CHAPTER I.

_A SURPRISE._

Bessie lay fast asleep upon mamma's sofa, for she and Maggie had been with Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie for a long drive; and the little one, quite tired, had curled herself up among the cushions, and still was nestling there, unconscious of all that was passing.

Mamma thought it a good thing that her delicate little girl could drop off to sleep so easily, and so gain the rest she needed after any fatigue; but wide-awake Maggie thought it rather a troublesome fashion of Bessie's, and wondered that any one, who was not obliged to do it, could "waste being alive in taking naps."

But just now she did not mind this quite as much as usual, for she was sitting on a low stool at her mother's feet, busy copying a letter to Mrs. Porter which she and Bessie had composed together. For Maggie no longer printed her letters and compositions, but wrote them in a large round hand, quite easy to read. But, in order to do it well, she had to pay close attention to her writing; and, since Bessie could not help her, she was contented to have her lie quietly asleep on the sofa for the time. Mrs. Bradford was leaning back upon the pillows in her easy-chair, looking so pale and thin and weak that even a child could have told that she had been ill.

Indeed she had been--the dear, precious mamma!--so ill, that for some days it seemed as if she were to be taken from her little ones. But the merciful Father above had heard and granted the prayers of all the loving hearts whose earthly happiness she made, and hope and joy came back to the pleasant home from which, for a time, they had flown away. It had been a great delight to Maggie and Bessie to see her walk into the nursery, leaning on papa's arm, that morning; and even baby Annie seemed to know it was something to rejoice at, for she came toddling to her mamma, and hid her face in her skirts, with a sweet, crowing laugh, which was full of joy and love.

And when, a little while after, Bessie sat looking earnestly at her mother, with eyes which seemed as if they could not take their fill, and was asked by her of what she was thinking, the answer was,--

"I was thinking two things, mamma. One was, what a very great thanksgiving we ought to make; and the other was, how very disappointed the angels must be, not to have you in heaven, after all."

"Oh," said Maggie, "I guess the angels are too glad for us to be very sorry for their own disappointment."

But though mamma was much better, she was still very feeble, and it was necessary that she should be very careful not to fatigue or excite herself; and the doctor said it would be some weeks, perhaps months, before she would be able to go about her usual duties and occupations.

A book lay upon Mrs. Bradford's lap, but she was not reading. She sat watching the busy fingers of her little daughter with a look that was somewhat anxious and troubled.

"There!" said Maggie at last, looking up from her letter with a satisfied air; "when Bessie has put her name under mine it will be all done. Do you think Mrs. Porter will be able to make it out, mamma?"

"If she does not, I think it will be the fault of her eyes, and not of my Maggie's fingers," said Mrs. Bradford, smiling as she looked at the large, plain letters upon the sheet which Maggie held up before her. "That is very well done, my daughter; and Mrs. Porter will be gratified when she sees how much pains you have taken."

Well pleased at her mother's praise, which she certainly deserved, Maggie carefully laid by her letter until Bessie should be awake to sign it, and then came back to mamma's side for a little petting and loving.

"Maggie, darling," said Mrs. Bradford presently, laying her thin hand caressingly on the rosy cheek which nestled against her shoulder, "how should you like to go to school?"

Maggie raised her head quickly.

"O mamma!" she exclaimed.

Mrs. Bradford had fully expected to see just such a look, and hear just such a tone; but she only said, "Well, dear?"

"Mamma, I never could bear it--never, never. Why, I suppose you would not teach us any longer then; and besides, mamma, strange girls go to school, do they not?"

"Girls who are strangers to you, you mean, dear?"

"Yes'm."

"Well, yes," said Mrs. Bradford slowly, for this was even a greater trial to her than it was to Maggie. "I suppose there would be some girls whom you did not know, but not a great many; for it would be but a small class to which I should send you. Do you remember that pleasant Miss Ashton whom you saw here one day, just after we came home from Chalecoo?"

"Yes'm; and we liked her looks so much."

