These visits made Nelly very uneasy. She was glad to see Kitty, and glad to be friends with her again; but she did not think it a very good plan so far as Kitty was concerned, and she was pretty sure Mrs. Kirkland did not like it. Then, too, Kitty was somewhat inclined to take liberties. She had never been taught to look at things with her eyes and not with the ends of her fingers; and as she leaned upon the counter or occupied one of the stools, she was apt to take up articles and turn them over,—sometimes pretty roughly,—to open boxes, and even drawers. All these things annoyed Nelly greatly, and all the more that Kitty did not seem to have the least notion that she was doing any thing out of the way.
"Don't, Kitty," said she, one day, as Kitty slipped behind the counter. "Mrs. Kirkland does not like to have any one go behind the counter."
"I only just want to look at these pretty boxes," said Kitty, still keeping her place. "I wonder how much they cost?"
"They are three dollars apiece for the small ones. But please don't touch them, Kitty," she added, in an agony, as Kitty took one down. "There!" she exclaimed, hastily, as Kitty nearly let the box fall. "Please do come away."
"Just as though I should do any harm!" said Kitty, scornfully. "I am a great deal more used to handling nice things than you are. My! What a lovely doll! Does it open its eyes?"
"You must not touch the doll, Kitty," said Nelly, decidedly; "and you must not go behind the counter. Mrs. Kirkland said so."
"She is not here: so what harm will it do?"
"That is the very reason," said Nelly. "Mrs. Kirkland has left me in charge, and I am responsible," she added, with a touch of that stately pride which was as natural to her as if she had been indeed the high-born heiress of Kilmane Park. "I would no more do any thing wrong when she was away than when she was looking on: I would be even more careful."
"Oh, you are a great person, no doubt," said Kitty, scornfully; but as she spoke she hastily restored the doll to its place and came out from behind the counter, looking rather alarmed.
"I don't want to be a great person, but I want to do what is right," said Nelly. "And please, Kitty," she added, with some hesitation, "I would rather you would not stay here while Mrs. Kirkland is away. She does not like the girls to have visitors in the store."
"Oh, very well, Miss Nelly Ryan," said Kitty, her voice trembling with anger. "I suppose that is the same as telling me that my room is better than my company. You are a mighty great lady, to be sure. You did not use to be quite so particular when you were carrying swill about the street."
"And you did not use to be quite so fond of my company," thought Nelly; but she did not say so. She turned to rearrange some matters on the shelf, and, in doing so, she took up the doll Kitty had been handling, and discovered the mischief that had been done: one of the arms had been almost broken off.
"Oh, Kitty, just see what you have done!" she exclaimed. "You have broken the doll. What shall I do?"
"I don't believe I broke it," said Kitty, colouring. "It was just so when I took it up."
Nelly shook her head. "I was showing it to a lady just before you came in, and it was all right then. Oh, how sorry I am! Now I shall have to pay for it, and it is worth four dollars,—almost two weeks' work."
"I don't see what you have got to do with it," said Kitty. "You did not break it."
"No, but you did," answered Nelly; "and Mrs. Kirkland will say I ought not to have let you touch it. Just see now, what trouble you have got me into."
"You needn't be so cross about it," said Kitty, angrily; "and you needn't lay all the blame on me, either. I dare say you broke it yourself, showing it to the lady. Besides, you needn't show it to her the first minute."
"I must," said Nelly: "she always tells me to tell her the minute I do any mischief."
"So does Mrs. Powers; but I don't always, by a great deal," said Kitty, laughing. "I broke a notch out of one of those blue china plates they make such a fuss over, and I put it away at the bottom of the pile, with the notch towards the wall; and Mrs. Powers has not found it out yet."
"But Kitty, that don't seem right to me. It isn't honest."
"Pshaw! You are wonderfully particular, all at once. How long since you felt so?"
"I always felt so," said Nelly. "Granny always told me—"
"Oh, you are a great saint," interrupted Kitty. "Of course you never do any thing wrong. Saints never do; they are always right; and the people who have done for them and taught them all they know, and helped them on when they hadn't anybody else to care for them, are wicked sinners. That's always the way with saints. For my part, I hate hypocrites."
