Aunt Kitty's Tales

by Madame Guizot

  CHAPTER XIII.

  NEW THOUGHTS.

  Ellen slept so soundly that for a long time she did not even dream, orat least she did not remember any dreams; but at last she thought shewas back again at H., sitting with Mary in their own room, and Mary wassewing and singing as she sewed,

  But I will be a bee, to sup Pure honey from each flow'ry cup; Busy and pleased around I'll fly, And treasure win from earth and sky.

  And Ellen tried to sing with Mary, but in spite of all her efforts shecould not make a sound, and she woke with her fruitless exertions. Thesun was shining brightly on her window curtains, and she soon saw shewas not at Mrs. Maclean's; yet still she heard singing, and it was thevery same tune which she had fancied in her dream, but there wereseveral voices, and Mary's was not among them. The music ceased verysoon after she awoke, and Ellen lay wondering who had been singing soearly, and whether they sang the words as well as the tune of Mary'ssong. She had been awake fifteen, or perhaps twenty minutes, when herdoor was cautiously opened, and Mrs. Herbert entered very softly.

  "Oh--you are awake, Ellen," she said, as Ellen raised her head from herpillow to see who was entering: "I have looked in upon you once or twicethis morning, but you were asleep, and I would not awake you."

  "But I have been awake some time now, Aunt Herbert, and I want to knowwho it is that has been singing, 'I will not be a butterfly;' I wasdreaming about Mary's singing it, and when I first awoke and heard it, Ithought she was here."

  "You did not hear those words, my dear, but only the tune, which theboys and I were singing to our morning hymn."

  "Morning hymn?" repeated Ellen, looking inquiringly at her aunt, as sheslowly proceeded in dressing herself.

  "Is that a strange thing to you, Ellen?" asked Mrs. Herbert with asmile; "I hope you will be up to-morrow in time to join us in singingit: but now your breakfast is ready," and Mrs. Herbert led the way tothe room in which they had taken tea the evening before, where Ellenfound George and Charles. They greeted her very affectionately, beggedpermission to call her Ellen, because they should then feel more at homewith her, than if they were obliged to say cousin or even sister Ellen,and before they had risen from breakfast had made many plans for heramusement. Charles would have carried her off at once to see his puppy,but Mrs. Herbert stopped them.

  "I must have Ellen," she said, "a little while to myself this morning.This afternoon she shall go with you, if she like."

  After the boys had gone out Mrs. Herbert went with Ellen to her room,and assisted her to put it in neat order. When this was done, Ellen inturn assisted her aunt in setting the breakfast things away andarranging the parlor.

  As Ellen was rather of an indolent nature, and Mary had ever been readyto do for her what she did not like to do for herself, she had scarcelyever been actively employed for so long a time; yet she did not feel atall tired, but found herself more than once, when her aunt Herbert wassilent, humming,

  Busy and pleased around I'll fly, And treasure win from earth and sky.

  When Mrs. Herbert's domestic arrangements were completed, she said,"Now, my love, you have been of great service to me, and I must try tobe of some service to you. I cannot expect you to study to-day, but wewill unpack your books, and arrange some plan for your studies, whichyou will then be able to commence to-morrow."

  When this had been done, it still wanted two hours to the dinner time,and Mrs. Herbert proposed that Ellen should sit by her and assist herwith some needle-work. "And then," she added, "we shall be able to talkmore quietly than we could do while moving about. There are many thingsthat you can tell me, of which I am anxious to hear."

  Ellen was much more willing to tell than she was to sew, but she was notyet sufficiently at ease with her aunt Herbert to object to any thingshe proposed, and she accordingly found her thimble and scissors, andseating herself by her aunt's side, took the work she gave her withoutany expression of dissatisfaction.

  "And now, Ellen," said Mrs. Herbert, when the work had all been soexplained that there were no more questions to ask about it, "I want youto tell me something about Mary--is she like you?"

  "Mary like me!" exclaimed Ellen; "oh no, Aunt Herbert, Mary is more likeyou than she is like me."

  "Indeed! does she look like me?"

