Christmas gold, p.419
Christmas Gold, page 419
"O, how stupid Betsey is!" said Mr. Piper, coming to the aid of his wife. "Mrs. Piper says eel-jumbles, and sassafras-pie, and pound-cake; all made in five minutes!"
Here everybody laughed, and Prudy, suddenly remembering her part, sighed, and said,—
"O, my darlin' husband used to like jumble-pie! I've forgot to cry for ever so long!"
Susy began to set the table, and went into the nursery for some cake and cookies, which were kept in an old tin chest, on purpose for this play of housekeeping, which had now been carried on regularly every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon, for some time.
Susy opened the cake-chest, and found nothing in it but a few dry cookies: the fruit-cake was all gone. Who could have eaten it? Not Flossy, for she had a singular dislike for raisins and currants, and never so much as tasted fruit-cake. Not Prudy, for the poor little thing had grown so lame by this time, that she was unable to bear her weight on her feet, much less to walk into the nursery. Dotty could not be the thief. Her baby-conscience was rather tough and elastic, and I suppose she would have felt no more scruples about nibbling nice things, than an unprincipled little mouse.
But, then Dotty couldn't reach the cake-chest; so she was certainly innocent.
Then Susy remembered in a moment that it was Annie: Annie had run into the house morning and night, and had often said, "I'm right hungry. I'm going to steal a piece of our cake!"
So it seemed that Annie had eaten it all. Susy ran back to Prudy's sitting-room, where her little guests were seated, and said, trying not to laugh,—
"Please, ma'am, I just made some eel-jumbles and things, and a dog came in and stole them."
"Very well, Betsey," said Mrs. Piper, serenely; "make some more."
"Yes, make some more," echoed Mr. Piper; and added, "chain up that dog."
"But real honest true," said Susy, "the fruit-cake is all gone out of the chest. You ate it up, you know, Annie; but it's no matter: we'll cut up some cookies, or, may be, mother'll let us have some oyster-crackers."
"I ate up the cake!" cried Annie; "It's no such a thing; I never touched it!" Her face flushed as she spoke.
"O, but you did," persisted Susy; "I suppose you've forgotten! You went to the cake-chest this morning, and last night, and yesterday noon, and ever so many more times."
Annie was too angry to speak.
"But it's just as well," added Susy, politely; "you could have it as well as not, and perfectly welcome!"
"What are you talking about?" cried Annie, indignantly; for she thought she saw a look of surprise and contempt on Flossy's face, and fancied that Flossy despised her because she had a weakness for fruit-cake.
"I wonder if you take me for a pig, Susy Parlin! I heard what your mother said about that cake! She said it was too dry for her company, but it was too rich for little girls, and we must only eat a teeny speck at a time. I told my mamma, and she laughed, to think such mean dried-up cake was too rich for little girls!"
Susy felt her temper rising, but her desire to be polite did not desert her.
"It was rich, nice cake, Annie; but mother said the slices had been cut a great while, and it was drying up. Let's not talk any more about it."
"O, but I shall talk more about it," cried Annie, still more irritated; "you keep hinting that I tell wrong stories and steal cake; yes, you do! and then you ain't willing to let me speak!"
All this sounded like righteous indignation, but was only anger. Annie was entirely in the wrong, and knew it; therefore she lost her temper.
Susy had an unusual amount of self-control at this time, merely because she had the truth on her side. But her dignified composure only vexed Annie the more.
"I won't stay here to be imposed upon, and told that I'm a liar and a thief; so I won't! I'll go right home this very minute, and tell my mother just how you treat your company!"
And, in spite of all Susy could say, Annie threw on her hood and cloak, and flounced out of the room; forgetting, in her wrath, to take off Susy's red scarf, which was still festooned about her head.
"Well, I'm glad she's gone," said Flossy, coolly, as the door closed with a slam. "She's a bold thing, and my mother wouldn't like me to play with her, if she knew how she acts! She said 'victuals' for food, and that isn't elegant, mother says. What right had she to set up and say she'd be Mrs. Piper? So forward!"
After all, this was the grievous part of the whole to Flossy,—that she had to take an inferior part in the play.