"So do I," said Nelly, "and I don't mean to be one, either; and so I intend to tell Mrs. Kirkland about the doll the very first minute she comes in. She will blame me, I know, but I can't help it; and it will cost me almost two weeks' wages; but I can't help that either. I must say, Kitty, I think you did wrong about the plate. Suppose Mrs. Powers finds the notch, as she is sure to do some time, and asks you about it: what will you do?"
"I sha'n't borrow trouble about that," said Kitty. "Something will turn up."
"You will have to tell the truth, or else tell a lie," pursued Nelly. "If you tell the truth, she will be a great deal more angry with you for trying to hide it, than if she had known it at first; and if you are tempted to tell a lie—oh, Kitty, just think if you should!"
"Oh, pshaw! What a fuss all about nothing!" said Kitty. "I dare say you can tell fibs when it suits your purpose. But I must go. Good-by, Nelly; I hope Mrs. Kirkland won't turn you out of the store for breaking the doll." And away Kitty ran, leaving Nelly to reflect upon her words.
Suppose she should lose her place. It was possible; Miss Lennox had been dismissed only the week before, for disobeying rules; and Mrs. Kirkland had declared then that she could not keep any girl who would not do as she was told. She did not see how she could have kept Kitty away from the shelves, except by main force; but then she might have told her before that she did not like to have people coming to see her. Suppose she should let Mrs. Kirkland think that the lady who had looked at the doll had injured it. It Was just possible, after all. Things were often injured in that way,—no one knew how. Only yesterday, a morocco shopping-bag had been found with the lock broken, and no one could tell who did it. Suppose she should just say nothing about it, but leave it to be found as the bag had been.
The temptation was a strong one,—the strongest that had ever assailed Nelly in all her life. The thought of losing her place was dreadful to her. How could she now go back to the old life,—to watching Crummie all day and going about after slops, as she had done before? What would granny say? What would the neighbours say? What would become of her cherished plan of paying for their house and lot out of her own earnings?
It was a terrible temptation, a fearful struggle; but Nelly was not left to fight her battle alone: there stood by her One whom she saw not,—One whose eye is always upon those who in faith and patience are striving to follow and serve him. That Holy Spirit, for which she had prayed in faith that very morning, came to her help, and enabled her to pray again for grace to resist temptation; and He, without whom not a sparrow falls to the ground, sent her assistance in her hour of trial.
"I will do right," said Nelly; "I will keep the straight path, whatever happens."
Nelly leaned both her arms on the counter and buried her face in her hands for a moment. She was so absorbed that she did not hear the shop-door open, and she started as if she had been shot when somebody spoke to her.
"What, Nelly! asleep over your work! Is that the way you attend to your customers?"
"Oh, Mr. Grayson!" Nelly raised her head with a smile. There were tears in her eyes, and she was rather pale; but her face had a quiet and resolved expression.
"What! crying?" said the old gentleman. "Nay, that is worse than going to sleep."
"I am not going to cry," said Nelly, brushing away the drops; "only something troubled me; that's all."
"Troubled you! You have no business to have any troubles!" said Mr. Grayson, gruffly. "When you are as old as I am, you may talk of troubles. What can happen to trouble such a little shrimp as you? Come, tell me all about it, and I'll advise you for nothing. When folks come to my office for advice, I charge 'em a big price for it; but you and I are old friends, Nelly. What's the matter?"
Mr. Grayson's voice softened, as he said these words, and his manner was very gentle. Nelly felt attracted towards him and disposed to confide in him.
"I don't know as I need any advice," said she, smiling frankly, "because I have made up my mind."
"Well, but don't you know that is the very time? Half the people I see make up their minds first and ask advice afterwards," said Mr. Grayson.
"I suppose they want to be advised to take their own way," said Nelly.
Mr. Grayson laughed. "You are a shrewd one, Nelly. But come, now; tell me the trouble."
Nelly told the story, blaming Kitty as little as she possibly could.
"Oho!" said Mr. Grayson, rubbing his glasses. "And now what are you going to do about it, Nelly?"
