Claribel or, Rest at last
ought to do for you. You expect everybody to be kind to you, but you
are not kind to anybody. You would not fret so about your personal
appearance if it were not for that. If you would only interest yourself
for those around you, you would learn to like them, and you would not
be all the time worrying over fancied insults."
Claribel blushed and held down her head over the old cat, which was
still purring in her lap.
"Above all, my dear," said Mr. Hausen, gravely, "if you would only
think that you have a Father and a home in heaven,—a Father who loves
you and desires your happiness, who has given you friends, fortune, and
opportunities of mental and spiritual improvement,—a home where, if you
will, you may be as beautiful as any angel, and that for ever,—if you
will learn to live for that Father and that home, believe me, you will
find this world a very different place from what it seems now. I see
you have a very pretty Bible. Do you read it?"
"Not much," answered Claribel, frankly. "Sometimes I do, because it was
mother's, and she loved it."
"Claribel, will you promise me to do two things for the next term?"
"If I can," said Claribel.
"You can, easily. The first is, to read two chapters in the Gospels
every day, taking them in course. You may read as much more as you
like, but read at least two. The second is, that you will try not to
let pass a chance of helping somebody, no matter how small the chance
may be, if it be no more than picking up a book. Will you promise me
these two things, my child?"
"Yes, I will," said Claribel, after a little consideration. "I like
you, Mr. Hausen. I think you are a good man. But I thought you would
ask me to pray every day, and I didn't like to promise that, for fear I
shouldn't do it."
Mr. Hausen smiled. "I think that will come of itself presently," said
he. "Good-bye, my child; and may the Father of the fatherless bless and
lead you!"
Claribel thought more and to better purpose during the next two or
three days than she had done in all her life.
The girls all noticed how quiet she was and that she no longer seemed
to resent their little attentions and offers of assistance. And being
themselves a kindly, good-natured set, they forgot all her past
ungraciousness, and did their best to make her feel that they bore no
malice toward her.
One afternoon, when almost all the girls had gone out in the boats,
Claribel took her book and went down to a certain shady verandah, a
great resort of the girls on summer afternoons. She had taken the
"Tales of the Crusaders" from the library, and was quite absorbed in
the most interesting parts of "The Talisman," when Fanny Morey came out
with her work and seated herself at the other end of the broad steps.
The girls sat in silence for some minutes, and then Fanny uttered an
exclamation of surprise and regret:
"Oh dear! How sorry I am! Now, that is too bad!"
"What is the matter?" asked Claribel, looking up. "I thought you had
gone out boating with the others?"
"Well, I didn't," said Fanny. "I stayed at home on purpose to get on
with my work. I am making some little shirts to send home to mother's
new baby, and now I have made a mistake ever so far back, and I shall
have to pull it all out. Oh dear! What a shame!"
"What mistake have you made?"
"I have dropped two stitches and knit over them."
Claribel hesitated a minute; and then laying aside her book, she said,—
"Come here and let me see. Perhaps I can take them up for you, or take
back the stitches. Don't pull it out till I try."
"Oh, will you? How nice!" exclaimed Fanny. "But I am afraid you can't
do anything with it. Just see what a state it is in!"
"It does look rather badly," said Claribel, inspecting the work, and
rather repenting of her offer as she remembered that she had left Sir
Kenneth in the midst of the combat. "I will see what can be done.
But, Fanny, there is a great deal prettier way than this of knitting
shirts—with a scalloped border."
"Yes, I know; I saw some in a shop in Milby. But I don't know the
stitch, and I can't find any one to show me."
"I will show you," said Claribel. "I have made many of them. I will
tell you what I would do: I would pull all this out and begin again the
other way. I will show you the stitch and all about it."
"But then I shall lose so much time," said Fanny, dolefully.
Once more Claribel thought of Sir Kenneth, but only for a minute.
"I will tell you what I will do," said she: "I will pull it out and
begin it for you, and then knit it up to where it is now. I can do it
very soon, and then I can show you the stitch, and you can knit the
rest yourself."
"Oh, will you? How good you are! But you want to read?"
"Oh, never mind. The book will keep."
"I can read to you while you are at work," said Fanny, struck with a
bright thought; "or will that put you out?"
"Oh no, not after I have set the pattern. But perhaps you won't care
about this book?"
"Oh yes, I shall, if it has a story in it," said Fanny, possibly making
a little stretch, for the truth was that her reading heretofore had
been confined to the general run of little story-books which require
neither thought nor imagination, and any book which needed effort
of mind or any previous knowledge was like a lesson to her. But she
read well, and it was impossible not to catch a little of Claribel's
enthusiasm.
"Why, here are the girls coming home. It can't surely be half-past
five!" said Fanny, interrupting herself. "Oh, Claribel, what a great
piece you have done, and how pretty it is! But do you suppose I can do
it?"
"Of course you can. Why not? It is only to pay attention at first, till
you are used to the stitch."
"Paying attention is just what is the hardest thing for me to do," said
Fanny, frankly. "Miss Reynolds is always scolding about it. But I am
sure I will try, Claribel, if you are kind enough to show me."
