naughty, or only a little naughty; and what He thinks about it."
"Oh, yes," said Mamie, slowly, as if the thought had struck her for the
first time. Presently she added: "Belle, do you suppose God noticed
just now when I wouldn't give Lulu the cake?"
"Yes, of course He did," answered the little Mentor.
"And do you believe He thought I was dreadful?" asked Mamie.
"Well, yes," said Belle. "I'm afraid He did. Pretty dreadful. You see
Lulu is so little, and I s'pose He thinks such a big girl as you ought
to know better and give up more."
"Yes," said Mamie; "but, Belle, I don't know if I like to think God
sees _every_ thing I do. It's a little uncomfortable."
"When you're not good it is," answered Belle; "but that's the help, you
see. And we can't help His seeing us whether we like it or not. And
then you know if He sees when we're naughty, He knows right away when
we're sorry too."
Mamie sat as if thinking for one moment; then speaking in a still lower
whisper than she had done before, she said,--
"Belle, don't tell anybody; but I believe I quite enjoy being naughty
sometimes."
"I'm not surprised," said her young teacher. "I do, too, sometimes,
and so I thought there was not much hope of me; and I told Maggie
Bradford about it, and she said she enjoyed it very much sometimes, but
afterwards she felt so horridly about it that it did not make up for
that. And that was just like me, so it encouraged me a good deal."
"Yes," said Mamie, after another pause for reflection; "every one
thinks Maggie is such a nice child that that is rather encouraging.
It seems as if I couldn't help being obstinate or cross sometimes, or
liking to fret mamma when she don't want to do what I want her to. She
'most generally does though, 'cause I fuss till she lets me."
Mamie said these last words in a tone of some triumph, very different
from the rather subdued way in which she had spoken before, and Belle
was much shocked.
"O Mamie!" she said; "s'pose your mamma was to go away from you to
heaven."
Mamie turned and looked at her mother, who was leaning back in
her chair with a languid, weary air; and, smitten with a sudden
fit of remorse for many past offences in the way of fretting and
"fussing,"--one no longer ago than this very morning,--she rushed at
her and half smothered her with penitent kisses; then, without giving
her any explanation of this unexpected burst of affection, she returned
to her conversation with Belle.
"I don't see how I'm to remember always about God noticing what I do,"
she said.
"That is bad habits," answered Belle. "You've never been accustomed to
it, and so it seems hard at first. But you know that text, 'Thou God
seest me.' Take that to remember by."
"I don't want to," said Mamie, with a disdainful shrug of her
shoulders; "that's too old-fashioned. I've known that ever since I was
born. (I'd rather have something new.")
"There's a Bible verse I had the other Sunday," said Belle, "that means
the same, I believe. Maybe you'd like that."
"Let's hear it," said Mamie, with an appearance of real interest.
"'The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the
good,'" said Belle. "I s'pose you understand it."
"Yes," said Mamie. "It means He sees us whether we are good or whether
we are naughty. It's nice to think He sees us when we're good. Yes, I
like that, and I think I'll have it to remember myself by. Tell it to
me again, Belle."
Belle did as she was asked, repeating the text till Mamie knew it quite
well.
"I'd be rather surprised at myself if I did turn good," she said, when
this was accomplished; "but we will see. Now let's stop being sober,
and play."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
III.
_THE BREAKWATER._
NOW perhaps you may think that Mamie was irreverent and careless,
and did not really wish to improve herself; but, heedless as she
seemed, she had really in her heart a desire to be a better girl, less
troublesome and wilful and disobedient. It was a wish that came and
went; sometimes she felt as if she did not care at all about curing
herself of her fretful, unruly ways; at others, she felt as if she
"would give any thing to be as good as Maggie, Bessie, and Belle," who
all were so much happier and brighter than she was, because--Mamie knew
this--they were so much more contented and amiable.
So, when Belle had left her and gone back to her own friends, she sat
for a while quietly in her corner, thinking over what her little friend
had said to her, and the verse she had given her for--a--a--what was
it? Mamie had the idea in her mind, but she could not think of the word
she wanted.
It would be, as she had said to Belle, rather pleasant to know that the
Father in heaven was watching her attempts to be a better girl, and she
really thought it would be a help to have such a--what was that word?
"Papa," she said at last, "when people take a text or any thing to
remember by, what do they call it?"
"To remember what by, daughter?" asked Mr. Stone.
"Well, to remember--to remember how to behave themselves by; to keep
good by. Don't you know what I mean?"
"A motto, do you mean?" asked her papa.
"No, not a motto. I s'pose it's the same as a motto, but it has another
name. Dora Johnson had a motto; so I want something else."
