Bessie on Her Travels

“What is the matter, George?” said Miss Temple, seeing something was wrong. “Are you teasing Maggie? Are those verses hers?”

“I told you they were Anon.,” replied her brother.

This was a little too much. It was quite bad enough for Mr. Temple to torment Maggie so; but that he should give the credit of those beautiful verses to another, was more than could be borne, and Bessie turned upon him, saying, with the utmost severity, but without passion, —

“They’re not. Miss Anon. didn’t write them. My Maggie did; and you know it, and you took them out of her bag.”

Mr. Temple laughed with the others at the first part of the speech, but looked grave again at its ending.

“Hallo!” he said, rousing himself from the lazy attitude he had kept until now, “do you know what you are saying, little lady? That would be stealing.”

Bessie stood looking at him for a moment in silence.

“I picked them up off the deck of the steamboat,” said the young gentleman, a shade of vexation crossing his face as he noted the expression of the child’s.

With grave reproach in her great, serious eyes, she made answer, —

“I don’t see why it’s not just the same.”

“The same as what, as stealing?”

“You knew they were not yours, sir,” answered the child. “I don’t suppose it was just stealing, but I think it was” —

“Well,” said Mr. Temple, seeing she hesitated.

“I had better go away,” said Bessie: “I feel pretty saucy and I might say something you deserved;” with which she turned away, and ran after Kate and Maggie.

Mr. Temple looked, as he felt, uncomfortable. The joke had proved more serious than he had intended; and the remarks made by his two companions, and their amusement at Bessie’s words, did not tend to make him better pleased with the consequences of his own conduct.

Kate added her reproaches when she returned, after leaving Maggie and Bessie in their father’s care, saying, —

“I had rather, for your own sake, that you had done this thing to any other children than those two, George. They are both so truly just, and have such a high sense of honor, which you have rudely shocked.”

“A child’s sense of honor,” repeated George, rather scornfully. “I am sorry I teased them, and had no idea Maggie would take it so hardly; but I am not troubled in regard to my self. A child’s opinion does not signify much.”

“It does with me,” said Kate, “and I can tell you a story to the point, and which may show you what a child’s sense of honor is worth. I think they sometimes see the right and wrong more clearly than we do.”

“You seem to have great faith in these little friends of yours,” said Mr. Temple.

“Yes,” replied Kate, “I have reason. They have been tried and not found wanting, as you shall hear;” and Kate told the story of the prize composition, – the hopes and fears regarding it, its loss and recovery, and the noble way in which our little girls had acted.

“Capital!” said Charlie, as she ended. “They judge others only by the rules by which their own conduct is guided; and there is a wise saying in an old book we all know of, which we would do well to remember: namely, ‘Take heed that ye offend not one of these little ones.’ I take that to mean, not only that we are to set a good example to them, and that we must so act and speak as not to confuse and disturb their ideas of right and wrong; but also, that whoever purposely hurts or grieves one of them, commits a sin in the eyes of Him who gave them His special care and blessing. Which of us could have calmly borne ridicule thrown upon some cherished work of our own, such as you cast, George, on the simple verses of that shy, sensitive, little Maggie? Poor little poetess! And I honor Bessie, baby though she is, for the way in which she struggled with her temper, and removed herself from the temptation to give way to it, and ‘say something you deserved.’ Could there have been a more severe reproof than that?” and Mr. Maynard laughed again at Bessie’s speech and manner, though he felt that this had become no laughing matter.

“They have both forgiven him now,” said Kate, dryly; “and Bessie made the excuse for him which she usually makes for others who do what she considers wrong, that ‘maybe Mr. Temple had never been taught better, and so didn’t know what was very true and honest, or he wouldn’t have kept Maggie’s verses, when he knew they were hers, for such a very unkind purpose as to tease her.’ ‘And maybe he didn’t know how very bad I felt, and never thought much about doing unto others,’ added Maggie. I cannot believe you meant to be as cruel as you were, George; for you did not know how much Maggie dreads notice drawn upon herself. You see,” she added, playfully, “I have myself so lately learned the lesson how much suffering such thoughtlessness may cause another, that I feel entitled to preach on the subject to others.”

