Chapter XII: The Fair 223 (3)

"Bring all your works to-morrow, and let's see which is the best," said Lily.

"Gracie's is, I know," said Hattie.

"If you have not seen the others you _don't_ know," said Lily.

Hattie whispered something to Gracie and laughed; but Gracie still wore the displeased look she had put on when Lily declared Nellie's work must be the best.

For, during the whole of the last year, Gracie had been nourishing an intense and bitter jealousy of Nellie Ransom. As has been said before, Nellie was by no means as quick and brilliant a child as Gracie, but she was more persevering and industrious, and so made up for the lack of natural talent. She was the only child in the school who could keep up with Gracie in several studies, such as composition and arithmetic; and in all they learned these two generally stood in advance of the rest.

And to outstrip Nellie, to be always the _first_, the _very first_ was Gracie's great ambition. She believed herself to be by far the wiser and cleverer of the two, but she was anxious that every one else should acknowledge it also.

A year ago, when Miss Ashton's uncle had offered a prize for the best composition,--the occasion to which Mrs. Howard had referred when warning her little daughter against jealousy of Maggie Bradford,--the chances had seemed to lie between Maggie and herself; but to the astonishment of every one, Nellie's composition had proved the most deserving, and taken the much-coveted prize.

Since that time Gracie's wish to excel Nellie in all things had known no bounds, and it is really to be feared that she was rejoiced at heart when her painstaking and industrious little schoolmate missed in her lessons, or failed in any work she undertook.

So now the fear that Nellie's mat should prove to be more neatly worked than her own took complete possession of her, for it was not only the desire to be first, but the desire to outstrip Nellie especially, that filled her heart and made her envious and jealous.

It was agreed that Nellie, Gracie, and Dora should each bring her mat to school the next morning, so as to compare their work and see which was likely to bring the highest price.

Accordingly this was done, and the children all gathered early, anxious to decide on the respective merits of the three pieces of embroidery.

All were well done, neatly and evenly worked; but there could be no doubt of it, even to Gracie's unwilling eyes,--Nellie Ransom's was somewhat the best. It was really astonishing for a child of her age. She was naturally handy with her needle, and had taken so much pains with this mat that it would have done credit to a much older person. The simple pattern was straight and even, and the stitches of the filling in lay in neat, regular rows, the worsted smooth and unfrayed, and not a speck or spot of any description to be seen upon the whole piece.

Gracie's was very nearly a match for it; indeed, had the two pieces been looked at separately it might have seemed that there was nothing to choose between them; but laid side by side and closely compared, Nellie's would certainly bear off the palm.

"Why, Nellie," said Dora, whose own work was by no means despicable, "how beautifully you have done it. I don't believe a grown-up lady could have worked it better. I know Mrs. Howard will say it's the best."

Quiet Nellie colored and dimpled with pleasure. Praise was pleasant to her, as it is to all; but, although she would have been glad to have her work pronounced the best, it was with no overwhelming desire to outdo her companions. Nellie did her very best, but when another did better, she could be content with the feeling that it was not her own fault that she was excelled, and was ready to sympathize with her more fortunate classmate.

"That will be priced ten dollars for certain and positive," said Lily, holding up the mat and regarding it with admiration. "It is lovely, Nellie. They are all very nice, 'specially Gracie's, but yours is the best."

"It's not a bit better than Gracie's," said Hattie.

"Don't you encourage Gracie more than she deserves," said Lily admonishingly. "She's pretty nice, but don't you puff her up too much."

"I know something about you," said Hattie teasingly.

"Well, know away," answered Lily scornfully. "You're always knowing something about somebody; and you want me to ask you what you know about me; but I don't want to know, and I'm not going to have you say some of the girls said hateful things of me. Besides--oh! I forgot; I b'lieve I was rather _anti-politing_;" and Lily, who was about to say that Hattie always made things seem worse than they were, put a check upon her saucy little tongue and turned once more to Nellie.

One might have thought that Lily had worked the mat herself to see her pride and satisfaction in it.

"Dora has done more on hers than Nellie and Gracie," said Belle. "Their two are pretty nearly the same. Let's see; Gracie has only two more rows done than Nellie; no, Nellie has two more done than Gracie--oh!--why--this is Gracie's, isn't it? I can hardly tell them apart, they are both so very nice."

For, handing the mats about from one to another, the same mistake occurred more than once, Gracie's being taken for Nellie's or Nellie's for Gracie's, and they had to be held side by side before they could be distinguished. The children laughed and thought this rather funny; and it gave Gracie some hope that hers might be judged to be the best, after all. She would take more pains than ever.

The thought of the mats and of outdoing Nellie was so busy with her that she did not give her usual attention to her lessons that morning; and, as the consequence, lost her place in the spelling-class, and was in a peevish humor for the rest of the day.

Fresh cause of displeasure befell her at the close of school, when Miss Ashton said she thought it as well that the May Queen should be chosen soon.

"Oh! we want Maggie, of course," said Lily.

"Maggie again?" said Miss Ashton, smiling.

"Yes'm," said Belle. "Maggie is used to it, and she makes the prettiest queen, so we'd rather have her; wouldn't we, girls?"

