with you as far as the river, if you'll have me."
"Certainly, sir; most happy," answered Tom; and the gentleman stepped
into the boat, which was kept from floating out by the rope which Tom
had noosed about one of the heavy stones of the pier.
"O papa!" said Bessie, "how I do wish I could come in the boat now, and
be rocked up and down that way. I do like it so."
"Come, then," said her father, and, guided by Mr. Powers' hand, the
little girl made her way over the rugged ruins of the pier, and was
lifted by her father into the boat.
"Anybody else want a little tossing about?" asked Tom. "Maggie?" fixing
his laughing eyes on her face, quite sure what her answer would be.
"No--I--thank--you," said Maggie, with long-drawn emphasis on each
word. "Tom, it's very plain that you don't know what sea-sickness is.
Oo--o--o!"
"Poor Maggie! she shuddered at the very thought," said Tom.
"Papa, I'd like to go; could I?" asked Belle; and her father put her
beside Bessie.
"Lily?" said Mr. Powers, holding out his hand towards her as he saw how
wistful she looked.
But Lily shook her head.
"Mamma has forbidden me to go in the boat when it is on the sea, sir,"
she said.
"I think your mamma would not object here, dear, and with Mr. Bradford
in the boat," said Mr. Powers.
"But she might, sir, and I think I'd better not," said obedient Lily.
"She told me so very spressly not to go; and she only gave me leave to
row this afternoon because Tom was going on the river."
"You are a dear, good child," said Mr Powers. "Mamie, are you for the
boat?"
Mamie had, until this minute, been standing farther back than the
other children, not actually _on_ the breakwater, but as near to the
forbidden ground as she could possibly be. She had never been so near
to it before; and I am afraid that if her playmates had not known of
her mother's command, she would have disregarded it altogether. She had
no further thought for it when she heard Mr. Powers invitation, but
started forward.
"Mamie," said Tom, "did not your mother forbid you to come upon the
breakwater?"
"I can't go in the boat if I don't," pouted Mamie, stopping short where
she was.
"Go back!" said Tom decidedly; "you cannot come in till you go down to
the river. Stay with Lily and Maggie."
Mamie began to cry, but did not go back.
"Hi, there, you Mamie! come off the breakwater!" said Walter the next
moment, dashing past her with a pair of oars; and Ned, following with
another, said, "O you disobedient thing! if you're not headstrong. See
if I don't tell mamma of you."
Mamie drew back, but feeling more than ever discontented and rebellious.
"It's too bad!" she said passionately, as she saw Mabel placed beside
Belle and Bessie in the boat. "Everybody else can do every thing they
want to, and I never can, and just for such stupid nonsense. There! I
have been on the breakwater, and never had a bit of harm happen to me."
"Then you should be thankful for your mercies, and that your sins were
not visited upon you," said Maggie solemnly.
"Yes," said Lily; "and the way you talk about your mother is just too
much, Mamie."
"My dear children," said Mr. Powers, "do not spoil your afternoon's
pleasure by fretfulness and quarrelling. If Mamie has, for a moment,
forgotten her mother's orders, we will hope that she will be more
careful another time. Come, we must walk on, or the boat will be at the
river before we are."
But no; Mamie had not forgotten her mother's orders; she had only hoped
that others had done so, and had herself wilfully disregarded them;
and she was to find the truth of the old proverb, that "it is only the
first step that counts." Her "watchword," as she called it, was quite
forgotten or put aside now; it was no longer a check upon her; and she
had made up her mind that she would disobey her mother and go again
upon the breakwater at the first opportunity. The disappointment about
the boat was more than her wilful little heart could or would bear;
and she was indignant to think that the other children should have
any pleasure of which she was deprived. She forgot that Lily had been
obliged to give up the same; but that she had done so in a cheerful,
docile spirit, which would not even run the chance of doing that which
her mother would not approve.
So now Lily was gay, light-hearted, and full of spirits, chattering
away merrily with Maggie and Mr. Powers as they crossed the beach on
their way to the river where they were to meet the boat; while she,
Mamie, came moodily and discontentedly behind, finding the sand heavy,
the sun hot, the way "so long," and contriving to pick up half a dozen
troubles in the course of the walk.
