Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
The Red Plant.—Frontispiece.
"Please, Mrs. Hausen, I have brought you my fuchsia
to make amends."
The Round Spring Stories.
BY
LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY
Author of "Irish Amy," "Opposite Neighbors," "Comfort Allison,"
"The Tattler," "Nelly, or the Best Inheritance," "Twin Roses,"
"Ethel's Trial," "The Fairchilds," "The Sunday-School Exhibition,"
"Percy's Holidays," &c.
PHILADELPHIA:
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
NO. 1122 CHESTNUT STREET.
NEW YORK: 7, 8, & 10 BIBLE HOUSE, ASTOR PLACE.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by the
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
III. THE LITTLE BIRD THAT CARRIED THE MATTER
THE RED PLANT.
THE RED PLANT.
"OH, what lovely flowers!" exclaimed Florry, stopping to look at a group of house plants which were standing on the lawn. There were camellias, geraniums, heaths, and various plants noted for beautiful blossoms or ornamental foliage. They were all in the best order, for Mrs. Hausen kept an excellent gardener; and little Flora, who loved flowers as well as the heathen goddess for whom she was named, could hardly tear herself away from them. Her mother had sent her to Mrs. Hausen's to borrow a pattern, and Florry knew that she was in a hurry for it, yet she stood looking at the flowers for full five minutes. Then she seemed to recollect herself, sighed deeply, and walked on towards the house with a very sad, not to say discontented, face.
"I don't see any sense in it," she was saying to herself. "My father and mother are just as good people as Mr. and Mrs. Hausen; and I am sure I am quite as good a girl as Emma Hausen is: I am better than she is, because I always learn my lessons, and never whisper in church or in school; and Emma does both. I saw her whisper in church last Sunday. And yet they have this fine place, and a greenhouse and carriage, and everything; and we must just live in a poky little place, where we can't have a single flower. It is too bad!"
Mr. Hausen's was indeed a beautiful place. There was a wide lawn, always shaved and watered till it was as smooth as velvet; and this lawn was planted with rare shrubs, and variegated with beds of brilliant verbenas, geraniums, and other flowers, while here and there, just where they looked prettiest, were garden seats, and vases and stands filled with rare plants or overrun with beautiful vines. The house itself was a very fine one, and from it there was a view of the lake, and the green fields and pastures of Mr. Hausen's great farm.
It was quite a walk from the gate to the house; but Flora reached it at last, and having rung the bell, she stood in the stone porch, looking out over the lake and watching the steamer which was just coming up.
"It is too bad," she said to herself; "they have everything, and we have nothing."
Mrs. Hausen was not at home, but she had left the patterns rolled up and ready for Mrs. Lester, if she should send for them; for she was a very thoughtful woman, and never forgot a promise.
"You are Mrs. Lester's little girl, I suppose," said the woman who handed her the patterns.
"Yes, ma'am," answered Flora.
"Well, here are your patterns all ready, you see. You can walk around and look at the flowers, if you like; but don't touch anything."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Flora, but in her heart she thought, "She had no business to say that to me. Just as if I would touch anything: as if I were a thief."
Florry looked at one flower-bed and then at another, till she came to a stand which was placed, as it seemed, quite out of sight of every one, behind a thicket of flowering shrubs. It contained three or four plants; one of which was a beautiful red plant or Coleus, as it is called by florists. It was indeed a beautiful thing—as pretty as any flower, Florry thought, with its soft, velvety, crimson leaves, each edged with gold colour. Florry looked long at it, and the more she looked at it, the more she wanted it. The plant was a small one and in a small pot.
"I don't believe but that Mrs. Hausen would give it to me, if she were here," she said to herself, taking the plant in her hand and holding it up to the sun to see how beautiful the leaves were. "She does give away a great many flowers, I know. I saw Mr. Crampton carry a whole basketful down to old Mrs. Miles; and I am sure Mrs. Hausen would give me one little plant as soon as she would give that cross old woman a dozen nice large geraniums. And Emma is always bringing flowers to Miss Garland and Miss Van Ness at school. If Emma were here, she would give it to me in a minute, I know."
It is not very hard to see to what all this reasoning was leading. Florry had been very indignant at Mrs. Crampton for telling her not to touch anything. Nevertheless, she lifted the red plant from its place once more, and slipping it into her basket, where there was plenty of room for it, she hurried home as fast as she could go. It was quite a long walk, for Mr. Hausen lived nearly a mile from the village, and at every step Florry's basket seemed to grow heavier. She was already sorry that she had taken the red plant, and she would have given a great deal to have had it safely in its place once more, but she had lingered too long already, and dared not go back. Besides, somebody might see her—Mr. Hausen himself, very likely—and then what should she say or do? And what should she say to her mother? She would be sure to ask the history of the plant, and what could Florry say? She would have to tell a lie, and say that Mrs. Hausen gave it to her.
Now Flora Lester, though she had given way to a strong temptation, and taken what did not belong to her, was not in general a naughty child. On the contrary, she was usually a very good girl, and she had been brought up with a great horror of telling lies. Parents, teachers, and playmates all believed Florry when she said anything; and if Miss Van Ness wanted a true and impartial account of any trouble in playground or school-room, Florry was always called upon; and the other girls were quite satisfied in general that she should be their spokesman. The idea of telling a deliberate lie to hide her fault sent a cold pain through the little girl's heart; and now, for the first time, she realized what she had done.
"I am a thief," she said to herself. "Yes, I am a thief. I have stolen other people's goods. The plant belonged to Mrs. Hausen, and I had no business to touch it."
"But she has so many other flowers and plants, that she will never miss it," said the tempter, at Florry's ear. "She is very rich and has a great many pleasures, and you are poor and have very few. You have not done her any harm. Besides, you must go on, now that you have begun. Your mother will be very angry, or still worse, she will be very sorry, and she has a great many troubles already. It will be a great deal better to say that Mrs. Hausen gave it to you."
Florry listened to the tempter, but she did not quite make up her mind to yield. She thought she would make a compromise. So she hid the red plant among some bushes which grew close to the fence, and went into the house to carry the pattern to her mother.
"You have been gone a long time, my daughter," said Mrs. Lester. "Did you stop to play with Emma Hausen?"
"No, mother. Emma was not at home. I stood a little while in the porch watching the steamer come up, and then Mrs. Crampton said I might walk round and look at the flowers and plants, so I did. I am sorry I hindered you."
"Oh, it is no great matter," answered Mrs. Lester, kindly. "I could hardly expect you to leave such a paradise of flowers as Mrs. Hausen's garden without lingering a little. I suppose the grounds are looking beautifully after the rain."
At another time, Florry would have talked to her mother for an hour, about all the wonders she had seen; but she did not feel at all like doing so now. She would have liked to forget all about the matter, if that had been possible. She answered, rather carelessly:
"Oh, yes, very pretty indeed. Every thing is just as neat as wax. I should think the leaves did not fall off their trees, as they do off ours; for nobody ever sees one lying on the ground."
"Mr. Crampton is an excellent gardener," said Mrs. Lester; "and he has nothing else to do but to attend to the grounds, and keep things in order. Now do you want to set the tea-table, or are you too tired with your walk?"
"No, mother, I am not tired at all; but where is Mary?"
"She has gone across the lake to see her grandmother. The old lady is not very well, and they sent for her; but she is coming back to-night. But you can do as you like about setting the table. It will not hurt me to move about a little."
"Then, mother, why don't you go down and meet father?" asked Florry, who was an unselfish little thing, especially where her mother was concerned. "The walk and the fresh air will you do good; and it is a beautiful evening. Do, mother, please, and I will make the fire and set the table, and have everything ready when you come. Do, mother."
"Very well," said Mrs. Lester, smiling, and kissing Florry. "You will do it very nicely; and you may make some coffee instead of tea, if you choose, for a surprise to father."
Mrs. Lester put away her work and went down to the ferry to meet her husband, who had been over to the other side of the lake on business; and Florry set about getting supper ready. At another time, she would have enjoyed the bustle of making the fire, drawing water, and grinding the coffee; for she was a clever little housewife for a girl of her age, and loved to help everybody; but now everything seemed to go wrong. The fire would not burn, the handle came off the coffee-mill; and, at last, as she was drawing some water for the tea-table, the windlass of the well slipped from her hand, flew round and, hitting her in the breast, almost knocked her down, and hurt her so that she burst out crying. At that moment, her mother came in at the back door, and seeing the accident ran to Florry's relief.
"My poor little girl! I am afraid you have hurt yourself very badly. There, don't cry, but tell mother where it hit you. You should not have tried to draw up the bucket full of water. It was too heavy for you."
