CHAPTER VIII

GERTIE'S PENITENCE

GERTIE'S state of mind in the days which followed her act of deception was miserable beyond description. Again and again her mother's words seemed to ring in her ears:

"God, who sees the wrong, will one day set it right."

Ah! If only she had not yielded to the temptation.

The faithful voice of Conscience would not let her rest. It spoke to her in the silences of the night, and upon awaking Gertie seemed to hear again the still, small voice.

At last the little girl felt that she could bear it no longer, and determined to confess it all to her mother.

Then, when the moment came, her courage oozed out of her finger-tips, and she kept her own unhappy secret still locked in her bosom.

Poor Gertie at this time, was more to be pitied than even little Ella herself. It so happened that on the day when Rupert purchased Marcia's birthday present, Gertie chanced to come upon Ella in tears, over her schoolwork, during the dinner hour.

"What's the matter?" she asked in a concerned voice.

"My head is aching so," replied the child, "I don't feel as if I could learn anything."

"Let me help you," said Gertie, looking over her shoulder.

Ella's task was a returned lesson in geography.

"Oh if you only would, Gertie, I think I should soon know it."

Gertie then coached the little girl in her somewhat lengthy lesson, and within the space of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the difficulties were all surmounted.

"Thank you ever so much, Gertie," cried Ella, when her lesson was perfectly learnt; "you are kind and good to me."

"Which is more than you deserve," said a girl who, in passing by, chanced to hear the remark. "I wouldn't have anything to do with a story-teller like you."

Ella's colour flushed into her cheeks, leaving her afterwards so white that Gertie was frightened.

"Don't you mind what she says," whispered she; "disagreeable little cat—that's what I call her!"

With this, Gertie glanced angrily at the retreating figure of the offender.

But Ella was now sobbing bitterly. "Sometimes I think," said she, "I can't bear it much longer."

Could Ella but have known it, her trouble was nearly at an end. That same afternoon in school Gertie was strangely unlike herself. Several times she glanced in Ella's direction, and to her imagination the child she had so cruelly wronged, seemed as if she were slowly pining away.

She pictured her breaking down beneath the load of false accusation; she even went further, and thought of her as cold and still in death.

"Mother and the rest would cover her little coffin with flowers," mused she with a strangled sob; "but I couldn't put any there, because I gave her only thorns in her lifetime."

At this juncture, to the surprise of everybody, Gertie Snowden leaned her head on the desk, and burst into a passion of tears. Ella, for the moment utterly forgetful of school discipline, went straight out of her seat and asked her eagerly what was the matter.

"Aren't you well, Gertie?" she cried.

"What is it?"

Never before had Gertie been seen to cry in school and the effect was electrical.

"Go to your seat, Ella," said Miss Merton in a dignified voice; "I'll attend to Gertie."

"No, no, let her stay," sobbed Gertie, hysterically; "only Ella can do me any good."

"Explain yourself," said the governess in bracing tones, for she had a great objection to a scene.

"I can't bear it any longer, Miss Merton," faltered Gertie unhappily. "Ella didn't use the Key at all. It was I who took it, and—and hid it in her desk."

The miserable confession was out at last.

"Why did you wish to injure Ella Russell?" queried Miss Merton in her coldest tone.

Ella almost hung upon Genie's answer.

"I didn't mean to injure her at all," sobbed the girl. "I put the book in the nearest desk I could find, because I wanted to hide it in a hurry."

Ella felt a tremendous throb of relief—relief in being cleared in the eyes of her school-fellows, and also in knowing that Gertie had not injured her in malice. Miss Merton was silent for a while, grieved to the heart for having so misjudged one of her little pupils.

"Speak to me, Miss Merton," at last cried poor Gertie; "say you forgive me."

"I think," replied the lady gravely, "it is for Ella to say that."

Then Ella, who had remained by Gertie's side, notwithstanding Miss Merton's command, put her arms around the little girl's neck, and kissed her before the whole class. At this spontaneous action more than one pair of eyes grew moist and dim.

"Ella, are you sure you forgive me?" said Gertie, now utterly repentant. "I've been so horrid to you, and now—"

"Now," interrupted Ella, tears standing in her own eyes, "you're as brave as a lion."

Little else was said, but of this one thing Gertie Snowden was assured, namely, Ella's full and complete forgiveness.

So touched was Dorothy Grey by the whole scene, that her slumbering conscience awoke at last.

Rising to her feet, she said, her cheeks crimson with shame—

"Miss Merton, may I speak a minute?"

"Yes, Dorothy," came the answer; "what have you to say?"

"Please, Gertie isn't the only one who has used a Key for her arithmetic—I have done so several times."

Poor Miss Merton looked grieved beyond measure.

"Girls, girls," she said, "how could you deceive me so?" The plaintive note in her voice was rendered more effective by the tears of genuine distress in her eyes. Then, recovering both her composure and her dignity, she went on: "I shall not discuss the matter any further now; the only thing I have to say is just this—in the name of myself, and the whole school, I wish to apologize to Ella Russell for the false accusation which has been laid to her charge. Ella,—" here she looked kindly into her little pupil's face—"you have been brave and patient under trial, my child, and no one is more truly glad than I am that your name is cleared of all stain."

A short while after this, school broke up. As it befell that afternoon, neither Kenneth or Rupert managed to catch the four-thirty train, and, in consequence of this, Gertie and Marcia reached home first.

Mrs. Snowden was greatly concerned on seeing the two children arrive with tearstained faces. Marcia, although she was not present when Gertie confessed her wrongdoing, had heard all about it, and her loving little heart was sore within her.

"My dear children," asked Mrs. Snowden, "what is the matter? Surely nothing has happened to the boys!"

"No," said Marcia, "they just missed the train. We could see them coming into the station as we started off."

"Oh well, there's another about twenty minutes later, so that's not a serious matter."

As neither of the girls volunteered anything further, Mrs. Snowden pressed inquiries. Then came out, with sobs and tears, the whole unhappy story.

The mother's face grew grave and sorrowful as she listened, her disappointment being almost too deep for words.

"Gertie," said she, at the close, "I would never have believed that a child of mine could do such a thing, and I trusted you so implicitly. Poor little Ella, how hard and cruel it has all been for her!"

Gertie sobbed again, her heaviest grief being that she had proved unworthy of her mother's trust. Oh, the sting of it all Gertie felt almost in despair.

"Mother," she cried, "it will just break my heart if you don't forgive me."

Mrs. Snowden's arms were immediately outstretched, and, with her eyes full of tears, she drew her sorrowful little daughter into her embrace.

"Dear child," said she tremulously, "there is One other of Whom you must ask forgiveness; you know Whom I mean."

"Yes, mother," sobbed Gertie, "you mean God, don't you? I've been asking Him in my heart, lots of times, but I don't feel somehow as if He heard me."

"He always hears, Gertie, be sure of that," was the answer; "and for your comfort, let me remind you, 'the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.'"

Then followed a quiet talk with mother, which neither Gertie or Marcia were ever likely to forget.

Not very long afterwards the boys returned home, brimming over with indignation at Gertie's dishonour.

Before making their way into the dining-room, they deposited the monkey in the stables, giving the little creature a certain amount of freedom on her chain.

As soon as they opened the dining-room door, they could see that something serious was the matter.