“I was ready to sink. Nothing else could have smitten, stung me, like that. Such confidence, and I so unworthy of it. Still I held back the truth.
“But I left the professor’s room another person than I entered it—guilty, humbled, wretched. That one false word had spoiled everything for me. All my past manliness was shadowed by it. My ease of mind had left me, my self-respect was gone. I felt uncertain, unsafe. I stood upon a lie, trembling, tottering. How soon might I not fail? I was right in feeling unsafe. It is always unsafe to lie. My feet were sliding beneath me. One of the students had lost a quarter’s allowance in play, and applied to his father for a fresh remittance, stating his loss. His father had made complaint to the college Faculty, and there was an investigation of the facts. The money had been staked and lost in my room. I was present.
“‘Was Brown there?’ asked the professor.
“‘He was.’
“The professor’s eyes rested on me. Where was my honour then—my manliness? and where the trust reposed in me? Did any say, ‘We can believe you, Brown,’ after that? Did any excuse my lie—any talk of my honour then? Not one. They said, ‘We didn’t think it of you, Brown!’ ‘I didn’t suppose Brown would lie for his right hand!’
“It was enough to kill me. But there was no help. I had to bear my sin and shame as best I might, and try to outlive it. No one trusted me as before. No one could, for who knew whether my integrity might not again fail? I could not trust myself until I had obtained strength as well as pardon from God, nor even then, until I had many times been tried and tempted, and found His strength sufficient for me.”
Bessie was a little girl, not very old. One morning, as she stood before the glass pinning a large rose upon her bosom, her mother called her to take care of the baby a few minutes. Now Bessie wanted just then to go out into the garden to play, so she went very unwillingly.
Her mother bade her sit down in her little chair, placed the baby carefully in her lap, and left the room. The red rose instantly attracted the little one’s attention, and quick as thought the chubby little fingers grasped it, and before Bessie could say, “What are you about?” the rose was crushed and scattered. Bessie was so angry that she struck the baby a hard blow. The baby, like all other babies, screamed right lustily. The mother, hearing the uproar, ran to see what was the matter. Bessie, to save herself from punishment, told her mother that her little brother Ben, who was playing in the room, had struck the baby as hard as he could.
Ben, although he declared his innocence, received the punishment which Bessie so richly deserved. Bessie went to school soon after, but she did not feel happy.