"I liked her so much, and now I feel I shall hate her as long as I live!"
"Hush! You must not speak like that. Muriel has not treated you well, but it is not right to bear malice in your heart."
Marigold knew it was not, so she remained silent. Grace continued kindly—
"I would not make a trouble of this little affair if I were you; and if anything of a like nature occurs again, don't lose your temper. You will not be respected by the other girls if you do, and besides it is very wrong."
"I know it is! Oh dear, what would mother have thought if she had seen me just now! I am so glad you came up in time to stop me from striking Muriel. Oh, I never knew before I had such a dreadful temper!"
"'He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty: and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city,'" quoted Grace softly.
Marigold went home in a very unhappy frame of mind. Her aunts noticed something had gone wrong, but refrained from asking any questions. The little girl prepared her lessons for the next day in a halfhearted sort of way, and went upstairs to her bedroom early, excusing herself on the plea of being tired. Ringing in her ears all the evening had been the words Grace Long had repeated from the sayings of the wise king: "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty: and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."
Marigold flung herself down by the side of her bed, and wept bitterly as she went over in thought the events of the day. Never in her life before had she given away to such a passion of anger. How weak she had been! how easily put out! And yet, when she recalled Muriel's treatment of her, her heart was hot with indignation again. First of all gaining her confidence, and then betraying it without a scruple! Was not such conduct enough to irritate anyone? Muriel was a hateful girl!
"Fight the good fight of faith!"
Marigold started guiltily as her father's motto flashed through her mind. Fight the good fight of faith for the sake of Him who, when He was oppressed and afflicted, opened not His mouth, save to pray for forgiveness for those who had wronged Him. A sense of shame and humiliation crept over the child as she wept. How she had meant to humbly follow in the steps of the Saviour, and how grievously she had erred this day! She had fallen back from the fight; the enemy had beaten her! Oh, if she could only tell her mother, but no, that was impossible; she could not write of the cause of her wrath, the very thought of it made her angry even now, when she was beginning to realise how wrong her passion had been. She did not think she could ever forgive Muriel Wake!