CHAPTER IV.

_SCHOOLMATES._

At twelve o'clock Miss Ashton dismissed her class, and the large girls in the other room had a recess; but Maggie and Bessie did not go home immediately, for Maggie had a music-lesson to take for half an hour, and her sister waited for her. During this time, she had leave to amuse herself as she pleased; for Mrs. and Miss Ashton soon found she was a child who could be trusted, and that there was no need to watch her lest she should get into mischief.

Sometimes, if the day were fine and mild, Miss Ashton would put on her wrappings, and let her run in the queer old garden, and make acquaintance with the pigeons and peacocks who lived there. Sometimes she would look at a picture-book, or at some shells Miss Ashton would lend her, or draw on her own slate; and sometimes she would be carried off by some of the larger girls, with whom she soon became a great pet, and who found much amusement in her wise, ladylike little ways and droll sayings. But her great enjoyment was to stand at the windows of the back schoolroom, which looked out over the garden and vacant lots, and watch the boys at their play.

During school-hours, the doors between the rooms were sometimes open, sometimes shut, as was most convenient; and Maggie was always very glad when the latter was the case, for that pair of black eyes continued to be a great disturbance to her even after she had learned to know and like their owner. This was Miss Kate Maynard--a bright, merry, mischievous girl, full of fun and spirits, which she did not always keep in proper check, so that, though she was a generous, kind-hearted girl, she was often bringing herself and others into trouble. More than one lesson had not yet taught her that--

"Evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as by want of heart."

It did not enter her mind for one moment that she was causing real suffering to that timid little child in the other room by her teasing looks and signs and grimaces. It amused Kate to see how, against her own will, Maggie's eyes seemed drawn to hers, and how, after every new glance, her blushes grew deeper and deeper, and she fidgeted more and more uneasily on her seat. Katie Maynard would have been shocked at the thought of giving a blow or a pinch to the child, but Maggie would have readily taken the blow to be free from those tantalising eyes. It was "fun" to Katie, and she "did not think" what it cost the little girl.

On this first day at school, Miss Ashton asked Bessie how she would amuse herself while Maggie took her lesson; and the child, who did not yet feel quite at home, begged that she might go down to the parlour with her sister. Miss Ashton consented, but said she feared she would find it rather dull; and her words proved true. Bessie stood by in loving admiration while Maggie played over one of the simple airs her mother had taught her; but when it came to exercises, and "one, two, three--one, two, three," she found it pretty tiresome. She wandered around the room a few moments, and then, hearing the sound of laughing and talking in the hall, opened the door and looked out to see what was going on. Several of the older girls were there, and as soon as Bessie's little head appeared they saw and called to her.

"There's Bessie Bradford," said one.

"Oh, you dear little thing!" cried another; "come out here and talk to us."

Bessie hesitated a moment; and then, thinking it might be more amusing to talk to the young ladies than to stay quiet and hear Maggie practising, went slowly towards them. In an instant Katie Maynard snatched her up in her arms, and, after waltzing gaily through the hall with her, brought her back to the stairs, where she seated herself with her prize upon her knee, and four or five other girls gathered about them.

"How old are you, Bessie?" asked one.

"Six years and a half," answered Bessie; "and when I have another birthday, I'll be seven."

"Here's a doughnut for you, Bessie," said another.

"No, thank you," said Bessie. "Mamma never gives me doughnuts."

"You'd better have it," said the young lady. "It is very nice, and there's a big raisin in the middle."

Bessie looked longingly at the doughnut, for she felt rather hungry, and it certainly looked very nice; but she shook her head decidedly.

"No, thank you," she said again.

"Did your mamma forbid you ever to eat them?" said the young lady.

"She did not say we must not; but it's just the same," said Bessie; "for she never gives them to us, and I do not think it is a kind of cake she would like us to eat."

"And so you came to school 'to be of use to your sister, and to be lazy,' did you?" asked Kate Maynard.

"I believe I made a little mistake about that," answered the child. "Miss Ashton made me understand it better; and, when I go home, I am going to ask mamma if she is right."

"I don't see how you dared to speak out to Mrs. Ashton about it," said Fanny Berry. "Where did you get so much pluck, you little mite?"

"Were you not afraid?" asked Kate.

"Yes'm, a little. But then you see I _had_ to tell her."

"And why did you _have_ to tell her?"

"'Cause I was afraid she was 'specting me to do what mamma did not want me to do."

"But if mamma had said you were not to play much, would you have been in such a hurry to tell Mrs. Ashton?" asked Fanny.

"You need not ask that, after the doughnut," said Kate, before Bessie could speak.

"Are you always so particular about doing as your mamma wishes, whether she knows it or not?" said the young lady who had offered the doughnut.

"Why, yes," said Bessie. "Are not you?"

