CHAPTER XII.

LIES OF MALIGNITY.

IT was near a fortnight later that one evening Miss Granby, the teacher, called at Dr. Collins's. Ellen, who ran joyfully to the door to meet her, noticed that she was unusually grave.

"I called to see you on business," said the lady when Mrs. Collins entered the parlor.

Ellen instantly rose to leave the room, blushing violently as she did so. There was something in Miss Granby's manner which she could not understand.

"I wish you would not leave the house," added the teacher, seriously; "I wish to talk with you before I go."

"What can it mean?" the young girl asked herself, retiring to her favorite seat in the bay window. "Perhaps something has happened at home, and they are afraid to tell me."

It was scarcely ton minutes before she heard her aunt speaking in a loud, excited manner.

"It can't be true," she said, in a positive tone.

"Call her and see what she will say," was the reply, in Miss Granby's voice.

The next moment she was standing before them in the parlor.

"Ellen," said her aunt, gazing searchingly in her face, "your teacher has heard some strange rumors about you; but I think you can explain everything fully to my satisfaction. She says you have visited Josey Maxwell."

Ellen started and grew very red, which was not unnoticed by either lady.

"That while there you talked against your teachers, and some of your schoolmates, whose conduct you called too strict; that you mimicked Miss Granby's words and tone; that you complained of being unhappy here, everybody was so pious, and declared your intention of writing to your father to take you home; worse than all, it is reported that you talked in an indelicate and improper manner of a young man, whose name Miss Granby cannot recollect. Now, what do you say to all this, my dear?"

While Mrs. Collins had been speaking, Ellen twitched her hand from her aunt and stood quivering with passion, looking defiantly in her teacher's face.

"It's all a lie,—a wicked lie!" she exclaimed, with more passion than her aunt had ever seen in her before. "I never thought of mimicking my teacher or making fun of her in any way; I told Josey—" She checked herself in great confusion and then went on. "I couldn't talk against her, for I always loved her before to-day. You know, aunty, that I love you and Uncle Collins and all the family dearly; and that I never was so happy as since I came to live with you. All I ever said about writing to father was to beg him to come and live here too."

Miss Granby pursed up her mouth, and looked unconvinced; but Mrs. Collins said, soothingly,—

"Don't get excited, Ellen; I believe all you say. Now what is it about the young man?"

"I don't remember any young man being mentioned."

"Then you do acknowledge going to visit Josey after she was dismissed in disgrace from the school, and that, too, without the consent of your aunt?"

The tone was slightly exultant, and grated harshly on Mrs. Collins's ears.

"Yes, I did go. I'll tell you sometime, aunt, how it happened."

"And what did you talk about?"

Ellen burst into tears.

Mrs. Collins looked astonished; Miss Granby, confirmed in her worst opinion.

"Try to control yourself, my poor child," said the former, leading Ellen to a chair, and laying her hand on the hot temples. "I feel quite confident that you meant to do right. Take time, and tell us what was said during your visit."

"I can't! I can't! I mustn't tell; it would be a lie!"

"You see, now, that I was right," urged the teacher, sitting very erect, and smiling unpleasantly. "If there were no wrong, there would be no concealment."

Ellen, uncovering her face, saw that her aunt was very pale; and, with a cry of anguish, screamed out,—

"She is making you hate me! You are beginning to believe her! Oh, dear! But I'll go to Uncle Collins. He will be my friend, and Frank will know I'm not guilty!" And, with a fresh burst of grief, she rushed from the room.

Her aunt immediately followed her and, by caresses, sought to convince the poor child that her confidence was unimpaired. When she had somewhat soothed her, they went back to the parlor where Miss Granby sat firm and unbending. She was a good woman; but her dignity had been deeply wounded by the liberties taken with her name; and fully believing in her pupil's guilt, she took no pains to conceal her feelings.

The doctor's gig at this moment drove into the yard; and Ellen, who heard his voice, said, eagerly,—

"There's uncle! Mayn't I ask him to come in?"

The gentleman presently made his appearance and gazed inquiringly at one and another, as if waiting for an explanation of the scene.

"Uncle," cried Ellen, "if I make a promise not to tell anything, wont it be a lie if I should tell?"

"Certainly; or, rather, it would be breaking your promise."

"I went to Josey Maxwell's once. I used to know her at school; and I felt very sorry for her disgrace, because I couldn't help thinking that I—you know."

"Yes, pet, I know."

"One day I was walking by, and she came out and urged me to go in. I thought at first I wouldn't, and then—" She leaned forward and whispered in her uncle's ear.

"Very right; very well, child."

"I stayed a good while, and when I come away, Josey promised to do what I had been asking her, if I would promise not to tell that I had called there, and what we had been talking about. I promised the first unless I was asked, and said certainly I wouldn't tell the last."

"Now," said Mrs. Collins, "there are sad reports concerning that visit, all of which Ellen indignantly denies."

"But not quite to my satisfaction, I must confess," added the teacher, with a forced smile.

"From whom do these reports come?"

"I have traced them to Josey herself."

"Will you repeat them?"

She did so without a word of comment.

"Pshaw such stories are simply absurd. We know our Ellen too well to believe such nonsense. She has become a truthful girl, Miss Granby; and it will take a good deal more than the testimony of a miss who has been convicted of lying as often as Josey Maxwell has, to make me doubt her word."

"If there was nothing wrong in the conversation," murmured the lady, "what motive could there have been for concealment?"

"Ellen, look me in the face," said her uncle, in his abrupt way. "Was there anything in the conversation alluded to which you would be ashamed to tell me or your aunt?"

