CHAPTER IV.

TOO PROUD TO BEND.

"I wish I had something to do; I am tired of playing, tired of riding, tired of everything--I have nobody to speak to but papa, and Aunt Matilda, and Selim, and my other pets." Thus soliloquized Madeline, as, with a weary yawn, she threw herself upon the sofa in the library. "I get so tired of Aunt Matilda, she never talks any sense: nothing but head-dresses, and her complexion, her white hands, and the days when she was young. Miss Prosser did talk sense, and I wish she were back again; I always liked her when she made me do what she commanded. I did not let her know it, though; I am too proud for that." And Madeline tapped her little foot upon the carpet, her usual way of expressing a chafed, impatient spirit. "I think I heard the bell ring," and running to the window, she peeped through the thin curtains, to see who was there. "Oh! dear, if there isn't Roland Bruce--what's that he has got in his basket?" Just then a servant entered.

"Miss Madeline, a poor boy wants to see you at the door."

"O, yes, I know; I am so glad to see him," and away she flew.

Roland took off his cap as soon as he saw the little girl, and with a modest air, he said:

"I thought, Miss Madeline, that you would like these pretty doves," uncovering his basket.

Madeline peeped in, and there lay the sweetest little ring-doves, with their soft eyes looking up in her face.

"Oh, Roland, what a good boy you are! they are so pretty; it's just what I have wanted so long."

"Here's some chickweed, too, Miss Madeline, for your canary; we have so much in our garden; and I thought you would like some lilies of the valley."

"O, thank you, Roland, how good you are to remember me! Now let us run out into the garden, and you shall plant the lilies."

Leaving her doves in the care of Nanny, her own maid, away scampered the child, hair flying, and eyes beaming with innocent delight.

"Here, Roland, this is my garden," said the child, pointing to a corner of the grounds which bore many marks of careless culture. "Here I come to dig and weed, but I get tired of it; I get tired of everything, Roland."

"If you'll let me, I'll come, Miss, and look after your flowers; I know something about them, for we raise them and sell them to our neighbors. I have not forgotten your kindness, Miss Madeline."

"I wish you were my brother, or my cousin, Roland, what nice times we should have! I have a boat, a pony, and a dog, and so many things; but for all that, I get so tired."

"Have you any books, Miss Madeline?" continued the boy.

"Books! why I have more than I can count--all kinds of books."

"Do you never study, Miss Madeline?" inquired Roland, with a look of surprise.

"Study! no, indeed, I hate study. I like to read stories, and poetry, and fairy tales, and accounts of great men--did you ever hear of Robert Bruce? he's my hero; wasn't it nice when the spider taught him such a lesson?"

"I've read about him, Miss Madeline, for my mother has told me so much about Scotland--both my parents were Scotch."

"Were they, Roland? may be you're some relation to Robert Bruce; why I do believe you are."

Roland smiled at her simplicity, and stooping down, planted his modest flowers in a shady corner.

"Wouldn't you like to go to our school, Miss Madeline? Mr. Norton is such a good teacher."

"Where is your school, Roland?" asked the child.

"It is about a mile from here, in Maple Lane, and such a pleasant walk in fine weather."

"Is Mr. Norton cross, Roland?"

"No, indeed; he's the best friend that I ever had."

"Have they more teachers than one?"

"Yes--Mr. Norton the principal, Miss Adams the first assistant, and Miss Corning second."

"Are there many scholars, Roland?"

"I think we have sixty, Miss Madeline; Mr. Norton makes everything so pleasant, and learning so easy."

"I'll coax papa to let me come; you'll help me to learn, won't you, Roland?"

Madeline was sorry when Roland turned to go home.

"Good-bye," said the child, "you'll see me at your school; if I take it into my head, I can go;" and running back to the house, once more she visited her little pets, and named them Patty and Jim. Impatiently she awaited papa's arrival from his ride. As soon as he was seated, jumping on his lap, she threw her arms around his neck, and looking up in his face with her own bewitching way, she said:

"Now, papa, I want you to promise me something."

"What is it, Maddy? It is not much that I can refuse you."

"Well, it's something good, papa; you'll like it, I know. I want you to let me go to the school in Maple Lane. Mary James, Minnie Scott, Lizzie Belton, and Ellen Taylor all go; and I think it will be much better than school all alone, and no one to speak to but the teacher."

