{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_76760/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_76760","id":"gutenberg_76760","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76760","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Sunday school literature"],"text":"Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.\n\nNew original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the\npublic domain.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: _On the Mountain.\u2014Frontispiece._\n \"I am going to have more than that, now I am about it,\" said Sarah.]\n\n\n\n                         ON THE MOUNTAIN;\n\n                                OR,\n\n                          LOST AND FOUND.\n\n\n                                BY\n\n                       LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY\n\n   AUTHOR OF \"IRISH AMY,\" \"OPPOSITE NEIGHBOURS,\" \"COMFORT ALLISON,\"\n        \"THE TATTLER,\" \"NELLY; OR, THE BEST INHERITANCE,\"\n         \"TWIN ROSES,\" \"ETHEL'S TRIAL,\" \"THE FAIRCHILDS,\"\n        \"THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL EXHIBITION,\" \"THE RED PLANT,\"\n                     \"PERCY'S HOLIDAYS,\" ETC.\n\n\n                            \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\n\n                           PHILADELPHIA:\n                   AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION\n                     NO. 1122 CHESTNUT STREET.\n                            \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n          NEW YORK: NO. 8 AND 10 BIBLE HOUSE, ASTOR PLACE.\n\n\n\n    \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\n     Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by the\n\n                    AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,\n\n      In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\n\n    \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\n\n\n          \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014                      \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n          WESCOTT & THOMSON                      HENRY B. ASHMEAD\n Stereotypers and Electrotypers, Philada.        Printer, Philada.\n\n\n\n                              CONTENTS.\n\n                               \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\n                             CHAPTER I.\n\n           FANNY\n\n                             CHAPTER II.\n\n           SARAH\n\n                             CHAPTER III.\n\n           CONSEQUENCES\n\n                             CHAPTER IV.\n\n           THE STUMBLING BLOCK\n\n                             CHAPTER V.\n\n           DANGER\n\n                             CHAPTER VI.\n\n           AT MEETING\n\n                             CHAPTER VII.\n\n           THE OFFENCE GIVEN\n\n                             CHAPTER VIII.\n\n           SARAH'S PLANS\n\n                             CHAPTER IX.\n\n           THE LOST CHILD\n\n                             CHAPTER X.\n\n           ON THE MOUNTAIN\n\n                             CHAPTER XI.\n\n           THE SEARCH\n\n                             CHAPTER XII.\n\n           REPENTANCE\n\n\n\n                          ON THE MOUNTAIN.\n\n                               \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n_FANNY._\n\n\"GRANDMA, who was that old lady you were talking with, in the porch\nafter church?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied Mrs. Lilly, rather absently, for she was\nthinking of the sermon she had heard, and had to come a long way back,\nas it were, to answer Fanny's question. \"It was old Mrs. Merrill, I\nsuppose. Oney, we must send her down something this week\u2014some flour and\nbutter and a good piece of pork or a chicken.\"\n\n\"I don't mean 'her',\" said Fanny, in a tone of great contempt. \"As if\nI cared for that old beggar woman with her poke bonnet as old as the\nhills!\"\n\n\"If you don't care for her, you might,\" said Mrs. Lilly, in a tone of\nsome displeasure. \"Mrs. Merrill never begged in her life, and she is\na good Christian woman, though she is old and poor. I desire that you\nwill never let me hear you speak in that way of any old person again.\"\n\nFanny flounced in her seat and stuck out her lips, but she was too\ndesirous of having her questions answered to sulk as she sometimes did.\n\n\"But I don't mean Mrs. Merrill, grandmother: I know her very well. I\nmean that old lady with white hair put up in rolls at the sides and a\nlarge thin black shawl.\"\n\n\"Oh! That was Mrs. Cassell.\"\n\n\"What! Mrs. Cassell, who lives up in the great house on the hill? Well,\nI never should have guessed that.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" asked Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"Oh, because she was dressed so plainly and she seemed so familiar with\neverybody. I thought Mrs. Cassell was very rich and aristocratic and\nall that.\"\n\n\"She 'is' very rich\u2014richer than anybody about here, but I don't know\nabout the aristocracy. She is a very good, kind, charitable woman, and\neverybody likes and respects her.\"\n\n\"Then I suppose the lady and gentleman with her were Mr. and Mrs. Hugh\nBrandon?\" continued Fanny, paying little attention to her grandmother's\nremarks. \"I don't think he looks so very different from other people,\nif he has written books.\"\n\n\"How did you expect him to look?\" asked Oney, laughing. \"Did you expect\nto see him with wings?\"\n\n\"They say he is very dissipated,\" continued Fanny. \"They say he drank\nand gambled so and treated his wife so badly that his mother sent for\nher home. But she would not come without her husband, so the old lady\nhad to take them both, and now he doesn't do anything but lie about and\nsmoke and chew opium all day long.\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\" said Mrs. Lilly, in a tone of great displeasure.\n\"Mr. Brandon is, and always has been, a very studious, industrious,\nreligious young man. I have known him all his life. Who has been\ntelling you such a heap of slanders?\"\n\n\"I guess I know,\" said Oney, as Fanny did not answer. \"That sounds a\ngood deal like one of Mrs. Leyman's stories. I guess Sarah told you.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't care if she did. Mrs. Leyman heard it from Miss Clark,\nwho does Mrs. Brandon's washing sometimes, and Mrs. Cassell's too; so I\nguess she knows all about them.\"\n\n\"A good reason for telling stories about them, because she works\nfor them!\" said Oney. \"Miss Clark had better look at home. Her own\ncharacter is none too good, for that matter.\"\n\n\"Let me never hear another such word from you, Fanny,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\"I have forbidden you playing with Sarah Leyman before now, and I tell\nyou again not to have anything to do with her. If I find you disobeying\nme again, I shall punish you.\"\n\nFanny looked very angry, but she had learned by this time that her\ngrandmother was not a person to be trifled with, so she relapsed into a\nsulky silence, and did not open her lips again till they reached home.\nThen she went up stairs and shut herself into her own room. And when\nshe was called to dinner, she answered that she did not want any. If\nFanny had been at home, her mother would have been very much distressed\nby her refusal to eat. She would have come up stairs and tried to coax\nher by promising all sorts of good things. And when Fanny had made\nfuss enough, she would have given up and eaten her dinner with a good\nappetite. No such thing happened on this occasion.\n\n\"You had better come down and get your dinner, I guess,\" said Oney.\n\"You will be hungry before tea-time.\"\n\n\"I won't,\" returned Fanny, without turning round from the window. \"I\nwish you would go away and shut the door.\"\n\nOney did as she was desired. And no sooner had she gone down stairs\nthan Fanny stole to the head of them to listen.\n\n\"She says she doesn't want any dinner,\" she heard Oney say.\n\n\"Oh, very well, we will have ours,\" answered Mrs. Lilly. \"You made a\nchicken pie, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, and some raspberry pies and gingerbread. Hadn't I better carry\nFanny something?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied her grandmother, decidedly; \"let her come down if she\nwants her dinner. However, I will give her another call.\" And she\nopened the door so quickly that Fanny had no time to get away.\n\n\"You had better come down to your dinner, Fanny,\" said she. \"You know\nwe shall have tea quite late on account of going to the five-o'clock\nmeeting.\"\n\n\"I don't want any dinner,\" said Fanny, sulkily.\n\n\"Are you sick?\"\n\n\"No, but I don't want any dinner,\" replied Fanny, thinking that her\ngrandmother was going to give way and coax her, as her mother would\nhave done.\n\n\"Very well,\" said Mrs. Lilly. And she shut the door without another\nword.\n\nFanny could hear the rattle of the knives and forks, and the\nconversation between her grandmother and Oney about the sermon and\nthe Sunday-schools. It was clear that they were not going to send her\nanything, and that nobody would suffer from her perversity but herself.\nBut still she could not make up her mind to sacrifice her pride and\ncome down stairs. She was very hungry, and very fond both of chicken\nand raspberry pie, but nobody came to bring her any.\n\nShe thought she would try another line of conduct, and she burst out\ncrying and cried as loud as she could. She cried till she was tired,\nbut nobody came near her. For the truth was Mrs. Lilly had grown weary\nof Fanny's airs, and had made up her mind that the girl must, as she\nsaid, be broken in.\n\nFinding that crying did no more good than sulking, Fanny presently\nstopped. For as she had cried only to get her own way, she could stop\nwhenever she pleased. She went to the head of the stairs and listened.\nShe could hear Oney wiping up the dishes and singing\u2014\n\n   \"Awake, my soul, to joyful lays!\"\n\nAnd she could hear the gentle \"creak, creak,\" of her grandmother's\nrocking-chair, in which the old lady was apt to take a nap after\ndinner. Everything else was quiet about the house, and out of doors\ntoo, for that matter, except the chirping of the birds, the soft\nsighing of the wind, saying \"hush, hush,\" in the two great pine trees\nbehind the house, and now and then a low or bleat from the pastures.\nShe looked out of the window.\n\n\"Oh dear, how lonesome it is here!\" she said to herself. \"If I ever get\nback to the city again, I shall know when I am well off. There! It is\nonly two o'clock,\" as the distant sound of the church clock came from\nthe village. \"Only two o'clock, and we shall not have tea till seven,\nI know. We never do on Sunday nights, because grandma and Oney always\ngo to that stupid meeting at the schoolhouse. Oh dear, how hungry I am!\nI shall starve if I don't have something before tea-time. I mean to go\ndown and ask grandma for something to eat. No, I believe I will ask\nOney first.\"\n\nFanny went down to the kitchen, where she found everything in order and\nOney sitting by the shady window reading her Bible. Oney hardly ever\nread any book but her Bible on Sunday, because she said she did not\nhave time to read all she wanted of it any other day.\n\n\"Oney, I want something to eat,\" said Fanny, decidedly. \"Get me some\nraspberry pie and gingerbread and a drink of milk directly.\"\n\n\"That isn't the way to ask for it,\" said Oney, quietly. \"Besides, if\nyou want anything to eat, you must ask your grandma.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" answered Fanny, loftily. \"Get me something to eat this\nminute, Oney, or you will be sorry.\"\n\n\"Maybe so,\" said Oney. But she did not stir.\n\nSeeing that commanding did no good, Fanny tried coaxing.\n\n\"Come, Oney, do give me something to eat, and I will give you a real\nnice present.\"\n\n\"You must ask your grandma, Fanny,\" was Oney's only reply.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Mrs. Lilly, coming into the kitchen. \"What\nare you crying for now, Fanny?\" For Fanny was crying again louder than\never.\n\n\"I want my dinner!\" said Fanny, passionately. \"I didn't come here to be\nstarved, and I won't stand it. Give me my dinner, I say!\"\n\n\"You will not get it in that way,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\nFanny screamed louder than ever.\n\n\"Fanny, stop this minute!\" said Mrs. Lilly, taking hold of Fanny's arm\nin a way quite new to her. \"Are you not ashamed of yourself?\u2014A great\ngirl, fourteen years old! Do you think I am going to have my Sunday\nbroken up and the whole house disturbed for you? Stop this minute!\"\n\nFanny obeyed, for she was frightened.\n\n\"Now, say 'Please, Oney, get me something to eat.'\"\n\n\"Please get me something to eat,\" repeated Fanny, meekly.\n\n\"Get her a bowl of bread and milk, Oney,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"I don't want bread and milk; I want some pie,\" sobbed Fanny.\n\n\"You cannot have any pie, and if you say any more, you will not have\nany bread and milk,\" said her grandmother. \"When you have eaten it,\ngo back to your room, and let me hear no more noise. You have made\nyourself ridiculous enough for one day.\"\n\nFanny ate her bread and milk and went back to her room, feeling very\ncrest-fallen indeed. Never in all her short life had she suffered such\na \"taking down.\" She had been for twelve years the only child at home.\nHer father was away at his business from morning till night, and her\nmother never restrained Fanny in the least.\n\nMrs. Lilly, the younger, had some new-fashioned theories on the\nbringing up of children. She thought they should never be punished,\nfor fear of making them slaves, nor restrained from saying all they\npleased, lest they should become sly, nor checked in eating, drinking,\nor play, for fear they should think too much of these things, nor\ntaught anything they did not wish to learn, lest their brains should be\novertaxed, or they should take a dislike to learning. She had practiced\nall these theories on Fanny, and had not found much trouble so long as\nthe child stayed in the nursery.\n\nBut when Fanny was twelve years old, she had a little brother born, and\nby and by a little sister, so that she found herself a person of much\nless consequence than she had ever been before. The faults which had\nseemed to her mother of little or no consequence when she was alone\nwere now found very inconvenient and disagreeable. It was not at all\npleasant to have Fanny saying before company whatever came into her\nhead, and interrupting and contradicting her elders without scruple, or\nscreaming and throwing herself down on the ground in the public street\nso that the policeman came to see what the matter was, or running away\nfrom school to play about the street and spend in sweet things the\nmoney she had taken from her mother's purse. In short, Fanny was found\nto be a very naughty, troublesome little girl. And when her mother's\nhealth failed and it was decided that she must travel in Europe, the\nnurse told the doctor that there would be no use in Mrs. Lilly's going\nabroad unless Fanny stayed at home.\n\n\"She will keep her mother in a constant worry about her from morning\ntill night, and she will be in mischief from the time she goes away\ntill the time she comes home again. I would not have the charge of her\non shipboard for a thousand dollars, and if she is going, I am not. She\nis more trouble than the babies ten times over.\"\n\n\"I believe you are right,\" said the doctor, who knew Fanny well. \"But\nwhat can be done with the child?\"\n\n\"If her grandmother could take her, it would be the very best thing\nthat would happen to Fanny,\" said the nurse. \"Mrs. Lilly is an\nexcellent, sensible woman. She would be kind to Fanny, and bring her\ninto order if anybody can. I don't blame the child so much as I do some\nother folks, but she is just as hard to manage as if it were all her\nown fault.\"\n\n\"I will talk to Mr. Lilly about the matter,\" said the doctor. \"I think\nyou are right, nurse. It will never do for Fanny to go with her mother.\nAnd if the old lady is willing, she is just the person to take charge\nof the child.\"\n\nThere was a terrible scene with Fanny when she found that she was to go\nto her grandmother's in the country instead of going abroad with her\nfather and mother. But her father was firm, and for once her mother did\nnot interfere. There was no help for it. Go she must, and she comforted\nherself by thinking that at least she should do as she pleased at her\ngrandmother's, and be a very great lady indeed.\n\nBut here, too, she found herself disappointed. Mrs. Lilly was very kind\nto Fanny and very forbearing with her, remembering how much she had\nbeen indulged at home. But she very soon saw that it would be necessary\nto assert her own authority and make Fanny submit. She was sorry that\nthe contest should come on a Sunday, but there seemed no help for it.\nAnd she hoped that Fanny would herself see the folly as well as the\nnaughtiness of her conduct, and try to do better.\n\nMrs. Lilly was quite an old lady. She lived by herself in the old red\nfarm-house which stood in the very middle of her large farm, with no\ncompany but Oney, the Indian woman whom she had brought up from a\nbaby, and a little boy whom she had taken from the poorhouse. The man\nwho helped manage her farm and took a part of it on shares lived in a\nlittle house down on the roadside just by the gate of the lane that\nled to the farm-house. Mrs. Lilly's house was a long, low, red wooden\nbuilding, and from the door one could see for a long distance, for the\nfarm lay high up on the side of the mountain. The house was very plain\nand not specially convenient, but it was cool in summer and warm in\nwinter. It had abundance of closets and store-rooms, and from all the\nwindows up stairs and down there was something pleasant to be seen.\n\nWhen the slate quarry was discovered and leased for so much money, many\npeople thought that Mrs. Lilly would build a new house or come down and\nlive in the village, but the old lady did neither. When her friends\nasked her about it, she said the old house would last her time; that\nshe had come thither as a bride more than fifty years before and had\nlived there ever since, and that no other place would seem like home to\nher. When people talked to her son, he said he should like very much to\nhave his mother live with him (which was quite true), but the old lady\nhad her own fancies, and he thought it best to let her have her own\nway, which was a very good thing, as she would undoubtedly have had it\nat any rate. Both Mr. and Mrs. Lilly were very loving and dutiful to\ntheir mother, and wrote to her every week. Her son sent her plenty of\nbooks and papers, and fine tea and coffee such as he knew she liked,\nand her daughter made her pretty caps and shawls, and sent her rare\ngreen-house plants, and everybody was contented all round.\n\nBut Fanny was not satisfied at all in her new home. In the first place,\nshe was really lonely. She missed her school and the bustle of the\nstreets, and she was rather afraid of the solitude and of the great\ndark mountain which rose so close and steep behind the house. Then,\nso far from being considered a young lady, she was treated only as a\nlittle girl, and made to behave better than she had ever done in her\nlife.\n\nThen, too, her grandmother was surprised and distressed at the child's\nignorance. For Fanny, though she had been to a very expensive and\nfashionable school, was not as far advanced at fourteen as she ought\nto have been at nine. She could not say the multiplication table, and\nknew next to nothing of English grammar, though she had begun French\nand Latin. And when her grandmother told her that the world was round,\nand showed her by means of a ball of yarn and a knitting needle how it\nturned on its axis, Fanny was perfectly astonished and could hardly\nbelieve it.\n\n\"Didn't you learn that in school, Fanny?\" asked Oney.\n\n\"There was something about it in the geography book,\" said Fanny, \"but\nI never understood it. I thought the world was shaped just like the\nmap.\"\n\nStill, Fanny was not unhappy. She liked the fresh air and the green\nfields, she was very kindly treated, and she found even a certain\npleasure in being governed. She might have had a very nice time, if she\nwould have been a good girl and minded her grandmother. But this was\njust what she could not make up her mind to do.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n_SARAH._\n\nFANNY went back to her room feeling very much vexed and a good deal\nashamed. She did not at all like to be conquered, and she had certainly\nhad very much the worst of it in her contest with her grandmother. She\nhad not only failed in getting her own way, but she had made herself\nridiculous. Then, too, she had lost a very good dinner, a circumstance\nto which she was by no means indifferent.\n\n\"How I wish I had just gone down at first!\" she thought. \"But then who\nwould have supposed she would take one up so? Oh dear, I wish I had\nnever come here. It is all the fault of that hateful old nurse and\ndoctor. I know mamma would have taken me only for them, and I should\nbe having a nice time in London this very day, instead of being poked\nup in this lonesome place with nobody to play with but Sarah Leyman.\nAnd now grandma says I must not go with her. But I don't care, I 'will'\nplay with her. Mamma always let me play with anybody I pleased, and I\nguess she knows. I am not going to be made a slave of just because my\nmother is sick\u2014so there!\"\n\n\"Fanny,\" called Mrs. Lilly from the foot of the stairs, \"do you want to\ngo to the meeting to-night?\"\n\nNow Fanny liked very well to go to the meetings in the schoolhouse,\nthough she had called them stupid. The walk was a very pleasant one\nthrough the woods and along the banks of the beautiful little river.\nThey were sure to see squirrels and chipmucks and perhaps a wild\nrabbit, and the lambs in the pastures were so full of their pretty\nplays that Fanny was never tired watching them. Then the old ladies\nwho came to the meeting took a great deal of notice of her, so that\nthough she did not care for the services, she rather liked to go to the\nSunday and Thursday meetings. But to-night she was just in the humour\nto \"quarrel with her bread and butter,\" as Oney said. So when her\ngrandmother asked her, she answered shortly that she did not want to go.\n\n\"You will be left alone in the house,\" said her grandmother.\n\n\"I would just as soon be alone as not,\" returned Fanny.\n\n\"To be sure, there is nothing to hurt you,\" said her grandmother, \"but\nI thought you might be afraid. However, you can do just as you please.\"\n\n\"I mean to do as I please, thank you,\" said Fanny, under her breath.\n\nMrs. Lilly, seeing that Fanny was still out of humour, said no more,\nbut shut the door, and presently went out with Oney. Fanny watched them\nacross the fields. And when they were quite out of sight, she went down\nstairs into the pantry.\n\n\"I don't care; I mean to have some of that raspberry pie, anyhow,\" said\nshe.\n\nBut in vain did she search; she could find neither pie nor cake.\n\nMrs. Lilly was not in the habit of locking up such things, but she had\nreason to think that Fanny helped herself slyly to a good deal more\nthan was good for her, and she had taken the precaution before she went\nout to lock the door of the milkroom.\n\nFanny stamped her foot with vexation.\n\n\"Just like her, the stingy old thing! I don't care; I will have some in\nspite of her.\"\n\n\"Some of what?\" asked a voice behind her.\n\nFanny started violently, and turned round in a hurry to see Sarah\nLeyman standing in the kitchen door.\n\n\"How you frightened me!\" exclaimed Fanny, in an angry tone.\n\n\"Yes, you jumped as if you had been shot,\" returned Sarah, laughing.\n\"I saw your folks going to meeting, and I knew you would be alone. But\nwhat is the matter? What have you been crying about?\"\n\nFanny poured out the story of her wrongs with many exaggerations.\n\n\"What a shame!\" said Sarah. \"Folks think Mrs. Lilly is such a good\nwoman, too!\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose she is,\" said Fanny, \"but I think she is too bad to\ntreat me so. I know there are plenty of nice things in the milkroom,\nbut the door is locked and I can't find the key anywhere.\"\n\n\"Isn't there any other key that will fit the door?\" asked Sarah.\n\nFanny brought all the keys of the house, but none of them fitted.\n\n\"Can't we climb in at the window?\" asked Sarah. \"'I' can, I know.\"\n\n\"You can't, bemuse there are bars across it.\"\n\n\"Bother!\" Sarah stood considering for a minute, and then, as if struck\nwith a sudden thought, she ran out at the kitchen door.\n\nFanny followed her, and found her standing at the side of the milkroom.\nThis room was a \"lean-to\" built on the north side of the house, and two\nor three of the clapboards were so arranged as to turn edgewise like\nwindow-blinds to let the cool air in on the milk. Sarah was peeping\nthrough these boards.\n\n\"Just look there!\" said she as Fanny came up.\n\nFanny peeped in, in her turn, and saw a whole raspberry pie standing on\nthe broad shelf.\n\nWhile she was looking, Sarah slipped off the jacket she wore, and\nthrusting her bare arm through the slats, she pulled out the pie and\nheld it up in triumph.\n\n\"Well, I declare!\" said Fanny, half pleased and half scared.\n\n\"I am going to have more than that, now I am about it,\" said Sarah.\n\nAnd again putting her hand through the slats, she pulled out a large\ncake of gingerbread. As she drew back her hand, however, she hit the\ngingerbread against the edge of the slat and broke off a bit, which\nfell into the milk.\n\n\"That was smart!\" exclaimed Fanny. \"What will you do now?\"\n\n\"Let it alone, to be sure,\" replied Sarah. \"But grandma will find it\nwhen she skims the milk.\"\n\n\"Well, let her. She won't know how it came there, will she? Here, hold\nthe things while I put on my jacket.\"\n\nFanny did not quite relish Sarah's tone of command, but she did not\nknow how to object, and she did as she was told.\n\n\"Come now!\" said Sarah, when she had put on her jacket and closed up\nthe slats again. \"Let's go up to the spring and have a good time.\"\n\n\"But suppose grandma comes and catches us before we get through; what\nshall we do then?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"She won't come home this hour and more, goosey. Meeting is not out\ntill six, and it is only five now. Besides, she always stops to talk to\nevery one. Come along!\"\n\n\"I wish you would not call me names, Sarah Leyman,\" said Fanny,\nangrily. \"I am not used to it.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, child! Who minds being called a goose? Come along, and don't\nwaste all the time.\"\n\n\"I won't go up to the spring; it is too far,\" said Fanny. \"You can go\nif you like, and I will eat my piece here.\"\n\n\"'Your' piece!\" returned Sarah, in a taunting tone. \"Your piece,\nindeed! I should like to know how it comes to be yours. Do you think I\nam going to steal pies and cakes for 'you'?\"\n\n\"Sarah Leyman, if you don't give me a piece of pie this minute, I will\ntell grandma the instant she comes home.\"\n\n\"Oh, you will? And tell her too how you told me where all the things\nwere, and how you got all the keys to try the door, and how you ran\naway and went down to the village the other day, and then said you had\nbeen playing down by the brook all the time. Oh,\" said Sarah, \"you will\nmake a fine figure telling of me. Suppose I tell of you; what then?\"\n\nFanny burst into tears.\n\n\"Oh, come, don't cry,\" said Sarah, changing her tone. \"I was only in\nfun\u2014only you see, Fanny, I don't like to hear you talk of telling of\nme as if I had been the only one to blame. Come, let us go up to the\nspring and have a nice time, and I will tell you what I heard Miss\nClarke tell mother about the Brandons.\"\n\nFanny did not feel at all satisfied, but she dried her tears and\nfollowed Sarah through the garden and a small field beyond it, and then\na little way up the path which ascended the mountain, till they came to\nthe spring.\n\nIt was a beautiful place. Just at the foot of a high, steep ledge of\nrocks was a little mossy dell shaded by great pine and spruce trees,\nmixed with graceful white-stemmed birches. The ground was covered with\nmoss and ferns, and scattered over its surface lay several large rocks\ncovered with lovely green and brown mosses. The spring came running out\nof the very heart of the mountain, as it seemed, about four feet from\nthe ground, in a stream as large as a man's wrist. And making a pretty\nlittle cascade as it fell down the stones, it slipped away among the\nroots of the great trees to join the river below. Almost all day long\nthis little glen was in shadow, but as the sun got low in the sky, it\nshone in and lighted everything beautifully.\n\nThe girls sat down on a stone side by side, and Sarah divided the pie\nwith a knife which she took out of her pocket.\n\n\"Take care! Don't drop the juice on your dress,\" said she. \"Here, wait\ntill I make you a dish.\"\n\n\"How will you make a dish?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"You'll see,\" said Sarah.\n\nAnd going to the nearest birch tree, she cut round the bark and peeled\nit off in a broad sheet. Then turning up the edges, she made of it a\nvery nice square dish and handed it to Fanny.\n\n\"How pretty!\" exclaimed Fanny. \"But won't it hurt the tree to take the\nbark off so?\"\n\n\"Oh no; it won't hurt the tree so long as you don't cut down through\nthe soft wood,\" replied Sarah. \"I have heard Aunt Sally say that when\nthe country was new the school children used to learn to write on birch\nbark.\"\n\n\"How funny! Won't any other bark do as well?\"\n\n\"No; other trees won't peel as the birch does.\"\n\n\"How much you do know about such things!\" remarked Fanny.\n\n\"Well, I ought to know. I don't know anything else.\" There was a\nbitterness in Sarah's tone which made Fanny look up in surprise.\n\n\"It does make me mad,\" continued Sarah, \"to see how other girls can go\nto school and have books at home, and all\u2014such fools as some of them\nare too\u2014and I never have a chance. It is too bad!\"\n\n\"But you might go to school,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"Yes, I look like it, don't I?\" returned Sarah, scornfully. \"My clothes\nare so nice! I think I see myself going down to the Union school among\nall the young ladies, and being put into the baby-room to spell along\nwith the little ones. I did use to go sometimes when we had the old\ndistrict school up at the Corners, but it is altogether another thing\nnow.