"I am going to tell the truth," said Nelly, with emphasis, and falling back into her Irish, as she was apt to do when excited. "Sure my granny said the blessing of God shone on the straight path; and I believe it's true, sir."
"It is true; stick to that, Nelly," said Mr. Grayson, with emphasis. "But what were you crying about, my girl?"
"I don't know but I shall lose my place," said Nelly, the tears coming up again. "Miss Lennox was sent away, last week, for not keeping rules; and it is against orders for the girls to have their friends come to see them in the shop."
"Oho! so then I am breaking rules, too? I must buy something and become a customer, or I shall be getting you into another scrape. And so you cried because you thought you should lose your place? Was that all?"
"No, sir," said Nelly, hanging down her head and becoming at once very busy with her crochet-needle; "it was because—because I was tempted to tell a lie." Nelly fairly broke down, and cried heartily. Mr. Grayson coughed, blew his nose, and took a pinch of snuff.
"Don't do it, my child. Never do that, whatever happens. Look here, Nelly: I am an old man, and have seen a great many young men set out in life, with more or less bright prospects,—some of them very talented, some with only moderate abilities. I have seen some of them succeed and become respected, and others go to ruin and drag their friends down with them. But I have always seen this: the men who are perfectly honest and upright,—who are faithful to their work and to their word, honest in small things as well as great, not serving with eye-service, but having their employer's interest at heart as much in his absence as in his presence,—such young men invariably get on and do well, even with a very moderate amount of talent; while those of an opposite character, sooner or later, fall to the ground. Depend upon it, honesty is the best policy, even as regards this world. Mistress Kirkland," he added, turning to that lady as she entered the shop, "I have been giving Miss Nelly a lecture,—not exactly a lecture, either, but the benefit of my experience as respects honesty."
"Nelly needs it less than a good many other people we know, Mr. Grayson," replied Mrs. Kirkland. "I am happy to be able to say, with truth, that I have found her a very faithful, honest girl. You may guess that I have confidence in her, by my leaving her alone in the shop so long."
"Oh, if I had made up my mind to deceive her," thought Nelly, "how I should feel!"
"But now I must buy something, or I shall be breaking your rules," continued the old gentleman. "Nelly says you do not allow your girls to have visitors in the shop; so I have no choice but to become a customer."
"I have been obliged to make such a rule," said Mrs. Kirkland. "It may seem rather hard, and of course it does not apply to you; but I have had so much trouble that I found it the best way to forbid all visiting in business hours."
"Quite right. Idle people are a great trouble to busy ones, and they are always in mischief;—eh, Nelly? But come; show me some of those beautiful, useless little work-boxes. I must buy my daughter a Christmas present, I suppose; and the more senseless it is, the better she will like it, of course. That's the way with girls;—eh, Nelly?"
Mr. Grayson made a great deal of talk about the work-boxes, trying to beat Nelly down in the price, and ended by buying the most expensive of the whole,—as well as the very pearl fan Nelly had saved from being stolen. Then, bidding her come to his office when she went home, and he would send granny some more tobacco, he took his leave. He was no sooner gone than Nelly hastened to tell Mrs. Kirkland the whole story.
"You see now, Nelly, the use of the rule I made about visitors," said Mrs. Kirkland. "You say you could not help Kitty's going behind the counter, and I dare say that is true; but she has done the mischief, and might have done a great deal more, and you are responsible."
"Yes, I know," said Nelly: "it will have to come out of my wages, of course. I was afraid you would send me away, as you did Miss Lennox."
Mrs. Kirkland smiled. "You need not be afraid, Nelly. I should not send you away in a hurry for any mishap that you were honest enough to tell me of. Neither did I dismiss Miss Lennox for any one violation of rules, but because I could not depend upon her in any thing. She did nothing thoroughly; and if I trusted her to finish the least thing by herself, I was sure to be disappointed. She did well enough when I was looking at her; but the moment my back was turned she neglected my interests and thought only of pleasing herself. I bore with her longer than I should have done, because I was sorry for her mother and elder sisters, who are hardworking and very poor. Now she is back upon their hands again, in the middle of winter, with nothing to do. I am sorry for them, as I said; but I cannot help it."
