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Title: The red plant

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.

[Illustration: The Red Plant.—Frontispiece.
 "Please, Mrs. Hausen, I have brought you my fuchsia to make amends."]



                    The Round Spring Stories.


                          THE RED PLANT.


                                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.



                          [Illustration]


                          PHILADELPHIA:
                  AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
                    NO. 1122 CHESTNUT STREET.

          NEW YORK: 7, 8, & 10 BIBLE HOUSE, ASTOR PLACE.



  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by the
                   AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
    in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.



                            CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

   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.

CHAPTER I.

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!



CHAPTER II.

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.



CHAPTER III.

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.

[Illustration: The Red Plant.
 "See here is a nice dry hollow; it will just be as safe
  as in my drawer at home."]

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Emma, rather impatiently. "Only I shall
not be here for the first few days. We are going to the city this
afternoon, and may not be home till Thursday or Friday. There's the
first bell. Oh, dear, I wish, it was all over! Come, Tilly, we shall be
late."

The school exercises went on as usual in the morning. At noon, Tilly
walked home by the street, discussing with the other girls the chances
of promotion for one and another, and came back the same way. In the
afternoon the whole school, boarders and all, were assembled in the
large room. The trustees, with the president of the school at their
head, took their seats on the raised platform, and the friends of the
pupils had a place by themselves. There was a prayer and some singing;
and then Mr. Richard Hausen, the president, rose to read the reports,
amid a profound silence. The little girls came first, and then the
elder ones. Florry and Emma, seated together, listened breathlessly
till Mr. Hausen came to the "promotions" and read:

"Promoted to the fourth grade: Flora Lester, Eva Church, Anna Talbot.
Highest standing for all things, Flora Lester."

Poor Emma! She had succeeded in persuading herself that she should
certainly pass this time, and it was a terrible disappointment not to
hear her name. And such a mortification, too. She must stay behind—in
the baby-room, as she disdainfully called the Kindergarten, while two
such little things as Eva Church and Anna Talbot mounted over her head.
They would learn their lessons in the great class-room, and go out
sailing and riding with the young ladies, while she would remain, the
only large girl in the room, except Tilly Mansfield.

"It is too bad! It isn't half fair!" Thus, in the short recess given to
the younger girls, Emma loudly complained of the injustice done her.

"I don't believe Miss Van Ness keeps the book right!" she exclaimed. "I
don't believe I have been imperfect as many times as that."

"I am afraid there is no mistake about it," said Florry, sorrowfully.
"Have you kept an account this term, Emma?"

"No. I can never remember to set the things down at the time."

"I didn't believe you would, and so I kept your credit along with my
own," said Florry. "And, Emma, I am afraid Miss Van Ness is right. Her
account is just like mine. You know I told you two or three weeks ago—"

"Oh, yes, you told me," interrupted Emma, scornfully and angrily. "You
are a great hand to preach, to be sure. If I have missed, and got some
marks in school, I haven't done some other things. Have you found the
red plant yet?"

Florry did not say another word. She turned and went away into the
house, without telling Emma, as she had meant to do, of her intention
not to go up without her.

"Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" she said to herself. "Oh, my
heart will break! I am sure it will. If I could only die, or go clear
away where nobody knows me. I wish father would let me go away to
Colorado to Uncle John."

To do Emma justice, she had no intention of wounding her friend so
deeply.

She was angry at herself for having failed, and at Florry for having
succeeded, and her anger fell upon the first object that happened to
present itself.

"What did you mean by what you said about the red plant?" asked Tilly
Mansfield, who had heard Emma's words. "I heard your mother tell
Emmeline that she had had a beautiful one, but that somebody stole it.
You don't mean that Florry Lester took it, do you? Why, Emma Hausen!"

"Yes, she did; and I think it is a shame that such a girl should be put
above me!" exclaimed Emma. "I am not a thief, whatever I am. I just
wish Miss Van Ness and the rest knew it, that's all. I guess Miss Flora
Lester would not hold her head so very high among the young ladies
after that."

"I guess she wouldn't," said Tilly, who dearly loved a piece of gossip.
"Why don't you tell them? I would. It would just pay Florry off finely.
I dare say she would be turned out of the school."

"But I don't want to pay her off, that I know of," said Emma, struck by
Tilly's words, and beginning to think when it was too late, as usual.
"It was not her fault, and I am sorry I hurt her feelings. She was
always telling me I would fail, if I didn't take more care; and she was
right. If I had minded her, I should have done well enough. I wish I
had."