\"\n\nFanny did not know what to say to this, so she was silent, and went on\neating her pie.\n\n\"I tell you what,\" said Sarah: \"if I had your chance, Fanny Lilly, I\nwouldn't be such a dunce as you are.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Fanny, surprised.\n\n\"I mean just what I say. Here you have been to school all your life and\nhad good people to bring you up, and you have had, I dare say, hundreds\nof dollars spent on your schooling already, and what do you amount to?\nI don't see that you know much more than I do, and you are just as\nready to get into any sort of mischief as I am. I suppose your folks\nare pious and believe in the Bible, and you have been to Sunday-school\nall your life and learned the commandments, and everything, haven't\nyou?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" replied Fanny; \"I began to go to the infant school before\nI can remember, and I could say all the catechism before I went into\nthe intermediate room. We have such splendid Sunday-school rooms at our\nchurch in Boston\u2014larger than the church is here, with a gallery all\nround it for the Bible classes, and the walls all hung with pictures,\nand with painted texts and with cushioned seats that turn like those in\nthe cars.\" And Fanny went on describing the beauties and glories of her\nSunday-school room, and, I am sorry to say, stretching the truth a good\ndeal in order to show Sarah how much superior was everything in Boston\nto everything anywhere else.\n\nSarah listened silently, but with evident interest. And when Fanny had\nconcluded, she said, simply,\u2014\n\n\"And after all that, you are not one bit better than I am.\"\n\nFanny was very much \"taken aback.\" She had not expected any such answer.\n\n\"It just shows what all that stuff is worth,\" continued Sarah, breaking\nthe gingerbread in two and giving Fanny half. \"After all that teaching\nand preaching and reading the Bible and praying, here you are 'breaking\nthe Sabbath,' as old Mrs. Crane says, running away to eat stolen goods\non Sunday evening when your grandmother is at meeting. It just shows\nthat you don't believe one word of it, any more than pa does, for all\nyour talk. I wonder if anybody does?\"\n\n\"Does what?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Believe really in the Bible and all the minister preaches.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said Fanny. \"My father and mother do, and so do I.\"\n\n\"Oh, you do! Then, what are you here for?\"\n\nFanny had no answer ready. She had never regarded the matter in that\nway before.\n\n\"Well, never mind,\" said Sarah. \"Here we are, and the pie is eaten up,\nand there is no help for it now. I wonder how they are getting on at\nthe schoolhouse? I think I can hear Deacon Crane starting the tune this\nminute.\"\n\nAnd Sarah began to imitate first the deacon's way of singing, and then\nstammering Mr. Wilson trying to make a prayer, and so on, till she had\nFanny in a fit of laughter, though something told her all the time that\nSarah was doing wrong, and that she was equally wrong to laugh at her.\n\n\"It is getting late, Fanny,\" said Sarah, checking herself suddenly.\n\"Hadn't you better be going home? Your folks will be back from meeting\nby this time. Look at the sun.\"\n\nFanny looked, and was startled to see how low it was in the sky. \"They\nmust have been home ever so long,\" said she. \"What shall we do?\"\n\n\"Oh, you needn't say 'we,'\" returned Sarah, coolly. \"It is nothing to\nme. I've had my supper, and I mean to stay up here till the moon rises,\nbut I think you had better run along.\"\n\n\"But grandma will see me,\" said Fanny. \"She will have missed me by this\ntime, and what shall I say?\"\n\n\"Say you got tired of staying alone and went out for a walk, and that\nyou didn't know how late it was,\" returned Sarah, readily. \"She won't\nthink anything of that. I have known her walk up here herself on a\nSunday evening.\"\n\n\"But what shall we do with the plate?\"\n\n\"Hide it here,\" returned Sarah, putting the plate away in a kind of\nlittle cavern under the rock on which they had been sitting. \"There it\nis safe enough, and we can have it to use again some time.\"\n\n\"But what shall I say when they miss the pie?\"\n\n\"What you please,\" returned Sarah. \"I guess you are as well able to\nmake up lies as I am to make them for you. Oh, you needn't look at me!\nDidn't you tell me how you ran away from school at Boston, and all\nthe rest of it? Come, do run along! You won't make it any better by\nwaiting.\"\n\nThere was no help for it, and Fanny went on her way, wishing a hundred\ntimes that she had stayed quietly at home. As she entered the garden,\nshe met Oney coming to look for her.\n\n\"Why, Fanny, where have you been?\" asked Oney.\n\n\"I got tired of staying at home and went out for a walk,\" replied\nFanny. \"I didn't know it was so late. How long have you been at home?\"\n\n\"About half an hour. But come, supper is almost ready.\"\n\nMrs. Lilly was standing at the back door when they came in.\n\nFanny repeated her story, adding, \"I am sorry I stayed so long,\ngrandma. I never thought how late it was till I looked at the sun, and\nthen I hurried home as fast as I could. There was no harm in my going\nfar a walk, was there?\"\n\nFanny spoke in such a natural tone that Mrs. Lilly was quite deceived.\n\n\"Why, no, perhaps not, though you should not have left the house all\nopen. And besides, you know I like to know where you are. There is no\nharm done, but I would rather you would not do so again.\"\n\n\"I won't,\" said Fanny, feeling a little self-reproach at the kind tone\nin which her grandmother spoke. \"And, grandma, I am sorry I was so\nnaughty this noon, but I will never do so again if you will forgive me\nthis time.\"\n\nMrs. Lilly was pleased that Fanny should thus confess her fault and ask\npardon of her own accord.\n\n\"I am sure I forgive you, my dear,\" said she, kissing Fanny. \"I thought\nyou would think better of it. Go, now, and get ready for supper.\"\n\n\"Oh dear! I wish I hadn't done so!\" said Fanny as she went up stairs.\n\"I wish I was good like grandma. I believe she is good, for all Sarah\nsays. Anyhow, it was all Sarah's fault. She made me do it.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n_CONSEQUENCES._\n\nFANNY had only just come down stairs after washing her hands when Oney\ncame out of the milkroom with a very disturbed face.\n\n\"Did you see anybody about before you went away, Fanny?\" she asked.\n\n\"No. Why?\"\n\n\"Because somebody has been here, and some not very honest body,\neither,\" answered Oney. \"The pie I set on the milk-shelf is gone, plate\nand all, and a card of gingerbread beside.\"\n\n\"That is queer,\" said Mrs. Lilly; \"nobody could get into the milkroom,\nbecause I had the key in my pocket all the time. I think you must be\nmistaken, Oney. How many pies did you bake?\"\n\n\"Only two; one we had for dinner and the other I set on the milk-shelf\nbefore I went out.\"\n\n\"But nobody could have taken it, Oney, because the door was locked and\nno one could get in without the key,\" argued Mrs. Lilly. \"Are you sure\nyou baked two pies?\"\n\n\"Now, Mrs. Lilly, don't you think I know?\" asked Oney, who did not\nquite like being called in question. \"Didn't you say yourself that the\npie on the grate was rather overdone, and that I had better heat the\nbrick oven next time?\"\n\n\"Very true; so I did,\" replied Mrs. Lilly. \"Let me take a look.\"\n\nShe went into the milkroom, and Oney and Fanny followed her, Fanny\nthinking it would look odd if she stayed behind.\n\n\"The pie stood just here,\" said Oney, marking the place, \"and the\ngingerbread here. I meant to set them up in the cupboard, but I forgot\nit. And it is so odd that nothing else is gone. The loaf of cake is not\ntouched nor any of the cheeses.\"\n\n\"The pie and gingerbread were taken from the outside,\" said Mrs. Lilly,\nwho had been using her eyes while Oney was talking. \"Don't you see the\ncrumbs here on the shelf, and the juice of the pie spilled on the edge\nof the slat? Somebody has turned the slats and put his hand through,\nand that accounts for nothing else being taken. See, here is a piece of\ngingerbread in the milk.\"\n\n\"How sorry I am I went away!\" said Fanny, speaking quite naturally,\nfor, I regret to say, she was no novice in the art of telling lies.\n\n\"Why, yes, it is a pity, though I don't know exactly what good you\nwould have done,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"Probably if the thief had seen anybody about, he would not have\ntouched the things,\" said Oney. \"The wonder is that, seeing the doors\nall open, he did not enter the house.\"\n\n\"Perhaps that was the very thing that kept him out,\" remarked Fanny.\n\"He might think that nobody would leave the house in that way. But,\ngrandma, I am sure I shut the door, and I will tell you how I know:\nbecause I came back and opened it again to let the cat go in to her\nkittens.\"\n\n\"I noticed the open door the minute we came in sight of the house,\"\nsaid Oney. \"Who could it have been? Do you suppose Willy could have\nmeddled with them?\"\n\n\"Dear me, no! I hope not,\" said Mrs. Lilly, looking startled. \"Willy\nhas been such a good boy lately, I should be sorry to think of his\ngoing back to his old tricks.\"\n\n\"Besides, he has been away all day,\" remarked Fanny.\n\n\"He was down at the barn when we came home, for I heard him singing,\"\nsaid Oney. \"Here he comes now. Willy, have you been here before to-day?\"\n\nOney tried to speak just as usual, but of course she did not quite\nsucceed.\n\nWilly was conscious of something peculiar in her manner, and blushed up\nto the roots of his hair. \"Yes, I came up to get the milk-pails, but\nthe door was locked,\" said he. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Some things have been taken from the milkroom\u2014a pie and some\ngingerbread,\" said Mrs. Lilly, adding, kindly, \"but you need not look\nso distressed. Nobody suspects you.\"\n\nBut Oney was not quite satisfied. The truth was that she had begun with\na little prejudice against Willy because Mrs. Lilly had taken him from\nthe poorhouse, and besides that, on his first coming to live at the\nfarm, Willy had now and then been caught helping himself to sugar and\ncake, and such matters.\n\n\"How long have you been back from the village, Willy?\" she asked.\n\n\"I don't know; I should think about an hour,\" replied Willy.\n\n\"And what have you been doing all that time?\"\n\n\"I drove up the cows, and then I came to get the pails, but the door\nwas locked. So I went down to the barn and did up my other chores.\"\n\n\"Then you didn't come into the house at all, except to get the pails?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I went up to my room to change my clothes and put away my\nbooks.\"\n\n\"And you didn't see anybody about?\"\n\n\"No, of course not. I didn't go round any, only right up stairs and\ndown again,\" said Willy, colouring more deeply than before. \"Yes, I\nknow what you think, Oney. You think I got the things, but you are\nmistaken; I never touched them. Come now, Oney,\" he added, in a quieter\ntone and smiling; \"it isn't fair to put everything on me because my\nfather wasn't very respectable. You wouldn't like to have me accuse you\nof killing Deacon Crane's sheep because your father and grandfather\nused to take scalps, would you?\"\n\nOney laughed: \"That's so, Willy; I don't believe you had anything to do\nwith the theft. But the question is, who had?\"\n\n\"Well, we won't talk about it any more, or let it spoil our Sunday,\"\nsaid Mrs. Lilly. \"Come, Oney, let us have our supper, for I am sure\nwe are all ready for it, especially the children. Wash your hands and\nface, Willy, and we will sit down.\"\n\nWhen Fanny had first come to the farm, her dignity had been very much\nhurt by thus sitting down with Oney and Willy at the same table. She\nhad spoken to her grandmother about it, but Mrs. Lilly only smiled, and\nsaid it had always been her habit ever since she kept house, and she\nthought Fanny would have to get used to it.\n\n\"But I am not used to it,\" said Fanny, loftily, \"and I don't think my\nfather would like it at all. He is one of the richest men in Boston,\nand my mother belongs to one of the very first families.\"\n\n\"Don't be a goose, child. Your father and Oney were brought up\ntogether, and as for your mother, she knew all my ways before she sent\nyou here. And when she comes to visit me, she always conforms to them,\nwhereby she shows her real good breeding. What is good enough for her\nis good enough for you.\"\n\nThat was all the satisfaction Fanny could get from her grandmother. She\nconsoled herself with thinking that, after all, Oney was not a common\nservant, and that none of her fine friends need know anything about the\nmatter.\n\nAfter tea was over, Mrs. Lilly sat down in the door to enjoy the\nbeautiful summer evening. Fanny sat on the step at her feet, and by and\nby Willy came and joined them.\n\n\"How do you like your new teacher, Willy?\" asked Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"Oh, ever so much,\" replied Willy, warmly. \"Only think! He has been\nto Jerusalem and to the Sea of Galilee\u2014to the very places. He told us\nto-day how he and a Scotch gentleman hired a boat and went out fishing\nat night just like the apostles\u2014to see how it would seem, you know. And\nhe described the places to us, and said he would show us some pictures\nof them\u2014I forget the name\u2014the kind you look at through a glass, you\nknow.\"\n\n\"Stereoscopic pictures,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"Mr. Brandon has been a great\ntraveller.\"\n\n\"And he has seen the Dead Sea and Mount Sinai and Nazareth and\nBethlehem,\" continued Willy, with enthusiasm.\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" said Fanny. \"There are no such places now as\nNazareth and Bethlehem and those places in the Bible; are there,\ngrandma?\"\n\n\"Why!\" exclaimed Willy. \"Why, Fanny!\"\n\n\"To be sure there are, child,\" said Mrs. Lilly; \"didn't you know that?\nJerusalem is still a city, though not like what it used to be, and so\nare Nazareth and Bethlehem. Thousands of people go from all over the\nworld to visit them every year. I will find you a book of travels which\ntells all about them. I must ask Mr. Brandon to show me his pictures. I\nshould like to see them very much.\"\n\n\"It would make the story seem very real if one could see all the places\nwith one's own eyes,\" remarked Oney. \"I am something like Fanny in\nthat. I find it rather hard to believe that there is such a place as\nJerusalem, where people are living and going about at this minute.\"\n\n\"I don't suppose they are going about much just now,\" remarked Willy;\n\"I suppose it is about the middle of the night there. That seems\nstrange, too, doesn't it, Fanny?\"\n\nFanny did not answer. She was very much ashamed to have exposed\nher ignorance before Oney and Willy. For the ignorance itself she\ndid not care. As they sat in silence for a few minutes, looking\nover the fields, they saw a small, active figure come down from the\nmountain-side and cross the pasture.\n\n\"There goes Sarah Leyman,\" said Willy. \"What a queer thing she is,\nanyhow! I dare say she has been roaming over the mountains all day\nlong.\"\n\n\"Maybe it was Sarah that helped herself to the pie,\" remarked Oney.\n\n\"Possibly, though I don't like to think so,\" replied Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"She is none too good for it, or her father either,\" said Oney.\n\n\"Poor thing! She has not had any great chance in her life,\" said Mrs.\nLilly, sighing.\n\n\"Well, I don't know,\" remarked Oney. \"To be sure, her father is a\ndownright wicked man and does not believe in anything, but her aunt\nSally, that she was named for, was an excellent woman. And think how\nmany people have tried to make Sarah go to Sunday-school!\"\n\n\"Yes, but there is the example at home all the time, Oney. And then she\nhas always been used to such a roving, out-of-door life that I suppose\nshe would really find it hard to settle down. It is a pity, for she is\nnaturally very smart, and might be as good a woman as the one for whom\nshe was named.\"\n\n\"But if you think she is so smart and might make such a good woman, why\nis it you don't want me to play with her, grandma?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Because, my dear, I think she is a great deal more likely to do you\nharm than you are to do her good. She is very wild and reckless, uses\nbad language, and has many bad habits.\"\n\n\"She will make fun of anything, even of the Bible,\" said Willy; \"and\nshe doesn't care any more about Sunday than her father does. I heard\nhim going on the other day down at the store, and he said he would as\nsoon do a day's work on Sunday as on any other day.\"\n\n\"That wasn't saying much,\" said Oney, dryly.\n\n\"That's just what Squire Holden told him. 'Sam,' says he, 'you ain't\nvery fond of doing a day's work any time,' says he. Then Sam began to\nswear and to talk against the Bible, till Squire Holden told him either\nto shut up or quit the store.\"\n\n\"It is no wonder that poor Sarah doesn't amount to much,\" said Mrs.\nLilly, sighing again. \"How thankful children ought to be who have good\nhomes and kind friends to tell them what is right!\"\n\n\"I guess we 'are' thankful,\" said Willy. \"Ain't we, Fanny?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said Fanny, but she did not feel what she said. It had\nnever yet entered her head or her heart to be thankful for anything.\n\n\"But some children do have good homes and kind friends to teach them,\nand yet they don't turn out well,\" remarked Willy. \"They lie and swear,\nand do all sorts of bad things.\"\n\n\"Such children are a great deal more to be blamed than poor Sarah,\"\nsaid Mrs. Lilly. \"You know, Willy, the Bible says that to whom much is\ngiven, of him will much be required. But it is growing late, and we\nmust be up early in the morning, so we will have prayers and go to bed.\"\n\nFanny was not sorry to hear this, for she felt very uncomfortable both\nin mind and body. She was mortified at having made such a display of\nher ignorance. She knew that she had been very wicked, and she was\nafraid of betraying herself or being found out.\n\nBesides, she began to feel very sick. She had eaten half a raspberry\npie and a large piece of gingerbread up at the spring, and did not\nwant her supper in the least, but the bread and honey and cold ham and\nsponge-cake and coffee were all so good, and she was so afraid that\nher grandmother would suspect something wrong if she did not eat as\nusual, that she made a hearty meal. The consequence was that she felt\nvery sick and her head ached violently. She hastened to bed, hoping to\nforget her troubles in sleep, but she passed a restless night, and in\nthe morning was too ill to get up.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n_THE STUMBLING BLOCK._\n\nFOR two or three days Fanny was pretty sick, and did not sit up at all.\nShe was really frightened about herself, was sure she had some dreadful\ndisease, and was very angry at the old doctor from the village for\nsaying there was nothing serious the matter.\n\n\"I guess you don't know how badly I feel,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"I guess I have seen other little girls who had made themselves sick\nby eating too much of grandma's nice cakes and pies,\" said the doctor,\nsmiling. \"A little medicine and a few days of toast and gruel will make\nyou all right again, and then you must be more careful. If you eat so\nmany sweet things, you will get the dyspepsia, and then I cannot cure\nyou.\"\n\nFanny said no more, for she did not like the allusion to her having\neaten too much, and she was afraid of his asking inconvenient questions.\n\nShe was better in a few days, but it was a whole week before she was\nable to go out of the house. During this time she was in a manner\nforced to think a little, for she could not read all the time, and\nher grandma was very busy helping Oney in the dairy, so Fanny was\nleft to herself for some hours of every day. As she looked back over\nthe time she had been at her grandmother's, she was not pleased with\nherself. She was conscious that, so far from making the impression\nshe had intended, she had not made herself respected by anybody. Her\ngrandmother had threatened to punish her, and, as she confessed, not\nwithout reason. Willy showed himself a better scholar than herself,\nand had been surprised at her ignorance, and Sarah Leyman, so far\nfrom being impressed with her superiority, had declared that Fanny\nwas no better than she was, for all her schooling. All this was very\ndisagreeable, and made Fanny very angry at herself and everybody else\nas she remembered it.\n\nThen again, Fanny's conscience was aroused. She realized for the first\ntime in her life what a naughty girl she had always been, and she\nwondered, with a shudder, what would have become of her if she had\ndied. It was all true. She was not one bit better than Sarah Layman.\n\n\"But I am going to be better,\" said Fanny to herself. \"I mean to read\nmy Bible and say my prayers and attend to the sermon and learn my\nSunday-school lessons. Grandma says that Willy is a real Christian. It\nis a pity if I can't be as good as that little poorhouse boy.\"\n\nThis was not exactly a Christian spirit, but Fanny did not think of\nthat. She was as good as her word, however. She read three chapters in\nthe Bible every day, said all the prayers she could think of, and felt\nvery good indeed.\n\nShe went to church and Sunday-school and to the meeting at the\nschoolhouse, and was so sober and attentive that her grandmother was\nmuch pleased with her, and told her so. This set up Fanny still more in\nher own conceit, and she was wonderfully well satisfied with herself.\n\n\"Fanny, do you Want to take a walk this afternoon?\" asked her\ngrandmother one day when Fanny was quite well again. \"It is very cool\nand pleasant after the rain.\"\n\n\"Yes, grandma,\" replied Fanny; \"I should like it very much.\"\n\n\"Then there are two people suited,\" said Mrs. Lilly, smiling. \"I want\nyou to carry this basket down to old Mrs. Merrill, and you may stop at\nthe post-office and see if the papers have come. Put on your broad hat,\nand don't walk to fast.\"\n\n\"May I play in the grove a little while when I come back?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Yes, if you like, only don't stay too long or lose your papers.\"\n\nFanny, set out on her errand feeling very well pleased. She went first\nto Mrs. Merrill's and left her basket of eggs and other good things.\n\n\"Dear, dear, how good your grandma is to think of me!\" said the old\nlady, much gratified. \"And what a nice little girl you are to do\nerrands! I suppose you are Alvin's eldest girl, ain't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" answered Fanny.\n\n\"You look like your aunt Eunice,\" said Mrs. Merrill. \"I mean as she did\nat your age.\"\n\n\"I never knew that I had an Aunt Eunice,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"Oh, she died long before you were born, my dear. She was only sixteen\nwhen she died\u2014just the age of my Mary Jane. I remember as if it was\nyesterday when we had our first Sunday-school in the village. Eunice\nand my Mary Jane and Sally Leyman and Mrs. Cassell's eldest girl\u2014her\nname was Eugenia\u2014they were all in one class, and the next year they all\njoined the church the same Sunday. But Sally was the only one who lived\nto be over thirty.\"\n\n\"Was Aunt Eunice pretty?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Why, no, not so very\u2014not what folks call handsome nowadays, but she\nwas so sweet in all her ways that nobody ever thought of her looks\nafter the first five minutes. I don't think I ever saw a better girl\nthan Eunice Lilly\u2014such a consistent Christian, and yet nothing gloomy\nabout her, always ready to help on any fun there was no harm in, but as\nfirm as a rock when any one tried to make her join in what wasn't just\nright. You will try to be like her, won't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am, I mean to try.\"\n\n\"That's right. Here's your basket; and thank you very much, and your\ngrandma too.\"\n\n\"I mean to be just like Aunt Eunice,\" thought Fanny as she walked up\nthe quiet street. \"I mean to be so good that everybody will love me and\npraise me, just as they did her, and I mean to set a good example to\nHarry and Nelly, and make everybody look up to me. I mean to be very\ngood indeed, and perhaps somebody will write my life some day.\"\n\nFanny's musings were interrupted by hearing her own name called. She\nlooked up and saw Mrs. Cassell leaning out of her carriage.\n\n\"Isn't this Miss Fanny Lilly?\" asked Mrs. Cassell, politely.\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" answered Fanny.\n\n\"I have some books that I wish to send to your grandmother,\" said Mrs.\nCassell. \"I intended to drive up and bring them myself, but I find I\nshall be engaged to-morrow. If you will get into the carriage and ride\nover to our house, I will give you the books, and Hiram shall bring you\ndown to the village again.\"\n\nFanny got into the carriage, and a few minutes brought her to Mrs.\nCassell's house. It was a beautiful old mansion built of dark red\nbricks with trimmings of white marble, which is very abundant in that\npart of the country. It stood a long way back from the road, and there\nwere many noble old trees about it. Everything about the house and\ngrounds was in perfect order, and Fanny thought she had never seen a\nprettier place in her life.\n\n\"I must ask you to come in and wait a few minutes,\" said Mrs. Cassell.\n\"Annie shall take you to see the kittens and Guinea pigs and the rest\nof her pets. Annie, where are you?\"\n\n\"Here, grandma,\" answered a pleasant voice, and a little girl came out\nof the next room. She was much younger than Fanny, being only about\nseven years old. She was a blue-eyed, fair-haired, delicate-looking\nchild, and was very prettily dressed in a pink frock and white apron.\n\nFanny peeped through the half-opened door, and saw that the room out of\nwhich Annie had come was a large library.\n\n\"This is Miss Fanny Lilly, my dear,\" said Mrs. Cassell; \"Miss Fanny,\nthis is my granddaughter, Annie Mercer, from Detroit, who is come to\nspend the summer with me.\"\n\nAnnie came forward, like a well-bred little girl, to speak to Fanny.\n\nBut Fanny, like many other girls who are bold in the wrong place, was\nalso shy in the wrong place, and made but a poor and awkward return.\n\n\"You may take Fanny to see the kittens and Guinea pigs, Annie, while T\ndo up the parcels,\" said Mrs. Cassell, kindly. \"I suppose you have done\nall your lessons?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, grandma, and my sewing too,\" answered Annie. \"I hemmed a yard\non my cap border, and Aunt Emma said it was very nicely done. I have\nbeen helping Uncle Hugh cut the leaves of the new books. Come, Fanny.\"\n\n\"Do you like Guinea pigs?\" asked Annie as she led the way along the\nverandah at the back of the house.\n\n\"I don't know; I don't like pigs, anyway,\" answered Fanny.\n\nAnnie laughed.\n\n\"Oh, they are not real pigs, you know,\" said she. \"They are little\nwee things, and Uncle Hugh says they are more like rabbits than pigs.\nSee, here they are. I have to keep them shut up, away from old puss;\nhe would soon eat them. But he don't know any better, you know,\" added\nAnnie, apologizing for pussy. \"He thinks they are some kind of mice.\"\n\nFanny looked down into the box, and saw half a dozen little creatures\nabout as large as young rabbits, spotted with black, brown, and yellow.\nAll of them that were not eating were asleep, and all that were not\nasleep were eating, after the custom of Guinea pigs.\n\n\"Are they not pretty?\" said Annie. \"Old Mrs. Willson gave them to me. I\nhad only these two at first; all the rest are young ones.\"\n\nFanny did not care much for pets, and she was mortified at the mistake\nshe had made. But she looked at the Guinea pigs and said they were very\npretty.\n\n\"After all, they are stupid little things; you may pet and feed them\never so long, and they never seem to care for anything but eating,\"\nsaid Annie. \"But I don't suppose they are to blame for not knowing any\nmore.\"\n\n\"What will you do with them when you go home?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"I mean to take one pair home with me for a little lame boy who lives\nnear our house, and give the others away. I will give you a pair if you\nlike. Don't take them if you don't want them,\" she added, seeing that\nFanny hesitated; \"I shall not be offended a bit.\"\n\n\"I guess I won't take them, then,\" said Fanny, \"though I am much\nobliged to you all the same. I am afraid I should forget to feed them,\nor something.\"\n\nBy this time Fanny began to feel at her ease, and, as usual, she began\nto ask questions.\n\n\"Do you learn lessons every day?\"\n\n\"Yes; every day but Sunday.\"\n\n\"Who hears you say them?\"\n\n\"Aunt Emma, generally, and sometimes Uncle Hugh. I used to go to school\nwhen I was at home, but they do not think I am well enough now, and I\nam glad of it, because I like doing my lessons with Aunt Emma.\"\n\n\"Where do you live when you are at home?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"In Detroit, in Michigan. Oh, it is a long way from here. We were two\nor three days coming, and only think, Fanny! I had a beautiful doll,\nall dressed in a travelling suit, and with a little morocco bag and\nall, and I let a girl play with it on the cars, and she stole it when I\nwas asleep. Wasn't it a shame? But she hadn't any mother, I know, and\nperhaps she didn't know any better.\"\n\nBy the time Mrs. Cassell called Fanny to take the books, the two girls\nhad become very good friends. When they went back to the parlour, Mr.\nBrandon came out of the library with two or three pretty-looking books\nin his hand.\n\n\"Are you fond of reading, Miss Fanny?\" he asked, pleasantly.\n\n\"Yes, sir\u2014some kinds,\" answered Fanny, doubtfully.\n\n\"'Some kinds' means stories, I suppose?\" said Mr. Brandon, smiling.\n\"I believe one of my Sunday-school boys\u2014Willy Beaubien\u2014lives at your\nhouse, does he not?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"I should like to have you carry him this book, if you will be so kind;\nand here is one you will perhaps like to read yourself. Tell Willy he\nshall have another when he has finished this.\"\n\n\"I wonder if Mr. Brandon knows that Willy is only grandma's hired boy,\"\nthought Fanny. But she did not say anything, and the carriage being\nready, she took her leave.\n\n\"Hiram had better take you home, I think,\" said Mrs. Cassell. \"It is\na long walk, and up hill all the way. Drive to the entrance of Mrs.