another book with some more. Adieu. And if you don't know French, that
means good-by. The end of the book!"
"Pretty well for seven years old, I think," said Mr. Bradford. "Mamma,
did you lend a helping hand?"
"Only to correct the spelling," said Mrs. Bradford; "the composition
and ideas are entirely Maggie's own, with a little help from Bessie. I
have not interfered save once or twice when she has chosen some subject
I did not think it best she should write on. Both she and Bessie have
taken so much pleasure in it that I think it would have been a real
trial to part with the book except for some such object as they have
gained."
"And what is that?" asked Colonel Rush.
"The sum Dr. Dawson asks for the cure of Willie Richards," answered
Mrs. Bradford, "which sum this dear brother of mine is allowing to pass
through the hands of these babies of mine, as their gift to the blind
child."
"Aunt Patty," said Bessie at the breakfast-table the next
morning,--"Aunt Patty, did you hear what Uncle Ruthven did for us?"
"Yes, I heard," said the old lady, shortly.
"And don't you feel very happy with us?" asked the little darling, who
was anxious that every one should rejoice with herself and Maggie; but
she spoke more timidly than she had done at first, and something of her
old fear of Aunt Patty seemed to come over her.
"I do not think it at all proper that children should be allowed to
have such large sums of money," said Mrs. Lawrence, speaking not to
Bessie, but to Mrs. Bradford. "I thought your brother a more sensible
man, Margaret. Such an ill-judged thing!"
Mrs. Bradford was vexed, as she saw the bright face of her little
daughter become overcast, still she tried to speak pleasantly.
Something had evidently gone wrong with Aunt Patty.
"I do not think you will find Ruthven wanting in sense or judgment,
Aunt Patty," she said, gently. "And the sum you speak of is for a
settled purpose. It only passes through my children's hands, and is
not theirs to waste or spend as they may please."
"And if it was, we would rather give it to blind Willie, mamma," said
Bessie, in a grieved and half-angry voice.
"I am sure of it, my darling," said mamma, with a nod and smile which
brought comfort to the disappointed little heart. Ah, the dear mamma!
they were all sure of sympathy from her whether in joy or sorrow. Aunt
Patty's want of it had been particularly hard on Bessie, for the dear
child saw the old lady did not look half pleased that morning, and she
had spoken as much from a wish to cheer her as for her own sake and
Maggie's.
"It is all wrong, decidedly wrong!" continued Mrs. Lawrence. "In my
young days things were very different. Children were not then allowed
to take the lead in every way, and to think they could do it as well or
better than their elders. The proper thing for you to do, Margaret, is
to put by that money till your children are older and better able to
judge what they are doing."
"I think they understand that now, Aunt Patty," said Mrs. Bradford,
quietly, but firmly; "and if they should not, I suppose you will allow
that their parents are able to judge for them. Henry and I understand
all the merits of the present case."
Aunt Patty was not to be convinced, and she talked for some time,
growing more and more vexed as she saw her words had no effect. Mr. and
Mrs. Bradford were silent, for they knew it was of no use to argue with
the old lady when she was in one of these moods; but they wished that
the meal was at an end, and the children were out of hearing.
And there sat Miss Rush, too, wondering and indignant, and only kept
from replying to Aunt Patty by Mrs. Bradford's beseeching look. But
at last Mr. Bradford's patience was at an end, and in a firm, decided
manner, he requested the old lady to say nothing more on the subject,
but to leave it to be settled by his wife and himself.
If there was any person in the world of whom Mrs. Lawrence stood in
awe, it was her nephew; and she knew when he spoke in that tone, he
meant to be obeyed. Therefore, she was silent, but sat through the
remainder of breakfast with a dark and angry face.
"Papa," said Maggie, as her father rose from the table, "do you think
there is the least, least hope that it will clear to-day?"
"Well, I see some signs of it, dear; but these April days are very
uncertain. Of one thing be sure, if the weather be at all fit, I will
come home and take you where you want to go."
"Are you tired of being shut up in the house so long, dear Midget?"
asked Aunt Bessie, putting her arm about Maggie, and drawing her to her
side.
