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III.
_THE MISER._
"FRED," said Harry, as the little sisters came into the breakfast-roomthe next morning,--"Fred, what have you done with my new top?"
"I declare," said Fred, after thinking a moment, "I do not know."
"That's what a fellow gets for lending you his things," said Harry,crossly; "you never give them back, and never know where you leavethem. I sha'n't let you have anything of mine again in a hurry."
"I know where it is, Harry," said Maggie. "I'll bring it to you. I sawit last night."
And away ran Maggie, always ready and willing to oblige; but as shereached the door, she stood still with the knob in her hand. "Harry,if I go for it, will you give me a penny?"
"Well," said Harry, "no, I will not."
"If you don't choose to go for it, tell me where it is, and I will gomyself," said Fred.
But Maggie went without another word, and came back with the top in herhand.
"There's your penny," said Harry, throwing one on the table.
"That's as mean a thing as ever I knew," said Fred, "to want to be paidfor going upstairs for a fellow who has a sprained leg and can't go forhimself. You know mamma said he must not go up and down much till hisankle was well."
"I'd have thought anybody would have done such a thing sooner than you,Maggie," said Harry, reproachfully.
Maggie stood with crimson cheeks and a shaking lip. "I sha'n't havethe penny!" she said, angrily. But just then papa and mamma came inand the bell was rung for morning prayers, which prevented any fartherquarrelling.
But Maggie's troubles were not yet at an end for that morning.Breakfast was over, mamma gone to the nursery, papa to his library, andthe children were alone in the breakfast-room.
"Midget," said Harry, "you know that pink fluted shell of yours?"
"Yes," answered Maggie.
"If you'll give it to me, I'll give you any two of mine you may choose."
"Oh, Harry, I can't! Aunt Annie gave me that shell, and I want to keepit for memory of her. Besides, it's my prettiest shell."
"Aunt Annie isn't dead," said Harry. "You don't keep a thing in memoryof a person unless they're dead."
"She'll die one of these days," said Maggie; "every one has to diesometime, and I'll keep it till then. But I meant I wanted it becauseshe gave it to me, Harry, and I can't let you have it." But presently,having forgotten about the penny, and thinking of the library box,Maggie added, "I'll give it to you for ten cents, Harry."
"Indeed, I shall not give ten cents for it!" said Harry. "It's notworth it and--why, Mag, you are growing as mean as,--as mean as--"Harry stopped, for he saw Maggie's color rising and the tears comingin her eyes, and he was not an unkind boy, who would willingly hurt orgrieve his little sisters.
"She is a real miser," said Fred.
Poor Maggie! This was too much, and she burst into tears.
"Don't cry, Maggie," said Harry. "I did not mean to hurt you, but I donot know what to make of you."
"What's all this wonderful fuss about money, Bessie?" asked Fred.
"Ask me no _lies_, and I'll tell you no _questions_," said Bessie,holding up her head and looking at her brothers with a grave, reprovingair, "You talk very unproperly to my Maggie."
At this, the boys shouted and laughed so loud and so long that Bessiefelt as badly as her sister, and saying, "Let's go away, Maggie," theyran off.
When Mr. Bradford came out of his room, he saw his little girls sittingat the head of the stairs looking very unhappy. Maggie had been crying;Bessie had her arm around her waist, as though she were trying tocomfort her, but looked as if she wanted comfort herself.
"Why, what ails my singing birdies this morning?" asked papa. "Introuble so early in the day?"
"Papa," said Bessie, in a grieved little voice, "we are having very_misable_ times to-day."
"That is bad," said Mr. Bradford, sitting down on the stairs besidethem; "but tell papa what it is, and see if he cannot help you intopleasanter times."
"People say things to us," said Bessie.
"And do you not wish people to speak to you?"
"Oh, yes, papa, if they say nice things; but first, nurse called ourshells and sea-weed, 'truck.'"
"Very poor taste in nurse," said Mr. Bradford; "but I would not fretabout that. Is there anything more?"
"Yes, papa,"--Bessie hesitated,--"but I do not like to tell tales."
"But I want to know what the trouble is. I shall not think you aretelling tales when I ask you."
"Harry called me 'mean,' and Fred said I was 'a miser,'" said Maggie,beginning to cry again. "And I wouldn't be such an ugly thing, now!"
"What is a miser, Maggie?" asked papa.
"An ugly old man, who makes believe he hasn't any money, when he has awhole lot in bags in a chest, and doesn't eat anything but crusts, withan ugly, thin cat who hunches up her back," said Maggie.
Maggie's idea of a miser was taken from a picture she had once seen.
"Then my rosebud does not look much like a miser," answered Mr.Bradford, patting Maggie's round, smooth cheek.
