The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe red plantThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The red plantAuthor: Lucy Ellen GuernseyRelease date: October 24, 2023 [eBook #71950]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: Philadelphia: American Sunday-School Union, 1872*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED PLANT ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The red plantAuthor: Lucy Ellen GuernseyRelease date: October 24, 2023 [eBook #71950]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: Philadelphia: American Sunday-School Union, 1872
Title: The red plant
Author: Lucy Ellen Guernsey
Author: Lucy Ellen Guernsey
Release date: October 24, 2023 [eBook #71950]
Language: English
Original publication: Philadelphia: American Sunday-School Union, 1872
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED PLANT ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
image002The Red Plant.—Frontispiece.
The Red Plant.—Frontispiece.
The Red Plant.—Frontispiece.
"Please, Mrs. Hausen, I have brought you my fuchsiato 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.
image003
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 theAMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. THE RED PLANT
II. RESTITUTION
III. THE LITTLE BIRD THAT CARRIED THE MATTER
IV. THE EFFECT OF A BAD NAME
V. EATING HUMBLE-PIE
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.