"But did she really steal your mother's red plant?"

"Yes: she took it out of the stand and carried it home, and then
somebody stole it from her. But she was very sorry; and she came and
told mother all about it; and gave her that beautiful double fuchsia,
to make amends. And don't you say a word, Tilly, for all the world;
because mother told me not to tell; and, besides, it was real mean in
me to twit Florry with it. You won't tell, will you?"

"Of course not; but, Emma, I don't think you need care so very much for
Florry. It was not half fair for her to go above you so."

"Oh, she couldn't help it! And she did her best to have me second, too."

"She knew all the time that you wouldn't, though. I knew she did,
because she told me so. She said you had been very good the last two
weeks; but it didn't depend on that; and she knew she should pass
anyhow: so she didn't care."

Tilly did not exactly mean to lie; but she was an inveterate gossip,
and, like many other gossips, she never could repeat anything exactly
as she heard it.

"I don't believe she said so. It doesn't sound one bit like her," said
Emma.

"Indeed, she did. She said so up in my room this very morning."

"I guess you stretched it just a little," said Emma. "But there is
mother calling me."

"I think we must go now, my dear," said Mrs. Hausen. "You know we have
several things to do yet. Miss Van Ness will excuse you."

Emma did not seek Florry out to "make up," as she had intended. She
said to herself that she had no time; but that was not the real reason.
Tilly's words, though she did not half believe them, had not been
without their effect on her mind.



CHAPTER IV.

THE EFFECT OF A BAD NAME.

MR. MANSFIELD was very much vexed when he found that Tilly had not been
promoted, and said many hard things; threatening to take his daughter
out of school, and send her to a more pretentious "institution," in a
neighbouring town. But Tilly herself had no mind to leave school; and
Miss Emmeline Mansfield, who was a very good, sensible girl, was very
unwilling to have her sister deprived of the training which was just
what she needed; and Mr. Mansfield was finally persuaded to let matters
rest for the present.

"Why don't you ever wear your watch to school?" said he, one day, as
Tilly passed him with her books in her hand. "What is the use of having
a watch, if you don't wear it?"

"Emma Hausen told me the girls would laugh at me if I did," replied
Tilly. "And Mrs. Hausen and the teachers don't like to have the girls
wear finery in school."

"Nonsense," answered Mr. Mansfield. "If they do say anything to you,
just tell them you can afford to wear what you like."

Tilly was in a hurry that morning, and did not care to go back to her
room for her watch; but the next day, she thought she would wear it,
and went to the drawer where she usually kept it.

The watch was not there. Tilly looked through all her drawers and
boxes, but the watch was not to be found.

What was to be done now? What had become of it? Tilly remembered
that she had shown it to Flora Lester one morning; and that she had
afterwards left Flora alone in the room. That was all she could
recollect, and she jumped at once to a conclusion. Flora was a thief:
she had stolen Mrs. Hausen's red plant; no doubt she had taken the
watch, also. Yes, that was it. Flora Lester, the pattern girl, the girl
Miss Van Ness petted, and Miss Garland made so much of, who had just
been promoted, and welcomed by the fourth grade girls with so much
pleasure, was a thief, and had stolen enough to send her to the State
Prison.

Tilly had never liked Flora very well heretofore. Flora was polite and
kind to her when she first went to school, and had introduced her to
the other girls, and showed her the ways of the school. This was only a
part of her duty as the oldest girl in the Kindergarten. The head girl
in every grade was expected to show such attentions to strangers. But
Tilly had resented this conduct as an attempt at patronage on Flora's
part, and had said to herself that Flora Lester needn't put on quite so
many airs, seeing that her father was only a poor village doctor, who
had not as much money in the world as her (Tilly's) father spent every
year.

But Flora did not seem to care anything about Mr. Mansfield's money;
and had not admired the house and furniture half as much as Tilly
thought she ought have done. And now here was a fine chance to take
Florry down. It almost consoled Tilly for the loss of her watch, to
think that she could whisper to all the girls that she had left Flora
Lester alone in her room a minute, and that Flora must have opened
her drawer and taken out her new watch and chain. Mr. Mansfield and
Emmeline had gone away for a few days, and there was no one at home but
herself and the housekeeper, Mrs. Griggs, who had come with them from
New York, and with whom Tilly was always at war.

"I won't tell her," thought Tilly. "She will be sure to take Florry's
part. I mean to write to father, though, this very minute."