There was a general murmur of assent, save from two voices.

"Why don't we make some one else May Queen this year?" asked Hattie. "We might have Gracie."

"Hattie," said Lily, endeavoring to make her voice of reproof one of extreme mildness, "as you have not been so very long in the school, it would be better if you let the old inhabitants be the judges."

"Well, anyhow, I don't see why Maggie always has to be May Queen, and when she don't go to the school either," said Gracie pouting, and leaning back against her desk with a discontented air, till, catching Miss Ashton's eye fixed sadly and reproachfully upon her, she hung her head and looked ashamed.

"Be-cause," said Lily with emphasis, "she's the prettiest child of our acquaintance. Not all the prettiness of all the rest of us make up one-half Maggie's prettiness, and she's not one bit vain or stuck-up about it either; and if she and Bessie don't just belong to the school, they belong to us, and so it's just the same. Whoever wants Maggie, hold up their hand."

Up went every hand at once, save those of Gracie and Hattie, and presently Gracie's followed the example of the others, though half unwillingly.

"Now," said Lily triumphantly, "that's voted, and for ever after let him hold his peace."

The last allusion was perhaps not exactly clear either to Lily or her hearers; but it was thought extremely fine, and as having clinched the matter without farther argument. Miss Ashton laughed, and asked if Lily and Belle would undertake to let Maggie know that she was elected May Queen, which they readily promised to do.

But the next morning these two little friends returned to school, and told their astonished and disappointed classmates that Maggie positively refused to be May Queen. Why they could not say, but all their persuasions had proved of no avail. Maggie was not to be "coaxed," and would give no reason for her refusal, though she had "seemed to feel awfully about it," Lily said, and had "cried about it" before they left. Bessie had been as much mystified as they were, and even Maggie's mamma, when appealed to, said that she knew of no reason why Maggie should decline the offered honor. Maggie, however, had said she would "tell mamma and Bessie," but she could tell no one else.

Miss Ashton, when informed of Maggie's refusal, said that she would call on her and see what could be done, and until then the matter might rest.

"Hattie," said Gracie, drawing her "intimate friend" into a corner during recess, "did you tell Maggie Bradford what I said about her being Queen twice?"

"Well--no," said Hattie, hesitating at first, but then uttering her denial boldly as she saw the frown gathering upon Gracie's brow.

Gracie looked at her as if she only half believed her, for she was learning to doubt Hattie's word, and although she was greedy of her flattery, she could not help feeling that her chosen friend was not sincere.

"You know you've told a good many things I did not mean you to," said Gracie, "and I wouldn't like not to be friends with Maggie, or to let her think I'm hateful."

And Hattie declared over and over again that she had never said one word to Maggie on the subject.

"I do feel badly about it," said Gracie remorsefully. "I wish I had never said I thought Maggie ought not to be May Queen. Maggie's been my friend this ever so long, since I was quite little; and I believe I had rather the girls chose her. I've a good mind to write her a note, and tell her I wish she would be Queen."

All the other children had left the school-room to go down and play on the piazza, and Gracie and Hattie were alone together.

"I wouldn't," said Hattie; "you are the one who ought to be May Queen, 'cause you are the smartest child in the school."

Gracie believed this, and thought Hattie gave her no more than her due; still, although she liked to hear Hattie say it, the compliment did not turn her from her purpose.

VII.

_A MISFORTUNE._

As the two children talked, Gracie had been putting a few stitches in her mat.

"I b'lieve I'll do it," she said. "I'll tell Maggie we _all_ want her to be May Queen."

"Then she'll know you've said something about it," said Hattie anxiously, feeling that this proceeding was likely to bring her into trouble.

"No, she needn't," said Gracie; "perhaps she does think I don't want her to be, 'cause at Christmas she knew I was mad about it."

"Are you going to beg her pardon?" asked Hattie.

"No," said Gracie, with one of her scornful tosses of her head. "I think I see myself doing such a thing! But I can write her a little note, and tell her we are all sorry because she won't be May Queen, and beg her to change her mind. I might do as much as that for Maggie," she added to herself.

Hattie tried to dissuade her no longer, and Gracie laid the mat down upon her desk, opened the lid, and took out a slip of paper and a pen. She dipped the pen in the ink, wrote, "My dear Maggie," at the top of the sheet, and then paused, biting the top of her pen.

"I can't think what to say, or how to begin it," she said. "My dear Maggie, I am very sorry--no. I had better say _we_--we are very sorry that you--that you--oh, pshaw! I've a great mind not to do it"--here she dipped her pen in the ink again, and so carelessly that it came forth quite too full. "Oh, bother!" she exclaimed with increasing ill-humor; "look at this hateful pen;" and, forgetting the precious piece of work which lay so near at hand, she gave a careless fillip to the pen which spattered forth the ink.

Gracie gave another impatient exclamation, and pushed away the paper, saying,--

"I shan't do it; if Maggie likes to be so foolish about nothing, she just can;" but she did not see the extent of the mischief she had done till Hattie said in a tone of great dismay,--

"O Gracie! just see what you've done!"