\nLilly's lane, Hiram.\"\n\nHiram obeyed, and left Fanny at the gate of the lane. Annie would have\nthanked him for such a service, but Fanny never thought of doing so.\nShe had never been taught to be polite to servants, and she considered\nthem as a being much below herself in the social scale.\n\nAs she walked along, she was startled to hear somebody say, in a\nlaughing tone, \"What a great lady, to be sure! She feels too fine to\nspeak to common folks.\"\n\nFanny turned round in a hurry.\n\nThe next minute Sarah Leyman jumped over the fence almost as lightly as\na deer, and walked along by her side.\n\n\"Where have you been, all so grand?\" she asked.\n\n\"Nothing so very grand,\" replied Fanny, in a superior tone. \"I dare say\nit seems so to you, but I have often been in much finer carriages than\nMrs. Cassell's.\"\n\n\"Oh 'dear'!\" said Sarah, mimicking Fanny's tone. \"How wonderful we are,\nto be sure! I wonder we can condescend to speak to anybody, much less\nto a common person like poor Sarah Layman. But never mind. Let's go\ninto the grove and have a good time. What books have you got?\"\n\n\"I am not going to play with you any more, Sarah,\" said Fanny, in what\nshe intended for a very impressive and dignified tone. \"I don't want to\nquarrel with you, and I am very sorry for you, but I am going to be a\nChristian, and, of course, I can't have anything more to do with you.\"\n\n\"Well, I declare!\" said Sarah, and then she burst into a ringing fit\nof laughter. \"What next? I should like to know how long since you felt\nso?\"\n\nFanny felt very much vexed, but she answered, in the same tone, \"Since\nI was sick. I was very low indeed, and the doctor thought I was dying\nfor ever so long\u2014\"\n\n\"That's a big one to begin with,\" interrupted Sarah. \"I asked the\ndoctor about you myself, and he said that there was nothing more the\nmatter than that you had eaten too much, and that you would be about\nagain directly.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it!\" exclaimed Fanny, though she knew that Dr. Perkins\nhad told her the very same thing. \"Where did you see him, I should like\nto know?\"\n\n\"I saw him go up to your house, and I waited for him at the gate and\nasked him what was the matter. You see I thought about you, Fanny,\nthough you don't mean to play with me any more.\"\n\nSarah said these words with an expression of real feeling, and then,\nsuddenly changing her tone, she added, \"By the way, as you have\nmade up your mind to be a Christian, I suppose you began by telling\nyour grandmother all about your helping to eat the stolen pie and\ngingerbread, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" replied Fanny, trying to keep up her tone of dignity\nand reserve, but feeling all the time that she was making a signal\nfailure. \"I didn't want to tell of you, Sarah, though I don't mean to\nhave anything more to do\u2014with you,\" Fanny was going to conclude, but\nshe changed it into \"such doings.\"\n\n\"Oh, you needn't mind 'me',\" said Sarah. \"I wouldn't have you go on\ntelling lies and deceiving your grandmother for anything. Come to think\nof it, I believe I will be a good girl and a Christian myself, and then\nI suppose we can play together again. But you can't be a Christian\nwithout confessing your sins, you know, Fanny. I dare say Mrs. Lilly\nis blaming somebody else for the pie all this time. Come, let us go\ntogether and tell her all about it directly.\" And Sarah quickened her\nsteps in the direction of the farm-house.\n\nFanny looked at her to see if she were in fun, but she appeared quite\nserious and determined.\n\n\"You are not in earnest?\" said Fanny, in rather a scared tone.\n\n\"Yes, I am in earnest. Come, why don't you walk faster? You can tell\nwhat I did, and I can tell what you did, or we can each tell of\nourselves. I guess that will be the best way, after all.\"\n\n\"But I can't\u2014I dare not!\" exclaimed Fanny, stopping short. \"Oh, Sarah,\ndo come back!\"\n\n\"Well, what now?\" asked Sarah, turning and coming back, for she was\nalready some steps in advance. \"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"You won't tell grandma, will you?\" asked Fanny, trembling.\n\n\"Why, of course,\" replied Sarah, coolly. \"That's the way to begin, by\nconfessing our sins. When old Mrs. Burt joined the church last winter,\nshe went to Mrs. Hoyt's and told her that she had cheated her out of\nthree dollars by putting water in the milk she sold her, and paid her\nback the money. Mrs. Hoyt said that was the right way to begin, and she\ngave the money to the missionary collection. Besides, I dare say Mrs.\nLilly is suspecting some one else all the time.\"\n\nFanny knew that this was true, for she had heard her grandmother say\nshe thought the pie must have been taken by one of Mr. Wye's children.\n\n\"But\u2014but I can't,\" she stammered. \"I am afraid. I don't know what she\nwould do to me.\"\n\n\"Didn't she ask you anything about it?\" asked Sarah.\n\n\"Yes, of course she did.\"\n\n\"And you told her all sorts of lies, I suppose, and mean to stick to\nthem; and yet you call yourself a Christian, and think you are too good\nto play with me!\" said Sarah, in a tone of contempt. \"Well, I don't\ncare; I mean to tell her, anyhow.\"\n\nFanny sat down on a stone and burst into tears.\n\nSarah stood by her in silence a minute or two.\n\n\"So you don't want me to tell?\" said she.\n\nFanny only sobbed.\n\n\"You will make your head ache with crying, and, besides, your grandma\nwill ask you what was the matter,\" said Sarah, presently. \"Come, Fanny,\nlet's make a bargain. Don't you put on any airs to me and I won't tell\nof you. But just as sure as you act again as you did just now, I will\ngo to Mrs. Lilly and tell her all about the pie and your running away.\nI don't mind it when people are really good, like Mrs. Lilly and Aunt\nSally, but I do hate hypocrites. Come, will you agree to that?\"\n\n\"I suppose I shall have to,\" said Fanny, rather sullenly.\n\n\"Well, then, kiss and be friends. And now tell me where you have been\nthis afternoon.\"\n\n\"I can't stay now, Sarah, indeed I can't,\" said Fanny, rising. \"I have\nbeen gone too long already, but I will tell you all about it another\ntime,\" she added, seeing Sarah's face darken\u2014\"to-morrow, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Well, come up to the spring to-morrow afternoon. And, Fanny, I wish\nyou would lend me a story-book. You have got ever so many, haven't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, I brought a whole boxful, and Mr. Brandon lent me this one\nto-day.\"\n\n\"Let me see it,\" said Sarah, taking it from her hand and turning over\nthe pages. \"It looks nice; I would as soon have this as any.\"\n\nFanny felt very much vexed, but she dared not say a word.\n\n\"On the whole, I will let you read it first,\" continued Sarah,\nreturning the book. \"There! Run along, and be sure you come to the\nspring to-morrow, or I shall come down to the house and ask for you.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n_DANGER._\n\nFANNY hurried along up to the hill, walking so fast that she soon put\nherself out of breath and had to sit down and rest.\n\n\"Oh what a hateful thing she is!\" she said to herself. \"I wish she was\ndead; I wish the bull would get out and kill her when she is going home\nto-night. I don't care if it is wicked; I do wish so. There isn't one\nbit of use in my trying to be good when she is around. I don't care; it\nis all her fault.\"\n\nWhen Fanny reached home, she found supper ready.\n\n\"We were just going to sit down without you,\" said her grandmother.\n\"What has kept you so long?\"\n\nFanny gave a straightforward account of herself, except that, as it may\nbe guessed, she said nothing about Sarah Leyman.\n\n\"Oh, very well,\" said Mrs. Lilly; \"I am glad you had a nice visit at\nMrs. Cassell's, and it was very kind in Mr. Brandon to lend you and\nWilly such nice, pretty books.\"\n\n\"I wonder whether Mr. Brandon knows that Willy is a hired boy?\" said\nFanny.\n\n\"I presume he does. Why?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing\u2014only I was wondering whether, if he knew it, he would take\nso much notice of him and lend him books, and so on.\"\n\n\"And I wonder whether he would take so much notice of Fanny if he knew\nhow she talked about him and his wife?\" said Oney.\n\n\"I dare say it would not make much difference in either case,\" said\nMrs. Lilly, dryly. \"Mr. Brandon is too much of a gentleman to think\nless of a good boy because he works honestly for a living, or to mind\nthe idle gossip of two silly girls. Never mind, Willy; I hope Fanny\nwill know better some day.\"\n\n\"Mr. Brandon does know,\" said Willy. \"He asked me where I lived, and I\ntold him all about it, and he said it was an excellent thing, and that\nI couldn't be better off. I hope it is no disgrace to be a hired boy,\nor man either.\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"Fanny's father was one.\"\n\n\"Why, grandma!\" exclaimed Fanny. \"You don't mean to say that 'my'\nfather was ever a hired boy.\"\n\n\"I mean just exactly that,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"He lived out three\nwinters at Judge Higley's, and worked for his board that he might go\nto school, and afterward, when he was in college, he used to hire out\nin harvest-time that he might help pay his way, for money was not very\nplenty in those times.\"\n\n\"I wonder if I could go to college?\" said Willy, while Fanny suddenly\nsubsided and became very busy in buttering her cakes.\n\n\"I don't know what should prevent you,\" said Mrs. Lilly, \"but it is\nearly to be thinking about that.\"\n\n\"But there is no harm in thinking about it, is there?\" asked Willy.\n\n\"No, my dear, not the least harm,\" replied Mrs. Lilly; \"on the\ncontrary, there may be a great deal of good if you only think of it in\nthe right way.\"\n\n\"What would you like to be, Willy\u2014a lawyer or a minister?\" asked Oney.\n\n\"Neither, I think,\" replied Willy, soberly, and as if he had been\nturning the matter over in his own mind for some time. \"I think I\nshould like to be professor of a college, or else a State geologist,\nlike that gentleman who came here last summer and camped out on the\nmountain with Mr. Brandon.\"\n\n\"Well done!\" exclaimed Oney, laughing. \"You mean to aim high, anyway.\"\n\n\"There is no reason that I know of why you should not be either,\" said\nMrs. Lilly, smoothing down Willy's black curls as he sat beside her at\nthe table. \"A good many learned men have been worse off than Willy to\nbegin with.\"\n\n\"I don't think I am badly off at all,\" said Willy. \"I think I am as\nwell off as any boy I know.\"\n\n\"Good for you!\" said Oney, putting a large piece of cake on his plate.\n\"When you are president of a college, send for me, and I will come and\nkeep house for you.\"\n\nFanny ate her supper in silence, feeling very much disgusted.\n\n\"What a fuss they do make over him!\" she thought. \"And nobody takes any\nmore notice of me nor cares any more about me than if I was nothing at\nall. I don't care. I'll 'make' them care about me some time. I mean\nto be a missionary or something, and do a great deal of good, so that\nevery one shall talk about me and praise me. But there doesn't seem\nto be much use in trying to be good so long as Sarah Leyman is round.\nI wish I was in a convent or something, like that girl in my book who\nwent to the Moravian school in Germany. I mean to try, though. I will\nbe very good about everything else, and perhaps it won't matter so much\nabout Sarah. Grandma says we are all sinners, so I sha'n't be any worse\nthan the rest are.\"\n\nThe next day, and for a good many days afterward, Fanny and Sarah met\nsomewhere about the farm\u2014either up by the spring or in the grove by\nthe side of the river. Once or twice Sarah had tempted Fanny up on\nthe mountain-side by telling her of the wonderful stones and flowers\nand mosses to be found there. But Fanny did not much like these\nexpeditions. The loneliness scared her, and so did the thick dark\nevergreens, the great rocks, and the strange sounds she heard every\ntime she listened.\n\n\"I don't see what you want to come here for,\" she said, pettishly, and\njust ready to cry, one day when Sarah had coaxed her into visiting one\nof her favourite haunts. \"I think it is awfully lonesome and dismal,\nand I don't like it one bit. One would think we were out of the world.\"\n\n\"Now, that is just what I like,\" said Sarah. \"It is so solemn, and the\nwind makes such strange noises. But you must never try to come up here\nby yourself, Fanny,\" she added, gravely. \"Promise me that you will not.\"\n\n\"No danger,\" said Fanny; \"I don't like it well enough for that. Come,\ndo let us go down.\"\n\nSarah agreed, and they walked down the blind path which led to the\nspring. When they reached it, they sat down to rest, and Sarah took out\nof her pocket the last book Fanny had lent her and began to read.\n\n\"Don't read; it is so pokey,\" said Fanny. \"I want to talk. You are very\nfond of reading, all at once.\"\n\n\"This is such a nice book,\" returned Sarah. \"All the people in it are\nso natural.\"\n\nShe closed it, however, and they sat for some little time in silence.\n\n\"Well, why don't you talk?\" said she, at last.\n\n\"I am listening,\" said Fanny. \"I keep hearing such a strange noise,\nlike something growling or grumbling under ground. What can it be?\"\n\nSarah laid her ear to the ground to listen like an Indian.\n\n\"It is the bull,\" said she, after a minute's silence. \"He has got out\nsome how. We must run home as fast as we can. Now, don't begin to cry,\"\nshe added, sharply. \"That will only hinder you.\"\n\nThe two girls started for home, but as they came into the open field,\nthey saw the bull coming across the pasture straight toward them. Sarah\ncomprehended the situation in a moment, and had all her wits about her.\nShe was a girl of naturally strong mind, and her out-of-door life had\nmade her quick and self-reliant. Fanny wore a small red cloak. Sarah\nsnatched it from her shoulders, saying at the same time, in sharp,\nclear tones,\u2014\n\n\"Now, Fanny, do just as I tell you, and you will be all right. Walk\naway behind me\u2014don't run\u2014and get over the wall. I'll take to the trees,\nand I bet I can dodge him, but never mind me. If I am caught, run home\nand call somebody. There! Now, while I take across the field\u2014'now'!\"\n\nFanny did as she was bid.\n\nWith wonderful agility Sarah started for another part of the field,\nrunning like a deer. When she had gone some little way, she turned, and\nbegan shaking the scarlet cloak. The bull, attracted by the colour, and\ntaking it, as all bulls do, as a personal insult to himself, instantly\nabandoned his intended chase of Fanny and ran at Sarah. But Sarah was\ntoo quick for him. She dodged out of sight, first behind one tree and\nthen another, till she saw that Fanny was safely over the rough stone\nwall. Then picking up a good-sized stone, and wrapping the cloak round\nit, she threw it at the bull with such a correct aim that the missile\nstruck him full in the forehead. The next minute she went over the wall\nat one spring, and came round to where Fanny was lying on the ground\ncrying as if her heart would break.\n\n\"There! Don't cry. There is no more danger now,\" said Sarah,\nsoothingly. \"Nothing is hurt but your cloak, and I guess you won't\nget much of that,\" she added, peeping over the wall at the bull, who\nwas now expending all his rage on the scarlet flannel, tossing and\ntrampling it as if he had at last found the enemy he had been hunting\nall his life.\n\n\"It is all your fault,\" sobbed Fanny, finding her voice. \"I should\nthink you would have been ashamed, Sarah Leyman.\"\n\n\"Well, I declare!\" said Sarah.\n\n\"You needn't have given him my cloak,\" continued Fanny. \"It was an\nopera flannel, and cost ever so much money.\"\n\n\"Which would you rather the bull should be tossing\u2014me or the cloak?\nIt had to be the one or the other,\" said Sarah, very sensibly, and\nnaturally vexed at Fanny's unreasonable faultfinding. \"I wonder what\nyou think would have become of you if I had not been here?\"\n\nFor the first time it occurred to Fanny that Sarah had saved her life.\n\n\"To be sure, I don't know what I should have done,\" said she, \"and I am\nvery much obliged to you, Sarah\u2014only I don't like to have my pretty new\ncloak spoiled.\"\n\n\"Nor I, but you would rather it should be the cloak than me, wouldn't\nyou, Fanny?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said Fanny; \"but what shall I tell grandma?\"\n\n\"What you please,\" said Sarah, shortly. \"Tell her the bull chased you\nand you dropped your cloak, or tell her the whole truth. Why not?\"\n\n\"But then she will scold me for going with you,\" said Fanny.\n\nSarah turned and looked at her with an expression of wonder and\ncontempt in her great black eyes.\n\n\"I wonder what makes me care to go with 'you'?\" she said, at last, in\nan odd, choked voice.\n\nFanny was silent. She did not know what to say.\n\nSarah sat down on a stone and hid her face in her hands for a few\nminutes.\n\n\"I say, Fanny,\" said she, looking up suddenly, \"let's you and I set\nout to be Christians in good earnest, instead of only pretending to be\ngood.\"\n\n\"I 'am' good now,\" replied Fanny, rather indignantly. \"I read my Bible\nand say my prayers every day, and I heard grandma say to Oney that I\nhad been very good lately, and I have, I know. I learned three hymns\nyesterday of my own accord.\"\n\n\"Oh! Then, of course, Mrs. Lilly knows all about your running away, and\nabout the pie and all?\"\n\n\"Why, no,\" said Fanny, hesitating. \"I didn't think it worth while. What\nwould be the use? She thinks it was one of the Wye children, and she\nmay as well think so.\"\n\n\"The use would be that you would be telling the truth instead of\ntelling and acting lies all the time,\" said Sarah. \"Now, it is of no\nuse, Fanny. You know you can't be a Christian in any such way as that.\nDon't she ever say anything about the pie now?\"\n\n\"Sometimes.\"\n\n\"And don't she ever ask you, when you come in, where you have been and\nwhat you have been doing?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, she almost always does.\"\n\n\"And then you tell her the truth, I suppose?\"\n\n\"It is no business of yours what I tell her,\" replied Fanny, sullenly.\n\n\"Maybe not, but it is of yours,\" said Sarah. \"Don't you know, Fanny,\nthe Bible says no one that loves or makes a lie can go to heaven? I\nremember Aunt Sally's telling me that years ago.\"\n\n\"What makes you want to be a Christian, Sarah? I mean, what sets you to\nthinking about it?\" asked Fanny, trying to turn the conversation.\n\n\"Partly the books I have been reading, and partly some old journals and\nletters of Aunt Sally's that I found in a trunk up in our garret, and\npartly\u2014well, I don't know that I can tell you if I try. All the best\npeople I know are religious. Pa was going on the other day about pious\npeople being all hypocrites, and says I, 'Pa, where would we have been\nif pious people had not helped us last winter when you broke your leg?'\"\n\n\"You would have an awful time with your father,\" remarked Fanny.\n\n\"We have that now,\" said Sarah.\n\n\"And you would have to go to church and Sunday-school and learn your\nlessons,\" continued Fanny. \"You couldn't run about all day Sunday and\nweekday as you do now. You wouldn't like that at all.\"\n\n\"I don't think I should mind,\" said Sarah, thoughtfully. \"Running about\nis all very well, but one may have too much of it. I'll tell you what,\nFanny: I will try if you will. Let us go together and tell the old lady\nall about it, and then we can begin in earnest. She won't be hard on\nus, I know.\"\n\n\"I can't, I tell you,\" said Fanny, in an agony of alarm and vexation.\n\"She would whip me, I know, for she said the other day that she never\nwhipped pa but once, and that was for telling lies. And then they would\nall despise me so. Oh, Sarah, don't! Wait till I go away, and then you\ncan tell her if you like.\"\n\n\"Well, I won't tell of you, only of myself,\" said Sarah.\n\n\"She will get it all out of you, you may be sure. She is so sharp! I am\nafraid every day, as it is, that she will find me out.\"\n\n\"Don't you suppose God finds you out, Fanny?\" asked Sarah, in a low\nvoice. \"Don't you think that, for all your hymns and prayers and Bible\nreadings, you are only making believe all the time? Aunt Sally used to\nsay he knew our very inmost thoughts.\"\n\n\"Your aunt was a church-member, wasn't she?\" asked Fanny, hoping to\ndivert Sarah's attention. \"Mrs. Merrill told me something about her.\"\n\n\"She was a good woman, if ever there was one in this world,\" said\nSarah, with feeling. \"If she had lived, I know I should have been very\ndifferent, but she died when I was only eight. But come, Fanny, let us\ngo and see your grandmother.\"\n\n\"I 'won't'! So there!\" exclaimed Fanny. \"And if you tell her, I'll run\naway and go down to Boston all alone. I have got twenty dollars of my\nown, and I can go on the cars; and I will, Sarah Leyman, if you tell\nher one word. And besides, you can't tell her to-day,\" said Fanny, with\na sense of sudden relief. \"She has gone away, and won't be home till\nSaturday.\"\n\nThis was not true, for Mrs. Lilly expected to be at home next morning.\n\n\"If she isn't at home, of course I can't tell her,\" said Sarah. \"You\nhad better go home now, Fanny. Be sure you tell them that the bull is\nloose, because he may do some great mischief. Good-night.\"\n\nSarah turned and walked rapidly away across the fields.\n\nFanny watched her for a minute, and then went home. She informed Oney\nthat the bull was loose, that he had chased her and torn her flannel\ncloak all to pieces, but she never said a word about Sarah Leyman.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n_AT MEETING._\n\nFOR a good many days Fanny saw nothing more of Sarah Leyman. She was\nnot at the spring or down by the river, nor did she come to the house,\nas Fanny had feared she would.\n\nOne day, however, Willy came in, bringing a pretty little birch bark\nbasket filled with beautiful wild raspberries. He said Sarah Leyman had\nmet him in the lane and handed him the basket, asking him to give it to\nMrs. Lilly.\n\n\"What beautiful berries, and what a nice little basket the poor girl\nhas made!\" said Mrs. Lilly, admiring the basket, which was indeed most\ningeniously made, and lined with fresh green leaves. \"I wonder where\nshe found the berries? I thought they were all over.\"\n\n\"Up on the mountains somewhere, I dare say,\" replied Oney. \"They always\nripen ten days later up there. I wonder she dares run about as she\ndoes, but she seems to have no more fear than a wild creature. They say\nshe is often gone whole days and nights together.\"\n\n\"Grandma, why is it so dangerous to go on the mountain without a\nguide?\" asked Fanny. \"Are there wild beasts to hurt anybody?\"\n\n\"It is dangerous for several reasons,\" replied Mrs. Lilly. \"In the\nfirst place, it is very easy for inexperienced persons to lose\nthemselves, and there are many dangerous places.\"\n\n\"Such as what?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Such as precipices and deep cracks between the rocks into which one\nmight fall and never be found again, and bogs in which you might be\nsmothered and swallowed up in the mud. Then, in the upper part of the\nmountain, there are often sudden fogs and showers and cold winds which\nwould chill you to the bone in five minutes.\"\n\n\"Are there any wild beasts?\"\n\n\"Not on this side, though even here, I suppose, one might meet a bear\nor a wildcat now and then. But on the other side they say there are\nboth bears and panthers, besides plenty of rattlesnakes, though I have\nnot heard of any being killed very lately. But the mountain is a very\ndangerous place, and you must never go up alone as Sarah does. It is a\nthousand pities the poor child has not a better home.\"\n\n\"What is the matter with her home?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Well, her father is a bad man, to begin with. He drinks very hard at\ntimes; and though he is a skilful workman, he will never do a day's\nwork as long as he can help it. His mother is\u2014well, I don't mean to\nbe hard upon her,\" said Mrs. Lilly, \"but the truth is, she is nothing\nbut a nuisance\u2014an idle, gossiping, tale-bearing, mischief-making\nslattern. If she spent half the time in taking care of her house and\nfamily that she does in running about the village, picking up and\nrepeating slanders and gossiping with old Miss Clarke, she might keep\nthings going on well enough. But as it is, they never have anything\ncomfortable or decent from one year's end to another.\"\n\n\"Who was Sarah's aunt Sally?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"She was Mr. Leyman's sister, but as different from him as light from\ndarkness. A better woman never breathed, and while she lived the family\nwere somewhat respectable. She used to do tailoring and dressmaking,\nand sometimes she went out nursing. She was one of the best hands in a\nsick-room that ever I saw.\"\n\n\"What did she die of?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Of hard work principally\u2014of toiling night and day to support her great\nlazy brother and his family. I never saw a child grieve so at a death\nas Sarah did for her aunt. She was only eight years old, poor little\nwild thing! But when they came to screw down the coffin, she screamed,\nand threw herself upon it and would not let anybody touch it, and they\nhad to take her away by force. Does Sarah ever say anything about her\naunt?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" answered Fanny, coolly. \"I never see Sarah nowadays.\nYou told me not to play with her, so I don't.\"\n\nWilly's black eyes shot a glance at Fanny which said a great deal, but\nhe spoke not a word.\n\nFanny felt the look, however, and wondered how much Willy knew, and\nwhether he would be likely to tell of her.\n\nThe next Sunday, as they were coming home from church in the village,\nMrs. Lilly said to Fanny, \"We are going to have some company this week,\nFanny. Mrs. Cassell and Mr. and Mrs. Brandon and Annie are coming up\nhere to spend the day on Wednesday, and perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Brandon\nmay stay a few days.\"\n\n\"Oh how nice!\" said Willy.\n\nAnd Oney added, \"It will seem like old times to have Mr. Brandon about\nthe house again. But I must be careful, now that he has grown such a\ngreat man. As likely as not, I shall be calling him Hugh, the first\nthing.\"\n\n\"I dare say it wouldn't do any harm if you did,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"Where in the world did 'you' ever know Mr. Brandon?\" asked Fanny, with\nan emphasis on the \"you\" which was not very polite, to say the least.\n\n\"He used to live with us once,\" replied Oney. \"He was rather a delicate\nboy, and his father used to send him to the mountains in summer, and he\nspent all his college vacations with us after his father died. Don't\nyou remember the description of our house in his book\u2014I don't remember\nthe name, but that story about the war?\"\n\n\"I never read any of Mr. Brandon's books,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"Why, Fanny!\" exclaimed Willy, who had an untamable appetite for books,\nand who was perpetually astonished by Fanny's indifference to them.\n\"Why, it has lain on the table all summer.\"\n\n\"Well, what of that?\" returned Fanny, tartly. \"Is that any reason why I\nshould read it?\"\n\n\"It would be a reason with me,\" said Willy; \"besides, it is so\ninteresting.\"\n\n\"There's an odds in folks, you see, Willy,\" said Oney. \"But hadn't you\nbetter study it up, Fanny? Mr. Brandon might ask you some questions\nabout it.\"\n\n\"Dear me! I hope not,\" said Fanny, in alarm. \"Do you think he will,\ngrandma?\"\n\n\"No, my dear. Authors are not very apt to talk about their own books.\"\n\n\"Do you think he would be offended if I were to ask him about some\nthings in his other book\u2014I mean the one about South America?\" asked\nWilly.\n\n\"No; I dare say he would be pleased to find that you had read his book\nso carefully.\"\n\n\"I am glad of that, because there are ever so many things that I want\nto know more about,\" said Willy. \"I mean to get the book and look it\nover again.\"\n\n\"Well, I shouldn't think you would want to, Willy,\" said Fanny, who\nhad her private reasons for being alarmed at Willy's announcement. \"It\nwould look like putting yourself forward, and I am sure Mr. Brandon\nwould not like it. He isn't used to associating with all sorts of\npeople,\" said Fanny, with a grand air. \"He associates with the best\nfamilies in Boston.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Willy. \"Well, I don't know about the first families in\nBoston, but I don't mean to keep any company I am ashamed to own,\nFanny.\"\n\nThis hint alarmed Fanny, and she did not speak another word all the way\nhome; she was afraid Willy knew too much.\n\nThat evening Fanny went with the rest to the five-o'clock meeting in\nthe schoolhouse down the road. They were rather early, and took their\nusual seats on the side of the room. Fanny liked this, because she\ncould watch all who came in, and make her remarks on their dress and\nmanners. The room was pretty full at last, for it was a cool, pleasant\nevening, and quite a number of people walked up from the village to\nattend the service.\n\nJust as the first hymn was being sung, Sarah Leyman came in and slipped\ninto a seat near the door. She had made herself as neat as she knew\nhow, and looked very handsome, for in spite of her dark skin, made\ndarker by exposure to all sorts of weather, Sarah was a beautiful girl.\nShe behaved with perfect propriety; and when she raised her head after\nthe first prayer, Fanny felt sure that she had been crying.\n\n\"Well, I declare!\" said Fanny to herself. \"I wonder what she will do\nnext? I wonder if she really means to do as she said! Oh dear! I am\nsure I hope not, for then she will go and tell grandma.\"\n\nAnd then for one moment Fanny saw how utterly mean and selfish she\nwas, and what a wicked and false life she was leading. That momentary\nglimpse of herself might have done Fanny a great deal of good and saved\nherself and others a great deal of distress if she had profited by\nit. But she did not. She only went on thinking how she could possibly\nmanage to keep Sarah and her grandmother apart.\n\n\"Were you not surprised at seeing Sarah Leyman at meeting?\" asked Oney\nof Mrs. Lilly as they walked home together. \"I should as soon have\nexpected to see one of the wild eagles off the mountain. But she looked\nand behaved very well, didn't she?