THE HATCHET STORY
One night the children clustered about their aunt Madge, begging for a
story.
"Fairy, you know," said Susy.
"A fairy story?" repeated aunt Madge. "I don't know about that. I told
a little boy a fairy story once, and he went right off and whispered
to his mother that I was a very wicked lady, for that story wasn't
true, not a bit; and if a baby six months old should hear it, he
wouldn't believe a word of it!"
"Poh! he was a smart boy," cried Horace.
"So I am afraid to tell fairy stories since that, for I don't like to
be called a wicked lady, you know."
"There, now, auntie," said Susy, "don't you s'pose we know they're
only play-stories? Just as if we hadn't a speck of sense!"
"Well, let me see," said aunt Madge, covering her eyes with her
fingers. "Once upon a time when the moon was full----"
"Full of what?" said Prudy, who was leaning on the arm of her auntie's
chair, and peeping up into her face, "full of fairies?"
"When the moon was round, my child," said auntie, stroking the little one's
hair. "But wait. I'll tell a story Prudy can understand--wouldn't you, my
dears? When I was a little girl----"
[Illustration: AUNT MADGE TELLING A STORY.]
"That's right," cried the children. "O, tell about that."
"Was you about as big as me?" said Prudy, "and was your name _little
Madge_?"
"Yes, they called me little Madge sometimes, and sometimes Maggie.
When I was about as old as our Susy, I happened to go into the
back-room one day, and saw uncle Edward's hatchet lying on the
meat-block. I knew I had no right to touch it, but it came into my
head that I would try to break open the clams. The hatchet, instead of
cracking the shells, came down with full force on my foot! I had on
thick boots, but it cut through my right boot deep into the bone. O,
how I screamed!"
"I should have thought you would, auntie," cried Grace, fairly turning
pale. "Did it bring the blood?"
"Yes, indeed! Why, when I went into the kitchen, my footsteps were
tracked with little pools of blood, oozing out of my boot. Sister
Maria screamed out,--'O, look at Maggie! She's cut her foot with that
hatchet!'"
"'No, no, I haven't,' said I, for I was frightened almost to death,
and afraid of being punished for disobedience. You see father had
forbidden us little ones ever to touch the hatchet."
"Why, you told a right up and down----fib," said Susy, looking
shocked.
"A real whopper," said Horace, shaking his head.
"So I did, children, and before my story is done you shall see what
misery my sin caused me."
"Did Mr. 'Gustus Allen know about it?" asked little Prudy.
"I guess not," replied aunt Madge, blushing. "He lived ever so far off
then."
"O dear," sighed Prudy, "I wish he hadn't gone to the wars. How it
made you cry!"
"Hush up, please, can't you, Prudy?" said Susy. "Aunt Madge is telling
a story."
"Well, they sent for the doctor in great haste, and then tried to pull
off my boot; but my foot was so badly swollen, and bleeding so fast,
that it took a great while. I can't tell how long, for I fainted. When
the doctor saw the wound they said he looked very sober."
"'So, so, little girl,' said he (that was after I came to myself),
'you thought you'd make me a good job while you were about it. There's
no half-way work about you. You are the child that had the tip of a
finger clipped off in the corn-sheller, hey?'"
"I was always afraid of Dr. Foster, so I only buried my face in my
apron, and cried."
"'She must have brought the hatchet down with a great deal of force,'
said the doctor. 'See, Mrs. Parlin, how deep it went into the bone.'"
"'I fell and hit my foot,' I sobbed out. 'I never _touched_ the
hatchet!'"
"I knew well enough that the doctor didn't believe me."
"'So, so,' said he. 'Very well, never mind how 'twas done, but keep
your foot still, little one, and we'll talk about the hatchet another
time. Mrs. Parlin, if it goes to bleeding again, be sure to send for
me.'"
"It was ever so long before I could walk a step. Every time any body
spoke of my hurt, I said, 'Why, I was just coming into the house with
those clams, and my foot slipped, and I fell and hit me on something.
I don't know whether it was a hatchet or a stick of wood; but I never
touched the hatchet!'"
"There, I shouldn't have thought that of _you_, auntie," said Grace.
