NELLY AT MRS. MORAN'S.
"COME, now, my dear," said the lady, putting on her bonnet; "we must go
to Mrs. Moran's and inquire about Hitty."
"I am afraid to," screamed Nelly, clinging to her aunt. "O, I am sure I
shall never do so again! I don't dare to go there."
"Why, Nelly?" asked her aunt, pitying her distress. "If any little girl
had injured you so, I should think it was a very small thing for her to
do, to come and say she was sorry, and ask your forgiveness. You are
really sorry, I think. It is but right you should tell her so."
As they approached the house the poor child seemed in such an agony of
fear, that her aunt was obliged to soothe her to lead her on. Her
conscience told her she had been unkind, even cruel, to her companion,
who had in no way injured her, and she feared Hitty's father and mother
would be very angry.
Mr. Moran lived in the upper part of a building which had once been used
as a shop. A pair of wide stairs went up outside the house to the door,
which opened into their room. A man was at work chopping wood at the
foot of the stairs, and as soon as Nelly saw him she ran behind her
aunt, whispering, "O, I dare not go! that's Hitty's father."
"I will take care of you," answered the lady, knocking at the door.
Mrs. Moran presently opened it, and they saw Hitty sitting on a low
stool, playing with the baby, who was cooing and crowing with delight at
having her back again.
"I have come," said Mrs. Gray, "with my little niece, who injured your
daughter at school. She wishes to ask you to forgive her."
Nelly was crying bitterly, so that she could scarcely speak; but at last
she sobbed out, "I didn't mean to hurt her so. I'm very sorry."
"Don't cry, pet!" said Mrs. Moran, kindly. "I dare say you meant her no
harm; and if you did, sure and we all are in the wrong sometimes. Hitty
lays up nothing against you. There, honey, stop a bit, and she'll tell
you the same. Come, Hitty, tell the little girl you forgive her, since
the lady is so kind as to ask it."
Hitty came forward with Bobby still in her arms, and when Nelly held out
her hand, shook it cordially, saying, "My head is almost well now, and
by to-morrow I'll never think of the blow again. I'm sorry for you,
Nelly, to see you crying so."
Mrs. Gray sat for a time talking with Mrs. Moran, and encouraging her to
allow Hitty to learn to read. There was one little boy just Frankie's
age, whom the lady advised her to send to the public school.
This, the poor woman said, she should be glad to do, if the lad had
clothes.
The next day, when Hitty returned from school, Nelly, Frankie, and
Ponto accompanied her, each of them carrying a bundle as large as they
could lift, with dresses, jackets, and sacks, the children had outgrown.
Mrs. Moran hardly knew how to express her gratitude, as she held up one
article after another, and saw how nicely they would fit Ned or others
among her children.
This lesson, though severe at the time, was never forgotten by Nelly.
After this no one was more eager than she to show kindness to Hitty, or
more pleased when the poor girl succeeded in learning to read.
In the afternoon most of the scholars repeated a hymn which they had
learned at home, or a few verses from the Bible. Nelly noticed that
Hitty never repeated any, and one day asked her the reason.
"I haven't any books," answered the child, "and then I couldn't make out
the hard words, you know."
Nelly looked thoughtful for a minute, and then jumped up and down in her
glee. "Ask your mother to let you come to aunty's to-night, or else come
early to school and stop there to-morrow," she cried, "and I will teach
you one of my pretty songs."
Two days later, when Miss Grant said, "Now we will hear the hymns or
verses," Hitty, with a timid air and a blushing face, took her stand on
the floor. She cast a glance at Nelly, whose whole countenance was
glowing with pleasure, and then repeated the following pretty hymn:--
"'Who was that, dear mamma, who ate
Her breakfast here this morn?
With tangled hair and ragged shoes,
And gown and apron torn?'
'They call her lazy Jane, my dear;
She begs her bread all day,
And gets a lodging in the barn,
At night, among the hay.
'For when she was a little girl,
She loved her play too well;
At school she would not mind her book,
Nor learn to read and spell.
'"Dear Jane," her mother oft would say,
"Pray learn to work and read;
Then you'll be able, when you're grown,
To earn your clothes and bread."'
But lazy Jenny did not care;
She'd neither knit nor sew;
To romp with naughty girls and boys
Was all that she would do.
So she grew up a very dunce;
And when her parents died,
She knew not how to teach a school,
Nor work, if she had tried.
And now, an idle vagabond,
She strolls about the streets;
And not a friend can Jenny find
In any one she meets.
And now, dear child, should you neglect
Your book or work again,
Or play, when you should be at school,
Remember Lazy Jane."