Tilly was as good as her word. She sat down on the instant, and wrote
to her father, telling him that Florry had stolen her watch, and asking
him what she should do about it. This letter she posted on her way to
school. She met Florry at the gate, and Florry was going to speak to
her as usual; but Tilly passed her with only a very cold nod and a toss
of her head, and went into the school-room, where she met Jenny Fleming
and several of the other girls, who all seemed to be in a great frolic.

"Come and make your manners to Jenny Fleming," said Priscilla Steele,
laughing, as Tilly entered the room. "She is head of the school, now
that Merry is gone; and she feels as proud as a peacock."

"Jenny Fleming is not so old as I am," said Tilly. "She will be eleven
next month, I know; and I was eleven last January."

"Yes; but it doesn't go by that," explained Priscilla. "It is only our
age in school that counts. Jenny Fleming has been in the school ever
since it began."

Now Tilly had asked the ages of all the girls anywhere near her own,
and having found out that she was the oldest, she had concluded that
she should be head girl when Florry left. She had made up her mind that
she would be very kind and obliging, especially to the little ones;
that she would take a great deal of notice of the poorer girls, and
"show that she was not proud," as she said. It was very vexatious to
have all this magnanimity thrown away; and it somehow increased her
displeasure at Florry.

"It will seem odd not to have Florry in school, won't it?" remarked
Emily Dean. "The Kindergarten won't seem half so pleasant, now that
Florry is gone."

"Oh, you think a great deal of Florry," said Tilly, tossing her head
again. "I guess, if you knew what I do! But you will see how fine she
will look when my father comes home. I guess Miss Van Ness and the rest
won't think quite so much of her after this."

"Tilly Mansfield, what do you mean?" exclaimed Priscilla and Jenny,
together. "What has Florry done?"

"Won't you ever tell, if I tell you?"

"No; of course not," said Jenny and Priscilla, together.

Emily did not say a word, but she listened with the others.

"Well, then — but don't you tell, because I don't want any fuss made
till my father comes home; and I have written to him this very day.
Flora Lester has stolen my watch and my new chain and locket: and it
isn't the first time she has stolen, either. She was at our house, and
I took her up in my room while I went to see what father wanted; and
I have never seen my watch since: so she must have got it, you see. I
have written to father, and asked him to come home directly; and I dare
say he can get it back, or else make Dr. Lester buy me a new one. But
wasn't it too bad?"

"Pshaw, what nonsense!" said Jenny. "Just as if Florry would take your
watch. I don't believe one word of it. You have mislaid it somewhere. A
likely story, indeed!"

"I never should have thought of such a thing, if I had not known before
that Florry would steal," said Tilly. "But Emma Hausen told me herself
that Florry stole some of her mother's new plants."

"I don't believe she ever told you such a word!"

"Jenny," said Priscilla, "you should not speak so."

"Well, I will speak so then!" said Jenny, who was a peppery little
Irish girl, and who adored Florry. "I say Florry Lester is not a thief;
and whoever says so, deserves to be turned out of the school. I don't
believe Emma Hausen ever told you so, Tilly Mansfield: you are mad
because Florry was promoted; and that is the whole of it. A likely
story, indeed! I won't stay to hear such stuff," and Jenny flounced
away in a twitter of indignation.

"I am sure Jenny needn't be angry at me," said Tilly.

"Well, you see, she thinks so much of Florry—all the girls do,"
answered Priscilla. "But, Tilly, I don't think you ought to say such
a thing, unless you are quite sure. Just think: it is enough to send
Florry to the State Prison."

"Yes, you all care about Florry; and nobody thinks anything about my
losing my beautiful watch," said Tilly, pouting. "I guess you would not
like very well to lose a new gold watch and chain."

"But perhaps somebody else stole it—maybe one of the servants."

"I tell you nobody else had a chance. I always keep my jewels locked
up," said Tilly, with a grand air. "Only that morning I unlocked it to
show the things to Florry, and left it open while I went to speak to
father."

"That does look badly," observed Priscilla.

"I should think it did. But, yet, I don't know that I should have
thought of it, only for what Emma Hausen told me."

"And did she really tell you that Florry had stolen?"

"Yes, indeed she did. She said that Florry carried off some beautiful
plants that her mother had just got from the city."

"Well, I would not have believed that about Florry Lester, of all the
girls in the world. And she talks so good, too!"