"The doll is marked four dollars," said Nelly. "You will have to take it out of my wages."
"Oh, the doll can be mended easily enough; it only wants a little glue. I am glad it is no worse. But Nelly, if Kitty comes again, and I am here; just tell me. I want to speak to her."
"She did not mean any harm," said Nelly, desirous to screen her friend.
"No: I dare say not. Most of the mischief in the world is done by people who don't mean any harm."
"I shouldn't have said any thing about her," continued Nelly, "only I didn't see how I was to tell the truth without. I hate telling tales. It seems so mean."
"Nothing can be meaner than telling tales for the sake of making mischief," said Mrs. Kirkland. "It is almost or quite as bad as lying, and always leads to it. I hope you will never do that. But you were quite correct in telling me the whole truth; and Kitty has no right to complain of you for doing so. The meanness was in herself, in running away and leaving you to bear the blame. She will surely get into trouble if she acts in that way."
"I am afraid she will; and I should be real sorry; for Kitty is a very good girl in some things," said Nelly. "She has been very kind to me. Please, Mrs. Kirkland, don't find fault with her about the doll. I will tell her, if she comes again, that she mustn't stay."
"Very well, Nelly. I will say nothing about the matter, since you desire it. Only, remember, she must not come again unless she has an errand. It is wrong in two ways. It is wasting your time, which is mine; and it is wasting her time, which belongs to Mrs. Powers."
"There is one thing I can't understand," said Nelly, presently. "When Kitty gets angry at me, she always says, 'Oh, you are a great saint! I don't pretend to be a saint.' I thought saints meant good people. I am sure that is what the word means in the Bible."
"You are quite right, Nelly. You ought to be a saint; and there is no reason why you should not be one. A saint is a holy person, one who strives to serve God in all things, and to avoid every thing that is evil. All God's people are 'called to be saints.' But because some people have pretended to be saints who were not, therefore foolish persons like Kitty use the word as a term of reproach. Their own consciences condemn them for not trying to do the will of God, and they like to excuse themselves by thinking that all who strive to live strict and holy lives are hypocrites. I don't say this is the case with all,—even all who know themselves to be sinners. I have seen very wicked men who seemed glad that their wives and daughters were true Christians. But it is often the case. Never mind, Nelly. You are called to be a saint. God desires that you should be one: 'This is the will of God, even your sanctification.' And he is as ready to give his grace and his Spirit to you as to the greatest apostle or martyr that ever lived. Mind, I don't say you can ever be as useful as St. Peter or as, wise as St. Paul; but I don't know any reason why you should not be as holy as either of them."
"WELL, did you get into a scrape about the doll?" asked Kitty, meeting Nelly a few days afterwards.
"No," replied Nelly. "I told Mrs. Kirkland all about it, and she was not angry."
"There! I knew it wasn't any thing to make a fuss about," interrupted Kitty.
"But she said she should have been very much displeased if I had tried to hide it. And she told me I must not have any more visitors in the store."
"Mean old thing!" said Kitty. "And I was just coming down to see you this very day. What time does she go to dinner?"
"I don't think she will go home to dinner at all to-day—" replied Nelly; "we are so busy. And anyway, Kitty," she added, decidedly, "you must not come and see me at the store unless you have an errand. I shall lose my place if you do. And I am sure you would not want me to do that, would you?"
"Of course not," said Kitty; though in her heart of hearts she perhaps would not have been sorry to see Nelly brought down at least to her own level. "But I think it is a shame. They are all just so,—making such a fuss about the least thing, and having no feeling for people who live with them."
"Oh, Kitty!" exclaimed Nelly, "I am sure that is not fair. Just think how many things Mrs. Powers has given you,—your Bible, and your thimble, and that pretty dress which your mother made over for you."
"A shabby old thing she had done wearing!"
"It was as good as new. You said so yourself," persisted Nelly. "And Mrs. Kirkland and Miss Powell have never been any thing but good to me. People have to be strict where there is so much going on."
