Read Ebook: Timid Lucy by Baker Sarah S Sarah Schoonmaker

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Ebook has 486 lines and 25221 words, and 10 pages

ard to the meeting with pleasure; but she filled her mind with wicked, envious thoughts.

Do my young friends ever think whether they have roused wrong feelings in their companions? Two children can hardly talk together for half an hour without having some influence over each other, for good or for evil. The wrong thought that you have planted in the heart of a child may strengthen, and lead her to do some very wicked thing when you have forgotten the conversation.

A traveller once took some seeds of a very valuable plant with him on a journey. From time to time he cast them in the fields as he passed, and when he was far away they sprang up and were a great blessing to the people who owned the fields. A wicked traveller might have scattered the seeds of poisonous plants, which would have grown up to bring sickness and death to all who partook of them. Our life is like a journey, and whenever we talk with the people around us, we cast some seeds in their hearts, those which may spring up to bless them, or those which may cause them sin and sorrow.

THE ARRIVAL.

"Your sister is to be here at ten o'clock, and you must be ready to receive her," said Mrs. Maxwell to Lucy, a few days after the occurrences related in the last chapter.

"Shall I put on my white frock?" asked Lucy.

"Nonsense! child," was the reply; "isn't your sister to see you every day, from morning to night, in whatever you happen to have on? Go, get a clean apron, and make your hair smooth, that is all the dressing that little girls need."

This idea did not suit Lucy, for she was very anxious that her sister should love her, and she thought if she were prettily dressed at first, she would be more likely to do so. As she looked in the glass while arranging her hair, she thought she never had seemed quite so ugly. The fact was, she was beginning to have a fretful expression, which was spoiling her face. Lucy had never heard that scowls must in time become wrinkles. She was not at all pleased with her simple appearance, but there seemed no way for her to wear any ornament, not even a hair ribbon, for her soft light curls were cut so closely, that they could only lie like her waxen doll's, in golden rings about her head.

Lucy was fond of dress, and she would have liked to wear jewellery to school, as many of the scholars did, but Mrs. Maxwell never allowed it. The little girl had a bracelet of her mother's hair, and this she, one morning, clasped on her arm under her apron, to be worn on the outside after she reached school, where Mrs. Maxwell could not see it. As she stopped on the road to change it, there came a sudden pang into her heart--she was deceiving, and with the gift of her dead mother; perhaps that dear mother could see her now, she thought; and hastily putting down her sleeve, she hurried to school.

Though the bracelet was not displayed, and no one around her knew that she wore it, she felt guilty and unhappy until it was restored to the box in which it was usually kept. The remembrance of that day checked her this morning, as she was about to place on her slender finger a ring which had been her mother's, and in her child-like dress, she went down to wait for her sister.

She found Harty at the front window, but by no means in a fit condition to give Rosa a welcome, for his face had not been washed since breakfast, and his dark curls were, as usual, in wild confusion.

"Here comes Miss Prim!" he shouted, as Lucy entered, "as neat as a new pin. For my part, I don't intend to dress up for Rosa; she'll have to see me this way, and she may as well get used to it at once. I do wish she'd come, I am tired of waiting; the clock struck ten five minutes ago. Hurrah! there's the carriage!" he cried, and was out of the room in an instant.

Lucy longed to follow, but she seemed fastened to her chair; there she sat, looking anxiously out of the window, as the carriage entered the yard and drove up to the door.

Her father got out first, and then gave his hand to a tall, slender girl, who sprang with one leap to the stops, and was locked in Harty's rough embrace.

"But where is little Lucy?" she asked, when Harty had ceased to smother her with kisses.

The voice was kind and cheerful, and Lucy stepped forward, hanging her head, and timidly putting out her hand.

Rosa overlooked the little hand, and clasped the bashful child tenderly in her arms.

Tears came in Lucy's eyes, she could not tell why--not because she was unhappy, for she felt sure she should love her sister.

"God bless you, my children!" said Dr. Vale, "may you be happy together. Rosa, you must be a second mother to our little one. Lucy, show your sister her room; I must leave you now; I must not neglect my patients, even to enjoy seeing my children once more together." So saying, he drove from the door.

Rosa's room had no gloomy associations to her, for she had not been at home at the time of her mother's death, and she only remembered it as the spot where she had enjoyed much sweet conversation with that dear mother, now, she trusted, a saint in heaven.

As her eyes fell on the truthful picture of that lost friend, they were dimmed by natural tears, which were soon wiped away, for why should she weep for one whose pure spirit was at rest?

Rosa was a Christian; not that she never did wrong, but it was her chief wish to do right. She had just been confirmed, and felt most anxious to do something to serve the Saviour, whose follower she had professed herself to be. When she received her father's letter recalling her home, she found it hard to obey, for she had been so long at her uncle's, that it was a severe trial to leave his family circle, and to lose his advice, which she knew she should so much need, to keep her true to the promises which she had now taken upon herself. Mr. Gillette, with gentle firmness, pointed out to his niece that it was her plain duty to return unhesitatingly to her father's house.

"You wish, dear Rosa," he said, "to be a true follower of the Saviour, and to do something for His cause. Go home to your brother and sister, strive by example and kind advice to lead their young hearts to Him who will repay all their love. But be careful, my child, while you are striving for the good of others, not to neglect your own character. Be yourself all that you wish to make them!"

Rosa had returned with a true desire to be of service to Lucy and Harty, and she had many plans for their welfare. Just now she longed to be alone for a few moments, that she might thank her Heavenly Father for His protecting care during the journey, and ask His blessing on her new home.