Mr. Temple took the preaching in good part. He had a lazy kind of good-nature which would not allow him to take offence readily; and, besides, he was really sorry and vexed with himself for what he had done. Perhaps he would have regretted it still more, had he seen part of a letter written that afternoon by Maggie to Colonel Rush: —

“Dear Uncle Horace, – I think there are a kind of people in the world who seem to be created only for a very bad business, namely, to tease poor children and make their shyness come back to them when they have been trying very hard to cure themselves of it. Of this nature is a man whose name I will not mention, for some day you might know him and say ‘there is the trecherous man who was so cruel to Maggie and I will not be acquainted with him’ which would be a punishment I would not wish even him to bear because I am trying to forgive him but it is very hard. He picked up a poem I wrote on the boat to send to you, and he kept it and said it before me just to plage me and there was a verse in it about him which was not at all a compliment and oh! dear Uncle Horace he said that too, and it was dreadful I was so frightened. I am quite sure he knew it was mine and Bessie is too and I don’t think it was very honest not to give it right back do you? but to read it which was not like what a gentleman should do. He made believe he thought it was nice but he did not and was only making fun of it which was a hard distress to bear and I think I shall never recover it and feel as pleasant with that man as I would wish to feel with all my fellow cretures. Miss Kate was very nice and took me away and she is much improved and never teases any more and now I love her dearly; but she never teased me so badly as that man who I will not name and I pity Miss Temple for having such a brother for she is a very nice young lady and deserves better. When Harry and Fred are young men which I wish they did not have to be I hope they will remember this and take pattern by Mr. Maynard and not by M – that other man I mean. But no more on this melancorly subject so sad to think on but I will tell you about Niagara Falls.

“N. B. Mr. Temple is a very good looking young man in his appearance but I find all is not gold that glitters.”

XI

GOOD SEED

“My own dear Solger, – I do want to see you so much I don’t kno wat to do and Ant May too and May Bessie. I did not see you ever so long and it is such a grate wile I miss you so. But Mamma says some day we will go to your house in that place where you live and I will be so glad and my Maggie too. They are indians in Nigra Falls and they have pretty things and we bort some for all our peple and a baskit for Ant May and a rattel for May Bessie and something for you that is a secret. Plese dont tell them so they will be surprised and Nigra Falls is so fast you cant think. I never saw such fast water and it makes such a noise but not so nice as the sea and I like it best when we go on the ilans or up the river where it is not so much noise or such hie water to fall over. Some ilans are named the three sisters and we call one Maggie and one Bessie and one Annie don’t you think that is nice. I want to see Belle so much. Belle loves me and I love Belle and Maggie does too and I love her more that her mama went away to Jesus and she wants her but I know she loves her yet and is glad when she is good. And Belle is sweet. Don’t you love Belle? I send you forty nine kisses and I love you dear Uncle Horace from your pet

    “Bessie.”

It would be hard to tell who took the most pleasure in these letters from our little travellers, – those who wrote them, or those who received them. One thing is certain, – that they were all carefully kept and laid away, and some time, when they are older, Maggie and Bessie may find some amusement in looking over these records of their childish days. Many a pleasant scene and circumstance will they bring back to them, and some not so bright perhaps; for the little ones have their trials, as we know, and do not, I fear, forget as readily as we grown people would believe. It is strange we do not see that too; looking back, as we often do, with a sort of tender pity for our own former grieved and mortified little selves, and remembering with such distinctness the sharp or quick word of reproof, the thoughtless teasing, or the loud, sudden laugh at some innocent speech or action.

Little did Bessie think when she wrote that last letter, how soon her wishes to see her dear friends were to be gratified.

It had been intended to take the steamer down Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence to Montreal: but on the day before that on which our friends were to leave Niagara, there was a severe storm which tossed and roughened the waters of the great lake; and fearing that Maggie might have an attack of the old enemy she so dreaded, and knowing that fresh water seasickness is even worse than that which comes from the salt water, the elders of the party decided not to take the boat down the lake.

They therefore went by the cars to Kingston, in Canada, and, after passing a day there, took the boat down the river St. Lawrence; for here Maggie had nothing to fear from her foe. There was no part of their long journey which the children enjoyed more than their passage down this beautiful river, so different from any thing they had yet seen. The Lake of the Thousand Isles, as the entrance to the St. Lawrence is called, full of little islets up to the number that is named, a thousand: some larger, and covered with graceful, feathery trees; some so small as scarce to afford room for some solitary tree or bush; clustering together so as scarce to leave room for the steamer to pass, then again separating, with a broad, clear sheet of water between them.

