Chapter 2

It is the mother, weary as she can be, and made still more weary and sorrowful by her little daughter's disobedience. She takes the child into the house and lays her upon the bed. The aching feet are bathed in water, the dirt is washed from the scratches and wounds, while poor Annie weeps and sobs as if her little heart would break. But the ugly thorn would not come out: it must ache on until father comes. Silently and sadly the mother bends over her suffering child, bathing her aching head. At length Annie said,--

"Dear, dear mother, forgive me; and I will never, _never_ want to disobey you again!"

I suppose every child knows just what this good Christian mother said to her little unhappy daughter,--how she told her that she had offended God as well as her mother, and broken his good law. She told her, too, how sinful it was to try to deceive, and then comforted her with her full and free pardon, and said that her heavenly Father would pardon her even more freely than her mother did, if she truly repented of her fault and asked his forgiveness with her whole heart. Then she taught Annie to pray, "Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil;" and, although the little one had said that prayer many times, never, never had she understood its meaning so perfectly before: _now_ she felt her dependence on God.

Soon Susie and Mary came in with the baby; and, while they were pitying poor Annie and asking questions, they placed the child on the bed beside her. There it laughed and crowed merrily and stretched out its little dimpled hands, while Annie, unable to smile in return, wondered how it could be so happy when she was so wretched.

It was late when Mr. Allis came in; and upon examining the foot he said the thorn would have to be cut out in the morning. In vain a soothing poultice was applied to the wound. Annie scarcely closed her eyes all night. Worse than that: she kept her mother awake, although she tried hard to be patient and bear the pain as well as she could. In the morning her father sharpened his penknife and cut out the thorn. Of course he was very careful, but it did hurt sadly. It was many days before the poor foot got well; and I think Annie Allis will remember her mother's "_reasons_" for refusing to go without her shoes _for many a day_.

* * * * *

SUSIE'S TEMPTATION.

No sooner had Annie and Susie made acquaintance with some of the children in the neighbourhood than they began to make frequent visits at Mr. Allis's house. Both father and mother thought it desirable that the little girls should associate with other children; but they dreaded the effect of so much society and so many new influences on the hearts of the little girls. More than this: there were some among those that visited them frequently, who seemed to be almost any thing but desirable companions for the children. Once or twice Mrs. Allis had observed something in the manners and conversation of Jane Smith which led her to suspect that she was a bad girl. Accordingly, she told Annie and Susie that she wished they would, as much as possible, avoid her society. Notwithstanding all she could say, however, Jane was often at the house; and the children became very fond of her. She could tell so many interesting stories and say so many witty things, and had so much to communicate that was new to them, that they seemed almost fascinated by her.

One Saturday afternoon Mrs. Allis was unusually busy, and Jane came to pay another visit. In spite of her cares, she, however, contrived to find amusement for the girls in her own presence. After tea, Jane took her bonnet to go home, and Susie begged permission to walk a short distance with her, to gather prairie-flowers. Mrs. Allis hesitated, but at length gave her consent, specifying the distance which she might go.

Scarcely had they started on their walk, when Jane remarked,--

"I declare! it's mean in your mother to keep you so dreadful close, just as though you didn't know enough to take care of yourself!"

"Mother isn't mean; and you must not say so, Jane, or I shall go right home."

"What! You're mad, are you? Well, I'm sure I don't care, if _you_ don't; but I'm glad my mother don't do so, anyway!"

Susie now turned the conversation, and told Jane that Miss Wilson was making new bonnets for her and Annie. After some questions as to what kind of bonnets they were, and how they were trimmed, Jane asked,--

"When are they going to be done?"

"I suppose they are done to-day; but we shall not get them until some time next week, for it is too late for father to go to-night, and he is very tired besides."

"Why don't you go and get them yourself? I would."

"Oh, it's too far to go."

"Nonsense! It's only two miles."

"But mother did not send me: she would have sent me if she had wished me to go."

"Pooh! she thought you would be afraid to go! I'll warrant she would be glad enough to see the bonnets home. Come along, now! I'll go with you. You know you can't go to meeting tomorrow if you don't get your bonnet."

"Oh, yes: we can wear our clean sun-bonnets."

"Wear your sun-bonnet to meeting! I'd stay at home first!"

"I wouldn't stay at home first! But I _would_ like a new bonnet, too. I _would_ go and get it if I thought mother would like it."

"Like it! why, to-be-sure she will! Come along."

With hesitating steps Susie went on. Just before her was the point which her mother had made the limit of her walk. She felt no desire to disobey her mother; but the thought of surprising her by bringing home the new bonnets unexpectedly was quite a temptation. Then it would be so pleasant to have them, too; she wanted to see how they looked very much indeed. Why could she not walk very fast and get back soon? She looked at the sun, to see how much time there would be. It was almost setting; and she exclaimed,--

"Jane! I can't go! See; it is almost sundown!"

"It will be light for two hours. There is time enough; we can run, and get back before dark."

"What if I shouldn't get the bonnets after all? What would mother say?"

"You'll get them fast enough; and, even if you don't, you needn't tell her. She'll never know it! Come along!"

