CHAPTER XI.
PLEASURE AND PAIN.
The third of December had been fixed for the day of examination, and thechildren at Hazel Grove were so industrious that some days before that,both the presents and the studies were completed--except the bracelet,which went on very slowly indeed--but which Grace assured Clara shouldbe ready in time. For the last few days, when the girls were out ofschool, time seemed to pass as slowly with them as it did with me on themorning I sat with Madame L'Estrange expecting Cecille. Now, as then,however, it did pass.
The first of December had been a stormy day, but the next morning was asclear and bright as if no cloud had ever been seen. But it was so coldthat even the children preferred gathering around the fire to runningout, and for me, I could scarcely persuade myself to look out. Poor Dr.Willis! how he shivered, and how cold even his horse looked, as he droveup to the gate at Hazel Grove, where he had been sent for, to visit aservant who was sick. He came in, rubbing his hands, and declaring itwas the coldest day he had felt this year. "Ah! young ladies," said he,"you none of you know the comfort of this warm fire as I do. You mustride three miles facing this northwest wind before you can really enjoyit. But even that," he added a moment after, "is better than to sitstill in the house with little or no fire as some poor people must do.By the by," he continued, turning to Mrs. Wilmot, "I stopped to seeCecille and her grandmother on my way here, and very glad I was to seethem enjoying a blazing fire."
"I have been thinking of them this morning, and fearing that they wouldnot be prepared for this suddenly severe cold," said Mrs. Wilmot. "Howdo they get their fuel?"
"It was wanting to know that which made me call this morning. Povertycertainly sharpens the wit, for that little child"--Cecille was so smallthat everybody thought of her as a little child--"manages as well as anyman could do. The widow Daly supplies them with fuel for a smalladditional charge to her month's rent. The old lady needs a warm fire,for her dress is not thick enough--she ought to have flannel."
"And has she not?"
"No--I asked Cecille about it and she colored up and looked as muchdistressed, poor child, as if it had been her fault that her grandmotherwas without it. She shall have it, she says, in a few days, as soon asshe gets some money that she is expecting. I offered to lend her sometill then, but her grandmother had forbidden her borrowing."
"In which I think she is very wise," said Mrs. Wilmot, "but I wishwhoever owes her money, knew how much she needs it just now; they mightpay her, even if it be a little before the time. No one I hope would beso cruelly unjust as to keep her out of her little earnings one dayafter they were due."
I could not see Clara's face as I tried to do at this time, for she waslooking out of the windows, but Grace colored as violently and looked asconfused as if she had been guilty of what her mother thought so wrong.Her confusion attracted Mrs. Wilmot's attention. "Grace," said she, "youdo not owe Cecille any thing I hope."
"No, mamma, I paid her the last week."
Mrs. Wilmot turned to speak to Clara, but she had left the room. Dr.Willis, having warmed himself, now asked to see his patient. Thiswithdrew Mrs. Wilmot's attention from Cecille, and she probably did notagain think of what had passed,--at least she asked no more questionsabout it. She left the parlor with Dr. Willis, and soon after I rose togo to my room. In going there I had to pass through the library. Therewere heavy curtains to the windows of this room, and as I entered, Iheard sobs which seemed to come from behind one of these curtains, andthen Grace, who had left the parlor a little before me, saying, "Do notcry so, Clara, pray do not cry so. Let us carry Cecille what money wehave--that will be some help, you know, and your father will be herethis evening and give you the rest."
"How often must I tell you, Grace, that I have not any money? Did younot see me give all that I had to the jeweller?" asked Claraimpatiently.
"Yes, dear Clara,--but I have some."
"But I will not take your money, I tell you, after your saving it up socarefully."
"Yes, Clara, you will take it, if you love me as you used to do; youknow I did not save it up for myself, Clara,--you know I would havegiven it all to that poor blind man, if I had not promised you to buy abracelet for your locket. How glad I am now that it was not enough forthe bracelet, so that we can have it for Cecille."
"And if I take it for Cecille," said Clara, "I should like to know howthe locket will get fastened to the bracelet."
"Oh, never mind that," said Grace, "we can sew it on now and have itfastened better by-and-by, mamma will not care how it is done. So come,Clara, I know you will feel a great deal better after you have seenCecille and given her some money, and told her how soon you hope to havethe rest for her."
I heard no more, but after I went to my room I saw the two girls,wrapped in their cloaks, set out for Cecille's; so I knew that Clara hadbeen persuaded.
Early in the afternoon of this day the children began to gaze from thewindows which looked towards the road for the carriages of theirfriends, who were expected to attend the examination of the next day andto take them home on the day after. In about two hours after their watchcommenced, a carriage arrived with Mr. and Mrs. Ormesby, and shortlyafter Mrs. Williams came, but the evening passed away--it wasbed-time--and nothing had been seen or heard of Mr. Devaux. Clarabecame so agitated that as Mrs. Wilmot bade her good-night, she said toher in an affectionate and soothing tone, "Do not look so distressed,dear child, your father will be here perhaps before you are up in themorning."
But Clara rose the next morning to fresh disappointment. Her father hadnot come. Knowing the cause of her anxiety, I was much interested in herfeelings and observed her closely. She ate but little breakfast, andevery time the door opened she turned quickly towards it.
The other children were full of interest about their presents. They hadbeen placed on the library table when Mrs. Wilmot went into thebreakfast parlor. With them was the following note, sealed, and placedso that it must attract her attention the moment she entered the room:
"DEAR MAMMA--
Accept these keepsakes from your affectionate and grateful children, Clara, Martha, Kate, Emma, Grace, Lucy."