Now it is not very surprising that Mr. Stone did not immediately hit
upon the word which Mamie wanted; but after he had suggested one or two
which would not answer, she grew pettish and irritable, as she was too
apt to do, leaning back in her seat with raised shoulders and pouting
lips, and giving snappish, disrespectful replies to her father's
efforts to help her.
"Oh, don't! you bother me so I can't think myself." "You're real mean
not to help me;" and such dutiful little speeches found their way from
her lips.
"Well," said Mr. Stone, after he had shown more patience with the
spoiled child than most fathers would or should have done, "perhaps the
word you want is 'watchword.'"
"Yes, that is it," said Mamie, her face clearing, and her lips and
shoulders settling themselves into their proper places; "watchword! I
am going to have a watchword, and behave myself by it."
"And what is your watchword?" asked Mr. Stone.
"Now stop! you shan't laugh, or I won't tell you," pouted Mamie. "It is
'the eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the
good.' So when I am good, He sees me, and is pleased."
"Yes," said her father, becoming grave; "but how is it when a little
girl wears a scowling brow and puckered lips at her papa? For 'the eyes
of the Lord are in _every_ place.'"
Mamie sat silent, quite confounded for the moment. This _was_ bringing
it closely home to her. That All-seeing Eye had then marked the cross,
fretful face she had put on to her father; that All-hearing Ear--for it
flashed across her mind that the ear of the Lord was as quick to hear
as His eye to see--had heard her disrespectful words to him when he
was so kindly trying to help her out of her difficulty. Here, within
a few moments, she had been selfish and unkind to Lulu, undutiful to
her father; just, too, when she had been saying she wanted to be a good
girl; and "the eyes of the Lord" had been watching her all the time. It
was not a pleasant thought.
Mamie turned her face away from her father, and, planting both elbows
upon the window-frame, gazed out, but without seeing or heeding much
of the rapidly changing landscape. She was thinking, half ashamed of
herself, half vexed at she scarcely knew what. But she began to doubt
if, after all, she would have "a watchword." It seemed likely to prove
troublesome, perhaps more of a reproach than a help to her; and she
half resolved that she would keep it in mind no longer. She "wished
Belle had not told it to her."
However, her reflections, unpleasant though they were, kept her quiet
and thoughtful for so long, that her father, not wishing to see her
make herself unhappy, spoke to her, saying,--
"There, never mind then, daughter. Papa did not mean to make you fret.
We will think no more about it."
But Mamie's thoughts had done her this much good. Turning to her
father, she said, in a half shamefaced manner, so unused was she to
making apologies when she had been in the wrong: "I'm sorry I was
cross, papa, and spoke so to you."
Mr. Stone was pleased, and showed that he was so, which restored
Mamie's good-humor with herself; and she was much more amiable and
tractable than usual during the remainder of the journey, which did not
come to an end till quite late in the evening.
They reached the station where they were to quit the cars some time
before sunset, it is true; but then there was a ride of several miles
in a great, jolting stage-coach,--rather a severe trial to the young
travellers, tired with a long day's journey. Perhaps older and stronger
people than Mamie, Belle, and Lulu were inclined to be fretful at the
prospect, and to feel as if a very small trifle were too great to be
borne after the heat and fatigue of the day.
A large number of passengers had left the train at this point, all
bound for the same watering-place as our friends, and had to be
accommodated with places in the stage-coaches which were waiting their
arrival. There was a choice of seats in the lumbering vehicles, those
upon the top being generally preferred, as being cooler now that the
day was drawing to its close, and also as affording a better view of
the country than those inside.
"I speak for a seat up on top! I speak for a seat up on top!" cried
Mamie, as she saw several people climbing to the coveted places. "Papa,
I want a seat up there."
"Please, papa, go on top of the stage-coach, and take me," pleaded
Belle; and Mr. Powers, who had his eye already on that airy position,
and who had no one but Belle and old Daphne to care for, speedily
swung his little daughter to her high seat, and, following himself,
established her in comfort on his knee.
"I want to go too; I will go too!" said Mabel Walton, who had been
unusually fretful and aggravating during the last hour of the journey;
but her mother interfered, saying that Mabel had not been very well,
and she did not wish her to ride outside in the night air.
Mamie's brothers, four in number, had clambered up, some on the top of
one stage, some on another; but Mr. Stone, who had his wife, baby, and
nurse to render comfortable, was too late to secure one of these seats.
Every one was filled, and Mamie and her papa were obliged to ride
inside.
Mr. and Mrs. Stone both dreaded an outcry from their little girl, or at
least some wayward behavior; and indeed there were signs of a coming
storm on Mamie's lips and brow, as her father lifted her within the
stage-coach. But it was perhaps held in check by the terrific howl
which burst from Mabel when she found she could not have her own way,
and ride where she chose; for while she had been arguing and fretting
with her mother on the subject, every place without was filled, and
when Mrs. Walton gave way it was too late to indulge the whim of the
ungoverned child.
