by A. A. Milne
He commended her industry, particularly when Grace had told how much of it had been shown the previous evening, but added that he hoped the tasks he had set her had been first properly attended to.
“Yes, sir; I learned my lessons and wrote my composition yesterday, before I began the sewing,” she replied.
“That is well,” he said, “I am glad to see you willing to use some of your leisure time in working for the poor, but your education— which is to fit you for greater usefulness in the future— must not be neglected for that or anything else.”
Lulu blushed with a sudden half conviction that her tasks had not been so faithfully attended to as they should have been. But it was now too late to remedy the failure, as the school hour would come very soon after breakfast and family worship.
She wished she had learned her lessons more thoroughly and spent more time and pains upon her composition, but hoped she might be able to acquit her herself better, on being called to recite, than she feared.
However, it proved a vain hope; she hesitated and gave incorrect answers several times in the first recitation, and when it came to the second showed herself almost entirely unacquainted with the lesson.
Her father looked very grave but only said, as he handed back her book, “These are the poorest recitations I have ever heard from you.”
Then taking up her composition, which he had found lying on his desk and had already examined, “And this, I am sorry to have to say, is a piece of work that does no credit to my daughter; the writing is slovenly, the sentences are badly constructed, and the spelling is very faulty. It must be re-written this afternoon, and both lessons learned so that you can recite them creditably to me before I can allow you any recreation.”
“I don’t care,” she said with a pout and a frown, “I just have too much to do, and that’s all there is about it.”
“My child, are you speaking quite as respectfully as you ought in addressing your father?” he asked in grave, reproving accents.
She hung her head in sullen silence.
He waited a moment, then said with some sternness, “When I ask you a question, Lucilla, I expect an answer, and it must be given.”
“No, sir; it wasn’t respectful,” she replied penitently. “But please forgive me, papa, I hope I’ll never speak so again.”
He drew her to him and kissed her tenderly. “I do, dear child. But now I must know what you mean by saying that you have too much to do.”
“It’s that sewing for the Dorcas society, papa, beside all my lessons and practising, and other things that you bid me do every day.”
“Then you must undertake less of it, or none at all; for as I have said before, your lessons are of much more importance. I can pay some one to work for the poor, but my little girl’s stock of knowledge must be increased, and her mind improved by her own efforts.”
“I don’t want to give it up, papa; because it would be mortifying to have it said I couldn’t do as much as the other girls.”
“You seem to be doing charitable work from a very poor motive,” he remarked in a tone of grave concern.
“Papa, that isn’t my only motive,” she replied, hanging her head and blushing. “I do want to please the Lord Jesus and to be kind and helpful to the poor.”
“I am glad to hear it; but you must be willing to undertake less if you can not do so much without neglecting other, and more important duties. Did you bring home an extra quantity of work from the last meeting of your society?”
“No, sir,” and she blushed again as she spoke, “but I— I kept putting off doing it because there was always something else I wanted to do— a story to read, or a game to play, or a bit of carving, or something pleasanter than sewing— till Grace reminded me there was only one day left, and then I hurried over my lessons and composition and worked as hard and fast as I could at the sewing.”
“Ah,” he said, “it is an old and very true saying that ’Procrastination is the thief of time.’ The only way to accomplish much in this world is to have a time for each duty, and always attend to it at that set time.
“If you want to go on with this Dorcas work you must set apart some particular time for it, when it will not interfere with other duties, and resolve not to allow yourself to use that time for anything else.”
“Unless my father orders me?” she said half inquiringly, half in assertion, and with an arch look and smile.
“Yes; there may be exceptions to the rule,” he replied returning the smile.
“Now we have talked long enough on this subject and must begin to put in practice the rule I have just laid down.”
“Yes, sir; I have my ciphering to do now. But, papa, must I learn the lessons over and rewrite the composition this afternoon? If you say I must, I’ll have to miss the meeting of our society. I’d be very sorry for that and ashamed to have to tell why I wasn’t there. Please, papa, won’t you let me go, and do my work over after I get back? There’ll be an hour, or more before tea and then all the evening.”
He did not answer immediately, and she added, with a wistful, pleading look, “I know I don’t deserve to be let go, but you’ve often been a great deal better to me than I deserved.”
“As I well may be, considering how far beyond my deserts are my blessings,” he said with a tender smile and another kiss. “Yes, daughter, you may attend the meeting and I shall hope to hear some excellent recitations from you before you go to your bed to-night.”
“Oh thank you, dear papa! I’ll try my very hardest,” she exclaimed joyously, giving him a vigorous hug.
The society met at Ion that day. The captain and Violet drove over with the children, and leaving them there while they went on some miles farther, called for them again on their return at the close of the hour appropriated to its exercises.
Grandma Elsie’s face hardly expressed approval as she examined Lulu’s work, but she let it pass, only saying in a low aside to the little girl, “It is not quite so well done as the last garment you brought in, my child, but I will overlook the partial failure, hoping the next bit of work will be an improvement upon both.”