Here something occurred which greatly interested not only the children, but also the grown people on board. As the steamer was slowly making her way between two small islands, the passengers saw a very exciting chase before them. A fine stag was swimming across the river, pursued by dogs and two boats with men in them. The poor beast was trying with all his strength to escape from his cruel enemies, and the sympathies of all the passengers were with him. The men in the boats had no guns, but a net, which they were trying to throw over his head; but each time they neared him, he shot forward beyond their reach. Maggie and Bessie were in a state of the wildest excitement, as they watched the innocent and beautiful creature panting with terror and fatigue; and their elders were hardly less so. Bessie held fast her father’s hand, gazing with eager eyes and parted lips, her color coming and going, her little frame trembling with distress and indignation; and Maggie seized upon Uncle Ruthven and danced up and down in frantic suspense and alarm at the danger of the poor beast. His courage seemed giving out, and his pursuers cheered in triumph; when, summoning up all his strength, he suddenly turned, and, passing almost under the bow of the steamer, made for the opposite and nearer shore, thus gaining upon his enemies as they took time to turn their boats; and cleaving the water, almost like lightning, he reached the thickly wooded bank, bounded up, and was lost to sight among the forest trees, and beyond the reach of his would-be destroyers. A cheer burst from those on board, as the noble creature disappeared in safety, – a cheer in which Maggie joined with all her heart, “for I couldn’t help it, and most forgot it was rather tomboyish,” she afterwards said. But no one found fault with her: indeed no one could. As for Bessie, she fairly cried, but it was only with pleasure and the feeling of relief.

Later in the day, they were greatly interested in seeing the shooting of the Rapids, as the passage of the steamer over the foaming waters is called. It was a curious sight. The water foamed and bubbled around the steamer, seeming as though it were eager to draw it down; but the vessel glided on, rose a little to the billows, plunged, rose again, and was once more in smooth waters. There were several of these rapids to be passed; and, although our little girls had been rather frightened at the first, they soon became accustomed to it, and enjoyed the swift descent. The crew of the steamer were all Canadians; and, as they came to each rapid, they struck up some cheery boat-song, which rose sweet and clear above the roar of the waves, and put heart and courage into the more timid ones among the passengers.

They soon reached Montreal, where they spent a week; and here again the opportunity to do a kind act, and leave a blessing behind them, came in the way of our little sisters.

They were one day passing through the long upper hall of the hotel at which they stayed, when they met the chamber-maid who waited on their rooms, crying bitterly. The girl, who was quite young, had her apron thrown over her head, and seemed in great distress.

“What is the matter, Matilda?” asked nurse, who was with the children.

“I’ve lost my place,” sobbed Matilda; “and I’ve my mother and my two little brothers to take care of. Oh! whatever will I do?”

“Why are you turned away?” asked nurse, who thought the girl attended to her duties very well, and was civil and obliging.

Then Matilda took down her apron, showing her face all streaked with tears, and told her story.

She had, it appeared, been unfortunate, – perhaps rather careless, – and had broken one or two articles, the loss of which had greatly vexed the house-keeper, who had told her she should leave her place the next time she broke any thing. This had made her more careful; but that morning an accident had occurred which might have happened to any one. Turning the corner of a corridor, with a pitcher full of water in her hand, some one had run against her, the pitcher was knocked from her hold, and broken into a hundred pieces. The house-keeper would hear of no excuse, and bade her leave the house at once, or pay for the pitcher.

“And I haven’t a penny,” said the girl; “for I sent all my wages to my mother yesterday to pay her rent, and there’s nothing for it but I must go. And what is to become of us all, if I don’t get another place right away?”

Nurse tried to comfort her, by saying she would soon find another situation; but Matilda replied that was not so easy, and she feared they would all suffer before she found it; and went away, still crying bitterly. Maggie and Bessie were very sorry for her.

“I wonder if we haven’t money enough to pay for the pitcher, Bessie,” said Maggie. “If we had, then maybe the house-keeper would let her stay; and if she won’t we could give Matilda the money to keep her mother and brothers from starving.”

“Yes, that’s a good thought of you, Maggie,” said Bessie; “and there’s the house-keeper now. Let’s run and ask her quick: may we, nursey?”

Nurse gave permission, though she did not think the children would be successful in their errand of kindness; and said low, either to herself or baby, whom she carried in her arms, —

“Eh! the little dears will do naught with her. She’s a cross-grained creature, that house-keeper, and as short in her way as a snapping-turtle.”

Maggie’s courage began to fail her when she and Bessie ran up to the house-keeper, and heard the severe tone in which she was speaking to another servant. It was true that her manner and speech were apt to be rather harsh and short in dealing with those about her, especially to the girls who were under her orders; but it must be said in her excuse that she led rather a trying life, and had a good deal to vex and trouble her.