Part 4

"Oh, Etty, how can you say so? I think they are so kind."

"They may be kind enough to you, but they are not kind to me," retorted Etty. "You know they are not, but you don't care what becomes of me. If you had loved mamma, you would not be so contented here. But you never did. I do really believe you are glad she is dead, because you know she always loved me the best."

Stella could bear a good deal from Etty, but this was too much. She burst into tears, and ran out of the room.

Etty, having succeeded in hurting somebody's feelings, began to feel better herself. She knew that she had uttered a wicked falsehood, but she did not mind what she said at such times. She grew quite cheerful over the wound she had inflicted on her unoffending sister, and by the time Miss Beach rang the bell, she was ready to come down-stairs singing and as pleasant as possible, her face making a great contrast to poor Stella's red eyes and trembling lips.

But cheerfulness which is built on the suffering of others is not likely to be very lasting, and a new cause of trouble soon appeared. Notwithstanding, Etty's so-called talents, she was backward in her lessons; and reading till twelve o'clock the night before did not tend to make her head clear. She found her sums in arithmetic unusually puzzling, and made so many mistakes in her Latin rules that she had to study them over again. She could not make sense of her reading lesson, and declared there was no meaning in it, and she was all the more cross that Stella's Latin lesson was unusually good. By the end of the school hours, she was once more in a thoroughly bad humor.

"Well, are the lessons finished?" asked Mrs. Grey, entering the school-room at twelve o'clock. "Come then, girls, hurry and dress yourselves, that you may be ready when the carriage comes."

"Where are we going, aunt?" asked Stella.

"Wait patiently, and you will see," replied Mrs. Grey, smiling. "Only be sure you are ready by one o'clock, for there will be no time to lose in waiting. Put on your gray skirts, and dresses that can be easily washed. Your ginghams will be the best."

"I shall not wear my gingham dress—so!" said Etty, as they went up-stairs. "I shall wear my new muslin."

"I am afraid aunt will not like it," replied Stella. "She said anything that would wash."

"Well, and won't the muslins wash, stupid?"

"Yes, I suppose so, but you would hardly want to have your new dress done up so soon. I shall put on the gingham."

"I declare, I won't go with you, if you do, Stella Grey," said Etty, stamping her foot.

"You will not look fit to be seen."

But Stella was learning to have her own way, when she knew she was in the right. She said no more but went to her room and dressed herself as her aunt had directed.

Etty, meantime, was fretting and fuming over her toilet as usual, because she could not make up her mind what to wear. She would not wear the gingham—that was all about it. The muslin was pretty enough for anything, but Etty had forgotten to sew on certain hooks and eyes without which the sash could not be worn, and the dress without the sash could not be thought of.

Finally she pitched upon the most unsuitable thing of all—a black barege, her very best summer dress, which she had not yet worn. She was just fastening it, when her aunt called to her from the stairs: "Be sure you put on your thickest boots, Etty!"

"Those thick leather boots with this thin dress—how they will look!" said Etty. "I am sure my cloth boots will be thick enough this dry day. It has not rained for a week."

Etty had lost so much time in making up her mind that she was not ready when the carriage came to the door.

"Come, children, we have no time to lose!" called out Mr. Grey. "Are you ready?"

"I am ready," said Stella, entering Etty's room. "Shall I help you, Etty? But what made you put on that dress?"

"Because I don't want to look like a charity school-girl, as you do!" was Etty's snappish reply. "Every one will think you are a servant!"

"No, indeed! I am not half fine enough for a servant," said Stella, shrewdly. "But come, Etty; do hurry. What hat are you going to wear? Let me get it for you."

"Do go along and leave me alone!" said Etty, crossly. "You are trying to hinder me on purpose to get me found fault with."

"Come, children," again called Mr. Grey. "We cannot wait for you any longer."

Stella ran down-stairs to say that Etty would be ready in a minute.

When all were in the carriage, Etty came down. In the bustle of getting settled and driving off, Mrs. Grey did not notice her dress, and it was not till they had gone several squares that she observed how Etty had disobeyed her orders.

"Why, Etty!" she exclaimed. "What made you put on that dress, of all others? You will have it utterly spoiled."

"There is no help for it now," said Mr. Grey. "If Etty spoils her dress, she must take the consequences. She will not have another new one at her disposal to spoil this summer."

Etty flounced and frowned, but said nothing till they came to the steamboat, which was just ready to leave the dock. Then a new trouble came up. She declared that she could not and would not go on board the boat—that she knew she should be drowned, and that Stella should not go either.