Lulu blushed and was silent; once she would have made an angry retort, but she was slowly learning patience and humility.
On arriving at home she set immediately to work at her tasks, nor left off till the tea bell rang. The time had been too short for her to make much progress, and it was quite a trial to have to spend the whole evening in her own room while the others were enjoying the usual pleasant hours of relaxation together;— the sport with the babies, the familiar chat, and interesting reading; but that too she bore with patience.
It was not till the call to evening worship that she joined the family. When the service was over she drew near her father.
“Papa, I have re-written that composition and hope you will find it a great deal better, I have studied my lessons too, till I think I can recite them creditably.”
“Ah, that is well,” he said, laying a hand tenderly on her head and smiling affectionately down into the eyes upraised to his. “I will go with you presently to hear the lessons and examine your little essay.”
When he had done so, “I am very glad indeed, daughter,” he said, “to be able to bestow hearty praise on you this time; you have greatly improved your composition, and your recitations were quite perfect.”
He drew her to his knee as he spoke, she blushing with pleasure at his words.
“I missed my eldest daughter, from the family circle this evening,” he went on smoothing her hair caressingly; “indeed I think we all missed her. I hope we will not be deprived of her company in the same way again.”
“I hope not, papa; I do mean to be more faithful in preparing my lessons. I’m sure I ought when I have such a kind, kind teacher,” she added looking lovingly into his eyes. “Dear papa,” putting her arm round his neck and laying her cheek to his, “I do love you so, so much!”
“My darling,” he responded, “your love is very precious to
me, and I don’t think it can be greater than mine for you. My daughter’s worth to her fond father— could not be computed in dollars and cents,” he added with a happy laugh.
“I hope Grandma Elsie found your sewing well done?”
“Not so very, papa,” she replied, her tone expressing some mortification; “she said it was not so nicely done as the last.”
“That is a pity; it will hardly do to keep on so— going backward instead of forward as regards improvement in that line of work.”
“No, papa, I don’t mean to; I didn’t bring home quite so much this time, though some of the girls did look as if they thought I was growing lazy— and it was dreadfully mortifying to have them think so— and I’m going to try Eva’s plan. She says she divides her work into as many portions as there are days to do it in, and won’t let herself miss doing at least one portion each day. She says she gets it done quite easily in that way, often finished before the day when it is to be handed in.”
“But it can’t be that she puts it off for story-reading, games and what not?”
“No, sir; and I don’t mean to any more. I’ll put that sewing first after what you say are more important duties, and not let myself have any play till it’s done. I think I can ’most always do it before breakfast, now that you don’t require me to sweep or dust my own rooms. I’m very much obliged to you, papa, for saying I needn’t do those things any more while I have so many lessons.”
“I want my daughters to understand all kinds of housework so that they may be competent to direct servants, if they have them, or be independent of them if they have not,” he said; “but now that you have learned how to sweep and dust, I do not think it necessary for you to make use of that knowledge while your time can be better employed, and I am able to pay a servant for doing the work.”
Chapter 19
One morning at breakfast, Max asked, “Papa, have you told Lu yet?”
“No,” replied the captain, “I wished her to eat her meal first in peace and comfort; therefore I am sorry you spoke, as I see you have roused her curiosity.”
“Yes, papa; mayn’t I know what you are talking about?” asked Lulu, giving him a disturbed, rather apprehensive look. “Oh does the court meet to-day?”
“It’s been meeting for several days,” returned Max, “and the trial of our burglars comes up to-day.”
“And we’ll have to attend as witnesses?”
“Yes; but you needn’t be alarmed; you ought to be quite used to it since your experience in the magistrate’s office,” answered Max sportively.
“I don’t think I’d ever get used to it, and I just wish there was some way to keep out of it!” sighed Lulu.
“But as there isn’t, my little girl will make up her mind to go through with it bravely,” the captain said, giving her an encouraging smile.
“I’ll try, papa,” she answered, but with a sigh that sounded rather hopeless.
Violet and Grace both expressed their sympathy, but were sure Lulu would do herself credit, as she had on the former occasion.
Lulu brightened a little and went on with her meal. “How soon do we have to go papa?” she asked.
“In about half an hour after breakfast,” he answered. “That will take us to the town for the opening of to-day’s session of the court. We may not be called on for our testimony for hours, but must be at hand in case we are wanted.”
Lulu wasted no more breath in vain wishes or objections, but her usual flow of spirits had deserted her. As they drove toward the town her father noticed that she was very quiet and that her face wore a look of patient resignation and fortitude as if she had made up her mind to go courageously through a difficult and trying ordeal.
“Don’t be anxious and troubled, dear child,” he said, taking her hand and pressing it affectionately in his; “you are not going alone into that crowded court room.”