And there upon her beautiful mat was a great spot of ink.

Gracie gave a horrified little cry, and, snatching up the mat, thoughtlessly sopped up the spot with her handkerchief, thereby spreading and smearing it till it grew to the size of a two-cent piece, and left an ugly blotch on the bright blue worsted.

"What shall I do? oh! what shall I do? It's spoiled; it's quite spoiled!" she said despairingly.

"I don't believe it is; maybe it can be taken out," said Hattie, though she was almost as much startled as her little companion. "I'll bring some water, and we'll try to take it out."

"No, no," said Gracie; "I wish I had not touched it at all. We'll only make it worse; and I'll ask mamma to try as soon as I go home. Oh, dear, dear, dear! what shall I do? Grandmamma will surely say Nellie's is the best now. That hateful girl!"

"It's a great shame if she does," said Hattie. "Nellie is always trying to get ahead of you; and she don't deserve it, and I don't think your grandmamma is fair to you. She ought to think her own grandchild's work is the best."

"I suppose Nellie will just be glad when she sees what has happened to me," said Gracie, whose jealous eyes could now see nothing that was good or fair in Nellie's conduct.

Innocent, kind-hearted Nellie, who would not willingly harbor an unkind or unjust thought of another!

"I shan't let her see it," she continued, hastily rolling up the mat and putting it into her desk, as she heard the other children coming. "Don't say a word about it, Hattie, not to any one."

Hattie promised, really grieving herself for Gracie's misfortune, for she truly loved her, and was anxious that she should be the first.

This was to be a black day for Gracie; but all through her own jealousy and pride.

Her mind was so taken up with the remembrance of the defaced mat that she could not keep her thoughts upon her lessons; and, although she had known her history very well, her attention wandered so much that she answered incorrectly more than once.

Seeing, however, that something had disturbed her, Miss Ashton made allowances, and gave her one or two opportunities to correct herself and bring her thoughts back to the task before her.

But it was all in vain; Gracie had already lost her place in the spelling-class, and gone down below Dora Johnson and Laura Middleton; and now the fear of a fresh mortification, and of giving Nellie her place at the head of the history class added to her confusion, and she floundered more and more hopelessly. Nellie begged too that she might have still another chance, when at last Miss Ashton passed the question to her; but again Gracie failed and was obliged to yield her place.

Angry, mortified, and jealous, Gracie showed such determined ill-temper towards her generous little classmate, that Miss Ashton was obliged to reprove her, but without effect.

Again she called Gracie to order, and this time more severely.

The angry and wilful child hesitated for one moment, then pride and passion burst all bounds, and she answered Miss Ashton with such insolence, such ungoverned and unjustifiable impertinence that the whole class stood aghast.

There was a moment's perfect stillness. Miss Ashton turned very pale, and laying her book down upon the table, covered her face with her hand, while the children looked from her to Gracie and back again, in utter dismay and astonishment.

Then the stillness was broken by a piteous, "Oh, dear!" from poor little Belle, who finished with a burst of tears, and her example was followed by more than one of the others.

Miss Ashton raised her head.

"Go into the cloak-room, Grace," she said quietly.

Gracie was herself frightened at what she had done; but her pride and temper were still farther roused by the shocked and disapproving looks of her schoolmates, and she stood for an instant with determined stubbornness, while the words, "I won't," formed themselves upon her lips.

But they were not uttered, for there was something in Miss Ashton's face which checked her; something which not one of the little flock had ever seen before; and when the lady repeated her words in the same calm tone,--

"Go into the cloak-room," Gracie turned away and obeyed.

It was with head held high, and scornful look, however, that she passed out, although bitter shame and regret were burning in the poor, foolish little heart. But she called up all her pride and jealousy to stifle the better feeling which urged her to run to her teacher, and, in the face of the whole school, confess her fault, and beg Miss Ashton's pardon for the insulting words she had spoken.

"What will she do, I wonder," she said to herself; "will she tell mamma? What will mamma say, and papa too?" and, as the recollection of her parents' oft-repeated warnings against the pride and vanity which were her besetting sins came back to her mind, she could not but feel that this was the consequence of allowing them to gain such a hold upon her.

She _felt_ it, for conscience would make itself heard; but she would not acknowledge it even to herself, and drowned the reproving whisper with such thoughts as,--

"Well, then, why is Miss Ashton so unjust? She is always trying to make me miss and lose my place. She is always glad when any one goes above me. She never praises me as much as I deserve;" and such unjust and untrue accusations.

It might be that Miss Ashton did not always bestow upon Gracie all the praise she would have given to another for a perfect lesson or good composition, for she did not think much praise good for her, as it only seemed to minister to Gracie's over-weening vanity. But only eyes that were wilfully blind and suspicious could find the slightest injustice or unkindness in her treatment of any one of her little scholars, and her gentleness and patience might have won gratitude from the most stubborn young heart.

But Gracie would not listen to the promptings of her better spirit; and the recollection of the dismayed and averted looks of her schoolmates added fuel to the flame of her angry pride. Even the ever admiring Hattie had looked shocked at her outburst.

