Fanny, the Flower-Girl; or, Honesty Rewarded. To Which are Added Other Tales

by Selina Bunbury

  II.

  The Silver Knife.

  "Then said Jesus unto him: Go and do thou likewise."--LUKE, x. 37.

  _Mary_.--(After having searched about the dining-room,) "Who has seenmy silver knife? William, John, Lucy, you who are amusing yourselves inthe garden, have you seen my silver knife?"

  _William_.--(Going up to the window, and in a sententious tone ofvoice,) "'Disorder,' says an ancient writer, 'occasions sorrow, andnegligence, blame.'"

  _Mary_.--"Admirable! But that does not apply to _me_, for it isscarcely an hour since I laid my knife on this very table, whichcertainly belongs to us."

  _Lucy_.--"Are you quite sure of it, Mary!"

  _Mary_--"Yes, indeed, there is no doubt of it, for Sophy asked me togive her a pretty little red apple, as usual, before going to school. Iwent immediately to the fruit-room for it, and as it was a littlespoiled, I cleaned it with my silver knife, which I laid on this table,whilst I was kissing her. I am therefore quite sure of it."

  _John_.--(Frowning,)--"For my part, I confess, I don't like all thesestrangers who come about the house. For instance, that little _Jane_,who sells lilies of the valley, and strawberries, and so on--I verymuch distrust her sullen look; and who knows, if perhaps...?"

  _Lucy_--"Fie, fie, brother, to suspect that poor little modest gentlechild, who supports her sick mother by her own industry! Oh! it is verywrong, John!"

  "What is the matter?" said their Father, who had heard this disputefrom the garden, where he was reading under the shade of a tree.

  Mary related her story, and finished by saying,--"Well, if it be God'swill, So-be-it! My beautiful knife is lost!"

  "Yes, my dear girl," answered her father, "What God wills, is alwaysbest. But it is His will that I should watch over, my household. I musttherefore know what has become of your knife. Did you ask Elizabeth ifshe had taken care of it, when she cleaned the room?"

  Mary ran to the kitchen, and enquired of Elizabeth.

  "Your silver knife! Miss," said the servant, coloring. "Have you lostthat beautiful knife, which was given you on your birthday?"

  "I ask you, if you have taken care of it," answered Mary. "I laid itthis morning upon the table in the dining-room, near the window."

  _Elizabeth_.--(with astonishment,)--"Near the window! Oh!--I know whereit is, now. About half an hour ago, when I went into the dining-room,to ... put ... down ... some plates, I saw the great magpie, whichbuilds its nest up in the large elm-tree, at the end of the garden,sitting on the window-ledge. It flew away as soon as it saw me; but ithad something white and shining in its beak. Oh! yes, I remember now!it was the silver knife!"

  "The magpie," exclaimed Mary, "with my knife in its beak!"

  "Oh! Miss," replied Elizabeth, "there is no thief like a magpie. When Iwas at home, one of their nests was once pulled down, and nine piecesof silver were found in it, and a whole necklace of pearls! Oh! magpiesare terrible birds, and you may be sure that your knife is in theirnest."

  Mary returned to her father in the garden, and related to him all thatElizabeth had said, but added, "For my part, I don't believe a word ofit!"

  "And why not?" exclaimed John, sharply, "Elizabeth is quite right!Nothing steals like a magpie. Everybody says so. Come! let us to work!A ladder, a cord, and a long stick! Down with the nest!--Papa, will youallow me to climb the tree!"

  _Lucy._--(Holding John by the arm.)--"Brother, how _can_ you think ofit? The elm is more than eighty feet high! Papa, I beg of you, not toallow it."

  _Father_.--(Calmly.)--"No one shall get up the tree and risk his life,for a thing which certainly is not there."

  "There is no thief like a magpie," repeated John, looking at the nest,which might be seen through the higher branches of the tree; "but Iconfess it would not be easy to reach it. These branches are very longand very slender!"

  William, who had said nothing as yet, but had been walking backwardsand forwards, with his head down, and his hands in his pockets, turnedsuddenly round to Mary, and said, "I have been thinking we can soonknow if your knife is in the nest. We only want a polemoscope for that.Hurrah! long live optics!"

  "A lemoscope!" said Lucy, "What is that? Is it a long hook?"

  _William_.--(Smiling rather contemptuously.) "Poor sister! Whatignorance!"

  _Father_--"William, speak kindly--tell your sister what this instrumentis, and what you want to do with it."

  _William._--(Scientifically.)--"In war, when a besieged garrison wishesto know all the movements of the enemy, without being seen, they erectbehind the walls, or the ramparts, a mirror, placed at the end of along pole, and inclining towards the country. You understand, then,that everything that takes place outside, is reflected in the mirror,and can be seen from within, or in another mirror placed at the bottomof the pole, and sloping inwards. This, Lucy, is what is called apolemoscope--that is to say, an instrument for observations in war."

  "Thank you, William," said Lucy, "but what are you going to do with it?"

  _William._--"The thing is quite plain. I am going to fasten a smallmirror on a light pitchfork, inclining it downwards. This pitchfork Ishall fasten firmly to pole; then some one will climb, dear papa,without any danger, as far as the strong branches reach; from thence hecan draw up the pole and its mirror, with a long string, and by raisingthe mirror above the nest, he will enable us to see, with the aid ofyour telescope, all that the nest contains. This is my plan, and Ithink it is not so bad!"

