Chapter 5

WHAT MADE THE DIFFERENCE?

"O Mother! Fanny Bell, and Mary Green, and ever so many of the girls, are going into the woods to-morrow afternoon, and they want us to go with them. May we, mother?" said Belle and Nannie together, as they came running into the room where their mother was.

"I'll see about it," she said; "it will depend upon what kind of girls you are."

"Oh, we'll be very good, mother, if you will let us go."

"We'll see," said their mother.

The morrow came, and with it the desired permission. Pretty early, Nannie, who was on the watch, saw them coming, and called out to Belle, "Here they are!" Belle ran out.

"Are you going?"

"Yes."

"Is Nannie?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I'm so glad Nannie's going," cried one voice and another. "Yes, I'm so glad."

"I don't see," said Belle to herself, "why they should be so glad Nannie is going. They don't seem to care about me at all."

With rather a cross tone of voice, she called to Nannie to make haste and get ready.

Just as they were starting, Charlie came in, and seeing Nannie with her bonnet on, he called out:--

"O Nannie, where are you going? I want you to show me the pictures in your new book."

"I can't this afternoon, Charlie; I'm going into the woods."

"Oh, pshaw!" said Charlie; "I like so much better when you're at home."

"It does not make any difference to Charlie whether I'm at home or not," Belle said to herself.

When they started there was such a strife who should walk with Nannie, that Belle was very nearly left to walk alone. Their walk led through the pretty lane bordered with lime-trees, at the back of Dr. Merry's house, then on past Grannie Burt's house, when it turned off into a little path, across the field that was worn quite smooth by the boys going nutting. This path brought you at last to a stile. Over this stile they all climbed, and now were in the woods. What a beautiful wood it was! The trees opened here and there to let in the sunlight, which danced in and out among the green and yellow and russet brown leaves of the trees, changing into every hue of autumn. On the ground, springing up everywhere, were the dark leaves and bright red berries of the cranberry and bilberry; while down by the brook the greenest of all mosses covered the stones, and converted any old log that came in their way into the softest of seats. Then, what a wild and roaring little brook that Stony Brook was! You could follow it all the way through the woods by only stepping from stone to stone, and every little while you might see a great hole scooped out in the rock, where the water lay dark and silent, or a little precipice over which it dashed and foamed. This was a favourite wood with the children. In summer they often spent whole days there, gathering wild flowers or the beautiful fern leaves, which grew in every nook and corner. And now that the bright autumn leaves were scattered everywhere, and the tempting berries covered the ground, they found employment for many a spare hour. To-day the little girls had gathered leaves and berries till they were tired, when Ellen Bates said,--

"Let us choose a queen, and crown her."

"What will you crown her with?" said Mary Green.

"Oh, these bright leaves will do," said Nannie; "we can put them together by the stems."

Now when it was first proposed to choose a queen, Belle thought, "They always choose the prettiest one for a queen--I know they will choose me;" so she said with great eagerness, "Oh yes, let us have a queen!"

"Let us have Belle for our queen!" cried one of the girls.

"Oh no, we want Nannie!" said two or three at once.

"A crown of red leaves will look pretty with Nannie's red hair," said one of the girls, laughing.

"I don't care," said another. "We all love her best, and I don't intend to crown anybody I don't like, if they _are_ pretty."

Belle stood looking on with pretended indifference, for she did not want the girls should know how much she cared about it.

"All that vote for Belle hold up a bunch of berries; and all that vote for Nannie hold up an oak leaf."

The girls laughed, and held up their hands. There were six oak leaves, and only two bunches of berries.

"I'd rather Belle would be queen," said Nannie, though it cost a little effort to say it; for she was as much pleased with the honour as any one.

"But we had rather not," the girls said. "You cannot help yourself; so sit down while we make your crown."

Belle was too proud to show her disappointment, so she sat down and helped to make the crown. Very pretty she looked as she sat on the mossy bank, while her hands worked in and out among the bright coloured leaves. A stranger looking at the two sisters, would have wondered why the girls had passed by Belle, and chosen the plain though pleasant-faced Nannie. So one would think that looked only on the outside; but could one have looked within, they would soon have understood the reason of the choice.

After the crowning of the queen, which was performed with all due ceremony, the children went home, following Stony Brook till it poured its waters into the little river on which the village was built.

After they reached home, Belle went upstairs, and sitting down by the window, gave free vent to the angry thoughts she had been keeping under all the afternoon.