"I don't care," she said again to herself. "It's only 'cause they know I am so much cleverer than any of them, and they are jealous of me. That hateful Nellie! She was so proud to go above me."

Wretched and unhappy, she spent the time in her solitude till the close of school, when the other children came into the cloak-room for their hats.

No one said a word to her, for they had been forbidden to do so; and if they had occasion to speak to one another they did so in whispers, as if something terrible had happened, and a great awe had fallen upon them. She sat in a corner, sullen and defiant, trying to put on an appearance of the utmost indifference, but succeeding very poorly. She even tried to hum a tune, but something rose in her throat and choked her. She scarcely knew what to do; whether or no to rise, and take her hat, and go down as usual to find the nurse, who was probably waiting for her below; and while she sat hesitating, one and another of her young companions passed out, as if glad to hurry from her presence, and she was left once more alone.

She had just taken down her hat, when Miss Ashton came in, and, handing her a note, said gravely,--

"Give this to your mother, Gracie," and left her again.

Ashamed and alarmed at the thought of what might follow when she should reach home, but with her pride and anger not one whit abated, Gracie went slowly on, giving short and snappish answers to the inquiries of her nurse, who plainly saw that something was wrong.

But she dared not face her mother when she should hear of her misconduct; and when they entered the house, she thrust the note into the hand of the maid, bidding her give it to Mrs. Howard, and ran quickly up to her own little room.

There she stayed, wondering and waiting. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, half an hour passed away, and still her mamma did not come.

Was it possible? could she really hope that the note had not been one of complaint of her conduct?

No, that could never be; there was the bell for the children's early dinner. Well, she would go down and act as if nothing had happened. But could she with this uncertainty of how much or how little mamma knew?

But there was mamma's step, and now Mrs. Howard entered the room. One half glance at her face and Gracie's eyes fell. It was enough to show her that her mother knew all.

"Mean old thing!" she said to herself, meaning Miss Ashton. "She's gone and told, and now I s'pose I'll be punished."

"Gracie," said her mother, "I suppose you scarcely need to be told what is in this note which Miss Ashton has sent me."

Gracie stood with head erect, pouting lip, and defiant eyes, idly tossing back and forth the tassel of the window curtain with as much indifference as she could assume.

"Has it come to this, my child," continued Mrs. Howard sorrowfully, "that you have allowed conceit and self-will to gain such a hold upon you, that you could wilfully and deliberately insult your teacher? I have been sure that you would fall into trouble, Gracie, for I knew that such foolish pride must sooner or later have a fall, but I could not have believed that you would be guilty of this. What did you say to Miss Ashton?"

"I don't care," said Gracie passionately, without directly answering her mother's question. "It was all true, every word of it. She's as hateful as she can be, and unjust and mean;" and Gracie went on, pouring forth a torrent of invective and reproach against Miss Ashton and Nellie Ransom, without paying the slightest heed to her mother's commands to be silent. It was the long pent-up feeling of jealousy and ill-will and pride, that she had been nourishing for months past, and which now burst all bounds and swept every thing before it.

Respect, and even obedience towards her mother, reason, justice, and truth itself were totally lost sight of, as she poured forth accusation after accusation against the offenders, and upheld her own conduct in all she had done and said.

"And you have said all this to Miss Ashton, perhaps?" said her mother sternly, when the angry child at last came to a pause.

"It is true enough if I did," muttered Gracie again, though her passion was by this time beginning to cool down in a measure. "I'm sure I wish I never went to her hateful old school."

"It is more than probable that Miss Ashton wishes so now; but I shall leave you to think over what you have said to me and to Miss Ashton, and to find out how much of it is true. One thing Miss Ashton desires,--that you do not return to her school till you are ready to acknowledge your fault, and to apologize for your impertinence. And until this is the case, you must remain in your room. Your meals will be sent to you, and I shall not allow your brothers and sisters to have any intercourse with you till you are ready to make such amends as you can. You may send for me when you have any thing to say to me. Oh, Gracie, Gracie!"

With which words, spoken in a sad, despondent tone, Mrs. Howard went away, closing the door upon her stubborn, rebellious little daughter.

Gracie stood where her mother had left her, not one whit softened or humbled; for now her angry pride began to accuse her mother also of injustice and partiality and unkindness.

"Everybody in the world takes part against me," she said to herself; "but I don't care. Indeed, I won't beg Miss Ashton's pardon, not if I stay here a year. Mamma makes such a fuss about her being so kind and patient and all that. She's paid for teaching me, so it's nothing so wonderfully good. I hope I never will go back to the school where that hateful Nellie is."

Soon the door opened, and the nurse appeared, bearing a tray on which was Gracie's dinner. She set it upon a table, placed a chair, and went away without a word to her.

"I don't care," said Gracie once more, "no one need talk to me if they don't want to. I'm just as good as they are, and I'd just as lief stay here by myself."

She sat down before the dinner-tray, trying to believe that she would "just as lief eat her dinner alone;" but she found it was not so agreeable after all. She wondered what they were doing downstairs; if the children were chattering as merrily as usual, or if her absence made any difference in the family enjoyment. She had little appetite, as may be supposed, and left the nicely served meal scarcely touched.