  "Well, I do not mean exactly that she looks like you, but she lookspleased like you, and moves about quietly, and never seems to be out ofpatience: everybody loves Mary."

  There was something in the tone in which these last words were saidthat made Mrs. Herbert raise her eyes from her work and look at herniece. Ellen caught the glance, colored, and hung her head.

  "And everybody loves Ellen too, I hope," said Mrs. Herbert, with asmile.

  Ellen's head drooped yet lower, and she did not answer.

  "Speak, my love; you were not jealous I hope of the love which was givento Mary?"

  "Oh no, Aunt Herbert, I was not jealous of Mary; that is, I did not wantpeople not to love Mary, but I did wish that they would love me too, andnot to be so cross to me."

  "Poor child," said Mrs. Herbert, feelingly, "was every one cross toyou?"

  "No, not every one. Mary never was cross to me--nor poor papa--nor UncleVillars; though Uncle Villars did not love me as much as he did Mary."

  "And why was this, Ellen? Did you think there was any reason for it?"

  Mrs. Herbert spoke very gently, but again Ellen hung her head and lookedabashed.

  "Do not be ashamed to tell me, my love, what you thought was the cause.I love you, Ellen, very much, and all the more for telling me so freelywhat you think and feel. I think it a sad thing--a very great evil, notto be loved; and perhaps the cause of this in your own case may be onewhich, if I knew it, I could help you to remove."

  "Oh no, Aunt Herbert, nobody can help me, for it is just my own badtemper."--Ellen was now weeping, and it was amidst sobs that shecontinued--"I cannot help it; I am sure I try to be good, and to pleasepeople and to make them love me. I do think I try a great deal harderthan Mary does, and that makes me feel so much worse when they sayunkind things to me; and then I cannot be still like Mary, but I getangry and talk back to them, and that makes them dislike me more andmore, and I am sure it is not my fault, for I cannot help it."

  Mrs. Herbert laid aside her work, put her arm around Ellen and drew herto her side, and laying her head upon her shoulder, spoke soothingly andtenderly to her, till she ceased to weep. When Ellen's sobs were hushed,she said, "My dear child, Aunt Herbert knows how you feel and how tofeel for you, for she has suffered just as you do, from just such a badtemper."

  "You, aunt Herbert!" exclaimed Ellen, raising her head and looking ather aunt with surprise, "did you ever have a bad temper?"

  "I had just such a temper, Ellen, as you describe; wishing to be loved,anxious to please, so anxious that I was willing to do any thing for it,except control my hasty feelings or keep back my rash words."

  "And how did you get over it, aunt Herbert?"

  "The first step towards my deliverance from the evil, Ellen, was feelingthat it was my own fault."

  Ellen's face turned very red, and she answered quickly, "How can it bemy fault when I try so hard to help it?"

  "My child, the fault must lie somewhere; whose is it if it is notyours?"

  "I didn't make myself," said Ellen, sullenly.

  "And would you say, my dear Ellen, that the fault is His who made you?"

  Ellen was silent--she dared not say this with her lips--yet it was thelanguage of her heart.

  "Ellen, since you began to notice your bad temper has it not becomeworse?--are you not more easily made angry now than you were formerly?"

  Mrs. Herbert paused, but Ellen did not answer.

  "Speak, my dear Ellen, you must place confidence in me, if you wouldhave my help in getting rid of this evil. Is it not as I say, Ellen?"

  "Yes," whispered Ellen, again hiding her face on her aunt's shoulder.

  "Whose fault has this been, Ellen?--has God, do you think, con
tinued tomake your temper worse and worse?"

  "I have lived with such cross, ill-natured people," murmured Ellen.

  "Mary has lived with the same people; has it had the same effect onher?"

  Ellen was silent.

  "My dear child," said Mrs. Herbert, "I have not asked these questions togive you pain. It is not to mortify you, but to give you hope, that Iwould have you feel the fault to be yours, for your own fault you maycorrect; not so with the faults of others. And now, having convincedyou, I hope, that the fault is your own, the next question is, what hasbeen your fault--shall I tell you this, my love?"

