CHAPTER X.A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE.

CHAPTER X.A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE.

MRS. PAGE and Marcus were riding in the outskirts of the town, one afternoon, when they stopped a few moments at the door of an acquaintance—a lady named Blake. She was a widow, and had a large family of children. One of them, a girl named Ellen, was standing near the horse, when her mother remarked—

“I wish I could find a place for Ellen, this winter. If she couldn’t earn anything more than her board, it would be better than nothing.”

“How old are you, Ellen?” inquired Marcus.

“Thirteen last spring,” replied the girl.

“Do you want to go away to live?” asked Mrs. Page.

“I don’t know,” replied Ellen, with considerable hesitation.

“No, she would rather stay at home,” interposed her mother; “but I think she is getting old enough to do something for herself. She could make herself quite useful to any one, if she tried.”

“So I should suppose,” said Mrs. Page. “Perhaps I can think of some one who would like to take her this winter—I will let you know, if I do.”

“Mother,” said Marcus, on their way home, “wouldn’t it be a good plan for you to take Ellen to help you, this winter? Our family is so large, now, that I think you and Aunt Fanny ought to have some help. Ellen could make the beds, and set the table, and wash the dishes, and do a good deal of other work. Mrs. Lane says she is quite handy about housework. She had the whole management of the family affairs nearly a fortnight, last summer, when her mother was sick.”

Mrs. Page did not then make any very definite reply to this proposition, although the same idea had occurred to herself, when Mrs. Blake spoke of Ellen. After thinking and talking the matter over for a few days, and making the necessary inquiries about Ellen, it was decided that she might come to live with them for the winter, if she chose. Marcuswas accordingly despatched to inform Mrs. Blake of the opening they had made for her daughter. The offer was gratefully accepted, especially as Marcus assured her that Ellen would probably have time and facilities for continuing her studies, the same as if she were attending school. It was agreed that she should be in readiness for her new home, the next week.

The district school which Ronald attended was now near the end of the fall term. It was to close with a public examination and exhibition, for which considerable preparation had been made. Several prizes were to be awarded, for good behavior and scholarship. Among others, a favorite book was to be given to the boy who showed the neatest kept and best executed writing-book at the close of the term. A similar prize was offered to the girls, and another to the scholar whose book showed the greatest improvement, during the term. For the first-named prize Ronald had been a candidate, until the unfortunate blotting of his book, which threw him out of the contest. On the day before the exhibition, as the teacher was making a final examination of the writing-books, she was surprisedand vexed to observe several fresh blots upon the book which she supposed would take the prize. It belonged to Lewis Daniels, a boy who sat by the side of Ronald. He denied all knowledge of the matter, however, and could hardly believe that it was his book that was disfigured, until he had seen it for himself. When told that these blots had probably lost him the prize, he did not manifest much emotion; and, indeed, he seemed to take the affair so coolly, from first to last, that Mrs. Benham, the teacher, did not know what to think of it. She at length determined to have some further conversation with him on the subject, and with this purpose detained him after school was dismissed.

“Lewis,” she said, when they were alone, “to-morrow is probably the last day that I shall ever be your teacher. I want to part pleasantly with all my scholars, and to carry away agreeable recollections of them. But I feel a little troubled about you. I am afraid you have not told me the truth about your writing-book, and I can’t bear to think you are going to bid me good-by with a falsehood in your mouth. Now if you have tried to deceive me, I want you to confess it all, and be forgiven,for I shall not punish you, as we are about to separate.”

Lewis colored deeply, and replied in a husky voice—

“I told you all I knew about it.”

“But you told me nothing about it,” replied Mrs. Benham, whose suspicions were further excited by this reply.

“I know nothing about it,” added Lewis.

“Lewis Daniels,” continued the teacher, mildly, after a slight pause, “can you look me calmly in the eye, and say that? No, I knew you could not. You cannot act out such a black falsehood. Your manner betrays you. Now will you acknowledge the whole truth?”

“I blotted the book myself” said Lewis, bursting into tears.

“How did it happen?” inquired Mrs. Benham.

“I did it on purpose, because I didn’t want to take the prize,” sobbed the boy.

“That is a very singular reason—I hope you will not tell me any more untruths about the matter,” replied the teacher, mildly, a shade of anxiety flitting across her face.

“It is nothing but the truth, as true as I’m alive,” continued Lewis; “I didn’t want to get the prize away from Ronald—that’s why I did it.”

“That was very generous in you, if you are telling the truth,” replied the teacher; “but was it just to yourself? If you fairly earned the prize, why should you give it up to another?”

“I didn’t earn it fairly,” replied Lewis, amid fresh tears and sobs. “I thought he would get the prize, and so I blotted his book one morning, before he got to school. You punished him for it—don’t you remember?”

