The Visit to Grandmamma.
THE children took their places at the schoolroom table the next morning
with quiet subdued demeanour. They had not forgotten their sorrow and
contrition of the previous night. They meant to behave well; but still
they felt it hard that they obliged to spend the day at grand-mamma's,
when they would so much rather have been at home dressing their dolls.
As soon as their lessons were finished, the little girls began to
prepare for their visit. Some sighs were heaved as they peeped into the
drawer where the dolls lay side by side. "It is always the way," sighed
Kate, glancing at her work, "something always happens to prevent my
getting on. I could have finished that frock to-day if Grandmamma had
not sent for us."
But Miss Jameson would allow no grumbling or dawdling. They were soon
dressed, and on their way to Twickenham. Miss Jameson walked with them
to Mrs. Bartlett's gate; but there she wished them good-bye, and went
back alone, not displeased perhaps at the prospect of a quiet afternoon.
"There is Edith," said Kate, as they walked up the path, and caught
sight of a fair-haired child standing at one of the windows of the
house; "what has she got that white thing round her neck for?"
"Oh, she has got a cold, I suppose," said Florrie, impatiently; "she is
always having colds."
"Then we shall have to stay indoors. How horrid!" exclaimed Gertie.
"Oh; I hope not," said Katie, in a tone of dismay, for one of the
chief pleasures of a visit to Grandmamma was a game in the large
old-fashioned garden, which lay at the back of the house. "Surely it
can't hurt her to be out on such a lovely day as this!"
But they soon learned that there was to be no play in the garden for
them that afternoon. Cousin Edith, a pretty delicate-looking child, who
was often ailing in health, had a bad cold and sore throat, and her
mother, who idolised this her only child, was tenderly anxious that
her darling should run no risk of increasing her cold. The cousins had
been invited for Edith's amusement; and since she could not go into the
garden, it was out of the question that they should do so.
"I don't believe it would hurt Edith, aunt," Kate took it upon herself
to remark; "papa says that it is a mistake to coddle children."
"My dear Kate, you should not be so ready to give your opinion,"
Mrs. Hobson said, reprovingly. "There is no coddling in this case. A
delicate little creature like my Edith requires to be more carefully
cherished than strong robust girls like you."
"We are not so very strong," said Florrie. "Gertie often catches cold,
and she had to take cod liver oil in the spring. But mamma never keeps
her in when the weather is fine."
"Really, you young people are very forward in expressing yourselves,"
said their aunt; "I understand that you have a new governess. I
hope she will do something to improve your manners, for they need
improvement."
"How do you like her?" asked Edith, in a hoarse little voice.
"Very much indeed," said Florrie; "she is the nicest governess we have
ever had."
"And oh, what do you think?" cried Gertie. "We are dressing dolls for
the poor little children in the hospital. It was Miss Jameson's idea.
Isn't it splendid? My doll is a black one."
"A splendid idea for throwing away money," said Mrs. Hobson. "Your
parents need be rich to indulge you in that way. What do they want with
dolls in hospitals?"
"Oh, Aunt Sophie! the poor little children want them," exclaimed Kate.
"How would you like to think of Edith lying all by herself in a little
bed with nothing to play with?"
"I think it is a kind thought," said old Mrs. Bartlett, gently; "and
the undertaking has this advantage, that it will teach the children to
sew."
"That is desirable, certainly," said Mrs. Hobson. "I remember seeing
some needlework of Florrie's that astonished me very much. I should
have been ashamed if Edith had done no better, although she is eighteen
months younger."
Florrie coloured and bit her lip. Aunt Sophie's reproofs were well
intended, but they had a very irritating effect. The tempers of her
three nieces were all more or less ruffled by her words; and as Edith,
owing to her indisposition, was more than usually perverse and peevish
the prospect for the afternoon was not hopeful.
After dinner the children were sent to play "quietly" in the breakfast
room, whilst Grandmamma took her afternoon nap. It was some time ere
they could decide what the game should be, for Edith objected to
whatever the others proposed. Yet when asked to name a game herself,
she would say nothing. At last it was agreed that they should play at
hide-and-seek, one of the party hiding a little ball for which the
others were to make search.
The game went well for a little while; but soon Edith grew very cross,
because she was not so quick as her cousins, and one of them found the
ball each time. It was Kate's turn to hide the ball, and the others
were supposed to cover their eyes that they might not see where she
put it. She was just slipping it beneath the fender, when suddenly she
turned and exclaimed angrily:
"Edith, you peeped! I saw you! What a horrid cheat you are!"
"I didn't peep," said Edith, stoutly; "I'm not a cheat. You ought not
to call me such a name."
"What a story! You did peep, I saw you. You were looking straight
across at me," cried Kate, indignantly.
"What a nasty mean thing," cried Florrie. "I hate cheats."