"That don't always make people any better," said Tilly. "My father says
he always expects to be cheated when he is dealing with people who only
pretend to be good."

"But, Tilly, your own sister Emmeline is very religious, I am sure. She
goes to all the meetings, and has a class in Sunday-school, and all."

"Yes, I know it; and if it was any one else, father wouldn't leave them
any peace; but he lets Emmy have her own way in everything, because he
thinks she is consumptive, like mother, and won't live long."

"Does Emmeline think that Florry took the watch?"

"She does not know anything about it. She has gone to the city for a
few days."

"Well, I must go and look over my geography," said Priscilla. "I am
sure I hope you will find your watch."

Before recess that day, almost every girl in the primary room had been
told, under a solemn pledge of secrecy, that Florry Lester had stolen
Tilly Mansfield's watch and chain, and that when Mr. Mansfield came
home, she would have to give it up, and perhaps be sent to State's
Prison. They knew, too, (for such stories never lose anything in the
telling,) that Florry had stolen from Mrs. Hausen ever so many times;
but that Mrs. Hausen had forgiven her for her mother's sake. Some of
the girls began to remember how they had unaccountably lost knives and
pencils, and other small possessions; and that their paper had been
used up very fast. Elizabeth Miller recollected, or thought she did,
that she had never seen her tortoise-shell handled knife since one day
that she had lent it to Florry to sharpen a pencil; and her sister told
how she had once come early to school, and found Florry looking over
all the girls' books, pretending that she had lost her own history.

Some of the girls, indeed, took Florry's part vehemently, and
threatened "to tell Miss Van Ness;" but Tilly boldly told them to
tell, if they liked: it would only bring matters out, and Florry into
disgrace all the sooner. In short, the Kindergarten had never been in
such a ferment before.

Florry, meantime, had not the least idea of what was going on. She had
for two days studied in the fourth grade room, where she had, at first,
felt very lonely and homesick; but the girls were all kind to her; and
Miss Reynolds, who had the care of the room, took pains to make her
feel at home, and she was beginning to like it. She did not go out at
the morning recess, but spent her time in the library, looking at a
curious book of costumes which Miss Foster the librarian took down for
her. Florry had applied for permission to remain another term in the
lower room, but it had not been thought best; and she consoled herself
by thinking that perhaps Emma would try harder, now that she had nobody
to help her.

"So, Florry, you have found your way to the library already," said Mr.
Hausen, kindly, as he came into the room, and found Florry busy with
her book. "That is right. The books were made to be used."

"The girls here don't know half their privileges," remarked Miss
Foster, when the president left the room. "When I was at Eaton College,
the girls no more thought of going to the library for a book to read
than they did of going to the moon."

"What was the use of having a library at all?" asked Florry.

"I don't know. I suppose to be looked at by visitors, and give a
character to the school."

In the afternoon recess, Florry went down to meet her old school-mates
in the little girls' playground, and was surprised by the reception she
met with. A good many of the girls greeted her coldly, or not at all,
and cast significant or contemptuous looks at each other; while others
met her with more warmth and affection than ever. Among these last were
Jenny Fleming and Emily Dean. Jenny ran to meet Florry, and kissed
her on both cheeks; while Emily, who was less impulsive, put her arm
through Florry's with a certain air of protection; casting, meantime,
a glance of defiance at Priscilla and Tilly, who stood at a little
distance.

"I should think you would be ashamed, Jenny," said Tilly. "What do you
think your mother would say?"

"And I should think you would be ashamed; and so you will, Tilly
Mansfield," retorted Jenny. "Very fine you will look, and a fine slice
of humble-pie you will have to eat, when the truth comes out."

Tilly only tossed her head, as usual, and turned away to whisper anew
with some of the other girls.

"What do they mean?" asked Florry, looking from one to the other, and
quite bewildered by this reception. "Why do they treat me so?"

"Because they are just a set of dunces," returned Jenny.

"Because Tilly Mansfield has been telling stories about you," said
Emily.

"There, Emily: we promised we would not tell."

"I didn't," said Emily. "I wouldn't, because I just meant to tell
Florry. I think she ought to know. Florry, Tilly said you stole her
watch that day you were there."

"Stole her watch!" repeated Florry, too much annoyed even to be angry.
"What does she mean?"

Emily began at the beginning, and told Florry the whole story as she
had heard it from Tilly. Emily was a very truthful girl, and she
related the matter quietly and exactly as she had heard it.