"Florry is so ambitious, she is always going beyond her strength," remarked Mary, who had also just come in. "If she had only as much strength as spunk, there isn't nothing she wouldn't do. I was telling Ciss this afternoon, 'If you would only take pattern by our Florry,' says I, 'you wouldn't leave ma to do everything.'"
"Mary wouldn't say that, if she knew," thought Florry. She stopped crying as soon as she could, and told her mother she was not much hurt.
"It was only that it startled me so. I didn't know what had happened. The supper is all ready, mother—the coffee is made, and all. Oh, what beautiful apricots!" she exclaimed, as she entered the dining-room, and saw on the table a pretty little basket piled up with large and fine apricots. "Where aid they come from, mother?"
"Mr. Hausen gave them to father," replied Mrs. Lester. "They came from his place over on the other side. Are they not fine ones?"
"The Hausens are just the kind of folks who ought to be rich," remarked Mary. "They seem to think their nice things are only given them to share with other people. The old lady, Mr. Hausen's mother, is just so. Does Emma take after the rest of them?"
"Oh, yes: she would give away her head, if it were loose," answered Florry, rather slightingly. "She is always in trouble with Miss Van Ness for lending her pencils and pens in school, and for telling in class. Miss Van Ness scolded her for giving away her paper to Lavinia Stephens, only yesterday."
"I dare say Lavinia don't do so."
"Not she. I don't believe she has had a piece of rubber or a knife of her own since she first came into the drawing-class. She just lives on the other girls; and now, Miss Van Ness has forbidden the girls to lend her anything at all. But please, Mary, do take up the coffee; I am sure it is boiled enough."
The coffee was very nice, and so was everything else; and her father had a very interesting story to tell her about Mr. Nye's Burmese cats, which had been brought home by his sailor son; but Florry could think of nothing, and care for nothing, but that unlucky red plant down behind the bushes in the front yard. Mr. Hausen's beautiful apricots seemed to choke her, and she could hardly eat one of them.
"Oh, what a fool, what a wicked fool I have been!" she said to herself. "How could I do such a thing?"
Mrs. Lester noticed how pale and silent Florry was:
"I am afraid you have hurt yourself worse than you thought," said she. "Does your breast pain you?"
"A little, mother; and my head aches."
"You had better go to bed early, and have a good long rest," said her father. "Are you sure you don't have too much to do in school, daughter? I am afraid those drawing-lessons are the feather which is going to break the camel's back."
"Oh, no, father; they don't hurt me at all, I am sure," replied Florry. "I walked pretty fast home from Mrs. Hausen's; and then getting hurt and all—"
"Well, never mind," said her mother, seeing that the tears were very near Florry's eyes. "I dare say it will be all right in the morning, after you have had a good long sleep. Don't you want a cup of coffee, for once?"
"Please, mother," answered Florry, feeling all the time as if every word and act of kindness added to her burden. She drank her coffee without tasting it, and then went out into the yard, and sat down on the door-step, with her head in her hands, thinking.
"I know what I will do," said she, at last: "I will carry the plant back to-morrow, and put it in its place; and if any one sees me, I will just tell the truth about it—so there!"
Florry seemed to breathe more freely after coming to this conclusion. She rose and went to the place where she had hidden the red plant. It was gone!
RESTITUTION.
WHEN Florry saw that the plant was gone, she could hardly believe her eyes. She searched all through the lilac-bushes, thinking she might have forgotten the place where she had hidden it. But no; there was the mark the pot had made on the damp ground, close to the fence. Some passer-by in the street had seen it, and carried it off bodily. There was no doubt of that.
Florry stood looking at the place where the plant had been, with a feeling of dumb despair. What should she do now?
"Come in, Florry, my dear," called her mother, from the door. "The dew is falling heavily, and you will take cold. Don't you think you had better go to bed, directly?"
"Yes, please, mother," answered Florry.
She kissed her mother and father good-night, and went up-stairs to her own pretty little room. It was small and plainly furnished; but there was a pretty paper on the walls, and a buff curtain edged with blue over the one large window, which made quite a deep recess at one side of the room; and under the curtain stood Florry's great treasure—a pretty green and gold flower-pot, containing a very fine fuchsia of rather an uncommon variety—a white one with a full double purple centre, and long stamens. There was a toilet-table, covered like the curtains, a bureau, and a convenient writing-desk, over which hung a beautiful chromo which Emma Hausen had given her on her last birthday.
It seemed to Florry that she was reminded of the Hausens at every turn. How good and kind they had always been to her. She had stayed with Emma a week at a time; and Mrs. Hausen was always lending her books and papers. Florry felt ashamed, as she remembered the way she had thought about Emma only that afternoon.
She said her prayers and read her chapter, and learned her two verses to recite in school next day; but nothing seemed to bring her any comfort.
"Oh, if I could only carry the plant back, I should not mind so much," she thought. "And, now I come to think, I don't believe they have any more of that kind. I am sure I never saw one like it. I dare say they were new plants, and that was the reason Mr. Crampton set them there in the shade. I should not mind so much, if it wasn't gone."
"But you can't carry it back, and there is no use in doing anything about it," whispered the tempter, in Florry's ear. "You have got rid of the plant by good luck; and now you have only to let the matter rest, and do no more, and nobody will ever know. Mrs. Hausen won't miss the plant. Very likely she does not know that she had it; and at any rate, if she does, she will never think of accusing you."
"But, then, I shall still be a thief," thought Florry; "and perhaps somebody else may be blamed. Oh, dear, what shall I do?"
And Flora buried her face in her pillow and sobbed aloud.
"My dear child, what is the matter?" asked Mrs. Lester, opening the door. "Does your shoulder hurt you?"
"I don't know," sobbed Flora, crying as if her heart would break. "Oh, mother, what shall I do? I'm so wicked."
"Tell me all about it," said Mrs. Lester, sitting down on the side of the bed.
Florry began at the beginning, and told her mother the whole story of her trouble from first to last.
"And I had made up my mind what to do," added Flora. "I thought I would go and carry the plant back, and tell Mrs. Hausen all about it. And now it is gone, and I can't; and what shall I do?"
"Try to think whether you have not something else with which to replace the red plant," said Mrs. Lester.
Florry looked at her mother, and then her eyes wandered round the room till they rested on her beautiful fuchsia.
"Do you mean my fuchsia, mother?"
"I will leave you to think about that, Florry. You are truly sorry, are you not, my child?"
"Indeed I am, mother; and, oh, so ashamed. Mrs. Hausen has been so good to me; and Emma and I have always been such good friends. It seems as if I had been so mean and ungrateful—worse than if I had taken it from any one else."
"There is some one else who has done a great deal more for you than Mrs. Hausen, Florry—one to whom you owe it that you have such kind friends. Have you thought about Him, and how you have offended Him, my dear?"
"Yes, mother," answered Florry, in a low voice. "And I asked Him to forgive me, and help me not to do so again."
"That was right, my daughter; and if you truly repent, as I have no doubt you do, He will surely forgive you. And you should ask Him to show you some way by which you can make amends. And if you are honest, and really wish to do so, I have no doubt He will teach you the right way. Now try to go to sleep, and another time we will talk more about this matter, and see whether we cannot get at the root of the trouble."
"I know what the root was," said Florry, humbly. "I have been naughty this long time, mother. I have been so envious of Emma because she was so much richer than I: and this afternoon, when I was looking at Mr. Hausen's garden, I said to myself that it was a great shame for them to be so rich, while we were so poor; and I almost wished something would happen to them. I knew it was wrong, and yet I kept on thinking about it. I don't believe I should have taken the red plant at all, only for that."
"I dare say you are right, daughter. Most of our sudden surprises of temptation, when we come to examine them, will be found not half so much surprises as we suppose. But we will not talk any more to-night. Does your shoulder pain you?"
"No, mother, not much. Mamma, I think I know what I shall do, if you will let me. I think I shall carry my fuchsia to Mrs. Hausen. She has none like it, I know; and she said it was a very uncommon one. Don't you think it is worth as much as the red plant?"
"Quite as much, if not more. I think you have come to the right conclusion, Florry; and I am glad to see that your repentance is earnest and sincere. Goodnight, my daughter."
The next morning, directly after breakfast, Florry took her fuchsia and went up to Mr. Hausen's. The walk had never seemed so long or the pot so heavy, and more than once she had to sit down and rest; but she persevered: at the door she met Mr. Crampton.
"Good-morning, Miss Florry," said he. "What a fine plant you have there! I think, if it is yours, I must beg for a cutting some day."
