by Anonymous
Lucy supposed that ithad come from New York with her map, and she felt very curious to knowwhat it could be, that her aunt had folded up so neatly in white paper.She immediately thought that her aunt had received some pretty presentfrom New York, and she watched her to see if she opened the paper, andwhat she did with it, and saw that she went to her closet, stood up in achair, and reaching to the highest shelf of her closet, opened a smalltrunk, and put the parcel into it; then she went to her bureau drawer,opened that, and laid something in, shut the drawer and left thechamber.
All this puzzled Lucy exceedingly; so she determined to ask her aunt asshe went down stairs, what was in the paper, though she ought to haveknown it was impertinent to question her aunt about a thing which didnot at all concern herself, and that she ought to restrain hercuriosity.
"Did you get that little bundle from New York, aunt?" said Lucy.
"No, my dear," replied her aunt.
"What was in it, aunt?" continued the inquisitive little girl.
"It is nothing which it concerns you in the least to know, my dear,"said her aunt; "nothing that would please you, or interest you in anyway; you should be less curious."
"I wish I could see it, though," said Lucy to herself, as her aunt lefther, "I don't doubt papa has sent something pretty, and I think shemight have shewn it to me. I can't think what it can be; it was such anice little package, all tied up in white paper; I wonder if it was nota pair of new ear rings. I _heard_ her say she needed a new set; I do_wish_ I could see them."
She continued to allow her curiosity to puzzle over the little whitebundle, instead of trying to forget it, till her map no longer pleasedher in the least; so she left it on the table, and sauntered into heraunt's room, and would not attempt to conquer her idle curiosity, butkept wondering, and wishing to know what was in the paper, that her aunthad taken so much trouble to put up so high and so secretly. It cameinto her head that she might get up into the same chair and look intothe trunk! She saw her aunt walking at the very bottom of the garden,and thought she would never know any thing about it.
Now when this thought first came into Lucy's mind, she knew it was awicked thought, and she did not intend at first to do so very wrong athing; but she let it remain in her mind, and thought how easily shemight do it if she pleased, till after thinking, and thinking, shedetermined just to try if she could reach the trunk by standing up inthe chair, as her aunt had done; so she crept softly to the closet,placed the chair and got up into it, but she was not tall enough toreach the trunk; so she looked about to see what there was to put intothe chair, and make it high enough, and she saw the little cricket onwhich she had been sitting to play with her map; so she brought thatand placed it on the chair, and then she found herself quite tallenough, for she could reach the shelf with ease; she put out her handtremblingly, for Lucy's conscience told her plainly that she _was doingvery, very wrong_, and the thought made her tremble very much, but sheput out her hand and tried to open the trunk. It was locked.
"Now I do know, almost, that it was something very important, since aunthas taken such particular pains to hide it away, and very likely it issomething for me too, that papa has sent me, and she won't let me evensee it," said Lucy; "I wonder if it was not the very key to this littletrunk, that she put into her bureau drawer. I saw her go there after sheleft the closet. If it was the key, 'tis easy enough to get it, the_bureau_ is not high, I shall not hurt the bundle just to look at it,and I don't mean to touch it; besides, she ought to have shown it to me,if my papa sent it to her."
Lucy crept down carefully from the chair and stood before thebureau--she stopped there--for something said to her that "she wassinning;" but she did not turn resolutely away and busy herself aboutsomething else--she did not fly from temptation--but kept thinking thatshe might easily enough open the drawer, and see if it really was thekey which her aunt had put there; till at last she said to herself,"there is no harm in just seeing if the key is in here, I am not obligedto touch it."
She gently opened the drawer; the little key lay down in front, so thatshe could reach it without opening the drawer any wider. She stoodlooking awhile--and then this temptation also was too strong; sheslipped in her hand and took up the key to see if it was the very same;having it in her hand she no longer hesitated, but once more got uponthe chair and put the key into the lock--she turned it--the trunk wasopened--and Lucy saw the little package tied up in its white paper,laying in one corner.
