“Yes,” assented teasing Donald, though he really pitied his little sister. “It’s easy to bear another man’s misfortune like a Christian. Come, youngster, take your whacking like a man.”
“By-the-way, have you had any dinner?” asked Marjorie, of mamma.
“Oh, yes, papa and I went to the Bolingbroke and dined. Come, Cricket, it’s bedtime. I’ll go up with you.”
Cricket stumbled upstairs, blind with tears. Mamma helped her to undress, in her gentle way, and when the little girl was in bed she sat down and talked with her for a while.
“Yes, it’s very hard, little daughter,” said mamma, “but now I want you to think how often your forgetfulness has caused other people to lose as much pleasure as this of yours. I cannot tell you, for instance, how disappointed I am, not to see Mrs. Lynn. She went to New York the next day, and sailed on Saturday for Europe for a long stay. I may not have another chance of meeting her.
“All this is serious, but not so much so, as your forgetting old Mrs. Cummings’s message not long ago, so that her poor husband nearly died before papa could get there. It is not worse than when you forgot to tell Donald that Mr. Marsh wanted him to call at his office on business; or when you didn’t tell papa that Mr. Evans wanted to see him, or when you forgot the children, and gave poor little Helen such an attack of the croup that she is scarcely strong yet.”
“Do people always feel as badly as I do?” sobbed Cricket.
“Just as badly, my dear. Indeed, I think it’s a trifle easier when you’ve only yourself to blame. As Marjorie said, it is strange that you so seldom suffer yourself, and yet it is not strange, either. You remember the things, you see, that you are interested in. I do hope, dearie, that this will be a lesson, and that your boomerang may never hit you so hard again.”
“If boomerangs hurt other people half as much as this one has hurt me,” said Cricket, between her sobs, “they sha’n’t feel any more of my boomerangs, I am sure of that.”
“I hope not, darling,” said mamma, kissing her good-night.