"I am bringing it to Mrs. Hausen," answered Florry.
"She will be glad to have it, I am sure. We had some beautiful plants sent from the city only yesterday morning, and last night some rascal stole one of the best of them."
"Crampton," called Mr. Hausen, from the side door, "come here, I want you."
Florry was thankful to be saved the trouble of a reply. She walked on to the door, and asking for Mrs. Hausen, she was shown into the library, where that lady was sitting. It was a lovely room, with great bay windows and book-cases filled and running over with books; not all of the same size and binding, and looking as if they had been bought to ornament the shelves, but of all sorts and sizes and ages; for both Mr. and Mrs. Hausen were great readers. Mrs. Hausen was sitting at her own pretty desk; but she laid down her pen, as Florry entered, and gave her a hearty welcome.
"Please, Mrs. Hausen, I have brought you my fuchsia, to make amends," said Florry, plunging at once into her subject and, in her eagerness, beginning at the wrong end. "I couldn't bring back the red plant, because somebody stole it from me; but I am very sorry; and I brought you my fuchsia, because it was the only plant I had; and, oh, please do forgive me!" And here Florry confused matters still more by bursting into tears, and crying as if her heart would break.
"My dear little girl, what is the matter? I don't in the least understand," said Mrs. Hausen, who could not, as the saying is, "make head or tail" of Florry's account. "What had you to do with the loss of the red plant?"
"I took it," answered Florry, drying her eyes, and trying to speak plainly. "I was looking at the plants last night, and I saw this, with some others, over behind the trees—and—and—"
"Why, Florry Lester!" exclaimed Emma, whom Florry had not seen before, as she sat on a low seat in the window. "Well, if ever!"
"Hush, Emma!" said Mrs. Hausen, drawing Florry to her side. "And so you were tempted to take it. I dare say you thought I should not miss it among so many; and you gave way to the temptation, and carried it home. Was that the way?"
"Yes, ma'am," sobbed Flora.
"Well, and what then?"
"Then I was sorry the minute I thought what I had done; and I carried the plant home and hid it behind some bushes, till I could think what to do. And then I thought I would come and bring it back the first thing in the morning; and when I went to put it in a safer place, it was gone. So then I told mother how naughty I had been, and asked her what I should do; and she told me I must come and tell you all about it. And I felt so badly because I could not bring back the plant; and mother told me that if I asked God, he would show me how to make it up to you some way. So I did; and then I thought of my fuchsia, and I have brought it. And, oh, Mrs. Hausen, please do keep it!"
"Well, of all the girls in the world to do such a thing!" exclaimed Emma. "Why, I always thought you were just perfect, Florry. But it was good in her to give you her nice fuchsia; wasn't it?"
"It was right, my dear, and shows that Florry was in earnest. But, Florry, your fuchsia is worth a great deal more than my red plant was."
"Please, do take it," was all Florry could say.
"Very well, I will take it then," said Mrs. Hausen, seeing that Florry was in earnest. "Mr. Crampton will be very much pleased; for this is a new variety, and better than anything we have. I will tell him to set some cuttings as soon as possible, and then you shall have one. Run and get ready for school, Emma, and you and Florry can go down together. You never did such a thing before, did you, Florry?" she asked, when Emma had gone.
"No, ma'am, never. I never even touched a flower without asking."
"And I don't believe you ever will again. How came you to do it this time?"
"I believe it was because I was so envious," whispered Florry. "I thought it was too bad that Emma should have so many more nice things than I had; and that she should be rich while I was poor. I didn't care anything about all the nice things I had myself, because I thought you had so many more."
"I understand the feeling," said Mrs. Hausen. "I have had it myself."
"You!" said Florry, surprised. "I am sure I thought you had everything that money could buy."
Mrs. Hausen smiled rather sadly.
"There are a good many things that money will not buy, my dear. When my first child was born, it was a very bright, pretty little thing till it was three or four months old. Then it began to pine away, and grow crooked and weakly; and when it was three years old, it could neither walk nor sit up, nor do any of the things that healthy children can do at that age."
"Poor little thing," said Florry, very much interested. "How hard it must have been for you."
"It was, indeed; but I made it harder than it would have been. I let my child's misfortunes make me envious of mothers who had healthy, bright little ones; and I could not bear to have such children near me. I even went so far that, when my sister's child fell downstairs and broke its leg, I found myself, for a moment, hoping that it would always be lame. That opened my eyes to see how wicked I had become. I asked forgiveness for my sin, and set myself resolutely to conquer it; and, I am thankful to say, I succeeded; so that nobody was more glad than I was, when the little boy got quite well."
"And what became of your own baby?" asked Flora, very much interested.
"She lived to be five years old, and then she was taken home. See, here is her picture."
Flora looked long and earnestly at the little miniature that Mrs. Hausen opened for her.
"She was very pretty; wasn't she?" she finally remarked.
"Yes, she had a beautiful face; and often showed sparks of great intelligence, though she never learned to talk plainly. So, you see, my dear, that I have been envious as well as you; and, also, that there are some things that money cannot buy."
"Money made a difference, though,' said Flora.
"I don't understand you, Florry."
"I don't know how to say what I mean, exactly," said Flora. "There is Mrs. Murray—Anne Murray, you know, the coloured washerwoman. She loves her little hump-backed girl dearly, and is as good to her as she can be; and yet she has to go away and leave her all day, with nobody but the neighbours to look after her; and in winter, Chloe has no place to sit, only in the kitchen full of steam and the smell of cooking, and all. That wasn't the way with your little girl."
Mrs. Hausen smiled. "You are a very thoughtful child, Florry. I see what you mean, and you are right. Money did make a difference. Poor Alice never wanted for any comfort or pleasure she could enjoy; and I gave my whole time to her, as I could not have done if I had been obliged to work in order to support her. But tell me about Mrs. Murray's little girl. How old is she?"
"She is eight years old; but she is so little she doesn't look more than five," replied Florry. "She is ever so smart, too. She can read and sew; and she dresses her dolls so nicely, for all she has hardly anything to make its clothes of. And you never saw anybody so patient as she is."
"Is her mother a good washer?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am; and she does up white dresses beautifully."
"I will see what can be done for her. Remember, Emma, not to say a word about this," said Mrs. Hausen, in a whisper. "I should be very much displeased if you did. Poor Florry would never hear the last of it; and she has been punished enough, poor little thing. Now, remember!"
"Of course I sha'n't, mamma," answered Emma. "Poor Florry! I would not do it for anything."
And, at the time, she meant what she said.
THE LITTLE BIRD THAT CARRIED THE MATTER.
FLORA LESTER and Emma Hausen went to the same school—the primary, or, as it was called, the Kindergarten, department of "Hausen Institute." This was a large, flourishing, and richly endowed girls' school, in the pretty village of Round Springs. Hausen School, as it was usually called, was a very nice place. It was not a grand "institution," with long halls and little rooms, and numberless rules and regulations, and a wonderful "system," which required so much time to develop it, that there was no time left to take care of the girls.
The school building had originally been a substantial square brick mansion, such as one sees in our pretty country villages; but a room had been added here and another there, a large, airy gymnasium on one side, and some equally airy and spacious class-rooms on the other. You were always coming on little snug bedrooms and study-rooms in unexpected corners, with "engaged" cards hung on the doors, to denote that the inmates were busy, and must not be intruded on. There was a very fine library, containing not only what are usually called "standard works," but a great many curious, interesting, and readable books besides. Behind the house were large grounds, at present somewhat rough and neglected, but none the worse for that in the eyes of the little girls, who found beautiful places for play-houses among the rocks, and nice seats on the roots of the old trees. The health of the young ladies was carefully looked after, and their comfort promoted in every possible way.
But we have nothing to do at present with any part of the school except the primary department, or Kindergarten, presided over by Miss Van Ness and Miss Garland. In this department, Florry Lester and Emma Hausen were the oldest girls; and they were already beginning to feel tall, and out of place, in the midst of the children. Promotion in Hausen School depended not on age, but on scholarship and good conduct, and both Florry and Emma hoped to be advanced to the "fourth class," which was the first step in the upper school, at the coming term-day. Florry felt pretty sure about herself; but she was not so confident about Emma, who was, it must be confessed, a little apt to be idle and giddy. She had thought the matter over, and had secretly made up her mind that, if Emma should be put back for a term, she would ask leave to wait for her, that they might be promoted together.
Emma's grandfather had founded the school, and her uncle was its president; and some of the girls said Miss Van Ness favoured Emma on that account; but Florry insisted that this was not the case.