But it must not be thought that she had any idea of yielding or acknowledging herself in the wrong. By and by she heard her brothers and sisters coming upstairs, then their voices in the nursery as they prattled to one another; and she knew that they were being made ready for their afternoon airing. Then tiny feet pattered along the hall, and little May's voice sounded through her closed door,--

"Am oo dood now, Dacie? We'm doin out, Dacie; am oo most dood? Pease don't be naughty dirl, Dacie," and the soft little hand tapped upon the panel as the baby voice pleaded.

"Come away, darling. Gracie may come out when she is good and says she is sorry," said mamma's voice; and Gracie knew that her mother had led the little pet away.

But all this only seemed to harden her. May was such a darling, the sweetest and dearest of all her brothers and sisters, Gracie thought; and, although the sweet, coaxing voice had touched her, she only found in her mother's interference fresh cause of offence.

"Mamma tries to set even May against me, and I s'pose she's been telling all the children what I did," she thought; "but I don't care. I believe they'll grow tired of having me away before I am tired of staying here. There's plenty for me to do. I can read, and I'll work on my mat."

But here it suddenly flashed upon her that she had not brought her mat home with her. Being sent away in disgrace and not returning to the school-room before leaving, she had quite forgotten it, and it still lay there in her desk. And that stain upon it, too, which she had intended to ask her mother to take out if possible. Mamma would not feel like doing it for her now, and she could ask no favors from her. Not unless she repented and--and--apologized to Miss Ashton. And this last she would not do; no, never, never.

She heard the children going downstairs, stood at the window and watched them get into the carriage and drive away with mamma, and began to wish that she were there too. And such a lovely afternoon, it was too bad to be shut up here. But still she never blamed herself for her imprisonment; no, mamma, Miss Ashton, Nellie, any one was in the wrong, but not her own wilful, stubborn little self. What was to be the end of this she did not know, but Gracie had no thought of yielding.

She whiled away the afternoon as she best could; but every thing seemed to have lost its zest. Her prettiest story-books had no interest; her dolls were "stupid" and poor company; even her stock of pretty materials for articles for the fair seemed less attractive than usual as she turned them over, and her work "would not go."

This was the first time in her life that Gracie had ever been punished in such a manner; and apart from the disgrace, which she was determined not to feel, she was a child who was fond of society and did not know how to bear being deprived of it.

VIII.

"_THE SPIDER AND THE FLY._"

If Mrs. Howard had perhaps hoped that little May's pleading would have any softening effect on Gracie, she was mistaken. The message she had expected to receive on reaching home did not come to her. Nor did she hear a word from Gracie through the evening until the little girl's bed-time came. Then she sent word that the hour had come, still hoping and believing that the stubborn heart must relent, and that Gracie would feel that she could not go to rest unforgiven and without her mother's good-night kiss. But she was mistaken. Gracie received the message in sullen silence, but obeyed and went to bed without one word of sorrow or repentance.

It was the same in the morning. Gracie rose and was dressed; her breakfast was brought and eaten in solitude, as her dinner and supper had been yesterday; and still the nurse who waited upon her passed in and out, as it was necessary, and brought no word to comfort the sorrowing heart of her mother.

School-time came, and Gracie knew that the children in her class would believe that her absence was caused by her misconduct of the previous day, as was indeed too true; but this only made her feel more and more proud and obstinate.

The long, weary morning wore away, the solitary dinner was once more over, and again the house seemed so still and lonely, for mamma and the children had gone out again, and the servants were all downstairs.

By and by Gracie heard a light, quick foot running up the stairs and coming towards her own door. The latch was turned and the door softly opened,--Mrs. Howard had not locked her in, for she believed that she could trust Gracie and that she would not disobey so far as to leave the room she had been bidden to keep,--and Hattie's face peeped in.

Gracie started, partly in astonishment, partly in dismay; for what must she do now? Mamma would not have allowed her to see Hattie, she knew, if she had been at home; and must she send her away? She was so glad to see some one, to be able to speak to some one.

Hattie came in, closed the door behind her, and, running to Gracie, put her arm about her neck and kissed her, saying with much energy,--

"It's too mean, Gracie! it's the meanest thing I ever knew! It's a great shame!"

There could be no doubt of her sympathy, of her belief that Gracie was in the right, or at least that she was not so very much to blame, and was undeservedly punished. For Hattie was really and truly very fond of Gracie, admired her and considered her very clever; and, although even she had been dismayed by Gracie's outburst yesterday, she was now disposed to treat it lightly, and to say that Gracie had been provoked. There was another reason, too, which induced Hattie to take part against Nellie Ransom, and to wish to put her in the wrong.

"O Hattie!" said Gracie, "how did you come up here? Mamma wouldn't allow it, I know."

Hattie laughed triumphantly.

"I knew that," she said, "for I came to the door a little while ago and the servant said you were up in your room, but he thought you could not see any one to-day, and he said every one else was out. But I said I had a message from school for you, and that you must have it this afternoon. So of course he thought it was from Miss Ashton, as I meant he should, and he let me come up."