"Yes, pretty tired, Aunt Bessie; but that is not the reason why Bessie
and I wish so very much to have it clear. Papa told us, if the weather
was pleasant, he would take us to the policeman's, and let us give the
money ourselves. But he says, if it keeps on raining, he thinks it
would be better to send it, because it is not kind to keep them waiting
when they feel so badly about Willie, and this will make them so glad.
I suppose it is not very kind, but we want very much to take it, and
see Mrs. Richards how pleased she will be."
"We will hope for the best," said Mr. Bradford, cheerfully; "and I
think it may turn out a pleasant day. But my little daughters must not
be too much disappointed if the rain keeps on. And now that I may be
ready for clear skies and dry pavements, I must go down town at once."
No sooner had the door closed after Mr. Bradford than Aunt Patty broke
forth again. "Margaret," she said, severely, "it is not possible that
you mean to add to your folly by letting your children go to that low
place, after such weather as we have had! You don't know what you may
expose them to, especially that delicate child, whom you can never
expect to be strong while you are so shamefully careless of her;" and
she looked at Bessie, who felt very angry.
"That will be as their father thinks best," answered Mrs. Bradford,
quietly. "He will not take them unless the weather is suitable;
and the policeman's house is neat and comfortable, and in a decent
neighborhood. The children will come to no harm there."
"And it is certainly going to clear," said Harry. "See there, mamma,
how it is brightening overhead."
"It will not clear for some hours at least," persisted the old lady;
"and then the ground will be extremely damp after this week of rain,
especially among those narrow streets. Do be persuaded, Margaret, and
say, at least, that the children must wait till to-morrow."
"Bessie shall not go unless it is quite safe for her," answered Mrs.
Bradford, "and she will not ask it unless mamma thinks it best; will
you, my darling?"
Bessie only replied with a smile, and a very feeble smile at that; and
her mother saw by the crimson spot in each cheek, and the little hand
pressed tightly upon her lips, how hard the dear child was struggling
with herself. It was so. Bessie was hurt at what she thought Aunt
Patty's unkindness in trying to deprive her of the pleasure on which
she counted, and she had hard work to keep down the rising passion.
Aunt Patty argued, persisted, and persuaded; but she could gain from
Mrs. Bradford nothing more than she had said before, and at last she
left the room in high displeasure.
"Mamma," said Harry, indignantly, "what do you stand it for? How dare
she talk so to you? Your folly, indeed! I wish papa had been here!"
"I wish you'd let me hush her up," said Fred. "It's rather hard for a
fellow to stand by and have his mother spoken to that way. Now is she
not a meddling, aggravating old coon, Aunt Bessie? No, you need not
shake your head in that grave, reproving way. I know you think so;
and you, too, you dear, patient little mamma;" and here Fred gave his
mother such a squeeze and kiss as would have made any one else cry out
for mercy.
"I sha'n't try to bear Aunt Patty's burden this day, I know," said
Maggie. "She is _too_ mean not to want blind Willie cured, and it is
not any of hers to talk about, either. Her corners are awful to-day!
Just trying to make mamma say Bessie couldn't go to the policeman's
house!"
Bessie said nothing, but her mamma saw she was trying to keep down her
angry feelings.
"I suppose she is tired of the 'new leaf' she pretended to have turned
over, and don't mean to play good girl any more," said Fred.
"She has been worrying papa too," said Harry. "There is never any
knowing what she'll be at. There was a grove which used to belong to
her father, and which had been sold by one of her brothers after he
died. It was a favorite place with our great-grandfather, and Aunt
Patty wanted it back very much, but she never could persuade the man
who had bought it to give it up. A few years ago he died, and his son
offered to sell it to her. She could not afford it then, for she had
lost a great deal of property, and the mean chap asked a very large sum
for it because he knew she wanted it so much. But she was determined
to have it, and for several years she has been putting by little by
little till she should have enough. She told Fred and me all about it,
one evening when papa and mamma were out, and we felt so sorry for her
when she told how her father had loved the place, and how she could die
contented if she only had it back once more after all these years, that
we asked papa if he could not help her. Papa said he would willingly
do so, but she would not be pleased if he offered, though she had so
set her heart on it that she was denying herself everything she could
possibly do without; for she is not well off now, and is too proud to
let her friends help her Well, it seems she had enough laid by at
last,--a thousand dollars,--and she asked papa to settle it all for
her. He wrote to the man, and had a lot of fuss and bother with him;
but it was all fixed at last, and the papers drawn up, when what does
she do a week ago, but tell papa she had changed her mind, and should
not buy the grove at present."
