Bessie at school

by Joanna H. Mathews

"A great many gentlemen used to visit at our house, friends of my father, and men who, like himself, were fond of books and study; and they used to have long talks on these things. Sometimes they would differ about a name, a date, or some fact; and often, at such times, my father would call me, and tell me to settle the disputed point. I could generally answer correctly, and then our friends would go on asking question after question, perhaps to find out how much I really knew, perhaps only to amuse themselves with my vanity; while I, encouraged by my father, who did not know the harm he was doing me, and with my silly little head quite turned by the praise and notice I received, was only too glad to show off all I knew. Indeed, I was quite disappointed whenever any of these friends left the house, and I had not been called upon for any such display.

"When I was nearly fourteen years of age, my dear mother had a long illness; and, as soon as she was able to travel, the doctors said that she must go away for a year at least. Emily had not been well for some time, and it was decided that she was to go too; while Bertie and I were to be sent to boarding-school during their absence. That was a far worse trial than going to school for two or three hours each day, knowing that your own dear mamma is here for you to come back to; was it not, Maggie?"

"Yes'm," said Maggie, with a loving glance through the open door at her sleeping mother; "but then, grandmamma, you know you were such a big girl; and I suppose you were not shy either, if you had so much courage to talk to the grown gentlemen. Grandmamma, I don't think you can know how uncomfortable it is for a child to be shy. Oh, I do wish I could come over it."

"Overcome it, you mean," said grandmamma. "Well, dear Maggie, do you know that I think this very thing which you dread so much—going to school—may help you to do so. And it would be a good thing if it were so, for this troublesome shyness not only interferes with one's own pleasure and comfort, but often with one's usefulness to others. But to go on with my story. Great girl though I was, and bolder, perhaps, than became my years, the parting from my father and mother was a terrible trial to me, and I shed many bitter tears over it. The thing which gave me most comfort was the thought of all I would do while they were gone, and how I would astonish them with my improvement on their return. I not only meant to study so hard that I should put myself at the head of all my classes, and take most, if not all, of the prizes; but I also begged my father to write out a list of books of history and travels which I might read during my play-hours, and asked to be allowed to take up one or two extra studies. He readily agreed; but my mother shook her head, and said, if my time and thoughts were to be so taken up with my books, she feared I would not give much attention to little Bertie.

"Bertie was mother's great anxiety in leaving home. She was only seven years old—a timid, clinging child, shrinking from strangers, and always wanting to be petted and cuddled by those she loved. She had never been really sick, but she was not strong; and mother gave her into my special care with so many charges to be kind and tender to her, that I felt impatient and half-vexed that she should think they were needed. Alas, she knew me better than I knew myself.

"Our parents had secured some little favours at the school for us, among others that of a room to ourselves; and this they had furnished comfortably and prettily, so that we might have been very contented and happy there together, if it bad not been for my vanity and selfishness; or, perhaps I should say, the strange mistakes I made as to my duty.

"For the first day or two we were both heartbroken, and I petted Bertie and sorrowed with her; but, after that, I turned to my books, and had no time or thought for anything else. True, I did not neglect my little sister's bodily comfort. Every morning I washed and dressed her with my own hands, and curled her long, fair ringlets; each night I undressed her and tucked her in her bed—nor was it done hastily or impatiently, but with care and patience. But while I was at my task—for so I thought it—of tending her, my book lay open on my lap, and I learned long poems or lists of names and dates, and poor Bertie was never suffered to speak to me. I always had an hour to myself at the time when I put her to bed, and I might have spent it with her, had I chosen to do so. But no; although the little homesick child used to beg me to stay with her and talk of mother, I was always in haste to go to the books which father had marked for me. Many a time when I went up to bed I found her awake, restless and nervous; or, if she was sleeping, her pillow and face were wet with tears. During play-hours she used to hang about me, longing for love and comfort; but, although I never sent her from me, I had no time to give her the petting and sympathy she needed.

"Saturdays, when we had a holiday, and Sundays were no better, perhaps rather worse; for then Bertie was more lonely and homesick than when she was in school, and I was just as busy as on other days.

"On Sunday mornings we were obliged to go to church and Sunday-school; but in the afternoon we were allowed to do as we pleased, provided there was no loud laughing or talking. It was my pleasure to attend a Bible-class held by the clergyman of the village, about a mile off; and much of my time on Saturday was taken up with studying the lesson for the next day. I knew a good deal of the history and geography of the Bible, and could repeat many a chapter and verse; but to its lessons of humility, unselfishness, and true love to my God and my neighbour, I fear I paid little heed.

"My governess rather objected to my attending this class, which was intended for those who were much older than myself; for she thought I was doing too much, and not taking time enough for rest and play. But, since she did not forbid it, I shut my ears to her advice and took my own way. I believe I honestly thought I was doing right, too; that I was making the most of the opportunities God had given me, trying to please my parents and to do my duty. And these things were all right in themselves; but the trouble was, I did not take up the duty which lay nearest to my hand. I neglected the simple, easy work which God had put in my way, because I thought it was a trifle. You see, my darlings, I would not stoop to pick up the tiny jewel which lay at my feet, but reached out for that which was more showy and glittering, but less precious in His sight."