"But I'm sorry she's gone," said Susy, uneasily. "I don't like to have her go and tell that I wasn't polite."
"You was polite," chimed in little Prudy, from the sofa; "a great deal politer'n she was! I wouldn't care, if I would be you, Susy. I don't wish Annie was dead, but I wish she was a duck a-sailin' on the water!"
The children went back to the game they had been playing before Annie came; but the interest was quite gone. Their quick-tempered little guest had been a "kill-joy" in spite of her name.
But the afternoon was not over yet. What happened next, I will tell you in another chapter.
Chapter IX.
Moral Courage
Table of Contents
Annie Lovejoy had not been gone fifteen minutes, when there was a sharp ringing of Mrs. Parlin's doorbell, and a little boy gave Norah the red scarf of Susy's, and a note for Mrs. Parlin.
Norah suspected they both came from Mrs. Lovejoy, and she could see that lady from the opposite window, looking toward the house with a very defiant expression.
Mrs. Parlin opened the note with some surprise, for she had been engaged with visitors in the parlor, and did not know what had been going on up stairs.
Whatever Mrs. Lovejoy's other accomplishments might be, she could not write very elegantly. The ink was hardly dry, and the words were badly blotted, as well as incorrectly spelled.
"Mrs. Parlin.
"Madam: If my own doughter is a theif and a lier, I beg to be informed. She has no knowlidg of the cake, whitch was so dryed up, a begar woold not touch it. Will Miss Susan Parlin come over here, and take back her words?
"SERENA LOVEJOY."
Mrs. Parlin was at a loss to understand this, for she had quite forgotten the fact, that the children had any cake to use at their play of housekeeping. She supposed that Susy must have accused Annie of prying into the china-closet, where the cakes and jellies were kept. She sent for Susy at once.
"My daughter," said she, in her usual quiet tones, "did you ever have any reason to suppose that Annie Lovejoy went about meddling with our things, and peeping into the closets?"
"Why, no, mother," replied Susy, much surprised; "she never saw the closets, that I know of. Why, mother, what do you mean?"
"Never ate cake, did she, without leave?"
"O, now I know what you mean, mother! Yes'm, she ate some of that fruit-cake you gave us to play with; and when I told her of it, she got angry, and said she was going right home, and would tell her mother how I treated my company; but I don't see how you found that out!"
"Never mind yet how I found it out, my dear. I want to know if you are sure that Annie ate the cake?"
"Yes, mother: just as certain sure as I can be! You know Dotty can't reach that high shelf in the nursery-closet, and I can't, without getting into a chair; and Prudy can't walk a step; and Flossy despises cake."
"But," said Mrs. Parlin, smiling, "I don't see that you have proved Annie to be the guilty one."
"Guilty? O, I don't know as she is guilty, mamma; but she ate the cake! She ate it right before my face and eyes; but I told her it was just as well, she was perfectly welcome, and tried to be as polite as if she was a grown-up lady, mother. But, O, dear, it didn't make a speck of difference how much I said; for the more I said, the more angry she grew, and I couldn't make her believe I didn't think she was a thief and a liar! Only think, a thief and a liar! But I never said those words at all, mother!"
"Very well, my dear; I am sure you did not. It is a great comfort to me, Susy, that I can always rely on your word. You have done nothing wrong, and need not be unhappy; but Mrs. Lovejoy sends for you to go over and tell her just what you mean about the cake; are you willing to go?"
Susy was not willing; indeed, she was very much frightened, and begged her mother to excuse her in some way to Mrs. Lovejoy, or, if that would not do, to go herself and explain the matter for her.
But, as it was Susy's own affair, Mrs. Parlin wished to have as little to do with it as possible. Besides, she considered it a good opportunity to teach Susy a lesson in moral courage.
Susy started very reluctantly.
"I'm afraid Mrs. Lovejoy will scold real sharp," said she. " What shall I do? O, mother, I didn't see Annie eat all the cake; I didn't watch. How do I know but she gave some crumbs to the cat? Can't I—can't I say, I guess the cat ate it?"