"Harry, my boy," said Mrs. Bradford, "this is all so, but how do you
happen to know so much about it?"
"Why, she talked to me several times about it, mamma. She was quite
chipper with Fred and me now and then, when no grown people were
around, and used to tell us stories of things which happened at the old
homestead by the hour. The other day when you were out, and Mag and
Bess had gone to the policeman's, she told me it was all settled that
she was to have the grove; and she seemed so happy over it. But only
two days after, when I said something about it, she took me up quite
short, and told me that affair was all over, and no more to be said. I
didn't dare to ask any more questions of her, but I thought it no harm
to ask papa, and he told me he knew no more than I did, for Aunt Patty
would give him no reason. He was dreadfully annoyed by it, I could
see, although he did not say much; he never does, you know, when he is
vexed."
"Quite true," said his mother; "and let him be an example to the rest
of us. We have all forgotten ourselves a little in the vexations of the
morning. You have been saying that which was better left unsaid, and
your mother has done wrong in listening to you."
"No, indeed, you have not," said Fred, again clutching his mother
violently about the neck; "you never do wrong, you dear, precious
mamma, and I'll stand up for you against all the cross old Aunt Pattys
in creation."
"My dear boy," gasped his mother, "if you could leave my head on, it
would be a greater convenience than fighting on my account with Aunt
Patty. And your mother must be very much on her guard, Fred, if a
thing is to be judged right by you because she does it. But, dearest
children, did we not all determine not to allow ourselves to be
irritated and vexed by such things as have taken place this morning?
This is almost the first trial of the kind we have had. Let us be
patient and forgiving, and try to think no more of it."
But it was in vain that Mrs. Bradford coaxed and persuaded, and even
reproved. Her children obeyed, and were silent when she forbade any
more to be said on the subject; but she could not do away with the
impression which Aunt Patty's ill-temper and interference had made.
Poor Aunt Patty! She had practised a great piece of self-denial, had
given up a long-cherished hope, that she might have the means of doing
a very kind action; but she did not choose to have it known by her
friends. And having made up her mind to this, and given up so much
to bring it about, it did seem hard that her arrangements should be
interfered with, as they seemed likely to be by this new plan which had
come to her ears the night before.
But now as she stood alone in her own room, taking herself to task for
the ill-temper she had just shown, she felt that it would be still
harder for the children; she could not allow them to be disappointed
if it were still possible to prevent it; that would be too cruel now
that she saw so plainly how much they had set their hearts upon this
thing. At first it had seemed to her, as she said, much better that
they should put by the money until they were older, but now she saw it
was the desire to carry out her own will which had led her to think
this. But Aunt Patty was learning to give up her own will, slowly and
with difficulty it might be, with many a struggle, many a failure,
as had been shown this morning; but still, thanks to the whispers of
the better spirit by whose teachings she had lately been led, she was
taking to heart the lesson so hard to learn because so late begun.
And now how was she to undo what she had done, so that Maggie and
Bessie might still keep this matter in their own hands? For Aunt Patty,
hearing the little ones talk so much of the blind boy and his parents,
had become quite interested in the policeman's family. She did not
know them, it was true, had never seen one of them, but the children's
sympathy had awakened hers, and she felt a wish to do something to
help them; but to do this to much purpose was not very easy for Mrs.
Lawrence. She was not rich, and what she gave to others she must take
from her own comforts and pleasures. What a good thing it would be to
pay Dr. Dawson and free the policeman from debt! What happiness this
would bring to those poor people! What pleasure it would give little
Maggie and Bessie! But how could she do it? She had not the means at
present, unless, indeed, she put off the purchase of the grove for a
year or two, and took part of the sum she had so carefully laid by for
that purpose, and if she did so, she might never have back the grove.
She was very old, had not probably many years to live, and she might
pass away before the wished-for prize was her own. And these people
were nothing to her; why should she make such a sacrifice for them?