"I must make some inquiries first, Mad-cap," answered her father.

"Won't you go to-morrow, papa? I want to go right off, and I promise you that I'll study hard; just let me go, that's a dear papa."

"Well, I'll see about it to-morrow, Madeline, and if all is right, you shall go; I will do anything to make you learn."

Next morning Mr. Hamilton made the necessary calls upon the parents of the children named by Madeline, saw the principal, entered her name, and all being satisfactory, his consent was fully given.

"Well, Maddy, all is settled; you will go on Monday to Maple Lane. I hope that you will be a good little girl, and not get tired of it in a week or two."

"I hope, my dear niece," said Aunt Matilda, "that you will show some proper pride, and not make an acquaintance of everybody that you meet. You must remember that there are many very common people who go to school there; no associates for Madeline Hamilton, the heiress of Woodcliff."

Madeline put on her mischievous air as she replied, "I'm afraid I shall often forget that I must act the little princess; for when I meet a right funny little girl, I don't often stop to ask who she is, but I just play with those I like."

Monday morning came round; papa's summer carriage was brought up, and Maddy, with a glowing cheek and dancing step, seated herself by her father's side. A neat little satchel, and a basket with a nice lunch pleased our little girl mightily, for she had never seemed like a scholar before.

Maddy was now about eleven years old--a bright animated being; and when Mr. Hamilton took her by the hand, and led her up to the desk of the principal, all eyes were turned towards the shy little creature, who was really abashed by the gaze of so many young faces, all looking with curious eyes upon the young stranger.

"I have brought you my little girl, Mr. Norton; she is my only child, and quite a darling at home. She has been so much petted, that I fear you will find her sadly deficient."

"We have excellent teachers, Mr. Hamilton, but strict discipline; I fear that you may think it too much so for your little daughter."

"We can try it, Mr. Norton, and if too strict, there is an easy remedy. May I ask in what class she will be placed?"

"I presume in Miss Corning's; she has the youngest children."

By this time, Madeline had gained courage enough to look around her, and was delighted to greet Roland Bruce on the opposite side of the room. Finally, papa took leave; Madeline underwent examination, and was placed under Miss Corning's care. Her chief study for the first day was faces and characters, for she was a quick little one at the latter.

Maddy was much amused at the pretensions of some of the purse-proud in the neighborhood, and inwardly resolved that none of these would-be-ladies should be among her friends.

During the intermission, Lizzie Belton, a young miss of fourteen, anxious to cultivate the acquaintance of a Hamilton, stepped forward with rather a patronizing air, to take Madeline out to the play-ground; but the proud little girl declined the honor, and looked eagerly around for Roland.

"I'm so glad that you have come, Roland," said the child. "I don't know any of these girls except by name, and I don't care for them. They all seem to think themselves so grand, because they are dressed fine. I don't care for clothes that are too good for a brisk race."

Roland had seen that the child was even rude to some of the girls, and said,

"Miss Madeline, don't you think it would be better to be a little sociable with them? You will have enemies among them if you do not."

"If I can find one real little girl, who likes me for myself alone, that is the playmate for me. Bring your sister, Roland; I'd rather play with Effie, than any of the rest of them."

"She is not here to-day, Miss Madeline!"

"What do you think of Miss Corning, Roland? I don't think I shall like her very much; she has such a stern, cross way of speaking, She need not order me about; I can be led, but I can't be driven!" and the proud spirit flashed in Madeline's expressive eyes.

"Just obey the rules, and study well, Miss Madeline, and you'll have no trouble with Miss Corning; but if you don't, you'll have a hard time. Every one has to mind her, and you must not try to have your own way here."

"Who is that queer-looking boy sitting under the tree, Roland?" asked the child.

Roland smiled as he said, "Poor fellow! he is not very smart; his name is Tony Willikins; he is an only son, and his father is a very rich man, and gives him everything he wants."

Just then Tony came near where Madeline was seated, and being an admirer of pretty little girls, he stopped before her, and making an attempt to bow by pulling his cap suddenly from his head, and clapping it under his arm, he said,

"How do you do, Miss? Please tell me your name."

Madeline burst out laughing at the grotesque figure that stood before her, twisting his watch-chain, and simpering in such an unmeaning manner.