O, why did not she then stop and sin no more. Alas! when we go so farwrong it is hard to find the right path back; every step we take rendersreturn more difficult. Lucy had now gone so far out of the path of duty,that she no more thought of any thing but satisfying her curiosity. Shetook up the parcel, and untied the string; but what can express hergreat disappointment when she found it contained--only a little whitesugar, as she thought it was. Lucy loved sugar, and had often taken alittle pinch from the sugar dish on the table, and as she had untied thepaper, thought she would just taste a little before she did it up again;she took a pinch of the sugar and was beginning to fold up the paper.
But all this had taken much more time than Lucy had expected; and beforeshe could get it folded up, as she had found it, she heard her aunt onthe stairs. And now that the poor girl was likely to be _caught_ doingthis naughty thing, she felt _all at once_ how _very_ bad it was; shewas _dreadfully_ frightened at the thought of her aunt's finding her insuch a guilty situation, and she tried to jump down quickly, but indoing so, her sleeve caught in the fatal key, pulled over the trunk withall its contents upon her; the cricket was unsteady in the chair, itwas jostled by her agitation, and Lucy, the cricket, and the trunk, allcame together upon the floor with a loud noise.--Her aunt was just thenat the door; she was greatly alarmed by the crash, but her fright wasintolerable when she entered the chamber; the first glance told her whathad happened.
"O, my poor child," said she, "have you _tasted it_," for the paper ofsugar lay scattered all around the floor. Lucy was in such pain shecould not answer, but the sugar on her mouth spoke for her,--"Oh run,run quickly for the Doctor," said her aunt, "she has tasted thearsenic!--she is poisoned!"
The servant who had been alarmed at the noise, and was with her in thechamber, went instantly for the Doctor. Poor Lucy, though she wassuffering dreadfully from a broken leg, heard all her aunt had said,and she was certain she had spoke the truth, her countenance was so fullof pity and of fright; she well knew what she suffered on her account.Lucy thought she must surely die, and to die in the very moment when shewas sinning so sadly, to die in consequence of her own wicked conduct,to die in such agonies and convulsions as this poison produces--howshocking! she was already in so much distress from her broken leg, thatit was exceedingly difficult to get her on the bed. No one who has notbeen so unfortunate as to break a bone, can tell how very painful it is.
At last the Doctor came; but before he could set the bone and relievethe distress in which poor Lucy lay, he said "he must give her mostdisagreeable medicines, for he feared he might already be too late." Noone could tell how much or how little she had taken of the arsenic,because it was all spilled from the paper and mixed with other things;so the Doctor gave her the most powerful emetics. Fortunately for Lucyshe had spilled the most of the poison as she carried it to her mouthand had but tasted it, so that the immediate attention prevented hersuffering so much from that as was expected; but the fright and the painshe endured, and the quantities of medicine she took, all united toconfine her a long time, and made her suffer prodigiously. Lucy remainedsome months very feeble; she lost much of the beauty which she hadprized so highly. She was but the shadow of herself. The hours ofpenitence and sorrow she had passed--the tears of grief which had flowedfor her many transgressions during this long confinement had reducedher strength, but they purified her heart, her repentance was sincereand her amendment sure, because she was now in earnest.
One day while her affectionate aunt was sitting beside her, Lucy lookedinto her mild, patient, and benevolent face,
bent over her in tendernessand pity; and her little heart which had been almost bursting with itsload of grief, could no longer contain its emotion. "Oh, my dear,_kind_, forgiving aunt," said she, "I do hope this last dreadful lessonof experience will make me a better girl. I would not learn from you,though you talked to me so very kindly and so often too. Nor when Isuffered so much from my foolish and wicked conduct about the dress,that disagreeable day at Brookline. You shewed me then as clear as day,the lesson my heavenly Father was teaching me, by all the bad accidentsI met with and all the shame I felt; but I soon forgot all that--thoughyou told me that if I did not correct my faults with a little suffering,something worse would be sent to me. And now my great sins have broughtthis great punishment. Oh my dear aunt," continued Lucy, sobbing withdeep