That night, when Mrs. Richardson made her rounds, she found Claribel's
light burning, and Claribel herself reading in her Bible.
"Time for lights to be out, my dear," said she, kindly.
"Oh, Mrs. Richardson, can't I just finish this chapter about the
ruler's daughter?" asked Claribel. "It is not very long, and I want to
see what became of her."
Mrs. Richardson smiled: "Yes, dear, you may finish the chapter, and
then you must, go to bed directly."
Claribel finished the story, and then looked up with eyes swimming with
tears:
"Wasn't it lovely? And then to think of His remembering to tell them
to give her something to eat! I suppose he thought they would forget,
they were so glad and so surprised. But it seems such a little thing to
think of—for him."
"Nothing is little to him that concerns the welfare of his children,"
said Mrs. Richardson.
"Oh, Mrs. Richardson, do you think I could ever be like that? Do you
think if I should ask—"
Claribel did not finish the sentence, but looked eagerly into her
friend's face.
"I know, Claribel, that he has said, 'If ye shall ask any thing in my
name, I will do it,' and also, 'If we ask any thing according to his
will, he heareth us.'"
"But I can't be sure that I am asking according to his will, can I?"
asked Claribel, doubtfully. "I can't be quite sure what his will is."
"In this case, you can be quite sure, because it is his will that all
his children should be good and holy. So if you ask God to give you his
Holy Spirit, and to make you like him, you may be sure he will hear
you. Try him, my child, and see."
CHAPTER V.
_FANNY._
"ISN'T it funny that Fanny and Claribel should have struck up such
friendship?" said Percy to Flora one day. "Fanny is a good girl, but
then she is such a scatter-brained thing, and so lazy."
"She has worked a great deal harder lately," said Percy. "I think
Claribel is doing her good. How much better her compositions are!"
Percy looked a little grave. "Do you suppose, Flora," she asked, in a
low voice—"do you suppose Claribel helps her in her compositions?"
"I have thought of that," answered Flora, "but I don't know that I
think she does. You see, Claribel makes Fanny read and study, and of
course that would improve her writing. I don't think Claribel would do
anything wrong about it—anything sly or deceitful, I mean—like somebody
you know."
"I know," said Flora. "No, I don't believe she would, but she might not
think it was wrong to help Fanny a little, and I dare say she may give
her a hint now and then. But if Fanny has improved, what do you think
of Claribel?"
"I never saw such a change in anybody," answered Percy. "She does
not even look the same. It seems as if her face had altered entirely
since she came here. And how nicely she gets on with her drawing! Mrs.
Claxton says she has more talent than any one in the class."
"So she has; anybody can see that. Well, I am sure I never would have
thought I could like her so well that day we had the fuss about Bab; do
you remember? I don't believe she thinks nearly so much about her looks
as she used to."
The girls were right. Claribel had found an object in life outside
herself, and that object was Fanny Moray.
Fanny was a little Texan girl who, having run as wild as one of her
father's colts till she was thirteen, had then been sent North to
school to be made a young lady of. We have heard her own story of her
first experience of school life, from which she had been rescued by her
uncle. Fanny would have been perfectly happy at Round Springs, only for
the lessons. She was a pretty little creature, looking at least three
years younger than her real age, and was a favourite with both teachers
and playmates from her sunny, cheerful temper and her obliging ways,
despite her heedlessness and laziness. For she was both heedless and
lazy. She hated to study, she hated to mend her clothes and keep them
in order, she hated to sweep and dust her room, and it may be doubted
whether she would ever have done so of her own accord, so long as it
could be made habitable by any process of picking up and tucking away.
Now, Claribel was just the opposite of all this. If Aunt Hepsey had
taught her nothing else, she had at least made her neat and methodical.
She had a place for everything, and everything in its place. Her
clothes were always mended before they were put away, her books
arranged in the most convenient and elegant order, and all the little
knickknacks with which she had learned from the other girls to decorate
her room were as carefully dusted and cared for as if they had been
valued curiosities in a museum. It was the same with her lessons and
school exercises. Fond as she was both of reading and work, Claribel
never could enjoy either so long as a lesson remained unprepared or an
exercise unwritten, while Fanny only cared to enjoy the present, always
trusting that her lessons would get done "somehow."
"Fanny, have you done your French sentences?" Claribel would say.
"No, not yet," Fanny would answer; "there is time enough!"
"But French comes the very first thing, you know."
"Oh, well, I can learn it this evening."
"You have your arithmetic to do this evening, and your history analysis
to have by heart. Come, Fanny, do write your French now to please me."
And partly to please Claribel, and partly to get rid of the teasing,
Fanny would get out her books and write her exercises, or else she
would make some excuse for going down stairs; where she would waste
the hour in reading some little story which perhaps she had read a
dozen times before. Then Fanny would be in disgrace with the French
teacher,—a disgrace which Claribel felt, far more than she did.
Nevertheless, the girls did each other a great deal of good. The very
vexations which Fanny caused her were good for Claribel, because