"Well, she is going to have a class of little girls for two or three hours each day. Lily Norris, Gracie Howard, and one or two others whom you know, are to join it; and she came here to know if I would like you to do so. But I wished still to teach you myself this winter, and said 'no.' But now that I have been so ill, I feel that I must give up this pleasure, for it will not do for you to lose so much time. So, as Miss Ashton has still one or two places to be filled, I think I shall send you to her. You will not find it hard after the first day or two. Miss Ashton is a very kind, gentle young lady; you already know several of your classmates, and with the rest you will soon become acquainted. Miss Ashton's mother is to have a class of older girls, but they will be in another room, and need not interfere with you. With all this to make it easy and agreeable for you, do you not think you will be able to bear it?"

"I could not; indeed, mamma, I could not," said Maggie, making a great effort to speak steadily.

"Not if it would be a great help to your sick mother, dear?"

Maggie swallowed the lump in her throat, winked her eyes very hard to keep back the tears, and answered, "Yes, if it would be that, I could, mamma. I think I would do anything that would be a help to you, even if it did hurt my own feelings dreadfully."

"My own dear little girl!" said Mrs. Bradford, tenderly kissing the flushed face which looked up into hers so wistfully. "But I do not believe you will find this as hard a trial as you imagine, Maggie. After the first day or two, I hope you will not only be quite willing to go to school, but that you will really take pleasure in it."

Maggie shook her head very dolefully.

"That could never be, mamma; but I will try not to feel too badly about it. But," with a look at her sleeping sister, "I am glad Bessie won't mind it so much as I will. She'll feel very badly to know you're not going to teach us any more, but then she won't care so much about the strange girls and the strange school."

Mrs. Bradford looked troubled. She had not imagined that Maggie thought she meant to send Bessie to school also, and now that she saw this was so, she knew what a blow it would be to the poor child to hear that her sister was not to go.

"My darling," she said, "we do not intend--your father and I--to send Bessie to school this winter. We think her too young, and not strong enough, and that much study would not be good for her."

Poor Maggie! This was more than she had bargained to "bear," the one drop too much in her full cup. She could no longer choke back her tears, but fell into a passion of sobbing and crying which her mother found it impossible for some minutes to quiet. It was only the recollection that her mamma was not to be worried, which at last helped the child to conquer it. And it was Bessie who put her in mind of this; for her sobs had roused her little sister, who, waking and slipping down from the sofa, came running to know what could be the matter with her usually merry, cheerful Maggie.

"Maggie, dear," said the thoughtful Bessie, "I'm very sorry for you, but you know the doctor said mamma was not to have any _ercitement_ or 'sturbance, and I'm 'fraid you're making one for her. I s'pose you forgot."

In another moment Maggie had checked her loud sobs, though the tears would not be controlled just yet; and, looking from her to her mother's anxious face, a new fear came into Bessie's mind.

"Mamma," she said, looking wistfully up at her mother, "is our Father going to make you worse again, and take you away from us after all?"

"No, my darling; I trust not," said Mrs. Bradford. "Maggie's trouble is by no means so great a one as that--is it, dear Maggie? I have just been telling her that she is to go to school this winter, and she is rather distressed; but she will soon feel better about it. She will only be away for two or three hours each day, and will soon be quite accustomed to her new teacher and her classmates, and learn to like them."

Bessie looked very sober, and, after a moment, she said, with a long sigh,--

"Well, dear mamma, you know it is a pretty great trial to think you can't teach us now; but we'll try not to mind it so much as to make you feel bad, and maybe I can help Maggie to get used to the girls and the teacher, 'cause you know I am not so shy as she is, and I s'pose I'll 'come acquainted with them sooner than she will. And if we don't like the other girls very much, we won't mind it when we have each other--need we, Maggie?" and she took her sister's hand with a tender, protecting air, which was both amusing and touching to see.

So the little one herself was also taking it for granted that, since Maggie was to go to school, she was to go too.

It was only natural, as the mother knew. They had never been separated. One never half enjoyed a pleasure unless the other shared it; and all their childish troubles were made lighter and easier to bear, because they were together, and could give comfort and help to one another; and Mrs. Bradford was sure it would be as great a blow to Bessie as it had been to Maggie to know that they were to be parted even for two or three hours each day.