So thought Aunt Patty, and then said to herself, if she had but a short
time upon earth, was there not more reason that she should spend it in
doing all she could for her Master's service, in helping those of his
children on whom he had laid pain and sorrows? She had been wishing
that she might be able to prove her love and gratitude for the great
mercy that had been shown to her, that she might yet redeem the wasted
years, the misspent life which lay behind her, and now when the Lord
had given her the opportunity for which she had been longing, should
she turn her back upon it, should she shut her ear to the cry of the
needy, because to answer it would cost a sacrifice of her own wishes?
Should she bear the burdens of others only when they did not weigh
heavily on herself?
And so the old lady had gone to Dr. Dawson and paid him the sum he
asked for curing Willie's eyes. What more she had done will be shown
hereafter. If the children had known this, perhaps they could have
guessed why she would not buy the grove after all papa's trouble. There
were several reasons why Mrs. Lawrence had chosen to keep all this a
secret; partly from a really honest desire not to parade her generosity
in the eyes of men, partly because she thought that Mr. Bradford might
oppose it, and fearing the strength of her own resolution, she did not
care to have it shaken by any persuasions to the contrary, and partly
because she had always rather prided herself on carrying out her own
plans without help or advice from others. This fear that she might be
tempted to change her purpose had also made Aunt Patty so anxious to
bring it to an end at once, and had taken her out in the rain on the
day before this. And now it seemed that her trouble so far as regarded
Dr. Dawson was all thrown away. But the question was, how should she
get the money back from the doctor without betraying herself to him or
some of the family? for this Aunt Patty was quite determined not to do.
It was not a pleasant task to ask him to return the money she had once
given, and that without offering any reason save that she had changed
her mind. Every limb was aching with the cold taken from her exposure
of yesterday, and now if she was to be in time, she must go out again
in the damp. True, it was not raining now, but there was another heavy
cloud coming up in the south; she should surely be caught in a fresh
shower. If she could have persuaded Mrs. Bradford to keep the children
at home until the next day, she could go to Dr. Dawson that afternoon
if the weather were clear, and so escape another wetting. For the
doctor had told her he did not think he could see the policeman before
the evening of that day.
But Margaret was "obstinate," said the old lady, forgetting that she
herself was a little obstinate in keeping all this a secret. So there
was nothing for it but to go at once.
Poor old lady! Perhaps it was not to be wondered at that, as she moved
about the room, making ready to go out, she should again feel irritable
and out of humor. She was in much pain. The plans which had cost her
so much, and which she had thought would give such satisfaction, were
all disarranged. She was vexed at being misjudged by those from whom
she had so carefully concealed what she had done, for she saw plainly
enough that they all thought her opposition of the morning was owing to
the spirit of contradiction she had so often shown. She was vexed at
herself, vexed with Mrs. Bradford, vexed even with the little ones whom
she could not allow to be disappointed, and just for the moment she
could not make up her mind to be reasonable and look at things in their
right light.
Nor were her troubles yet at an end. As she left the room, she met
Mrs. Bradford, who, seeing that she was going out again, once more
tried to dissuade her from such imprudence, but all to no purpose.
Aunt Patty was very determined and rather short, and went on her way
down-stairs.
As Mrs. Bradford entered her nursery, mammy, who had heard all that had
passed, said, with the freedom of an old and privileged servant,--
"Eh, my dear, but she's contrary. She's just hunting up a fit of
rheumatics, that you may have the trouble of nursing her through it."
Mrs. Lawrence heard the old woman's improper speech, but did not hear
Mrs. Bradford's gently spoken reproof, and we may be sure the first did
not help to restore her good-humor.
[Illustration: decoration, end of chap. 12]
[Illustration: Title decoration, chap. 13]
XIII.
_DISAPPOINTMENT._
Bessie's high spirits had all flown away. The scene with Aunt Patty,
and the fear that the weather would not allow Maggie and herself to
carry Uncle Ruthven's gift to blind Willie, on which pleasure, in
spite of her father's warning, she had quite set her mind, were enough
to sadden that sensitive little heart. More than this, she was very
much hurt at what Aunt Patty had said of her mother. _She_, that
dear, precious mamma, always so tender and devoted, so careful of her
by night and day, to be so spoken of! No one else had ever dared to
speak so to mamma in her hearing, and she did not feel as if she could
forgive it. Poor little soul! she was very indignant, but she kept
down her anger, and all she had allowed herself to say had been, "She
would not like to be blind herself a whole year; but she has not a bit
of _symphethy_." At which long word mamma could not help smiling; but
as she looked at the grieved face, she felt as if she could scarcely
keep her own patience.
