Bessie and Her Friends

"Mamma cannot kiss you till you are a good boy," said Mrs. Bradford, and repeated her question, "Where are your slippers?"

"In Patty's pottet," said Franky, seeing that his mother would have an answer, and thinking he had best have it out.

"And how came they in Aunt Patty's pocket?"

"She put dem dere hersef," answered the child.

"Did she take them off your feet, Franky?"

"No, mamma," answered Franky, liking these questions still less than he had done the others.

"How did they come off then?"

"Me trow dem at Patty," said Franky.

At last, after much more questioning and some whimpering from the child, he was brought to confess that he had gone to the library, where he found Aunt Patty. Defying her as usual, and trying how far he could go, without punishment, he had called her "bad old sing," and many other naughty names; but finding this did not bring the expected scolding, he had pulled off first one and then the other of his slippers and thrown them at the old lady. These Mrs. Lawrence had picked up and put in her pocket, still without speaking. Little Franky could not tell how sorrow and anger were both struggling in her heart beneath that grave silence.

When Mrs. Bradford had found out all Franky could or would tell, she told him he was a very naughty little boy, and since he had behaved so badly to Aunt Patty, he must go at once and ask her pardon. This Franky had no mind to do. He liked very well to brave Aunt Patty from a safe distance; but he did not care to trust himself within reach of the punishment he knew he so justly deserved. Besides, he was in a naughty, obstinate mood, and would not obey his mother as readily as usual. But mamma was determined, as it was right she should be, and after rather a hard battle with her little son, she carried him down-stairs, still sobbing, but subdued and penitent, to beg Aunt Patty's forgiveness.

"Me sorry, me do so any more," said Franky, meaning he would do so no more.

To his surprise, and also somewhat to his mother's, the old lady caught him in her arms, and covered his face with kisses, while a tear or two shone in her eye.

"Don't ky; me dood now," lisped Franky, forgetting all his fear, and putting up his hand to wipe away her tears; and from this minute Aunt Patty and Franky were the best of friends. Indeed, so indulgent did she become to him, that papa and mamma were quite afraid he would be spoiled; for the little gentleman, finding out his power, lorded it over her pretty well. Mrs. Bradford, coming in unexpectedly one day, actually found the old lady on her hands and knees, in a corner, playing the part of a horse eating hay from a manger; while Franky, clothes-brush in hand, was, much to his own satisfaction, pretending to rub her down, making the hissing noise used by coachmen when they curry a horse, and positively refusing to allow his patient playfellow to rise.

But Maggie and Bessie could not be persuaded to be at all friendly or sociable with Aunt Patty. True, after their first dread of her wore off, and they found she was by no means so terrible as they had imagined, they no longer scampered off at the least sound of her voice or glimpse of her skirts, as they had done at first; and Bessie even found courage to speak to her now and then, always looking however, as if she thought she was running a great risk, and could not tell what would be the consequence of such boldness. For after all they had heard, our little girls found it impossible to believe that such a great change had taken place in Aunt Patty, and were always watching for some outbreak of temper.

Unhappily there was one thing which stood much in Aunt Patty's way, not only with the children, but perhaps with some grown people also, and that was her old way of meddling and finding fault with things which did not concern her. This she did, almost without knowing it; for so it is, where we have long indulged in a habit, it becomes, as it were, a part of ourselves, and the older we grow, the harder it is to rid ourselves of it. And there are few things which sooner rouse the evil passions and dislike of others than this trick of fault-finding where we have no right or need to do so, or of meddling with that which does not concern us. So Mrs. Lawrence, without intending it, was constantly fretting and aggravating those around her while Maggie and Bessie, who thought that all their mamma did or said was quite perfect, were amazed and indignant when they heard her rules and wishes questioned and found fault with, and sometimes even set aside by Aunt Patty, if she thought another way better.

IX

"BEAR YE ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS."

One Sunday when Mrs. Lawrence had been with them about two weeks, Maggie and Bessie, on going as usual to their class at Mrs. Rush's, found that they two were to make up her whole class that morning; for Gracie Howard was sick, and Lily Norris gone on a visit to her grandfather who lived in the country. Mrs. Rush was not very sorry to have her favorite scholars by themselves, for she wished to give them a little lesson which it was not necessary that the others should hear. And Maggie gave her the opportunity for which she wished by asking Colonel Rush for the story of Benito.