"I'm not a cheat; you're very rude," cried Edith, bursting into tears;
"I won't play with you any more. I shall tell mamma." And so saying she
made for the door. But Kate was there before her.
"I won't let you go to your mother," she said, as she planted herself
firmly against the door; "it's horridly mean to tell tales, as you
always do."
"I will go; you shan't stop me," cried Edith, wildly, and she tried
to kick and pinch her cousin. But Kate defended herself with ease,
and remained provokingly cool. The others came to her aid, and drove
Edith back, and Florrie pushed the round table across the room in
such a way as to bar Edith's approach to the door. But this was an
unfortunate defence, for Edith, trying to push it aside, clutched at
the table-cloth and dragged it off, bringing with it to the ground a
beautiful china vase, which had been standing on the table. The vase
was shattered by the fall; and the children, their romping suddenly
arrested, stood looking at each other, aghast.
Edith was the first to speak. "There!" she said, not without triumph,
though she too was considerably frightened, "see what you have done!"
"What you have done, you mean," said Florrie, "it was you pulled the
cloth."
"I didn't," she said.
"Oh, oh, oh!" cried the others in chorus.
Edith began to cry anew, and ran from the room, no one now attempting
to stay her. The three sisters stood looking at each other in blank
dismay.
"Now there will be a row," said Florrie, expressing herself as usual
with more force than elegance.
"Will Grandmamma be very angry, do you think?" asked little Gertie.
"She is sure to be angry," said Kate, "for I know she was very fond of
that vase; but I shall tell her that you and Florrie were not to blame."
"We ought to have gone with Edith," said Florrie; "there is no knowing
what she will tell Aunt Sophie."
"Little story-teller!" said Kate, indignantly.
But ere they could say more their grandmother and aunt arrived on the
scene. Mrs. Bartlett was very vexed indeed when she saw the condition
to which her vase was reduced. She scolded the children roundly; and
when she paused for lack of breath, their aunt took up the tale, and
her words stung the children even more than their grandmother's. In
vain Florrie declared that it was Edith who had dragged the vase off
the table. Edith denied it; and Mrs. Hobson was sure that her child
spoke the truth, whilst Mrs. Bartlett impartially decided that the
children were all to blame alike.
The rest of their visit passed heavily enough to the little Bartletts.
They saw Edith petted and made much of by her mother, whilst they were
treated to reproachful looks and reproving words. They took their tea
with a sense of dark disgrace overshadowing them. Harry alone was able
to maintain unbroken serenity; but then he was such a little boy,
that as long as he was treated to plenty of cake and jam he could not
imagine anything amiss.
It may be guessed what a story the children had to pour info Miss
Jameson's ears when at length they returned home, only too thankful
that their visit was at an end. She heard them in silence for a time;
but soon she was obliged to check their words, for she was shocked at
the bitterness with which they spoke of their cousin Edith.
"And was Edith the only one to blame?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't suppose that our conduct was perfect," said Florrie,
frankly; "but really it was all through Edith that things went wrong.
Oh, she was cross! And then to cheat as she did, and tell stories! It
was horrid."
"And I suppose you told her that you thought so?" said Miss Jameson.
"You did not try to coax her into a better temper, nor to show her how
much better it is to be fair and truthful?"
"Why no. What would have been the good?" asked Katie; "I have no
patience with Edith."
"I hate her," exclaimed Florrie, vehemently.
"Oh, Florrie! Florrie!" cried her governess, "you cannot know what you
are saying. Do you forget what the Bible says of one who hates another?"
"What, Miss Jameson?" asked Florrie.
"He that hateth his brother is a murderer," said Miss Jameson, slowly.
"Oh," exclaimed Florrie, looking startled; "what a dreadful verse, Miss
Jameson. A murderer, you can't think that I felt like that?"
"No, dear, I do not; but it is to such dreadful things that hatred
leads. I cannot believe, however, that you really hate Edith. But I
wish you children would ask yourselves how it would be with you, if God
should feel towards you as you feel towards Edith."
"Why, Miss Jameson, how could that be?" asked Gertie.
"It might easily be," returned Miss Jameson, "if our God were not a God
of love. Think how often you sin against Him and grieve Him, yet His
heart is ever full of love towards you. Should you not try to forgive
Edith and all who vex you, as God, for Christ's sake, forgives you?"
"I don't feel as if I could forgive Edith," said Florrie, with a sigh.
"Ask God to help you to do so," said her governess; "for if you do not
forgive Edith, how can you say to-night in your prayer: Forgive us our
trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us? You would be
asking God not to forgive you."
"I never thought of that," said Kate, thoughtfully. "Dear me! how hard
it is to be good."
"It is hard," said Miss Jameson; "but so is everything in life that is
worth striving after. And who would not rather struggle up the steep
hillside than sink in the mire at its foot? But now you are tired and
excited. You must not talk any more to-night. Good-night."
And the children went to bed without saying another word about their
cousin Edith.