"Susy!" said Mrs. Parlin, sternly, "are you more afraid of displeasing Mrs. Lovejoy than you are of displeasing God? All that is required of you is the simple truth. Merely say to Annie's mother just what you have said to me; that you saw Annie eating cake several times, though there was no harm in it, and you did not call her either a thief or a liar. Speak respectfully, but decidedly; and when you have said all that is necessary, leave her politely, and come home."
Susy called up all her courage when she entered Mrs. Lovejoy's house, and saw that lady sitting very erect on a sofa, with a bleak face, which looked somehow as if a north-east wind had blown over it, and frozen it.
"Well, little girl," said she, without waiting for ceremony, "so you call my Annie all the bad names you can think of, it seems. Is that the way you are brought up?"
"I didn't call her names, ma'am; she ate the cake, but I was willing," replied Susy, calmly and respectfully, though she trembled from head to foot. There was one thought which sustained Susy; she was telling the truth, and that was just what God wanted her to do.
"Well," said Mrs. Lovejoy, "I must say you're a dignified little piece! Do you know you've done the same thing as to tell me I lie?"
This was just the way Annie had spoken; warping innocent words, and making them the occasion of a quarrel.
Susy could think of nothing which seemed exactly right to say to Mrs. Lovejoy in reply; so she wisely held her peace.
"Yes, miss, you've insulted my child, and, as if that were not enough, you come over here, deliberately, and insult me, in my own house!"
Tears sprang to Susy's eyes, but she resolutely crushed them back. There was, in her childish mind, a certain sense of self-respect, which made her unwilling to cry in the presence of such a person as Mrs. Lovejoy. She felt instinctively that the woman was not a lady. Susy was too young to reason about the matter; but she was quite sure her own mother was a model of good manners; and never, never had she known her mother to raise her voice to such a high key, or speak such angry words!
Mrs. Lovejoy said a great many things which were both severe and unjust; but Susy managed to keep up a respectful manner, as her mother had directed. Mrs. Lovejoy was disappointed. She had expected Susy would quail before her presence and make the most humble confessions.
"I always knew," cried Mrs. Lovejoy, becoming more and more exasperated,—"I always knew Mrs. Parlin held her head pretty high! She is a proud, stuck-up woman, your mother is; she has taught you to look down on my little girl! O, yes, I understand the whole story! You're a beautiful family for neighbors!"
Poor Susy was fairly bewildered.
"Now you may go home as straight as you can go! But remember one thing: never, while we live in this city, shall my daughter Annie darken your doors again!"
Susy walked home with downcast head and overflowing eyes. Her heart was very heavy, for she felt she had been disgraced for life, and could never be respected any more. Here was a trial so terrible that it caused the death of little Dandy to seem almost a trifle by comparison.
It was strange, Susy thought, how people could live through such severe troubles as had fallen to her lot to-day. She was a little girl of quick and sensitive feelings, and a sharp word always wounded her more than a blow. How that angry woman had talked about her mother!
Susy decided, upon the whole, that this was the sting—this was the "pin in the lash," which had hurt her more than the lash. How dared Mrs. Lovejoy say a word about her own mother, who was certainly the best woman that ever lived, always excepting the good people in the Bible!
By the time she entered the house, her indignation had risen like a blaze, and burned away all her tears. But should she tell her mother what Mrs. Lovejoy had said about her ownself, about her being "stuck up," and holding her head pretty high? Susy could not decide whether she ought to tell her, and risk the danger of almost breaking her heart! But before she had time to decide, she had poured out the whole story in a torrent.
Strange to say, Mrs. Parlin listened with perfect calmness, and even said, when Susy had finished,—
"Very well, my dear; now you may go and hang up your hood and cloak."
"But, mother," said Susy, rushing up stairs again, quite out of breath, "now I've taken care of my things; but did you understand what I said, mother? Annie will never come into this house, never again! Her mother forbids it!"
"That is quite fortunate for me, Susy, as it saves me the trouble of forbidding it myself!"
"Why, mother, you wouldn't do such a thing as that! Why, mother, I never heard of your doing such a thing in my life!"