Things were no better after she was in the boat. It was "no fun on that
stupid river;" the boat was "too crowded," although Mr. Bradford had
left it now; one "pushed" her, and another "shoved" her; although if
you had asked the other children, they would probably have said that
it was she herself who did the pushing and shoving; and, in short, she
made herself so disagreeable that Maggie afterwards privately confided
to Bessie that she found Mamie "very much re-dis-improved, and like the
Mamie of old days."
Her brothers were very much vexed with her, and even threatened to set
her upon the river-bank, and leave her there by herself till they were
ready to land; a threat which was, at last, carried out after she had
become quite unbearable, and destroyed the pleasure of the whole party.
However, it was not much more agreeable to have her shrieking upon the
river-bank than it was to have her grumbling in the boat; and she was
taken in again on promise of better behavior.
This promise she fulfilled by sitting sullenly in her own corner of the
boat without opening her lips; but the sounds which had come from them
before were not so sweet as to make her companions regret her silence.
And for such a trifle Mamie was making herself and all about her
uncomfortable; for the sake of this one forbidden pleasure set against
so many comforts and enjoyments, she had forgotten, or wilfully put out
of sight, all her good resolutions, and the remembrance of that Eye
which watched every thought and feeling of her heart.
And yet, perhaps it was the consciousness of this, the guilty, uneasy
conscience, which helped to make her so fretful and irritable, so hard
to please, and captious to all about her. She was more ready, as we
have seen, to test the conduct of others by her "watchword" than she
was her own, now that the first novelty of it had worn off; but she
could not quite put away the reproachful echo in her own heart.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VIII.
_DISOBEDIENCE._
LILY lay upon her back on the grass, her hands beneath her head, her
eyes looking up into the sky. She had been lying thus some time,
perfectly quiet, though Belle and Mamie sat beside her, playing with
Lulu.
"Lily," said Belle at last, "what are you doing?"
"Thinking," answered Lily.
"Oh!" said Belle, surprised, perhaps, at this unusual process; for Lily
generally had too many other things on hand to devote much time to
thought; "you look as if you were thinking sober too."
"Well, yes," said Lily, without bringing her eyes down from the sky;
"it was rather pious thinking I was doing."
"Would you mind telling us about it?" asked Belle, interested in the
novelty.
"Oh, no, not at all," answered Lily. "I was thinking about conscience,
and what a dreadful bother it is; but how it improves us, and how awful
we'd be without it. It's a great mercy it was given to us,--to me, at
least; or I should be all the time doing bad things. I think we might
call conscience a bother blessing, because, though it is best for us to
have it, it is a great inconvenience."
"Is it an inconvenience to you now?" asked Belle.
"No, not particular," said Lily, rolling over on her side, and plucking
a head of thistle-down which grew close at hand. "Here, Lulu, blow
this;" and she held it up that the little one might blow off the
feathery seed-vessels; "not particular just now; but it was a great
inconvenience before dinner. You see, Belle,--once more, Lulu; there
they go!--you see I wanted to do a thing very much, but I did not
feel sure mamma would let me, and she had gone to make a call, so I
could not ask her; and I made up my mind I'd just do it; and do you
know, I really believe I felt quite glad mamma was not there, so she
couldn't forbid me; but then my conscience,--I suppose it was my
conscience,--puff away, Lulu,--began to feel badly about it, and so I
put it off till mamma came, and sure enough, she did forbid it. So, you
see, there's a sign that conscience is a bother and a blessing too."
"Yes," said Belle approvingly.
"And then," proceeded Lily, thinking she might as well continue to
give her companions the benefit of her moral reflections, "and then I
was wondering what conscience was. We're so queer inside of us; our
thoughts and our consciences and our remorses, and all that, you know."
"Yes," said Belle again. "Lily, I suppose conscience is a kind of 'Thou
God seest me' feeling; don't you?"
"Why, yes," answered Lily, looking admiringly at Belle. "I never
thought about it that way, but I believe it is; and that was a very
clever idea of yours, Belle. Mamie, what do you think about it? You
seem to have thought a good deal lately about God seeing you all the
time."
"I don'no," muttered Mamie. The conversation was not pleasant to her,
and she did not choose to take any part in it.
"I s'pose heathen can't have consciences as long as they don't know
about God," said Belle thoughtfully.
"No, I'm quite sure they do not," said Lily confidently.
