Part 8

"But the corners are not half as sharp as they were once; are they, dear?" asked Mrs. Rush, smiling.

"Well," said Maggie, slowly, as if she were considering, "maybe her temper corner is not so sharp as it used to be, but her meddling corner is very bad,--yes, very bad indeed; and it scratches like everything. Why, you don't know how she meddles, and what things she says, even when she is not a bit mad. She is all the time telling mamma how she had better manage; just as if mamma did not know a great deal better than she does about her own children and her own house, and about everything! And she dismanages Franky herself very much; and she said dear Aunt Bessie deserved to have such a bad sore throat 'cause she would go out riding with Uncle Ruthven, when she told her it was too cold; and she said the colonel"--

"There, there, that will do," said Mrs. Rush, gently. "Do not let us think of what Aunt Patty does to vex us, but see if we do not sometimes grieve her a little."

"Oh! she don't think you do anything," said Maggie; "she says you are a very lovely young woman."

"Well," said the colonel, laughing, "neither you nor I shall quarrel with her for that; shall we? There is one good mark for Aunt Patty; let us see how many more we can find."

"She was very good to Patrick when he hurt his hand so the other day," said Bessie. "She washed it, and put a yag on it, and made it feel a great deal better."

"And she likes Uncle Ruthven very much," said Maggie.

"That is right," said Mrs. Rush, "think of all the good you can. When we think kindly of a person, we soon begin to act kindly towards them, and I am quite sure that a little love and kindness from you would do much to lighten Aunt Patty's burden. And if the sharp corners fret and worry you a little, remember that perhaps it is only the weight of the rest of the burden which presses these into sight, and then you will not feel them half as much. Will you try if you can be like Benito, and so receive the blessing of Him who says the cup of cold water given in his name shall meet its reward?"

"We'll try," said Maggie, "but I don't think we'll succeed."

"And if at first you don't succeed, what then?"

"Then try, try, try again," said Maggie, cheerfully, for she was already trying to think what she might do to make Aunt Patty's burden more easy; "but--"

"But what, dear?"

"I hope she won't shed tears of joy upon my bosom," said Maggie, growing grave again at the thought of such a possibility; "I wouldn't quite like _that_."

"And what does Bessie say?" asked the colonel.

"I was thinking how precious it is," said the little girl, turning upon the colonel's face those serious brown eyes which had been gazing so thoughtfully into the fire.

"How precious what is, my darling?"

"To think Jesus knows how our temptations feel, 'cause he felt them himself, and so knows just how to help us and be sorry for us."

Colonel Rush had his answer to both questions.

That same Sunday evening, the children were all with their father and mother in the library. Mrs. Lawrence sat in an arm-chair by the parlor fire, alone, or nearly so, for Miss Rush and Mr. Stanton in the window at the farther side of the room were not much company to any one but themselves.

Certainly the poor old lady felt lonely enough, as, with her clasped hands lying upon her lap, her chin sunk upon her breast, and her eyes fixed upon the fire, she thought of the long, long ago, when she, too, was young, bright, and happy; when those around lived only for her happiness.

Ah! how different it all was now! They were all gone,--the youth, the love, the happiness; gone, also, were the wasted years which she might have spent in the service of the Master whom she had sought so late; gone all the opportunities which he had given her of gaining the love and friendship of her fellow-creatures. And now how little she could do, old and feeble and helpless as she was. And what hard work it was to struggle with the evil tempers and passions to which she had so long given way; how difficult, when some trifle vexed her, to keep back the sharp and angry word, to put down the wish to bend everything to her own will, to learn of Him who was meek and lowly in heart!

And there was no one to know, no one to sympathize, no one to give her a helping hand in this weary, up-hill work, to guess how heavily the burden of past and present sin bore upon the poor, aching shoulders. In her longing for the human love and sympathy she had once cast from her, and which she could not now bring herself to ask, the poor old lady almost forgot that there was one Eye to see the struggles made for Jesus' sake, one Hand outstretched to save and to help, one Voice to whisper, "Be of good courage."

True, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford were always kind and thoughtful, and all treated her with due respect and consideration; but that was not all she wanted. If the children would but love and trust her. There would be such comfort in that; but in spite of all her efforts, they were still shy and shrinking,--all, save that little tyrant, Franky. Even fearless Fred was quiet and almost dumb in her presence.

So Aunt Patty sat, and sadly thought, unconscious of the wistful pair of eyes which watched her from the other room, until by and by a gentle footstep came stealing round her chair, a soft little hand timidly slipped itself into her own, and she turned to see Bessie's sweet face looking at her, half in pity, half in wonder.

"Well, dear," she asked, after a moment's surprised silence, "What is it?"

Truly, Bessie scarcely knew herself what it was. She had been watching Aunt Patty as she sat looking so sad and lonely, and thinking of Mrs. Rush's lesson of the morning, till her tender little heart could bear it no longer, and she had come to the old lady's side, not thinking of anything particular she would do or say, but just with the wish to put a loving hand to the burden.

"Do you want anything, Bessie?" asked Mrs. Lawrence again.

"No, ma'am, but"--Bessie did not quite like to speak of Aunt Patty's troubles, so she said, "_I_ have a little burden, too, Aunt Patty."

Aunt Patty half smiled to herself as she looked into the earnest, wistful eyes. She, this innocent little one, the darling and pet of all around her, what burden could she have to bear? She did not know the meaning of the word. Then came a vexed, suspicious thought.

"Who told you that I had any burden to bear, child?" she asked, sharply.

"Every one has; haven't they?" said Bessie, rather frightened; then, strong in her loving, holy purpose, she went on. "Everybody has some burden; don't they, Aunt Patty? If our Father makes them very happy, still they have their faults, like I do. And if he don't make them very happy, the faults are a great deal harder to bear; are they not?"

"And what burden have you, dearie?" asked the old lady, quite softened.

"My tempers," said the child, gravely. "I used to be in passions very often, Aunt Patty, till Jesus helped me so much, and very often now I have passions in myself when some one makes me offended; but if I ask Him quite quick to help me, he always does. But it is pretty hard sometimes, and I think that is my burden. Maybe it's only a little one, though, and I oughtn't to speak about it."

Aunt Patty was surprised, no less at the child's innocent freedom in speaking to her than at what she said, for she had never suspected that gentle little Bessie had a passionate temper. She looked at her for a moment, and then said, "Then thank God every day of your life, Bessie, that he has saved you from the misery of growing up with a self-willed, ungoverned temper. Thank him that his grace has been sufficient to help you to battle with it while you are young, that age and long habit have not strengthened it till it seems like a giant you cannot overcome. You will never know what misery it becomes then, with what force the tempter comes again and again; _no one_ knows, _no one_ knows!"

Perhaps Mrs. Lawrence was talking more to herself than to Bessie; but the child understood her, and answered her.

"Jesus knows," she said, softly, and with that tender, lingering tone with which she always spoke the Saviour's name.

"Jesus knows," repeated the old lady, almost as if the thought came to her for the first time.

"Yes, Jesus knows," said Bessie, putting up her small fingers with a little caressing touch to Aunt Patty's cheek; "and is it not sweet and precious, Aunt Patty, to think he had temptations too, and so can know just how hard we have to try not to grieve him? Mrs. Rush told us about it to-day, and I love to think about it all the time. And she told us how he helped every one to bear their burdens; and now we ought to help each other too, 'cause that was what he wanted us to do. But if sometimes we cannot help each other, 'cause we don't know about their burdens, Jesus can always help us, 'cause he always knows; don't he?"

"Bessie, come and sing," called mamma from the other room, and away ran the little comforter to join her voice with the others in the Sabbath evening hymn.

Yes, she had brought comfort to the worn and weary heart; she had put her hand to Aunt Patty's burden and eased the aching pain.

"Jesus knows." Again and again the words came back to her, bringing peace and rest and strength for all days to come. She had heard it often before; she knew it well. "Jesus knows;" but the precious words had never come home to her before as they did when they were spoken by the sweet, trustful, childish voice,--"Jesus knows."