Jane had said _one word too many now_. The frightened child had done the best thing she could have done. The idea of deceiving her mother had put the matter in an entirely new light, and she ran homeward, without one word of reply, as fast as her little feet could carry her. As soon as she reached the house she told the story to Annie and Mary, through whom it soon reached the mother's ears. She had no more occasion to caution her little girls to avoid Jane Smith.

"How much our mother knows! Don't she, Susie?" said Annie; "she told us long ago that Jane was a naughty girl; but we didn't see how it could be!"

* * * * *

THE COLD DAY

Both Susie and Annie Allis had learned a good lesson, and both of them profited by it. They found, each for herself, how much safer and better it was to trust their parents and obey their commands, whether they understood all about them or not. These kind parents often reminded their little ones that their good Father in heaven knew just what kind of parents he had given the children, and that he required them to yield a willing and cheerful obedience to all their parents' will, unless their commands involved the breaking of his holy law. That this would be the case the little girls did not fear, and, taught, as we believe, by the good Spirit from above, they tried very hard to _please God_ by _honouring their parents_.

The winter was quite mild and pleasant, and Mrs. Allis thought best that Annie and Susie should continue to attend school as long as the weather would permit. It was a long walk for little girls not quite seven years old; but when the sky was bright and the path good they did not mind the cold air, for they were warmly clad and full of health and animation; they ran gayly along, scarcely heeding the distance they had to go.

One morning Mr. and Mrs. Allis had occasion to go to a neighbouring town on business, and Mary was left at home alone with the baby. The children rode to school with their parents, and, when they got out of the wagon at the door of the log school-house, Annie said,--

"Will you get back before night, father?"

"Probably not. If we do we will call and take you home."

The morning was somewhat dark and cloudy, and a dense fog settled in the hollows and ravines. Towards noon, however, there was a change; a cold north wind began to blow, as it blows nowhere except on the wide open prairies, unless it be on the sea. The clouds soon disappeared and the bright sun shone out clear and bright. Every hour the cold increased, until it became intense. The school-mistress dismissed the children somewhat earlier than usual and called them all around the huge fireplace to warm themselves. Then, after she had carefully fastened their cloaks and tippets and charged them to run home as fast as they could, they started out.

Poor little Annie and Susie had to go alone. None of the children lived in the direction of their home; and, worse than all, they had the cold, fierce wind directly in their faces. But they thought of no danger while the sun was shining so brightly; and so on they went, running backwards to keep the wind out of their faces. Somewhat more than half-way home, a little aside from the road, lived a family by the name of Staunton. When they were just opposite to the house they found themselves very cold.

"Oh, Annie! do let's go in and warm, ourselves," said Susie; "I am so cold!"

"I can't stop, Susie," said Annie; "don't you know mother said we mustn't stop on the way home from school?"

"Well, I don't think mother would care if we stopped now; I am so very cold. Do you?"

"I don't know; I guess we had better hurry home as fast as we can. It would be hard work to start again, you know."

At this juncture the wind tore away Annie's cloak, and the little girls forgot their cold hands as they chased it away off towards the pile of rocks where Annie saw the snake in the summer. Under the shelter of those rocks they sat down a moment to put on the cloak. Of course, mittens must be laid aside, and the little, stiff, benumbed fingers had hard work to fasten the garment, which had lost one of its strings in the encounter with the rude north wind. When at last it was made fast with a pin, Susie said,--

"I am going to rub my hands with snow, Annie! You know Dick Matthews said that he could warm his hands with snow when they were cold!"

Both the little ones rubbed their hands with the snow, and again set out, holding each other firmly by the hand. Several times they repeated the experiment, baring the little delicate fingers to the biting wind. At last they ceased to ache; but the feet were stiff and their limbs tired and weary.

"Do your hands ache now, Susie?"

"No; but my feet do, and my face. Oh, I'm afraid we'll never get home! a'n't you, Annie?"

"It's hard work to walk, and I can hardly stir one step; when I turn my back it seems as if I should fall right down. I do wish Mary would come down to the field and open the gate! don't you?"

"Yes, I do; for my hands are just as stiff as they can be."

"There come father and mother, Annie; let's wait and ride," said Susie.

"We'd better go and open the gate. See! there comes Mary! A'n't you glad?"

"I can't stay for any thing; I shall run right to the fire! My feet are freezing, almost," said Susie.

At that moment Mary came. She had been watching for the children, and as soon as they came in sight she laid down the baby and ran to help them come in the house. She set the gate wide open for the wagon, and then hurried the girls in to the fire. Soon the parents came in.

"How glad we are to see you, children! We were almost afraid you would be frozen. We tried to get home in time to take you in the wagon. Are not your hands very cold?"

"Our feet are cold; our hands were, too, but they are not now."

"Not now?" said Mary, hastily drawing off Annie's mittens.

Alas! the little fingers were frozen! Susie's were in the same sad condition. And now there was a brisk rubbing with snow, and the most intense suffering as the slow-coming warmth returned to the purple hands.

"Annie," said Mr. Allis, when the pain of the hands was somewhat relieved, "why did you not stop at Mr. Staunton's and warm yourself?"

"Because, father," said Annie, looking up meekly through her tears, "mother has told us _never to stop on our way home from school, and I always try to mind what she tells us now!"_

THE END.