"Come here, Bessie," said Miss Rush, who was sitting by the window,
"I have something to show you; see there," as Bessie climbed upon her
lap. "A few moments since I saw a break in the clouds, and a bit of
blue sky peeping out. I did not call you right away, lest you should
be disappointed again; but the blue is spreading and spreading, so I
think we may hope for a fine day, after all. And see, there is the sun
struggling through. Ah, I think you will have your walk with papa."
Yes, there came the sun shining quite brightly now, and the pools of
water on the sidewalk began to dance in his beams as if they were
saying, "How do you do, Mr. Sun? We are glad to see you after a week's
absence, even though you do mean to make us disappear beneath your
warm rays."
Bessie watched for a few moments, and then ran to find Maggie, who had
gone up-stairs with mamma for a new story-book which Aunt Bessie had
promised to read for them.
"Maggie, Maggie!" she called from the foot of the stairs, "come and
see how the blue sky is coming out and how the sun is shining;" and
as she spoke, Maggie ran along the upper hall, and came down, saying,
dolefully,--
"Oh, Bessie! I saw it up-stairs, and I went to the window to look, and
there's a great cloud coming over the sun. There, see! he's all gone
now. I just believe it is going to rain again."
It was too true, and as the little girls ran to the front-door, and
Maggie drew aside the lace which covered the large panes of glass in
the upper part, so that they might peep out, they saw that the blue sky
had disappeared, and a moment later, down splashed the heavy drops of
rain.
Bessie felt a great choking in her throat, and Maggie said,
impatiently, "It is _never_ going to clear up; I know it. It just rains
this way to provoke poor children who want to go out."
"Maggie, darling, who sends the rain?" came in Aunt Bessie's gentle
tone through the open parlor-door, and at the same moment a stern voice
behind the children said,--
"You are very naughty, child. Do you remember that God hears you when
you say such wicked words?"
Both children turned with a start to see Mrs. Lawrence in hat and
cloak, and with an enormous umbrella in her hand.
"No," she said, severely, as poor frightened Maggie shrank before the
glance of her eye, "you will not go out to-day, nor do you deserve it."
Then Bessie's anger broke forth. "You are bad, you're cruel!" she said,
stamping her foot, and with her face crimson with passion. "You want
poor Willie to be blind all his life. You don't want him to be well,
even when our Father--"
What more she would have said will never be known, save by Him who
reads all hearts; for as these last two words passed her lips, she
checked herself, and rushing to Aunt Bessie, who had gone to the
parlor-door at the sound of Mrs. Lawrence's voice, buried her face in
the folds of her dress.
"Our Father!" Was she his little child now when in her fury and passion
she had forgotten that his holy eye rested upon her, when she was
grieving and offending him? Such was the thought that had stopped
her, even as she poured forth those angry words. For one moment she
stood with her face hidden, sending up a silent, hurried prayer to the
Great Helper, then turning to Aunt Patty, she said, with a touching
meekness,--
"Please forgive me, Aunt Patty. I didn't try hard enough that time; but
I'll try not to do so again. The wicked passion came so quick;" and
then she hid her face once more against Miss Rush.
Yes, the passion had come quickly, but it had been quickly conquered,
and as Aunt Patty looked at her, these words came to her mind: "Greater
is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city;" and she stood
humbled before this little child. Turning away without a word, she
opened the front-door and passed out, while Miss Rush led the children
back to the parlor.
Aunt Bessie's own eyes glistened as she lifted the sobbing child upon
her lap, while Maggie stood beside her, holding Bessie's hand in one
of her own, and with her pocket-handkerchief wiping the tears that
streamed from her little sister's eyes.
"Oh, it has been such a bad day, and we thought it was going to be such
a nice one, didn't we?" said Bessie. "We were so very glad when we woke
up this morning, and we have had such very _misable_ times all day, and
now I was so naughty. And I did ask for help to be good, too, this
morning. Aunt Bessie, why didn't it come?"