"Oh, of course she is all right! Every one is all right but me. But never mind. What are you going to do for Christmas?"
"I haven't made up my mind; only I shall buy a nice shawl for granny, if I have money enough. I have been making her such a pretty worsted hood, of this new pattern,—shaped like a little bonnet, you know,—and I don't know how much I shall have left. I have not counted up my money."
"Do you suppose Mrs. Kirkland will give you a present?"
"I don't know. I have not thought any thing about it. I should like to give Miss Powell something, if I have money enough."
"You couldn't give her any thing worth while," said Kitty. "She wouldn't care for any thing you could afford to buy. You had better spend the money on yourself, and get something decent to wear."
"I haven't thought of that yet. I suppose I must have a shawl. But I don't want to spend any more than I can help."
A few days before Christmas, Mr. Lambert came into the store and asked for Nelly. He had a square parcel in his hand, which he gave her, saying,—
"I have brought you a little Christmas present, Nelly. It is somewhat before the time; but I am going away to New York, and I wanted to give it you with my own hands. Open it and see how you like it."
The parcel was quickly opened, and found to contain a fine large photograph of Mr. Lambert's last picture (the one for which Nelly and Crummie had sat) in a beautiful oak frame.
Nelly was delighted. "Oh, how pleased granny will be!" she exclaimed. "She loves pictures, and she was so disappointed at not seeing this one. Thank you very much, Mr. Lambert. I shall keep it all my life. I hope Miss Lambert is well? Is she going to stay in school?"
Nelly asked these questions not only from a sense of civility, but because she felt a real interest in Nelly Lambert, who had sent her the first nice dress she ever had. She was surprised to see Mr. Lambert's face darken at the mention of his daughter.
"She is well," said he, shortly. "She is not in school at present. Good-by, Nelly. Be a good girl, work hard, and tell the truth, and God will prosper you. Give my regards to granny, and tell her I wish her joy of having a grand-daughter who is a comfort and a credit to her."
He shook Nelly by the hand, bowed to Mrs. Kirkland, and left the store.
"I wonder what ailed Mr. Lambert," said Nelly. "He always used to be so merry."
"I suspect he is in a great deal of trouble about his daughter," said an elderly lady who had been admiring Nelly's present. "She has been sent away from school under rather bad circumstances—expelled, in fact. They have kept it still, out of regard to her father; but, of course, girls will talk."
"Oh, how sorry I am!" exclaimed Nelly. "What was it for?"
"I don't understand it, exactly. Three or four of the girls engaged in a plot against the French teacher, of which Nelly was the ringleader, and they nearly drove the poor woman out of her senses. Finally, they dressed up a ghost and scared poor Mademoiselle into a fit and a fever, which is likely enough to cost her her life. My grand-daughter tells me that Nelly has always been at the beginning and end of all the mischief in school, and would never learn a lesson, if she could help it. She said Miss Birch had endless patience with her; but this last was a drop too much."
"I should think so," remarked Miss Powell. "I do not know any sort of mischief which deserves more severe punishment than frightening timid and nervous people."
Nelly could not but allow that Miss Lambert had deserved her punishment; but that did not prevent her from being very sorry. How strange it did seem! She had always envied Miss Birch's young ladies, as she saw them walking to church every Sunday; and she had thought, how easy it would be for any girl to be industrious and good who had so many things to help her. And now here was Miss Lambert, who she had believed must be the best and happiest girl in the world, grieving her father's heart, wasting her time, and doing what was really mean and cruel. Nelly began to think that there was not so much difference, after all,—that every lot in life must have its temptations, and that it would be, perhaps, as easy for her to be good and please God in Mrs. Kirkland's store as in Miss Birch's school.
"Well, Nelly, I suppose you will like to have your money before Christmas, so as to lay it out to the best advantage," said Mrs. Kirkland, that evening. "I dare say you have spent it all, in imagination, ten times over."
"I thought I should like to buy a shawl for granny," said Nelly, as Mrs. Kirkland handed her a roll of bills. "You know there is the worsted for the hood to come out, as well as the doll which Kitty broke."
