THE NEW BOOK.
'A present for you, Effie,' said Mr Maurice, a few days after the
foregoing conversation, 'a present from your uncle William! it is in
this nice little packet, now guess what it is.'
'O father--'
'No, but you must guess.'
'Why it's a book--say a book, Effie,' interposed Harry, 'with sights of
pictures, I dare say, and may be pretty gilt letters on the back, too.'
'Is it a book?' inquired Effie, her little eyes dancing with pleasure,
'and from uncle William, too? Oh how good he is to remember a little
girl like me!'
By this time Mr Maurice had unwound the cord and unfolded the paper, and
displayed a neat little book--what think you it was? 'Peter Parley's
Stories,' says one, 'The Love Token,' says another. No, you are both
wrong. Effie Maurice was almost a woman before these books were written.
Mrs Sherwood was then the children's friend, and some beautiful stories
she told them, too. The book had neither pictures, nor gilt letters, but
this did not spoil it for Effie, and she was soon so busily engaged in
reading that she forgot that there was anything in the world but herself
and the delightful book--more still, she forgot even her own existence,
and thought only of the people about whom she was reading. A half-hour
passed away and then Mrs Maurice reminded Effie of her room, and told
her it had better be put in order.
'Yes, mother, in a few minutes.' The few minutes passed away, and Mrs
Maurice spoke again.
'I will, mother.' Mrs Maurice saw that Effie forgot these words almost
as soon as spoken, but instead of telling her at once to put up the
book, and do as she was bidden, she allowed her to pursue her own course
for this once, hoping by this means to cure her of a very bad habit.
Soon after, Mrs Maurice descended to the kitchen to give some
directions, and Effie was left alone. Once the thought entered her mind
that she had promised to visit Mrs Gilman that day, but she immediately
concluded another time would do as well, and so continued her reading.
After a while Harry, who had been out with his father, entered in great
haste, with a packet of medicine in his hand.
'Effie,' he said, 'father wants you to take this to Mrs Gilman's when
you go, it is for her little James, and I--'
'I am not going to-day, Harry.'
'Can't you go? Oh do! don't mind the book! you can read it another
time.'
'So I can go to Mrs Gilman's another time.'
'Oh, but the medicine, Effie.'
'Can't you take it as well as I? It is too bad for me to have to be
running there all the time.' It was very unusual for Effie to speak so
peevishly, but Harry was in a very happy mood, so he merely exclaimed,
'Why, Effie!' and glanced at the book as much as to say, 'did you learn
it there!' Effie saw the glance, and ashamed of her ill nature said, 'Oh
it is such a good story, Harry! but if you can't go to Mrs Gilman's, why
not send a servant?'
'Father said some of _us_ ought to go; so do, Effie, just put up your
book for this once. The medicine is to prevent the convulsions that
frightened us so yesterday, but father is going out into the country (it
is delightful sleighing!) and he says I may go. You know it isn't every
day I can get a sleigh-ride, Effie.' And the delighted boy gave his
sister such a very hearty kiss that she could not forbear answering good
humouredly, especially as she had some suspicion that she had not spoken
pleasantly at first, 'Well, I will go, Harry, but don't hinder me now, I
shall get through the chapter in a few minutes.' 'Well, don't forget,
and when I come back I will tell you about all I see.'
Effie finished her chapter and thought of the medicine, and wondered if
it was really so important that it should go immediately; but she was
now in the most interesting part of the story, and she continued to read
a little farther. So the time stole away--I can't exactly tell how, but
perhaps some of my little readers (especially if they have read the
little book that delighted Effie so much) can imagine--till the dinner
hour. By this time Effie had finished her book, and her father and Harry
had returned from the sleigh-ride, the latter particularly in excellent
spirits. Effie thought of the medicine as she sat down to the table, and
in a moment all her enjoyment vanished; for she had been guilty of
procrastination, she had broken her word, and what excuse had she to
offer for her neglect? That she had scarcely known what she was about,
was no excuse at all, for she knew she ought to have known. She could
not, however, prevail upon herself to confess her fault, until after she
had repaired it, and so decided to go to Mrs Gilman's immediately after
dinner, and when she had set all right again, to tell the whole affair
to her parents and brother.
Harry was full of stories about his ride, and she heard as well as she
could about the farmer's big dog that at first wouldn't let them come
in, and afterwards shook hands with them, and the cat that could open
doors, and the hens and rabbits, but she forgot all about them in a
moment, and only wished she could slide away from the table and nobody
see her. At last the meal was ended, and they were about rising from the
table when they were startled by a message from Mrs Gilman's. Her little
boy was in convulsions.
'I will go immediately,' said Mr Maurice, 'poor little fellow! nothing
can save him now--that medicine was my last hope.'
'Oh, father!' exclaimed Effie.