\"\n\n\"Very well; and I was glad to see her there,\" replied Mrs. Lilly. \"I\nhope it is a good sign. I must try to have a talk with her some time. I\nhave a Testament that her aunt gave to my Eunice when they were girls\ntogether; I think I will give it to Sarah. Perhaps she would read it\nbecause it was her aunt's.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't, grandma,\" said Fanny; \"she would only make all sorts of\nfun of it, as she does of everything about religion. That's one reason\nwhy I didn't want to play with her any more. She talked so she scared\nme.\"\n\n\"I am sorry to hear that,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"That's all she went to meeting for, I know,\" continued Fanny, growing\nbolder, and determined at all hazards to prevent any chance of an\nunderstanding between her grandmother and Sarah. \"She will go home and\nmimic the minister and deacon and poor Mr. Willson, and make all sorts\nof fun of them. She has listened under the window on purpose before\nnow.\"\n\n\"Who told you?\" asked Oney.\n\n\"She told me herself,\" returned Fanny, boldly. \"I used to play with\nher when I first came here, and I did play with her two or three times\nafter grandma forbade me, but I have not done it this long time\u2014not\nsince I have been trying to be a good girl. If you talked to her ever\nso kindly, she would only go away and make fun of you.\"\n\n\"Well, that wouldn't hurt me,\" said Mrs. Lilly, \"and we can never know\nwhat words will do good. I don't like to think that any girl can be a\nhardened sinner at fifteen, and especially one who was the child of so\nmany prayers as Sarah.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Lilly,\" said Willy, \"don't you think that a person who pretended\nto be good and religious all the time that he knew he was wicked would\nbe a great deal harder to convert than one like Sarah Leyman?\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" returned Mrs. Lilly. \"Especially if the hypocrite were\nself-deceived.\"\n\n\"I suppose hypocrites usually do impose on themselves more or less,\"\nremarked Oney.\n\n\"Almost always to some degree, I presume. A man who is destroying his\nneighbour's body and soul by selling liquor, may very likely make\nhimself think that he is quite a good man because he gives away money\nliberally; and another, who will cheat half an ounce in every pound he\nsells, comforts himself by thinking that he keeps Sunday carefully,\nand always has family prayers; and so of other things. I would rather\nundertake to make an impression on poor Sarah, or even on Sam Leyman\nhimself, than on such a person. But I will certainly speak to Sarah if\nI have a chance. It can at least do no harm. Oney, there is Squire Howe\nbefore us, and I want to speak to him about drawing Mrs. Merrill some\nwood. He said he would give her a load any time, and I dare say it will\nbe more convenient for him to do it before harvest.\"\n\nMrs. Lilly and Oney walked on quickly, and no sooner were the children\nalone together than Willy broke out with more than his usual vehemence.\n\n\"Fanny Lilly, I do think that you are the very meanest creature that\never lived in this world. Nobody but a girl could be so mean as\nyou are. You are as much worse than Sarah Leyman than she is worse\nthan\u2014than Grandma Lilly,\" said Willy, finishing up with a grand climax.\n\n\"Why, Willy, what is the matter now?\" asked Fanny. \"What have I done to\nyou?\"\n\n\"To me! You haven't done anything to me, only you are always hinting\nabout my being a hired boy and coming from the poorhouse, and Mr.\nBrandon said himself that nobody but a snob would throw such a thing in\na fellow's face. But I don't care so much about that. It is the way you\ntreat Sarah Leyman that makes me despise you. As if I didn't know how\nyou have been with her day after day, going over to the Corners with\nher, and all! As if I didn't know how she saved you from the bull! And\nyou never said one word about her, though it is the greatest wonder in\nthe world she wasn't killed.\"\n\n\"I should like to know how you found out anything about it,\" said\nFanny, trying to speak in an unconcerned manner.\n\n\"Because I saw it; that's all.\"\n\n\"I think you might have come to help us, than, instead of watching and\nspying,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"I did come, but I was too late. I was up in the barn-loft and saw the\nwhole performance, but before I could get to you, it was all over. So I\nwent to find Mr. Wye and tell him about the bull. And after that, you\nabuse her behind her back, and don't want your grandma to show her the\nleast kindness or even speak a good word to the poor girl. I suppose\nyou are afraid she will find out some of your secrets. I always thought\nyou knew more about that pie than you chose to tell.\"\n\nFanny was very angry, but she controlled herself; and answered,\nquickly, \"You are very much mistaken, Willy, as you will see when you\nknow all about it. I only met Sarah by accident that day. The only\nreason that I didn't tell grandma and Oney how she saved me from the\nbull was that she made me promise not to say a word about it, because\nshe said she left the bars down, and let out the bull herself. All\nI said about her making fun of religion was every word true, only I\ndidn't tell it half as bad as it was, because I didn't like to repeat\nsuch stuff, and because I didn't want to tell grandma how Sarah made\nfun of her for praying in the meeting Thursday evening, and for sitting\nat the table with a dirty nigger, like Oney. Those were her very words.\"\n\n\"Oney isn't a nigger, and if she was, she couldn't help it; and I don't\nthink nigger is a very pretty name to call any one,\" said Willy.\n\n\"Nor I; and that wasn't the worst she said, by a great deal. As for\nthe pie,\" continued Fanny, feeling that she was \"in for it,\" and that\na few more lies would not make much difference\u2014\"as for the pie, you\nare right, Willy. I do know\u2014or at least I have a very good guess\u2014where\nit went, but I wasn't going to say what I thought when Sarah and I had\nplayed together. I would like to have Sarah a good girl as well as\nanybody, and I have talked to her myself, but there is no use in it.\nShe only makes fun of me, and I don't want her to make fun of grandma.\n\n\"I know I have hurt your feelings, sometimes, Willy, but I never meant\nto do it, and I beg your pardon. You see things are very different here\nfrom what they are in Boston. There were two girls who came to our\nschool last winter, and everybody liked them at first, but by and by\nthe girls found out that their mother was a dressmaker, and after that\na good many of the scholars would not speak to them. I heard Cousin\nEmma tell of a gentleman who refused to be introduced to a young girl\nat her house because he thought she was not genteel enough.\"\n\n\"If I had been master of the house, he would have seen the outside of\nit pretty suddenly,\" said Willy, who had the instincts of a gentleman.\n\"Besides, I know all Boston people are not like that. Those gentlemen\nwho came up and camped out on the mountain last summer were as polite\nand pleasant to everybody as they could be.\"\n\n\"Well, anyhow, that was the reason I didn't like to see Sarah at\nmeeting, because I knew why she had come,\" persisted Fanny, returning\nto the first subject. \"Of course I am thankful to her for saving me\nfrom the bull, though she got me into the scrape in the first place,\nbut that doesn't prevent me from seeing her faults.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Willy, not more than half satisfied. \"Well, anyhow, I\nhope Grandma Lilly will have a real good talk with her.\"\n\n\"And so do I, because, after all, it won't hurt grandma if Sarah does\nmake fun of her, and perhaps grandma may do her some good,\" said Fanny.\nBut in her heart she was determined that this talk should never take\nplace if she could help it.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n_THE OFFENCE GIVEN._\n\nTHE next day, and the next, Fanny went up to the spring and down to the\ngrove, but she could see nothing of Sarah.\n\nThe next afternoon she was sent on an errand to the Corners. She went\n\"'cross-lots,\" as they say; and passing the end of Sam Leyman's garden,\nshe saw Sarah sitting at work on the back doorstep and called to her.\n\n\"Is that you, Fanny?\" exclaimed Sarah, jumping up and coming to meet\nFanny with an expression of real pleasure on her face. \"Where are you\ngoing?\"\n\n\"Over to the Corners for grandma. Don't you want to go with me?\"\n\n\"I am afraid Mrs. Lilly wouldn't like it,\" said Sarah, hesitating in a\nway very unusual with her.\n\n\"Seems to me you have taken a very sudden fit of goodness,\" said Fanny,\nnot at all pleased. \"I wonder how long you have been so particular?\nEver since you went to meeting the other night, I suppose. But do come\na little way with me. I want to see you ever so much.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't care.\"\n\n\"I went down to the grove yesterday on purpose to find you,\" said\nFanny, in rather an injured tone, as they walked across the pasture\ntogether. \"I thought you would certainly be there. Why didn't you come?\"\n\n\"Well, for two or three reasons; I was busy at home, for one thing,\nmending and washing Ally's clothes, and trying to patch up some of my\nown old frocks, so as to be a little more decent. And besides, Fanny,\nto tell you the truth, I thought it would be rather mean after your\ngrandma spoke to me so kindly Sunday night.\"\n\n\"Oh yes; very kindly indeed\u2014to your face,\" said Fanny, sneeringly.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Sarah.\n\n\"Oh, nothing\u2014only Oney said she wondered what had brought 'that' Sarah\nLeyman to meeting, and grandma said she presumed you had only come to\nmake fun of everything and everybody, and she thought you had better\nstay away, at least till you had something decent to wear.\"\n\n\"Did Mrs. Lilly say that?\" asked Sarah, in a low tone.\n\n\"She said a great deal more than that,\" replied Fanny, \"and so did\nthe rest of the people?\" And she proceeded to repeat a number of\ncontemptuous speeches which she professed to have overheard, till she\nwas stopped by Sarah's throwing herself on the ground and bursting out\ninto a passionate fit of crying.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Fanny, surprised and rather alarmed at the\nstorm she had raised. \"What are you crying about?\"\n\n\"I don't care so much for the rest of them,\" said Sarah, sitting up\nwith her black eyes flashing through her tears. \"But Mrs. Lilly that I\nthought was so good, and that spoke to me so kindly! I don't care; I\nnever will believe in anybody's goodness again. Fanny, are you telling\nme the truth? Was your grandma really so mean and wicked as that?\"\n\n\"I don't see anything so mean and wicked,\" said Fanny, rather scared,\nbut not at all understanding Sarah's state of mind. \"She said what she\nthought, I suppose.\"\n\n\"When did she say what she thought, when she was telling me to my face\nthat she was glad to see me and hoped I would come again, or when she\nwas talking against me behind my back, and saying she should think I\nwould be ashamed to show myself? Come now, Fanny! She did not really\nsay all that. You are making it up to tease me, I know.\"\n\n\"You can ask Willy, for he heard her,\" said Fanny, determined to stand\nher ground, but beginning to wish she had not said anything.\n\n\"I have a great mind to go and ask Mrs. Lilly herself,\" said Sarah.\n\n\"You will get into a scrape if you do, I can tell you,\" said Fanny,\nknowing that if Sarah and her grandmother came together, they would\nsoon arrive at an understanding. \"Grandma knows that it was you who let\nout the bull.\"\n\n\"It was 'not' me!\" exclaimed Sarah, indignantly. \"I 'never' leave the\nbars down, and hardly ever go through them, and I had not seen the bull\nthat day.\"\n\n\"Well, anyhow, she thinks you did, and she is very angry about it. She\nsaid if she caught you, she would have you sent where you would be\ntaken care of and kept out of mischief. And Mrs. Crane said you would\nbe a great deal better off in the asylum, and that grandma would be\ndoing a good turn to everybody.\"\n\n\"I should like to see them put me in the asylum!\" exclaimed Sarah. \"I\nnever will go there. I will kill myself or somebody else first.\" And\ndown went her head on the grass again in a tempest of grief and anger.\n\n\"I don't believe there is one single good person in all the world,\"\nshe said, through her sobs. \"I wonder whether there is anything good\nanywhere? If it wasn't for poor Ally, I would go and jump into Pope's\nhole this very day, and so be dead and buried at the same time.\"\n\nAlly was Sarah's younger sister, and her special pet.\n\n\"I wonder if Aunt Sally was just such a hypocrite as your grandmother?\"\ncontinued Sarah, with a fresh burst of grief. \"I wonder if all her\ngoodness was just lies and pretence?\"\n\n\"You shall not call my grandmother a hypocrite, Sarah Leyman; I should\nthink you would be ashamed.\" And then Fanny stopped suddenly, for it\noccurred to her that it was herself who had given her grandmother such\na character, and not Sarah. She could not in the least understand the\ncause of Sarah's excessive grief, and thought she was only angry at\nbeing laughed at.\n\n\"Oh come, never mind,\" said she, presently. \"Why, it isn't anything so\nvery dreadful; and besides, if you want to come to meeting, you can\ncome, for all them.\"\n\n\"I shall never come again, never,\" said Sarah, sitting up and wiping\nher eyes. \"I did think that night I would try to be a Christian. I made\nup my mind to it; I have said my prayers ever since, and I was going to\nask you to give me or lend me a Testament to read myself and to teach\nAlly out of. Father won't have a Bible in the house, if he knows it,\nbut I would keep it hidden away where he could not find it. But it is\nall over now. There is no use in trying.\"\n\nThe tone of hopeless despair in which Sarah said these words made its\nway even into Fanny's blunt feelings. She began to feel a little sorry\nfor what she had done.\n\n\"Oh, I wouldn't say so,\" said she; \"I wouldn't give it all up for\nthat\u2014just because grandma isn't perfect. Just keep on and be good all\nthe same. I do.\"\n\n\"You do!\u2014You!\" said Sarah, in a tone of contemptuous wonder. \"Fanny\nLilly, do you really think you are a good girl?\"\n\nHer tone and words made Fanny wince, but she stood her ground.\n\n\"Why, yes, I do,\" she replied. \"I read my Bible and say my prayers\nevery day, and I have been reading ever so many good books. I learned\ntwo hymns only yesterday. If that isn't being a good girl\u2014\"\n\n\"Well, it isn't\u2014not according to my notion,\" said Sarah. \"That would\nnot be my way of being good. Fanny,\" she added, with sudden energy, \"if\nyou tell me that all you have said is just made up to tease me, I will\nbe your friend for ever, and I will do anything in the world for you. I\ndon't care; I mean to ask Mrs. Lilly about it, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Well, you can do as you please, of course,\" said Fanny, affecting an\nunconcern which she by no means felt. \"I shouldn't think you would like\nto be taken and shut up with all those poorhouse children, and never\nsee Ally nor anybody again, but if you do, I don't know why I need\ncare. I went to see the asylum with grandma, and it did not look very\npleasant, I tell you.\"\n\nThe asylum spoken of by Fanny was one for poor children which had been\nestablished at R\u2014 by the joint efforts of two counties. The children of\npaupers were carried to this asylum instead of the poorhouse, and were\ntaught and cared for.\n\n\"Besides, I shouldn't know whether she told the truth or not if she\nspoke ever so kindly to me,\" said Sarah. \"I shall never know whether\nanybody is true again, or anything, for that matter. Well, let it go. I\ndare say it is all nonsense, as pa says, and that nobody cares whether\nwe are good or bad. Come, tell me the news. What has happened?\"\n\n\"Nothing very particular that I know of, only old Mrs. Cassell and her\ngranddaughter and Mr. and Mrs. Brandon are coming up to our house to\nspend the day on Wednesday, and Mr. and Mrs. Brandon are going to stay\nfor a visit. Oney is making all kinds of nice things. Oh, by the way,\nSarah, I want that volume of Mr. Brandon's travels that I lent you.\nWilly has been hunting the house over for it.\"\n\n\"I'll get it when I go home,\" said Sarah. \"He's another, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Another what?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Another of the hypocrites,\" said Sarah.\n\n\"I didn't know he pretended to be anything so very good.\"\n\n\"Don't he? I met him up on the mountain last week. He was looking for\nwild flowers, and I showed him some kinds he had never seen before; and\ndidn't he talk 'good'? I thought he was a wicked young man before, and\nso I told him.\"\n\n\"Oh, Sarah, you never told Mr. Brandon all that stuff?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did; and he only laughed and said, 'Don't be in such a hurry to\nbelieve evil of people you don't know, my girl. Anybody as bright as\nyou ought to have something better to think about than idle, gossiping\nstories.' And then I told him I was reading his book, but I couldn't\nunderstand it very well. Oh, we had a real nice talk, I can tell you.\nBut I dare say he is all humbug, like the rest of them. Annie Cassell\nis a cunning little thing, though. You bring her up to the spring, and\nwe will have a real nice time.\"\n\n\"I don't suppose grandma will let me,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"You needn't tell her all about it, you goose. Just tell her you want\nto show Annie the spring. There is no harm in that.\"\n\n\"I don't know about it.\"\n\n\"If you don't, I will just come down to the house and ask to see you,\nand tell your grandma you promised to come and bring Annie with you.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't tell such a lie?\" said Fanny, alarmed.\n\n\"You'll see,\" was the answer. \"Why shouldn't I tell lies as well as\nother folks? Just as sure as you don't come, I will come down to the\nhouse and ask for you. You needn't be afraid. You don't suppose I want\nto hurt the child, do you?\"\n\n\"No; of course not. Well, I will come if I can.\"\n\nWhen Fanny reached home, she went to find her grandmother, who was in\nthe dairy. The truth was, she had seen Willy in the field, and was\nby no means sure that he had not seen her walking with Sarah. So she\nmeant to be beforehand with him, in case he should have any intention\nof telling of her. So first putting Mr. Brandon's book down behind the\nparlour table that it might have the appearance of having fallen by\naccident, she went into the milkroom, where Mrs. Lilly was working over\nher butter\u2014an operation which she always performed herself if possible.\n\n\"Grandma,\" said she, \"I met Sarah Leyman at the Corners; and she walked\nover home with me. I couldn't get rid of her without being rude, and I\nknew you wouldn't want me to hurt her feelings.\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" said Mrs. Lilly, feeling pleased that Fanny should\ncome to her so frankly. \"Don't be unkind to her in any way. How did she\nseem to feel?\"\n\n\"Oh, just as usual,\" said Fanny. \"She says she thinks all religious\npeople are hypocrites alike.\"\n\n\"I wonder whether she thinks her aunt Sally was one?\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"I asked her that, and she said she didn't remember much about her, but\nshe didn't believe there was much to choose.\"\n\n\"Poor child!\" said Mrs. Lilly, sighing.\n\n\"Well, I suppose one ought to be sorry for her, and yet I could not\nhelp being angry,\" said Fanny. \"I told her she ought to be ashamed,\nbut she went on worse than ever. I do believe she will make fun of\nanything. I never heard her so bad as she was to-day.\"\n\n\"That may be only a sign that her heart is touched,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\"She may be trying to silence her conscience. Those have a great deal\nto answer for who have brought her up in such a way.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said Oney, who had just come in with her hands full of\ncake warm from the oven. \"'Whoso shall offend one of these little ones,\nit were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and\nthat he were drowned in the depth of the sea.' I wouldn't like to have\nthe responsibility that rests on that girl's father and mother.\"\n\n\"I hoped for better things from seeing Sarah at the meeting,\" said Mrs.\nLilly, \"but Fanny tells me she only makes fun of the whole thing. But\nit may be only that she is trying to put down conviction in her own\nmind. You must be very careful what you say to her, Fanny. I wish I\ncould get a chance for a quiet talk with her.\"\n\n\"Has Willy found that book yet?\" asked Fanny, feeling very\nuncomfortable, and wishing to change the subject before anything else\nwas said.\n\n\"No, not yet; I can't think what has become of it,\" replied Mrs. Lilly.\n\"I hope it is not lost.\"\n\n\"I believe I will go and take a look for it; perhaps I may find it in\nsome place Willy has overlooked,\" said Fanny. \"I am pretty good at\nfinding things.\"\n\n\"Do, my dear, and dust the books in the parlour at the same time. And,\nFanny, you may get out all the Indian curiosities, and arrange them;\nthey will help to amuse Annie.\"\n\nFanny dusted and arranged and put everything in nice order, trying to\nbecome so much interested in her work as not to think of anything else,\nfor the words of Oney rang in her ears very uncomfortably. \"Whosoever\noffendeth one of these little ones\u2014\" Fanny thought that did not sound\nquite right, and she opened the book to see.\n\n\"Whoso shall offend one of these little ones which 'believe' in 'me,\u2014'\"\n\nThat did not mend the matter, and she shut the book and laid it down\nas if it burned her fingers. Was not this just what, she had done? Had\nshe not offended Sarah just as she was beginning to believe? Had she\nnot done her best to prevent her from taking another step in that path\nwhich the poor girl was just trying to enter\u2014the path which led to\nsafety, to happiness and salvation? Suppose Sarah should never repent\nand become a Christian, whose would be the fault?\n\n\"Well, I couldn't help it,\" said Fanny to herself. \"I couldn't have her\ncoming up here and talking to grandma, and telling her everything, as I\nam sure she would the very first thing if grandma coaxed her a little.\nI don't see how I can help going to the spring to-morrow, either, but\nI must be sure and make Annie promise not to tell. Tiresome little\ntorment! I wish she wasn't coming at all. I dare say she will get me\ninto some scrape or other.\"\n\nFanny busied herself till tea-time with the books and curiosities, and\nin unpacking her doll and its clothes, which had remained in their box\never since she left home. When Oney called her to supper, she came into\nthe kitchen, holding up the missing book in triumph.\n\n\"See what I have found,\" said she.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Brandon's book! How glad I am!\" exclaimed Willy, with\nsparkling eyes. \"Where did you find it? I have hunted all over for it.\"\n\n\"It was behind the table in the parlour,\" said Fanny. \"You couldn't\nhave looked very sharp, Willy.\"\n\nWilly looked as if he did not know how to believe his ears.\n\n\"Why, Fanny!\" he exclaimed. \"I don't see how that can be. I moved the\ntable and looked behind it this very morning, and I am sure the book\nwas not there then, or I would have seen it.\"\n\n\"I am sure it was,\" answered Fanny, positively. \"I found it when I\nwas dusting the parlour. I happened to think I would move out the\ntable, and down fell the book directly. So you see, Willy, you must be\nmistaken.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you only thought you would move it, or you might not have\nmoved it far enough,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"Never mind; I am glad the book\nis found.\"\n\n\"Well, if that isn't the strangest thing, I wouldn't say so,\" said\nWilly to Oney when they were alone together. \"Oney, I know just as well\nas I know anything that the book was not there this morning. I pulled\nthe table clear away from the wall, and looked behind it and under the\ncloth and everywhere.\"\n\n\"So did I,\" said Oney. \"I am sure that it was not there.\"\n\n\"Then why didn't you say so?\" asked Willy, a little vexed.\n\n\"Because I am an Indian, and know how to hold my tongue\u2014a thing which I\nsometimes think white folks never learn,\" said Oney, smiling. \"Where's\nthe use in making a fuss?\"\n\n\"But Fanny is so awful deceitful,\" said Willy; \"I do think Mrs. Lilly\nought to know.\"\n\n\"Oh, she'll find out, never you fear,\" replied Oney; \"and I would\nrather she found out of herself, without any help of mine. You see,\nFanny is playing 'good' just now, and the old lady thinks she is just\nright. I have given her two or three hints, but she would not hear, and\nthe other day she as much as told me she was afraid I was jealous of\nFanny. So I made up my mind to let matters alone, and you had better do\nthe same.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n_SARAH'S PLANS._\n\nTHE next day was Wednesday\u2014the day appointed for Mrs. Cassell's visit.\nFanny remembered it the moment she opened her eyes, and did not exactly\nknow whether she were glad or sorry.\n\n\"I should be glad, only for going up to the spring,\" she thought, \"but\nperhaps, after all, Annie's grandmother won't let her go, and then I\nshall have a good excuse. I don't care: I mean to have a good time,\nanyway. And even if Sarah does come to the spring, grandma need not\nknow that I expected her. How bad she did feel yesterday! I wonder\nwhat ailed her? I shouldn't think she need mind so much. They can't do\nanything to her.\"\n\nIn truth, Fanny was quite incapable of understanding Sarah's feelings.\nWith Fanny, partly from her natural disposition and more from the way\nin which she had been brought up, self was everything. She judged of\neverything as it affected herself. What pleased her or afforded her\nany advantage was right; whatever displeased or annoyed her was wrong.\nShe would not have shed a tear at finding out her best friend in the\ngreatest crime or meanness, so long as it did not affect herself.\n\nShe liked Sarah in her fashion, because Sarah's wit and wild stories\namused her, and because she was, on the whole, an agreeable playmate,\nand it never troubled her in the least to think that Sarah was a very\nnaughty girl and in a fair way of going to utter destruction. She\nloved her father as well as she was capable of loving anybody, but\nthe most disgraceful failure on his part would have affected her less\nunpleasantly than his refusal to pay fifty dollars for some dress or\ntrinket on which she had set her heart. In fact, self was her idol,\nher god. Whoever sacrificed to that god was right in her eyes; whoever\ntreated her deity with neglect or disrespect was wrong, no matter how\ngood he might otherwise be.\n\nIt was very different with Sarah Leyman. Utterly wild and untaught as\nshe was and had been ever since she was eight years old, the poor child\nhad a heart capable of devoted attachment and of great sacrifices.\nTill she was eight years old, Aunt Sally had been her all\u2014her friend,\nteacher, protector, and playmate, all in one. Mrs. Leyman often said\nbefore her sister and daughter that Sarah took after her aunt a great\ndeal more than she did after her mother, and predicted that she should\nturn out just such another saint\u2014saint being a term of the deepest\nreproach in the vocabulary of people like Mrs. Leyman.\n\nEverything that Sarah knew she learned from Aunt Sally, who taught\nher to say her prayers and read her Bible, and to know that she had a\nFather in heaven who would always love her and take care of her. But\nAunt Sally died at thirty, because she hadn't any ambition according to\nher sister-in-law\u2014in reality, of hard work and anxiety and grief and\nshame. Poor Sarah was left without a friend. Two or three people would\nhave taken her for her aunt's sake, Mrs. Lilly among the rest, but her\nfather would not hear of binding her out, and nobody wanted to be at\nthe trouble of dressing and teaching and becoming attached to her, only\nto have her taken away as soon as she was old enough to become useful.\nMoreover, Mr. Leyman made it a condition that Sarah should not go to\nchurch or Sunday-school or be \"taught any priestcraft and superstition.\"\n\nSo Sarah grew up with no education except what she picked up herself\nby reading such books as fell in her way and by going for a few weeks\nat a time to the district school. Here she learned to write and cipher\na little. Aunt Sally had taught her to read almost before she could\nremember, and she heard the Bible read and read it in turn with the\nother children, and now and then an earnest teacher would try to put\ninto the child's mind some sense of the truths of religion, so that she\nwas not absolutely ignorant on that subject.\n\nBut during the last year, she had lost that small chance. The three\nor four small district schools in and around the village had been\nconsolidated into one grand union school, attended by all the young\nladies of the village, and Sarah was too proud to show herself among\nthose who were so much better dressed and educated than herself.\n\nSarah's father was what he called a freethinker, which in his case\nmeant nothing more nor less than an impudent, reckless creature,\nregarding the laws neither of God nor man. He made a regular business\nof ostentatiously breaking the Sabbath, and as far as possible, he\nbrought up his children in the same way. The training had produced its\nlegitimate fruits. One son was already in the penitentiary, and the\nother had escaped a like fate only by running away and going to sea.\n\nMrs. Leyman was pretty much what Mrs. Lilly had described her. She had\ncome of a decent family, and there were those who were willing to show\nher kindness for the sake of her father and mother. But Mrs. Leyman\nwas one of those people who take two or three miles for every ell that\nis given them. If she had an invitation to any house in the village\nor at the Corners\u2014the little hamlet which had grown up at the slate\nquarry\u2014she made such an invitation a pretext for a dozen visits at\nleast. If anybody gave her a pail of skim milk or buttermilk one day,\nshe would send the next for a piece of cheese or butter, or to borrow a\nwashboard or flat-iron; and those who were weak enough to lend to her\nseldom saw their property again.