Clara was so much absorbed in her anxiety about her father's delay thatshe seemed to have little interest in these arrangements, and Grace wasoccupied with her. Thus to the younger children was left the managementof an affair which had occupied all their minds so long. I hadundertaken to get Mrs. Wilmot to the library, so, after breakfast,calling her out of the parlor, I led the way thither and walked directlyup to the table. The children followed, and were in time to see herglistening eyes as she read the note, and to receive her caresses as sheraised her head and saw them standing near the door. After the firstemotion of receiving the presents had subsided, they were examined andadmired. "This," said Mrs. Wilmot, as she clasped the locket on her arm,"is a joint present, I suppose, from Grace and Clara. It is tooexpensive to have been from one."
"The bracelet only is mine, mamma," said Grace in a low voice, as ifagain she felt a little ashamed of her present, "Clara bought the locketherself."
"My dear Clara, how long you must have been saving your money, and howmuch self-denial you must have practised before you could pay for socostly an ornament! It is paid for," she added inquiringly, as she sawthe color mount to Clara's very temples on hearing her praise.
"Yes, ma'am," said Clara, and Mrs. Wilmot again fastened the locket,which she had unclasped while asking her question.
"Is not this hair yours and Clara's, Grace?" asked Mrs. Wilmot, bendingdown her head to examine the bracelet.
"Yes, mamma."
"And who wove the bracelet for you?"
"I wove it. I know it is not handsome enough for the locket, mamma, butit was the best I could do, and I had not money enough to buy one."
"It is very neatly done, my dear, and if it were less pretty than it is,I should thank you for it far more than for a handsomer one which hadcost more than you could properly give. But I thank all my c
hildren, andaccept all their presents with pleasure, because I am sure they all knowthat they cannot be generous without first being just. You would none ofyou," she continued, looking tenderly round upon them, "you would noneof you grieve me, by giving me that which was not really your own, andnothing is your own till it is paid for--not even the premiums you areto have to-day, and which you must now come to the schoolroom and win bywell-said lessons." This was said gayly, as Mrs. Wilmot turned towardsthe schoolroom, whither she was followed by all the children--alllight-hearted and happy, except Clara.
Poor Clara! how painfully she felt every word Mrs. Wilmot had said.Whatever were her faults, she had always been quite sure that she hadone virtue--generosity, and now she began to feel that, in this instanceat least, she had been very ungenerous, for she had gratified herself inmaking the most costly present to her mamma Wilmot at the expense ofpoor Cecille. And when she entered the schoolroom, there stood Cecille,whom the girls had invited. How she shrank from meeting her eye! How shedreaded to approach her, lest Cecille should ask if her father had come!
Some of Mrs. Wilmot's friends from the neighboring village arrived, andthen the examination commenced. Examinations I doubt not you have allattended, but perhaps none conducted exactly as this was. The objecthere, was not to show which scholar was best, or how far one surpassedall others, but how good all were. Each little girl was encouraged to doher best, and they all rejoiced in the success of each one. After theyhad been examined in their various studies, some of their work wasexhibited--among the rest, Clara's embroidery and Grace's painting.These were very highly extolled, and Cecille, being pointed out by Mrs.Wilmot as their teacher, received many compliments, and some personsfrom the village inquired her terms, and thought she might have severalpupils there when the holidays were over. I was much pleased to hearthis, as it promised greater gain for my little friend.
Clara had appeared well in all her studies, her work had been admired,her young companions had evinced their affection for her in a hundreddifferent ways, and Mrs. Wilmot had spoken to her with more than herusual tenderness, because she saw that she was distressed by herfather's delay. Yet, notwithstanding all this, Clara had never been sounhappy as on this day. All coldness, however, had vanished between herand Grace, who never passed her without a pressure of the hand, or somesoothing word or action. As the day passed on and the afternoon woreaway without any tidings of Mr. Devaux, the color deepened on Clara'sface, and she grew so nervous and agitated, that I, who watched herclosely, expected every moment to see her burst into tears. All thisdistress must have appeared very unreasonable to those who supposed thatit was caused only by anxiety about her father, whom Mrs. Wilmot had notvery confidently expected. But there were three personspresent--Cecille, Grace, and I--who better understood its cause. On herfather's coming would depend Clara's power of keeping her promise withCecille. Cecille's present want of the money, of which perhaps Clarawould have thought little but for the remarks of Dr. Willis on the daybefore, was sufficient to make her earnestly desirous of paying her: butClara had yet another reason; she dreaded lest Mrs. Wilmot should hearof this debt.
My young readers will have learned from the remarks made by Mrs. Wilmotin the morning to her children, even at the very moment of receivingtheir presents, how strict was her sense of justice. No principle hadshe endeavored to inculcate on her pupils more earnestly than this, andClara could not forget that she had only the day before called theperson cruelly unjust, who should keep Cecille's money from her for aday. It was the first time Clara had ever desired to keep secret fromMrs. Wilmot any thing she had done, and this, my dear young friends, isthe worst of all unhappiness, to have done what we are ashamed or afraidto confess. Clara had been perhaps a little vain of her locket and ofher generosity, as she thought it, in making such a present, but I haveno doubt she would now gladly have changed places with Grace, and havebeen the giver of only the humble bracelet. I do not think Grace was nowat all ashamed of her bracelet--indeed she seemed to love to look uponit; and well she might, since it was a proof that not even Clara'scontempt or anger, or the desire to show her regard to her mother, couldmake her forget the principles of justice which that dear mother hadtaught her. She had proved her generosity by giving all she had--allthat was her own--but she had refused, for any reason, to spend thatwhich was not her own.
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