"But I mean to keep my Bessie at home with me," she said, trying to speak cheerfully; "and every day, when Maggie comes back, she will tell us all she has seen and learned; and it will be nice to watch for her, and have some little pleasure ready for her when she returns to us, will it not?"

"Mamma," said Bessie, struggling with herself, lest she too should break down in tears, and so distress her mother, but still speaking with a very quivering voice,--"Mamma, you never could mean that Maggie is to go to school without me, could you? You are making rather a bad joke, are you not?"

The beseeching voice, the pleading eyes, and trembling lips, went straight to the mother's heart, and would not let her smile at the innocent ending of Bessie's speech.

"I really mean what I say, darling," she answered. "Papa and I have talked it all over; and, although we know it is hard for you and Maggie to be separated even for a little while, we do not think it best for you to go. You are not very strong, and it would not be well for you to study much for a year or two. If you were with other children, you might try too hard, for you know you do not like to be left behind; and as you can read pretty well now, we think we will let you be a lazy little girl for this winter, and keep you at home to take care of mamma."

"Mamma," said Bessie earnestly, "you know I'd rather be with you than anywhere, even with my own Maggie; and I only want to go to school on 'count of Maggie's sake. But you have a great many people to take care of you, 'cause papa or grandmamma or one of the aunties stays with you all the time; and poor Maggie would be so very lonesome without any of her own people. And, mamma, it seems pretty queer to want a little girl to be lazy; but, if you'd like me to, I'll be so very lazy that Miss Ashton will say, 'Go to the ant, thou sluggard!'"

Mrs. Bradford could not help smiling; but she said, "That might do, dear, if Miss Ashton were to teach no one but yourself and Maggie; but she would probably think it would not answer to have a little girl in her class who could not do as the others did. She might say it would be a bad example, or that the rest might think it was not fair."

"But, mamma," pleaded Bessie, "don't you think if you told Miss Ashton how very fond Maggie and I are of each other, and how badly she would feel if she had to go without me, it might have a little persuasion for her? You know you were very kind to her when her father died, and maybe she would like to have some gratitude for you."

"I daresay Miss Ashton would be very glad to please me, Bessie; but she has to consider not so much what she would like, as what is right and best to do. However, she is coming here this afternoon for my answer about Maggie, and I will ask her if she can make any arrangement that will do for you. If she can, then we will see what papa says; but I do not wish either of you to think too much about it, lest you should be disappointed in the end."

Mamma talked to them a little longer, trying to persuade them to look on the bright side of this, to them, great trouble; till Bessie, noticing how weak her voice was, and how pale she looked, asked if she were not tired. Mamma said, "yes," and that she thought she must rest a while if she were to see Miss Ashton that afternoon.

This was enough for the tender little nurses; and grandmamma, who had left them in charge, coming in soon after, found Mrs. Bradford asleep on the sofa, with Maggie gently rubbing her feet and Bessie as softly threading her fingers through her mother's hair. But, quiet as they were, their thoughts were very busy and their hearts very full; and Maggie, contrary to her usually cheerful spirit, had been imagining all kinds of disagreeable occurrences which might happen to her at school, and looking upon herself quite as a little martyr; and now, as her grandmamma nodded and smiled at her, she was surprised, not only to see the traces of tears on her cheeks, but also that her eyes were still swimming; while Bessie's face wore the piteous look it always did when anything had distressed her. Seeing that Mrs. Bradford was fast asleep, and would not be disturbed if her children ceased their loving tending, she beckoned them into their own room, where, sitting down on a low chair she lifted Bessie on her lap, and, drawing Maggie to her, asked what had grieved them.

Their trouble was soon told; but grandmamma, having known before that the thing was to be, was not surprised, nor as shocked as Maggie had expected and hoped she would be. Now, perhaps some of you little girls, who know what a happy, pleasant place a school may be, will think our Maggie very foolish to dread it so much; but those among you who are shy and timid will have some idea of how she felt. Her fear of strangers was really a great cross to her, and she would even sometimes refuse some offered pleasure rather than be thrown with people whom she did not know. This was one reason why her mamma thought it was better for her to go to school, that being with other children might help to rub off this uncomfortable shyness, so troublesome to herself and her friends.