"Hafed, Mr. Stanton's servant boy, used to be a heathen," said Belle.
"Yes, but he's turned now, and a Christian," said Lily. "Belle, I
know three turned heathen," with an air of great satisfaction in the
extensiveness of her acquaintance with converted idolaters. "There's
Hafed, and there's that Chinese pedler that mamma buys matches of, and
there's that old black man on your papa's plantation who used to be a
king in his own country. Belle, when that old black man gets to heaven,
won't he make a queer, awfully ugly old angel?"
"He won't be black then," said Belle; "at least, I b'lieve he won't.
But he's very good if he is so ugly; papa says so."
"How will he get white, I wonder?" queried Lily; "he's so awfully
black; and such a mouth!"
Mamie was glad that the solving of this knotty question diverted the
thoughts of her two little playmates from the subject of conscience and
the all-seeing Eye of God. It really seemed that people had a great
deal to say about it, and were always bringing it up before her mind at
a time when she would have chosen to forget it. She was almost vexed
with dear little Belle because she had, at her own request, given her
the text which, not long since, she had chosen as her watchword, but
which she now strove to put away from her thoughts, and by which she
would not rule her conduct.
"Come, Lulu, we're going home now," she said, fearing that the other
children might go back to the unwelcome subject of conversation.
"No, no; Lulu will tay here. Lulu tay wis Belle and Lily," said the
little one. "Mamie tay too."
"No, I'm going," persisted Mamie; "you come, and Mamie will take you on
a nice, pretty walk."
Lulu obediently scrambled to her feet and put her hand in her sister's,
tempted by the prospect of the promised walk. Belle and Lily did not
urge their stay, partly because Mamie was not in a pleasant mood that
afternoon; secondly, because they both knew that they would shortly be
called to be made ready for a drive with their parents. And there came
Daphne now to bring her little mistress, and to tell Lily to go to her
nurse. So good-by was said to Mamie and Lulu, and the four children
parted and went their different ways.
Mamie was generally kind and good to Lulu, so the pet child always
liked to be with her; and their mother was not afraid to trust them
together within the safe shelter of the enclosures which ran about
their hotel, and the next one where Belle and Lily stayed. Gates opened
in each of the rows of picket fences which divided the grounds, so that
one might pass in and out, and from one house to another without going
upon the high road or plank-walk which bordered it.
And it was only within these enclosures that Mamie had intended to take
her little sister; but the plank-walk had charms for Lulu far beyond
those of the grass-plots and gravel-path about the houses. Lulu liked
to see the world, and thought she could do so to better advantage on
the road.
"We do on de plant-walt, an' see de hosseys an' bow-wows," she said
coaxingly.
Mamie hesitated. Mamma had never told her she must not take Lulu on the
plank-walk; but she was pretty sure she would not allow her to do so if
she were asked. She could not ask her, that was certain; for mamma was
lying down with a bad headache, and she knew she would not be suffered
to go near her. Certainly she found conscience "a bother" now, as Lily
had done that morning; but she would not listen to its calls, as her
young friend had done, and put temptation from her. Papa was away, gone
to town; of course he was out of the question; but there was her nurse.
She could ask leave from her, but with the certainty of being refused,
Mamie was sure of that. The nurse was rather careless and indifferent,
disposed, so long as she believed the children were safe, to take her
ease and enjoy her own gossip with her fellow-servants, as she was
doing now; but Mamie knew very well that she would promptly refuse
permission to go outside of the gates.
Mamie was herself anxious to take her pretty, cunning little sister
out upon the plank-walk, and parade her up and down, and show her
off to the passers-by; any other little girl would have liked to do
the same; the temptation was strong, and in her present rebellious,
undutiful mood, she did not even try to resist it.
Lulu pleaded again.
"Pease, Mamie, do out dere on de plant-walt;" and what did Mamie do?
She salved her still uneasy conscience by running back to where her
nurse sat sewing and talking with some other maids, and asked,--
"Maria, could Lulu and I walk about a little?"
"To be sure, child; just as if you didn't always walk about as much
as you pleased," answered the nurse, not dreaming that Mamie meant to
take her little sister, or to go herself, beyond the safe permitted
enclosure about the house, if, indeed, she gave it any thought at all.