"Mamma will be displeased," said Gracie; "you ought not, Hattie. I'm very glad to see you, but I must not let you stay."

"I'll only stay a few minutes," said Hattie, taking the seat which Gracie had not ventured to offer her. "I've something perfectly splendid to tell you."

"Was everybody saying ugly things about me to-day, and talking as if I was as wicked as a murderer?" asked Gracie, more interested in the opinion others might hold of her than in Hattie's promised news.

There had really been very little said on the matter; the offence was too serious and too shocking to Gracie's young companions to make it an agreeable subject of conversation; and, although there had been some wondering as to whether Gracie would ever be allowed to return to the school, but few unkind remarks had been made, and these were more in sorrow than in censure.

And Hattie was too full of her errand and of the fear of being found on forbidden ground to make as good a story of that little as she might have chosen to do at another time.

"Well, no, not much," she answered. "I suppose that old Nellie, hateful thing, was glad enough."

"Did she say so?" questioned Gracie.

"No," said Hattie; "she did not speak about it. Gracie, did Miss Ashton send word to your mother and ask her to punish you?"

"She wrote to her about it, and I suppose mamma punished me of her own accord," answered Gracie.

"How long is she going to keep you up here?" asked Hattie.

"Till--till--I beg Miss Ashton's pardon," said Gracie, her angry pride rising again at the thought; "and I _never_ will do it, no, _never_, not if I stay here a year!"

"But the fair," said Hattie; "you know the fair is in two weeks, and if you don't come out before that you'll miss all the fun."

Now, apart from the interest which all the little girls took in the fair, Gracie had a strong desire, as usual, to play some very prominent part therein. As we know, she had wished to be Queen, and had been vexed because Maggie Bradford had been chosen again; but, although she could not have this coveted honor, she still hoped and intended to make herself very conspicuous there.

It was true that the thought of the fair and all that concerned it had been much in her mind, even during her imprisonment; but it had not occurred to her that her resolution of never, never apologizing to Miss Ashton, "even if she stayed shut up for a whole year," would scarcely agree with her appearance at the festival.

She sat as if confounded at Hattie's words.

"I'd do it if I were you," continued the latter, seeing the effect she had produced. "It's a great shame that you have to, but then you _will_ have to, you know; and I'd do it and have it over. If you're going to fret and fuss here about it, you'll feel a great deal worse at last when you come to do it."

Hattie's advice on this subject was certainly good in itself, though she did not put it before Gracie in a right light.

"Miss Ashton is so unjust and so awfully partial to Nellie," pouted Gracie, although her resolution was beginning to waver a little for the first time.

"I know it," said Hattie; "but she can't make other people think Nellie is the smartest child. Every one knows you are, Gracie, even if they won't say so."

"I can learn three lessons while Nellie learns one; but Miss Ashton is always praising her and never praises me," was Gracie's answer.

"I know it," said Hattie again. "Nellie--oh, I can't bear that girl!--sets up to be so wonderfully good, and Miss Ashton always believes whatever she says, and makes such a fuss about her; but you can just _say_ you beg Miss Ashton's pardon, and have it over. The rest of the class will have every thing their own way if you don't come out pretty soon and have your word about the fair; and there's your mat, too, you know, Gracie."

"I forgot my mat yesterday when I came away," said Gracie. "I wish you had known it and then you could have brought it to me."

Again Hattie gave a triumphant little laugh, and putting her hand into her pocket drew out the mat,--that is, _a_ mat.

Gracie seized it eagerly, gave Hattie a kiss, saying, "Oh, you dear thing! I'm so glad."

Then she looked for the stain, but there was no stain to be seen.

"Where's that ink-spot? Oh, Hattie, did you take it out? There's not a sign of it."

"No," said Hattie, "I did not take it out."

"Why!" exclaimed Gracie, turning the mat over. "Why, it is--it is--it's not mine. It's Nellie's mat!"

"I'm going to tell you," said Hattie. "This morning Miss Ashton handed me your history, which I believe you left in the cloak-room yesterday, and told me to put it in your desk. So when I opened the desk, the first thing I saw was the mat, and I knew you must have forgotten it. Nellie, the mean thing, she had brought her mat to school to-day again, and said she was going to work on it in recess; but when recess came the other children coaxed her to go out in the garden 'cause it was so pleasant, and she went. So while they were all down there, I saw the way to play Miss Nellie a good trick and to help you, dear; and I ran up to the school-room, changed Nellie's mat for yours, put hers back just as she had left it, and she'll never know the difference and think that somehow that ink-spot has come on her mat. And do you know, Gracie, it was the most fortunate thing that Nellie had just worked those two rows more that made her work even with yours; so she never can know. You remember yesterday we could scarcely tell them apart, and now they look almost exactly alike."

"But what then?" said Gracie, almost frightened at the thought of Hattie's probable meaning.

"Why, don't you see?" said Hattie, who told her story as if she thought she had done something very clever and praiseworthy; "you can just finish this mat as if it was your own, and need not bother yourself about the ink-stain."

"But--but--Hattie--this one is Nellie's," said Gracie in a shocked voice.