Mrs. Benham did remember, and it would be hard to say whether she or her conscience-stricken pupil suffered most at the recollection of the trying scenes thus recalled, the mystery of which was now unfolded to her. It was not strange that her own tears mingled with those of the sobbing boy, for she felt that she too had erred, though she hoped innocently.

“My poor boy, you have been most severely punished for your fault,” at length resumed Mrs. Benham. “Conscience is a stern judge. ‘A wounded spirit who can bear?’”

“Yes, ma’am, when you punished Ronald, and when he got up before the school and asked your pardon”—but the penitent boy’s emotions were too deep to allow him to finish the sentence.

“And I suppose you have been suffering more or less from this concealed sin, every day since, now about six weeks,” said Mrs. Benham.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Lewis. “I felt so mean that I used to keep out of Ronald’s way as much as I could. I hated to see him. Then I tried to treat him as well as I could, but that didn’t help me much. So I made up my mind at last that I would serve my writing-book the same way that I served his.”

“And did you expect to gain peace of mind in this way—by committing another fault, and covering it over with a falsehood?” inquired the teacher. “Your last error was almost as bad as the first. I hope this will be a lesson to you, as long as you live. By delaying this confession so many weeks, you have caused yourself a great deal of suffering, and got further into trouble than you were at first. But as I promised, I cheerfully forgive all, so far as it concerns me. Do you thinkthere is any one else whose forgiveness you ought to seek?”

“I suppose I ought to tell Ronald about it, and ask him to forgive me,” replied Lewis.

“I should do so, most certainly,” said the teacher; “and you had better see him to-night, if possible, as you may not have an opportunity to speak with him to-morrow. Is there any one else whose forgiveness you propose to seek?”

“I don’t know,” replied Lewis, in doubt.

“Don’t you think your Heavenly Father will expect you to confess this matter to him, and ask his forgiveness?” inquired the teacher. “You have sinned against him quite as much as against Ronald or me. Are you in the habit of praying to him?”

“No, ma’am—only I say a hymn sometimes, when I go to bed,” replied Lewis.

“I am sorry you do not pray to him,” resumed the teacher. “He made you, and he gives you every good thing you receive, and when you do wrong, he is grieved. I should think you would thank him every day for the blessings he gives, and ask him for those things you need; and when you displease him, I wonder how you can help askinghim to forgive you, and to keep you from falling into sin again. Will you join with me, now, in seeking his forgiveness?”

Lewis bowed assent, and knelt down with his teacher, who offered a brief and fervent prayer in his behalf, that his sins might be truly repented of and forgiven, and that he might be kept from transgression hereafter. She then urged him to seek the divine forgiveness, in secret prayer at home, and with a kindly good-night, they separated.

Lewis went directly to Mrs. Page’s, where he found Ronald, in company with the other children. After a little while, he managed to draw him aside, saying—

“Come out this way, Ronald—I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Well, tell away,” replied Ronald.

“You know the teacher found some blots on my writing-book, this afternoon?”

“Yes—how came they there?”

“I blotted it myself.”

“You did? Then you told a whopper.”

“I did it purposely, too.”

“Then you was a fool. Why, you might have taken the prize, if you hadn’t done it.”

“But I did something worse than that.”

“What was it?”

“I blotted your book the other day, so I might make sure of the prize.”

“You mean——” but the hasty reply was instantly checked by a glance at the sorrowful face before him, and Ronald stood silent and ashamed.

“I’m sorry for it, and I hope you will forgive me,” added Lewis, the tears gathering in his eyes. “I told the teacher all about it, and she has forgiven me.”

“O yes, I’ll forgive you, too, seeing you have owned up of your own accord.”

“I’ve suffered enough for it to be forgiven, at any rate.”

“You blotted your book so as to be even with me? Well, that was doing the handsome thing, any way. You might have kept dark, and got the prize, just as easy as not. I never supposed any one blotted my book on purpose; I thought it was an accident.”

Lewis repeated his expressions of sorrow for hisoffence, and received renewed assurances of forgiveness. He then returned home with a lighter heart than he had known for many a day.

The examination of the school, the next day, passed off very successfully. A goodly company of visitors was present, the order and general behavior of the scholars were excellent, the classes appeared well, and the singing and declamations were attractive. Ronald, unexpectedly to himself, bore off two of the honors—one for general progress in his studies, and the other for the neatest writing-book. Both prizes were books adapted to his age. As the writing prize was handed to him, the committee-man who distributed the gifts, remarked that his book was somewhat blotted; but as it had been ascertained that it was through no fault of his, and as, saving this fault, his book stood the highest, they had decided to award him the prize. So ended Ronald’s last day at the district school. He was now to enter the academy.

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