"Miss Van Ness is too impartial," she said, one day. "She stands up so straight that she leans over. She notices things in Emma that she would not see at all in anybody else; and that is one reason why Emma gets so many more marks than I do."
It may be that, in this matter, Florry was misled by her affection for her friend. But certain it was, that Emma was very unlucky in the matter of getting marks. She was apt to forget herself during the "hour of silence," and begin studying aloud, or whispering to her neighbour. Then she was always getting into trouble because she never could say "No" when asked to lend her pencils or her books; for it was one of the very few strict rules of the school, that there should be no borrowing without express permission, but that every girl must have what was necessary for her school-work. This was a very good rule, and, if it had been kept, would have saved a deal of trouble; but Emma always had plenty of spare pens and pencils; and, as she said, she hated to be disobliging. I suspect the real truth was that she disliked the trouble of saying "No;" and thus she was always getting "marks," and being obliged to answer "Yes" when asked if she had broken any rules of the school.
"But why will you keep on lending, Emma, when you know that it is against the rules?" asked Florry, one night, when Emma was crying and saying, "It is too bad! I never have half a chance!"
"If you only lent to the girls you like, and that like you, I wouldn't mind so much; though even then I don't think you ought to break rules: but you lend to Lavinia Stephens, and get into trouble for her, when you know you don't like her, and that she just lives by sponging on the other girls."
"Well, I know she will think I am mean, if I don't."
"And suppose she does; what harm will that do you?" asked Florry, very sensibly. "I should think you would care more for what your father and mother and Miss Van Ness think, than you do for Lavinia Stephens."
Emma didn't know, only that it was not very pleasant to refuse; and nobody liked to do disagreeable things. In fact, Emma was one of those people with whom a little present inconvenience outweighs any amount of discomfort in the future. If promotion had depended only on answers given at an examination, Emma would soon have "caught up" and passed Florry; for she was very quick to learn when she gave her mind thereto. But this was not the case in Hausen School. It was the record throughout the term which decided whether any girl should be promoted at the end; and for this reason, Florry's chances were much better than Emma's.
"Now, Emma," said Florry, as they were riding down to school that morning, "you don't mean to get any marks this week, do you? You know this is the last of the term, and half a dozen marks may make all the difference."
"I suppose you think you are certain of being promoted?" said Emma.
"No: I don't feel at all sure; and, anyhow, I don't want to go up unless you do. I should feel so strange and lonely in the fourth grade all by myself."
"You know all the girls in the fourth grade, don't you?"
"Yes, all the day-scholars; but I don't care much for any of them, except your cousin Winifred. And, anyhow, I don't want to go up unless you do. So, please, Emma, do be careful. You have not had any marks this week yet, have you?"
"Only one," said Emma, rather reluctantly.
"Oh, Emma, how could you?"
"You needn't say anything," said Emma, feeling very much vexed, she hardly knew why. "Lending isn't as bad as stealing, anyway."
Florry turned her head away and looked out of the window, without saying a word.
"There, now, I am sorry I said that," exclaimed Emma. "It was real mean in me. Oh, please, don't cry!" as she peeped round into Florry's face and saw the tears falling from her eyes. "Please do forgive me, Florry, won't you? Oh, I am so sorry. Please do forgive me, and I never, never will say such a word again."
It was not in Florry's nature to be unforgiving; especially where Emma was concerned. Truth to say, her forgiving nature was called into exercise pretty often; for Emma was one of those people who say whatever they happen to think at the moment, without regard to consequences; which would be all very well, if one were sure always of thinking what it was right to say.
Florry "made up friends" with Emma, as she had done a hundred times before; but never had any one of Emma's hasty speeches wounded her like this. It is comparatively easy to bear unjust faultfinding. It is the true reproach which stings.
Florry was very grave and silent all day; and in the afternoon she looked so pale, that Miss Van Ness asked her if she was not well.
"My head aches, Miss Van Ness; and last night I hurt my shoulder and side with the windlass of the well, and it pains me very much," answered Florry. "Please excuse me from writing. My arm is so lame."
"I think it is best to excuse you altogether," said Miss Van Ness, kindly. "You had better go home and lie down; and, Emma, you may go with her, if you please, as you have done all your lessons so well to-day."
The next day, Florry's arm was so stiff that she could not raise it at all, and her father thought she had better stay quietly at home. Florry was not at all sorry to do so, for the more she thought about her fault, the more sorry and ashamed she felt; and it seemed to her that everybody must know all about it.
It was not till Friday morning that Florry came to school again. This Friday was a very important day. It was the end of the term, and in the afternoon all the school would be assembled in the great room to hear the reports read, which would determine their standing for the next term.
Emma was feeling very happy and very confident. She had really been careful for the last two weeks, and she had only been marked twice; and she had somehow settled it in her own mind that these two weeks were to out-balance all the rest of the term. Florry would have liked to think so, too; but she could not bring herself to do so. She had kept an accurate account of her own standing and Emma's, a thing Emma never thought of doing; and she felt pretty sure that her friend would be put back.
"But I won't go up unless she does," decided Florry, as she stopped at the house of Mrs. Mansfield, where she was to do an errand for her father. "If I pass and Emma does not, I will just ask father and Mr. Hausen to let me stay down till the end of next term; and then I can go over the geography again with Miss Van Ness."
The Mansfields had lately come to Round Springs to live, and had bought one of the finest houses in the village, which they had furnished at a great expense. They had only two children: Emmeline, who was a grown-up young lady, and Matilda or Tilly, who was a year younger than Florry Lester, and who came to the Kindergarten. Tilly was no great favourite with the girls, who accused her of "feeling grand" and putting on airs, because her father was rich and came from New York; and perhaps there was some truth in the accusation. If so, it was more Tilly's misfortune than her fault; for she had always been used to hear money talked about as if it had been the all-important thing, beside which nothing was of any great consequence.
"Oh, Florry!" said Tilly, meeting her school-mate in the hall. "I am so glad to see you. Did you come for me to go to school with you?"
"No," said Florry; "I came to do an errand for father; but we can go to school together, unless I have to go home first."
"Well, come up to my room with me. I want to show you something."
Florry had no objections to see a little of Mr. Mansfield's house, about which she had heard so much, and she followed Tilly up-stairs to her own room. The house was indeed furnished "regardless of expense," as the saying is; but Florry noticed, as she passed through the parlours, that there were no books, and very few magazines or papers, and that, though there were some large pictures, they were more remarkable for their expensive gilt frames than for anything else. Besides, the colours of the carpets and curtains did not suit each other, and the furniture did not seem at all as if it had been made for comfortable use.
"It looks like a hotel," thought Florry, to herself: "I think our little house is much prettier. It looks as if everything was saying, 'See how much I cost!'"
Tilly's room, however, was more to her taste. Tilly loved story-books, and she had a great many of them; there were some really pretty "chromos" on the walls, and on a bracket in one corner stood a lovely little statuette.
"What a pretty room!" said Florry.
"Yes, I think it is pretty," answered Tilly, very much pleased. "My aunt Maria picked out the furniture and the pictures for me."
"I think they are lovely," said Florry; "and how many books you have, Tilly."
"Yes; I buy some every time I go to the city. Pa says it is all nonsense spending so much money for books, because they don't make any show, and you never can sell them for half what they cost; but he lets me spend my money as I like. Don't you want to borrow some of them, Florry? Take any you please. There is father calling me. Just look over the shelves, while I see what he wants; will you?"
Florry selected a couple of volumes, and by the time she had done so, Tilly came back.
"Papa would like to have your father come up and see Emmeline," said she.
"Then I must run home and tell him before he goes out," said Florry. "See, Tilly, I have taken these two books; and I will lend you any of mine that you like."
"But just wait a minute. I want to show you my birthday present," and Tilly displayed, with some pride, a very pretty little watch and gold chain, and a handsome enamelled locket. "I mean to wear them to school this morning."
"I wouldn't," said Florry. "You might lose them or something. And besides, Miss Van Ness wouldn't like it. Come, walk along with me as far as the school."
"I can't. I must change my dress first. Do you think you will get promoted to-day, Florry?"
"I am sure I don't know," answered Florry, rather absently.
"Well, do you think Emma will? She thinks so, I know, because she has been so good the last two weeks."
"I don't know," answered Florry, again. "It doesn't depend on the last two weeks, you know. But good-by, Tilly, I must go. Thank you for the books."
Tilly dressed herself for school, and, after some consideration, put on her new watch and chain; for she could not resist the desire she felt to show them off: Mr. Mansfield lived on a back street, parallel to that on which the school stood. His grounds joined those of the school at the back, and for Tilly's convenience, he had constructed a path and a stile, which shortened his daughter's daily journeys very much.