"But he meant I was _like_ a miser, and they laughed at Bessie," saidMaggie.
"But I quarrelled and said a cross thing to them, papa," said Bessie,who was always ready to own when she had done wrong.
"What did you say?"
Bessie repeated what she had said to the boys, making the same mistakeshe had done before, and her father could not wonder that they hadlaughed. He asked a question or two more, and soon knew the whole storyof the penny and the shell.
"And it is very hard to have people say such things when it is a goodpurpose, papa," said Maggie, wiping her eyes as she finished.
"So it is, Maggie; but it is what we must all look for, more or less inthis world. When we are trying to do good, other people will sometimesmisunderstand us, think that we are doing the wrong thing, or perhapsdoing the right thing in the wrong way; and they may tell us so, ormake unkind remarks about us. But if we feel that we are doing right,and know that we are about the dear Saviour's work, we should not mindthat. Yes, and we must bear to be laughed at too, my Bessie. I do notthink though that your brothers have meant to grieve you so much. Fred,I know, will sometimes tease, but Harry is not apt to be unkind orprovoking."
"No, papa," said Maggie. "Harry is a very good, kind brother."
"So I think," said papa. "Do the boys know why you are so anxious toearn money?"
"No, papa. I did not tell them, 'cause I thought maybe they would laughat me."
"They shall not laugh at you, I will answer for that. But, althoughthey were not very polite or kind in their way of telling you so, youcan scarcely wonder that your brothers were surprised at your wishto be paid for any little favor you might do them. You are generallyso obliging and willing, so ready to run and to do for the pleasureof helping others, that I myself might have thought you selfish anddisobliging, had I heard you asking for pay without knowing yourreason. And I would not do so again, dearie. Whatever you may be ableto save by denying or taking any pains with yourselves, or may make bydoing any little extra work for mamma or any one else, well and good;but I would not ask to be paid for such small things as you are in thehabit of doing every day for those around you. You must not be tooeager to gain money for _any_ purpose."
"Not for a good one, papa?"
"No. Never do wrong that good may come of it."
"Do you think I was like a miser this morning, papa?"
"No. I do not think Fred quite understood the meaning of the wordhimself when he used it in that way. To be miserly, or like a miser, isto try to save and put by money only that we may look at it, and countit over, taking pleasure in the thought that we have it, not in usingit for our good or pleasure, or that of others. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, papa. You mean if Bessie and I were to put all our money intothat box of mamma's, and just count it and count it, and never take anyout, or spend it for the library or anything else, we wou
ld be littlemisers even if we are not old men?"
"Papa," said Bessie, "yesterday morning at prayers, you yead about thelord who went away and gave his servants money to take care of, andhow one of them put his money in a napkin, and dug a hole in the groundand hid it there; and when his lord came home, he was angry with him,and punished him. Was that man a miser?"
"Yes, dear, I think we may call him a miser; and I am glad my littlegirl remembers so well. We may be miserly with other things than money.If we do not use any of the gifts which God has given us as he intendedwe should do, for our own good and that of others, we are misers; andit is as wrong to do so as it would be to waste them, or throw themaway. Suppose you were to say, 'These are very small hands and feetwhich God has given to me; they are not nearly as large as papa's ormamma's, or even as strong as my brothers; they cannot do much work,so they shall do none at all; I will not run up and down stairs, or golittle errands: I will not rock the baby, or amuse Franky, or do anyother thing which might save my mamma some trouble; I will not evenplay about, or go out to walk, but just sit still and do nothing allday long. Or, this is a very young mind of mine, it knows very little,and cannot understand everything, so I shall not try to learn and addmore knowledge to that which I have. I cannot do much for the praiseand glory of God who made me and gave me every good thing I have, so Ishall not try to please him at all. I will take and keep all he givesme, but I will not use it or enjoy it, nor let others do so.' Thiswould be like the poor foolish man who buried his talent, instead ofmaking use of it for his lord. It would be like a miser."
"But, papa," said Maggie, "I don't think I _could_ be a miser with myhands and feet. Why, I would think it was dreadful to sit still allday and do nothing. They will move sometimes even when I don't meanthem to; and if I want them to keep still, they seem to forget and justmove of themselves."
Mr. Bradford smiled as he remembered how true Maggie's words were. Itdid indeed seem impossible for those restless little hands and feet tokeep still; they must always be busy about something, and he knew thatshe could scarcely have a greater punishment than to be forced to sitquiet for ten or fifteen minutes at a time.
"Papa must take his hands and feet away now," he said, "or they will belate at the office. The hands and the head, too, have a good deal to doto-day if they are to feel at liberty to go to Riverside to-morrow; sokiss me for good-by."