"You see, nobody would have believed a word of it, only that Tilly
said Emma Hausen told her that you had stolen some plants from her
mother. She says Emma's mother told her never to tell; but Emma was
angry because you went above her, and spoke of it before she thought;
and then she asked Tilly not to tell. Oh, Florry, don't cry! It is not
worth minding."

For Florry's head had sunk down on Jenny's shoulder, and was sobbing so
violently that the girls were startled.

"What shall we do?" said Jenny.

"Shall we call Miss Van Ness, Florry? Can't we bring you anything?"

"No, don't call anybody," said Florry, trying to quiet herself. "Let us
sit down here. I want to tell you something. Oh, girls, don't desert
me; will you?"

"Of course we won't," said warmhearted little Jenny. "Sure, if I knew
it was all true, I would stand by you just the same. What's the good of
having a friend, if one is going to give them up the first minute they
do anything wrong? Besides, I know you haven't done anything. I don't
so much wonder at Tilly: she's not much, anyhow; but I am surprised at
Emma."

"But it isn't true, of course," said Emily: "I mean what Emma said. 'We
know the other isn't."

"I will tell you all about it," said Florry, drying her eyes and
speaking with a great effort. "I did take Mrs. Hausen's red plant."

"Oh, Florry!"

"Just you be still, and let her tell her own story," said Emily,
checking Jenny. "Well, Florry, and what then? What else did you do?"

Florry went on and told the whole story, from her first desire to carry
off the red plant to her taking her fuchsia to Mrs. Hausen.

"You see, I couldn't carry back the plant I stole, and I had nothing
else, only my fuchsia. I knew Mrs. Hausen had none like it, because she
asked me to save a slip for her. So I told mother all about it, and she
said I might; and the next morning, I went and carried the plant up
there, and told Mrs. Hausen just as I told mother. Oh, girls, you can't
think how good she was. She didn't want to take the plant at first; but
she consented finally, because I wanted her to so much."

"Well, I shall never think much of Emma Hausen again," said Emily,
decidedly. "I think she was even worse than Florry."

"Please, don't say so," said Florry. "I know just how it happened. Emma
was disappointed and vexed because she did not pass; and so it came out
before she thought. But, oh, what shall I do?"

"Tell your mother all about it," said Emily, who had full confidence in
the power of "mother" to set everything right.

"I can't. She has gone over to see old Madam Hausen, and won't be home
till to-morrow; and father has gone to the convention at A—."

"'Well, I know what I would do," said Jenny. "I would go right away and
tell the president."

"Why, Jenny Fleming! Would you dare do such a thing?"

"Yes, I would then, Emily Dean. Why not? He wouldn't eat me up; and he
is the best man that ever was. I would tell him in a minute."

"Yes: but, Jenny, the thing is, that I can't tell of myself without
telling of Emma; and that would get her into trouble at home; because
her mother charged her never to say one word about it," said Florry. "I
know she did, because Emma told me so herself that day."

"I don't care if you stole fifty red plants, and blue ones, too!"
exclaimed Jenny. "I do think you are the best girl that ever lived. But
what will you do then? You can't go on so."

"I shall wait till I can see father or mother before I do anything,"
replied Florry. "As to the watch, Tilly has put it away somewhere, and
forgotten it."



CHAPTER V.

EATING HUMBLE-PIE.

WHEN Flora Lester went home that night, she was about as unhappy as a
child could be. If she had been perfectly innocent—if she could have
defied anybody to show that she had ever laid her hand on what did
not belong to her—the matter would not have been quite so bad. The
injustice would even then have been hard to bear; but she felt that she
could have borne it better. But there was that unlucky red plant. And
then that Emma should have told of her! That was the hardest of all.

Florry was too unhappy to cry, too unhappy to care anything about
reading or eating, or playing with her kittens. Her father did not
come home, as she expected, but sent a note to say that he should not
return till the next day; so she could not follow out her resolution to
tell him all about the trouble. Mrs. Hausen was not at home, either;
and even if she had been, Florry felt that, as matters stood between
herself and Emma, she could not ask that lady's advice.

"Oh, if I only had somebody to tell me what to do!" she murmured, as
she sat looking out of the window. And as she said so, a sudden thought
flashed across her, and she got up and put on her hat directly.

"Mary," she called, "I am going to see Aunt Eunice a little while. I
shall not be gone long."

"Very well," returned Mary. "You needn't hurry home. I'll come after
you, if it gets dark."