There is no need to tell that they were friendly after this, these two pilgrims on the heavenward way,--the old woman and the little child, she who had begun to tread in her Master's footsteps so early in life's bright morning, and she who had not sought to follow him until the eleventh hour, when her day was almost ended. For they were both clinging to one faith, both looking to one hope, and the hand of the younger had drawn the feet of the elder to a firmer and surer foothold upon the Rock of Ages, on which both were resting.

And how was it with our Maggie?

It was far harder work for her to be sociable with Aunt Patty than it was for Bessie; for besides her fear of the old lady, there was her natural shyness to be struggled with. As for speaking to her, unless it was to give a timid "yes" or "no" when spoken to, that was, at first, by no means possible; but remembering that Mrs. Rush had said that a look or a smile might show good-will or kindness, she took to looking and smiling with all her might. She would plant herself at a short distance from Aunt Patty, and stare at the old lady till she looked up and noticed her, when she would put on the broadest of smiles, and immediately run away, frightened at her own boldness.

Mrs. Lawrence was at first displeased, thinking Maggie meant this for impertinence or mockery; but Mrs. Bradford, having once or twice caught Maggie at this extraordinary performance, asked what it meant, and was told by her little daughter that she was only "trying to bear Aunt Patty's burden."

Then followed an account of what Mrs. Rush had taught the children on Sunday.

"But, indeed, indeed, mamma," said poor Maggie, piteously, "I don't think I can do any better. I do feel so frightened when she looks at me, and she don't look as if she liked me to smile at her, and this morning she said, 'What are you about, child?' _so_ crossly!"

Mamma praised and encouraged her, and afterwards explained to Aunt Patty that Maggie only meant to be friendly, but that her bashfulness and her friendliness were sadly in each other's way. So Mrs. Lawrence was no longer displeased, but like the rest of Maggie's friends, rather amused, when she saw her desperate efforts to be sociable; and after a time even Maggie's shyness wore away. Before this came about, however, she and Bessie had made a discovery or two which amazed them very much.

Surely, it might be said of each of these little ones, "She hath done what she could."

X.

_TWO SURPRISES._

Some time after this Aunt Patty bought a magnificent toy menagerie, not for a present to any of her young nieces and nephews, but to keep as an attraction to her own room when she wished for their company.

Even Maggie could not hold out against such delightful toys, and after some coaxing from Bessie, and a good deal of peeping through the crack of the door at these wonderful animals, she ventured into Aunt Patty's room.

The two little girls, with Franky, were there one morning while mamma and Aunt Patty sat at their work. The animals had been put through a great number of performances, after which it was found necessary to put the menagerie in thorough order. For this purpose the wild beasts were all taken from their cages, and tied with chains of mamma's bright-colored worsteds to the legs of the chairs and tables, while the cages were rubbed and dusted; after which they were to be escorted home again. This proved a very troublesome business, for the animals, as was quite natural, preferred the fields, which were represented by the green spots in the carpet, to the cages, where they were so closely shut up, and did not wish to be carried back. At least, so Maggie said when mamma asked the cause of all the growling and roaring which was going on.

"You see, mamma," she said, "they want to run away to their own forests, and they tried to devour their keepers, till some very kind giants, that's Bessie and Franky and me, came to help the keepers."

But now Flossy, who had been lying quietly on the rug, watching his chance for a bit of mischief, thought he had better help the giants, and rushing at an elephant with which Franky was having a great deal of trouble, tossed it over with his nose, and sent it whirling against the side of the room, where it lay with a broken leg and trunk. Alas, for the poor elephant! It was the first one of the toys that had been broken, and great was the mourning over its sad condition, while Flossy was sent into the corner in disgrace. Of course, it was not possible for the elephant to walk home; he must ride.

"Patty," said Franky, "do down-'tairs and det my water-tart; it's in de lib'ry."

"Franky, Franky!" said mamma, "is that the way to speak to Aunt Patty?"

"Please," Said Franky.

"Aunt Patty has a bone in her foot," said Mrs. Lawrence.

Franky put his head on one side, and looking quizzically at the old lady, said, "Oo went down-'tairs for oo bastet wis a bone in oo foot, so oo tan do for my tart wis a bone in oo foot."