"I should regret the necessity very much, my child; but wouldn't it be better, on the whole, to have a little moral courage, and put an end to all intercourse between the two families, than to live in a constant broil?"
"Why, yes, mother, I suppose so."
Susy was beginning to feel more composed. She saw that her mother understood the whole story, yet her heart was far from being broken!
"What is moral courage, mother?"
"The courage to do right."
"Did I have moral courage when I told Mrs. Lovejoy the truth?"
"Yes, dear. It was hard for you, wasn't it? If it had been easy, there would have been no moral courage about it."
"I am glad I had moral courage!" said Susy with animation. "I knew I did something right, but I didn't know what you called it."
"Now," continued Mrs. Parlin, "I have this very day been talking with a lady, who once lived next door to Mrs. Lovejoy; and she tells me enough about her to convince me that she is not a person I wish for a neighbor. And I have heard enough about Annie, too, to feel very sure she is not a safe companion for my little daughter."
"But, mother," said Susy, "you are not—you don't feel 'stuck up' above Mrs. Lovejoy?"
Mrs. Parlin smiled.
"That is not a very proper expression, Susy; but I think I do not feel stuck-up above her in the least. I am only anxious that my little daughter may not be injured by bad examples. I don't know what sort of a little girl Annie might be with proper influences, but—"
"Now, mamma, I don't want to say anything improper," said Susy, earnestly; "but wouldn't it be the piousest for me to play with Annie, and try to make her go to Sabbath school, and be better?"
Mrs. Parlin did not answer at once. She was thinking of what she had said to Susy about people who are "home missionaries," and do a great deal of good by a beautiful example.
"If you were older, dear, it would be quite different. But, instead of improving Annie, who is a self-willed child, I fear you would only grow worse yourself. She is bold, and you are rather timid. She wants to lead, and not to follow. I fear she will set you bad examples."
"I didn't know, mamma; but I thought I was almost old enough to set my own examples! I'm the oldest of the family."
Susy said no more about becoming a home-missionary to Annie; for, although she could not quite see the force of her mother's reasoning, she believed her mother was always right.
"But what does she mean by calling me timid? She has blamed me a great deal for being bold."
Yes, bold Susy certainly was, when there was a fence to climb, a pony to ride, or a storm to be faced; but she was, nevertheless, a little faint-hearted when people laughed at her. But Susy was learning every day, and this time it had been a lesson in moral courage. She did not fully understand her mother, however, as you will see by and by.
Chapter X.
Ruthie Turner
Table of Contents
"The darkest day,
Wait till to-morrow, will have passed away."
The next morning, Susy woke with a faint recollection that something unpleasant had occurred, though she could not at first remember what it was.
"But I didn't do anything wrong," was her second thought. "Now, after I say my prayers, the next thing I'll feed—O, Dandy is dead!"
"See here, Susy," said Percy, coming into the dining-room, just after breakfast; "did you ever see this cage before?"
"Now, Percy! When you know I want it out of my sight!"
Then, in the next breath, "Why, Percy Eastman, if here isn't your beautiful mocking-bird in the cage!"
"Yes, Susy; and if you'll keep him, and be good to him, you'll do me a great favor."
It was a long while before Susy could be persuaded that this rare bird was to be her "ownest own." It was a wonderfully gifted little creature. Susy could but own that he was just as good as a canary, only a great deal better. "The greater included the less." He had as sweet a voice, and a vast deal more compass. His powers of mimicry were very amusing to poor little Prudy, who was never tired of hearing him mew like a kitten, quack like a duck, or whistle like a schoolboy.
Susy was still more delighted than Prudy. It was so comforting, too, to know that she was doing Percy "a great favor," by accepting his beautiful present. She wondered in her own mind how he could be tired of such an interesting pet, and asked her to take it, just to get rid of it!
About this time, Mr. Parlin bought for Prudy a little armed-chair, which rolled about the floor on wheels. This Prudy herself could propel with only the outlay of a very little strength; but there were days when she did not care to sit in it at all. Prudy seemed to grow worse. The doctor was hopeful, very hopeful; but Mrs. Parlin was not.
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