"For," said the little girl, "if we were away and Lily and Gracie here, and you told them a new story, we should be very disappointed not to hear it; so Bessie and I made agreement to ask for an old one, and we like Benito better than any."

"Very well; it shall be as you say," replied the colonel, who, provided his pets were satisfied, was so himself, and after the children had gone, he said to his wife, "Certainly there are few things in which our sweet little Maggie does not act up to the Golden Rule, of which she is so fond. She does not repeat it in a parrot-like way, as many do, but she understands what it means, and practises it too, with her whole heart."

So when the lessons were over, the colonel told the story of Benito, which never seemed to lose its freshness with these little listeners. When he came to the part where Benito helped the old dame with her burden, Mrs. Rush said, "Children, what do you think that burden was?"

"We don't know," said Bessie. "What?"

"Neither do I know," answered Mrs. Rush. "I was only thinking what it might be. Perhaps it was pain and sickness; perhaps the loss of friends; perhaps some old, troublesome sin, sorely repented of, long struggled with, but which still returned again and again, to weary and almost discourage her as she toiled along in the road which led to the Father's house. Perhaps it was all of them; but what ever it was, Benito did not pause to ask; he only thought of his Lord's command, 'Bear ye one another's burdens;' and so put his hand to the load, and eased the old dame's pain and weariness. Was it not so?" she asked of her husband.

"I think so," he answered.

"But a little child could not help grown persons to bear their sins, or to cure them," said Bessie; "they must go to Jesus for that."

"Yes, we must go to Jesus; but the very love and help and pity we have from him teach us to show all we can to our fellow-creatures, whether they are young or old. One of the good men whom Jesus left on earth to do his work and preach his word tells us that Christ was 'touched with the feeling of our infirmities, because he was in all points tempted like as we are.' This means that, good and pure and holy as he was, yet he allowed himself to suffer all the trials and struggles and temptations which can come to poor, weak man, so that he might know just what we feel as we pass through them, and just what help we need. Yet, sorely tempted as he was, he never fell into sin, but returned to his Father's heaven pure and stainless as he left it. Since then Christ feels for all the pains and struggles through which we go for his sake, since he can make allowance for all our weakness and failures; and as he is so ready to give us help in our temptations, so much the more ought we who are not only tempted, but too apt, in spite of our best efforts, to fall into sin, to show to others all the kindness and sympathy we may at any time need for ourselves. So may we try to copy our Saviour, 'bearing one another's burdens,' even as he has borne ours, by giving love and pity and sympathy where we can give nothing else. Benito was a very young child, scarcely able to walk on the narrow road without the help of some older and wiser hand, and his weak shoulders could not carry any part of the old dame's load; but he put his baby hands beneath it, and gave her loving smiles and gentle words, and these brought her help and comfort, so that she went on her way, strengthened for the rest of the journey. And, as we know, Benito met his reward as he came to the gates of his Father's house. So much may the youngest do for the oldest; and I think we know of an old dame whose 'burden' our little pilgrims, Maggie and Bessie, might help to bear, if they would."

"I just believe you mean Aunt Patty!" exclaimed Bessie, in such a tone as showed she was not very well pleased with the idea.

"And," said Maggie, with just the least little pout, "I don't believe she is a dame pilgrim, and I don't believe she is in the narrow path, not a bit!"

"There I think you are mistaken, Maggie, for, so far as we can judge, there is reason to think Aunt Patty is walking in the safe and narrow road which leads to the Father's house; and, since she has not been brought to it by paths quite so easy and pleasant as some of us have known, there is all the more reason that we happier travellers should give her a helping hand. It may be very little that we can give; a word, a look, a smile, a kind offer to go for some little trifle that is needed, will often cheer and gladden a heart that is heavy with its secret burden. And if we now and then get a knock, or even a rather hard scratch from those corners of our neighbor's load, which are made up of little faults and odd tempers, we must try not to mind it, but think only of how tired those poor, weary shoulders must be of the weight they carry."

"But, Mrs. Rush," said Maggie, "Aunt Patty's corners scratch very hard, and hurt very much."

"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.