Aunt Eunice Whitney lived by herself, in a pretty little house on one
of the upper streets of Round Springs. She was quite an old lady; and
her husband being dead, and all her children married, she had her house
to herself, except when one of her granddaughters was staying with
her, and going to school. Aunt Eunice had passed through a great many
troubles and sorrows in her time. She was a woman to whom every one who
knew her went for advice and counsel in difficulties, and for comfort
in sorrow; for she was a very wise woman and a most earnest Christian;
and she seemed to know just what to say to every one. She was a distant
relation of Dr. Lester's, and Florry, like almost all the young people
in Round Springs, called her "Aunt Eunice."

Florry found her old friend knitting, with her large Bible open on
the table before her, though she did not seem to be reading. And Aunt
Eunice gave the little girl her usual hearty welcome.

"But thee seems to be in trouble, dear," said Aunt Eunice, who was a
"Friend," and always spoke after their manner. "What can I do for thee?
I don't like to see thy little face so overcast."

"I want to tell you all about it, please, Aunt Eunice," answered
Florry, glad that the old lady had "broken the ice" for her. "I am in
a great deal of trouble, and I don't know what to do; and father and
mother are away."

"Sit down here," said Aunt Eunice, drawing a low chair to her side.
"Sit down here, and tell me the whole story."

Florry did so, feeling her heart already a little cheered by Aunt
Eunice's ready sympathy. When she had finished, Aunt Eunice sat a few
minutes in silence, and then began turning over the leaves of her
Bible, as if looking for something.

"Can thee see to read by this light?" she asked, turning to Florry.

"Oh, yes, ma'am," answered Florry.

"Then suppose we read a few verses. Maybe we shall find a message for
thee here."

Florry read where Aunt Eunice pointed with her needle. It was the
thirty-seventh Psalm.

"'Fret not thyself because of evil doers, neither be thou envious
against the workers of iniquity. For they shall soon be cut down like
the grass, and wither as the green herb.'"

"'Trust in the Lord and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and
verily thou shalt be fed.'"

At the fifth and sixth verses, Aunt Eunice paused, and applied the
promise.

"That seems to be what thee wants, isn't it, dear? 'Commit thy way
unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass. And
he shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment
as the noonday. Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him . . .
Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to
do evil.' It seems to me that is the counsel for thee to follow," said
Aunt Eunice. "Just commit thy ways to him, and wait patiently upon him;
and, no doubt, he will bring forth thy righteousness as the light! I
think thee does love him already; don't thee, Florry?"

"Yes, indeed, I do," whispered Florry, as her friend put her arms
around her and drew the little girl close to her side.

"Well, then, can't thee trust him to make all these things come out
right? Can't thee commit thy ways unto him?"

"I would, if only I hadn't been so naughty about the plant," said
Florry.

Aunt Eunice smiled rather sadly. "That's the way we are always
hindering ourselves, dear—by going back and picking up our old sins,
instead of leaving them behind us. Didn't thee ask him to forgive thee
that sin?"

"Yes, Aunt Eunice."

"And don't thee know that he has forgiven it, and washed it all away?
Don't thee know that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all
sin?"

"Yes, Aunt Eunice. The Bible says so."

"Well, then, why should thee think that the sin which he has not only
forgiven but washed away—made as if it had never been—is going to
prevent him from helping thee now? Why, thee wouldn't let this matter
hinder thee from helping Emma or even Tilly, would thee—especially if
they said they were sorry, and asked thy forgiveness?"

"I wouldn't, anyway," answered Florry. "But, Aunt Eunice, suppose Mr.
Mansfield should send me to the State Prison for stealing the watch?"

Aunt Eunice smiled. "Never fear, child. He can't send thee to prison;
even if he should wish to; which he won't. There is no proof against
thee. Put that thought out of thy mind for good. Very likely the watch
will be found after all, and if it is not, nobody will think that thee
took it. Now do as I tell thee. Commit thy ways unto the Lord, and
trust in him, and wait for him to make thy innocence appear."

Florry went home feeling very much comforted. She read her Bible and
said her prayers, and then lay down and went to sleep, feeling that she
had a Friend in whom she could safely trust.