"My name is Mad-cap Hamilton," answered the child.

"That's a queer name! I don't like it much, Miss. My name is Anthony Willikins; my pop lives in a great big house; we have six horses and two carriages, and three dogs, and a big garden, and ever so many books, but I can't read any of 'em yet; and I've got a boat all to myself, and one carriage and two horses. Wouldn't you like to take a ride with me, some day? I'd like to take you; pop would let me, I know; won't you ask your pop to let you go?"

All this time Madeline was convulsed with laughter, and could scarcely answer.

"I don't think papa would let me go, Tony; he does not like me to go with strangers."

Just then the bell rang, and after a short afternoon session, the school was dismissed, and Madeline went home with her tasks for the next day.

While the novelty lasted, duties progressed very well; but the old habits of indolence returned, and then came the warfare between Madeline, the self-willed, and Miss Corning, the determined.

"Madeline, how is it that you now come daily unprepared with your lessons?" inquired the lady.

"I had something else to do," was the quick reply.

"Do you expect to go home without reciting them?"

"Certainly, Miss Corning! I cannot learn them all in school."

"We will see, Madeline! for you can't leave the room at recess, or go home until they are learned perfectly."

Madeline threw her books aside, and sat with burning cheek and flashing eye, while the tapping of her little foot betrayed the tempest within. Miss Corning said no more at that time.

Roland saw the storm that was brewing, and seating himself near his little friend, he whispered:

"Do not act so, Miss Madeline; it is very wrong. God sees you, and you are sinning against him, by not obeying those who have the rule over you."

Madeline looked up surprised at Roland, wondering how a poor boy could dare so boldly reprove her. But he was not at all abashed; he knew that he was right, and Madeline wrong, and he returned the look of indignant scorn with one of pity.

"How dare you pity me, Roland Bruce? Don't you know that I am Madeline Hamilton?"

"Yes, miss, I know all that, and I'm very sorry for it, for my Bible says that 'To whom much is given, of him much will be required;' Madeline Hamilton, therefore, is bound to be a better, wiser, holier child than Bessie Carter, because she has more advantages."

Though Mad-cap was so angry, she inwardly respected the boy, who though so far beneath her in social rank, had the courage to lay her faults plainly before her.

She sat however, still sullen and silent, and Roland said no more; recess had passed, and the school duties were resumed.

Miss Corning glanced occasionally towards her refractory pupil, not at all disposed to yield one inch. Madeline's reflections were of the most mortifying character. She liked and respected Roland Bruce, and now she feared that she had lost his friendship by her bad conduct; then the inward conviction that she was wrong, and must at last own it, was deeply humbling to her pride.

The afternoon passed by, school was dismissed, and Roland still lingered. Walking directly up to Madeline, he said in a manly tone:

"Miss Madeline, you are all wrong; just say so; give up this rebellion, and recite your lessons. I can't go home and leave you here; I would not leave Effie, and I cannot leave you."

Madeline was melting; for one moment she hesitated, and then turning with swimming eyes, extended her little hand to Roland, as she said:

"You are a true friend; you have dared to tell a spoiled child how bad she is, and I honor you for it. I will study all my lessons, if you will only hear me say them."

Miss Corning nodded assent, and Madeline set to work with a good will to accomplish her task. Soon she mastered it, and it was a curious sight to behold the flattered and petted child subdued and penitent, looking in Roland's face so timidly, for approval and encouragement. Such is the force of a strong character, even in a boy.

"Forgive me, Miss Corning," said the humbled little girl, "you don't know how I have been spoiled; but I will try to be better in future."

"You will always find me a friend, Madeline, when you do right, but a severe judge when you persist in wrong," was the immediate response.

"Good-bye, Roland," said the child, as she left the school-room; "don't think me so dreadfully bad. I am so sorry," and she wept bitterly.

"Good-bye, Miss Madeline, I am so glad that you confessed that you were wrong; it has raised you so much in my regard; try to do right, and God will help you, Miss Madeline."

Maddy had learned two valuable lessons on that day: one, that there were two in the world stronger than she, to whom she must submit; and the other, that happiness follows a conquest over the natural evils of a sinful heart. Her path was smooth and pleasant for some time; she was studious, and improved rapidly. Roland was her fast friend; aiding her in every difficult lesson, and keeping a constant watch over the outbreaks of her passionate nature.