Tilly crossed the stile, and the first thing she saw was Emma Hausen, seated on a rock, close under the wall, and studying with all her might.
"Why, Emma! What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Studying my history. I forgot to take my book home; and I am so afraid I shall miss, I don't know what to do. Dear me, how fine you are!" she exclaimed, seeing Tilly's chain and locket. "But you don't mean to wear those to school, do you?"
"Why not?" asked Tilly.
"Because all the girls will laugh at you," answered Emma. "They always do if any one wears anything fine. I wouldn't, Tilly."
"I think I have a right to wear my own watch," said Tilly, pouting.
"Of course you have; but then, you know, you don't want to be laughed at," said Emma, who spoke from pure good-nature. "I never wear mine; but mother says I may when I get into the upper school, because I shall need it then. If I were you, I would carry the watch home again."
"I sha'n't have time, and I don't want to go back home," said Tilly, who dreaded being laughed at. "I will tell you what I will do. See, here is a nice dry hollow under this great rock. I will put it in there, and lay another stone over it; and it will be just as safe as if it were in my drawer at home. Then I can get it when I come back this way."
"Just as you like," said Emma, intent upon her lesson. "Only don't forget where you put it."
"I suppose you will come to school all the same, Emma, whether you are promoted or not," remarked Tilly, as she secured her watch by laying a large stone over the hole where she had placed it.
The Red Plant.
"See here is a nice dry hollow; it will just be as safe
as in my drawer at home."
"Yes, I suppose so," answered Emma, rather impatiently. "Only I shall not be here for the first few days. We are going to the city this afternoon, and may not be home till Thursday or Friday. There's the first bell. Oh, dear, I wish, it was all over! Come, Tilly, we shall be late."
The school exercises went on as usual in the morning. At noon, Tilly walked home by the street, discussing with the other girls the chances of promotion for one and another, and came back the same way. In the afternoon the whole school, boarders and all, were assembled in the large room. The trustees, with the president of the school at their head, took their seats on the raised platform, and the friends of the pupils had a place by themselves. There was a prayer and some singing; and then Mr. Richard Hausen, the president, rose to read the reports, amid a profound silence. The little girls came first, and then the elder ones. Florry and Emma, seated together, listened breathlessly till Mr. Hausen came to the "promotions" and read:
"Promoted to the fourth grade: Flora Lester, Eva Church, Anna Talbot. Highest standing for all things, Flora Lester."
Poor Emma! She had succeeded in persuading herself that she should certainly pass this time, and it was a terrible disappointment not to hear her name. And such a mortification, too. She must stay behind—in the baby-room, as she disdainfully called the Kindergarten, while two such little things as Eva Church and Anna Talbot mounted over her head. They would learn their lessons in the great class-room, and go out sailing and riding with the young ladies, while she would remain, the only large girl in the room, except Tilly Mansfield.
"It is too bad! It isn't half fair!" Thus, in the short recess given to the younger girls, Emma loudly complained of the injustice done her.
"I don't believe Miss Van Ness keeps the book right!" she exclaimed. "I don't believe I have been imperfect as many times as that."
"I am afraid there is no mistake about it," said Florry, sorrowfully. "Have you kept an account this term, Emma?"
"No. I can never remember to set the things down at the time."
"I didn't believe you would, and so I kept your credit along with my own," said Florry. "And, Emma, I am afraid Miss Van Ness is right. Her account is just like mine. You know I told you two or three weeks ago—"
"Oh, yes, you told me," interrupted Emma, scornfully and angrily. "You are a great hand to preach, to be sure. If I have missed, and got some marks in school, I haven't done some other things. Have you found the red plant yet?"
Florry did not say another word. She turned and went away into the house, without telling Emma, as she had meant to do, of her intention not to go up without her.
"Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" she said to herself. "Oh, my heart will break! I am sure it will. If I could only die, or go clear away where nobody knows me. I wish father would let me go away to Colorado to Uncle John."
To do Emma justice, she had no intention of wounding her friend so deeply.
She was angry at herself for having failed, and at Florry for having succeeded, and her anger fell upon the first object that happened to present itself.
"What did you mean by what you said about the red plant?" asked Tilly Mansfield, who had heard Emma's words. "I heard your mother tell Emmeline that she had had a beautiful one, but that somebody stole it. You don't mean that Florry Lester took it, do you? Why, Emma Hausen!"
"Yes, she did; and I think it is a shame that such a girl should be put above me!" exclaimed Emma. "I am not a thief, whatever I am. I just wish Miss Van Ness and the rest knew it, that's all. I guess Miss Flora Lester would not hold her head so very high among the young ladies after that."
"I guess she wouldn't," said Tilly, who dearly loved a piece of gossip. "Why don't you tell them? I would. It would just pay Florry off finely. I dare say she would be turned out of the school."
"But I don't want to pay her off, that I know of," said Emma, struck by Tilly's words, and beginning to think when it was too late, as usual. "It was not her fault, and I am sorry I hurt her feelings. She was always telling me I would fail, if I didn't take more care; and she was right. If I had minded her, I should have done well enough. I wish I had."
"But did she really steal your mother's red plant?"
"Yes: she took it out of the stand and carried it home, and then somebody stole it from her. But she was very sorry; and she came and told mother all about it; and gave her that beautiful double fuchsia, to make amends. And don't you say a word, Tilly, for all the world; because mother told me not to tell; and, besides, it was real mean in me to twit Florry with it. You won't tell, will you?"
"Of course not; but, Emma, I don't think you need care so very much for Florry. It was not half fair for her to go above you so."
"Oh, she couldn't help it! And she did her best to have me second, too."
"She knew all the time that you wouldn't, though. I knew she did, because she told me so. She said you had been very good the last two weeks; but it didn't depend on that; and she knew she should pass anyhow: so she didn't care."
Tilly did not exactly mean to lie; but she was an inveterate gossip, and, like many other gossips, she never could repeat anything exactly as she heard it.
"I don't believe she said so. It doesn't sound one bit like her," said Emma.
"Indeed, she did. She said so up in my room this very morning."
"I guess you stretched it just a little," said Emma. "But there is mother calling me."
"I think we must go now, my dear," said Mrs. Hausen. "You know we have several things to do yet. Miss Van Ness will excuse you."
Emma did not seek Florry out to "make up," as she had intended. She said to herself that she had no time; but that was not the real reason. Tilly's words, though she did not half believe them, had not been without their effect on her mind.
THE EFFECT OF A BAD NAME.
MR. MANSFIELD was very much vexed when he found that Tilly had not been promoted, and said many hard things; threatening to take his daughter out of school, and send her to a more pretentious "institution," in a neighbouring town. But Tilly herself had no mind to leave school; and Miss Emmeline Mansfield, who was a very good, sensible girl, was very unwilling to have her sister deprived of the training which was just what she needed; and Mr. Mansfield was finally persuaded to let matters rest for the present.
"Why don't you ever wear your watch to school?" said he, one day, as Tilly passed him with her books in her hand. "What is the use of having a watch, if you don't wear it?"
"Emma Hausen told me the girls would laugh at me if I did," replied Tilly. "And Mrs. Hausen and the teachers don't like to have the girls wear finery in school."
"Nonsense," answered Mr. Mansfield. "If they do say anything to you, just tell them you can afford to wear what you like."
Tilly was in a hurry that morning, and did not care to go back to her room for her watch; but the next day, she thought she would wear it, and went to the drawer where she usually kept it.
The watch was not there. Tilly looked through all her drawers and boxes, but the watch was not to be found.
What was to be done now? What had become of it? Tilly remembered that she had shown it to Flora Lester one morning; and that she had afterwards left Flora alone in the room. That was all she could recollect, and she jumped at once to a conclusion. Flora was a thief: she had stolen Mrs. Hausen's red plant; no doubt she had taken the watch, also. Yes, that was it. Flora Lester, the pattern girl, the girl Miss Van Ness petted, and Miss Garland made so much of, who had just been promoted, and welcomed by the fourth grade girls with so much pleasure, was a thief, and had stolen enough to send her to the State Prison.
Tilly had never liked Flora very well heretofore. Flora was polite and kind to her when she first went to school, and had introduced her to the other girls, and showed her the ways of the school. This was only a part of her duty as the oldest girl in the Kindergarten. The head girl in every grade was expected to show such attentions to strangers. But Tilly had resented this conduct as an attempt at patronage on Flora's part, and had said to herself that Flora Lester needn't put on quite so many airs, seeing that her father was only a poor village doctor, who had not as much money in the world as her (Tilly's) father spent every year.