At this, two or three of the girls laughed; and Kate Maynard said, "That shoe pinches: does it not, Mary? No indeed, Bessie: filial obedience and respect are not among Mary Morton's weaknesses."

"Do you mean she don't mind her mother?" asked Bessie, looking up with astonishment at Miss Morton, who coloured, tossed her head, and then laughed.

"Something that way," answered Kate.

"I am no worse than others," said Mary.

"I don't know," said Kate. "I do not set myself up for being very good, and I own I am not always as considerate and dutiful to my mother as I should be: but I do not think my conscience would give me much rest if I spoke to her the way you do to your mother, Mary."

"Your conscience need not trouble itself about my doings," said Mary sharply.

"But, Bessie," put in Fanny Berry, anxious to turn aside the threatened quarrel, "suppose your mother told you to do one thing, and Miss Ashton told you to do just the opposite. What then?"

"Course I'd mind my own mamma," said Bessie; "but I don't believe Miss Ashton would tell me to do what mamma did not want me to. I think she is very good and nice, and I am sure she wouldn't want little girls to be dis'bedient."

"Maybe not," said Fanny. "But suppose she ordered you to do something which your mamma had not forbidden, but of which you were sure she would disapprove: how then?"

"I'd say, 'Please to 'scuse me, ma'am; but 'tis quite unpossible.'"

The girls laughed.

"But you are expected to mind your teachers when you come to school," said Kate; "and you promised Mrs. Ashton you would be obedient; did you not?"

"Yes," said Bessie, "but"--she paused, and leaned her cheek thoughtfully on one little hand, while she drew the forefinger of the other slowly over the buttons of Kate's dress. She knew very well how she felt about it herself, and that she was right; but she could not seem to make these teasing girls understand how it was. She had a suspicion that they were laughing at her too; and she began to feel angry, as was plainly to be seen by her rising colour and trembling lip; and Kate, who was already sorry for her carelessness in troubling the sensitive conscience and puzzling the thoughtful little head, said coaxingly, "You are not vexed, Bessie?"

Bessie looked gravely at her for a moment; and then, as the angry flush faded away, she answered, "I believe I was going to be."

"And you've changed your mind, have you?" asked Mary Morton.

"I think I ought to be sorry for you," said the child.

"Why?" asked Fanny.

"'Cause you don't have such wise and good mammas as mine to give you understanding of what is right without bothering little girls like me who don't know the best way to talk about it," answered Bessie, with an air of grave reproof which was extremely amusing to the girls, who now laughed uproariously.

Bessie tried hard to slip from Kate Maynard's knee; but the young lady held her fast, saying,--

"We've caught it now, girls, and served us right too. Sit still, Bessie; you shall not be teased any more."

"You cannot make the two duties agree--eh, Bessie?" said Julia Grafton. "Well, you are not the first person who has been troubled in that way."

The word "duty" brought a thought to Bessie's mind; and suddenly looking up, with the light breaking over her face, she exclaimed,--

"Now I know everything about it! God gave me to mamma for her own little girl, to mind her _first_, and to do everything I know she will like. That is the nearest duty, and I must not let anything put me away from it. But mamma has a great deal of wisdom and care for her children, and if she did not have such trust in Miss Ashton to make us do the things she likes, I know she would not send Maggie and me to her. So we are to mind Miss Ashton all we can, without dis'beying mamma."

"Pretty well reasoned," said Julia; and Kate, giving Bessie a squeeze and a kiss, exclaimed,--

"You know a thing or two, do you not?"

"I did not know that of myself," said Bessie. "The other day grandmamma told us a story to show us how we must first do the duty we were quite sure about; and when that young lady spoke about two duties, it made me think how it was."

Her hearers smiled, and looked approvingly at one another; but there was something in the child's simple honesty and innocence which touched even these thoughtless school-girls, and kept them from putting into words their wonder and admiration at the clear, straightforward way in which she had helped herself out of the difficulty into which they, in their love of mischief, had brought her.

Kate kept her word, and did not allow Bessie to be annoyed or teased any more; but her little head was still puzzled by some of the things she had heard these great girls say. She put by these thoughts, however, till she should be able to speak to her mother about them, and chatted away sociably with Kate and the others till Maggie had finished her lesson and Jane came to take them home.

"There's straightforward honesty and wise simplicity for you," said Kate Maynard, as the front door closed behind the two little girls and their nurse, and the bell rang to call herself and her schoolmates back to their studies.

"She won't be quite so squeamishly truthful and obedient when she has been at school a month," said Julia Grafton.

"I don't know about that," said Kate. "I believe she will. It is easy to see that truth and obedience are not only matters of habit, but matters of conscience with her; and I do not think she is a child whom it will be easy to turn from what she believes to be right."