"Poh!" cried Horace, "they must have known you was a-foolin'; of
course they did!"
"Well, every time the doctor came to see me, he laughed and asked me
how I cut my foot."
"'Just the same as I did in the first place, you know,' said I. 'I
don't know nothing about it, only I never touched the hatchet!'"
"'Well,' he would answer, 'you remember the old saying, A lie well
stuck to, is better than the truth wavering.'"
"I didn't know what that meant, but he laughed so that I knew he was
making sport of me. I knew nobody believed me. The hatchet had been
found red with blood, and mother looked, O, so sad! but I had told
that falsehood so many times that it did seem as if I hadn't any
courage left to tell the truth. It had grown to be very easy to keep
saying, I never _touched_ the hatchet.'"
"Makes me think of that play, 'My father's lost his hatchet,'"
whispered Susy to Grace.
"Every one tried to amuse me while I was sick, but there was always a
thorn in my pillow."
"A thorn?" said Prudy.
"Not a real thorn, dear. I mean I had told a wrong story, and I
couldn't feel happy."
Here Susy turned away her head and looked out of the window, though
she saw nothing there but grandpa coming in from the garden with a
watering-pot.
"Whenever father looked at me, I felt just as if he was thinking,
'Margaret doesn't tell the truth;' and when mother spoke my name
quick, I was afraid she was going to say something about the hatchet."
"I got well, only I limped a little. Then it was almost time to think
of making presents for the Christmas tree. I didn't like to have
Christmas come while I was feeling so. People are so good that day, I
thought. That is the time when every body loves you, and spends money
for you. I wanted to confess, and feel _clean_; but then I had told
that lie over so many times that I thought I _couldn't_ take it back."
"I talked it over with myself a great while though, and at last said
I, 'I _will_; I'll do it!' First, I asked God to forgive me and help
me, and when I had got as far as that, the thing was half done,
children."
"I went into the parlor where your grandfather was--he wasn't deaf
then. I thought I should choke; but I caught hold of one of the
buttons on his coat, and spoke as fast as I could."
"'O father,' said I, 'I've told more than a hundred thousand lies. I
_did_ take that hatchet! Will you forgive me?'"
"Did he?" asked Susy.
"Forgive! I guess he did! My dear child, it was just what he had been
waiting to do! And, O, I can tell you he talked to me in such a way
about the awful sin of lying, that I never, never forgot it, and
shan't, if I live to be a hundred years old."
"My father had forgiven me: I was sure God had forgiven me too; and
after that, I felt as if I could look people in the face once more,
and I had a splendid time Christmas.--I believe that's about all the
_story_ there is to it, children."
"Well," said Grace, "I'm much obliged to you, auntie; I think it's
just as nice as a fairy story--don't you, Susy?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," replied Susy, looking confused. "See here,
auntie, I've lost your gold ring!"
"My ring?" said aunt Madge. "I forgot that I let you take it."
"Don't you know I asked you for it when you stood by the table making
bread? and it slipped off my finger this afternoon into the water
barrel!"
"Why, Susy!"
"And I was a coward, and didn't dare tell you, auntie. I thought maybe
you'd forget I had it, and some time when you asked for it, I was
going to say, 'Hadn't you better take a pair of tongs and see if it
isn't in the water barrel?'"
"O, Susy!" said aunt Madge.
"She isn't any worse than me, auntie," said Grace. "Ma asked me how
the mud came on my handkerchief, and I said Prudy wiped my boots with
it. And so she did, auntie, but I told her to; and wasn't I such a
coward for laying it off on little Prudy? I am ashamed--you may
believe I am."
"I am glad you have told me the whole truth now," replied aunt Madge,
"though it does make me feel sad, too, for it's too much like my
hatchet story. O, do remember from this time, children, and never,
never, _dare_ be _cowards_ again!"
Just then grandpa Parlin came to the door with a sad face, saying,--
"Margaret, please come up stairs, and see if you can soothe poor
little Harry by singing. He is so restless that neither Maria nor I
can do any thing with him."
This baby, Horace's brother, was sick all the time now, and once in a
while Margaret's sweet voice would charm him to sleep when every thing
else failed.