"What of that? we'll keep the secret, and no one will ever know but us two," said Hattie. "Nellie has the other one, and that's good enough for her. She has no right to expect the most money from your grandmamma. Take a great deal of pains with this, Gracie, and make the work look just like Nellie's."

"But, I can't, I can't," said Gracie. "It seems to me almost like--stealing."

"Stealing!" repeated Hattie. "I'd like to know who has been stealing! I only changed the mats, and you have the best right to the nicest one. I was not going to have Nellie get every thing away from you. She just thinks she's going to make herself the head of the school and beat you in every thing."

Now as I have said, and as you will readily believe, there was more at the bottom of Hattie's desire to thwart Nellie than her wish to see Gracie stand first, although she was really very fond of the latter, and it was this.

It had so happened that Nellie's rather blunt truthfulness and clear-sighted honesty had more than once detected Hattie's want of straightforwardness, and even defeated some object she had in view, and for this Hattie bore her a grudge. She was particularly displeased with her at the present time because of a reprimand from Miss Ashton which she chose to consider she owed to Nellie.

Coming to school rather early one morning, a day or two since, Nellie found Belle Powers and Hattie there before her.

Belle sat upon the lower step of the upper flight of stairs, in a state of utter woe, with the saddest of little faces, and wiping the tears from her eyes. Hattie, grasping the banister with one hand, was swinging herself back and forth, saying, "I wouldn't care if I were you. 'Tis nothing to cry about;" but she looked ashamed and rather caught when she saw Nellie coming up the stairs.

"What is the matter, Belle?" asked Nellie, sitting down beside the school pet and darling, and putting her arm around her neck.

"Fanny Leroy said things about me," sobbed Belle.

"What things?" questioned Nellie with a searching look at Hattie.

"She said I was so bad and spoiled I could hardly ever be good, even when I wanted to," answered Belle piteously; "and she said Miss Ashton had to be excusing me all the time for the naughty things I did in school. And I loved Fanny, and I wouldn't have said such bad things about her; and, oh, dear! I thought she loved me too. She came to Aunt Margaret's when I was there the day before she went away, to say good-bye to Maggie and Bessie and me; and she gave us each a nutmeg to remember her by and to keep for ever an' ever an' ever for a keepsake, and she kissed me ever so many times. And all the time she had been saying bad things about me, and so I'm going to throw away the nutmeg, 'cause I don't want a keepsake of a girl who made b'lieve she liked me when she didn't."

"I don't believe it," said Nellie with far more energy than was usual with her, and still regarding Hattie with searching looks.

"But Hattie says she did," repeated Belle.

Hattie's _saying_ a thing made it by no means sure in Nellie's eyes, and although she was not apt to interfere or meddle where she had no right to do so, she would not let this pass without further questioning. She was fond of the absent Fanny and loved Belle dearly; and believing that both were now wronged, she set herself to right them if possible.

"I don't believe it," she said again.

"Well, you just can believe it," said Hattie resentfully. "Don't I know what Fanny said to me? It's nothing to make such a fuss about, anyhow."

"Belle has very easily hurt feelings," said Nellie; "and besides, it _is_ something to make a fuss about. And Fanny hardly ever would say unkind things of other people; the girls used to think she was 'most too particular about it. And, Hattie Leroy, I don't believe she ever said such things about Belle; anyhow, not in that way."

"She did, too, I tell you," persisted Hattie, secure in Fanny's absence, and determined not to acknowledge that she had misrepresented her innocent words, from the mere love of talking and exaggeration, too; for she had not intended to hurt Belle so much, and was now really sorry to see her so grieved. "She did, too, I tell you. How do you know what Fanny said to me?"

"I don't know what she did say, but I am sure she never said that," repeated Nellie.

Both little girls had raised their voices as they contradicted one another, and as the tones of neither were very amicable by this time, they drew the attention of Miss Ashton.

"What is this, my little girls; what is the trouble?" she asked, coming up the stairs to them; then, seeing Belle's still distressed and tear-stained face she inquired, "Belle, darling, what is wrong?"

Nellie and Hattie were both rather abashed, especially the latter, who knew herself to be in the wrong; but Belle answered, "Hattie thinks Fanny Leroy said something, and Nellie thinks she didn't. I don't know," she added with a mournful shake of her head, "but somehow somebody must be rather 'deceitful and _despicably_ wicked.'" Desperately, Belle meant, and she quoted her words in no spirit of irreverence, but because she thought them suited to the, to her, solemnity of the occasion.

Miss Ashton, too, feared that there was some deceitfulness, or at least exaggeration; and seeing that little Belle was in real trouble she questioned further, and Nellie told her what Hattie had said.

This was not the first time, by any means, that Miss Ashton had known mischief to arise from Hattie's thoughtless way, to call it by no worse name, of repeating things; and she reproved her pretty sharply, telling her that such speeches were not at all like her gentle, amiable cousin Fanny, and she could not believe her guilty of them; and even had she said them she, Hattie, had no right to repeat them and make needless sorrow and trouble for Belle. Then she soothed Belle and encouraged her to think that Fanny had not so wronged her; and after school she kept Hattie for a few moments, and spoke to her very seriously but kindly on her idle, foolish habit of telling tales with exaggeration and untruthfulness.