"Come, then, Lulu; Maria says we may go," said Mamie; and, taking good
care to pass out of Maria's sight as she did so, she led the little one
out upon the plank-walk.
Once there, all uneasy thoughts were flung to the winds; and although
she had intended "only to walk up and down a very little way," she was
tempted farther and farther on, and away from the house. Lulu prattled
and chattered away, delighted with all that she saw; and to Mamie the
novelty of having her baby-sister in charge upon the public walk, and
the pleasure with which she saw one and another turn to notice her,
was quite enough to still the last lingering reproaches of conscience.
Perhaps some of those passers-by wondered to see those two young
children wandering alone by a much-travelled highroad; indeed, an old
gentleman stopped, and said, "Where now, alone by yourselves, my little
ones?" to which Mamie hastily made answer, "Oh, just taking a walk,
sir; Maria said we might;" and, believing all was right, the gentleman
passed on, only saying, "Don't go too far then; Maria had best have
come with you."
Mamie did not think so, and made no reply.
She was opposite the breakwater now, the object of so many desires, so
many rebellious and undutiful murmurings; she was alone, at least with
only her little sister for company, and Lulu could not interfere with
her. The long-wished-for opportunity had come.
To do her justice, she had not started from home with any thought of
the breakwater, or intention of going upon it, and had only turned
that way in order to be out of the range of Maria's eyes; but now was
her chance except for Lulu. How was she to take the child over those
ruined, uneven stones?
She looked about her up and down the road. There was no one near;
the friendly old gentleman was quite a distance down the plank-walk;
neither carriages nor foot passengers coming by now, not even a soul to
be seen on the piazzas of the neighboring hotels. There was no time to
be lost; she did not want any one to find her upon the breakwater, and
she would stay there but a moment.
"Come, Lulu," she said; and the two children had crossed the road, and
were at the lower end of the pier.
"Now, Lulu," she said, "you sit down here a moment on this stone. Mamie
is just going up there one minute, and it is too hard for Lulu. If you
are good and sit still, Mamie will give you some pretty shells when we
go home."
The little one wagged her head, and sat down contentedly on the stone
at which Mamie pointed.
"Mamie will only go a very little way," said her sister, and away she
went, scrambling over the stones and rubbish till she reached the
extreme end of the pier.
Her heart beat fast, but it was less with the feeling of guilt, for she
did not take time to listen to that, than with haste and excitement.
"Only one minute," she had said; but as she grasped the wooden pile
by which she stood, and peered over the edge of the breakwater, she
forgot how moments were passing. No wonder Lily and the other children
liked to come there. It was so curious and so beautiful to see the
waves come rolling in right beneath her eyes, and break against the
mass of masonry, solid and resisting still, ruined though it was; so
pretty, when the wave rolled back, to watch the water running out in
a hundred little jets and waterfalls from between the crevices of the
stones; so wonderful to seem to look down into the very heart of those
transparent green rollers with their crests of snowy foam! And with
what a booming sound they came against the obstacle which barred their
farther progress, and would not suffer them to finish their rightful
march upon the beach beyond! Oh, it was grand, glorious!
Mamie was perfectly fascinated. Every thing was forgotten but the sight
and the sounds before her. Her own disobedience, her mother, her little
sister, had for the time quite passed from her thoughts, as she hung
over the edge and looked down upon the sea. A gentle summer sea it was
that day, or it may be that the breaking of some furious wave would
have startled her from her hold, and given her a thorough shower-bath,
if no worse; for Mamie's position was by no means a safe one, though
she did not think of that.
And meanwhile what was Lulu doing?
The little creature sat still for a moment or two as her sister had
bidden her, singing softly to herself and looking up and down the road.
But presently she tired of this; Mamie stayed too long, and there was
no amusement at hand, nothing to do. She called to Mamie several times,
but she did not hear; the sound of the booming waters below her drowned
all other voices. Then Lulu fretted a little, then looked about her
again, and there came a great, big dog trotting along the road.
Now, although Lulu had begged to be allowed to go and see the
"bow-wows," she preferred to view them at a safe distance, or at least
under the shelter of some protecting hand. And she was not acquainted
with this particular "bow-wow," and to her infant eyes he wore a
ferocious and unfriendly aspect. So she must move out of the way before
he came near; and, since Mamie would not come to her, she must go to
Mamie.
