Now it happened that young Mr. Thomas Russel had come out to assist John in catching his horse, (because he was a frolicksome and troublesome horse to catch) and he was already so near that he heard Lucy's cries. He came to her, kindly took her up and quieted her fears, and showed her that the horse was a long way distant, and then he felt with his stick round in the ditch to find her beautiful lilac slipper. Alas! it was beautiful no longer; for when he fished it out of the muddy gutter on the end of his cane, it was so filled and covered with the filth that no color could be seen. Mr. Russel kindly carried her in his arms to the house, and then he took her slipper to the pump and pumped upon it till he got it clean enough to dry at the fire. An old shoe of Sarah Russel's was found for Lucy to put on, after her stockings and her clothes had been wiped, but it was much too large for her to walk in, if she had been in a condition to walk.
While the rest of the party were enjoying the garden, the summer house, the shrubbery and the lawn, eating fruit and gathering flowers, poor Lucy, placed in a chair by a roasting kitchen fire to dry, her beautiful dress tattered and filthy, her fine satin slippers quite and entirely ruined, her face bruised, and her ancle lame, had time to feel all her folly and perverseness.
"If," said she to herself, "I had not been so self-willed and so very silly as to put on this silk dress, any other, even my best muslin, might have been washed and repaired, and if I had only worn my thick, easy shoes, I should not have slipped at all; and if I had slipped, any other shoes but these might have been made tolerably clean again; but now my beautiful silver crown might as well have been thrown into the sea, for it is all gone and has only purchased pain and disgrace. O how ashamed I shall feel to look at aunt and Emily, for they both told me almost exactly how it would be if I would wear this improper dress, though aunt did not know that I wanted to wear it just to vex that proud Miss Prince; and after all she was not here to see it, and will only rejoice to hear of my mortification and disgrace. I dare say that Emily is as clean and as nice as she was when she came, at least she don't feel so sore, and so dirty, and wet, and uncomfortable as I do, nor so much ashamed."
Lucy shed most bitter tears. She had not the consolation under all these accidents, of feeling that she had had good or innocent motives for wishing to wear the improper dress, and that her friends would pity her; and again she wept over her vanity, her wilfulness, her envy, and malice.
At last she heard the happy party returning to the house full of mirth and gaiety, and as they entered she heard Emily say, "I have looked all round for Lucy, I wonder where she has hidden herself; I suppose she has found something new and delightful in this charming place, but she will soon be here now, because the sun is almost down—our happy day is ended, for mother has ordered the carriage to be ready as soon as tea is over," and she came bounding into the house rosy and smiling with innocent delight; but her countenance became sad as she caught sight of Lucy through the open door, sobbing at the kitchen fire, in the deplorable condition which we have described her.
Emily was immediately at her side, trying with kind words and an affectionate manner, to sooth and comfort her. She was too good-natured to tell Lucy that she suffered for her own faults, she was too kind once to say to her "I told you so, I knew you would be sorry, now don't you wish you had done as I advised you?"—Emily did not say any thing like this; but she looked kindly at her, took hold of her hand, and wiped her eyes, and said, "come, never mind it now dear Lucy, but think of all the pleasures we have had, and what a pleasant ride home we shall have in the moon-shine—and besides, I dare say we shall be able to mend the trimming, I will help you, and see if we can't get out these spots with Cologne water, and some of mother's patent soap, which is made on purpose to take out spots from silk; come, never mind, accidents will happen, and I am so thankful that the horse did not kick you, how frightened we were when he looked so wild."
Thus Emily kindly tried to divert poor Lucy till supper was ready. Now Lucy had thought a great deal about the nice supper, and the good things which she expected to see on the table, but she had cried till her stomach was sick, and her appetite quite gone; she could not taste any of the delicacies on which she had depended so much, and besides, she did not wish to show herself before her aunt and Mrs. Russel in such a condition, so she crept into the carriage which had been drawn up to the door, and waited there till her aunt and cousin were ready.
Lucy's aunt had been told before she reached the house of what had happened, by Mr. Thomas Russel, who had gone out to meet her; but, as he told her that Lucy was not so much hurt as she was mortified and frightened, she spared her the pain of seeing her before company, and even after she was in the carriage, and had begun their ride home, this kind aunt said nothing about the accident; for she thought it best to let Lucy reflect in silence upon the events of the day, that the lessons of experience for which she had paid so very dearly, might induce her to correct those faults from which all her sufferings proceeded.
When they arrived at home, and were all collected in the parlour, Lucy's aunt desired to look at the bruises, and as she kindly bound them up, said to her,—"You have had your first lesson of experience my dear little girl to-day; it has indeed been a hard one, and I dare say will be long remembered; you were much frightened, much bruised, much disappointed, and very much mortified. I am sure I am sorry for your sufferings, but if you will let them convince you, that pride—malice—selfishness—wilfulness—and obstinacy, are all faults which will make you suffer more and more as long as you keep them, you may yet bless this day, as I shall most certainly, as the most fortunate of your life, and worth a purse full of such pieces as that which you have so foolishly thrown away. You start, my little girl, but I assure you that all these dreadful faults were in your heart when you determined to use your father's present as you did, and kept to that determination; for I heard all your conversation with Emily on the day it was received.
"Pride and malice, my dear Lucy," continued her aunt, "induced you to desire to dress yourself so richly, to astonish your friends, and to mortify (as you thought it would) the proud Miss Prince. Selfishness made you unwilling to part with the piece which was in fact sent to Emily, and did in no way belong to you. Wilfulness united to make you resist her advice, when she told you (and from her own experience) that you would be sorry if you dressed in this manner; and lastly, obstinacy made you feel that you 'would rather stay at home' than give up to my wishes and recommendation:—let to-day's experience be sufficient for you, and I shall truly love you; go now, my dear, to bed."