"I have charged you with the worsted, and the doll was mended as good as new," said Mrs. Kirkland. "Count your money, and see if it is right. Always count money the moment you receive it; and then, if there is any mistake, it can be corrected directly. Well, is it right?"
"No, ma'am," replied Nelly "you have given me a great deal too much. You only owed me thirty dollars in all, and you have given me forty-eight."
"It is all right," said Mrs. Kirkland. "I have been reckoning your wages at six dollars a week for the last six weeks. Your services are worth that to me, and there is no reason you should not receive their value, as much as if you were ten years older. It is everything to me to have a girl whom I can trust."
Nelly did not know what to say. She had never dreamed of having so much money, all her own, at one time. Now, if Miss Powell would only go with her to choose granny's shawl, she felt that her happiness would be complete.
Miss Powell was very ready to do so, and they set out together. A warm and handsome plaid shawl—good enough for any lady, Nelly said—was purchased for ten dollars; and Nelly bought a good, serviceable, plaid woollen frock and a pair of stout boots for herself, leaving the subject of a shawl for future consideration. Twenty dollars and some shillings did Nelly lay out that evening, besides a dollar for a little blue-and-gold volume of poems, for which she had heard Miss Powell express a wish a few days before. Then, with the rest of her money safe in her pocket, and loaded down with her bundles, she hastened home,—as proud and happy a little girl as could be found in Milby. Then came the display of her purchases for herself, of which granny approved; and mysterious hints of something else to be sent to the store in the morning,—at which granny laughed, having also her own little secret. The photograph was admired and exclaimed over, even to the contentment of Nelly herself; and she went to bed, almost too tired to stand.
Next day was Christmas-eve,—and what wonders it brought! What a throng of customers! What merry and happy faces! What calculations! What wonderful purchases! What presents and pleasures to Nelly herself! Mrs. Kirkland gave her a fine large basket, such as she had often wished for, to carry her dinner and her work back and forth,—and an emery and scissors besides. Miss Powell gave her a new prayer-book, with her name on the side, in gilt letters. Miss Alice Kirkland sent her a nice blue merino dress,—better than new, Nelly declared,—which, as Alice was very tall, and Nelly short for her age, admitted of being made over to great advantage. Finally, late in the day, a black man brought in a large parcel, which he delivered to Nelly with a flourishing bow.
"Mr. Grayson sends you this, miss, with his regards and de compliments of de season, and wishes you a merry Christmas, ma'am."
Nelly was quite overwhelmed, and could hardly gather presence of mind to send back a suitable reply.
"Open your bundle, Nelly," said Mrs. Kirkland, laughing. "You are not afraid of it, are you?"
"No," said Nelly; "only it seems so strange. I didn't ever expect to have so many presents. It don't seem as if it could be for me."
"Mr. Grayson isn't apt to make mistakes," said Miss Powell. "Come, Nelly; let us see."
Lo and behold! the parcel contained a nice warm shawl, just the thing to match the merino frock,—a serviceable and substantial work-box, and a package of the most wonderful confectionery in the world, with a tin box of tobacco for granny. A note, attached to the shawl, said,—
"For my honest little friend, Nelly. From William Grayson."
"Well," said Nelly, "I don't know whether it is me or not; but I begin to think I must have been turned into somebody else by one of those Irish fairies granny tells about. I only wish I could ever do any thing for anybody else: that's all."
"Perhaps you do more than you think, Nelly."
"But such a grand present!" said Nelly, reverting to her treasures, and opening the box. "Just see, Mrs. Kirkland,—see, Miss Powell,—a real silver thimble and all! Oh, how I do wish I could do something for him!"
"You might work him a pair of slippers, by-and-by, when we are not quite so busy," said Miss Powell. "I dare say he would like that very much. Now you had better be going home; and I would advise you to take the street-car, for you will never carry all your treasures."
As Nelly got out of the car, at the corner nearest her own home, she ran against Kitty Brown, who was walking slowly in the same direction.
"Oh, Kitty," she exclaimed, joyfully, "I am so glad to see you! Come to our house and see all my nice presents,—and something else," she added, mysteriously. "I know something—But oh, Kitty, what is the matter?" she exclaimed, catching sight of Kitty's tear-stained face, by a gas-light. "What has happened?"
