"Yes, Maud deserves it. Here, little one; we know you would rather not take it, but it belongs to you. I do not want to be severe, but I love and prize perfect truth above everything else. And if we are truthful in small matters, we can never be false and dishonest in great ones; but if we allow falsehood to take even a small lodging-place in our hearts, it will be a plague-spot that will spread and poison the soul and ruin character. Whatever it may cause you at the time, cling to the truth, and you will never regret it, for it is the sure and firm foundation-stone of every noble character."
A GIRL WHO COULDN'T BE TRUSTED.
It is the easiest thing in the world for some people to make a promise. They will say yes or no to anything that may be asked of them, sometimes knowing what they say, but often without knowing; sometimes intending to keep their word, and sometimes without thinking or caring anything about it. Such persons are usually very polite and pleasant, full of smiles and soft words, and if one could only rely upon them, they would be very obliging, for you know they will promise anything. But there is just the difficulty; for these easy-tempered, good-natured people who never can bear to say no are oftentimes so very easy-tempered that they are able to utter a falsehood as easily as a truth and feel no disturbance of conscience whatever.
Bessie Hill's character, it must be confessed, was such a one as has just been described. She was a child whom every one loved, for she seemed to love every one, and she appeared so anxious to please, so unwilling to be disobliging, that one who had known her only a short time might have considered her disposition very nearly perfect. Yet if Mr. A., her music-teacher, had been questioned as to what he knew of Bessie, he might have told how every week for a whole quarter she had repeatedly promised to practice for an hour each day, and how, every week in the quarter, she had failed to keep her word, until, at length, his patience would have been completely exhausted had not his little pupil renewed more earnestly than ever the assurance that she would really try to do better. Yet he knew that while he hoped for the best his hope was doomed to be disappointed.
And Miss Ellers, who every Sabbath went to Sunday-school thinking, "How glad I will be if Bessie has learned her lesson, as she said she would do!" and every Sabbath went away sorry because of Bessie's broken promise; and Mrs. Banks, who day after day worried through one imperfect recitation after another in the constant expectation of an improvement which it seemed must come, it had been so often promised,—both of these might have agreed with Mr. A. in saying that Bessie was certainly the most amiable of all their pupils, but, at the same time, the most unreliable. Bessie's mother, too, mourned over this fault of her child, and tried, but tried in vain, to help the little girl to overcome it. She would persist in promising to meet her schoolmates at certain hours and places, and in then going home and forgetting all about her engagements, leaving her friends to wonder where Bessie Hill could be. And she would not give up her habit of running over to Aunt Hester's in the morning and saying: "Auntie, I will come and play with the baby this afternoon," when she knew very well that when afternoon came the baby would probably be left to amuse himself while his little cousin across the street was occupied with some new toy or book, just as though she had made no promise at all. At last Bessie found out by experience what her friends had so long been trying to teach her—that it was very important that she should learn to keep her word.
Among Bessie's companions was one whom she often visited, and whose home was at some distance from Mr. Hill's. The road, over which it was necessary to pass in going from one house to the other was a lonely one, and Bessie had been often told that it was not safe for her to attempt to go back and forth alone. There was usually some one willing to accompany her, and she was too young to be without protection. So it happened that one pleasant Saturday morning her father said: "Come, Bessie, I am going to take a long ride to-day. If you would like to go and see Mary Brown (for that was the little girl's name), I will leave you there on my way and stop for you on my return."
"Thank you, father," answered Bessie. "I would like it very much." So the arrangement was made.