Emilie the Peacemaker Part 5

"No! you cruel boy, _no!_" said Edith, vehemently. "_You_ shall not have the pleasure, no one shall do it who would take a pleasure in it."

"What is the matter Miss?" asked Joe, as soon as Nockells turned away.

"The matter, oh Joe! I want m.u.f.f drowned; my cat I mean, my dear cat;"

and then she told her tale up to the point of Miss Webster's refusing to admit m.u.f.f as a lodger, and cried most bitterly as she said, "and I won't have her ill-treated, so I will drown her, will you do it for me Joe, please do now, or my courage will be gone? but I won't stay to look at it, so good-bye," said she, and slipping a s.h.i.+lling into Joe's hand, ran home with the news to Fred, that the cat was by this time at the bottom of the tea, and his canaries were safe for ever from her claws.

Fred was not a hard-hearted boy, and his sister's tale really grieved him. He kissed her several times over, as he said he now wished he had never bought the birds, that they had caused Edith nothing but trouble and that he was very sorry.

"I am not sorry, Fred dear, at least I am only sorry for being forced to drown m.u.f.f. I like to give you my room, and I like to give up my cat to you, and I shall not cry any more about it, so don't be unhappy."

"And all this for me," said Fred; "I who teased you so yesterday afternoon, and always am teasing you, I think!" How pleased Emilie looked! She did not praise Edith, but she gave her such a look of genuine approval as was a rich reward to her little pupil. "_This_ is the way. Edith dear, to overcome evil with good; go on, _watch_ and pray, and you will subdue Fred in time as well as your own evil tempers."

How easy all this looks to read about! How swift the transition from bad to good! Who has not felt, in reading Rosamond and Frank, a kind of envy that they so soon overcame their errors, so soon conquered their bad habits and evil dispositions? Dear young reader, it is _not_ easy to subdue self; it is not easy to practise this law of kindness, love, and forbearance; it is not easy to live peaceably with all men, but believe me, it is not impossible. He who giveth liberally and upbraideth not, will give you grace, and wisdom, and help to do this if you ask it. The promise is, "Ask and ye shall receive." Edith In her helplessness naked strength of G.o.d and it was given. That which was given to her He will not withhold from you. Only try Him.

For the comfort of those who may not have such a friend as Emilie, we would remind our readers that the actual work of Edith's change, for such it was, was that which no friend however wise and however good could effect. There is no doubt but that to her example Edith owed much.

It led her to _think_ and to _compare_, and was part of the means used by the all-wise G.o.d, to instruct this little girl; but if you have not Emilie for a friend, you may all have the G.o.d, whom Emilie served, for a friend. You may all read in the Bible which she studied, and in which she learned, from G.o.d's love to man, how we should love each other. She read there, "If G.o.d so loved us, we ought also to love one another."

The holidays drew to a close. The return of the mother and sisters was at hand. Emilie was not without her fears for Edith at this time, but she trusted in the help which she knew Edith would have if she sought it, and was thus encouraged. The right understanding between her brothers and herself she was rejoiced to see daily increasing. It was not that there was nothing to ruffle the two most easily ruffled spirits. Fred was not considerate, and would constantly recur to his old habit of tensing Edith. Edith was easily teased, and would rather order and advise Fred, which was sure to bring on a breeze; but they were far less vindictive, less aggravating than formerly. They were learning to bear and forbear. Edith had the most to bear, for although Fred was impressed by her kind and altered conduct, and could never forget the generous act of sacrifice when she parted with m.u.f.f to gratify him, he was as yet more actuated by impulse than principle, and nothing but principle, Christian principle I mean, will enable us to be kind and gentle, and unselfish _habitually_, not by fits and starts, but every day.

Joe Murray was sitting at his door smoking his pipe, and watching his little grandchildren as they played together (this time harmoniously) in the garden. They were not building a grotto, they were dancing, and jumping, and laughing, in the full merriment of good healthy happy children. Emilie and Edith greeted Joe as an old friend, and Joe seemed delighted to see them. The two children, who had been commissioned to search for corallines, rushed up to Edith with a basket full of a heterogeneous collection, and amongst a great deal of little value there were some beautiful specimens of the very things Edith wanted. She thanked the little Murrays sincerely, and then looked at Emilie. Should she pay them? the look asked. It was evident the children had no idea of such a thing, and felt fully repaid by Edith's pleasure. Edith only wanted to know if it would take from that pleasure to receive money. She had been learning of late to study what people liked, and wished to do so now.

