Chapter IV

Poor Kate! She had certainly never been so wicked in her life before. The words of her father still lingered in her ears, and she could almost hear the moans of those hungry, crying children.

She had never been sent to bed in her life without her supper, and it looked like a dreadful thing to her--perhaps even more dreadful than it really was.

If there had been nothing but the falsehoods she had told, she might have gone to sleep; but it was sad to think that she had deprived the poor children of their supper, and sent them hungry to bed. This seemed to be the most wicked part of her conduct.

I do not know how many times she turned over in the bed, nor how many times she pulled the clothes over her eyes to shut out the sad picture of those hungry and crying children that would come up before her, in spite of all she could do to prevent it.

She tried to think of other things--of the scene with Fanny; of her school; of a picnic party she had attended on the first of May; of almost everything, indeed; but it did no good. The poor children could not be banished from her mind.

Kate had been sick with the measles, with the scarlet fever, and the mumps; and she remembered how bad she felt at these times; but it seemed to her now that she would rather have all these diseases at once than suffer from a guilty conscience.

When she was sick, her mother bent over her and pitied her, and did all she could to ease her pain; and even when she was burning with fever, and racked with pain, she felt happier than she did now.

She could not inform her mother how bad she felt, for that would expose her guilt. She heard the clock strike nine, and every moment appeared to her like an hour. Those poor little children constantly haunted her; whether her eyes were open or shut, still she saw them crying, and heard them moaning, and begging their sick mother to give them some supper.

O, Kate! how severely was she punished for the sin she had committed! Her mother and her father had praised her, but still she was unhappy.

Slowly, very slowly, the time passed away and she heard the clock strike ten. She could endure her sufferings no longer; and she burst into tears, sobbing and moaning as if her heart would break.

For some time she cried; but as her distress increased, she sobbed and moaned so loud that her father and mother, who were in the adjoining room, heard her, and hastened into the room to find out what ailed her.

"What is the matter, my child?" anxiously asked her mother. "Haven't you been asleep since you went to bed?"

"No mother," sobbed Kate.

"What ails you? Are you sick?"

"No, mother."

"What are you crying for, then?"

"O mother!"

"Why, what ails you, child? Have you been frightened?"

"No, mother."

"Tell us what ails you, Kate," added her father.

Both of her parents were greatly alarmed about her, for they loved their little girl very much; and they knew that something must ail her, or she would not have lain awake so long, or have cried so bitterly.

"Can't you tell us what ails you, Kate?" inquired her mother, very tenderly.

"I have been very naughty, mother," replied Kate, almost choking with emotion.

"Naughty, child?"

"Yes, mother."

"I thought you had been very good," added Mr. Lamb.

"No, I have not; I have been very wicked, and you will never forgive me."

"Why, what have you done, Kate? How strange you act, my child!"

"I can't help it, mother. If you will forgive me this time, I will never be so wicked again while I live."

"Tell us all about it, Kate, and we will forgive you," said her father, very kindly.

The poor girl sobbed so that she could not speak for some time, for the tenderness of her parents made her feel a great deal worse than if they had scolded her severely.

"What have you done, Kate?" repeated Mrs. Lamb.

"I didn't carry the milk to Mrs. O'Brien, mother," gasped the poor penitent, as she uncovered her eyes, and looked up in the face of her parents to notice the effect of her confession upon them.

"Didn't carry it to her?" was the exclamation of her father and mother at the same time.

"No; I spilled it on the ground."

"Why, Kate! what did you do that for?"

"I couldn't help it--I mean I was careless. When Fanny Flynn struck me, I ran after her. My foot tripped, and I fell, and spilled all the milk."

"Why didn't you tell me so, Kate?"

"I didn't dare to tell you; I was afraid you would scold at me, as you did for spoiling the peony."

Kate felt a little better now that she had confessed her fault, and she was able to look her parents in the face.

"Why, Kate, if you had only told me, I should not have scolded you. You may have been careless, but it was all the fault of Fanny Flynn."

"No, mother; I was careless. I forgot all about the milk, I was so angry."

"And so the poor children had no supper, after all," added Mr. Lamb.

"O father! It was what you said about them that made me feel so bad. I am sure I shall never be so very wicked again. Let me carry them some milk now."

"What are you talking about? It is after ten o'clock, my child."

"No matter, father; I am not afraid to go in the dark, if I can only carry them their supper."

"No, no, Kate. I will carry them the milk, though it is rather late, and probably they are all asleep by this time."

"But will you forgive me, father and mother?"

"Freely, my child; you have suffered severely already for your fault, and I hope it will be a lesson to you which will last as long as you live," said her father.

"It will," said Kate, earnestly.

Both her parents kissed her, in token of their forgiveness; and Mr. Lamb put on his coat, while Mrs. Lamb went to the cellar for a pail of milk, with which he soon left the house on his errand of kindness and charity.

Kate felt a great deal better then, and before her father returned, she was fast asleep. Mr. Lamb found the poor woman still up. The children had had bread and water, but no milk, for their supper, and she was very glad to have some for them when they waked up in the night. And she was very grateful to Mr. Lamb for thinking of her at that hour, and thanked God for giving her such kind and thoughtful friends.

From that time, Kate was a better girl, and tried hard to reform her life and character. She tried so hard, and succeeded so well, that she very soon lost the name of "Careless Kate."

Mr. Lamb went to see Fanny Flynn's parents the next day, and they promised to punish her for her conduct. After that Kate did not provoke her, and they never had any more trouble.

Now my readers have seen that Kate's fault led her into falsehood and deception, which are worse than carelessness; and I hope they will all learn to be careful and truthful.

NOTHING TO DO.

NOTHING TO DO.

"My kitty is purring
Upon the hearth rug
Rolled up in a bundle
Just like a great bug.
I wonder what kitty
Is thinking about;
What makes her so happy
I cannot find out.

"She has no hard lessons
To bother her brain,
No spelling and reading
To study in vain;
She ought to be happy
With nothing to do
But play all the morning--
And I should be, too."

Thus Nellie kept thinking,
And spoke out her thought.
The words which she uttered
Her mother's ear caught.
"You wish to be idle
Like kitty, dear, there,
And play all the morning,
Or sleep in your chair?"

"I don't like my lessons;
I think 'tis a pity
I can't be as happy
As dear little kitty.
That ugly old spelling
I never can learn!
O, into a kitty
I wish I could turn!"

"I am not a fairy,"
Her mother replied;
"To me all the power
Of magic's denied;
But you may be idle
From morning till night,
And see if 'do nothing'
Will set your case right."

"O, shall I do nothing
But play all day long,
And sing with my kitty
A holiday song?
How happy, and merry,
And joyous 'twill be
To have no hard lessons--
From study be free!"

"Do what will best please you;
Be idle all day;
Recite no more lessons;
Do nothing but play."
Then Nellie, rejoicing,
Flew out of the room;
Played _hide_, _horse_, and _dolly_,
And rode on the broom.

But long before dinner
Poor Nell had "played out,"
And studied, and studied,
And wandered about,
To find some new pleasure,
Some game, or some play,
To use up the hours,
And end that long day;--

And long before evening
Was cross as a bear--
Just like the McFlimsey
With "nothing to wear."
And tired of nothing,
And tired of play,
No day was so tedious
As that idle day.

"O mother! my lessons
I think I will get,
And then I can play
As I never played yet.
I do not feel happy
With nothing to do;
I cannot endure it
Another day through."

"I thought so, my Nellie;
To make your play sweet
You must work, and be useful
To those whom you meet.
The idle are never
So happy as they
Who work for themselves
Or for others each day."

DOLLY AND I.

DOLLY AND I.