"Mr. Porter said once," said Maggie, when Bessie had finished her doleful story, "that God sometimes had to take away our blessings to teach us how much they were worth; and I'm afraid it's just for that He is punishing me this way, for I don't think I ever knew till now what a great blessing it was to have mamma teach me, and sometimes I even used to feel a little cross when she called us to our lessons. So I s'pose, when I was so ungrateful, He thought it was just good enough for me to go to a hateful old school, full of strange girls and a strange teacher and everything, and not Bessie to go, nor any one who loves me. Oh dear! oh dear!" and Maggie now gave way to the tears and sobs which she had checked before, for fear they should distress her sick mother.

Her grandmamma let her cry for a few moments, thinking it might make her feel better; but, when she was quieter, she said gently, "I do not think you are looking at this quite in the right way, dear Maggie."

"How, grandmamma?" asked Maggie, wiping her eyes.

"To look at it as a punishment, dear. I know this is a trial for you, indeed it seems to you now like a great hardship, though I trust you will learn to feel differently about it. But God does not always send trials as punishments."

"What then, grandmamma?"

"Well, He may send troubles to us to work out some good purpose of His own that we cannot know of, or they may even be sent as blessings, though we do not see it at the time."

"Oh," said Maggie, "I s'pose that was what Aunt Helen meant the other day when she talked about 'blessings in disguise.'"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Stanton; "but do you know what disguise means, Maggie?"

"Yes'm," said Maggie. "It means to dress yourself up so that nobody would know you; and if my going to school is a blessing, I think it is a very disguised one _indeed_."

Mrs. Stanton could not help smiling a little, though she was sorry to hear Maggie's rebellions tone.

"Grandmamma," said Bessie, "do you think our Father has a purpose in having Maggie go to school?"

"Yes, dear. We may always be sure that whatever He orders for us is for some wise and holy purpose of His own. It may be He sees this will be good for Maggie, or He may have some work for her to do for Him."

"But I know I could work and study a great deal better at home with my own mamma and my own Bessie, than I could in a hateful school with a cross, ugly teacher," said Maggie.

"O Maggie!" said Bessie, "Miss Ashton is not ugly. Don't you know we thought she looked so nice and pleasant? And I don't believe she is cross either, or mamma would not let you go to her."

"No," said grandmamma: "Miss Ashton is neither cross nor ugly; but Maggie is looking at her and at her school through the spectacles of discontent, which hide all that is good, and make all that is bad appear far, far worse than the reality. Take them off, Maggie, and look at things with your own honest, cheerful, eyes. It may be that the great Teacher above has some lesson for you to learn that you do not know of--some special work for you to do for Him."

"I don't see how a little girl like me could do any work for Him in school, except to learn my lessons well," said Maggie, "and I could do that at home."

"When you were at Chalecoo last summer, did not the Lord Jesus give you work to do for Him, such as you had no thought of?"

"Yes," said Maggie, softened at once; "and it was a very happy work; and I am very glad He made us of a heart to do it."

"And if you ask Him, darling, He will always give you a heart to do the work He puts in your way," said grandmamma.

"But, grandmamma," said Maggie, "how could I find work for Him in school? Miss Ashton would not have children like Lem and Dolly in her class."

"No," answered Mrs. Stanton. "The children you will meet there are all probably more or less well taught; but you may still find something to do for Jesus. But the work which He gives us is not always that which we have chosen or planned for ourselves. It may be that your task will be only that of which you have just spoken--to learn your lessons well, to be obedient and respectful to Miss Ashton, gentle and patient with your schoolmates; yet all may be done for the love of Jesus, and to His glory and praise. There is a lovely hymn which asks that one may be made more careful to please God perfectly than to serve Him much. That means that it is far more pleasing to Him to have us take up cheerfully and gratefully the small duty which lies straight before us, than it is to have us pass that by while we search for some more grand task, or self-sacrifice, which we may choose to think is His work. I can tell you a story of a great mistake which I made in that way once. Would you like to hear it?"

The children both assented eagerly, and settled themselves comfortably to listen to grandmamma's story.