"Oh, no, indeed, sir! I was only—Yes, now I do remember a boy's name; it was Hiram Jenkins, at the store. I was—But I mustn't repeat it. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go right away with you to Josey's house and ask her to let me tell you."

"Yes, that will do finely. Miss Granby, I make a request that you will remain here till I return."

Not a word was spoken during the short ride, though the doctor could see how closely every variation in his countenance was watched by the excited child.

Unfortunately, Josey was away from home for a visit of a week, and the explanation was, therefore, necessarily postponed.

"I wish I might tell you, uncle," said Ellen, when she had again squeezed herself into her seat beside the doctor in his buggy. "I couldn't think why she should wish to keep it secret."

Mrs. Collins was greatly disappointed. "Not on my own account," she said, "but in order to satisfy Miss Granby that our confidence in Ellen is deserved."

"You and I are satisfied; aren't we, pet?" added the merry doctor, tapping her cheek.

"I'm sorry Miss Granby don't believe me," faltered the poor child, after a glance into the teacher's uncompromising face.

"That is not of the slightest consequence," the doctor began, when, meeting a cautionary glance from his wife, he added, "compared with the approval of your own conscience. Miss Granby does not know you as well as we do, or she would not have been so ready to believe a report coming from such a source."

The teacher suddenly remembered that Dr. Collins was chairman of the school committee, and that her capabilities as an instructor might be questioned after this. She made an awkward attempt to justify the proceeding and then took her leave.

The half-hour passed at the supper table was usually a merry one; but on this occasion, no one seemed disposed to talk. Ellen ate mechanically, her thoughts appearing absorbed in a reverie; and Mary, who had heard what had passed, having been especially requested by her mother not to allude to the subject for the present.

The doctor, having listened to all the particulars of the teacher's visit, had ventured the remark to his wife that personal pique at hearing herself ridiculed had prompted the interview,—that he was mistaken in the woman, having always before considered her a person of good sense.

At last Ellen broke the silence by exclaiming,—

"And I loved her so dearly!"

"Loved whom, pet?"

"Miss Granby. Uncle, will you go to Mr. Maxwell's when Josey comes home?"

"I'll see about it."

The next morning, Ellen was learning her lessons as usual, after a great struggle in her own room for grace to forgive her teacher's unkind looks, when her aunt said,—

"I'll hear your recitations to-day, my dear. Go on and commit them as usual."

Ellen embraced her aunt in a rapturous manner.

"How could anybody believe I wanted to go away from this dear home," she said, eagerly, "when you are such a darling mother to me."

Still Ellen did not seem quite happy. Several times during the day her aunt saw her sitting lost in thought. She was wondering what motive could have induced Josey to tell such dreadful lies about her, and whether her innocence would ever be proved. Another thing also troubled her. She was afraid that she had indulged in anger toward her teacher and that God was displeased. Even now she found it difficult to say, "I can forgive her;" how, then, could she repeat the Lord's Prayer, "Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors"?

On the Sabbath, Ellen passed Miss Granby in the porch, and though blushing painfully, held out her hand as usual to the lady. Mrs. Collins was deeply grieved to see that the teacher took no notice of the friendly salutation.

The next afternoon, the doctor in driving from one patient to another, stopped at the house and beckoned Ellen, who sat at the window, to come to the door.

"Tell your aunt," he said, "that she is to have company to tea. The lady will be here about five, and I'll try to be at home by that time."

The doctor and his guest came up the yard together. He was in high spirits, while the lady looked anxious.

Ellen ran to the door to meet her uncle and give him her usual kiss of welcome. Miss Granby bowed rather stiffly.

After tea, the doctor ushered his company into the parlor, and then began in rather a formal manner,—

"I have seen Miss Josey—"

"Oh, uncle, I'm so glad—"

"Hush, pet! I have the floor now. I saw the young lady. I had considerable difficulty in bringing her to the point, but finally overcame her objections, and prevailed on her to put her confession in writing. Here it is, and I do not hesitate to declare the statements she made regarding Ellen as lies of first-rate malignity; lies which any person acquainted with our pet could scarcely credit."

He passed the paper to his wife, who read as follows:—

"I, Josey Maxwell, do hereby confess that every word I reported concerning the conversation that passed between Ellen Saunders and myself was false,—that I told the story because I hated her for being a favorite among the scholars; and for reporting that I whispered in the class; and because she talked to me on the subject of lying. It was for the same reason I made her promise not to relate what had passed between us, from which promise she is now free.

"JOSEY MAXWELL."

It was curious to watch the countenance of Ellen as her aunt read the above. Joy, surprise, and contempt expressed themselves by turn on her beaming face. At the close, she heaved a great sigh of relief, and clasping her hands, said, softly,—

"Aunt told me it was safe to trust in God."

Next to Ellen, Dr. Collins was interested to watch the effect of the letter on Miss Granby. He was pleased to see her slyly wipe a tear from her eye, and then, with something of a struggle between her pride and conviction of duty, she rose, and approaching her pupil, said, with real feeling,—

"I have been grievously mistaken, Ellen; I really believed from your confession that you were guilty. Will you forgive me?"

Ellen caught her hand and kissed it repeatedly, exclaiming, eagerly,—

"I love you now just as well as I did before. I was vexed at first; but I remembered that you couldn't trust me as well as you can Mary, because I used to tell falsehoods, you know."

"I shall always trust you in future, my dear child. You have taught me more than one lesson by your ready forgiveness."

"So that you no longer wonder that her old uncle doats on her," said the doctor, laughing, as he seated his niece on his knee. "But you must pity poor Josey. She had a bitter pill to swallow this morning. It needed all the influence of the lawyer I took with me to induce her to take it."