Mamie saw the frowns, shrugs, and looks of annoyance with which the
other occupants of the coach regarded the screaming, struggling Mabel,
and at once resolved to form a pleasing contrast to her; and it was
with a delightful consciousness of superior virtue that she nestled
into her own corner. Her mother's praises added not a little to this,
and altogether Mamie felt well satisfied with herself and her own
behavior throughout the day. And in this state of feeling she resolved
to keep to her "watchword" after all, for it was rather pleasant to
believe that "the eyes of the Lord" had beheld more good than evil in
her.
Now, I cannot say that the state of Mamie's mind was altogether right,
or that she was not a little self-righteous; but she certainly enjoyed
it, and it had, at least, one good result, that it was productive
of great comfort to those about her. For Mabel, even after she had
screamed herself hoarse, did not cease to whine and fret till they had
nearly reached their destination, and there could be no doubt that all
the other passengers were ready to declare her a nuisance. To do her
justice, it was some time since Mabel had shown herself so wilful and
fractious, for her fits of perverseness were becoming less frequent
than they once were.
At last, however, her interest in the new scenes to which she was
approaching took her thoughts from her own woes, and she ceased to
grumble and complain.
When they reached the shore it was almost too dark for the children to
see more than the long line of hotels, the greater part painted white
with green blinds, standing each in its plot of ground, surrounded by
its white-washed picket fence, their piazzas thronged with people,
their windows gleaming with lights.
On the other hand was the sea,--the grand, glorious old ocean, calm and
quiet to-night, as its gentle waves rippled and glanced in the beams
of a young moon, and beat out their ceaseless song in a measured murmur
on the shore.
And now they parted company, Belle and her papa, Mabel and her parents,
being left at one hotel, while Mr. Stone's family passed on to another.
However, the houses were quite near enough for the little girls to
feel sure they could have each other's society whenever they were so
inclined.
Belle was enchanted to be met by Lily Norris at the very door of the
hotel; for Lily had heard that her little friend was coming, and was on
the watch to welcome her.
To Mabel, the pleasure of the meeting was more doubtful, for Lily
sometimes took rather a high hand with some of her shortcomings, and
teased her now and then when she was cross, so that they were not
always the best of friends. But on the present occasion, Lily was
gracious and rather patronizing, as was thought to become one who had
been already on the ground for three days, and who was therefore
entitled to do the honors of the place.
There never was such a charming spot as Netasquet, according to Lily's
showing; but just at present, supper and bed were the first things to
be thought of for our tired, hungry little travellers, and all other
pleasures must be postponed till to-morrow morning.
Directly after breakfast, Mamie sauntered out upon the piazza, and
stood gazing at the sea, not knowing exactly what to do with herself.
Her brothers had started off on their own discoveries, the other
children in the house were strangers to her, and she was just wishing
for Belle and Lily, when she saw all three of her little playmates
coming towards her, bright, good-natured, and gay.
"Ask your mamma to let you come with us," said Lily; "we're going to
have some fun, and I expect she'll be very glad to have you out of the
way while the unpacking is being done; and mamma says my nurse can go
with us to take care of us all."
Mamie was only too glad to go, and at once signified her readiness
to accept the invitation, not even thinking it necessary to ask the
permission Lily had suggested, but contenting herself with simply
telling her mother that she _was going_.
The other children were too much used to such independence on her part,
however, to pay much heed to it; and they all four went off pleasantly
together.
"Now, what shall we do?" said Lily. "You shall choose, 'cause you're
the newest come. There's the beach, and there's the rocks and the river
and the spring and the ditch and the breakwater,--lots of places to go,
and lots of things to do."
"What is the breakwater?" asked Mamie, for whom the name had a great
attraction.
"There it is, over there," answered Lily, pointing to where a long,
narrow pier jutted out into the sea, the central part broken and
ruined, the heavy stones of which it had been built lying in a confused
mass, some on one side, some on the other. Useless as a pier, the only
purpose it now served was that which its name denoted, to break the
force of the waves as they rolled in on the bathing beach, save that it
was also a fine, though not always a very safe spot from which to watch
the breakers.
"Mamma never allows me to go there alone," added Lily; "and she will
not let me go even with some one to take care of me, if the waves are
very high; but they are not high to-day, so Nora will take us."
"Let's go there, then," said Mamie; and the others assented.
But just then Mrs. Stone's voice was heard calling to Mamie from the
piazza they had left.
"Mamie," she said, "I do not wish you to go near that breakwater, my
darling."
Mamie ran back a few steps and then stood still, where all she said
reached both her mother and the children.