Miss Adams was one of Roland's teachers, and had a brother in school about his age. George Adams was a bright boy, but could not compete with Roland Bruce; and feelings of jealousy, both on the sister and brother's side, were often manifested. A written examination was to take place, which was to decide the question of promotion. George Adams and Roland were in the same class, and had an equal number of questions to answer in grammar, geography, and algebra. Their desks were side by side. Roland had carefully written out all his answers; and, as he folded up his manuscripts, he said, with a bright look: "There, I have not one blank, nor one blot," and, closing his desk, he prepared to go home. George Adams remained behind, and Madeline, having something to do, tarried also. They left the school-room together, and the child, with her accustomed shrewdness, observed that George avoided her eye, and passed out without speaking.

Next morning was examination-day--when Roland's turn came, his manuscripts were nowhere to be found. Diligent search was made, but in vain. Miss Adams arose and said:

"It is very strange, Roland; no one would take them from your desk; it looks very much like deception."

Roland's eye flashed, as he replied:

"I wrote them all out, and placed them in my desk, yesterday afternoon."

In an instant, Madeline Hamilton was on her feet; regardless of the presence of Mr. Norton, the assistants, and some of the directors, she exclaimed, as she pointed her finger towards the guilty boy:

"I saw him open Roland's desk--Roland Bruce is not a deceiver; there is the deceiver! I know that he was always jealous of him. I watched him as he passed along the road; he scattered pieces of paper, I picked them up, there they are," and she handed them to Mr. Norton. Madeline's cheek and eye were burning; but fearless, in the defence of her friend, she thought of no one else.

"Madeline has always been the champion of Roland Bruce," said Miss Adams; "she certainly forgets who he is; a son of a poor huckster woman, who takes truck to market."

"No, I do not forget, Miss Adams, that he is the brightest boy in school, has always been a mark to shoot at, and that there is not one boy in this school, half as wise and good as Roland."

"Sit down, Madeline," said Mr. Norton; "this matter shall be looked into."

The excitement had passed, and the little advocate, over-powered, bowed her head upon her desk, and wept convulsively.

Mr. Norton examined the fragments of paper; they were all proved to be Roland's. George Adams was suspended for dishonorable practice; and Roland, after another written examination, promoted to the highest rank in school. A practical lesson of the truth of that Scripture which declares that, "He who humbleth himself shall be exalted, and he that exalteth himself, shall be abased."

"Really," said Lizzie Belton, "I think that Madeline Hamilton makes a fool of herself by the fuss she makes over these Bruces; they are well enough in their place, but they are no companions for me."

Lizzie had not forgotten her rebuff, nor, since that time, had she made any progress towards intimacy with Madeline Hamilton.

After school, Roland hurried over to Madeline.

"I am sorry that you have made such an enemy, Miss Madeline; Miss Adams will not forgive you very soon. If you had only waited until school was out; it was such a public exposure."

"I did not think of anything, Roland, but two people; I did not even see any body but Roland Bruce, and that mean, contemptible George Adams."

"Won't you try to subdue some of your quickness, Miss Madeline? I fear that it will bring you into trouble."

"There is no use, Roland; I have a hot, quick temper, and it makes a hasty tongue."

"You are a warm little friend, and I thank you for your kindness to one so humble as I, for I am nothing but the son of a very poor woman, who has to struggle hard to find her children bread."

"Just to think of that Miss Adams, calling your mother, your good mother, a low huckster woman."

"I know that she is not, and I pitied Miss Adams when she made such a speech before her scholars; for she hurt herself more than the did my dear, precious mother."

"Don't I wish, Roland, that you would live to be a great man; wouldn't they all be ashamed of themselves?"

"Don't be troubled, Miss Madeline, I am trying all that I can to be a learned and good man; and I know that God will take care of me if I am His child, and I humbly hope that I am."

"When you are a great man, you shall come right down here among them, and make grand speeches; and won't I be glad to see them all bowing to Mr. Roland Bruce, the poor widow's son."

Roland could not help laughing at the little enthusiast, for he was but sixteen now, and many a weary year must pass away, and many rugged hills be scaled, ere he should figure as a great man among the people of Maple Lane school.