Poor Miss Thusa! You had better take one more look on those beautiful, silvery rings—for never more will your eyes be gladdened by their beauty! There is a worm in your gourd, a canker in your flower, a cloud floating darkly over those shining filaments.
It is astonishing how wantonly the spirit of mischief sometimes revels in the bosom of childhood! What wild freaks and excursions its superabundant energies indulge in! And when mischief is led on by malice, it can work wonders in the way of destruction.
It happened that Mittie had a gathering of her school companions in the latter part of the day on which we have just entered. Helen, tired of their rude sports, walked away to some quiet nook, with the orphan child. Mittie played Queen over the rest, in a truly royal style. At last, weary of singing and jumping the rope, and singing “Merry O’Jenny,” they launched into bolder amusements. They ran over the flower-beds, leaping from bed to bed, trampling down many a fair, vernal bud, and then trying their gymnastics by climbing the fences and the low trees. A white railing divided Miss Thusa’s bleaching ground, with its winding rill, from the garden, and as they peeped at the white thread shining on the grass, thinking the flaming sword of Miss Thusa’s anger guarded that enclosure, Mittie suddenly exclaimed:
“Let us jump over and dance among Miss Thusa’s thread. It will be better than all the rest.”
“No, no,” cried several, drawing back, “it would be wrong. And I’m afraid of her. I wouldn’t make her mad for all the world.”
“I’ll leave the gate open, and she’ll think the calves have broken in,” cried Mittie, emboldened by the absence of her father, and feeling safety in numbers. “Cowards,” repeated she, seeing they still drew back. “Cowards!—just like Helen. I despise to see any one afraid of any thing. I hate old Madam Thusa, and every thing that belongs to her.”
Vaulting over the fence, for there would have been no amusement in going through the gate, Mittie led the way to the forbidden ground, and it was not long before her companions, yielding to the influence of her bold, adventurous spirit, followed. Disdaining to cross the rustic bridge that spanned the brook, they took off their shoes and waded over its pebbly bed. They knew Miss Thusa’s room was on the opposite side of the house, and while running round it, they had heard the hum of her busy wheel, so they did not fear her watching eye.
“Now,” said Mittie, catching one of the skeins with her nimble feet, and tossing it in the air; “who will play cat’s cradle with me?”
The idea of playing cat’s cradle with the toes, for they had not resumed their shoes and stockings, was so original and laughable, it was received with acclamation, and wild with excitement they rushed in the midst of Miss Thusa’s treasures—and such a twist and snarl as they made was never seen before. They tied more Gordian knots than a hundred Alexanders could sever, made more tangles than Princess Graciosa in the fairy tale could untie.
“What shall we do with it now?” they cried, when the novelty of the occupation wore off, and conscience began to give them a few remorseful twinges.