"Wait till she's tried, and you'll see," said Mary Morton. "It don't do to be too particular at school. One would be in all kinds of trouble."

"I have not generally found that strict truth and honesty were so apt to bring people into trouble, as the contrary," said Fanny Berry drily, as they entered the schoolroom.

"Well, my darlings," said mamma, as the two bright faces appeared before her, "you do not look as if school were such a sad affair after all."

"Oh no, mamma!" said Maggie; "it is not sad at all, but a very nice affair. We like it very much, and Miss Ashton is so kind, and teaches us so interestingly. But I like it best when the doors are shut, and the young ladies in the other room can't see me."

"And what does my Bessie say?" asked Mrs. Bradford.

Bessie had quite as much to say in praise of the new school, and the little tongues ran on till mamma had been told of all they had heard and seen that morning.

"And, mamma," said Maggie, "I've found out that something was true that grandmamma told me the other day. She said my shyness might stand in the way of my being of good to others; and this morning I found how it could be. There was a little girl whose mother was dead, and she was shy too, and felt very sad; and I wanted to say a kind thing to her, but somehow I couldn't. But Bessie went and spoke to her, and was of great comfort to her; and so I saw what grandmamma meant, and why I ought to try and cure myself of being shy."

"My dear little girl!" said her mother tenderly; and in her heart she thanked God that her child was so ready to take to heart and learn the lesson she needed.

Then she asked about the little one who had lost her dear mother; and when she heard that her name was Belle Powers, she said that, when she was a young lady, she had a very intimate friend who had married a gentleman named Powers, and moved away to the South; but for many years she had heard nothing of her; and she now wondered if she might not have been Belle's mother. What made her think so was, that her friend's own name had been Belle. If it were really so, she would like to be kind to the little child for her mother's sake, as well as her own.

Bessie told her that Belle had no brothers or sisters; and how Miss Ashton had said that her papa had sent her to school thinking that it might do her good, and make her forget her grief, to be with other children; and that they must all remember that she was lonely and sorrowful, and be very kind to her.

Mrs. Bradford was very sorry for little Belle, and she said the children might tell her to ask her father to let her come home with them some day after school, and have a good play in their merry, happy nursery. Of course, Maggie and Bessie immediately became anxious to have the day fixed, and mamma said if they were to do a kind thing it might as well be done at once; so they could ask Belle for the next day but one.

Bessie told her mother of the mistake she had made, and how Miss Ashton had explained it to her; and mamma said their teacher was quite right, and that she should herself have made Bessie understand more plainly what she wished her to do.

"But, mamma," said the little girl, "there was one thing that was very strange. Those young ladies in Mrs. Ashton's class seemed to think it was very surprising that I told her what I thought you meant me to do, and I almost think they would not have told her themselves; and they troubled me so about minding you that I hardly knew how it was. I think they might have been doing something better; don't you, mamma?"

Mrs. Bradford asked what she meant, and Bessie told all that had passed between herself and the girls.

Mamma said she had answered very well; and that she was glad she knew what was right herself, whether she had made the others understand it or no.

"And you were quite right about Miss Ashton, my darling," she said; "for if I had not perfect confidence in her, and did not believe she would guide and teach my little girls as I would wish to do myself, I should not have put you under her care. And you must try to remember this, dear, if Miss Ashton should give you an order or rule which you think doubtful. Many things which would be right and proper for you at home would not be best in school; and, again, that which is wise and necessary in school would not do at home. In all this you must let her judge for you, and do as you are bid. Then you may afterwards tell me, and see what I have to say."

"Mamma," said Maggie, "I am afraid it will be harder to be good at school than it is at home."

"I daresay it will, Maggie: you will probably have some trials and temptations there which you would not have at home. But you must remember, dear, that our Father's strong and loving care is with us in the one place as well as in the other. When temptation creeps in, you have only to ask His help; and He will give you the strength and grace you need to bid it begone. And if we feel we are likely to be tempted, it must only make us all the more watchful, Maggie."

"Yes, mamma," said Maggie: "we must keep our hands all the more closely on the silver thread of conscience, and look all the more at the golden letters on the guide-posts, must we not?"

It was more than a year since Colonel Rush had first told his story of "Benito" to these dear children; but it never seemed to lose its freshness or interest for them; and he often wondered, and was grateful, as he saw how they had taken it home to themselves, making it fit into their own young lives, and of their own accord drawing all manner of sweet and useful lessons from it.

"And, grandmamma," continued Maggie to her grandmother, who was sitting by, "I found out this morning how there could be other work to do for Jesus in school besides studying and reciting well and obeying my teachers. I think Bessie was doing His work when she went and comforted Belle; and Gracie did a little bit of work for Him when she gave up her seat to her."