\n\nHer chief pleasures in life were strong green tea and scandal. A small\nproperty which still remained to her from her father's estate supplied\nher with means for purchasing the first. For the second she was chiefly\nindebted to Miss Clarke, the washerwoman and tailoress employed in\ngood families for her abilities in doing up fine muslins and making\nchildren's clothes. Miss Clarke was an inveterate collector of news\nand scandal, and the worse a story was, the better it pleased her. She\nwas, to put it in plain English, an inveterate and malicious liar,\nand she improved her natural gifts in that direction by taking opium.\nSuch was Mrs. Leyman's chosen friend, and from her did she obtain all\nthose stories of the secret sins and shortcomings of church-members and\nrespectable people with which she entertained her husband.\n\nSarah listened to her mother's tales because she liked anything in the\nshape of a story, and because, being sensible of the degradation of her\nown family, she took a sullen satisfaction in thinking that others were\nno better. But she despised her mother and almost hated her father,\nand she would have run away from home long before now, only for Ally,\nher poor little sickly sister. It was Ally who kept Sarah at home for\nthe few hours that she ever spent there from the beginning to the end\nof warm weather. For her sake, Sarah recalled all she could of Aunt\nSally's hymns and verses, her Bible, and other stories. For Ally she\nlearned Sunday-school hymns and borrowed Sunday-school books from the\nother children, and gathered flowers and berries and everything that\ncould comfort and amuse the child in her sick times.\n\nIt was Mrs. Lilly's kindness to Ally which had made Sarah like her\nin the first place. Poor Sarah was a very naughty girl\u2014there was\nunfortunately no doubt of that\u2014but she would have been a great deal\nworse only for Ally, and for the half-remembered lessons learned\nat Aunt Sally's knee. But for these things and for an undefined\nsomething\u2014she could hardly tell what\u2014which had lately been creeping\nover her, and making her feel a kind of hope that she might some time\nbecome better and happier, she would have run away and left the family\nto its fate.\n\nWhat Sarah found to love in Fanny it would, perhaps, be hard to say,\nbut she did love her, and would have done anything for her. Fanny\nwas very pretty, for one thing. She had nice manners and a pleasant\nway of speaking when she was pleased, and she could tell tales of a\nworld of which Sarah knew nothing, and which she fancied must be more\nwonderful and beautiful than her own. Sarah soon found out that Fanny\nwas shallow, and she had begun to feel, rather than suspect, that she\nwas false: but she was one of those people who, having loved once, love\nalways, and she was still devoted to Fanny with her whole heart and\nsoul.\n\nSarah could hardly have told what led her to go to the meeting\non Sunday evening. She had never attended before, though all the\nneighbours went, especially Mrs. Lilly, and she had a feeling that\neverything Mrs. Lilly did must be good. She had been quite serious\nin what she had said to Fanny after the adventure of the bull. She\ndid want to be a good girl, a true Christian like Mrs. Lilly and Aunt\nSally, but she did not know how to begin. Perhaps she might find out\nat the meeting. So she made up her mind to go and try, and she found\nout that, at any rate, it was very pleasant, though rather awful. Those\nthings which she had mimicked for Fanny's amusement\u2014Deacon Crane's\nbroad accent and Mr. Howe's bad grammar\u2014did not now strike her as so\nabsurd because she felt as she never had done, that both the deacon\nand Mr. Howe were talking to some very real Presence: not the less\nreal because unseen. The singing, the Bible reading, the speaking,\nall touched her heart, and the kindness with which she was met by\neverybody, especially Mrs. Lilly, increased the charm.\n\nThey had all seemed so glad to see her there, and had asked her to come\nagain. Sarah made up her mind that she would go again, that she would\nsomehow have a Bible and read it and teach Ally to read it, and she\nwould try her best to be a good Christian girl. And then to find out\nthat these people who had seemed so glad to see her were laughing at\nher and plotting to separate her from Ally and put her in prison, to\nfind out that Mrs. Lilly was capable of such treachery\u2014Mrs. Lilly, whom\nshe had always considered as the very model of everything good,\u2014this it\nwas, and no hurt vanity, which had caused the violent burst of feeling\nwhich Fanny could not understand. This it was which made her feel as if\nthere were no real truth or goodness anywhere, and no use in trying to\ndo right, since religious people were, after all, no better than any\none else. This was the mischief Fanny had done, and at which she might\nwell have stood appalled if she had at all understood it.\n\nBut she did not. She was sorry to have made Sarah feel so badly, but\nshe was glad to have prevented any chance of an explanation between\nSarah and her grandmother. To be sure, this was not much like the\nmissionary work over which she had been dreaming lately, and which was\none day to make her famous and admired. But perhaps Sarah might not\nhave been good, anyway, or perhaps she would become a Christian, after\nall. And, anyhow, she could not help it now, so there was no use in\nthinking about it any more.\n\n[Illustration: _On the Mountain._ \"Here is a nicer cup than that.\"]\n\nThis was always Fanny's way of consoling herself and quieting her\nconscience when it happened to be disturbed: \"I can't help it now, so\nthere is no use in worrying myself about it.\"\n\nShe jumped up and dressed herself as nicely as possible, and ran down\nstairs to help her grandmother with the milk without stopping to say\nher prayers, as she had been very careful to do lately.\n\nMrs. Cassell had promised to come early, and by ten o'clock the\ncarriage was seen by Fanny's eager eyes coming slowly up the long\nascent. Mrs. Lilly's farm lay mostly on the first rise of the mountain,\nas it was called, a kind of broad terrace ascending from the river,\nwhich ran through the valley, to a nearly level plain of some quarter\nof a mile in extent. Besides this, Mrs. Lilly owned a broad strip of\nmeadow-land along the river, and a large extent of pasture and forests\nextending to the \"No man's land\" and cloudland on the top of the great\nmountain which overlooked Hillsborough.\n\nTo Annie, coming from Detroit, where the land is literally as flat as\na pancake and the river looks as if it had been spilled on the top\nof the ground, this country of mountains and swift-running streams,\n\"of fountains and depths that spring out of valleys and hills,\" was\na land of enchantment. It was as beautiful as fairyland the little\ngirl thought, but, like fairyland, it was also rather alarming in\nrespect that one never knew exactly what might be coming next. She had\nreceived the announcement that they were going to make a visit up on\nthe mountain with some inward misgivings. And when she found herself\ngoing up and up without seeming ever to come to the end, she began to\nwish herself at home. But when she finally arrived and was met by Mrs.\nLilly's cordial welcome, all her fears vanished, and she was quite\nready to respond to the old lady's kindness, and to enjoy herself\nthoroughly.\n\n\"And where is Hugh?\" asked Mrs. Lilly. \"I hope he is not going to\ndisappoint us.\"\n\n\"Hugh will come up this afternoon,\" said Mrs. Brandon. \"He was all\nready this morning, and indeed came with us as far as the post-office,\nwhen he found a bundle of proof-sheets lying in wait for him, so he had\nto return and devote himself to them. He will ride up this afternoon as\nsoon as he finishes his work. But proof-sheets are like time and tide:\nthey wait for no man.\"\n\n\"No, I suppose not,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"Well, I am sorry, but it is not\nas if this was the only day there was, so you needn't look so doleful,\nWilly. But come, you had better get your things off. You know the way\nup stairs, Emma.\"\n\nAs soon as Annie had disposed of the piece of cake which Mrs. Lilly was\nsure she must need after her ride, Fanny took possession of her. She\nwas fond of children in her selfish way\u2014that is, she liked to play with\nthem as if they were dolls, and amuse herself with them as long as they\nwere \"good,\"\u2014that is, just so long as they did exactly what she wished.\n\nAnnie would have been quite contented to look out of the windows and\namuse herself with the Indian curiosities, of which Mrs. Lilly had a\ngreat collection, but it was one of Fanny's ways that she never could\nenjoy herself in the presence of grown people. She could not be easy\ntill she had drawn Annie out of the parlour and carried her off to her\nown room, where she got out her doll to amuse her visitor. They played\nwith it for some time, and then Fanny proposed that they should go out.\n\n\"Can we go and see the raccoon?\" said Annie. \"Uncle Hugh said Willy had\na tame raccoon.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, you shall see everything, and I will take you to the\nprettiest place you ever saw,\" replied Fanny, who felt very amiable\nand patronizing. \"I will show you the spring up in the woods, and\neverything.\"\n\n\"That will be nice,\" said Annie, \"but we must ask grandma first.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said Fanny; \"I will go and ask her now while you dress the\ndoll.\"\n\n\"Take Annie up to the spring?\" repeated Mrs. Lilly, aloud, after Fanny\nhad whispered in her ear. \"Why, yes, I suppose so, if Mrs. Cassell has\nno objection.\"\n\n\"Where is the spring?\" asked Mrs. Cassell.\n\n\"Only a little way off\u2014just upon the side of the hill. You can almost\nsee it from this window. It is a very pretty place, and there is no\ndanger for them to run into. Fanny spends half her time there, I think.\nBut, Fanny, remember, you must not go into the woods.\"\n\n\"No, ma'am,\" answered Fanny.\n\n\"And don't leave Annie alone anywhere,\" said Mrs. Cassell. \"Remember\nshe has always been brought up in the city, and knows nothing about\ntaking care of herself. Promise me that you will keep close by her.\"\n\n\"I will,\" answered Fanny. \"I will not leave her alone a minute. Please\nlet Willy ring the bell in the garden, grandma, when you want us to\ncome in.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Mrs. Lilly; \"we shall not have dinner till two, so\nyou will have a nice time to play and enjoy yourselves.\"\n\nFanny put on Annie's hat and jacket, and then led her out to see the\nraccoon and the guinea hens. As they were looking at the former, Willy\ncame up.\n\n\"Now, Willy, you may just go away,\" said Fanny, sharply. \"We don't want\nyou around after us.\"\n\nAnnie looked surprised. She was not used to hear people spoken to in\nthat way.\n\n\"It is my raccoon, and I suppose I have a right to look at it,\"\nreturned Willy.\n\n\"Are you Willy Beaubien?\" asked Annie.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Willy, rather shyly, but added, presently, \"I have seen\nyou at Sunday-school. Don't you want to see Cooney eat? He looks real\ncunning.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" exclaimed Annie, much interested. \"What does he eat?\"\n\n\"Oh, anything that he can get. I will run and ask Oney for some cake\nfor him.\"\n\n\"Come, Annie, let's run away while he is gone,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"I don't want to,\" answered Annie; \"I want to see the raccoon eat.\"\n\nFanny was tempted to speak sharply, but recollecting herself, she said,\n\"I shouldn't think you would care about that. Come, we sha'n't have any\ntime at all.\"\n\nBut Annie had a little will of her own as well as Fanny, and she would\nnot stir till Willy came back with the cake, and till she had seen the\nraccoon eat, and had agreed with Willy that he was very cunning and\nlooked as if he knew everything.\n\n\"Just as if he knew what we were talking about!\" said Annie. \"I guess\nyou like animals very well, don't you, Willy?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Willy. \"I was going to ask you whether you would let me\nsee your Guinea pigs, some time.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, and give you a pair, if you like,\" replied Annie,\nsmiling; \"I am sure you would be good to them.\"\n\n\"I don't believe grandma will let him have them,\" said Fanny, growing\ncross, as usual, as soon as she was not the chief object of attention.\n\"She says Willy has so many playthings now that he doesn't attend to\nhis work.\"\n\n\"I guess you stretched that a little,\" said Willy. \"Anyhow, I can ask\nher.\"\n\n\"Well, do come, Annie, if you are ever coming,\" said Fanny.\n\nThe truth was, she was growing uneasy. She had seen Sarah going up to\nthe spring some time before, and was afraid of her losing patience and\nputting into execution her threat of coming down to the house.\n\nAnnie saw that for some reason Fanny was really annoyed, and she at\nonce gave up looking at the guinea hens and followed her conductor\nthrough the garden and across the fields.\n\n\"See, here is the spring,\" said Fanny, when they reached the little\nmossy dell so often spoken of. \"See how it comes running out of the\nmountain-side. Isn't it pretty?\"\n\n\"Beautiful!\" said Annie. \"How clear and cool it is! Is it good to\ndrink?\"\n\n\"Yes, very. There is a cup here somewhere. Oh, here it is.\" And Fanny\nproduced a somewhat rusty tin cup from under a stone, rinsed it, and\nfilled it from the spring for Annie to drink.\n\n\"Here is a nicer cup than that,\" said Sarah Leyman, coming out from\namong the bushes, holding in her hand a large scallop shell, such as is\nfrequently brought from Florida and Key West by travellers. \"I found\nit this morning among some things in our garret, and brought it up on\npurpose for Annie to drink out of.\"\n\n\"Did you?\" asked Annie, looking wonderingly at the dark, handsome girl.\n\"That was very good of you. But how did you know that I was coming up\nhere to-day?\"\n\n\"Oh, a little bird told me,\" answered Sarah, playfully. \"The little\nbird told me that a fairy was coming up to visit the spring, and would\nwant something pretty to drink out of. Here, drink, little fairy.\"\n\n\"Oh how nice!\" said Annie, after she had drank from the shell, which\nSarah held to her lips. \"I don't think I ever tasted such good water.\"\n\n\"More people than you have thought so,\" said Sarah. \"I was reading a\nletter last night that your aunt wrote to my aunt from India, in which\nshe said she would give all the fruit in India for one drink from this\nvery spring.\"\n\n\"Was that my aunt Eugenia, and did she write to your aunt?\" asked\nAnnie, very much interested. \"How nice that is! I should think that\nought to make us some sort of cousins, shouldn't you?\"\n\n\"Very distant cousins,\" answered Sarah, laughing. \"Your name 'is'\nAnnie, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014Annie Eugenia Mercer. I was named for my aunt and grandmother.\"\n\n\"And where do you live when you are at home, Annie Eugenia?\"\n\n\"In Detroit,\" replied Annie.\n\n\"I suppose it is a great way off?\"\n\n\"Oh yes; we were a night and two days coming, and we stopped one night\nat Albany. And oh, Fanny,\" exclaimed Annie, \"you know I told you how\nthat girl stole my doll on the cars?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Fanny. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Don't you think, day before yesterday, Uncle Hugh came up from the\ncars, and brought a great parcel directed to me. And when I opened it,\nthere was a beautiful doll all dressed, and a letter from this very\ngirl telling me she was sorry she had been so wicked, and she hoped I\nwould forgive her, and that my doll was spoiled, but she had sent me\nanother. Wasn't that nice?\"\n\n\"Very nice,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"I didn't care so very much about the doll; though, after all, one\ncan't have too many dolls,\" said Annie, sagely. \"But it was nice to\nthink she should be sorry and want to make up for what she had done.\nGrandma said it was beginning in the right way if Celia\u2014the girl's name\nwas Celia\u2014really meant to be a good girl.\"\n\n\"What was beginning right?\" asked Sarah\u2014\"Sending back the doll or\nsaying she was sorry?\"\n\n\"Both,\" replied Annie. \"Grandma said\u2014I am not sure that I can tell it\njust right\u2014\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Sarah, who seemed very much interested. \"Tell it as\nwell as you can.\"\n\n\"She said we must confess all our sins to God if we want them forgiven;\nand if they are against our neighbours\u2014that is, if they have done harm\nto anybody, you know\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sarah, \"I understand.\"\n\n\"Then we must go to them and try to make up, and if we have done them\nany damage, we must make it good. I didn't quite understand that at\nfirst, and grandma said if I had borrowed Mary Patterson's scissors,\nand lost or spoiled them, it wouldn't be enough to say I was sorry; I\nmust buy her a new pair if I possibly could. So she said it was right\nin Celia to send me a new doll.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Sarah. \"Don't you think you are a happy little girl to\nhave such a good grandma?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed!\" said Annie, with emphasis. \"Mary Patterson says I ought\nto be thankful every day that I have such good friends to take care of\nme.\"\n\n\"Who is Mary Patterson?\" asked Fanny. She was not very easy under this\nconversation, and she was, moreover, in a great hurry to improve the\ntime in finding out all about Annie's family history.\n\n\"Mary is my nurse,\" replied Annie. \"She has lived at our house ever\nsince I can remember, and we think everything of her.\"\n\n\"How many servants does your mother keep?\" was Fanny's next question.\n\n\"Oh, let me see: there is Mary Patterson and old Mary the cook\u2014only we\ndon't call her 'old' Mary because mamma says it isn't polite, so we all\ncall her Willis\u2014and Jane the chambermaid, and Arthur, papa's servant,\nthat was with him in the war, and John the coachman.\"\n\n\"Your father must be very rich to keep so many servants.\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose he is,\" replied Annie, simply. \"I heard Uncle Harris\nsay that papa was worth almost a million of dollars. That is a great\ndeal, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, quite a good deal,\" said Sarah, laughing.\n\n\"My father is worth two millions,\" said Fanny, \"and there are people\non our street richer than that. But I didn't suppose anybody out West\nwas as well off as that. I thought only poor people went West, and that\nthey lived in log houses and never had anything nice.\"\n\n\"I don't think there are any log houses in Detroit, though I have seen\nthem in the country,\" said Annie. \"Detroit is a very pretty place,\nthough not as nice as it is here, because it is all so flat. There\nisn't the least little bit of a hill anywhere round. If that hill Mr.\nWillson lives on were in Detroit, they would think it was a mountain.\"\n\n\"And what would they say to such a mountain as this?\" asked Sarah.\n\n\"I don't know; I suppose they would be afraid of it, as I was when I\nfirst came here,\" said Annie.\n\n\"Oh, you needn't be afraid; he is a pretty good old mountain,\" said\nSarah, who seemed very much taken with the pretty little child. \"See\nwhat the mountain sent you by me.\" And going to a ledge of rock close\nby a kind of natural shelf, she produced two of her pretty little\nbaskets, one filled with red raspberries, the other with blueberries.\n\n\"Oh how pretty!\" exclaimed Annie. \"Did the mountain send them to me? I\nam sure he was very kind.\"\n\n\"Yes; he told me to tell you that you were welcome to eat his berries\nand drink out of his spring, but you must never climb up on his back,\nbecause that is no place for little girls.\"\n\n\"Well, I won't. Tell him so, with my love. I should like to do\nsomething for him. I might work him a slipper\u2014you know they talk of the\nfoot of a mountain sometimes\u2014only I shouldn't know where to get a piece\nof canvas big enough.\"\n\n\"How silly you are!\" aid Fanny, who never could understand a joke. \"The\nmountain isn't alive. It is only a great heap of rocks and dirt.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said Annie. \"I was only making believe.\"\n\nAnnie ate her berries, and then began admiring the mosses which grew\nall about the spring.\n\n\"I know where there are much prettier mosses than these,\" said Sarah,\n\"but the place is too far for you to walk. Don't you want to sit here a\nfew minutes while Fanny and I go and get you some snail shells?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Annie, rather doubtfully. \"If you won't be gone\nlong.\"\n\n\"Oh no, only a few minutes. You just sit still here or play about on\nthe rocks, but don't go away from the spring, whatever you do. Come,\nFanny, I want to speak to you. I have something to tell you and to ask\nyou.\"\n\n\"I don't know about leaving Annie. I am afraid she will get into some\nmischief or other,\" said Fanny, hesitating a little, though she was\nvery anxious to hear what Sarah had to tell. She had seen all the\nmorning, through all Sarah's playfulness with Annie, that she had\nsomething more than usual on her mind, and she was very desirous of\nfinding out what it was.\n\n\"I don't see what mischief she can get into,\" said Sarah, looking about\nher and considering. \"There are no snakes. The wicked old bull is shut\nup in his stable, and the cattle are all away at the farther pasture.\nEven if she should take a notion to run home, she can't miss her way.\nYou are not afraid to stay here a few minutes, are you, Annie?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Annie\u2014\"only don't be long.\"\n\n\"Oh no; we will be back in a very few minutes.\"\n\n\"And you will bring me some snail shells, won't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, if I can find them, and I am pretty sure I can. After all, Fanny,\nperhaps we had better not leave her alone. She is such a little thing\nshe might get scared, and I can tell you some other day.\"\n\nFanny thought she saw in these last words an indication that Sarah had\nrepented and did not mean to tell her what she had on her mind, and\nthis made her all the more anxious to find out what it was. So she\nanswered, decidedly,\u2014\n\n\"Yes, I shall go, too. Mind, Annie, that you don't stir away from this\nplace or you will get lost.\"\n\n\nTo do Sarah justice, she had not the least idea that in leaving Annie\nalone at the spring she was exposing her to any danger. The children\nshe was acquainted with played in the woods all day long and made\nexcursions after berries and flowers without any fear. She knew that\nthere were no snakes and no wild animals bigger than a rabbit to be met\nwith at this time of year, and she had really taken pains to assure\nherself that the bull was safely shut up in his stable. She wanted very\nmuch to speak to Fanny, and she did not see that she was likely to have\nanother chance very soon.\n\nFanny was much more to blame than Sarah, for she had promised\nfaithfully not to leave Annie alone for ever so short a time, and she\nought to have kept her word. She knew this very well, but she said to\nherself that no harm would come to her, and that she must hear what\nSarah had to say.\n\nSarah led the way in silence a short distance up the mountain, and then\nturned aside into the woods.\n\n\"Well?\" said Fanny, as Sarah stopped and began gathering some\nwintergreen shoots. \"Well?\" she repeated, impatiently, as Sarah did not\nspeak. \"What do you want to say to me?\"\n\n\"Fanny,\" said Sarah, \"I want you to do me a very great favour.\"\n\n\"Well, what?\"\n\n\"You told me you had a good deal of money of your own.\"\n\n\"Yes; my father gave me twenty dollars, and I have only spent a little\nof it. Why?\"\n\n\"I want you to lend me ten dollars,\" said Sarah. \"There! The murder is\nout.\"\n\nFanny looked very much taken aback. \"Why do you want ten dollars?\" she\nasked, with a good deal of suspicion in her tone.\n\n\"I will tell you all about it if you will listen,\" said Sarah. \"Sit\ndown here on this log.\"\n\nThe two girls sat down side by side, and Sarah went on in rather a low\ntone:\n\n\"After I left you yesterday, I went up in our garret and pulled out all\nAunt Sally's old letters to read. There were a good many from Annie's\naunt Eugenia in India, and from Mary Jane Merrill and other people. But\nat last I found the letters I wanted. They were from my Aunt Caroline,\nmy mother's sister, over in Concord. She used to be a schoolteacher,\nbut I knew she had married since, and I wanted to know what sort of\nwoman she was. The letters were very nice indeed, and sounded a good\ndeal like Aunt Sally herself. Then I asked ma about Aunt Caroline, and\nma said she had married a rich man and felt above all her relations.\nBut I kept on asking questions till I found out that Aunt Caroline had\nlost all her own children, and that she had wanted to adopt me or Ally\nwhen we were little, but father would not let either of us go. I made\nma show me the last letter she had from Aunt Caroline, and it was a\nreal good letter, and I made out that she had always helped ma a great\ndeal.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Fanny, impatiently, \"what has that to do with my lending\nyou ten dollars?\"\n\n\"Just this,\" replied Sarah: \"I have been thinking the matter over, and\nI have made up my mind what to do. If you will lend me ten dollars, I\nwill go and see Aunt Caroline myself, and try to persuade her to take\nAlly to live with her. I don't think pa would care now. He don't like\nAlly because she is so plain and sickly. Then, if I succeed, I will get\na place to work in a mill or somewhere, and take care of myself.\"\n\n\"Why don't you write to your aunt?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Because I can't write very well, and I want to see Aunt Caroline and\ntalk to her myself. If I have ten dollars, I can get myself a decent\nfrock and hat, so that she need not be ashamed of me, and the rest of\nthe money will pay my fare to Concord and back.\"\n\n\"If your aunt is rich, I should think she would lend you the money,\"\nsaid Fanny.\n\n\"I don't want to begin by asking her for money for myself,\" said Sarah,\ncolouring. \"She doesn't know anything about me. But if you will lend it\nto me, I will pay you back the very first money I earn.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course,\" said Fanny, sarcastically.\n\nSarah's eyes flashed. \"Don't you believe me?\" she asked.\n\nFanny was rather alarmed, and continued, in a superior but more\nfriendly tone, \"I suppose you think you would, but this is all\nnonsense, Sarah. It is the greatest wild-goose chase I ever heard of.\nSuppose you go to Concord, what good will it do? Your aunt won't do\nanything for you. As likely as not, she won't let you come into her\nhouse. And as for her adopting Ally, you might as well expect her to\nadopt a black baby. I know, because my mother is one of the managers of\nthe orphan asylum, and I have heard her say that the people who take\nchildren always want a healthy, pretty child with curly hair.\"\n\n\"And what becomes of all the ugly, straight-haired children?\" asked\nSarah.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. They get bound out, or something. Anyhow, nobody\nwants them, and I am sure your aunt wouldn't want Ally. You see it is\nall nonsense, Sarah. You couldn't do anything if you tried.\"\n\n\"Then you won't lend me the money, Fanny?\" said Sarah, in a tone of\ndeep mortification and disappointment.\n\n\"No, because I don't think there would be any use in it. You had a\ngreat deal better stay where you are, or else write a letter to your\naunt and ask her to send you some money.\"\n\n\"I can't write, I tell you,\" said Sarah, flushing crimson. \"I can't\nput one sentence together and spell the words right.\" She paused a\nmoment, and then spoke again with more earnestness than before, and in\na pleading tone very different from her usual off-hand manner:\n\n\"Come, Fanny, do lend me this money. It won't be very much to you even\nif you have to do without it a year, and it will be everything to me.\nI can't leave home while Ally is there, whatever happens, and I feel\nalmost sure that Aunt Caroline will take the child if I can only see\nher and tell her how things are, which I couldn't do in a letter if\nI could write ever so well. If Ally is only safe, I know I can find\nsome place where I can earn money. I can learn any kind of work easily\nenough if I only give my mind to it, and I will send you every dollar I\nearn. Come, Fanny, don't say 'No.' Why won't you lend it to me?\"\n\n\"Because I want it myself,\" said Fanny, coming to the true reason at\nlast. \"I have only that twenty dollars to last me for pocket-money till\nmy father comes home, and I am always wanting candy or something that\ngrandma won't buy for me. As likely as not you never would pay me, and\nthen I should lose it altogether.\"\n\n\"Don't you think I am honest, Fanny? I risked more than that for you\nthe day we met the bull,\" said Sarah, with a quiver in her voice. \"I\ndidn't stop to think whether you would ever pay me.\"\n\n\"That is different,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"Yes, there is a good deal of difference between risking your life and\nrisking ten dollars,\" said Sarah, dryly. \"Fanny, why did you ever make\nfriends with me if you don't care enough for me to do as much as that\nfor me?\"\n\n\"Because I had no one else to play with, and it was so stupid at\ngrandma's with nobody to speak to,\" said Fanny, speaking the truth for\nonce.\n\n\"Then, if you had any one else to play with\u2014anybody more genteel\u2014you\nwouldn't care any more about me?\"\n\n\"Well, no, I don't know that I should. You see, Sarah, you are very\ndifferent from me.\"\n\n\"Very different,\" said Sarah, rising\u2014\"so different that the less we\nhave to do with each other, the better.\"\n\nAs she spoke, she went a little farther into the wood and began to turn\nover the fallen sticks and leaves.\n\nFanny followed her, feeling rather uneasy.\n\n\"What are you looking for?\" she asked.\n\n\"Some shells for Annie,\" answered Sarah, without looking up. \"You had\nbetter go to her. She may get tired of staying alone.\"\n\n\"I don't want to go without you,\" said Fanny.\n\nSarah did not reply; but having found what she sought, she turned back.\n\n\"I suppose you are very angry with me?