"Very well," said Mr. Grey. "Then, get into the carriage and go home, but Stella shall go, if she chooses. Come, make up your mind one way or the other; but do not stand there making yourself ridiculous any longer."

This was new treatment to Etty, who was used to being soothed, and petted, and admired for her weak nerves and delicate sensibilities. But she had no notion of being left behind, and finally went on board the boat, just the moment before the plank was taken away.

The party were to proceed to a rocky point some miles off, spend the afternoon in exploring it, and return in the evening, when the steamboat would call for them. The place was beautiful and the weather lovely—the luncheon was very nice.

And all might have been pleasant only for Etty.

She spoiled every one's comfort. She would go nowhere where the rest wanted to go: she persisted in being afraid where there was no danger, and in being foolhardy in dangerous places, and she cried five different times in three hours. Her dress was torn in a dozen different places before the day was over, and her thin boots cut to pieces so that she could hardly walk, and the stones hurt her at every stop.

"Now I am going to rest a while and then we will go and see the cave," said Mr. Grey, when they had finished their lunch; "but none of you must venture on the rocks without me. They are dangerous in many places."

Stella was searching for shells on the sandy beach, near the place where they had lunched, when Etty joined her.

"I am going up there to get some of those wild-flowers, instead of poking about here," said she, pointing to some flowering shrubs which grew at a little distance, "and I want you to go with me."

"Uncle said we must not go on the rocks without him, you know," said Stella.

"He did not say on these rocks: he said on the rocks by the cave."

"He said on the rocks," persisted Stella; "and I know we ought not to go."

"Of course you won't go if I want you to," said Etty. "It is enough for you to know that I wish to do anything to set you against it. I don't care, I shall go alone."

"Please don't," pleaded Stella, but Etty was already on the rocks.

In a few minutes Mr. Grey, who was taking a little nap, was startled by a cry of distress.

There stood Etty on a narrow ledge, over a deep pool, clinging to a small, slender bush, and screaming with all her might; while Stella, with a pale face but steady step; was walking along the dangerous path towards her sister.

"Stop, Stella, I command you!" called Mr. Grey. "Etty, keep still and be quiet. I will see what can be done."

But Etty was past hearing reason. As Stella drew near her, she threw herself forward and seized hold of her sister. Stella tottered, lost her balance, and both the children fell into the pool below. When Etty came to herself she was lying on the bed, in a room of the fisherman's little house on the point, with Eleanor and the fisherman's wife attending upon her, but Stella was not to be seen.

"Keep still, Etty," said Eleanor, as Etty tried to rise.

"But where is Stella? I want Stella!" cried Etty.

"Stella cannot come to you, and you must not go to her," said Eleanor, seeing that Etty was determined to get up. "You have done terrible mischief by your perverseness and folly, Esther, and the only amends you can make is to try and do no more."

There was something in Eleanor's tone which quieted Etty at once.

"Is Stella dead?" she asked, in an awestruck whisper.

"No—at least we hope not—but she has not revived yet, and we fear that her head is hurt. Be quiet now, and drink the tea Mrs. Fiske is bringing you."

It was a long time before Stella came to herself, and when she did, she knew no one. She was carried on board the steamer and laid on one sofa and Etty on another. As the boat drew near to the wharf, Stella opened her eyes, and seeing her aunt bending over her, she said, feebly: "Please, aunt, don't scold Etty."

Etty hid her face and cried bitterly but silently, as she remembered all her unkind speeches to Stella. She was put to bed in her own room, and left alone for what seemed an age. At last Mrs. Grey came in and sat down by her bed.

"Oh, aunt, how is Stella?" exclaimed Etty, starting up.

"She is better," replied her aunt. "The doctor hopes she will live. You ought to be very thankful." Mrs. Grey paused a little and then said: "Etty, what has been the matter to-day? What has made you behave so badly?"

"I don't know, aunt," replied Etty. "It has been one of my bad days."

"What do you suppose makes you have bad days, Etty?"

"I don't know, aunt," repeated Etty. "I can't help them."

"Are you sure of that, Etty? I am not so, by any means."

Etty looked surprised.

"Let us go over the day's history and see if it could not be helped. What was the first trouble?"

"Being late for breakfast, aunt—no, breaking the cologne bottle was the first trouble."

"Well, both of these troubles came from the same source—not getting up in time. How did that happen?"

"I was so sleepy, aunt."

"You should not have been sleepy. From half-past nine till six is long enough for any little girl to sleep. Did you go to bed as soon as you came up-stairs?"