Maggie and Bessie knew that this was saucy, and expected that Aunt Patty would be angry; but, to their surprise, she laughed, and would even have gone for the cart if mamma had not begged her not to.

"Franky," said mamma, as the little girls, seeing Aunt Patty was not displeased, began to chuckle over their brother's cute speech, "you must not ask Aunt Patty to run about for you. It is not pretty for little boys to do so."

"But me want my tart to wide dis poor efelant," said Franky, coaxingly.

Bessie said she would go for the cart, and ran away down-stairs. She went through the parlor, and reaching the library-door, which stood ajar, pushed it open. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Ruthven were there; and what did she see? Was it possible?

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

At this the two culprits turned, and seeing Bessie's shocked and astonished face, Uncle Ruthven laughed outright, his own hearty, ringing laugh. "Come here, princess," he said.

But Bessie was off, the cart quite forgotten. Through the hall and up the stairs, as fast as the little feet could patter, never pausing till she reached mamma's room, where she buried her face in one of the sofa cushions; and there her mother found her some moments later.

"Why, Bessie, my darling, what is it?" asked mamma. "What has happened to you?"

Bessie raised her flushed and troubled face, but she was not crying, as her mother had supposed, though she looked quite ready to do so.

"Oh, mamma!" she said, as Mrs. Bradford sat down and lifted her up on her lap.

"What has troubled you, dearest?"

"Oh, mamma, such a shocking thing! I don't know how to tell you."

"Have you been in any mischief, dear? If you have, do not be afraid to tell your own mamma."

"Oh! it was not me, mamma, but it was a dreadful, dreadful mischief."

"Well, darling, if any of the others have been in mischief, of which I should know, I do not think you will speak of it unless it is necessary!"

"But you ought to know it, mamma, so you can see about it; it was so very unproper. But it was not any of us children; it was big people--it was--it was--Uncle Yuthven and Aunt Bessie; and I'm afraid they won't tell you themselves."

"Well," said Mrs. Bradford, trying to keep a grave face, as she imagined she began to see into the cause of the trouble. She need not have tried to hide her smiles. Her little daughter buried her face on her bosom, as she whispered the, to her, shocking secret, and never once looked up at her mother.

"Mamma,--he--he--_kissed_ her!--he did--and she never scolded him, not a bit."

Still the disturbed little face was hidden, and mamma waited a moment till she could compose her own, and steady her voice.

"My darling," she said, "I have a pleasant secret to tell you. You love dear Aunt Bessie very much; do you not?"

"Yes, mamma, dearly, dearly; and, mamma, she's very much mine,--is she not?--'cause I'm her namesake; and Uncle Yuthven ought not to do it. He had no yight. Mamma, don't you think papa had better ask him to go back to Africa for a little while?"

Bessie's voice was rather angry now. Mamma had once or twice lately seen signs of a little jealous feeling toward Uncle Ruthven. She, Bessie the younger, thought it very strange that Bessie the elder should go out walking or driving so often with Uncle Ruthven, or that they should have so many long talks together. Uncle Ruthven took up quite too much of Aunt Bessie's time, according to little Bessie's thinking. She had borne it pretty well, however, until now; but that Uncle Ruthven should "make so intimate" as to kiss Aunt Bessie, was the last drop in the cup, and she was displeased as well as distressed.

"And if papa had the power," said Mrs. Bradford, "would my Bessie wish Uncle Ruthven sent away again, and so grieve dear grandmamma, who is so glad to have him at home once more, to say nothing of his other friends? I hope my dear little daughter is not giving way to that ugly, hateful feeling, jealousy."

"Oh! I hope not, mamma," said Bessie. "I would not like to be so naughty. And if you think it's being jealous not to like Uncle Yuthven to--to do that, I'll try not to mind it so much;" and here a great sob escaped her, and a tear or two dropped on mamma's hand.

Mrs. Bradford thought it best to make haste and tell her the secret.

"My darling," she said, "you know, though you are so fond of dear Aunt Bessie, she is not related to you,--not really your aunt."