"I don't see," she said to herself at last, "what makes the difference. I know I'm a great deal prettier than Nannie;" and she went across and looked at herself in the glass. "Yes, I am a great deal prettier, and yet the girls all love Nannie better. And I can learn a lesson twice as quick, and yet Miss Taylor likes Nannie better than me, and helps her out of all her difficulties. And father, and mother, and sister Mary, all think there's nobody like Nannie, and they are always scolding me for something or other. I wish people would love me as they do Nannie. I would rather be the ugliest person in the world and be loved." She was silent for a moment, while conscience brought before her all the kind acts Nannie was always doing for somebody. How ready she was to give up her own pleasure, and do anything for others. Then she went off into a pleasant day-dream, in which she was very good, always did just right, and everybody loved her. All the old women in the village thought no one could do anything for them like Belle Merry; her mother thought she never could spare Belle, and Charlie was never satisfied when Belle was away. She forgot, when she was dreaming, how, when her father said Granny Burt had no one to read to her, she said "she hadn't time to read to an old woman."

She forgot how often, when her mother had asked for some little help, it had been given so pettishly as to make that mother's face grow sad. She forgot how often, when Charlie had made some little request for entertainment, she had turned away, until now he never asked Belle for anything when Nannie was in the room. Yes, she forgot all this, she forgot all the hard part of doing right, and her dream was very pleasant--so pleasant, that at last she said, with great determination, "I mean to be so kind and good, that they will all love me. I'm going to try. I'll begin at once, to-night."

So she started down-stairs. Poor Belle! how many times had she come out of her little room and gone down-stairs with the same determination to do better, and how many times had she failed!

And how many times had Nannie come out of the same little room with the same resolution, and almost always succeeded! What made the difference? If you had been there sometimes with Nannie, you would have found that she did one thing that Belle had not done. She knelt down and asked God to help her.

There was the difference. Belle was trying to make herself good, Nannie was praying to Jesus to help her.

As Belle came into the sitting-room, her mother said to her, "You ought to have come down immediately to help to set the table, Belle; Nannie set it for you."

Belle said nothing, neither did she thank Nannie, who looked up for a moment, then went on reading.

"Belle," said her mother, "you may fill the water-pitcher, since Nannie has done your work for you."

"I didn't ask her to do my work," said Belle, as she took the pitcher. "That's always the way," she said to herself; "now I came down-stairs feeling pleasant enough, and mother began scolding me because I hadn't set the table. There's no use trying. I wasn't to blame."

Who _was_ to blame?

After supper Belle sat down with a book she was busy reading. Just as she began, her father asked her to bring his slippers.

"In a minute," she said, without looking up, while she went on reading.

Nannie, seeing Belle so much interested, ran off and brought the slippers, and received a pleasant "Thank you!" from her father. Belle was not so much interested in her book as not to hear the "Thank you," and it again excited the angry feelings.

"I was going in a minute," she said to herself. "Nannie needn't have been in such a hurry. I wasn't to blame."

Who _was_ to blame?

"I wish one of you would take Charlie to bed," said their mother, as she came in with her basket of mending. Here was a good opportunity to help her mother, and Belle put down her book with determination, and said, "I'll take him."

"No," said Master Charlie, "I don't want Belle to put me to bed;--I want Nannie. You go, Nannie," he said, putting his little arms around her neck, and looking up beseechingly. So Nannie laid down her book and took Charlie to bed.

Poor Belle! She held her book up to hide the tears that would come. "There's no use in trying," she thought. "It wasn't my fault if Charlie wouldn't let me."

Whose fault was it?

Dr. Merry had seen it all. He saw the struggle it had been for Belle to put away her book, and he saw the tears fill her eyes when Charlie refused; and now, as he got up to go to his surgery, he whispered to her, "Be strong and of a good courage. For the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee."

"What could her father mean?" Belle kept thinking it over and over. "Be strong and of a good courage"--she knew well enough what the words meant, but why should her father say them to her. She wondered if he knew she was trying to do better, and was almost ready to give up.

"Be strong and of a good courage,"--she said it again. "Of good courage, means not to be afraid, not to give up, to go on trying, no matter how hard it is. But I don't see the use in trying. It's always the same, everything goes wrong. I may as well give up at first as at last."

There was a Bible lying by her on the table, and, almost without thinking, she took it up, and began turning over the leaves to find the words; she knew where they were, for she had seen them many times. She found the place, and read over again the words,--

"For the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee."

"I can't do right,--there's no use trying;" but while she said it, she was reading over again the last part, "He will not fail thee."

"I wonder," she said, brightening up as the thought struck her, "if that is what father meant! I can't do right myself, but God will help me."