\" said Fanny, presently.\n\n\"No, I am not,\" returned Sarah. \"I am angry at myself for ever having\ncared for you.\"\n\n\"You say so because you are vexed at not getting the money,\" said\nFanny, \"but I think you are very unreasonable.\"\n\n\"If you say another word, I will box your ears,\" said Sarah. In another\nmoment she added, more gently, \"I am sorry I said that. I shall never\nsee you again, and I did love you dearly, Fanny.\"\n\nThe tone in which Sarah said this showed that she at least was not\nheartless.\n\n\"What makes you say that?\" asked Fanny.\n\n\"Because it is true. I shall go to Aunt Caroline's, if I have to walk\nevery step. Besides, I never want to see you again\u2014never!\"\n\nAs Sarah said these words, the two girls came in sight of the spring.\nAnnie was not there.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n_THE LOST CHILD._\n\n\"THERE, now! See what a scrape you have got me into!\" said Fanny,\nangrily. \"Tiresome little thing! She has run off home; and now she will\ntell them that I left her alone.\"\n\n\"Well, what of that?\" returned Sarah. \"What harm was there in your\nleaving her alone a few minutes in a safe place?\"\n\n\"Because I promised I wouldn't, stupid! That's why.\"\n\n\"Did you really promise not to leave her alone?\" asked Sarah, gravely.\n\n\"Of course I did. Her grandmother wouldn't let her come unless I\npromised not to leave her alone anywhere. A nice scrape you have got me\ninto with your secrets!\"\n\n\"You never told me you had promised, so don't lay all the blame on me,\"\nsaid Sarah. \"Besides, I wanted to come back and wait till another time,\nand you wouldn't. I don't suppose there is any harm done. She has got\ntired and run back to the house. Fanny,\" said Sarah, suddenly starting\nand turning pale, \"you don't suppose she has started to find us, do\nyou?\"\n\n\"No, of course not,\" returned Fanny, impatiently. \"What do you want to\nput such a notion into one's head for?\"\n\n\"I never thought of her doing such a thing,\" continued Sarah, looking\nvery uneasy. \"I should never forgive myself in the world if any harm\nshould happen to the dear little thing. Do run down to the house and\nmake sure that she is safe.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, that is all you think about,\" said Fanny, in an injured tone.\n\"You don't care anything about what they will say to me, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Well, no, not much,\" returned Sarah. \"Why should I? I don't suppose\nthey will break any of your bones, and you haven't shown any very\nparticular regard to my feelings. But why don't you go?\"\n\n\"Of course\u2014\" Fanny began, but Sarah interrupted her.\n\n\"Now, just look here, Fanny, if you don't go, I shall go myself. I\nsuppose, of course, that Annie is safe, but I want to know for certain.\nI can't bear to think of her wandering in the woods half scared to\ndeath, and perhaps falling into Pope's hole.\"\n\n\"For goodness' sake, what is Pope's hole?\" asked Fanny. \"I have heard\nof it ever since I came here, and I don't know what any one means by\nit.\"\n\n\"It is a deep, deep gulley\u2014a hole in the mountain nobody knows how\ndeep\u2014with high steep walls of rock all around it, and it is half\nfull of water, and under the water is soft black mud. Cattle get in\nsometimes, and never get out again. A man named Pope fell in when the\ncountry was new, and for two or three years nobody knew what had become\nof him. But one very dry summer, when the water was low, somebody saw\na gun lying partly out of the water. So he got somebody to let him\ndown with ropes, and then he found Pope's gun and his watch, but they\nnever found the body. It is an awful dark place to look into. But come,\nFanny, do run home. Wave your handkerchief at the back door, and then I\nshall know if she is safe.\"\n\nSeeing that there was no help for it, Fanny obeyed. She did not or\nwould not believe that Annie was lost, and she dreaded only the reproof\nshe was sure to receive for leaving the child alone at the spring. She\nreached the house without seeing anybody, and went straight up to her\nown room, turning, however, at the door to wave her handkerchief.\n\nSarah saw the signal, and satisfied that the child was safe, she went\nback to the spruce wood, and sat down to consider what she should do\nnext.\n\n\n\"It is time the children were at home,\" said Mrs. Lilly, presently.\n\"Oney, you may tell Willy to ring the bell in the garden.\"\n\nOney called Willy, and then went up stairs for a clean apron. As she\ndid so she bethought herself to look into Fanny's room and see whether\nthere was a supply of water and clean towels. To her great surprise,\nshe found Fanny sitting by the window reading.\n\n\"Why, Fanny!\" she exclaimed, in surprise. \"I thought you were up at the\nspring with Annie. Where is she?\"\n\n\"Down stairs in the parlour, of course,\" said Fanny, vainly trying to\nspeak in an ordinary tone. \"I wish you would not come into my room\nwithout knocking, Oney.\"\n\n\"I didn't know you were at home,\" replied Oney. \"But are you sure Annie\nis down stairs? I haven't seen her.\"\n\n\"Of course she is. Do go away and let me alone, can't you?\"\n\nOney began at once to suspect that something was wrong. She had no\nconfidence in Fanny, and she had seen nothing of little Annie. She went\ndirectly down stairs and opened the parlour door.\n\n\"Well, Oney, have you come to tell us that dinner is ready?\" asked Mrs.\nLilly.\n\n\"Dinner is pretty nearly ready,\" replied Oney. \"Is Annie here?\"\n\n\"Annie? No,\" answered Mrs. Cassell, starting. \"Have the children come\nin? I have not seen them.\"\n\n\"Fanny is up in her room, and she just now told me that Annie was down\nhere,\" said Oney.\n\nMrs. Cassell turned pale. She was rather a nervous woman, and she\nnaturally felt a great deal of responsibility about Annie.\n\n\"Don't be frightened,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"I dare say she is out with\nWilly looking at the chickens.\" As she spoke, she went to the foot of\nthe stairs and called, \"Fanny, come down directly.\"\n\n\"I have got my shoes and stockings off, grandma,\" answered Fanny, who\nhad indeed stripped them off with all speed the moment Oney had left\nthe room.\n\nMrs. Lilly went up stairs.\n\n\"Why are you barefooted?\" was her first question.\n\n\"I wet my feet, and had to change my shoes and stockings,\" answered\nFanny, searching in her drawer for a pair of stockings, and taking a\nlong time to find them.\n\nMrs. Lilly's quick eye fell on the boots which Fanny had just taken off.\n\n\"Your shoes are as dry as a bone,\" said she, taking one of them in her\nhand. \"But never mind that now. Where is Annie?\"\n\n\"Down stairs, I suppose,\" answered Fanny, shortly.\n\n\"Where did you leave her?\"\n\n\"I didn't leave her at all. She ran away from me and came home,\" said\nFanny. \"Cross, hateful little thing! I wish she had never come here.\"\n\n\"Put on your shoes and stockings and come down stairs,\" said Mrs.\nLilly. \"Don't spend time looking in the drawer. Put on those you took\noff.\"\n\nThere was that in Mrs. Lilly's voice and manner which made Fanny afraid\nto trifle any longer. She put on her shoes and stockings, and followed\ndown stairs sulkily enough.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"tell us just where you left Annie.\"\n\nShort as the time was in which to do it, Fanny had made up her story,\nand she told it glibly enough:\n\n\"I was cutting some birch bark for Annie, and I dropped my knife, and\nwhile I was looking for it, Annie said she did not like the woods and\nshe would go back to the house. I told her to wait a minute and I would\ngo with her, but she began to cry and scream and say she would go\nalone. Then I went with her to the garden and watched her almost into\nthe house, and then I went back to find my knife.\"\n\n\"That does not sound at all like Annie,\" said Mrs. Brandon. \"She is not\napt to cry because she cannot have her own way.\"\n\n\"I don't know anything about that,\" said Fanny, pertly. \"I know she\nscreamed loud enough this morning. I should have come all the way with\nher, only I wanted to find my knife, and I didn't see what harm could\nhappen to her between the garden fence and the house.\"\n\n\"Where can she be?\" said Mrs. Cassell.\n\n\"She may have gone away with Willy,\" replied Mrs. Lilly. \"He is very\nfond of children, and very likely he has taken her off to see some\nwonderful sights in the barn.\"\n\n\"Willy is up in his room,\" said Oney. \"I will call him.\"\n\nBut Willy could give no account of Annie. He had not seen her since\nthey were feeding the raccoon.\n\n\"What shall we do?\" said Mrs. Cassell. \"Where can the child have gone?\nIs there any well or cistern that she can fall into?\"\n\n\"Oh no. I never allow such things to be left uncovered. Fanny, are you\ntelling the truth? Did you really come with Annie as far as the garden\nfence?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did,\" answered Fanny, positively. \"I stood at the fence and\nwatched her clear to the back door.\"\n\n\"Were you and Annie alone at the spring, or did you have company?\"\nasked Willy.\n\nFanny made a face, and did not answer.\n\n\"Why don't you answer Willy's question?\" asked Mrs. Lilly. \"Was Sarah\nLeyman with you? I presume it was Sarah that Willy meant.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Fanny, boldly. \"Sarah is very angry with me, and won't\nspeak to me because I would not give her some money. She said, the last\ntime I saw her, that she never meant to speak to me again.\"\n\n\"But where can Annie be?\" asked Willy. \"I will go out and look round\nthe yard. Maybe she has gone to see the coon again.\"\n\nBut in vain did they search the garden and yard; no Annie was to be\nfound. By this time the alarm grew very serious, and in the midst of\nit, Mr. Brandon made his appearance.\n\n\"You see I did come, after all,\" said he, gayly, as he entered the\nparlour. \"I found my proofs could wait a day, so I put them in my\npocket and came along. But what is the matter?\" he asked, in alarm, for\nMrs. Brandon burst into tears on seeing him.\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, Annie is lost!\" exclaimed his wife and mother together.\n\n\"Lost!\" exclaimed Mr. Brandon. \"What do you mean?\"\n\nMrs. Lilly told the story as she had heard it from Fanny, adding that\nthey had searched the farm over, and that both Oney and Willy were\nstill looking. Mr. Brandon stood thinking for a moment.\n\n\"Come here, Fanny,\" said he, sitting down and drawing her toward him.\n\"Come here; I want to talk to you. Now, don't cry, but tell me the\nplain truth. How far did you go with Annie?\"\n\n\"To the garden fence,\" replied Fanny.\n\n\"The back garden fence?\"\n\nFanny assented.\n\n\"How did Annie get over the fence?\"\n\n\"I let down the bars.\"\n\n\"How could you do that when there are none?\" asked Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"I don't mean that. I took down two or three rails and put them up\nagain.\"\n\n\"Well, what then?\"\n\n\"Then I stood and watched her into the house, and then I went back to\nfind my knife.\"\n\n\"Why did Annie want to come into the house?\" was the next question.\n\n\"I don't know. I suppose she was afraid to stay alone.\" This was an\nunlucky slip.\n\n\"To stay alone!\" repeated Mr. Brandon. \"To stay alone where?\"\n\n\"She was not really alone,\" said Fanny, seeing what a blunder she had\nmade; \"only she was down by the spring and I was up on the bank cutting\nthe birch bark for her to play with.\"\n\n\"You are sure you did not go out of sight?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Fanny, snappishly. \"I have said so ten times already.\"\n\n\"You did not leave her to go away for anything but the bark?\"\n\n\"Only for the shells, and we were not gone five minutes, I am sure,\"\nsaid Fanny, making another slip.\n\n\"'We'! Who was with you besides Annie?\"\n\n\"I just wish you would let me alone,\" cried Fanny, bursting into a\nviolent fit of crying. \"You confuse me so I don't know what I am about.\"\n\n\"But who do you mean by 'we'?\" persisted Mr. Brandon. \"Who was with you\nbesides Annie?\"\n\n\"Nobody; and I wish she had not been there, either, the cross, hateful\nlittle thing! I won't stay here another day,\" continued Fanny, working\nherself into a passion. \"I will go to Boston if I have to live in the\npoorhouse. I won't stay here to be called a liar.\"\n\n\"Nobody has called you a liar, but I very much fear that you are one,\"\nsaid Mr. Brandon, gravely. \"Mrs. Lilly, I am sorry to say so, but this\ngirl is not speaking the truth. I believe she either went away and left\nAnnie alone at the spring, or else sent her home alone.\"\n\n\"I am afraid you are right,\" said Mrs. Lilly, much distressed. \"Fanny,\ndo tell the truth. Think how much depends upon it\u2014poor Annie's life,\nperhaps. Did you leave Annie alone at the spring?\"\n\n\"No, I tell you,\" snapped Fanny.\n\n\"Why did you not come home with her?\" asked Mrs. Cassell. \"You promised\nme not to leave her a moment.\"\n\n\"I didn't leave her alone.\"\n\n\"Then what did you mean by saying you were not gone ten minutes?\"\n\n\"I didn't say so.\" And that was all that could be got out of Fanny. She\nwould only cry, and declare that she would go home to Boston.\n\n\"We are wasting time,\" said Mr. Brandon, looking at his watch. \"It is\nthree o'clock now. Are there any men about the place, Mrs. Lilly?\"\n\n\"No. Mr. Wye is over at B\u2014, and Pat went away two or three days ago.\"\n\n\"We must have help,\" said Mr. Brandon. \"Are you sure the farm has been\nthoroughly searched?\"\n\n\"I believe so,\" answered Mrs. Lilly. \"Can you think of any place where\nwe have not looked, Oney?\"\n\n\"There is the old quarry,\" said Oney, rather reluctantly.\n\n\"Heaven help us!\" groaned Mrs. Lilly. \"She would never go there,\nsurely. Fanny, you did not go near the old quarry, did you?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"Besides, it is all covered up,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\nOney shook her head.\n\n\"It is not covered over,\" said she. \"I have just been down to see,\nand the boards are gone. If Annie had taken a fancy to go and see the\nsheep\u2014\"\n\n\"We must have it searched at once,\" said Mr. Brandon. \"Willy, bring me\nthe rake, a stout string, and the largest pole you can find.\"\n\n\"Let me go with you,\" said Oney. \"Mrs. Lilly, do make them eat\nsomething, or at least drink a cup of tea. The old lady looks ready to\nfaint, and it is enough to kill Emma.\"\n\n\nThe old quarry was a deep pit which had been dug in the search for\nslates. It was full of water, and was usually kept closely covered, but\nnow, as Oney had said, the boards were gone. In fact, Sam Leyman had\nhelped himself to them only the night before for the purpose of mending\nhis pig-pen. Mr. Brandon made a drag of the rake and some poles, and\nsatisfied himself that Annie was not in the water.\n\n\"Well, so far, no news is good news,\" he said, trying to speak\ncheerfully, as he entered the parlour. \"We must have help at once and\nsearch the woods. I have sent Willy over to Willson's and to call the\nCrane boys, and they will rouse all the men in the neighbourhood.\"\n\nIt was now four o'clock, and there was no time to lose. Willy was a\nfast runner, and soon left word at Deacon Crane's and Mr. Willson's\nthat a child was lost on the mountains, and before half an hour, four\nor five stout young men were on their way to Mrs. Lilly's.\n\nAs Willy came back through the edge of the woods, he met Sarah Leyman\nslowly descending the steep path which here led up the mountain-side.\n\nWhen Sarah had seen Fanny's signal, she went back to the spruce wood\nwhere they had been talking together, and sat down to think what she\nshould do next. She was deeply disappointed and mortified. She had made\nup her mind that Fanny would certainly lend her the money, for she\nargued, \"I am sure I would do as much for her in a minute if I had the\nmoney to lend.\"\n\nBuilding on this very uncertain foundation, she had arranged all her\nplans. She did not mean to tell of her intended journey at home, for\nshe knew that neither her father nor her mother would consent, and she\nhad very little notion of honouring or obeying her parents. She had\none decent dress. She would buy herself a hat and some other things,\nand take the night train, which would land her at Concord early in the\nmorning\u2014she was too often away all night for her absence to excite any\nsurprise\u2014and she would ask her aunt to write from Concord as soon as\nshe had found her. She felt sure that Aunt Caroline would take Ally if\nthe matter were properly represented to her.\n\n\"And then,\" thought Sarah, \"I will buy a decent calico frock and go to\nwork at anything I can find to do, and I will save every cent till I\nhave enough to pay Fanny, and perhaps do something for ma.\"\n\nThis was Sarah's plan, which she had thought over till it appeared\nperfectly easy and reasonable\u2014always provided that Fanny would lend her\nthe money.\n\nBut Fanny had absolutely refused to lend her the money, and for no\nbetter reason than that she wanted to use it herself for things which\nher grandmother would not buy for her. Sarah could hardly believe it\neven now. She had exposed her own life for Fanny, and Fanny would not\ndeny herself an ounce of sugar-plums for her.\n\nSarah, as I have said, was by nature generous and loyal. She had begun\nby loving Fanny dearly, and by fancying that such a pretty, graceful\ngirl must be all but perfect. And though she had found out her mistake,\nshe had gone on loving Fanny, and in some degree trusting her. But that\nwas all over now. Her idol was effectually shattered, and with it, as\nit seemed, all her fine plans for helping herself and Ally. She did not\nknow where to look for the money which was necessary for the carrying\nout of her scheme. She did not know of any way in which she could earn\nit, or anybody she could ask to lend it to her, unless, indeed, Mrs.\nLilly would help her.\n\nThis was a new idea, and Sarah turned it over in her mind as she sat on\nthe dry, rocky ground under the spruce trees. Mrs. Lilly had never been\nanything but kind to her, and Sarah was not disposed to resent the old\nlady's having forbidden Fanny to play with her.\n\n\"I should feel just so in her place, I know,\" she thought. \"Though,\nafter all, I don't see that Fanny is so much better than I am, only her\nfolks are respectable. I wish I hadn't touched the pie. It was real\nmean. I wonder if she did laugh at me that night I came to the meeting?\nI don't half believe it. I believe Fanny made up the story to scare me.\nShe was dreadfully afraid to have me see the old lady, for fear she\nshould find out something. I have a great mind to go and see her\u2014not\nto-day, though, because she has company. What a cunning, sweet little\nthing Annie is! I can think of Ally being just like her if she only had\na chance.\"\n\nAnd then Sarah began thinking over what Annie had said about Celia's\nreturning the doll, and to wonder, if she should follow Celia's\nexample, whether it would not be a right way of beginning that \"being\ngood\" which she still desired; and a verse came into her mind which she\nhad heard long ago.\n\n\"What was that? 'If we confess our sins, he is faithful to forgive us\nour sins'\u2014something like that; Aunt Sally used to say it, and I guess\nit is in the Bible somewhere. If only I could tell of myself and not of\nFanny! I don't want to get her into trouble.\"\n\nSarah sat still for some time, now pondering Annie's simple remarks,\nnow turning over in her mind various plans, possible and impossible,\nfor the accomplishment of her purpose. At last she rose, and ascending\nthe mountain for some distance, she began a busy search for certain\nferns and flowering plants which grow in those higher regions.\n\n\"Mr. Brandon seemed to think so much of them,\" she said to herself, \"I\nwill carry him a bunch of them, and maybe I shall get a chance to speak\nto the old lady.\"\n\nSarah had succeeded in her search, and, with full hands, was descending\nthe hill toward the house, when she met Willy.\n\n\"Sarah, have you seen little Annie Mercer?\" was Willy's first greeting.\n\n\"Seen her? No\u2014not since twelve or one o'clock,\" replied Sarah, in\nsurprise. \"Why? What do you mean? What has happened to Annie?\"\n\n\"That is just what nobody knows,\" replied Willy. \"She went up to the\nspring with Fanny this morning, and Fanny says she brought her back as\nfar as the garden fence and watched her almost into the house, but she\nnever came in, and we can't find her anywhere. Where was she when you\nsaw her?\"\n\n\"She was up at the spring with Fanny,\" answered Sarah. \"Does Fanny say\nshe took Annie back to the garden?\"\n\n\"Yes, but we don't know what to believe, she tells so many different\nstories.\"\n\nSarah had a quick mind, and even while Willy was speaking, she saw all\nthe terrible possibilities of the case.\n\n\"It is not true, Willy,\" said she, speaking low, but fast and clearly.\n\"Fanny never went back with Annie. We left her alone at the spring.\nI never thought of any danger, and I wanted to speak to Fanny, so I\ntold Annie to wait at the spring and I would bring her some shells.\nThen Fanny and I went up on the hill and talked a little while, and I\nfound a lot of snail shells. See, here they are now. When we came back,\nAnnie was gone. I supposed, of course, she had gone home, and yet I\nfelt a little uneasy, so I made Fanny go home, and told her to wave\nher handkerchief if it was all right. She did wave it, and I thought\nAnnie was safe. Willy, she is lost in the woods; she has gone up on the\nmountain.\"\n\n\"Why do you think she has gone up?\" asked Willy.\n\n\"Lost children always do,\" replied Sarah. \"They always go up and up.\n* Don't stop to talk. Run home and tell them how it was, and bid them\nsend for old John Steeprock and his dog directly. Tell them that it was\nmy fault, but that I never thought of any danger, and that I am going\nto look for Annie myself.\"\n\n   * This is the general belief in mountainous countries. I do not vouch\nfor its truth.\n\n\"But you will be lost too,\" said Willy, divided between anger and\nadmiration. \"It is almost night, and you will lose your way, and\nperhaps die in the woods.\"\n\n\"Never mind me,\" returned Sarah. \"I know the mountain pretty well, and\nsha'n't die for staying out one night in the woods. And if I should,\nnobody will miss me but Ally. Never mind me, but run home; only, Willy\u2014\"\n\nWilly came back to hear.\n\n\"Tell Mrs. Lilly I stole the pie and I am sorry, and ask her, if\nanything happens to me, to be good to Ally.\"\n\nAnd Sarah turned and went rapidly up the steep path.\n\nWilly ran down toward the house and speedily entered the parlour, where\nMr. Brandon was again trying to extract the truth from Fanny. Fanny now\nvaried so far from her first story as to say that she only came with\nAnnie to the fence and went back again.\n\n\"That is all stuff, Mr. Brandon,\" said Willy, unceremoniously bursting\ninto the conversation. \"Fanny never came with her an inch. She went\nup in the spruce woods with Sarah Leyman, and left Annie alone at the\nspring.\"\n\n\"How do you know, Willy?\" asked Mrs. Lilly. \"Who told you?\"\n\n\"Sarah herself told me just now,\" replied Willy. And he repeated the\nconversation he had just held with Sarah, adding, \"And, Grandma Lilly,\nshe says she took that pie that day, and she is very sorry, and if\nanything happens to her, will you please be good to Ally?\"\n\n\"Where is Sarah Leyman?\" asked Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"She has gone up on the mountain to look for Annie.\"\n\n\"Lord help her, what can she do?\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"She will only be\nlost herself.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" said Willy; \"Sarah knows the mountain pretty\nwell. And oh, I forgot: Sarah says you must go up the mountain, because\nlost children always go up, and you must send for old John Steeprock\nand his dog directly.\"\n\n\"That is an excellent suggestion,\" said Mr. Brandon. \"I did not know\nthe old man was alive.\"\n\n\"He! He will live for ever, I believe,\" said Oney, speaking according\nto the common Indian belief, \"unless he gets tired of it, and stops of\nhis own accord. Suppose I jump on John Crane's horse and go after the\nold man myself. I can coax him round if he happens to be in one of his\nsulky fits.\"\n\n\"Do, Oney! Oh, Fanny, if you had only told us this at first, instead of\nlying so!\" exclaimed Mrs. Lilly, wringing her hands. \"Just see how much\ntime we have lost by your wickedness!\"\n\n\"I don't care. I'm sure it was not my fault that Sarah wanted to speak\nto me,\" replied Fanny. \"And I should have told, only you told me not\nto play with Sarah. And I'm sure I couldn't help it, and I didn't mean\nto,\" cried Fanny, with a full burst of sobs. \"It is all your fault,\ntelling me not to play with her.\"\n\n\"Go up to your room and stay there,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"I wish you had\nnever come into my house.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I didn't want to come,\" sobbed Fanny. \"I wanted to go with my\nmother, and I always knew that you didn't know how to manage me.\"\n\nMrs. Lilly took Fanny by the man and led her to her own room. What\nhappened there I have no means of knowing, but I very much suspect that\nFanny got, as the nurses say, \"something to cry for.\" If she did, it\nmust be confessed that she got no more than her deserts.\n\nIn a very short time, Oney came back with John Steeprock, an old Indian\nof her own tribe, who had lived on the outskirts of the mountain time\nout of mind, and from his strength and activity seemed likely to live\nmuch longer. Steeprock listened to the story.\n\n\"Bad\u2014bad!\" said he, shaking his head. \"S'pose fog come down, little\ngirl maybe die. S'pose she full into hole\u2014bad business!\"\n\nMr. Brandon was about to speak, but Oney whispered to him, \"Don't\ninterrupt him; let him manage his own way. If you put him in a bad\nhumour, you won't get any good of him. Let him go on his own way.\"\n\nOld Steeprock ruminated for a minute in silence. Then he said, \"You got\nlittle girl's shoe?\"\n\nMrs. Cassell had bought a second pair of shoes for Annie, and she\nquickly produced them.\n\n\"Good!\" said the old man, taking them in his hand. \"Now we go up to the\nspring. You call the other boys.\"\n\nThe searching party were soon assembled at the spring. It was now\nnearly six o'clock, and a fine though cool evening. Steeprock looked\nabout him, examined the ground carefully, and at last seemed to make up\nhis mind.\n\n\"You let me be captain?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, yes. Manage it your own way,\" said two or three of the men.\n\n\"Good!\" returned the old man, evidently much gratified. \"You all got\nguns or pistols?\"\n\nThree or four guns and revolvers were produced.\n\n\"Good!\" said Steeprock, again. \"Now, then, you Crane boys, go 'that'\nway; you Willsons, go 'that' way,\" indicating the direction with his\nfinger. \"If you find her alive, shoot three times; if dead, only once.\"\n\nThe men moved off, leaving Steeprock and Mr. Brandon by the spring.\nSteeprock called his dog, which was hunting about in the fallen leaves,\ntalked to him in the Indian language, and held Annie's little shoe to\nhis nose. The dog smelled it, wagged his tail, and began snuffing the\nground, till, having found what he sought, he set off at a rapid pace\nup the path which Fanny and Sarah had taken.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n_ON THE MOUNTAIN._\n\nAND where was Annie all this time? Hurrying along toward the top of the\ngreat mountain as fast as her weary little legs could carry her, often\nstumbling and falling, now and then sitting down to rest and get her\nbreath and cry for \"grandma\" and \"Fanny,\" and then drying her tears and\nsetting off again.\n\nAnnie had waited at the spring for what seemed a very long time, though\nin reality it was not more than twenty minutes. She had never been\nalone in the woods before. Indeed, she had never been in the woods at\nall, and she began to be a little scared at the loneliness, and at the\nkind of murmuring, whispering silence which prevailed around her.\n\nShe thought at first that she would go home, and then she reflected\nthat perhaps grandma would not like it if she came home alone. She\nwas not quite sure that she could climb the fence, and Sarah had\nsaid something, she did not know exactly what, about a bull. Then an\nodd fancy came into her silly little head. Mary Patterson, who was\nan English girl, had told her about the gypsies and how they stole\nchildren. What if that dark, wild-looking girl with the curly hair\nshould be a gypsy, who had coaxed Fanny into the woods to do her some\nmischief?\n\n\"But I won't believe any such nonsense,\" said Annie, stoutly. \"Fanny\nknew her before, and she was real good to me. I dare say she is looking\nfor snail shells all the time. I wonder if there would be any harm in\nmy going a little way up the path to see if they are coming?\"\n\nAnnie hesitated a minute or two, and then she concluded to venture.\nShe went a little way and then a little farther, and then she saw a\nvery pretty sight\u2014no less than a family of young squirrels at play on\na fallen tree. She watched them for a few minutes, and then ventured\na little nearer and a little nearer. Then she saw a beautiful flower,\nand thought she would get it for Uncle Hugh. She did so, and then all\nat once bethinking herself that the girls might come back and miss her,\nshe turned round and hurried back toward the spring.\n\nShe walked on and on, wondering that she did not come to the place,\nand that she saw so many things which she had not noticed before.\nMeantime, the path, such as it was, grew narrower and rougher, till all\nat once Annie found herself at a spring, indeed, but not the one she\nhad left nor at all like it. This spring boiled up in a little pool at\nthe foot of a precipice so high that Annie could hardly see the top,\nand the rocks seemed just ready to fall on her head. In fact, many of\nthem had already fallen, and lay round in wild confusion, while the\nearth between them was soft and boggy, so that Annie had wet her boots\nthrough and through before she was aware.\n\nIn the midst of the rocks and in the water lay a good many bones\nbleached and scattered. Annie did not know enough to perceive that\nthey were the bones of a sheep or calf. She had a kind of horror of\ndry bones, and would never touch or go near one if she could help it,\nand she turned and hurried away out of sight of the place. She had the\nsense to see that this was not the spring she had left, and she thought\nshe must return to that as quickly as possible.