Lulu was a great climber for a child of her age, and the roughness of
the path she had to cross had no terrors for her. Rising from her seat
with the fear of that "bow-wow" before her eyes, the baby-feet soon
carried her over jagged stones and crumbling masonry, till she thought
herself at a safe distance from the dog, at whom she peeped from behind
a sheltering pile as he passed by, and then turned once more to go to
Mamie.
Oh, if the poor, timid mother lying suffering upon her bed had but
seen her children then! Mamie on the forbidden spot, leaning over the
leaping waters, with only the clasp of her own small arm about the
wooden pile to keep her from falling headlong into their depths; her
baby-girl clambering with faltering, unsteady steps over that rough and
rugged way.
But now a new object took Lulu's attention, and diverted her thoughts
from Mamie.
Tom Norris had gone over to Newport for the day, and had lent his
boat to Walter and Ned Stone; they were careless boys, especially the
latter, and it was with many a charge to be sure and take good care of
the boat that he had granted the favor.
They had been out rowing that morning, and had come back with a
quantity of spoils in the shape of shells and sea-weeds which they
had gathered. They had returned just before the hour for dinner, and,
meaning to go out again as soon as that meal was over, had not made
the boat properly fast to the stake, but had contented themselves with
carrying off the oars, and knotting a rope over one of the stones of
the pier.
But after dinner some new and greater attraction, _what_ is of no
consequence, had taken their time and thoughts; and, forgetting all
about the neglected boat, they had gone off, leaving it so carelessly
fastened, and liable to slip its hold at any moment when the waves
might become a little stronger; rubbing its pretty painted sides too,
now and then, against the rough stones when the wash of the waves
carried it too near.
But still worse mischief than this was to come from the thoughtlessness
of those heedless boys, joined as it was to Mamie's deliberate
disobedience.
Making her way as she best could to her sister, the eye of the little
child was caught by the pretty boat bobbing up and down upon the waves;
and farther, oh, priceless treasure! by the sight of a few gay shells
which the boys in their hurry had dropped in the bottom of the boat.
"Dere's Mamie's pitty sells," said the darling to herself; "me will det
'em."
And the little feet slipped and slid themselves over the stones, till
she stood at the very water's edge.
You will remember that this was on the sheltered side of the
breakwater, where the waves had little or no force, but only rippled
and washed with a gentle murmur at Lulu's feet.
The boat was still beyond her reach, but the dear little tot generally
managed to gain what she wanted, if her own small hands or own small
brains could bring it about.
"Dere's de wope dat pulls it," she said to herself, and in a moment
she had laid hold of the rope, and drawn the boat in so that she could
step within it. How she ever did so without falling into the water was
matter of wonder to all who afterwards heard of it, but a kind Hand
guarded the baby steps, and she gained the boat without harm.
Here she found enough to amuse her and keep her quiet for a few moments
longer, till Mamie, suddenly rousing to the recollection that Lulu
was waiting for her, drew back from her dangerous position and turned
around.
Where was her little sister?
"Lulu, Lulu!" she called in terrified tones, not seeing her where she
had left her as she started forward.
"Here me are," answered the little voice from the other side of the
breakwater; and, making her way in haste, there she found Lulu deeply
interested in something at the bottom of the boat, over which she was
bending.
"O you naughty little thing! How did you go there, and how am I going
to take you out?" said Mamie.
"Here's a funny ittle lanimal wants to sate hans wiz me," said Lulu,
quite unmoved by her sister's reproaches. "Tome see him, Mamie. Tome in
de boat."
"What will mamma say? How can I take you out?" repeated Mamie again.
"Lulu not tome out; dere's de wope, Mamie, pull it, and tome see dis
funny fellow," urged Lulu; and Mamie, seeing her coolness, and that she
could herself easily manage to step into the boat by drawing it towards
her as Lulu must have done, lost her fears, and grew anxious to see
what it was that interested the child so much. Besides, she would have
to get in the boat herself to take Lulu out.
In another moment, it was done; the boat drawn close to the
landing-place, and she had stepped within it as safely as Lulu had done.
"Only for one moment, Lulu," she said. "You were very naughty to come
in here, and I must take you out. Oh! oh dear! how it rocks!" as the
boat, shaken by her weight, rocked back and forth.