"I wish I could see it, though," said Lucy to herself, as her aunt left her, "I don't doubt papa has sent something pretty, and I think she might have shewn it to me. I can't think what it can be; it was such a nice little package, all tied up in white paper; I wonder if it was not a pair of new ear rings. I heard her say she needed a new set; I do wish I could see them."
She continued to allow her curiosity to puzzle over the little white bundle, instead of trying to forget it, till her map no longer pleased her in the least; so she left it on the table, and sauntered into her aunt's room, and would not attempt to conquer her idle curiosity, but kept wondering, and wishing to know what was in the paper, that her aunt had taken so much trouble to put up so high and so secretly. It came into her head that she might get up into the same chair and look into the trunk! She saw her aunt walking at the very bottom of the garden, and thought she would never know any thing about it.
Now when this thought first came into Lucy's mind, she knew it was a wicked thought, and she did not intend at first to do so very wrong a thing; but she let it remain in her mind, and thought how easily she might do it if she pleased, till after thinking, and thinking, she determined just to try if she could reach the trunk by standing up in the chair, as her aunt had done; so she crept softly to the closet, placed the chair and got up into it, but she was not tall enough to reach the trunk; so she looked about to see what there was to put into the chair, and make it high enough, and she saw the little cricket on which she had been sitting to play with her map; so she brought that and placed it on the chair, and then she found herself quite tall enough, for she could reach the shelf with ease; she put out her hand tremblingly, for Lucy's conscience told her plainly that she was doing very, very wrong, and the thought made her tremble very much, but she put out her hand and tried to open the trunk. It was locked.
"Now I do know, almost, that it was something very important, since aunt has taken such particular pains to hide it away, and very likely it is something for me too, that papa has sent me, and she won't let me even see it," said Lucy; "I wonder if it was not the very key to this little trunk, that she put into her bureau drawer. I saw her go there after she left the closet. If it was the key, 'tis easy enough to get it, the bureau is not high, I shall not hurt the bundle just to look at it, and I don't mean to touch it; besides, she ought to have shown it to me, if my papa sent it to her."
Lucy crept down carefully from the chair and stood before the bureau—she stopped there—for something said to her that "she was sinning;" but she did not turn resolutely away and busy herself about something else—she did not fly from temptation—but kept thinking that she might easily enough open the drawer, and see if it really was the key which her aunt had put there; till at last she said to herself, "there is no harm in just seeing if the key is in here, I am not obliged to touch it."
She gently opened the drawer; the little key lay down in front, so that she could reach it without opening the drawer any wider. She stood looking awhile—and then this temptation also was too strong; she slipped in her hand and took up the key to see if it was the very same; having it in her hand she no longer hesitated, but once more got upon the chair and put the key into the lock—she turned it—the trunk was opened—and Lucy saw the little package tied up in its white paper, laying in one corner.
O, why did not she then stop and sin no more. Alas! when we go so far wrong it is hard to find the right path back; every step we take renders return more difficult. Lucy had now gone so far out of the path of duty, that she no more thought of any thing but satisfying her curiosity. She took up the parcel, and untied the string; but what can express her great disappointment when she found it contained—only a little white sugar, as she thought it was. Lucy loved sugar, and had often taken a little pinch from the sugar dish on the table, and as she had untied the paper, thought she would just taste a little before she did it up again; she took a pinch of the sugar and was beginning to fold up the paper.
But all this had taken much more time than Lucy had expected; and before she could get it folded up, as she had found it, she heard her aunt on the stairs. And now that the poor girl was likely to be caught doing this naughty thing, she felt all at once how very bad it was; she was dreadfully frightened at the thought of her aunt's finding her in such a guilty situation, and she tried to jump down quickly, but in doing so, her sleeve caught in the fatal key, pulled over the trunk with all its contents upon her; the cricket was unsteady in the chair, it was jostled by her agitation, and Lucy, the cricket, and the trunk, all came together upon the floor with a loud noise.—Her aunt was just then at the door; she was greatly alarmed by the crash, but her fright was intolerable when she entered the chamber; the first glance told her what had happened.
"O, my poor child," said she, "have you tasted it," for the paper of sugar lay scattered all around the floor. Lucy was in such pain she could not answer, but the sugar on her mouth spoke for her,—"Oh run, run quickly for the Doctor," said her aunt, "she has tasted the arsenic!—she is poisoned!"
The servant who had been alarmed at the noise, and was with her in the chamber, went instantly for the Doctor. Poor Lucy, though she was suffering dreadfully from a broken leg, heard all her aunt had said, and she was certain she had spoke the truth, her countenance was so full of pity and of fright; she well knew what she suffered on her account. Lucy thought she must surely die, and to die in the very moment when she was sinning so sadly, to die in consequence of her own wicked conduct, to die in such agonies and convulsions as this poison produces—how shocking! she was already in so much distress from her broken leg, that it was exceedingly difficult to get her on the bed. No one who has not been so unfortunate as to break a bone, can tell how very painful it is.