Mr. Bradford stopped in the breakfast-room, where the boys still were,and telling them of what their sisters were trying to do, and howearnest they were about it, said he hoped they would neither tease norlaugh at them, but would do all in their power to help them.
Harry and Fred were really sorry when they heard how distressed thelittle girls had been, and promised to do nothing more to trouble them.
"I cannot quite promise not to laugh at Bessie, papa," said Harry. "Shesays such droll things in such a droll way, or twists something about,and comes out with it with such a grand air for such a mite of a thingas she is, that a fellow can't help laughing."
"The greater the difficulty, the greater the kindness to your littlesister, my son. I know it is hard, sometimes almost impossible, tohelp smiling, or even laughing outright, at some of Bessie's speeches;but you may avoid doing so in a loud, boisterous, mocking way. Putyourselves in her place, boys, and think how you would like it."
"I'm sure I do not mind being laughed at, papa; at least, not much,"said Harry.
"No," said Fred, "that he don't; so he never is laughed at. The otherfellows say it's no fun teasing him, he's so cool about it."
"But Bessie does mind it," said his father, "and so does Maggie; andwe are not to judge that a thing is right and kind because it is notdisagreeable to ourselves. You know your Aunt Annie is exceedinglyafraid of a mouse."
"Indeed, she is," said Fred. "She'll squeal and jump on a chair, andturn as white as a sheet, if she only suspects there is one in theroom."
"It is real honest fear, too," said Harry, "no make believe about it. Iam real sorry for her, too; it must make her so uncomfortable."
"Yes," said his father. "She was frightened by one when a child, andcannot overcome her fear of them. Now I am not in the least afraidof mice; indeed, if they were not so mischievous, I should enjoyseeing them play about the house; but would you not think me cruel andunfeeling if I were to allow a mouse to be in the room with Annie,while I either amused myself with her fears or was quite careless ofthem? Would you think I was doing as I would be done by?"
"No, sir," said both the boys.
"Then you see the golden rule teaches us not only to avoid doing thosethings to others which are painful to ourselves, but also to putourselves in their places, and to say, 'How should I wish to be doneby if I felt as they do?' There, I have given two little lessons thismorning,--one to my girls, and one to my boys,--and shall have to reada third to my self on the meaning of the word punctual if I do nothurry away. Good-by to you."
As soon as their father had left them, Maggie and Bessie ran away tomamma's room. Maggie, always eager for anything new, begged that shemight have one of her towels to begin to hem it at once. But mamma saidit was time for their walk, and they must go out first. They foundnot only Mr. Hall, but also their friend, Colonel Rush, in the park,and Bessie introduced them to each other, saying, gravely, "Mr. Hall,please to know Colonel Yush; Colonel Yush, please to know Mr. Hall."
The two gentlemen smiled, shook hands heartily, and certainly seemedwell pleased to know each other. Perhaps it was partly because theywere both so fond of the dear little girls who stood beside them.
When the children went home, mamma had a towel neatly folded and begunfor Maggie. She sat down at once, sewing away in a great hurry, andsaying to Bessie that she was going to finish it that day. Presentlymamma, seeing that she was moving along the hem pretty fast, came andlooked at her work.
"Oh, Maggie, Maggie!" she said, "this will not do, my dear child. Suchlong, crooked stitches! Why, you can sew much better than this."
"Yes, mamma, but then I am in such a hurry to finish it."
"But you must not be in such a hurry, dear, that you cannot take timeto do it neatly. Suppose, when the towel is done, I were to hand youthree cents and say, 'I am in such a hurry, Maggie, I shall only giveyou three cents.' Would you think that quite fair?"
Maggie laughed. "No, indeed, mamma; but you would not do such a thing."
"I hope not; and when you come to think about it, I am sure you willsee that it is not fair for you to do my work poorly if I am to pay youfor it."
"Must it all come out, mamma?" asked Maggie, as her mother took thework from her hand.
"I am afraid so, dear. See there, those stitches would not hold at all.I think we will take half of one side of a towel for each day's task.That will finish them in time, and you will soon tire of the work ifyou try to hurry through it in this way."
"Mamma," said Bessie, as her mother handed back the towel to Maggie tomake a fresh beginning, "could not I learn to sew?"
"Yes, I think you are old enough to begin, if you will be patient."
"Oh, yes, mamma, I will be patient to learn, if you will be patient toteach me."
There was not much doubt about that, so the dear kind mother found alittle piece of work and fixed it for Bessie. But she had no thimbleof her own, and for that day had to use an old one of Maggie's with apiece of paper wrapped round her finger to make it stay in its place.Mamma promised to buy her one that very day, and after this, wheneverMaggie hemmed her towels, Bessie would sit beside her learning to putin stiches that grew neater and neater every day.
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