  _Father_.--(Smiling.)--"Dear William. It is a great pity, however, thatyou are so blind. There are two things you have not considered. One is,that the branches which cover the nest, are very thick and tufted.Therefore, your mirror, even if it reached their summit, would onlyreflect the leaves, and consequently neither the nest nor the knife;and the other thing which you do not observe, is this, that themagpies, by an admirable instinct, which God has given them, buildtheir nests, not like a basin, as you supposed, but in the form of aball; so that the nest is covered with a vaulted roof, formed of sticksclosely interwoven, which shelters the bird and its brood from badweather, and above all, from the cruel claw of the kite or hawk."

  "I am much obliged to you, dear papa," said William. "What a pity," headded, with a sigh; "for my plan would otherwise have been infallible."

  "Let us seek a better one," said their father. "Mary, go and see if youhave not left your knife in the fruit-room. Perhaps it was yesterday,that you peeled the apple for Sophy."

  "I will do so," said Mary, and she went into the house for the key ofthe fruit-room.

  She soon returned, exclaiming, "The key is not in its place, and I putit there this morning."

  "Miss Mary is mistaken," said Elizabeth, coming out of the kitchen; "Isee the key in the door."

  "Papa," said Mary, "I recollect, when I put the key in the cupboard,this very morning, Sophy looked at it, and said, 'It is certainly theprettiest key on the bunch.'"

  "Let us go to the fruit-room," said the father, directing his stepsthither. "I fear this will prove a sad affair."

  "What is this, too," cried Mary, examining the shelves, "the big key ofthe cellar here Where did it come from? And this key covered withcheese, from one end to the other!"

  "Let us go to the cellar!" said the father. "I believe we shall findout more there than we can here."

  They opened the door, and found the brilliant silver knife, not in themagpie's nest, but sticking in a cheese, from which a large portionappeared to have been detached.

  The children were amazed, and their Father much grieved.

  "Here is your knife, Mary," said John, who first saw it. "Certainly,there is no need of a looking-glass to find it."

  "You must not joke, my children," said the Father; "this is a very sadbusiness. I am thankful it has taken place in the absence of your dearMother, and I forbid you writing her anything about it. This mustconcern me, and me alone."

  _William_.--(Indignantly.)--"It amounts to a theft, a falsehood!"

  _Lucy_.--"But who has done it, William? Did n
ot Mary leave her knifehere?"

  _William_.--"Who saw the Magpie carrying it off in his beak?"

  _Mary_.--(To Lucy.)--"Do you not understand that it was poor Elizabeth,who came here with my knife, which she took off the table where I leftit, and who, after having cut a piece of cheese with it, went to thefruit-room, no doubt to steal some apples also."

  _John_.--(Angrily.)--"Papa, Elizabeth has acted deceitfully--will youallow her to remain with you? One of the Psalms, the 101st, I think,says, 'He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house.'"

  _The Father_.--(Gravely.) "It is said also in Holy Scriptures, my son,that 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment,' and perhaps, John, if any ofus, had been brought up like poor Elizabeth, we might have done evenworse than this."

  "I am quite vexed," said Mary, "Oh! why did I not take more care ofthat wretched knife!"

  _William._--"But, Mary, it was not your knife left upon the table,which tempted her to take two keys secretly out of the cupboard, andwhich made them the instruments of this theft. For Papa," continued he,"it _is_ a theft, and a shameful one too! These stolen keys are nosmall matter!"

  _The Father_.--(Calmly.)--"I know it my children, and it grieves myheart, that one of my servants, who daily hears the word of God readand explained, should so far have forgotten the fear of the Lord! Thisis what saddens me, and wounds me deeply."

  _Lucy_.--"Elizabeth has not long been our cook, and probably she neverheard the word of God before she came here. Poor girl I she is perhapsvery unhappy now,--and I am sure, she will repent and turn to God."

  _The Father_.-"That is right, my dear child, I rejoice to hear youplead the cause of the unhappy, and even of the guilty, for as I saidbefore, 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment.'"

  "I was therefore wrong," said John, "and I confess it ... for certainlyI scarcely pitied her.... I did wrong I and now I think as Lucy does."

  "And I also," said William, "'Clemency governs courage,' says a Grecianhistorian, and ..."

  _The Father._--(Very seriously.)--"But, my dear William, what have thepagans of old and their morals to do here? My son, you know it is theword of God which rules our conduct, and which commands us to sufferand to forgive."

  _Lucy._--"Papa, will you allow me to repeat a passage, which I learntby heart last Sunday?"

  _The Father._--"Repeat it, Lucy, and may God bless it to us all!"

  _Lucy._--"'Execute true judgment, and show mercy and compassion everyman to his brother.' It is in the seventh chapter of Zechariah."

  "I too, was wrong then," said William, "very wrong! for it is thewisdom of God alone, that enlightens us."

  "True, my son," said his Father, "may God always remind you of this. Iam going to speak to Elizabeth," he added, "as for you, my children, donot say a word about it, and above all, bless the Lord, for having madeknown to you his grace and holy law. Pray to him together, that mywords may have their due effect upon the mind of this poor guiltycreature."

  The Father went out to look for Elizabeth, and the children repaired toWilliam's room, who, having knelt down with them, prayed to the Lord totake pity upon her, and to touch her heart, and he ended the prayer inthe following words:--"In thy great wisdom, O Most Gracious God, and inthine infinite compassion, through Jesus Christ, grant unto each of ustrue repentance, and a sincere change of heart, and may this afflictionbe turned to the glory of our Saviour Jesus."

  The children then returned to their several occupations, and not one ofthem ever thought of judging Elizabeth, or even speaking harshly of her.

  We may add, that the exhortation of her charitable master, producedsincere penitence in Elizabeth, and that the poor girl was not sent outof the house; for "mercy pleaded against judgment."

  It is thus that God deals with us! Oh! which of us can tell how oftenhe has received pardon from the Lord!