“No, papa; and I’m ever so glad you will be with me.”
“And not only I, dear, but a nearer, dearer, more powerful Friend. Jesus says, ‘Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the World.’ He says it to every one of his disciples, and that always must include this time that you are dreading.
“He will be close beside you and you can ask him at any instant for the help you need to know exactly what to say and do; the help to be calm and collected, and to answer clearly and perfectly truthfully every question put to you.”
“Papa, it’s so nice to think of that!” she exclaimed, looking up brightly and with glad tears shinning in her eyes; “thank you so very much for reminding me of it. Now I shall not be at all afraid, even if the lawyers do ask me hard, puzzling questions, as I’ve read in the papers, that they do to witnesses, sometimes.”
“No, you need not be afraid; I am not afraid for you; for I am sure you will be helped to say just what you ought; and if— as I believe will happen— you are enabled to acquit yourself well, remember, when people commend you for it, that having done so by help from on high, the honor is not fairly due to you, and you have no reason to be conceited and vain in consequence.”
“I hope I’ll be kept from being that, papa,” she returned. “I don’t think that for anybody with as good a memory as mine, having told a straightforward truthful story is anything to be puffed up about.”
“No, certainly not.”
The wealth and standing in the community of Captain Raymond and his wife’s relatives; caused a widespread interest in the case about to be tried; especially in connection with the fact that he and two of his children were to be placed upon the witness stand to testify to the identity of the burglars and their attempt to rob his house.
The Court House was crowded, and there were very many of the better class of people among the spectators, including members of the families residing at the Oaks, the Laurels, the Pines, Ion, Fairview and Roselands.
Dr. Conly, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Travilla and Mr. Leland were there when the Woodburn party arrived; and presently Grandpa Dinsmore and his wife, and Cousin Ronald, who was still staying at Ion, followed.
These all sat near together, and Lulu felt it a comfort to find herself in the midst of such a company of friends.
Greetings were exchanged, some kind, encouraging words spoken to her and Max, then their father and the other gentlemen fell into conversation.
The children had never been in a court-room before, and were interested in looking about and observing what was going on. They were early; in season to see the judges come in and take their seats on the bench, and the opening of the court.
Some lesser matters occupied its attention for a time, then there was a little stir of excitement in the crowd as the sheriff and his deputy entered with Ajax and his fellow burglar, but it quieted down in a moment as the prisoners took their places at the bar, and the voice of the presiding judge sounded distinctly through the room, “Commonwealth against Perry Davis and Ajax Stone. Burglary. Are you ready for trial?”
“We are, your Honor,” replied the district attorney.
“Very well,” said the judge, “arraign the prisoners.”
Then the two prisoners were told to stand up while the district attorney read the indictment, which charged them with “burglariously breaking and entering into the mansion-house of Captain Raymond of Woodburn, on the second day of January last passed,” and while there attempting to break into and rob his safe and to carry off articles of value from other parts of the dwelling.
The court-room was very quiet during the reading of the indictment, so that Max and Lulu who were listening intently, heard every word.
Lulu looked her astonishment when the prisoners pleaded, “Not guilty.”
“Why they are! and they know they are!” she whispered to Max.
“Of course,” he returned in the same low key, “but do you suppose men who break into houses to steal, will hesitate to lie?”
“Oh no, to be sure not! How silly I am!”
The next thing was the selecting of jurors; a rather t
edious business, taking up all the rest of the time till the court adjourned for the noon recess.
That was a rest for Max and Lulu. Their father took them to a hotel for lunch, they chatted a while in its parlor, after satisfying their appetites, then returned to the court-room in season for the opening of the afternoon session.
The district attorney made the opening address, giving an outline of the evidence he expected to bring forward to prove the prisoners’ guilt. Then Lulu was called to the witness stand.
She rose at once and turned to her father, looking a trifle pale, but quite calm and collected.
He took her hand and led her to the little railed platform. She stepped upon it and he stood near to encourage her by his presence.
“You are very young, my child,” the judge said in a kindly tone, “What do you know of the nature of an oath?”
“I know, sir, that it is a very solemn promise in the presence of the great God, to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“And what will happen to you if you fail to do so, my dear?”
“God will know it, and be angry with me; for he hates lying and has said, ’All liars shall have their part in the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone!’”
Lulu’s answers were given in a low, but very distinct tone and in the almost breathless silence were quite audible in every part of the large room.
“Administer the oath to her,” said the judge addressing the clerk of the court, “she is more competent to take it than many an older person.”
When she had done so, “What is your name?” asked the district attorney.
“Lucilla Raymond.”
“You are the daughter of Capt. Levis Raymond late of United States Navy?”
“Yes, sir, his eldest daughter.”
“How old are you?”
“I was twelve on my last birthday; last summer.”
“Look at the prisoners. Did you ever see them before?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When and where?”
“The colored man has lived in our family, and I saw him every day for months.”