Emilie did not understand her look, and so Edith followed her own course. "Thank you, oh, thank you," she said. "It was very kind of you to collect me so many, they please me very much. I wish I knew of something that you would like as well as I like these, and if I can, I will give it to you, or ask mamma to help me." The boy not being troubled with bashfulness, immediately said, that of all things he should like a regular rigged boat, a s.h.i.+p, "a little-un" that would swim. The girl put her finger in her mouth and said "she didn't know."

"Are you going to have a boat?" said every little voice, "oh, what fun we shall have." "Yes," said our peace-making friend, Sarah. "You know that if d.i.c.k gets any thing it is the same as if you all did. He is such a kind boy, Miss, he plays with the little ones, and gives up to them so nicely, you'd be surprised."

"I am glad of that," said Emilie, "it will be such a pleasure to Miss Edith to give pleasure to them all--but come, Jenny, you have not fixed yet what you will have." Jenny said she did not want to be paid, but she had thought, perhaps Miss Parker might give them something, and if Miss Parker did not think it too much, she should like a s.h.i.+lling better than any thing.

Every one looked inquiringly, except Sarah. Sarah was but the uneducated daughter of a poor fisherman, but she studied human nature as it lay before her in the different characters of her brothers and sisters, and she guessed the workings of Jenny's mind.

"What do you want a s.h.i.+lling for?" said the mother sharply, who had joined the group. "You ought not to have asked for anything, what bad manners you have! The weeds cost you nothing, and you ought to be much obliged to Miss Parker for accepting them."

"I wanted the s.h.i.+lling very much," persisted Jenny, as Edith pressed it into her hand, and off she ran, as though to hide her treasure.

But Edith had caught sight of something, and forgot s.h.i.+lling and every thing else in that glimpse. Her own dear old m.u.f.f sleeping on the hearth of the kitchen which she had not yet entered. I shall not tell you all the endearments she used to puss, they would look ridiculous on paper; they made even those who heard them smile, but she was so overjoyed that there was some excuse for her. Mrs. Murray rather damped her joy at once by saying, "Oh, she's a sad thief, Miss. She steals the fish terribly. I suppose you can't take her back, Miss?"

"Ah, Joe," said Edith sorrowfully, "you see, you had better have drowned her."

"So I think," said Mrs. Murray.

"No, no, no," cried Jane, coming forwards. "I have a s.h.i.+lling now, and Barker the carrier will take her for that all the way to Southampton, where aunt Martha lives, and aunt Martha loves cats, and will take care of m.u.f.f; she shan't be drowned, Miss," said Jenny, kindly.

The mother looked surprised, and they all admired Jenny's kind intentions. Emilie slipped another s.h.i.+lling into her hand as they went away, and said "You will find a use for it." "Good night Jenny, and thank you," said poor Edith, with a sigh, for she had already looked forward to many joyful meetings with m.u.f.f--her newly-found treasure. But as old Joe, who followed them down the cliff said, there was no end to the trouble m.u.f.f caused, what with stealing fish, and upsettings and breakings; and she would be happier at aunt Martha's, where there was neither fish nor child, and more room to walk about in than m.u.f.f enjoyed here.

"But how kind of Jenny," said Edith, "how thoughtful for m.u.f.f!"

"No, Miss, 't aint for m.u.f.f exactly," said Joe, "though she pitied you, as they all did, in thinking of drowning the cat; but bless the dear children, they are all trying in their way, I do believe; to please their mother, and to win her to be more happy and gentle like. You see she has had a hard struggle with them, so many as there are, and so little to do with; and that and bad health have soured her temper like; but she'll come to. Oh Miss Edith, take my word for it, if ever you have to live where folks are cross and snappish, be _you_ good-humoured. A little of the leaven of sweetness and good temper lightens a whole lump of crossness and bad humour. One bright Spirit in a family will keep the sun s.h.i.+ning in _one_ spot; it can't then be _all_ dark, you see, and if there's ever such a little spot of suns.h.i.+ne, there must be some light in the house, which may spread before long, Miss."

"Goodnight, Joe," and "Good night, ladies," pa.s.sed, and the friends were left alone--alone upon the quiet beach. The sun had set, for it was late; the tide was ebbing, and now left the girls a beautiful smooth path of sand for some little distance, on which the sound of their light steps was scarcely heard, as they rapidly walked towards home.