"Did my Maggie find nothing?" asked mamma.

"I'm most afraid I did not, mamma," said Maggie slowly; "at least, if I did, it was such a very little thing, it is not worth to speak about."

"But I should like to hear," said Mrs. Bradford.

"Well, mamma, Carrie Ransom had a copy-book with a blue cover, and I had one with a pink one, and Carrie liked the pink one best, and I said I would change with her; but it was not a very great thing to do, for I did not care much about the colour."

"But you did it because Carrie cared, and you wanted to be kind to her, did you not, dear?"

"Yes, mamma."

"And Jesus put it into your heart to do it; so was it not His work?"

"Yes, I believe so, mamma; and I remember now grandmamma said it was not so much what we did for God, as _how_ we did it, and _why_ we did it, that made it His own work."

A pleasant surprise awaited Maggie and Bessie that afternoon, while they were out with the other children and their nurses. Baby Annie was taking her first walk upon the pavement, led by her two proud little sisters, each holding a hand, while Mammy followed close behind.

The little one, enchanted with her new performance, was chattering away in her own sweet language, not in the least disturbed by the fact that no one but herself understood it; and Maggie and Bessie were watching and listening to her in delighted satisfaction, when a pleased voice exclaimed, "Oh, there they are! and a nice baby with them!" and Belle Powers came running up to them. She scarcely looked like the sad child of the morning, so glad was she to see them; and you may be sure she had a kind welcome from her young friends.

"I was just telling Daphne about you," she said, looking round at the old coloured woman who followed her, "and there you came. Was it not funny?"

The other children also thought it a rather remarkable circumstance, but a very pleasant one; and nurse, now saying that baby had walked far enough, took her up in her arms, and Belle took her place between the two little girls; old Daphne, delighted to see a smile on the sad face of her young charge, coming on with the other nurses.

Belle was soon told of mamma's invitation, and readily promised to ask her papa's permission to go home with Maggie and Bessie on Wednesday after school.

"Where do you live?" asked Bessie.

"Over there in that hotel," answered Belle.

"Why, do you?" said Bessie. "My soldier lives there too. He never told us about you."

"Who is your soldier?" asked Belle.

"Colonel Rush; don't you know him?"

"No," said Belle; "I never saw him."

"Why, how very queer to live in the same house and not to know him!" said Bessie; but Jane, who heard what they said, explained to them that people might live for months or years in that great building, and yet never know more of one another than if they lived in different cities. The children thought this very strange and unsociable; but Belle and the colonel were a proof that Jane's words were true.

"I think we'd better try to bring you acquainted with Uncle Horace and Aunt May," said Bessie; "they'll be very kind to you, I know."

"Did you never see us when we went to the hotel?" asked Maggie. "We go there very often."

"No," said Belle. "But then I have not been here very long. I used to live in my home."

"Where was that?" asked Bessie.

"Oh, in a great deal nicer place than this, far away down at the South," answered Belle.

"Oh!" said Maggie eagerly; "and what was your mamma's name?" she would have added, but, suddenly thinking that the mention of her mother might bring back the shadow to that sad little face, she checked herself.

She need not have feared. Her tongue once loosened on the subject of her beloved Southern home, Belle talked away about that and her dear mother in a manner which showed it did her good to speak of them; while her new friends listened with great interest.

"What was your mamma's name?" asked Maggie, at last venturing her interrupted question.

"Her name was Belle, like mine," said the child.

"Oh!" said Bessie joyfully; "then I think she must have been our mamma's friend."

"How very nice that would be!" said Maggie. "Belle, if your mamma and our mamma used to be friends, won't you be our 'inseparable'?"

"No," said Belle: "I don't think I'd like to be that kind of a thing."

"Do you know what it is?" asked Maggie, rather taken aback at this plump refusal to her friendly invitation.

"No," said Belle; "but it don't sound very nice."

"Oh, I think it sounds so nice!" said Maggie "It means to be very, very great friends, and to be very fond of each other, and tell each other all our secrets."

"I'd just as lief be, if it means that," said Belle. "I think you and Bessie are very good, and I am going to love you a great deal. But I don't have any secrets. Can you tell me yours if I don't have any?"

"Oh yes!" said Maggie; "and maybe some of these days you'll have some, and then you can tell us. But Bessie and I always tell our secrets to mamma, 'cause she says it is not right for little girls to have secrets from their mothers."

So the treaty was made, and things proved as the children had hoped they would; for it was made certain that Belle's mamma had been Mrs. Bradford's friend of bygone days; and her papa being only too thankful for the interest and sympathy the lady showed for his lonely little child, and that Belle should have as companions and playmates our well-behaved and ladylike Maggie and Bessie, the three children became very nearly what Maggie had desired--"inseparables."