'Nay, my child--' Mr Maurice began, but he saw that it was not mere pity
that produced so much agitation, and inquired hastily 'what is the
matter?' Poor Effie attempted to speak, but burst into tears.
'Oh, Effie!' exclaimed her brother, grasping her arm, 'you couldn't have
forgotten the medicine.' The poor child only sobbed the harder, and
Harry, turning to the table, pointed to the little packet, thus
explaining the mystery!
'And so for a selfish gratification you have endangered a
fellow-creature's life,' said Mr Maurice, sternly.
'Oh, father!' exclaimed Harry, 'she's so sorry! Don't cry, Effie, don't
cry!' he whispered, at the same time passing his arm around her neck,
'father didn't mean to be so severe, he is only frightened about little
James--I am very sorry I didn't go, for it was too bad to make you leave
the book.'
But all Harry's soothing words could not make Effie blind to her own
neglect, and when she saw her father go out with an anxious, troubled
face, and her mother looked so sorrowful without saying a single word to
her, she could not help going back in her thoughts to Mrs Town, Rosa
Lynmore, and even the miser, and thinking she was worse than any of
them.
Her brother Harry still clung around her neck, and kept whispering she
was not to blame, the fault was his, till Mrs Maurice called him away,
and then very reluctantly he quitted her side. Poor Effie, thus left
without sympathy, crept away to her own little room, and sat down, not
merely to weep, but to enter into a regular self-examination. The truths
she thus discovered were exceedingly humiliating, but the child began to
feel that she needed humbling, and she did not shrink from the task. I
do not know but Effie's self-condemnation was greater than the fault
really called for, but it certainly was of great use to her, and made
her humbler, and gentler, and more forgiving than she ever was before.
Effie did not see her father or Harry again that night, but when her
mother came to see if she was warm in her little bed, she whispered in
her ear, 'Oh, I have so many faults: and my heart is full of false gods.
I am afraid I never really loved my Heavenly Father.'
'Yet, Effie, a great many children, and some grown people, would
consider this neglect of yours to-day a very small thing.'
'Oh, mother! I know it is not small, though I never thought it was so
very wicked before.'
'And what makes you think it is wicked now?'
'Because it has led me to do so many wicked things. In the first place,
it was wrong to read immediately after breakfast, for then is the time
that you desire me to work.'
'Well, do you see any bad effect that the neglect of this rule may have
on your future life?'
'I suppose I should make a very useless woman, if I should grow up in
ignorance of work.'
'Yes, certainly you would; when I insist upon your attending to your few
duties at a particular time--can you imagine the reason of this? Why not
read the book this morning, and make up the lost time this evening?'
Effie could not tell, and Mrs Maurice went on to explain the necessity
of _order_ in the distribution of time, and shewed her little daughter,
that it was as necessary in the government of a house as in the
government of a nation. 'But that is not the only bad effect,' she
added, 'of your self-indulgence.'
'Oh no, mother, it made me disobedient to you, though I am sure I didn't
think of being so at the time.'
'I dare say not, but you see when we once go wrong, we are like a
traveller who has lost his path, and can be certain of nothing.'
'Then I forgot my duty to poor Mrs Gilman--I even made myself believe
that there was no need of going to see her; and I was cross to Harry,
and so selfish, that if I had not been ashamed to own it, I would have
had him give up his ride and go with the medicine.'
'And he would rather have gone ten times than--'
'I know it, mother, rather a hundred times than have the baby die.'
'Or see you do so very wrong.'
'Oh, Harry has been crying about it, I know, though he can't feel half
so badly as I do. But that was not all, mother--last of all, I broke my
promise. I told Harry I would go as soon as I finished the chapter.'
'And all this,' said Mrs Maurice, 'is the result of what, under other
circumstances, would be a mere innocent gratification, a pleasant
pastime, and a useful exercise.'
'But, mother, when I once begun, I thought I could not stop.'
'Then that was the very moment when you should have stopped, and this
one victory would have made others easier. Now I am not afraid, my dear,
of your being led astray (at least at present) by things which you know
to be wrong; your danger lies on the unguarded side, and yet it is as
likely to prove fatal to your peace of mind, your piety, and your
usefulness.'
'It never seemed to me before, that so much evil could come from such a
small thing.'
'Then you have learned an all-important lesson, which I trust will not
be soon forgotten.'
'But, mother, I shall always be afraid of doing wrong now--I don't even
know what is right.'
'That shews me, Effie, that you begin to look upon yourself as you
really are. If you are left to yourself, you will do wrong; but if you
distrust self, and place all your confidence in God, and at the same
time study to do right, you will not, for any long time, be left in
darkness.'
The conversation of Mrs Maurice continued to a late hour; but as the
remaining time was spent in encouraging poor Effie, who needed all that
could be said to her, we will pass it over, and merely inform our
readers that she awoke in the morning wiser, and even happier; for the
joy that is felt in heaven over a repenting sinner, is reflected upon
that sinner's own heart.