Her first impulse was to send the children away, but she checked it, and made them quite happy by allowing them to assist her in unpacking. Lucy handled everything very carefully, but Harty made Rosa tremble, by his way of tumbling over her collars and ribbons.

At last, all was unpacked but the little box of books, which Harty insisted on opening himself. "Run, get my hatchet," he said to Lucy, who willingly brought it.

"This is too small to work with," said the eager boy, after a few moments' exertion, "get me the large hatchet, Lucy."

Lucy again obeyed; but her brother spoke not a word of thanks when she came back, breathless with running. This rudeness did not escape Rosa, although she hoped it was only occasioned by her brother's anxiety to oblige her, and was not his usual manner.

The obstinate nails at last came out, and all the party sat down on the floor, and began taking out the books. Harty looked at the titles one after the other, and threw them aside with disappointment; at length he said, impatiently, "Are they all as sober as sermons? I should think you were going to be a parson, Rosa."

"Not exactly!" said she, with a merry laugh, "but you must not be surprised if I preach a little sometimes. Then you don't like my books; I am sorry for that, but I hope we shall have a great deal of pleasure in reading them together, by-and-by."

"Not I," answered Harty; "I like stories about shipwrecks and great soldiers, and strange and wonderful things."

"Then here is a book which ought to please you," said Rosa, laying her hands on the beautiful Bible which had been Mr. Gillette's parting gift. "Do you not love to read it?"

Harty hung his head, and answered, "There are no nice stories in the Bible."

"No nice stories in the Bible!" said Rosa. She turned the leaves rapidly, and began to read the story of Gideon. At first, Harty looked very indifferent; but she read in a clear voice, and animated manner, and by degrees he dropped the books which lay on his lap, and leaned his head on his hands, in rapt attention. When she came to the attack on the camp of the Midianites, he was ready to join the shout, "The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!"

"Where is it? where is it?" asked Harty, when Rosa had finished, "I want to look at it myself."

She pointed to the place, and promised to find him many more interesting stories, that they could read together.

Lucy meanwhile had crept close to Rosa's side, and laid her hand upon her lap. "And there is something to interest you, too, Lucy," said Rosa: "here is the Prodigal Son, let me read it to you."

"Do! do! sister Rosa," said both of the children. She needed no urging, and read the short and beautiful parable with real feeling.

Harty felt touched, he knew not why, but with an effort to look unconcerned, he asked, abruptly, "What does it mean, Rosa?"

"It teaches us many sweet lessons, dear Harty," answered Rosa; "I cannot well explain them all to you, but I know that it is to make us understand that God loves us as the father loved his wandering son. Did you notice that he knew the Prodigal when he was afar off, and ran to meet him? So God sees when we wish to do right, though nobody about us may guess it, and He is ready to welcome us to His love. Is it not strange that the Holy God should love us so tenderly?"

Harty looked wearied, and did not reply. Lucy tried to speak, but she was almost weeping, and her lips would not move.

"Come, we must not talk any more," said Rosa, cheerfully. "See how the things are all lying about. Harty, can you take the box away for me?"

He started off, with a sense of relief, and Rosa was left alone with her little sister. She kissed the child gently, and said, "You must tell me, some time, why those tears come so quickly; I want to know all that troubles you, and be your friend."

Lucy only replied by placing her hand in that of her sister. Harty now returned, and they all went to work busily, and soon arranged the books on the shelves of the bookcase.

"Come, Rosa," said Harty, "I want to show you my room, and to take you down in the orchard;" and he seized her rather forcibly by the hand.

The room was still in confusion, and Rosa would have preferred to stay and see her things nicely put away, but she contented herself with closing one or two of the drawers, and then followed her eager brother. Lucy silently went with them, keeping close to her sister's side, now and then looking half-lovingly, half-wistfully, into Rosa's cheerful face.

Harty's room was a curiosity shop, filled with all kinds of odd things that he had gathered together. Mrs. Maxwell and he had been for a long time at war about the birds' nests, nuts, shells, stones, &c., that he was constantly bringing to the house, and leaving about to her great annoyance. On several occasions she threw away his carefully collected treasures, and at last, the young gentleman, in great displeasure, went to his father and asked, "if he might not be allowed, at least in his own room, to keep anything valuable that he found in his walks." His father consented, and after that his room became a perfect museum. Stuffed birds, squirrel-skins, and crooked sticks were ranged on his mantel-piece, in a kind of order, and the chest of drawers was covered with similar specimens.

From time to time, Mrs. Maxwell came herself to dust among them, though Harty was sure to complain after such visits that his treasures had been greatly injured. On this particular morning Mrs. Maxwell had been thoroughly dusting, on account of the expected arrival, and as Harty entered the room he darted from Rosa, and carefully taking from the shelf some twigs, with bits of spiders' web attached to thorn, he angrily exclaimed, "Old Maxwell has been here, I know! I wish she would let my things alone! the hateful thing! See here, Rosa, this was a beautiful web, as perfect as it could be; I brought it only yesterday morning, when it was all strung with dew-drops, and now look at it! Isn't it enough to make any one angry?"

Rosa looked sorrowfully at her brother, and made no reply for a moment; at length she answered: "Dear Harty, you can find another spider's web; but angry words once spoken can never be taken back. Won't you show me what you have here, and forget your trouble?"

The hasty boy was soon engaged in explaining what all the queer-looking things were, and why he valued them. In some of them Rosa was much interested: she had never seen a titmouse's nest before, and as she took the curious home in her hand, she thought of the kind Heavenly Father who had taught those little creatures to build it with such skill, and had watched the nestlings from the time they left the shell, until they flew lightly away on their fluttering wings.

"What can you be thinking about?" said Harty, as she looked earnestly at the pretty thing.

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