But Flora did not seem to care anything about Mr. Mansfield's money; and had not admired the house and furniture half as much as Tilly thought she ought have done. And now here was a fine chance to take Florry down. It almost consoled Tilly for the loss of her watch, to think that she could whisper to all the girls that she had left Flora Lester alone in her room a minute, and that Flora must have opened her drawer and taken out her new watch and chain. Mr. Mansfield and Emmeline had gone away for a few days, and there was no one at home but herself and the housekeeper, Mrs. Griggs, who had come with them from New York, and with whom Tilly was always at war.
"I won't tell her," thought Tilly. "She will be sure to take Florry's part. I mean to write to father, though, this very minute."
Tilly was as good as her word. She sat down on the instant, and wrote to her father, telling him that Florry had stolen her watch, and asking him what she should do about it. This letter she posted on her way to school. She met Florry at the gate, and Florry was going to speak to her as usual; but Tilly passed her with only a very cold nod and a toss of her head, and went into the school-room, where she met Jenny Fleming and several of the other girls, who all seemed to be in a great frolic.
"Come and make your manners to Jenny Fleming," said Priscilla Steele, laughing, as Tilly entered the room. "She is head of the school, now that Merry is gone; and she feels as proud as a peacock."
"Jenny Fleming is not so old as I am," said Tilly. "She will be eleven next month, I know; and I was eleven last January."
"Yes; but it doesn't go by that," explained Priscilla. "It is only our age in school that counts. Jenny Fleming has been in the school ever since it began."
Now Tilly had asked the ages of all the girls anywhere near her own, and having found out that she was the oldest, she had concluded that she should be head girl when Florry left. She had made up her mind that she would be very kind and obliging, especially to the little ones; that she would take a great deal of notice of the poorer girls, and "show that she was not proud," as she said. It was very vexatious to have all this magnanimity thrown away; and it somehow increased her displeasure at Florry.
"It will seem odd not to have Florry in school, won't it?" remarked Emily Dean. "The Kindergarten won't seem half so pleasant, now that Florry is gone."
"Oh, you think a great deal of Florry," said Tilly, tossing her head again. "I guess, if you knew what I do! But you will see how fine she will look when my father comes home. I guess Miss Van Ness and the rest won't think quite so much of her after this."
"Tilly Mansfield, what do you mean?" exclaimed Priscilla and Jenny, together. "What has Florry done?"
"Won't you ever tell, if I tell you?"
"No; of course not," said Jenny and Priscilla, together.
Emily did not say a word, but she listened with the others.
"Well, then — but don't you tell, because I don't want any fuss made till my father comes home; and I have written to him this very day. Flora Lester has stolen my watch and my new chain and locket: and it isn't the first time she has stolen, either. She was at our house, and I took her up in my room while I went to see what father wanted; and I have never seen my watch since: so she must have got it, you see. I have written to father, and asked him to come home directly; and I dare say he can get it back, or else make Dr. Lester buy me a new one. But wasn't it too bad?"
"Pshaw, what nonsense!" said Jenny. "Just as if Florry would take your watch. I don't believe one word of it. You have mislaid it somewhere. A likely story, indeed!"
"I never should have thought of such a thing, if I had not known before that Florry would steal," said Tilly. "But Emma Hausen told me herself that Florry stole some of her mother's new plants."
"I don't believe she ever told you such a word!"
"Jenny," said Priscilla, "you should not speak so."
"Well, I will speak so then!" said Jenny, who was a peppery little Irish girl, and who adored Florry. "I say Florry Lester is not a thief; and whoever says so, deserves to be turned out of the school. I don't believe Emma Hausen ever told you so, Tilly Mansfield: you are mad because Florry was promoted; and that is the whole of it. A likely story, indeed! I won't stay to hear such stuff," and Jenny flounced away in a twitter of indignation.
"I am sure Jenny needn't be angry at me," said Tilly.
"Well, you see, she thinks so much of Florry—all the girls do," answered Priscilla. "But, Tilly, I don't think you ought to say such a thing, unless you are quite sure. Just think: it is enough to send Florry to the State Prison."
"Yes, you all care about Florry; and nobody thinks anything about my losing my beautiful watch," said Tilly, pouting. "I guess you would not like very well to lose a new gold watch and chain."
"But perhaps somebody else stole it—maybe one of the servants."
"I tell you nobody else had a chance. I always keep my jewels locked up," said Tilly, with a grand air. "Only that morning I unlocked it to show the things to Florry, and left it open while I went to speak to father."
"That does look badly," observed Priscilla.
"I should think it did. But, yet, I don't know that I should have thought of it, only for what Emma Hausen told me."
"And did she really tell you that Florry had stolen?"
"Yes, indeed she did. She said that Florry carried off some beautiful plants that her mother had just got from the city."
"Well, I would not have believed that about Florry Lester, of all the girls in the world. And she talks so good, too!"
"That don't always make people any better," said Tilly. "My father says he always expects to be cheated when he is dealing with people who only pretend to be good."
"But, Tilly, your own sister Emmeline is very religious, I am sure. She goes to all the meetings, and has a class in Sunday-school, and all."
"Yes, I know it; and if it was any one else, father wouldn't leave them any peace; but he lets Emmy have her own way in everything, because he thinks she is consumptive, like mother, and won't live long."
"Does Emmeline think that Florry took the watch?"
"She does not know anything about it. She has gone to the city for a few days."
"Well, I must go and look over my geography," said Priscilla. "I am sure I hope you will find your watch."
Before recess that day, almost every girl in the primary room had been told, under a solemn pledge of secrecy, that Florry Lester had stolen Tilly Mansfield's watch and chain, and that when Mr. Mansfield came home, she would have to give it up, and perhaps be sent to State's Prison. They knew, too, (for such stories never lose anything in the telling,) that Florry had stolen from Mrs. Hausen ever so many times; but that Mrs. Hausen had forgiven her for her mother's sake. Some of the girls began to remember how they had unaccountably lost knives and pencils, and other small possessions; and that their paper had been used up very fast. Elizabeth Miller recollected, or thought she did, that she had never seen her tortoise-shell handled knife since one day that she had lent it to Florry to sharpen a pencil; and her sister told how she had once come early to school, and found Florry looking over all the girls' books, pretending that she had lost her own history.
Some of the girls, indeed, took Florry's part vehemently, and threatened "to tell Miss Van Ness;" but Tilly boldly told them to tell, if they liked: it would only bring matters out, and Florry into disgrace all the sooner. In short, the Kindergarten had never been in such a ferment before.
Florry, meantime, had not the least idea of what was going on. She had for two days studied in the fourth grade room, where she had, at first, felt very lonely and homesick; but the girls were all kind to her; and Miss Reynolds, who had the care of the room, took pains to make her feel at home, and she was beginning to like it. She did not go out at the morning recess, but spent her time in the library, looking at a curious book of costumes which Miss Foster the librarian took down for her. Florry had applied for permission to remain another term in the lower room, but it had not been thought best; and she consoled herself by thinking that perhaps Emma would try harder, now that she had nobody to help her.
"So, Florry, you have found your way to the library already," said Mr. Hausen, kindly, as he came into the room, and found Florry busy with her book. "That is right. The books were made to be used."
"The girls here don't know half their privileges," remarked Miss Foster, when the president left the room. "When I was at Eaton College, the girls no more thought of going to the library for a book to read than they did of going to the moon."
"What was the use of having a library at all?" asked Florry.
"I don't know. I suppose to be looked at by visitors, and give a character to the school."
In the afternoon recess, Florry went down to meet her old school-mates in the little girls' playground, and was surprised by the reception she met with. A good many of the girls greeted her coldly, or not at all, and cast significant or contemptuous looks at each other; while others met her with more warmth and affection than ever. Among these last were Jenny Fleming and Emily Dean. Jenny ran to meet Florry, and kissed her on both cheeks; while Emily, who was less impulsive, put her arm through Florry's with a certain air of protection; casting, meantime, a glance of defiance at Priscilla and Tilly, who stood at a little distance.
"I should think you would be ashamed, Jenny," said Tilly. "What do you think your mother would say?"
"And I should think you would be ashamed; and so you will, Tilly Mansfield," retorted Jenny. "Very fine you will look, and a fine slice of humble-pie you will have to eat, when the truth comes out."
Tilly only tossed her head, as usual, and turned away to whisper anew with some of the other girls.
"What do they mean?" asked Florry, looking from one to the other, and quite bewildered by this reception. "Why do they treat me so?"
"Because they are just a set of dunces," returned Jenny.