"Yes'm, but then I love her just as much as if she was my very, very own. I have to love her for so many yeasons; 'cause she is her own self and I can't help it, and 'cause I'm her namesake, and 'cause she's my dear soldier's own sister. Mamma, don't you think that is plenty of yeasons to be fond of her for?"

"Yes, dear, but you must be willing to have others fond of her too. And do you not think it would be very pleasant to have her for your own aunt, and to keep her always with us for our very own?"

"Oh, yes, mamma! but then that could not be; could it?"

"Well, yes," said Mrs. Bradford; "if Uncle Ruthven marries her, she will really be your aunt, and then she will live at grandmamma's, where you may see her almost every day, and feel she is quite one of the family."

"And is he going to, mamma?" asked Bessie, raising her head, and with the utmost surprise and pleasure breaking over her face; "is Uncle Yuthven going to marry her, and make her our true aunt?"

"Yes, I believe so," answered her mother; "it was all settled a few days ago. We did not mean to tell you just yet, but now I thought it better. But, Bessie, if you send poor Uncle Ruthven away to Africa again, I fear you will lose Aunt Bessie too, for she will go with him."

"I was naughty to say that, dear mamma," said Bessie, her whole face in a glow of delight, "and I am so sorry I felt cross to Uncle Yuthven just when he was doing us such a great, great favor. Oh, he was so very kind to think of it! He has been trying to give us pleasure ever since he came home, and now he has done the very best thing of all. He knew just what we would like; did he not, mamma?"

Mamma laughed. "I rather think he knew we would all be pleased, Bessie."

"I must thank him very much indeed,--must I not, mamma?--and tell him how very obliging I think he is."

"You may thank him just as much as you please, dear," said mamma, merrily. "Here comes Maggie to see what has become of us. She must hear this delightful secret too."

So Maggie was told, and went capering round the room in frantic delight at the news, inventing, as usual, so many plans and pleasures that might fit in with this new arrangement, that Bessie was better satisfied than ever, and even forgave Uncle Ruthven the kiss.

And here was a second joy at hand; for in came a message from Mrs. Rush, asking that the little girls might come over to the hotel and spend the rest of the day with her and the colonel. They were always ready enough for this, and in a short time they were dressed and on their way with Starr, the colonel's man, who had come for them.

Starr was a soldier, straight, stiff, and very grave and respectful in his manner; and now, as he walked along, leading a little girl in each hand, they wondered to see how very smiling he looked.

"Starr," said Bessie, peeping up in his face, "have you some good news?"

"I've no bad news, miss," said Starr, with a broader smile than before.

"You look so very pleased," said Bessie; to which Starr only replied, "It's likely, miss," and became silent again.

When they reached the long crossing, who should be standing on the corner but Sergeant Richards. Bessie saw him at once, and went directly up to him.

"How do you do, Mr. Station Policeman?" she said, politely, and holding out her morsel of a hand to him. "This is my Maggie."

"Well, now, but I'm glad to see you, and your Maggie too," said the police-sergeant. "And how have you been this long time?"

"Pretty well," answered Bessie. "How are your blind boy and your lame wife and your sick baby, and all your troubles?"

"Why, the wife is able to move round a little," said Richards, "and the baby is mending a bit too."

"And Willie?" asked Bessie.

A shadow came over the policeman's honest face. "Willie is drooping," he said, with a sigh. "I think it's the loss of the sight of his mother's face and of the blessed sunlight that's ailing him. His eyes are quite blind now,--no more light to them than if he was in a pitch-dark cell."

"But I thought the doctor could cure him when his eyes were all blind," said Bessie.

"Not just now, dear. Next year, maybe, if all goes well. That's the best we can hope for, I believe. But here I am standing and talking to you, when I've business on hand that can't be put off." So saying, he shook hands again with Bessie and walked rapidly away.

"I s'pose he means he can't afford to pay the doctor now," said Bessie, as she and Maggie went on again with Starr. "Mrs. Granby said they were pretty poor, and she was 'fraid they couldn't do it this year. It's so long for Willie to wait. I wonder if papa wouldn't pay the doctor."