But Hattie, in repeating this, had said that "Miss Ashton kept her in and gave her an awful scolding just because she had said something that cry-baby Belle did not like, and Nellie went and told her and so put her in a scrape;" nor did she see that it had been her own blame in the first instance. And ever since she had been vexed with Nellie, and this added strength to her wish to have Gracie outstrip Nellie. It was not altogether this, let us do her justice, for she really loved Gracie better than any other child in the school, and was anxious to have her win for her own sake.

But we must go back to these two little girls as they sat together in Gracie's room.

"Yes, so she does," echoed Gracie; "and I suppose now Miss Ashton will take away my conduct marks, and being away to-day, I'll lose my place in all the classes too. Not that I could not get ahead of her again easily enough," she added contemptuously.

"But she can't have the best mat now," said Hattie.

"I don't see how I _could_ do that," said Gracie. "It is her's, you know, Hattie, and I can't, really I can't."

"But you'll have to now," said Hattie. "You know Nellie has found the ink-spot on the other mat by this time, and there's no way to give her this one back."

Yes, there was one way, but that did not enter Hattie's thoughts.

"I couldn't," said Gracie again, shrinking at the idea of doing what she knew to be so dishonest and deceitful. "I must have my own mat, Hattie; but I do wish this was mine and the other Nellie's."

"But we can't put it back now, and I took it for you," said Hattie complainingly. "Gracie, you must keep it now. I shall get into an awful scrape if you don't; and it's real mean of you."

It would take too long to tell you of all the arguments and persuasions Hattie used. How she pleaded and reproached; how she insisted that there was no way of undoing what she had done; how she excited and increased Gracie's jealous pride and desire to outdo Nellie; and this last she found by far the most effectual argument.

And--Gracie yielded. Persuading herself that she had the best right to receive the highest premium because her own grandmamma had offered it; putting from her the thought of the only way in which justice could now be done to Nellie, on the plea that Hattie would be disgraced, and she would be "too mean" to bring this upon her; rousing up all her own naughty and envious feelings against innocent Nellie, she gave way at last and fell before temptation. Fell into the very sin, or even worse, from which she felt herself so very secure,--deceit and theft, for it was no less.

"Now I'll go, dear," said Hattie, jumping up as soon as Gracie had yielded, perhaps afraid that she might repent and insist that she could not keep the mat, "and no one but us two will ever know the secret. And, Gracie, make up your mind to ask Miss Ashton's pardon, so you won't lose all the fun."

IX.

_A GUILTY CONSCIENCE._

If Gracie had been an unhappy and miserable child before, what was she now with all this load upon her conscience? For even pride and self-conceit could not attempt to justify such a deed. Jealousy had a good deal to say; and she tried to listen to that, and to believe also that she was not really to blame: she had been forced into it; she could not betray Hattie, who had done this from love to her. But she was more wretched than it would be easy to tell; and she was beginning to feel such a contempt for her chosen friend that this also was a sore spot in her heart. Day by day she was learning that there was nothing true or honorable or upright about Hattie. She hardly even seemed to think it much harm to tell a falsehood, or appeared ashamed when she was found out; and for some days she had had a growing feeling that it was not pleasant to have a friend with the character of a "story-teller," which Hattie now bore among her school-fellows. And Gracie; was she not just as bad, perhaps even worse? For Gracie had been taught all the value and beauty of truth, and had never till now wilfully fallen away from it; but she knew that the worth of that jewel was not much considered in Hattie's home, and so it had lost its preciousness in her eyes.

Miss Ashton, too, knew this; and so she was less severe with Hattie than she might have been with another child who had a better example and more encouragement to do right in this particular.

Lily, in her plain speaking, would probably have called Mr. and Mrs. Leroy by the same uncomplimentary name she had given to Mr. Raymond; for the same foolish system of management was carried on in their family. Probably they would have been much shocked to hear it said that they taught the lesson of deceit; but was it to be expected that Hattie could have much regard for the truth when she heard herself and her brothers and sisters threatened with punishments, which were not, perhaps could not be carried out; when promises were made to them which were not kept; when they were frightened by tales of bears, wolves, and old black men, and such things which had no existence?

"Willie, your mamma said she would send you to bed if you went there," was said to little Willie Leroy one day.

"Oh, I'm not afraid," answered Willie, contemptuously. "Mamma never does what she says;" and off he ran to the forbidden spot, his words proving quite true, although his mamma heard that he had disobeyed her so deliberately.

"Is your mother going to make you something for the fair?" Hattie was asked by one of her schoolmates.

"She says so; but I don't know if she will," was the answer.

Hattie's was not the simple faith of "Mamma says so," so sweet in little children. Mamma might or might not do as she had said she would, according to the convenience of the moment.

So it was no marvel that Hattie thought it no great harm to escape punishment or gain some fancied good by stretching the truth, or even telling a deliberate falsehood; or that, having a great love of talking, a story should outgrow its true dimensions in her hands; or that she did not see what was honest and upright as well as some children.

But with Gracie Howard it was very different.