The next morning, Emma Hausen came to school again. She had had time
to grow heartily ashamed of her anger against Florry, and of what she
had said to Tilly Mansfield, especially since she had heard that Florry
had asked leave to wait a term for her. Her first thought was to find
Tilly, and give her a renewed charge not to repeat what she had said;
and the next to see Florry, and give her the pretty presents she had
brought her from the city. She found Tilly in the midst of a group of
excited listeners in the school-room veranda, and heard her say:

"My father is coming home this morning, and then we shall see whether I
am to be robbed or not."

"Robbed!" said Emma. "Who has robbed you?"

"Tilly's watch has been stolen," said Priscilla.

"What, out of the hole where she left it that day?" asked Emma. "I told
you, Tilly, it wasn't safe to leave your watch there, under that stone.
When did you miss it?"

The girls who stood round were astonished to see Tilly turn first pale
and then scarlet, and then, after standing for a minute staring at
Emma, rush down the steps and up the path which led to the stile.

"What do you mean, Emma? What stone?" asked Emily.

"Why, the stone where she put it on team-day," replied Emma, and then,
guessing what had happened, she burst out laughing, and exclaimed:

"You don't mean to say that Tilly forgot where she put it, and then
thought somebody had stolen it? That is too good!"

"It hasn't been any joke at all, I can tell you, Emma," said Emily,
gravely. "Tilly missed her watch, and she has accused Flora Lester of
taking it; and a great many of the girls believed her. Poor Florry has
been treated shamefully. But let us go after Tilly, and see if she
finds her watch."

The girls hurried up the path, and arrived in time to see Tilly draw
forth her watch and chain safe and sound.

"Well, you are smart!" exclaimed Emma, contemptuously, while Tilly
stood with her eyes on the ground, too much abashed to say a word.

"Did she really put it there, Emma?" asked several of the girls. "Did
you see her?"

"Yes; of course I did. She was wearing it to school; and I told her the
girls would laugh at her, and advised her to carry the watch home; but
she wouldn't, and she put it in that hole. I was wondering, yesterday,
whether she remembered to take care of it. But to go and say that
Florry Lester took it! Tilly Mansfield, you deserve to be whipped! And
what were the rest of you about, I should like to know?" said Emma,
with increasing anger. "What were you all thinking about, to treat
Florry so? The best girl that ever lived in the world, I do believe!"

"You needn't lay it all on us, Emma," answered Priscilla. "We never
should have thought of such a thing, if you hadn't told Tilly yourself
how Florry stole your mother's plant."

"I am sure I shouldn't," said Tilly, gathering courage; "but you did
tell me yourself how Florry stole the plant."

It was now Emma's turn to blush. "I know I did; and it was a great
shame," said she; "but didn't I tell you not to say anything about it?"

"As if that would do any good," remarked Emily. "If you don't want
secrets told, you shouldn't tell them yourself."

"And while you were about it, why didn't you tell the rest,—how sorry
Florry was, and how she gave mother her beautiful fuchsia to make
amends?" cried Emma.

"Hush!" said Jenny Fleming. "Here comes Florry. She has been up to your
house, Tilly."

Florry had indeed been up to see Tilly, and to beg her to try and
remember when she had worn the watch last. Tilly had gone to school,
however; and Florry, finding that she was likely to be late, had asked
the housekeeper's permission to come the back way. She was walking
slowly and looking on the ground, and, as she raised her eyes at the
stile, she saw the girls all standing round, and Tilly with the watch
and chain in her hand.

Emma sprang to meet her friend, threw her arms round her neck, and
kissed her.

"Oh, Florry, can you ever forgive me!" she exclaimed. "It was all my
fault; but please do forgive me and make up friends."

"What has happened?" asked Florry, bewildered. "Where did Tilly find
her watch?"

"Just where she put it,—under the big stone there!" replied Emma.

"And I dare say she knew it was there all the time!" added Jenny
Fleming. "She just wanted to make a fuss, and was angry at Florry for
going above her."

"I didn't, either," said Tilly, bursting into tears. "I really and
truly did forget all about it."

"Oh, yes; I dare say!"

"I presume she did, Jenny," said Florry; "for one does forget in that
way sometimes. I know last week I hung my cloak in the closet under the
stairs instead of in the hall, and I hunted the house over for it! I
told mother I thought it had been stolen out of the wardrobe at school,
for I could not remember wearing it home; but she said it would turn
up; and so it did."

"Anyhow, she had no business to say you stole it!" said Elizabeth.

"You needn't say anything!" exclaimed Jenny. "You were just as bad as
she was! I dare say your tortoise-shell knife will come in some such
way!"