"Because Tilly Mansfield has been telling stories about you," said Emily.
"There, Emily: we promised we would not tell."
"I didn't," said Emily. "I wouldn't, because I just meant to tell Florry. I think she ought to know. Florry, Tilly said you stole her watch that day you were there."
"Stole her watch!" repeated Florry, too much annoyed even to be angry. "What does she mean?"
Emily began at the beginning, and told Florry the whole story as she had heard it from Tilly. Emily was a very truthful girl, and she related the matter quietly and exactly as she had heard it.
"You see, nobody would have believed a word of it, only that Tilly said Emma Hausen told her that you had stolen some plants from her mother. She says Emma's mother told her never to tell; but Emma was angry because you went above her, and spoke of it before she thought; and then she asked Tilly not to tell. Oh, Florry, don't cry! It is not worth minding."
For Florry's head had sunk down on Jenny's shoulder, and was sobbing so violently that the girls were startled.
"What shall we do?" said Jenny.
"Shall we call Miss Van Ness, Florry? Can't we bring you anything?"
"No, don't call anybody," said Florry, trying to quiet herself. "Let us sit down here. I want to tell you something. Oh, girls, don't desert me; will you?"
"Of course we won't," said warmhearted little Jenny. "Sure, if I knew it was all true, I would stand by you just the same. What's the good of having a friend, if one is going to give them up the first minute they do anything wrong? Besides, I know you haven't done anything. I don't so much wonder at Tilly: she's not much, anyhow; but I am surprised at Emma."
"But it isn't true, of course," said Emily: "I mean what Emma said. 'We know the other isn't."
"I will tell you all about it," said Florry, drying her eyes and speaking with a great effort. "I did take Mrs. Hausen's red plant."
"Oh, Florry!"
"Just you be still, and let her tell her own story," said Emily, checking Jenny. "Well, Florry, and what then? What else did you do?"
Florry went on and told the whole story, from her first desire to carry off the red plant to her taking her fuchsia to Mrs. Hausen.
"You see, I couldn't carry back the plant I stole, and I had nothing else, only my fuchsia. I knew Mrs. Hausen had none like it, because she asked me to save a slip for her. So I told mother all about it, and she said I might; and the next morning, I went and carried the plant up there, and told Mrs. Hausen just as I told mother. Oh, girls, you can't think how good she was. She didn't want to take the plant at first; but she consented finally, because I wanted her to so much."
"Well, I shall never think much of Emma Hausen again," said Emily, decidedly. "I think she was even worse than Florry."
"Please, don't say so," said Florry. "I know just how it happened. Emma was disappointed and vexed because she did not pass; and so it came out before she thought. But, oh, what shall I do?"
"Tell your mother all about it," said Emily, who had full confidence in the power of "mother" to set everything right.
"I can't. She has gone over to see old Madam Hausen, and won't be home till to-morrow; and father has gone to the convention at A—."
"'Well, I know what I would do," said Jenny. "I would go right away and tell the president."
"Why, Jenny Fleming! Would you dare do such a thing?"
"Yes, I would then, Emily Dean. Why not? He wouldn't eat me up; and he is the best man that ever was. I would tell him in a minute."
"Yes: but, Jenny, the thing is, that I can't tell of myself without telling of Emma; and that would get her into trouble at home; because her mother charged her never to say one word about it," said Florry. "I know she did, because Emma told me so herself that day."
"I don't care if you stole fifty red plants, and blue ones, too!" exclaimed Jenny. "I do think you are the best girl that ever lived. But what will you do then? You can't go on so."
"I shall wait till I can see father or mother before I do anything," replied Florry. "As to the watch, Tilly has put it away somewhere, and forgotten it."
EATING HUMBLE-PIE.
WHEN Flora Lester went home that night, she was about as unhappy as a child could be. If she had been perfectly innocent—if she could have defied anybody to show that she had ever laid her hand on what did not belong to her—the matter would not have been quite so bad. The injustice would even then have been hard to bear; but she felt that she could have borne it better. But there was that unlucky red plant. And then that Emma should have told of her! That was the hardest of all.
Florry was too unhappy to cry, too unhappy to care anything about reading or eating, or playing with her kittens. Her father did not come home, as she expected, but sent a note to say that he should not return till the next day; so she could not follow out her resolution to tell him all about the trouble. Mrs. Hausen was not at home, either; and even if she had been, Florry felt that, as matters stood between herself and Emma, she could not ask that lady's advice.
"Oh, if I only had somebody to tell me what to do!" she murmured, as she sat looking out of the window. And as she said so, a sudden thought flashed across her, and she got up and put on her hat directly.
"Mary," she called, "I am going to see Aunt Eunice a little while. I shall not be gone long."
"Very well," returned Mary. "You needn't hurry home. I'll come after you, if it gets dark."
Aunt Eunice Whitney lived by herself, in a pretty little house on one of the upper streets of Round Springs. She was quite an old lady; and her husband being dead, and all her children married, she had her house to herself, except when one of her granddaughters was staying with her, and going to school. Aunt Eunice had passed through a great many troubles and sorrows in her time. She was a woman to whom every one who knew her went for advice and counsel in difficulties, and for comfort in sorrow; for she was a very wise woman and a most earnest Christian; and she seemed to know just what to say to every one. She was a distant relation of Dr. Lester's, and Florry, like almost all the young people in Round Springs, called her "Aunt Eunice."
Florry found her old friend knitting, with her large Bible open on the table before her, though she did not seem to be reading. And Aunt Eunice gave the little girl her usual hearty welcome.
"But thee seems to be in trouble, dear," said Aunt Eunice, who was a "Friend," and always spoke after their manner. "What can I do for thee? I don't like to see thy little face so overcast."
"I want to tell you all about it, please, Aunt Eunice," answered Florry, glad that the old lady had "broken the ice" for her. "I am in a great deal of trouble, and I don't know what to do; and father and mother are away."
"Sit down here," said Aunt Eunice, drawing a low chair to her side. "Sit down here, and tell me the whole story."
Florry did so, feeling her heart already a little cheered by Aunt Eunice's ready sympathy. When she had finished, Aunt Eunice sat a few minutes in silence, and then began turning over the leaves of her Bible, as if looking for something.
"Can thee see to read by this light?" she asked, turning to Florry.
"Oh, yes, ma'am," answered Florry.
"Then suppose we read a few verses. Maybe we shall find a message for thee here."
Florry read where Aunt Eunice pointed with her needle. It was the thirty-seventh Psalm.
"'Fret not thyself because of evil doers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity. For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb.'"
"'Trust in the Lord and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.'"
At the fifth and sixth verses, Aunt Eunice paused, and applied the promise.
"That seems to be what thee wants, isn't it, dear? 'Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass. And he shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday. Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him . . . Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil.' It seems to me that is the counsel for thee to follow," said Aunt Eunice. "Just commit thy ways to him, and wait patiently upon him; and, no doubt, he will bring forth thy righteousness as the light! I think thee does love him already; don't thee, Florry?"
"Yes, indeed, I do," whispered Florry, as her friend put her arms around her and drew the little girl close to her side.
"Well, then, can't thee trust him to make all these things come out right? Can't thee commit thy ways unto him?"
"I would, if only I hadn't been so naughty about the plant," said Florry.
Aunt Eunice smiled rather sadly. "That's the way we are always hindering ourselves, dear—by going back and picking up our old sins, instead of leaving them behind us. Didn't thee ask him to forgive thee that sin?"
"Yes, Aunt Eunice."
"And don't thee know that he has forgiven it, and washed it all away? Don't thee know that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin?"
"Yes, Aunt Eunice. The Bible says so."
"Well, then, why should thee think that the sin which he has not only forgiven but washed away—made as if it had never been—is going to prevent him from helping thee now? Why, thee wouldn't let this matter hinder thee from helping Emma or even Tilly, would thee—especially if they said they were sorry, and asked thy forgiveness?"
"I wouldn't, anyway," answered Florry. "But, Aunt Eunice, suppose Mr. Mansfield should send me to the State Prison for stealing the watch?"
Aunt Eunice smiled. "Never fear, child. He can't send thee to prison; even if he should wish to; which he won't. There is no proof against thee. Put that thought out of thy mind for good. Very likely the watch will be found after all, and if it is not, nobody will think that thee took it. Now do as I tell thee. Commit thy ways unto the Lord, and trust in him, and wait for him to make thy innocence appear."
Florry went home feeling very much comforted. She read her Bible and said her prayers, and then lay down and went to sleep, feeling that she had a Friend in whom she could safely trust.