Etty hesitated.

"I know you did not," continued Mrs. Grey. "Your candle was new last night and it was more than half burned out this morning. What were you doing?"

"Reading, aunt."

"Then the first trouble came from your disobeying my direct commands. Could you not help that?"

"Yes, aunt, I suppose so."

"And could you not have got up when Eleanor called you?"

"Yes, aunt."

"Then here were two troubles which certainly could have been helped, and which being helped would have prevented most of the others. I will pass over your conduct at the breakfast-table and at your lessons; but could you not have dressed yourself as I told you instead of following your own perverse fancy?"

"I did not want to wear that dress," murmured Etty.

"That was no reason at all, Etty. When you are commanded to do a thing by those who stand in the place of your parents, your liking or not liking is no excuse for disobeying. Now, to go on to the great trouble of all. Did you not hear your uncle tell you not to go upon the rocks?"

"Yes, aunt."

"And could you not have helped going where you were told not to go?"

Etty was ashamed to excuse herself by saying that she wanted the flowers, so she said nothing. She was beginning to see that her troubles had been of her own making.

"In every one of these cases you could have 'helped it,' as you say, by merely doing your duty," continued Mrs. Grey. "If you had risen in time, you would not have been hurried and fretted in getting ready for breakfast. You would not have broken your bottle, and spoiled my table, and lost your own temper, and put yourself out of tune for the whole day. If you had trusted your uncle as you ought, you would not have made yourself ridiculous on the wharf as you did. If you had not been so perverse and unreasonable you would not have spoiled your best dress and your own temper as well as that of every one else. To conclude, if you had obeyed your uncle to-day, you would not have run heedlessly into danger, and thus have sacrificed perhaps the life of your poor little sister."

"Do you think Stella will die, aunt?" asked Etty.

"I cannot tell. She is very dangerously hurt, and even if she should live, it may be months before she can walk. Now tell me, Etty, could you not have helped all these things?"

"Well, I cannot help crying when anything troubles me," said Etty. "I have so much feeling."

"Feeling for yourself, Etty, not for other people. Selfish feeling, which makes you hard-hearted and unkind even to your poor little sister, who would do anything in the world for you. Selfish feeling, which shows that you have never learned to love God or your neighbors, but only to love and please yourself—which will and does make you a torment to yourself and all about you."

"I shall say no more now, Etty, only to recommend you to ask God for the light of His Holy Spirit to teach you to see yourself as you really are. There is no use in trying to cure people unless they can be convinced that they are sick, and there is no use in talking of amendment to one who cannot see that she is to blame. I shall pray for you, my child, and I shall continue to take care of you as well as I can, but I do not know what is to become of you unless you learn to be a better girl."

"Please don't go away, aunt," sobbed Etty: "don't leave me alone. Indeed I will try to be a good girl, if you will forgive me."

"I forgive you, my dear Etty, but there is One whom you have offended more than you have me, whose pardon you ought to ask."

"Please ask Him for me, aunt!" whispered Etty. "And ask Him to make Stella well."

Mrs. Grey knelt by Etty's bedside, and prayed, and for the first time in her life Etty really joined in a prayer.

She wanted very much to see Stella, but her aunt said no, and for once Etty minded without a word.

When Mrs. Grey left her, Etty slipped out of bed, and kneeling down, she prayed herself, with many tears, that her Father in Heaven would spare her dear sister; and that she herself might have grace to be a good girl. That prayer was the beginning of a new life to Etty.

Then feeling a little comforted she rose from her knees. As she did so she felt a sharp pain in her foot, so sharp that she almost screamed. She had felt a pain in the foot a good many times during the afternoon, but her pride would not let her speak of it, lest her aunt should say something about her thin boots.

"O dear, what a wicked little fool I have been!" said she to herself. "Now I have hurt my foot and I dare say I shall have to sit still and be waited on, instead of waiting on Stella."

So it turned out. The next day Etty's foot was found to be so bruised and inflamed that she could not put it to the floor. Here was an end to all her hopes of helping her aunt and waiting upon Stella. Instead of that, she had to be carried up and down-stairs for a month, like a baby, and all she could do for any one was to give as little trouble as possible. She had taken a severe cold which settled in her eyes, already weakened by reading at night, and she could hardly use them at all.

This confinement was one of the best things that ever happened to Etty. She learned for the first time to appreciate the kindness of those who took care of her. She learned to be thoroughly weary of idleness, and to find it a privilege to be employed. She found out too that much as she might try, she could not be a good girl without help from above, and she learned to pray earnestly for the help of God's Holy Spirit. Her "bad days" became fewer and farther between, and at last ceased entirely.