\n\nSo she turned and ran back again, taking, as she supposed, the same\npath, but she only involved herself in fresh difficulties. And at last,\nthoroughly bewildered, she sat down to rest and to think what she had\nbetter do. She looked round. The place was so entirely strange that it\nmight almost have been in another world from that which the little girl\nhad inhabited hitherto. Great black evergreen trees grew all around\nher, and the ground beneath was brown and slippery from the fallen\nspruce and hemlock needles. Great rocks peeped through the soil, or lay\nscattered upon it, as if they had at some time fallen from the sky.\n\nEverything was very still, but as Annie listened she heard at a great\ndistance, as it seemed, a strange wild scream and then another. It was\nthe cry of the eagles which lived on the upper part of the mountain,\nbut Annie did not know that. Gradually, as she sat there, the knowledge\ngrew upon her that she did not know where she was, that she was\nlost\u2014lost on the great mountain, where Sarah had warned her not to go\non any account, where, as she knew, more than one person had been lost\nand never found again. Perhaps the bones were those of people who had\nstrayed away before her, who had died all alone in the woods and had\nnever even been buried.\n\nThat was a silly fancy, but Annie was only a very little girl, and\nolder and wiser people have lost their heads on being lost in the\nwoods. She burst into tears and called aloud for grandma and Uncle\nHugh, but stopped suddenly, for somebody or something in the woods\nseemed mocking her, repeating the words over and over again, fainter\nand fainter every time. It was only the mountain echo, but Annie did\nnot know anything about echoes. She was frightened at the sound; and\nstarting to her feet, she ran away as fast as she could, which was not\nvery fast, for the ground began to be very steep and rugged.\n\nBy this time, Annie was quite beside herself. She remembered that\nthey had come up hill all the way to Mrs. Lilly's, and that grandma\nhad told her before leaving home that morning that Mrs. Lilly lived\non the mountain, and she reasoned in her confused little mind that if\nshe could only climb high enough, she should find the old red house\nand grandma. So she climbed on, often falling and hurting herself, now\ngetting on easily a little way, now stopping to rest. And once finding\na bed of soft green moss, she lay down and slept for two or three\nhours, the deep, heavy sleep of exhaustion.\n\nWhen she awoke, it was nearly dark in the woods, for the sun was below\nthe mountain-top, though he still shone on the other side. Annie felt\nweak and exhausted, but her sleep had refreshed her, and after she\nremembered where she was and how she came there, she rose and struggled\non.\n\nAt last she could go no farther, and it was well she could not, for she\nwas now come into a very dangerous part of the mountain, where there\nwere many deep holes and cracks, some of them partly filled with water.\nIf she had fallen into one of them, she would probably never be found\nagain either dead or alive, for the place had an ill name, and few even\nof the boldest hunters ever came near it.\n\nAnnie sat down on the ground in dumb despair, too wretched even to\ncry, too hopeless to make another effort. She sat on the ground, with\nher elbows on her knees and her hands supporting her chin, and thought\nabout herself and her condition almost as if she had been another\nperson. She was lost on the mountain like the poor hunter she had heard\nof; and, like him, she would most likely never be found again. She\nwould die there in that lonely place and never go home, never see the\nnew baby sister who had come since she left home, and never, never see\npapa and mamma any more.\n\nShe thought of her little cousin Grace Belden\u2014how she had died in\nher crib in the safe, warm nursery, with mamma holding her hands and\ntalking to her about heaven and the Lord Jesus. There would be nobody\nto hold her hand and talk to her when she was dying, nor to dress her\nbody in soft white cashmere and lay it tenderly in the little white\ncoffin, as they had done with Grace\u2014nobody to take her to the church\nand read the funeral service, and sing a funeral hymn so softly and\nsweetly, as Mrs. Terry and her daughters had done for Grace. Perhaps\nthe robins would cover her body with leaves, as they had done with the\nbabes in the wood, and the angels would come and carry her away to\nheaven. She did not think she should be afraid of them if they looked\nlike the picture which hung in mamma's room at home.\n\nBut oh, she did want to see mamma once more. She rose and tried to\nwalk, but she sat down directly. One of her boots had come off, and she\nhad so hurt her foot on the sharp stones that it bled. Besides, her\nhead was dizzy, and a mist came over her eyes when she stood up. No;\nshe must just sit still where she was, and perhaps somebody would come.\n\nShe had lighted on a place where she could sit down and lean her\nback against a rock. She had not climbed directly up, but rather in\na slanting direction along the side of the mountain. Still, she had\nclimbed very high\u2014higher than any one would believe who did not know\nhow fast and how far lost children will travel.\n\nThe wind blew cool, and Annie was thinly dressed, for it had been a\nwarm day, and nobody had expected her to be out in the evening. The\ncold and fatigue made her drowsy, and she was almost asleep, when she\nsuddenly started to her feet. Had she dreamed it? Was it one of the\nvoices which had mocked her in the woods and whispered in the tops of\nthe trees, or had some one called her name? She listened intently. Yes,\nit was so.\n\n\"Annie! Annie Mercer!\" rung out in a clear voice. \"Annie, are you here?\"\n\n\"Yes, oh yes!\" called Annie, in a joyful tone. \"Oh, do come!\"\n\n\"I am coming. Keep still where you are. Don't stir!\" called the voice\nagain.\n\nAnnie stood like a statue, hardly breathing. She heard steps among\nthe dry leaves, and in another moment, Sarah Leyman burst through the\nbushes and caught the child in her arms.\n\n\"You blessed, dear little thing, I have found you at last!\" exclaimed\nSarah, kissing Annie as if she would eat her up. \"But how in the world\ndid you ever come here? Were you scared at the spring?\"\n\n\"I was very naughty,\" said Annie, penitently. \"I ought to have minded,\nbut I didn't. And I went up the hill to find you, and there I saw some\nsquirrels. And I tried to go back, and then I came to a place where it\nwas all wet, and there were bones,\" said Annie, in a terrified whisper.\n\"I thought they were the bones of people who had been lost; were they?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Sarah; \"they were the bones of some animal which had\nfallen off the rocks. Well, what then?\"\n\n\"Then I knew that I was lost, and I tried to find my way, and I\ncouldn't, and when I came up here I couldn't get any further, and so I\nsat down.\"\n\n\"And a very good thing you did,\" said Sarah. \"But who would have\nthought of your getting so far?\"\n\n\"How did you find me?\" asked Annie.\n\n\"That's more than I can tell you, Annie. I followed your track pretty\nwell to the green spring, and then it was pretty much all chance or\nsomething else\u2014I don't know what. I could see that you had started to\ngo up the hill, and I kept on after you, till by and by I found the\nplace where you lay down and left your hat. See, here it is. Then I\nknew I was right so far, and I don't know why, but I felt sure you had\ncome up here.\" And Sarah kissed Annie once more.\n\n\"It was very good in you to come and find me,\" said Annie, returning\nthe kiss. \"I thought I should die all alone, and nobody would know\nwhere I was, nor bury me, nor anything,\" she continued, piteously. \"And\nwhen I called, something kept mocking me, and whispering in the trees\noverhead.\"\n\n\"That was only the echo and the wind in the trees,\" replied Sarah. \"It\ncould not hurt you.\"\n\n\"I didn't know that,\" said Annie; \"it made me afraid. Won't you take me\nhome to grandma?\"\n\nSarah's face darkened. She compressed her lips and looked round her. It\nwas now dark, and though the moon was risen, she gave them but little\nlight.\n\n\"Why, there's the trouble, Annie,\" said she. \"I don't see how we are to\nget home to-night.\"\n\n\"But I must go home,\" said the little girl, her wide blue eyes full of\nterror. \"I can't stay out in the woods all night. Oh, please, please,\ndo take me home to grandma!\" wailed the poor child, in piteous tones.\n\"It is so dreadful up here, and I want to go to my own little bed.\"\n\nSarah sat down and took Annie on her lap, holding her fast, for the\npoor child was so horrified at the thought of staying out all night\nthat she had started to run away.\n\n\"Annie dear, listen to me,\" said she, kindly but firmly. \"Stop crying,\nand sit still and try to listen and understand.\"\n\nAnnie was a docile little thing, and she had always been taught to\nmind. She stopped struggling, sat still, and presently checked her sobs\nand looked up in Sarah's face.\n\n\"I am good now,\" said she. \"Won't you take me home?\"\n\n\"I want to tell you about it,\" said Sarah, still holding her. \"I should\nlike to take you home and to go home myself. I don't want to stay out\nin the woods any more than you do. But you see it is quite dark, only\nthe moon shines a little. There are a great many dangerous holes and\nprecipices round here. And if we should try to go down the mountain in\nthe dark, we should most likely fall and be killed, and then we should\nnever see grandma any more. I don't see but we must stay here till\nmorning, and then we will go down.\"\n\n\"But we haven't any beds nor any supper,\" objected Annie. \"And I am so\nhungry, I don't know what to do.\"\n\nSarah put her hand into her pocket and brought out two ginger cakes\nwhich she had brought from home.\n\n\"Here is some supper for you,\" said she; \"and as for beds, we must do\nthe best we can. Sit still here and eat your cakes, and I will see what\nI can do. There! Don't be frightened; I am not going away,\" she said,\nin a soothing tone, as Annie threw her arms around her neck and clung\nto her. \"I wouldn't leave you for anything.\"\n\nSomewhat reassured and very hungry, Annie sat down and ate her cakes,\nwhile Sarah looked about among the rocks, where she presently found a\nlittle nook well enough suited to her purpose\u2014a kind of recess or cave\nformed by two great slabs of stone, leaning one against the other.\n\n\"This will do,\" said she to herself; \"now for a bed.\"\n\nShe dared not go far away to seek materials, but she broke off all\nthe evergreen boughs within reach, and arranged them into a couch,\nspreading her own apron over them.\n\n\"There! That is the best that I can do,\" said she, returning to Annie's\nside. \"It is no great thing of a bed, but it is better than nothing.\nNow let me loosen your clothes, and you shall lie down and sleep like a\nlittle kitten, and I will watch by you. Don't be afraid. I don't think\nanything will come near us.\"\n\n\"And will you hear me say my prayers?\" asked Annie. \"Grandma always\ndoes, or mamma when I am at home. Oh dear! What would mamma say if she\ncould see where I am?\"\n\n\"I am very glad she does not,\" was Sarah's thought. But she only said,\n\"Yes, dear, I will hear you say your prayers.\"\n\nAnnie knelt down and repeated her simple prayer, ending, as usual,\nwith, \"God bless papa and mamma, grandmamma and all my friends, and\ndear little baby sister;\" to which she added, \"And bless Sarah because\nshe came to find me, and please keep us safe, and let somebody come and\nfind us pretty soon.\"\n\n\"Now lie down and let me cover you up warm,\" said Sarah, after a little\nsilence. \"I will sit down here close by you.\"\n\nShe laid Annie down as she spoke, and heaped the branches under her\nhead, so as to make a pillow. Then she laid the child's jacket over her\nand put more branches over her feet.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Annie. \"May I say my evening hymn now?\"\n\n\"Yes, do. Say all the hymns you know. I love to hear them. Are you\nwarm?\"\n\n\"Not very,\" said Annie.\n\nSarah took off her woollen frock and laid it over the child, and then\nsat down by her.\n\n\"Now listen, Annie,\" said she, impressively, laying her hand on the\nchild's arm. \"When you wake up, whether it is night or morning, don't\nyou stir. You may speak to me, but if I don't answer, don't you move.\nLie still, and somebody will come and find you. Will you remember?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Annie; \"I will do just as you tell me.\"\n\n\"That is a good girl. Now, say your hymns and try to go to sleep.\"\n\nAnnie began to repeat her hymn, but presently her voice died away and\nshe was silent.\n\nSarah hoped she was asleep, but presently she roused up again:\n\n\"Sarah!\"\n\n\"Well, dear, here I am.\"\n\n\"I forgot to say my Bible verse\u2014the verse I learn every morning, you\nknow.\"\n\n\"Well, say it now.\"\n\n\"'I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only\nmakest me dwell in safety,'\" repeated Annie, reverently. \"I don't think\nwe ought to be afraid, Sarah. I think he will take care of us.\"\n\n\"Annie,\" said Sarah, \"suppose you had been very naughty indeed. Do you\nthink he would take care of you or care anything about you then?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" answered Annie, simply, \"because he does take care of all\nthe wicked people all the time. They couldn't live if he didn't.\"\n\nA great wonder rose in Sarah's mind. Had her heavenly Father really\nbeen taking care of her all this time, as Aunt Sally used to say he\nwould? She thought of all the risks she had run in her wild rambles, of\nher encounter with the bull. Had he really taken care of her? Was it\nhis hand which had guided her to Annie? \"And suppose we have been very\nwicked and are sorry and want to be good, what must we do?\" she asked.\n\n\"We must be very sorry and ask him to forgive us and make us better,\nand we must try never to do so again,\" she answered.\n\n\"And will he forgive us and help us if we do so?\"\n\n\"Yes, it says so in the Bible. I don't remember the words.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Sarah. \"Go to sleep like a good girl, and remember\nwhat I said to you about lying still.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Annie. \"Please kiss me goodnight.\"\n\nThe two children\u2014for Sarah was not much more\u2014kissed each other\ntenderly. Then Annie lay down to sleep, and Sarah sat by her, shivering\nwith the cold, her bare arms exposed to the wind. At last she crept\nclose to Annie's side, within the shelter of the rock; and leaning\nagainst the side of the little cave, she fell into an uneasy slumber.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: _On the Mountain._ \"If you find her, you shall have more\ndollars than ever you saw in your life.\"]\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n_THE SEARCH._\n\nJOHN STEEPROCK'S dog guided his master and Mr. Brandon straight to the\ngreen spring, but there he seemed puzzled. He smelt about, ran here\nand there, and finally came back to his master, as if baffled in the\nsearch. Steeprock patted him, talked to him in his own language, and\nagain showed him the little shoe, and the dog again set off up the\nside of the mountain, but at a slower pace and as if still somewhat\nuncertain.\n\n\"What ails him?\" asked Mr. Brandon.\n\n\"Somebody else been here\u2014been here only a little while ago. Don't you\nbe scared, Hugh. Dog know heap.\"\n\n\"So I see,\" replied Hugh. \"John, if you find her, you shall have more\ndollars than ever you saw in your life.\"\n\n\"Dollars very good,\" said the Indian, philosophically\u2014\"good to buy\ntobacco and powder, and clothes,\" he added, after some consideration.\n\"But s'pose you no got one dollar in the world, me find nice little\ngirl all the same. You light um lantern.\"\n\n\"What do you think the chances are?\" asked Hugh as he stopped to light\nthe lantern.\n\n\"Don't know,\" was answered rather gruffly. \"Tell better when we get\nthrough.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the others will find her first.\"\n\n\"They no find her,\" said Steeprock. \"They good boys\u2014want to do\nsomething; so me tell them run, go where they do no harm,\" he added, in\na tone of benevolent condescension. \"You and me, we get um out of the\nway, and then go find her. Me old man, but know something yet.\"\n\n\"I should think so,\" said Hugh, laughing despite his anxiety. \"How old\nare you?\"\n\n\"Don't know, exactly,\" replied the Indian. \"You know when the great war\nwas when King George's men fight the Yankees at Bennington?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hugh.\n\n\"Well, then me tall boy, about like John Crane. Then I went on the\nwar-path with my father, the first time I ever take scalps.\"\n\n\"Why, you must be over a hundred years old,\" said Hugh, in surprise.\n\"Is that possible?\"\n\n\"Very old man\u2014just as I tell you. That day I took two scalps\u2014got\n'em now. When I die, I leave 'em to you, Hugh,\" said John, with a\nbenevolent air and tone, as of one who bestows a valuable curiosity.\n\"You good boy. I always like you. Waugh!\" exclaimed John, interrupting\nhimself with the Indian's startling and inexpressible exclamation of\nsurprise as he held his light to the ground.\n\n\"What now?\" asked Hugh.\n\n\"Another girl gone up here\u2014not long ago, either. That make the dog so\npuzzled and uneasy.\"\n\n\"Another girl!\" exclaimed Hugh, in astonishment. \"How do you know?\"\n\n\"How I know anything? How you know what words mean when you read um\nbook? See um track plain as writing. Gone up about two hours ago.\"\n\n\"It must be Sarah Leyman,\" said Hugh. \"Willy said she had gone to look\nfor Annie.\"\n\n\"Maybe so. That Leyman girl all same as Indian. Waugh!\" exclaimed\nSteeprock again as the dog came running back to them with something in\nhis mouth. It was Annie's little boot.\n\n\"All right,\" said Steeprock, showing it to Hugh. \"She been right up\nhere, and the other after her.\"\n\n\"Then she must be near, dead or alive,\" said Hugh.\n\nThe Indian shook his head gravely.\n\n\"Maybe so\u2014maybe not. Lost children travel very fast. Maybe she gone\nclear up above the trees. Come on.\" And he resumed his walk, climbing\nthe more difficult path so fast that Hugh, though an experienced\nwoodsman, had some trouble in keeping up with him.\n\n\nSarah had slept about two hours, when she was awakened by the cold. She\nput her hand on Annie. The child felt warm and was breathing softly.\nShe rose with some difficulty, for she was stiff with the cold and from\nthe cramped position in which she had been sitting. The moon had now\nrisen high enough to throw a good deal of light on the place where they\nwere, and Sarah could see to move about a little. She walked to and\nfro on the narrow level platform in front of Annie's shelter, to warm\nherself, and then began to pull more evergreen boughs and to lay them\nover Annie.\n\n\"I must keep awake if I can,\" she said to herself. \"If I sleep, I shall\nbe chilled to death, and then what will become of the child? I don't\ncare so much about myself. I know Mrs. Lilly would find some way to\nbefriend Ally, and perhaps she would be all the better without me.\"\n\nAs she spoke these words half aloud, she brushed Annie's face with one\nof the branches she was laying over her. Annie opened her eyes.\n\n\"What are you doing, Mary?\" she said, in a sleepy tone.\n\n\"Getting some more clothes to lay over you,\" replied Sarah. \"Are you\nwarm enough?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am as warm as toast, but the bed feels so hard and lumpy.\"\nThen waking more fully and realizing where she was, she broke out into\na pitiful little wail: \"Oh, Sarah, I thought I was at home in my own\nnursery, and mamma was just saying, 'Annie, don't let Pick lie on the\nclean pillow.' Oh dear! I shall never see mamma nor Pick any more.\"\n\nSarah could not speak, but she put her arms round Annie and kissed her\nand held her in a close embrace.\n\n\"Am I naughty to cry?\" asked Annie, presently.\n\n\"No, dear, you are not naughty, but I wouldn't cry if I could help it.\nYou will only make yourself sick, and I am sure mamma would not like\nthat. Tell me all about Pick. Is he your dog?\"\n\n\"No; he is my cat, and I have had him\u2014oh, such a long time!\"\n\nSarah asked various questions about Pick, and Annie was gradually\ndiverted from her grief to talk of his beauty and accomplishments.\n\n\"You haven't any brothers and sisters, have you?\" asked Sarah.\n\n\"No; only little baby sister that I haven't seen yet. Grace Belden used\nto live at our house and be my sister, but she is dead now. She died\nin the winter before I came here. People die everywhere, don't they,\nSarah?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear, and they live everywhere too,\" answered Sarah.\n\n\"Grace never went up on the mountain,\" continued Annie, pursuing the\ncurrent of her own thoughts. \"She never went into any dangerous places,\nand she had mamma and Mary to take care of her.\"\n\n\"And yet she died, you see,\" said Sarah. \"And people have been in much\nmore dangerous places than this, and yet they have lived.\"\n\n\"Have they?\" asked Annie. \"What sort of places?\"\n\n\"Shipwrecks and earthquakes and battles and fires,\" said Sarah. \"I read\nthe other day of a baby which was carried off by a tiger, and yet it\nwas saved.\"\n\n\"My papa has been in a great many battles, and he never was even\nwounded,\" said Annie. \"Do you think we shall ever get away from here,\nSarah?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" returned Sarah, hopefully. \"Everybody will be looking for you\nby this time. But you must mind what I tell you, and not stir from this\nplace, whatever happens.\"\n\n\"I will mind,\" said Annie. \"But won't you be here, Sarah?\"\n\n\"Yes, but I might be asleep or something,\" answered Sarah.\n\nShe began to realize their position more clearly than she had done\nbefore. They were a long way from any frequented part of the mountain.\nIt was very cold, and she was thinly dressed, even if she had not given\nup her frock to Annie, and she thought it not unlikely that she might\nbe chilled to death by morning.\n\n\"Annie,\" said she, \"do you know any more Bible verses?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, a great many.\"\n\n\"Say them for me, will you? They will help to pass away the time.\"\n\nAnnie repeated her texts reverently. Sarah listened with fixed\nattention.\n\n\"Say that again,\" said she, as Annie repeated, \"'Come unto me, all ye\nthat labour.' Who said that?\"\n\n\"The Lord Jesus,\" answered Annie; \"and oh, Sarah, I know some more\npretty verses, about a lost sheep. They were in my lesson last Sunday.\"\nAnd Annie repeated the parable beginning, \"'What man of you, having an\nhundred sheep\u2014'\"\n\n\"Grandma said that meant the Lord Jesus,\" said Annie. \"She said his\npeople were his sheep; and when one of them strays away and gets\nlost, he goes and finds him and brings him back. 'We' are lost in the\nwilderness, you know, Sarah.\"\n\n\"I know 'I' am,\" said Sarah, sadly.\n\n\"And so I think he will send some one to find us. Is it almost morning?\"\n\n\"Not yet, but it will be pretty soon. I guess you had better lie down\nagain. I am afraid you will catch cold.\"\n\n\"I 'am' cold,\" said Annie, shivering. \"Are you?\"\n\n\"Lie down, and I will lie down by you; then we can keep each other\nwarm.\"\n\nAnnie was soon asleep again, but Sarah could not sleep. She was too\ncold and anxious; and besides that, her head was full of new ideas. Was\nGod really her Father? Had he taken care of her all these years that\nshe had gone on never thinking of him or caring to please him? Did he\nreally love her, and was she one of those lost sheep the Lord had come\nto find?\n\nShe began to think over all she had heard about him. It was not much.\nAs she had truly told Fanny, her father would not permit good books to\ncome into his house. All she knew of the sacred volume she had learned\nby reading it in the district school, and she had never been to school\nvery regularly. Yet she could remember a good many things, after all.\nThere was the verse Deacon Crane had talked about at the meeting that\nnight.\n\nSuppose she should confess her sins then and there, would He indeed\nforgive them and take them all away, as the deacon had said? Yes, it\nwas all true. She felt quite sure that it was true. She hid her face\nin her hands for a long time; and when she again raised it, her bright\nblack eyes were wet with tears, and her face wore an expression of\npeaceful awe.\n\nShe drew the covering closer over Annie, and lay down as near as\npossible to her side, repeating Annie's verse, \"'I will both lay me\ndown in peace, and sleep.'\"\n\nShe had hardly lost herself five minutes when something roused her.\nShe sat up and listened intently. Yes, some animal was coming up the\nmountain-side directly toward them. She could hear the patter of its\nfeet on the dry leaves, and her heart beat fast and thick. Could it be\na wolf or a panther? It was not unlikely, for there were plenty of them\non the other side of the mountain, she knew. She could now hear the\nsound distinctly, and see the movement of the branches below. Oh for\na club or a stout stick! She snatched up a stone\u2014the only weapon she\ncould find\u2014and threw herself directly before Annie, but she dropped it\nthe next moment as the supposed wolf pushed his way through the bushes\nand sprung upon her neck, licking her face and hands and yelping with\ndelight.\n\nHugh and Steeprock were still some distance below, and had stopped an\ninstant to take breath, when Fox came dashing down toward them. He ran\nto his master, jumped upon him, and then ran back the way he had come.\nThe Indian uttered a yell which resounded far and wide; and springing\nforward as if his great age had been no more than five-and-twenty, he\nbounded up the mountain-side at a pace which left Hugh far behind.\n\nHugh followed as quickly as he could, and stood at his side. The old\nman was bending down, and beckoned him to approach.\n\nThere lay Annie, fast asleep on her bed of leaves, and across the\nentrance of the little cave lay Sarah, looking as if she were in the\nsleep that knows no waking in this world.\n\n\"Are they dead?\" Hugh managed somehow to ask.\n\n\"Not the little one,\" replied Steeprock. \"She fast asleep. You got\nbottle in your pocket?\"\n\nHugh produced his travelling-flask, and with some difficulty forced\nsome of the spirit it contained between Sarah's lips. She gasped,\nsighed, and opened her eyes.\n\n\"Where is Annie?\" was her first question.\n\n\"Here, safe and sound. Annie dear, wake up. Here is Uncle Hugh come for\nyou.\"\n\n\"Uncle Hugh!\" said Annie, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. \"How did you\ncome here?\"\n\n\"I came after you, my little lost lamb,\" said Mr. Brandon, taking Annie\nin his arms, \"but I see somebody was before me. My dear girl, what has\nbecome of your frock?\"\n\n\"I put it over Annie,\" said Sarah, blushing crimson, and shrinking into\nthe farthest corner of the cave, as she suddenly remembered that she\nwas half undressed. \"I was so afraid she would freeze to death.\" And\npulling out her dress from among the green branches, she slipped it on\nwith all speed.\n\n\"Ugh! S'pose you freeze yourself,\" said Steeprock. \"What you say now,\nHugh? Didn't I tell you another girl gone up here? Old Indian no fool,\neh?\"\n\n\"No, indeed! But who could guess that they could both reach this place\nwithout being killed?\"\n\n\"God took care of us, I guess,\" said Annie, who was now quite cool and\ncollected. \"But how did you know where we were?\"\n\n\"It was this good old man who found you, my dear,\" said Hugh, turning\nto Steeprock, who was composedly filling his pipe by way of improving\nthe time. \"But I am afraid all our finding would have been in vain,\nonly for Sarah. My dear girl, how shall we ever thank you?\"\n\n\"You needn't thank me at all,\" replied Sarah, rather gruffly. \"Annie\nnever would have been lost only for me. It was all my fault, leaving\nher alone in the first place.\"\n\n\"No, it wasn't your fault, either,\" said Annie, rather petulantly. \"I\nought to have minded, and stayed at the spring when you went to get the\nsnail shells for me. Did you find any?\"\n\n\"Yes, here they are in my pocket,\" said Sarah, laughing rather\nhysterically. \"I will get you something prettier some day.\"\n\n\"And you made my bed and put your own frock over me, and heard me say\nmy prayers, and all,\" continued Annie. \"I think you are the 'bestest'\ngirl in the world.\"\n\n\"Pretty nice girl!\" said Steeprock, approvingly. \"Once I had a daughter\njust so big. You pretty nice girl too. S'pose you got kiss for old\nIndian?\"\n\nAnnie put up her face to be kissed, though. She felt considerable awe\nof the old man.\n\n\"Now we go home,\" continued Steeprock. \"You take the baby, and I take\nthis one.\"\n\n\"I'm not a baby,\" said Annie, indignantly. \"I am seven years old, and I\ncan read and write.\"\n\n\"Oh no; you great big woman,\" said the Indian, soothingly. \"All the\nsame; you let Hugh carry you.\"\n\nAnnie was very willing to be carried, and the party set out to return.\nThe proverb that \"to go down the hill is easy\" is not always true, by\nany means. The descent in the present instance was both difficult and\ndangerous. They could only go very slowly and carefully, and Sarah, who\nwas much exhausted, fell more than once.\n\n\"You fire your pistol,\" said Steeprock, at last. \"Maybe someone hear\nand come to meet us. This girl can't walk much farther. She clear worn\nout.\"\n\n\"Never mind me,\" said Sarah, sitting down wearily. \"I can stay here\nvery well. Just carry Annie home, and leave me here.\"\n\n\"That would not do at all,\" said Mr. Brandon. He fired three shots as\nhe spoke\u2014the signal which had been agreed upon.\n\nAn answering shout told that he had been heard, and presently three or\nfour of the young men came up. A volley of shots now rang through the\nwoods, proclaiming to all within hearing that the lost child was found.\nTwo of the Crane boys made a \"lady chair\" with their hands, and Sarah\nwas persuaded to let herself be carried down to the red house. She\nbegan to feel very tired and confused, and nearly fell from her seat\nmore than once.\n\nMrs. Cassell and Mrs. Lilly were called out by the shouts, and met the\nparty in the garden.