The next morning, Emma Hausen came to school again. She had had time to grow heartily ashamed of her anger against Florry, and of what she had said to Tilly Mansfield, especially since she had heard that Florry had asked leave to wait a term for her. Her first thought was to find Tilly, and give her a renewed charge not to repeat what she had said; and the next to see Florry, and give her the pretty presents she had brought her from the city. She found Tilly in the midst of a group of excited listeners in the school-room veranda, and heard her say:
"My father is coming home this morning, and then we shall see whether I am to be robbed or not."
"Robbed!" said Emma. "Who has robbed you?"
"Tilly's watch has been stolen," said Priscilla.
"What, out of the hole where she left it that day?" asked Emma. "I told you, Tilly, it wasn't safe to leave your watch there, under that stone. When did you miss it?"
The girls who stood round were astonished to see Tilly turn first pale and then scarlet, and then, after standing for a minute staring at Emma, rush down the steps and up the path which led to the stile.
"What do you mean, Emma? What stone?" asked Emily.
"Why, the stone where she put it on team-day," replied Emma, and then, guessing what had happened, she burst out laughing, and exclaimed:
"You don't mean to say that Tilly forgot where she put it, and then thought somebody had stolen it? That is too good!"
"It hasn't been any joke at all, I can tell you, Emma," said Emily, gravely. "Tilly missed her watch, and she has accused Flora Lester of taking it; and a great many of the girls believed her. Poor Florry has been treated shamefully. But let us go after Tilly, and see if she finds her watch."
The girls hurried up the path, and arrived in time to see Tilly draw forth her watch and chain safe and sound.
"Well, you are smart!" exclaimed Emma, contemptuously, while Tilly stood with her eyes on the ground, too much abashed to say a word.
"Did she really put it there, Emma?" asked several of the girls. "Did you see her?"
"Yes; of course I did. She was wearing it to school; and I told her the girls would laugh at her, and advised her to carry the watch home; but she wouldn't, and she put it in that hole. I was wondering, yesterday, whether she remembered to take care of it. But to go and say that Florry Lester took it! Tilly Mansfield, you deserve to be whipped! And what were the rest of you about, I should like to know?" said Emma, with increasing anger. "What were you all thinking about, to treat Florry so? The best girl that ever lived in the world, I do believe!"
"You needn't lay it all on us, Emma," answered Priscilla. "We never should have thought of such a thing, if you hadn't told Tilly yourself how Florry stole your mother's plant."
"I am sure I shouldn't," said Tilly, gathering courage; "but you did tell me yourself how Florry stole the plant."
It was now Emma's turn to blush. "I know I did; and it was a great shame," said she; "but didn't I tell you not to say anything about it?"
"As if that would do any good," remarked Emily. "If you don't want secrets told, you shouldn't tell them yourself."
"And while you were about it, why didn't you tell the rest,—how sorry Florry was, and how she gave mother her beautiful fuchsia to make amends?" cried Emma.
"Hush!" said Jenny Fleming. "Here comes Florry. She has been up to your house, Tilly."
Florry had indeed been up to see Tilly, and to beg her to try and remember when she had worn the watch last. Tilly had gone to school, however; and Florry, finding that she was likely to be late, had asked the housekeeper's permission to come the back way. She was walking slowly and looking on the ground, and, as she raised her eyes at the stile, she saw the girls all standing round, and Tilly with the watch and chain in her hand.
Emma sprang to meet her friend, threw her arms round her neck, and kissed her.
"Oh, Florry, can you ever forgive me!" she exclaimed. "It was all my fault; but please do forgive me and make up friends."
"What has happened?" asked Florry, bewildered. "Where did Tilly find her watch?"
"Just where she put it,—under the big stone there!" replied Emma.
"And I dare say she knew it was there all the time!" added Jenny Fleming. "She just wanted to make a fuss, and was angry at Florry for going above her."
"I didn't, either," said Tilly, bursting into tears. "I really and truly did forget all about it."
"Oh, yes; I dare say!"
"I presume she did, Jenny," said Florry; "for one does forget in that way sometimes. I know last week I hung my cloak in the closet under the stairs instead of in the hall, and I hunted the house over for it! I told mother I thought it had been stolen out of the wardrobe at school, for I could not remember wearing it home; but she said it would turn up; and so it did."
"Anyhow, she had no business to say you stole it!" said Elizabeth.
"You needn't say anything!" exclaimed Jenny. "You were just as bad as she was! I dare say your tortoise-shell knife will come in some such way!"
"Your knife is up in the drawing room table-drawer, Lizzy," said Florry. "I saw it there yesterday. And so the watch was safe all the time? How glad I am! How did you come to think of it, Tilly?"
"I didn't till Emma told me," sobbed Tilly; "it never came into my head once. I am real sorry I said you took it, Florry; I never will accuse anybody again as long as I live. But really and truly, I never remembered one word about wearing it that day. What a dunce I was!"
"We have all been foolish together, I think—Emma and all," remarked Priscilla. "I think we had better ask Florry to forgive the whole Kindergarten in a lump, all but Jenny and Emily!"
"Yes, do, please, Florry!" said several of the girls.
"Don't let us say any more about it," replied Florry. "I am so glad that the watch is found, I don't seem to care about anything else; but somehow I felt sure it would come. What a pretty one it is!"
"Hateful old thing!" said Tilly, still crying. "I never want to see it again. I mean to ask papa to sell it and let me give away the money."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that! The watch was not to blame," replied Florry; "and after all, girls, what Emma said was true."
"Yes; but then you tried to make amends," said Priscilla. "Tilly never told us that! If she had—"
"Oh, yes, throw it all on Tilly!" interrupted Jenny Fleming.
"No, I don't mean to throw it all on Tilly! I think we were all to blame," replied Priscilla; "but still, I do think it would have made a difference if she had told the whole story just as she heard it. She said Florry stole ever so many plants!"
"That is the worst of repeating stories; nobody ever gets them just right," observed Emily. "We shall hear next that Florry carried off the whole greenhouse."
"Well, I am sure I am sorry," said Tilly, "and I hope Florry will forgive me. I know I have done very wrong, and I wish I hadn't. I don't know how I can say any more than that."
"Of course you can't," answered Florry, kissing Tilly. "Come, don't let us say any more about it. There is the first bell ringing."
"I hope you will forgive me as well as Tilly, Flora," said Emma, as soon as she could get Flora alone. "I don't deserve it, I know; but if you knew how sorry I am about it—"
"I did forgive you before you asked me, Emma," answered Flora, gravely.
"I don't see how you could."
"It was hard," admitted Flora. "You see I cared more about what you said than I did about Tilly; but I knew I ought to, and that I wouldn't feel happy till I did. So I asked for help, and I had it," said Flora, reverently. "Somehow He seemed to take all the trouble and anger out of my heart, and I felt as quiet as could be. Aunt Eunice told me to commit my way to Him, and so I did; and He has brought it to pass."
Mr. Mansfield came back that morning, and Tilly met him at the door as she went home.
"Well, Tilly, what about your watch?" said he. "Have you found it?"
Tilly told the story of her watch.
"Just as I expected. I hope you have not told any one else what you said to me about Flora Lester's having taken it. The most absurd idea I ever heard of!"
Mr. Mansfield was very angry—more so than Tilly had ever seen him—when he learned how she had talked about Flora. He insisted on her going with him to Dr. Lester's, and making a formal apology both to Flora and her parents, and declared his intention to make her apologize before the whole school.
"Please don't, Mr. Mansfield," said Flora. "It will only make a fuss; and I am sure Tilly will be more careful another time; won't you, Tilly? Please don't say any more about it!"
"Well, I won't then, since you make it a personal favour, Florry," said Mr. Mansfield, at last. "But you must let me make you amends in some way. What can I do for you?"
"If it would not be asking too much," said Mrs. Lester, who saw that Mr. Mansfield really wished to atone for Tilly's unkindness, "I think I know what Florry would like very much, and that is one of your pretty Spitz puppies when they are old enough."
"She shall have her choice of the whole litter; sha'n't she Tilly?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Tilly; "and I will give her my gray parrot besides."
Florry would not consent to take the parrot, but she was very glad of the pretty little dog. Mr. Mansfield, however, would not be quite satisfied, and the next time he went to town, he bought Florry a beautiful little watch and chain, the watch being marked with her name.
The girls at school were very cold to Tilly for some time, and two or three—those who had been most ready to believe evil of Florry—insisted on thinking that she knew where her watch was all the while. But Tilly herself was very humble, and both Florry and Emma took her part vigorously; and at last the whole matter was forgotten, or only referred to incidentally as "that fuss about Tilly Mansfield's watch."
THE END.