“More shame to you,” cried Mrs. Wingfield, her pale face flushing with anger; “I am sure that a good deal was left this morning. You might have thought of your poor sick mother; she has few enough comforts, I am sure.”
Poor Minnie! she left the room with a very heavy heart; she felt for some minutes as if nothing could cheer her. Angry with her brother, grieved at her mother’s undeserved reproach, as she again sat down to work in the little porch, her tears fell fast over her seam. Presently Conscience, that inward monitor to whose advice the little girl was accustomed to listen, began to make itself heard. “This is foolish, this is wrong,—dry up your tears, they can but give pain to your sick mother. You must patiently bear with the fretfulness of illness, and not add to its burden by showing that you feel it. You know that you have not acted selfishly, you need not regret your own conduct in the affair,—is not that the greatest of comforts? But I know very well,” still Conscience whispered in her heart, “that you never will feel quite peaceful and happy till no anger remains towards your brother. A little sin disturbs peace more than a great deal of sorrow; ask for aid to put away this sin.”
Minnie listened to the quiet voice of Conscience, and gradually her tears stopped and her flushed cheek became cool. She made a hundred excuses in her mind for poor Tom. He had been always much indulged,—he would be sorry for what he had done,—how much better he was than other boys that she knew, who drank, or swore, or stole. And for herself, what a sin it was to have felt so miserable! How many blessings were given her to enjoy! She had health, and sight, and fingers able to do work; and neither she nor her mother had difficulty in procuring it, the ladies around were so kind. Then there was the church, and the school, and the Best of Books;—and the world was so beautiful, with its bright sun and sweet flowers,—there was so much to enjoy, so much to be thankful for! And Minnie raised her eyes to the blue sky above, all dotted over with rosy clouds; for it was the hour of sunset, and she thought of the bright happy place to which her dear father had gone, and how she might hope to join him there, and never know sorrow again. What wonder, with such sweet thoughts for her companions, if Minnie’s face again grew bright, and she worked away in her little porch with a feeling of peace and grateful love in her breast which a monarch might have envied.
CHAPTER V.
CONVERSATION IN THE HIVE.
POOR Sipsyrup! how sadly she stood at the entrance of the hive, where her gentle preserver had left her. The fine down, of which she had been so vain, was all rubbed and injured by her struggles in the web; one of her elegant wings was torn; she felt that all her beauty was gone! She had hardly courage to enter the hive, and was ashamed to be seen by the busy bees flocking in and out of the door. I am not sure that insects can sigh, or I am certain that she must have sighed very deeply. The first thing that gave her the least feeling of comfort was the sound of Silverwing’s friendly hum;—the poor wounded insect exerted her feeble strength, and crept timidly into the hive.
“Sipsyrup!—can it be!” cried Honeyball, rousing herself from a nap as the bee brushed past her.