Stella, was ill for a long time, and has never been as well as she was before her fall: but she is happier than ever before, for Etty is now always kind and affectionate to her.

Dear girls, be careful how you excuse your faults by saying you "can't help it!" Remember that you can always have God's help by asking for it in faith and humility, and with Him on your side, you have no right to say that you "cannot help" doing what is wrong.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: MARTHA, OR, "CHARITY THINKETH NO EVIL." Frontispiece.]

[Illustration]

MARTHA,

OR,

"CHARITY THINKETH NO EVIL."

"I HAVE just been to see Betty Allis," said Emily Dunbar to her cousin Martha. "She is a great deal better, but she is not able to go to school."

"Then she has really been sick!" said Martha.

Emily looked at her in surprise.

"What do you mean, Martha? Of course she has been sick. She would not be very likely to stay out of school just now, unless she was obliged to do so."

"I don't know that!" returned Martha.

"If a girl has been working for a prize, and finds out that she is not likely to get it after all, it may be very convenient to stay out of school a week or two, and then say, at last: 'Oh, of course, I had no chance. I lost so much time by being sick.'"

"Martha, you have no business to say such things," said Emily. "Betty is not that sort of girl at ell."

"I think she is exactly that sort of girl!" interrupted Martha.

"And besides," continued Emily, smiling, "I think it as likely as not that Betty will gain the prize, after all. She was ever so far before the rest of us, and she has only been out of school a week, you know."

"Very likely she will. She is a rich man's daughter, and I am a poor man's child; though I dare say she is not so rich as she pretends."

"I don't see that Betty makes any pretence at all," said Emily. "She seems to me as quiet and unpretending as any girl in school, and I don't think you have any right to accuse Miss Lyman of partiality. The fact is, Martha, you have taken such a dislike to Betty Allis, that it makes no difference what she does."

"Well, I have a right to dislike her," replied Martha. "She has treated me shamefully, and she is just as proud, and artful, and hateful, as she can be."

"Who is so proud, and artful, and hateful, Martha?" asked Miss Margaret, who had been sitting all the time behind the blinds of the window which opened on the verandah where the girls were now talking. "Those are hard words to apply to any one."

Martha did not answer, but Emily said:

"We were talking about Betty Allis, Aunt Margaret."

"I am surprised at that," replied Aunt Margaret. "I have always thought her a very nice girl."

"And so does almost every one," said Emily; "but Martha does not like her."

"Well, I do not, and I have good reasons for not liking her," said Martha. "She never loses a chance of provoking and spiting me."

"How does she provoke you?" asked Aunt Margaret.

Martha did not reply.

"Come, Martha, if Betty has done so many bad things, you can surely tell of some of them."

"Well, she puts on such airs, for one thing," said Martha. "You would think she owned a whole gold mine, to hear her. The other day, several of the girls were talking about examination dresses. Miss Lyman wants all our class to wear white with black ribbons, on account of Annie Grey's death, you know. Some one asked Betty who was going to make her dress. 'Oh, I am not going to have a new dress made,' she answered, with such an air. 'Mamma likes me to wear white, and I have plenty of white dresses.'"

"I did not see that she put on any airs at all," remarked Emily. "She just said it as a matter-of-course, and she does wear white a great deal."

"Well, what else, Martha?" asked Aunt Margaret.

"Well, last March, when there was snow on the ground, I went over to carry auntie something. I was in a hurry and did not stop to dress myself, but just put on mother's plaid shawl, and tied my old worsted scarf round my neck. I was hurrying along, for I did not want to meet anybody, when I heard some one call me. I turned round, and there was Miss Betty, dressed up in her blue plush frock, and her cape trimmed with sable fur, holding up my old scarf as if it burned her fingers. 'Why, Martha, is it you?' said she, in a tone of affected surprise. 'I did not know you. I found this scarf lying on the snow, and hurried to come up with you, thinking it might be yours.' I could have boxed her ears with a good will."

"But why? I do not see anything wrong in that."

"She did it just to mortify me!" said Martha. "She knew I should be ashamed of such a dirty old thing."

"And so you ought to be," said Aunt Margaret. "I tell you, you will meet with a great mortification some day if you are not more neat in your dress and habits. But I do not see that Betty was to blame. From what you say, it seems that she had not recognized you when she spoke. I dare say she thought you were some poor body, to whom the scarf would be a serious loss."

"I don't see what business she had in the lane," said Martha.