"Who would think, Edith, that our six weeks' holiday would be at an end to-morrow?" said Emilie.

"I don't know, Emilie, I feel it much longer."

"_Do_ you? then you have not been so happy as I hoped to have made you, dear; I have been a great deal occupied with other things, but it could scarcely be helped."

"No, Emilie, I have not been happy a great part of the holidays, but I am happy now; happier at least, and it was no fault of yours at any time. I know now why I was so discontented with my condition, and why I thought I had more to try me than anybody else. I feel that I was in fault; that I _am_ in fault, I should say; but, oh Emilie, I am trying, trying hard, to--" and here, Edith, softened by the remembrance that soon she and her friend must part, burst into tears.

"And you have succeeded, succeeded n.o.bly, Edith, my darling. I have watched you, and but that I feared to interfere, I would have noticed your victories to you. I may do so now."

"My _victories_, Emilie! Are you making fun of me? I feel to have been so very irritable of late.--My _victories!_"

"Just because, dear, you take notice of your irritability as you did not use to do, and because you have constantly before your eyes that great pattern in whom was no sin."

"Emilie, I will tell you something--your patience, your example, has done me a great deal of good, I hope; but there is one thing in your kind of advice, which does me more good than all. You have talked more of the love of G.o.d than of any other part of his character, and the words which first struck me very much, when I first began to wish that I were different, were those you told me one Sunday evening, some time ago. 'Herein is love, not that we loved G.o.d, but that he loved us, and gave his Son a ransom for sinners.' There seemed such a contrast between my conduct to G.o.d, and His to me; and then it has made me, I hope, a little more, (a _very_ little, you know,) I am not boasting, Emilie, am I? it has made me a _little_ more willing to look over things which used to vex me so. What are Fred's worst doings to me, compared with my _best_ to G.o.d?"

Thus they talked, and now, indeed, did the friends love one another; and heartily did each, by her bedside that night, thank G.o.d for his gospel, which tells of his love to man, the greatest ill.u.s.tration truly of the law of kindness.

CHAPTER NINTH.

FRED A PEACEMAKER.

"Talk not of wasted affection, affection never is wasted.... its waters returning back to their spring, like the rain shall fill them full of refreshment"--_H. W. Longfellow_.

"Well Fred," said Emilie at the supper table, from which Mr. Parker was absent, "I go away to-morrow and we part better friends than we met, I think, don't we?"

"Oh yes, Miss Schomberg, we are all better friends, and it is all your doing."

"My doing, oh no! Fred, that _is_ flattery. I have not made Edith so gentle and so good as she has of late been to you. _I_ never advised her to give up that little room to you nor to send poor m.u.f.f away."

"_Didn't_ you? well, now I always thought you did; I always kid that to you, and so I don't believe I have half thanked Edith as I ought."

"Indeed you might have done."

"Well, I hope I shall not get quarrelsome at school again, but I wish I was in a large school. I fancy I should be much happier. Only being us five at Mr. Barton's, we are so thrown together, somehow we can't help falling out and interfering with each other sometimes. Now there is young White, I never can agree with him, it is _impossible_."

"Dear me!" said Emilie, without contradicting him, "why?"

"He treats me so very ill; not openly and above-board, as we say, but in such a nasty sneaking way, he is always trying to injure me. He knows sometimes I fall asleep after I am called. Well, he dresses so quietly, (I sleep in his room, I wish I didn't,) he steals down stairs and then laughs with such triumph when I come down late and get a lecture or a fine for it. If I am very busy over an exercise out of school hours, he comes and talks to me, or reads some entertaining book close to my ears, aloud to one of the boys, to hinder my doing it properly, but that is not half his nasty ways. Could _you love_ such a boy Miss Schomberg?"

"Well, I would try to make him more loveable, Fred, and then I might perhaps love him," said Emilie.

"Ah, Emilie, your 'overcome evil with good' rule would fail there _I_ can tell you; you may laugh."

"No, I won't laugh, I am going to be serious. You will allow me to preach a short sermon to-night, the last for some time, you know, and mine shall be but a text, or a very little more, and then 'good night.'

Will you try to love that boy for a few weeks? _really_ try, and see if he does not turn out better than you expect. If he do not, I will promise you that you will be the better for it. Love is never wasted, but remember, Fred, it is wicked and sad to hate one another, and it comes to be a serious matter, for 'If any man love not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love G.o.d whom he hath not seen.' Good night."