\n\n\"It was all my fault, grandma,\" called out Annie as soon as she saw\nMrs. Cassell. \"Sarah thinks it was hers, but it wasn't. And she found\nme 'way up in the mountain, and made me a nice little bed.\"\n\n\"It was even so,\" said Mr. Brandon. \"Sarah found her first, and her\ncare and good sense saved the child's life.\"\n\n\"Bless you, my dear!\" said Mrs. Lilly, taking Sarah in her arms and\nkissing her. \"But how cold you are! You are shivering all over. You\nmust go right to bed and have some hot soup. Oney has it all ready on\nthe stove.\"\n\n\"I guess I had better go home,\" said Sarah, wearily. \"I shall make you\ntoo much trouble.\"\n\n\"You don't stir a foot this night,\" said Mrs. Lilly, positively. \"You\nmust go to bed directly.\"\n\nSarah was in no condition to resist Mrs. Lilly's strenuous kindness,\neven if she had wished to do so. A deathly faintness was stealing over\nher; and when she was undressed by Oney and put into bed, her head\nsank on the pillow as if it would never rise again. She wanted nothing\nbut to lie still. But Oney, whose experienced eye knew the symptoms\nof dangerous exhaustion, would not let her sleep till she had taken\nseveral spoonfuls of strong hot soup.\n\nAt last, all was still. The neighbours who had helped in the search\nwere dismissed with thanks. Old Steeprock camped down on the kitchen\nfloor, with his dog beside him, preferring that accommodation to\nWilly's bed, which the boy offered him. Annie was already asleep in her\ngrandmother's arms, and all was quiet about the old red house.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n_REPENTANCE._\n\nTHE next day Annie did not get up, but in the course of a week, she was\nplaying about as lively as ever. But Sarah still lay on her sick-bed,\nand it seemed doubtful whether she would ever rise from it again. The\nchill she had received on the mountain resulted in an attack of acute\nrheumatism, which chained her hand and foot, and was accompanied by a\nsevere cough.\n\nIt was well for her that she was at Mrs. Lilly's instead of at home.\nMrs. Lilly put her into the best bedroom down stairs, and she and Oney\nwaited on her night and day, while Mrs. Cassell and Mrs. Brandon made\nher up a set of nice underclothes, and nobody thought anything too\nmuch to do for the girl who had risked her own life to save little\nAnnie. Sarah's mother came to see her, and would fain have established\nherself at the red house altogether, but she was nothing of a nurse,\nand it seemed as if she could not come near Sarah without hurting her.\nBesides, as Oney said, she needed twice as much waiting on as Sarah\nherself. And so Mrs. Lilly, who was not a woman to be imposed upon,\nsoon gave her to understand that Sarah did not need her, and that she\nhad better go home and take care of her own house and family.\n\nMrs. Leyman departed, shaking off the dust from her feet, and declaring\nthat she would never enter the house again, whatever happened. They had\ngot Sarah away from her, she said, and now they might take care of her\ntill they were tired of it. They were a set of Pharisees, anyhow, who\nnever would do anything for poor folks except in their own way; and if\nSarah was going to join them and turn against her, she (Mrs. Leyman)\nwould have no more to do with her.\n\nFor three or four weeks Sarah lay very sick, and Dr. Perkins came every\nday to see her. She was wonderfully patient and grateful for all that\nwas done for her, and Mrs. Lilly said it was surprising to see the\nwild girl so tamed. One day, when Sarah was able to talk a little, she\ncalled the old lady to her bedside.\n\n\"Mrs. Lilly,\" said she, \"do you think I shall ever get well?\"\n\n\"I don't know, my dear,\" answered Mrs. Lilly, frankly. \"I hope so, but\nnobody can say for certain.\"\n\n\"Did Willy tell you what I told him that day\u2014I mean about the pie and\nthe gingerbread?\" asked Sarah.\n\n\"Yes; he told me that you got them, and that you were sorry. Did you\never take anything else?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Sarah; \"only I have sometimes picked an apple when I was\ngoing through the orchard. I got the pie more in fun than for anything\nelse.\"\n\n\"So I supposed,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"Did Fanny know about it?\"\n\n\"I don't want to say anything about Fanny,\" replied Sarah. Then, after\na pause: \"Mrs. Lilly, did you and Oney really make fun of me for coming\nto the meeting that night, and say you should think I would be ashamed\nto come looking so?\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" answered Mrs. Lilly. \"I was very glad to see you\nthere, as I told you at the time. Who could have told you such a story?\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Sarah. \"Somebody did, and I was just fool enough\nto believe it. It almost killed me, I can tell you. I made up my mind\nthat night that I would try to be good, and I was going to ask you to\ngive me a Bible or Testament, and then Fanny\u2014\" Sarah stopped short and\nlooked very much vexed.\n\n\"Go on,\" said Mrs. Lilly, quietly. \"'And then Fanny\u2014'\"\n\n\"I didn't mean to tell,\" said Sarah, \"but it is out now. Well, Fanny\ntold me how you made fun of me for coming, and said you meant to shut\nme up in the asylum. That almost broke my heart, for I always thought\nyou were so good\u2014like Aunt Sally. And when I heard that, it made me\nfeel as if there was nothing real or true in heaven or earth, and I\nmight as well do one thing as another.\"\n\n\"Poor child! I don't wonder. But now tell me, Sarah\u2014for it is very\nimportant that I should know the true story\u2014did Fanny have anything to\ndo with stealing the pie?\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose I may as well, though I never meant to say a word\nabout it,\" said Sarah. And she went on to give the whole history of\nthat unlucky Sunday afternoon.\n\n\"I felt sorry enough afterward,\" she concluded, \"and I wanted to tell\nyou so, and to make it up somehow, but Fanny seemed afraid to have me\nsay a word, and I thought it would be mean to get her into a scrape\nafter I had eaten my share of the pie. I sent you the raspberries,\nthough, to make up. And afterward, when the bull chased us\u2014I don't know\nwhether you heard about that\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes, Willy told me.\"\n\n\"Well, then I wanted to tell you again, but Fanny wouldn't consent. She\nsaid afterward that you were very angry with me for letting the bull\nout of his pasture, but indeed I didn't do it.\"\n\n\"He did not get out of the pasture,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"He was in\nhis stable, and I don't know to this day how he got loose. I always\nsupposed it was some of Pat's carelessness, and never thought of\nblaming you.\"\n\n\"Well, there is no use in going over it all,\" said Sarah, wearily.\n\"Only that night when I was up on the mountain with Annie, I heard her\nsay her little prayers and verses before she went to sleep. And she\ntold me some things in her innocent way that encouraged me, and I made\nup my mind that if I got down alive, I would try to be a Christian like\nAunt Sally. And I want you to tell me how, for I don't know any more\nabout it than a wild Indian or a heathen.\"\n\n\"I am sure I will tell you all I know, my dear child,\" said Mrs. Lilly,\nmuch affected. \"The way is very plain and easy, as the Scripture says,\n'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved'\u2014believe\nthat he came to save all of us, and you in particular; that he died to\nredeem you, and that he now lives in heaven to intercede for you.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that he really cares about 'me'\u2014me in particular?\" asked\nSarah, with eyes full of wonder.\n\n\"I mean just that, Sarah. You are one of the lost sheep that, he came\nto seek and to save. If you will but believe on him, your sins will\nbe forgiven and washed away, and God will give you the Holy Spirit to\ndwell in your heart and help you to do right.\"\n\n\"It seems too good to be true,\" said Sarah. \"Is it in the Bible? Read\nit to me, please, will you?\"\n\nMrs. Lilly brought her old Bible and read, and Sarah lay and listened\ntill a look of sweet peace and contentment stole over her face. But\npresently she grew troubled again.\n\n\"I have been so wicked,\" said she. \"I never really knew before how bad\nI have been. It doesn't seem as if he could ever forgive 'me'.\"\n\n\"'Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow,'\"\nrepeated Mrs. Lilly. \"Scarlet is the hardest colour to get out. The\npaper-makers say so, and they have to use the red rags to make that\nreddish blotting-paper that you have seen. When God forgives us, he\nwashes away our sins and makes our souls clean and white again. And so\nhe will do by you, if you ask him to do it for his dear Son's sake.\"\n\n\"I am sure I 'am' sorry,\" murmured Sarah. \"Mrs. Lilly, please ask him\nfor me.\"\n\nMrs. Lilly prayed with Sarah, and Sarah joined in the prayer with her\nwhole heart.\n\n\"Now you have talked enough for once,\" said Mrs. Lilly, after a little\nsilence. \"Another time we will take the subject up again.\"\n\n\"I want to say one thing more,\" said Sarah, eagerly\u2014\"only one thing,\nbecause I may not be able to talk another time. Please sit down and let\nme tell you, and then my mind will be quite easy.\"\n\nMrs. Lilly sat down again, wisely thinking it better to let Sarah free\nher mind, and Sarah went over her plan for seeing her Aunt Caroline and\npersuading her to take Ally.\n\n\"Was that what you wanted Fanny to give you the money for?\" asked Mrs.\nLilly.\n\n\"Yes, but I never asked her to give it to me. I only wanted to borrow\nit till I could earn something. But won't you write to Aunt Caroline\nyourself, and tell her the story and ask her to take Ally and bring her\nup? She may have her all to herself, and I won't even come near her if\nAunt Caroline doesn't want me to. Ally is real clever and good, though\nshe isn't pretty, and I am sure Aunt Caroline would like her and do\nwell by her. Won't you ask her, please?\"\n\n\"I will write this very day,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"I think your plan is\nan excellent one. But now you must rest, and try to sleep before the\ndoctor comes, or he will scold us all round for letting you talk so\nmuch.\"\n\nMrs. Lilly wrote that day, as she had promised, and read the letter to\nSarah, but she added a postscript which she did not think it necessary\nto show.\n\nThe result was that Aunt Caroline came over to see the state of things\nfor herself. She made acquaintance with the girls and talked matters\nover with Mrs. Lilly, and finally she carried Ally home to live with\nher, taking the precaution to have her legally bound till she came of\nage.\n\nMr. Leyman demurred at first, but certain little matters in the line\nof stealing lumber and iron from the quarries having come to Squire\nHolden's ears, it was hinted to Mr. Leyman that unless he consented to\ndo what was deemed best for his children, the place would speedily be\nmade too hot to hold him. Mr. Leyman sold his place not long afterward,\nand he and his wife, accompanied by Miss Clarke, went off to Utah,\nregretted by nobody in Hillsborough.\n\n\nAnd where was Fanny all this time? Fanny was more unhappy and more\nashamed than she had ever been before in all her life. She had made up\nher mind that as Annie was found, and, as she expressed it, no great\nharm was done, after all, things would go on just as usual.\n\nShe had come down to the breakfast table next morning prepared to be\nvery amiable, and even expecting to be something of a heroine for her\nshare in the adventure. She was astounded when Mrs. Lilly ordered her\nback to her room with an admonition not to leave it again till she had\npermission, which, she added, would not be very soon. In vain Fanny\ncried and protested that she didn't mean to and she couldn't help it.\nMrs. Lilly was deaf to all such excuses. She saw that Fanny needed a\nsevere lesson, and she meant that it should not be wanting.\n\nFor a whole week Fanny stayed in her room, with nobody to speak to,\nand no other recreation than a very short walk every day with her\ngrandmother or Oney. When she was at last permitted to come down\nstairs, she found that her troubles were by no means at an end. Nobody\ntook any notice of her. Nobody asked her any questions or listened when\nshe spoke, her grandmother only saying,\u2014\n\n\"I don't want to hear anything from you, Fanny. You have told so many\nlies that nobody can believe a word you say, and so I prefer that you\nshould say nothing.\"\n\nFanny was not allowed to go out of sight of the door, and she was\nmade in every way to feel that nobody trusted her. At first she tried\nto harden herself and think that she did not care, and then that she\nwas terribly abused, but all did not answer. She was very miserable,\nand began to wish in earnest to be a good girl. The first sign of\nimprovement was seen in her beginning to wait upon Sarah, who was now\nable to sit up and to use her hands a little, though she could not walk\nor even bear her weight at all. Fanny had begun by keeping entirely out\nof her way, and putting on a very injured look whenever Sarah's name\nwas mentioned before her. But now she began to do little offices for\nthe invalid\u2014to bring her fresh water and set flowers on the table by\nher side, at first without speaking a word. One day she rather timidly\nasked Sarah if she should read for her.\n\n\"Oh yes, please,\" said Sarah, eagerly. \"My eyes are so soon tired, and\nit hurts me to hold the book.\"\n\n\"I will read to you every day if you want me to,\" said Fanny. \"I love\nto read aloud.\"\n\n\"I am sure I shall be glad to have you,\" said Sarah. \"Fanny, are you\nangry with me now?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Fanny, sadly, \"but I did not know whether you would care\nto have me talk to you. Nobody does, nowadays.\"\n\nSarah did not exactly know what to say, so she bent forward and kissed\nFanny. Fanny returned the kiss and burst into tears.\n\n\"Don't cry,\" said Sarah, tenderly.\n\n\"I can't help it,\" sobbed Fanny, \"I am so very unhappy. But I won't\nbother you with my crying. I have made trouble enough already.\"\n\n\"Fanny,\" said Sarah, detaining her as Fanny was about to go away, \"why\ndon't you tell Grandma Lilly all about it, and ask her to forgive you?\nI am sure she would if you asked her. She did me.\"\n\n\"You were not half so bad as I have been,\" said Fanny. \"Oh, Sarah, I\nwas so mean to you. I told you grandma made fun of you, and it wasn't\ntrue. And all the time I used to play with you, I felt so above you.\"\n\n\"I know you did,\" answered Sarah. \"I never could understand why;\nthough, of course, your folks were rich and respectable, and all that,\nbut that was no merit of yours. But never mind now. Come, Fanny, tell\ngrandma all about it. I am sure you will feel better, and that she will\nforgive you, and it will be all right again.\"\n\nFanny shook her head sadly. \"I don't feel as if it would ever be right\nagain,\" said she. \"Don't you want a hot brick for your feet?\"\n\n\"Yes, please. They are cold nearly all the time.\"\n\n\nThe next day Oney was going over to R\u2014, and Fanny timidly asked if she\nmight send for some worsted.\n\n\"Yes, if you choose,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"Why do you want it?\"\n\n\"I want to crochet some thick, warm slippers for Sarah. She says her\nfeet are cold all the time.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Mrs. Lilly, evidently pleased. \"Tell Oney what you\nwant, and she will buy it for you.\"\n\n\"I would rather buy it with my own money, please,\" said Fanny.\n\n\"Oh, very well. If you want to make Sarah a pretty present, I have no\nobjection, my dear.\"\n\nIt was the first time Mrs. Lilly had said \"my dear\" since that unlucky\nday, and the words brought the tears into Fanny's eyes. She had begun\nto feel the value of that kindness and affection which she had always\naccepted as her just due.\n\n\"I am sure I should like to do something for somebody,\" said she.\n\n\"You can do a great deal for everybody, Fanny, but then you must begin\nin the right way.\"\n\nOney bought the worsted, and Fanny began the slippers. She was rather\napt to grow tired of work and throw it aside when it was half done, but\nshe persevered with the slippers, and Sarah was delighted with them.\n\n\"I never saw anything so pretty, and how soft and warm they are!\" said\nshe. \"If I had some wool, I would try making a pair for Grandma Lilly.\nI know how to crochet a little.\"\n\nNow, Fanny had decided in her own mind to use the rest of the wool for\na pair of slippers for herself. But as Sarah said this, a thought came\ninto her mind, and she acted on it immediately.\n\n\"You may have this wool if you want it, Sarah; then the present will be\npartly yours and partly mine.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you,\" said Sarah. \"But suppose you make one and I the other?\"\n\n\"Well, just as you like,\" answered Fanny. And this was almost the first\ntime in her life that she had ever sacrificed her own pleasure or\nconvenience to another person.\n\n\"Fanny,\" said Sarah as she laid down her work to rest her hands\u2014\"Fanny,\nhave you made it right with Grandma Lilly yet?\"\n\n\"No,\" returned Fanny, sighing. \"I don't see that things are any nearer\nto coming round than ever.\"\n\n\"Things don't 'come' round, Fanny. You have got to cut them round or\nroll them round, or something.\"\n\n\"Maybe so. But, you see, the trouble is, I don't know how to begin.\nGrandma don't believe a word I say, and no wonder,\" said Fanny,\nsighing. \"I have been such a liar all my life. I don't know how to\nbelieve myself when I say I am sorry. I hate myself, and I wish I was\nsomebody else. However, I believe I will tell her. Things can't be much\nworse than they are.\"\n\n\"Do,\" said Sarah. \"Tell her to-night when you are going to the\nschoolhouse:\" for it was Thursday night, and some sort of religious\nservice was always held in the schoolhouse on that evening.\n\n\nFanny was as good as her word. That night, coming home from the\nCorners, she confessed everything without reserve, telling her\ngrandmother of many acts of disobedience which she had never suspected.\n\n\"I don't know whether you will believe me or not, grandma,\" she\nconcluded, \"but indeed I am telling the truth now.\"\n\n\"I believe you, Fanny,\" said Mrs. Lilly.\n\n\"I shouldn't blame you if you didn't,\" continued Fanny, \"I have told\nso many lies. Grandma,\" she added, in a low, frightened voice, \"I told\nlies to God when I said my prayers. I said I was sorry when I wasn't,\nand when I meant all the time to do the very same things again. Do you\nthink he will ever forgive me?\"\n\n\"Certainly, my child. He will not only forgive you, but will help you\nto do better another time. Now, Fanny, can you tell me what has been\nthe root of all your troubles?\u2014What has made you disobey me so many\ntimes?\"\n\n\"I wanted my own way,\" said Fanny, after a little consideration.\n\n\"Exactly; and when you had done so very wrong that Sunday, and Sarah\nwanted to come and confess, as I know she did, why did you hinder\nher? Why did you take so much pains to prevent her from going to the\nmeetings and from coming to talk to me, as she intended doing?\"\n\n\"I thought you would find out all about me and punish me. I wanted you\nto think I was a good girl when I wasn't.\"\n\n\"Then, my dear, it has been your love of self which has been at the\nbottom of all the mischief. Don't you see that it is so?\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said Fanny, promptly. \"It has always been just so. I never\ncould bear to give up to anybody or do anything for anybody unless\nit was something that I liked myself, and yet I thought people ought\nalways to give up to me. And everybody did give up to me at home,\ntill Arthur came. Mamma used to say it made children deceitful to be\ncontradicted.\"\n\n\"Do you think that excuses you now, Fanny?\" asked Mrs. Lilly, thinking,\nhowever, that the tree had borne such fruit as might have been expected.\n\n\"No, grandma, but you don't know how hard it is for me to give up the\nleast little thing that I want. It seems as if I couldn't. That day on\nthe mountain, Sarah didn't want to leave Annie alone. After we started\nto go away, she wanted to come back, and I wouldn't let her, because I\nwanted to know what she had to say. And, after all, I would not lend\nher the money.\"\n\n\"There was nothing wrong in that,\" observed Mrs. Lilly. \"It would not\nhave been proper for you to lend such a large sum without asking me.\nSarah herself sees that now.\"\n\nFanny shook her head. \"That was not the reason,\" said she. \"I was ready\nenough to spend the money in other ways\u2014to buy candy and 'dime novels,'\nsuch as I knew you wouldn't want me to have. And then I told so many\nlies about Annie. She might have been found directly and Sarah might\nhave been well this minute. Do you think Sarah will ever be well again?\"\n\n\"I don't know, my dear. Her state is very discouraging. I do not see\nthat she gains the use of her feet in the least. But, Fanny, how is it\nto be with you hereafter? Do you mean to go on in the same way, living\nfor self and nothing else?\"\n\n\"Not if I can help it, grandma. I have tried not to be selfish lately,\nand I have asked God to help me, too, but it is hard work.\"\n\n\"Yes, I dare say\u2014much harder than if you had been trained to give up\nfor others when you were young.\"\n\n\"I don't want you to blame mamma, grandma,\" said Fanny, flushing a\nlittle. \"It wasn't her fault at all. I am sure she meant to do just\nright.\"\n\n\"We won't blame anybody, dear,\" said Mrs. Lilly, not displeased by this\nlittle outbreak. \"We will only try to do better in future. I will give\nyou a verse, Fanny, which I think may help you: 'Whosoever will come\nafter me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.'\nDo you know who said that?\"\n\n\"The Lord Jesus.\"\n\n\"Yes, and he says again: 'Whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come\nafter me, cannot be my disciple.' You must try as much as you can to\ndeny 'yourself'\u2014to put yourself out of the question and live for other\npeople. You must think about yourself as little as possible, and never\nlose a chance of putting yourself aside when you can do good or even\ngive pleasure by it.\"\n\n\"It doesn't seem as though it was in me to do that,\" said Fanny,\nshaking her head. \"Grandma, I should just like to be made new, to be\nmade over altogether.\"\n\n\"Well, dear, that is just what your heavenly Father is ready to do for\nyou\u2014to 'create a clean heart and renew a right spirit' within you,\nas the Psalm says. If you ask him, he will so change your heart and\ndisposition that you will love to do his will. You will love him, and\nbecause you love him, you will want to be like him and to make your\nwhole life one sacrifice to him. I do not say that you will not do\nwrong a great many times, but whenever you do, you will be sorry and\nnot rest till God has forgiven you. If you persevere in this course,\nyou will grow more and more like him every day. Your life will be a\nblessing to all around you and the beginning of eternal happiness to\nyourself.\"\n\n\nAll the rest of the summer Sarah sat helpless in her arm-chair, unable\nto stand for a moment. One bright day in September, Mrs. Cassell came\nup to see Mrs. Lilly and consult her about a plan for the sick girl's\nbenefit. Mrs. Cassell had a friend at the head of a great institution\nwhere some wonderful cures had been performed on rheumatic patients.\nDoctor Henry was to be at Mrs. Cassell's house on a certain day, and\nMrs. Cassell proposed to bring him up to examine Sarah and see if\nanything could be done for her. Mrs. Lilly consented, but thought Sarah\nhad better not know anything about the matter, and to this Mrs. Cassell\nagreed. Mrs. Lilly herself was not at all hopeful about Sarah, and she\ndid not think it best to excite the child's own hopes of recovery.\n\nDoctor Henry came at the appointed day, and examined Sarah very\ncarefully before pronouncing an opinion. He thought she might be cured,\nbut she would need a long course of treatment and great care.\n\n\"I should like to take her home with me and see what can be done,\" said\nthe doctor. \"Has she any friends?\"\n\n\"Plenty,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"If you will undertake the case, I will pay\nher expenses. My children do not need my help, and I have more money\nthan I know what to do with.\"\n\n\"With your permission, Mrs. Lilly, that is our part of the business,\"\nsaid Mrs. Cassell, smiling. \"My son-in-law has written to me to spare\nno expense.\"\n\n\"Well, we won't quarrel about it,\" said Mrs. Lilly. \"When would you\nlike to have her go, doctor?\"\n\n\"I shall be here again in two weeks, and will take her home with me,\"\nanswered the doctor.\n\nAnd so it was settled. Sarah was to return with the doctor, and Oney\nwas to go with her and see her settled. Sarah did not know whether to\nbe pleased or sorry. She had been happier since her illness than ever\nbefore in her life, and she dreaded to leave Mrs. Lilly and Fanny, whom\nshe loved more than ever. But then she was very anxious to get well and\nbe able to earn her own living as well as to do something for Ally, now\nhappily domesticated with Aunt Caroline.\n\n\"I can't make up my mind whether I like it or not,\" she said, in answer\nto Oney's question. \"I am glad it has been all settled for me; for if I\nhad to choose, I should not know what to say.\"\n\n\"Well, it is all settled, you see, so you needn't say anything at all,\"\nremarked Oney. \"Fanny, if you sew so steadily all day, you will have a\nheadache again. Run out to the barn and hunt up some fresh eggs, that\nis a good girl.\"\n\n\"How she has worked making my things!\" remarked Sarah, after Fanny\nhad left the room. \"She used to say that she hated sewing. It seems a\nshame that every one should be working so hard for me, and I can't do\nanything.\"\n\n\"It has been a very good thing for Fanny, though,\" said Oney, \"and has\ngiven me more hopes of her than anything else. I believe she will turn\nout a good girl yet, and that is more than I would have said of her six\nmonths ago\u2014or of you, either, for that matter,\" added Oney to herself.\n\n\nSarah went away to \"The Cure,\" and, contrary to her expectation, she\nfound herself very happy there. Every one was kind to her, and after\nshe once began to amend, her health improved rapidly.\n\nA lady who was staying in the house undertook to teach her in the\nthings she so much wanted to know. And very happy was Sarah when she\nsucceeded in writing a letter to Fanny without one misspelled word.\n\nBut Sarah found something else beside her health at the Spring. She\nfound her business and place in life. As she grew better and able to\ngo about the house, she showed a remarkable aptitude for nursing and\nwaiting on the sick. Doctor Henry, who saw most things that went on\naround him, one day called Sarah into his office.\n\n\"You are almost well now,\" said he, after he had asked her several\nquestions about her health. \"What are you going to do with yourself?\"\n\n\"I must go to work at something,\" answered Sarah. \"There is no use in\nmy living on Grandma Lilly any more. I don't know enough to teach, so I\nsuppose I must go out to work.\"\n\n\"The world is running over with teachers,\" remarked the doctor, \"and\nthere are plenty of other things to be done.\"\n\nAnd then he proceeded to open his plan, which was that Sarah should be\nregularly educated for a nurse. \"You seem to have a natural talent for\nthat sort of thing, and it is a pity it should be wasted. I have been\nsurprised to see how handily you adapt yourself to the work. Have you\never had any experience?\"\n\n\"Only what I have gained in waiting on Ally,\" said Sarah.\n\n\"However you learned it, you certainly have it,\" said the doctor.\n\"A skilful nurse is sure to have plenty of practice, and that of a\nprofitable kind, and there is no place in which a good woman can make\nherself more useful. To be sure, it is hard work.\"\n\n\"Everything worth doing is hard work sometimes,\" remarked Sarah, \"but I\nthink doing nothing is the hardest work of all.\"\n\n\"Very true,\" said Doctor Henry. \"Well, take time to think and pray\nover it, and write to your friends. If you decide to undertake the\nprofession, I will find a place in the house for you, and will see that\nyou have all needful instruction.\"\n\nSarah did think and pray over the matter, and finally concluded to\naccept the doctor's offer.\n\n\"Well, I must say I did wonder at your choice of a profession when I\nheard of it,\" said Fanny, on one of their meetings at the red house,\nwhich Sarah still called home, and whither she always came to spend her\nvacations. \"I think I should rather do almost anything else. And you\nknow, Sarah, grandma and Mrs. Cassell both offered to educate you for\na teacher. How did it happen that you decided to take up nursing for a\nbusiness?\"\n\n\"I can't pretend to tell you all about it,\" replied Sarah, \"only when I\nbegan to go about, I wanted something to do, and I began to wait on a\nsick lady whose room was next mine. So one thing led to another, and I\nseemed just to have found my place. I did not so much choose it as it\nchose me. Besides, I like to be a person of consequence,\" she added,\nsmiling. \"Teachers go begging nowadays, but people come begging for\nnurses. There are twice too many of the one and not half enough of the\nother.\"\n\n\"So it seems. I wonder how many letters you have had since you came\nhere? Grandma says you work a great deal too hard.\"\n\n\"I don't mean to work so hard another year,\" said Sarah. \"I am going to\nrest and study and have a nice time with Ally, and in order to do that,\nI must lay up some money. And now, Fanny, what do you mean to be?\"\n\n\"To be Fanny, I guess,\" returned Fanny, smiling. \"I shall never be\nanything great or grand in the world. I shall just go on filling up\nthe chinks and rounding the corners, threading needles for other folks\nto sew with, and carrying bricks for other people's houses. I used to\nthink that I should like to go into a convent or a sisterhood, but I\ncan tell you I find there are plenty of ways to be useful in every-day\nlife, and that one can be just as self-denying and work just as hard in\na gypsy hat as in a cambric cap or a black serge veil.\"\n\n\"Annie has found her vocation, too, with all those little brothers and\nsisters of hers,\" said Sarah. \"You don't know what a grave, motherly\nlittle thing she is, though her face isn't a day older than when she\nwas lost on the mountain.\"","title":"On the mountain : $b or, Lost and found","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":44147}