  Mrs. Herbert spoke so gently--so affectionately, that Ellen could not beangry. She answered very softly, "If you please."--"What this fault was,Ellen, your own words have shown. You say you have loved others andtried to please them, but you said nothing of loving God, and trying toplease Him. You do not seem to have thought that the angry feelings andhasty words which displeased your friends were an offence to Him. Youhave thought of your temper as an unhappiness for which you were to bepitied, rather than as a great wrong for which you were to be blamed.You have even had hard thoughts of God, as if he had caused thisunhappiness. Think of His kindness and love to you, Ellen, and beashamed of such thoughts. Who but He gave you so tender a father--sokind a sister as Mary--and so generous a friend as your Uncle Villars?Look up at the sky and see the sun which He has placed there to givelight and warmth--look around you on the earth, and see the flowerswhich clothe it with beauty and the fruits which it produces for yourgratification--and be humbled, Ellen, that you should have thought thisgood God unkind?" Mrs. Herbert paused, for she was overcome for a momentby her own emotions.--"Do you not feel His love, Ellen?" she asked atlength.

  "But he did not make all these good and beautiful things for me," saidEllen, speaking in a whisper, as if she were ashamed of her own cavils.

  "If not made for your gratification, Ellen, why were you created withsenses to enjoy them--why have you eyes to see, the sense of smell forthis delicious perfume which the breeze is bringing to us, and taste tofind pleasure in your food?--But the half of His love I have not yettold you. Do you not remember, Ellen, that knowing you to beweak--seeing that you would meet trials and temptations in theworld--that you would commit great faults and endure great sufferings inconsequence of those faults--He sent His son into the world to show youhow these trials might be borne and these temptations resisted, to teachyou that He loved you even when you were sinning and suffering, and ifyou would but love Him in return and strive to please Him, He would aidyour weak efforts, would pardon your sins, and give you peace here andheaven hereafter? And it is in this way, dear Ellen, that you can alonehope to get rid of that bad, sinful temper which has caused you so muchpain. Think much of the goodness and love of your kind heavenly Father,that you may love and strive to please Him. This will make you watchfulover the first beginnings of evil, the first rising up of angry feelingsin your heart, and you will strive then to overcome them before theyhave become strong by indulgence. Yet with all your efforts, Ellen, I donot promise you that you will not often fail; but as you learn to trustin the love of God, you will acknowledge your faults to Him even as youwould to an earthly father, and humbly ask Him to pardon and help you:and He will, Ellen,--He will help you, and through His help you shallconquer all evil."

  Mrs. Herbert was silent, and Ellen remained for some time with her faceconcealed, neither speaking nor moving; at length she whispered, "Andyou will try to love me, Aunt Herbert, though I have told you how bad Iam."

  "I love you, dear child, a thousand times better for having told me, andI will never love you less for faults which you honestly acknowledge andearnestly strive to correct."

  "And you will not tell George and Charles."

  "Never: but now go to your room, and wash your face, lest that shouldtell them that you have been grieving."

  Ellen obeyed, and she removed the redness from her face, but thethoughts and feelings which her Aunt had awakened, did not depart fromher mind. Ellen had heard of God's goodness and love before, but neverhad they been so urged upon her--never had she been made so to thinkabout them and to feel them; and the impression was abiding, for herAunt was ever ready to awaken her observation to new proofs of thatgoodness and love. She had now a new reason to endeavor to conquer herfaults,--the desire to do right--to obey God and please Him.

  It must not be supposed, however, that any lesson, however wellremembered and deeply impressed, could overcome in a day or a week, oreven a month, the habits of Ellen's whole life. On the contrary, she hadyet often to exclaim, with bitter sorrow, "Oh, Aunt Herbert! do youthink I ever shall do right?" But she never now thought it was the faultof others when she did wrong; and although on such occasions she wasgrieved, more grieved than formerly, she never long felt hopeless, forshe remembered that her Aunt Herbert had once been like her, and thatthe same heavenly Father who had aided her aunt to overcome the evil ofher nature, loved her, and would hear her prayers. Yet she still hadmany terrible sufferings to endure from the evil which she had so longindulged, and some of these I will relate to you.