Kitty burst into tears.
"I have lost my place, Nelly," she sobbed. "Mrs. Powers has sent me away, and I dare not tell mother. Oh, I don't know what she will do."
"Oh, I am so sorry!" exclaimed Nelly, with real sympathy. "I thought you liked it there so much."
"She sent me away," repeated Kitty, sobbing afresh. "Oh, Nelly, if I had only done as you did about the doll,—only told her the truth! I was unlucky, and broke several things; and, finally, I broke a beautiful glass bowl with a foot to it. I ought not to have taken it in my hand; but I wanted to look at it, and one day, when she was gone, I took it down and dropped it. I dared not tell her: so I put the pieces together and set them back as they were before, and she never found out till to-day. Oh, how angry she was! She said she would not care so much if I had only told her the truth at the time, though the bowl was worth twelve dollars. And then she began to look, and she found all the others,—the plate and all—and she said she would not have me any longer, and sent me away. I have been walking in the street ever since three o'clock this afternoon, because I dared not go home."
"Why, Kitty Brown!" exclaimed Nelly, very much shocked. "And without your supper?"
Kitty nodded.
"Come right in and have some with me," said Nelly, with authority. "Yes; you must, too. Granny will have mine all ready; and when you are warm and have eaten, you will have more courage. I know just how you feel. I remember how I felt when I thought I should lose my place."
"And that was my fault, too," murmured Kitty. "I have heard about heaping coals of fire on people's heads; and I guess you mean to try it, Nelly."
"No, indeed," said Nelly, indignantly. "I never thought of such a thing. Don't you believe it, Kitty. I am not one of that kind."
"I don't think you are, Nelly. You are a real Christian; and I'm sorry I ever called you a saint."
"It wasn't a very bad name," said Nelly, demurely. "We call the apostles so every day. But now come in this minute. That's right. Granny, how nice and light and cheerful it looks here! and how good the tea smells! Kitty is going to have some supper with us."
"Sure she is welcome as flowers in May. And it's glad I am I made the cakes for you," replied the kind-hearted old woman. "But what's the matter, dear? You shouldn't have the tear in your eye this blessed night, of all the nights in the year."
"Kitty has lost her place, granny," replied Nelly. "So no wonder she feels bad. But I hope it will all turn out right yet."
"To be sure. There's a silver lining to every cloud. Remember that, dears. If it wasn't dark sometimes, we never should see the moon. But what have you there, my Lady Eleanor? Are you going to set-up a shop yourself?"
Nelly's presents were displayed, and wondered over to her heart's content. Then came the production of granny's shawl and hood; and the old woman promised, much to Nelly's delight, to wear them to church next day. Her own present to Nelly was a little felt hat trimmed with blue, just the thing for church and Sunday-school. Nelly only regretted that her blue frock was not ready to go with it.
"Sure I can tuck it up just for to-morrow; and you need not mind the waist under your fine new shawl," said granny. "Give me the thread and needle, till I try. And won't we be as fine as paycocks, just?"
"Here is something for you, Kitty," said Nelly, modestly. "It is only a little basket; but I thought it would do to remember me by, and to hold your working-things."
"I am sure it was very good in you to remember me at all, Nelly," said poor Kitty, crying afresh. "I don't deserve it the least bit in the world."
"Oh, my dear, we won't talk of deserts," said the old woman, busily plying her needle. "Sure the good Lord don't think of our deserts when he gives to us, or we should be badly off."
"If it wasn't for mother," said Kitty, sobbing. "But how can I tell her? Oh, Mrs. Ryan, would you just go and see her first? It isn't that I am afraid," she explained; "but she will cry and feel so bad."
"Indeed and I will, then. But come you with me, honey," said granny, rising. "Poor dear! I don't wonder at it. Let me just step out and see that the cow is safe. And Nelly, you hold the light."
