The Spectacle Man Part 10

Presently she went softly into the sitting room. It was growing dark, and her mother sat alone among the cus.h.i.+ons of the couch; Frances nestled down beside her, and there in the firelight and the stillness she couldn't help feeling sorry, even though she still felt sure she had a right to be angry.

She wished her mother would speak, but as she did not, Frances asked, "Don't you think Gladys was very unkind?"

"She ought to have been very certain of the truth of what she said, before she accused any one of cheating."

"I think so too; and I had a right to be angry." She began to feel quite certain of this.

"I have been talking it over with Emma," said Mrs. Morrison, "and I find she did not understand the game. She really played as Gladys said, but she did it by mistake."

"Did she? But Gladys ought to have known Emma wouldn't cheat."

"And of course there was nothing for you to do, but throw down the dominoes and accuse Gladys of telling a story?"

"But, mother--" Frances hesitated.

"Suppose you had told Gladys that there must be some mistake, and then had tried to find out what it was."

"But I was so provoked."

"Yes, and you lost your self-control. You let yourself be ruled by your temper. It is sometimes right to be angry, but it is never right to be in a pa.s.sion."

"Don't you think I am getting better of my temper?" Frances asked meekly.

"Yes, dear; I have thought so lately, and it was right for you to want to defend Emma; but to throw the dominoes on the floor, to be in such a fury--my darling, it makes me afraid for you! You might sometime do something that all your life would be a sorrow to you. G.o.d meant you to rule your feelings and pa.s.sions, not be ruled by them. You are like a soldier who has surrendered to the enemy he might have conquered."

"I'll ask him to forgive me," Frances whispered.

"You know father and I want our little girl to grow into a sweet, gracious woman--"

"Just like you," Frances interrupted, with her arms around her mother's neck.

"No, not just like me," answered Mrs. Morrison, smiling; "you must be your own self, Wink. I have tried not to spoil you, but of course I have made mistakes, and now you are getting old enough to share the responsibility with me."

"Do you think you ought to punish me, mother?"

"Dear, I think the punishment will be the trying to set things right again."

Nothing more was said on the subject that evening, but the next day Frances came to her mother with a bright face; "I have found out what it means," she said.

"What what means?" Mrs. Morrison asked.

"The story of the bridge. You know Gladys is mad with me and won't come here any more-- Emma says she said she would never speak to me again--and that is a broken bridge and I have to mend it; but I don't know how," she added.

"Perhaps you can find a way if you try," replied her mother, thinking it best to let her solve her own problems.

All day Frances' thoughts kept going back to the unfortunate quarrel, and even when she was not thinking about it she was not happy. The storm clouds hung low and made the atmosphere heavy.

At twilight she slipped downstairs and peeped into the study where d.i.c.k had just lit the lamp and Peterkin lay stretched at his ease before the bright fire. She stole in and sat beside him on the rug and stroked him softly. He purred gently, looking up in her face with so much wisdom in his yellow eyes she felt like telling him about the trouble.

Presently the Spectacle Man came with the evening paper, and was surprised and pleased to see her.

"Mr. Clark," she began, "I have a broken bridge to mend."

"Is that so? I hope it will not give you much trouble."

Frances sighed and put her face down on Peterkin's soft coat for a moment. "I am afraid it will," she said, and then she told the story.

The Spectacle Man listened gravely. "I don't believe the bridge is really broken," he said; "it is only invisible beneath the clouds of anger and unkindness."

Frances drew a very deep breath. "Then what can I do?" she asked.

"How was it in the story?"

"But the young man had a fairy to help him.

"I don't think you need one; love and courage can find a way," said Mr.

Clark.

Frances went upstairs very soberly. "Mother, I believe I'll write to Gladys," she said, going at once to her desk. It took a good deal of time and thought, but it was finished at last, and she felt a weight lifted from her heart as she put it in the envelope. This is what she wrote:--

"DEAR GLADYS: I am sorry I behaved so the other day. I was mad because you said Emma cheated, and I thought I had a right to be; but I know now I ought not to have been in a pa.s.sion. It was a mistake; Emma did play wrong, but she didn't know any better.

Gladys, I have found the moral of the story. The bridge between you and me is invisible because of the clouds of anger. I want to find it again, don't you?

"Your friend, "FRANCES MORRISON."

This note was despatched by Wilson, and bright and early next day Gladys answered it in person. She went to Frances and kissed her. "I am not mad with you any more," she said; "it was nice of you to write that note, and I am sorry I said Emma cheated."

After this, Frances was as merry as a cricket, and went about singing:--

"The bridge is broke and I have to mend it,"

till her mother was forced to beg for a little variety.

Meanwhile the story of "The Missing Bridge," with some changes and additions, and accompanied by two charming ill.u.s.trations, had gone to seek its fortune in the office of _The Young People's Journal_, and it was no longer a secret that Miss Sherwin was in the habit of writing stories and had already met with considerable success.

Frances thought this a strong bond between them, "For father writes stories too, you know," she would often say.

It was about this time that the first letters, so long waited for, arrived from Honolulu, giving such glowing accounts of the voyage and the climate, and written in such evident good spirits, and so full of love for the two left behind, that they had to be read at least once a day for a week.

CHAPTER TENTH.

THE PORTRAIT AGAIN.

Frances wished very much to go to school, but for several reasons her mother did not think it wise, so she studied at home every morning, going upstairs at twelve o'clock to Miss Sherwin for a drawing lesson.