"Your knife is up in the drawing room table-drawer, Lizzy," said
Florry. "I saw it there yesterday. And so the watch was safe all the
time? How glad I am! How did you come to think of it, Tilly?"

"I didn't till Emma told me," sobbed Tilly; "it never came into my
head once. I am real sorry I said you took it, Florry; I never will
accuse anybody again as long as I live. But really and truly, I never
remembered one word about wearing it that day. What a dunce I was!"

"We have all been foolish together, I think—Emma and all," remarked
Priscilla. "I think we had better ask Florry to forgive the whole
Kindergarten in a lump, all but Jenny and Emily!"

"Yes, do, please, Florry!" said several of the girls.

"Don't let us say any more about it," replied Florry. "I am so glad
that the watch is found, I don't seem to care about anything else; but
somehow I felt sure it would come. What a pretty one it is!"

"Hateful old thing!" said Tilly, still crying. "I never want to see it
again. I mean to ask papa to sell it and let me give away the money."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that! The watch was not to blame," replied Florry;
"and after all, girls, what Emma said was true."

"Yes; but then you tried to make amends," said Priscilla. "Tilly never
told us that! If she had—"

"Oh, yes, throw it all on Tilly!" interrupted Jenny Fleming.

"No, I don't mean to throw it all on Tilly! I think we were all to
blame," replied Priscilla; "but still, I do think it would have made a
difference if she had told the whole story just as she heard it. She
said Florry stole ever so many plants!"

"That is the worst of repeating stories; nobody ever gets them just
right," observed Emily. "We shall hear next that Florry carried off the
whole greenhouse."

"Well, I am sure I am sorry," said Tilly, "and I hope Florry will
forgive me. I know I have done very wrong, and I wish I hadn't. I don't
know how I can say any more than that."

"Of course you can't," answered Florry, kissing Tilly. "Come, don't let
us say any more about it. There is the first bell ringing."

"I hope you will forgive me as well as Tilly, Flora," said Emma, as
soon as she could get Flora alone. "I don't deserve it, I know; but if
you knew how sorry I am about it—"

"I did forgive you before you asked me, Emma," answered Flora, gravely.

"I don't see how you could."

"It was hard," admitted Flora. "You see I cared more about what you
said than I did about Tilly; but I knew I ought to, and that I wouldn't
feel happy till I did. So I asked for help, and I had it," said Flora,
reverently. "Somehow He seemed to take all the trouble and anger out
of my heart, and I felt as quiet as could be. Aunt Eunice told me to
commit my way to Him, and so I did; and He has brought it to pass."

Mr. Mansfield came back that morning, and Tilly met him at the door as
she went home.

"Well, Tilly, what about your watch?" said he. "Have you found it?"

Tilly told the story of her watch.

"Just as I expected. I hope you have not told any one else what you
said to me about Flora Lester's having taken it. The most absurd idea I
ever heard of!"

Mr. Mansfield was very angry—more so than Tilly had ever seen him—when
he learned how she had talked about Flora. He insisted on her going
with him to Dr. Lester's, and making a formal apology both to Flora and
her parents, and declared his intention to make her apologize before
the whole school.

"Please don't, Mr. Mansfield," said Flora. "It will only make a fuss;
and I am sure Tilly will be more careful another time; won't you,
Tilly? Please don't say any more about it!"

"Well, I won't then, since you make it a personal favour, Florry," said
Mr. Mansfield, at last. "But you must let me make you amends in some
way. What can I do for you?"

"If it would not be asking too much," said Mrs. Lester, who saw that
Mr. Mansfield really wished to atone for Tilly's unkindness, "I think I
know what Florry would like very much, and that is one of your pretty
Spitz puppies when they are old enough."

"She shall have her choice of the whole litter; sha'n't she Tilly?"

"Yes, indeed," answered Tilly; "and I will give her my gray parrot
besides."

Florry would not consent to take the parrot, but she was very glad
of the pretty little dog. Mr. Mansfield, however, would not be quite
satisfied, and the next time he went to town, he bought Florry a
beautiful little watch and chain, the watch being marked with her name.

The girls at school were very cold to Tilly for some time, and two or
three—those who had been most ready to believe evil of Florry—insisted
on thinking that she knew where her watch was all the while. But
Tilly herself was very humble, and both Florry and Emma took her
part vigorously; and at last the whole matter was forgotten, or only
referred to incidentally as "that fuss about Tilly Mansfield's watch."



                             THE END.








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