"Just see where the crooked path leads, Nelly dear," added granny, as she attended to Crummie's wants. "Here's poor Kitty, as smart a girl as ever lived, and with such a dale of schooling and all, afraid to face her mother on Christmas-eve, of all times in the year, losing as good a friend as ever a girl had (for Mrs. Powers has been all that to her), and all because she took to the crooked way,—because she put her hands to what wasn't hers, and turned her tongue to what wasn't true to hide the mischief. Oh, my dear, remember what your old granny tells you,—remember, whatever happens, that the blessing of God shines on the straight and honest path. Your granny left it once, when she spent the money that was not hers to spend, because it was honestly owing; and see what came of it. Only for the goodness of God, that raised us up friends in our trouble, we might be in the poor-house this blessed minute, instead of in our own home, with a good prospect of paying for it in time, and my Nelly loved and trusted, and earning her own living and more."
"I'm sure God is very good to us," said Nelly, with tears in her eyes. "I never thought we should be so well off."
"Ay, indeed is he," replied granny, with emphasis. "And it's ashamed I am to think how long I forgot him while I was dreaming and mourning over vanities and nonsense,—over an inheritance in Ireland, instead of an inheritance in heaven. Mind, Nelly, you are a lady born, for all that; but dear, it is better far to be a child of God than to be a grand-child of all the earls in Ireland. And now give me my fine new shawl and hood, till I go home with poor Kitty."
"Oh, granny," cried Nelly, struck with a sudden idea, "suppose you were to go to Mrs. Powers with her and ask Mrs. Powers to take her back and try her again? You know she is such a kind lady, and she always did like you. Do try."
"And that is a good thought; and there's no harm in trying," said granny. "Anyhow, Kitty will be none the worse off if I fail; and it will save the widow's heart from aching sore, if I succeed."
I am happy to be able to say that granny did succeed. Mrs. Powers had already begun to relent towards Kitty; and granny's eloquence and the little girl's tears prevailed. Mrs. Powers promised to take her on trial for another month; and it was in a spirit of true thankfulness and humility that Kitty said her prayers that night in the little room where she had so often gabbled them over or omitted them altogether,—the room in which she had never expected to sleep again.
I have little to add to Nelly's history. Before the next Christmas, the house was paid for in full; and Nelly had still something to spare for Christmas presents. That was seven years ago. You would hardly know the place now. The house has been enlarged and improved; the garden well planted, both with flowers and fruit. Nelly, a fine tall young lady, earns nine dollars a week, and might easily get more, but nothing will induce her to leave Mrs. Kirkland. She is forewoman now (for Miss Powell is married), and every thing passes through her hands. She has a large class in Sunday-school, and spends upon them more than ten cents out of every dollar she earns; for they are very poor children,—poorer than Nelly was when we first made her acquaintance.
There is a young woman, too, who comes to Nelly for work sometimes, but who can do only the poorer sorts, on whom Nelly spends many a dollar; for she is the daughter of one of her first friends. Can this be Nelly Lambert,—this thin, faded creature, dressed in a poor attempt at widow's mourning? Even so. Nelly ran away at sixteen with a worthless scamp, whose acquaintance she made through a newspaper advertisement, who first neglected and then abused her, enlisted, deserted, and was finally shot as he was trying to make his escape a second time. Mr. Lambert is dead, and his daughter has no dependence save the work of her hands and the charity of old friends of her father's. People have been very kind to her; but she wears out every one's patience by her folly and her peevish ingratitude. Her health is giving way, and she has no better prospect before her than a bed in the hospital in which to spend her last days.
I am glad to give a better account of Kitty Brown. Kitty never forgot the lesson of that Christmas-eve. She had much to struggle with; for bad habits are not easily overcome. But she was in earnest; and she learned where to look for strength and help in her struggles with herself. Kitty is a useful Christian woman, earning the highest wages as nurse in a wealthy family, because, the lady says, she is entirely to be trusted.
Granny still survives, a hale old woman of more than fourscore, walking to church every Sunday, and spelling out her large-print Bible with the help of her glasses. She is still rather fond of talking about the past glories of the Butlers and the splendour of Kilmane Park; and Nelly listens with patience, and even with interest, thankful to know that granny's portion is secured in that better kingdom,—an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away,—that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
THE END.