Part 10 (1/2)
whispered Susy to Grace.
”Every one tried to amuse me while I was sick, but there was always a thorn in my pillow.”
”A thorn?” said Prudy.
”Not a real thorn, dear. I mean I had told a wrong story, and I couldn't feel happy.”
Here Susy turned away her head and looked out of the window, though she saw nothing there but grandpa coming in from the garden with a watering-pot.
”Whenever father looked at me, I felt just as if he was thinking, 'Margaret doesn't tell the truth;' and when mother spoke my name quick, I was afraid she was going to say something about the hatchet.”
”I got well, only I limped a little. Then it was almost time to think of making presents for the Christmas tree. I didn't like to have Christmas come while I was feeling so. People are so good that day, I thought. That is the time when every body loves you, and spends money for you. I wanted to confess, and feel _clean_; but then I had told that lie over so many times that I thought I _couldn't_ take it back.”
”I talked it over with myself a great while though, and at last said I, 'I _will_; I'll do it!' First, I asked G.o.d to forgive me and help me, and when I had got as far as that, the thing was half done, children.”
”I went into the parlor where your grandfather was--he wasn't deaf then. I thought I should choke; but I caught hold of one of the b.u.t.tons on his coat, and spoke as fast as I could.”
”'O father,' said I, 'I've told more than a hundred thousand lies. I _did_ take that hatchet! Will you forgive me?'”
”Did he?” asked Susy.
”Forgive! I guess he did! My dear child, it was just what he had been waiting to do! And, O, I can tell you he talked to me in such a way about the awful sin of lying, that I never, never forgot it, and shan't, if I live to be a hundred years old.”
”My father had forgiven me: I was sure G.o.d had forgiven me too; and after that, I felt as if I could look people in the face once more, and I had a splendid time Christmas.--I believe that's about all the _story_ there is to it, children.”
”Well,” said Grace, ”I'm much obliged to you, auntie; I think it's just as nice as a fairy story--don't you, Susy?”
”I don't know, I'm sure,” replied Susy, looking confused. ”See here, auntie, I've lost your gold ring!”
”My ring?” said aunt Madge. ”I forgot that I let you take it.”
”Don't you know I asked you for it when you stood by the table making bread? and it slipped off my finger this afternoon into the water barrel!”
”Why, Susy!”
”And I was a coward, and didn't dare tell you, auntie. I thought maybe you'd forget I had it, and some time when you asked for it, I was going to say, 'Hadn't you better take a pair of tongs and see if it isn't in the water barrel?'”
”O, Susy!” said aunt Madge.
”She isn't any worse than me, auntie,” said Grace. ”Ma asked me how the mud came on my handkerchief, and I said Prudy wiped my boots with it. And so she did, auntie, but I told her to; and wasn't I such a coward for laying it off on little Prudy? I am ashamed--you may believe I am.”
”I am glad you have told me the whole truth now,” replied aunt Madge, ”though it does make me feel sad, too, for it's too much like my hatchet story. O, do remember from this time, children, and never, never, _dare_ be _cowards_ again!”
Just then grandpa Parlin came to the door with a sad face, saying,--
”Margaret, please come up stairs, and see if you can soothe poor little Harry by singing. He is so restless that neither Maria nor I can do any thing with him.”
This baby, Horace's brother, was sick all the time now, and once in a while Margaret's sweet voice would charm him to sleep when every thing else failed.