CHAPTER IX.
GREAT TRIALS.
Mr. Villars had now been gone six months, and the business which hadtaken him south, and which he had not supposed would detain him half solong, was not yet completed. Colonel Melville heard from him frequently,for to him he expressed all his wishes respecting his children, as healways called Mary and Ellen. Soon after the school was given up, hewrote to ask that Colonel Melville would let him know all he could learnabout it, as Mary's account of her reasons for discontinuing herteaching was so confused and imperfect, that he was afraid there wassomething which she had not liked to tell. Before Colonel Melville hadfound time to reply to this letter, he received another from Mr. Villarsto say that he had already learned all which he had requested him toascertain, from Ellen, who had of her own accord written a fullstatement of the whole business, for fear, as she wrote, that he mightblame Mary if he did not know all. "Poor child," Mr. Villars wrote tohis friend, "her letter is a very sad one. Few things can be more sadthan to see childhood, the brightest and most joyous period, the holidayof our lives, made miserable by evil passions. And yet, with all itssadness, Ellen's letter gave me pleasure, for it shows that she isbeginning to feel the influence of that discipline from which, you know,I hope so much for her. She is beginning to learn the secrets of her ownheart--to see that from the evil there, arises much of the suffering sheendures. She must yet see more of this--feel more hopeless, moredespondent--learn that there is no rest for her on earth--no rest forher anywhere except in making it the most earnest desire of her heartand effort of her life to do right--in a perfect willingness, when shehas done this, to leave every thing which concerns her to the care ofher Heavenly Father, and in such entire trust in that Heavenly Father'sgoodness, that even when she suffers she shall feel that it is his lovewhich corrects her faults."
Perhaps you would like to see something of the letter which made Mr.Villars feel at once so much grieved and so hopeful for poor Ellen. Ihave it with me, and will extract a few sentences from it for yourperusal. After giving a very fair account of the school, of the pleasureshe at first felt in it, of the pains she took to please and improve thechildren, she relates very truly all which took place on that unluckyMonday morning--how reluctant she was to rise--how fretted with Mary fortrying to persuade her that things were not so bad as she felt them tobe--how disappointed that she could not go with Anna Melville, yet howunwilling to let it appear by her going that she was of no consequenceat all, but that Mary could do just as well without her--howdissatisfied with herself for all these things--how that dissatisfactionmade her impatient with the children--and how that morning's impatiencewas deepened into dislike by their resentment--their readiness, as shesaid, to give her up just for one cross word--their thinking so muchmore of Mary, who had never done any thing for them, than of her who hadtaken so much trouble with them. After this account Ellen adds, "And soit is always, Uncle Villars--everybody loves Mary without her caring forit or trying to make them love her; and I want them to love me, and doevery thing I can to make them love me, and yet they never do,--nobodybut Mary. Even you, Uncle Villars, though you were always very kind tome, did not love me as you loved Mary. I know it is because she is sogood, and I have such a wicked, bad temper. But, Uncle Villars, I cannothelp my temper--indeed I cannot, for I have tried very often, very oftenindeed. Many a time I have said to myself, when I got up in themorning--I will be good and kind to everybody to-day, and I will not saya cross word, or give an angry look, let them serve me ever so badly,but when people tease and worry me I forget it all. And so now, UncleVillars, since I cannot help it, I mean to try not to care about it atall--not to love anybody except Mary, who loves me so much that I neverget angry with her now, and you who were always so kind to me."
The letter here broke off abruptly, and was continued again several daysafter in these words: "What I was writing to you the other day, UncleVillars, made me feel so bad that I had to put down my pen and cry.Since that, I have hardly thought of any thing else, and I am more andmore convinced that it all comes from my bad temper; but that is nocomfort, since I cannot help it. I am afraid you will think me verywicked, but I cannot help wishing I was dead. I think, then, when peoplesaw me lying so pale and still, and knew that I could never say an angryword again, they would feel sorry for having been so hard upon me, andthey would look kindly at me and speak kindly of me. I think of thesethings a great deal, but do not tell Mary so, for it would distress her.I am almost sorry for having written all about these feelings to you,Uncle Villars; but my letter must go now, for it has taken me a greatdeal of time to write so long a one, and I want you to know all aboutthe school, for fear, as I said before, you should blame Mary."
About a month after Colonel Melville had received the letters of which Ihave spoken from Mr. Villars, I met Mrs. Maclean in one of my morningwalks.
"And how are Mary and Ellen Leslie this morning, Mrs. Maclean?" asked I.
"Middling, ma'am, middling," replied Mrs. Maclean; "Miss Mary's lookinga little pale, but I think it's trouble more than sickness."
"Trouble! why, I hope nothing has happened to disturb her."
"Nothing more than usual, ma'am; but that sister of hers is enough toworry out a saint; and I'm sure that's Miss Mary, if there ever wasone."
"I fear Ellen is no favorite with you, Mrs. Maclean."
"Indeed, ma'am, and she was a very great favorite when first she came tome, for she was a lively, sprightly thing as ever I seed, but when shegets in her tantrums, she's more than mortal flesh can bear."
"But what do you mean by her tantrums, for I acknowledge I have neverseen any thing in her which did not appear to me very excusable in aspoiled child."
"Well, ma'am, it may be so; that spoiled child may excuse it all; but,as I said, it's very hard for them to bear that didn't spoil her. Now,only this morning she asked me quite civil like for some more sugar inher tea; and I, to be just as civil as she, said, 'Come, help yourself,for I am afraid I won't suit you.'--Says she, 'I'm sure I'm not so veryhard to be suited, and if you don't choose to help me I can go without.'And then I was mad at her perverse ways, and I said, 'Well, and if youcan't put out your hand and help yourself, you can go without.' 'Yes,'says she, 'that's a very good excuse to save your sugar.' And then shekeeps a-throwing out her insinuations of my stinginess, and how sorryher Uncle Villars would be for boarding them where they couldn't getenough to eat and drink; till I answered her, and says, 'Well, I'm surehe can't be no sorrier than I, for I would rather eat but one meal a-dayin peace and quiet, than to take my good, hearty, three meals a-day withyou quarrelling over them.' With that, up she gets, and says, 'I won'ttake my meals at anybody's table that don't wish me to, and I will nevereat another meal at your table if I starve to death;' and sure enough,off she went up stairs without her breakfast. I shouldn't have mindedthat much, but poor Miss Mary went without her breakfast too, and had agood cry besides."
Aunt Kitty's Tales Page 50