Still Nelly went on in silence. Melinda walked mockingly side by side with her, burlesquing her walk and serious face. At last, irritated beyond control, Melinda put out suddenly one of her feet, and deliberately tripped up her little schoolmate, who, before she could even cry out, found herself lying flat on her nose, on the snow.
The attack was made so abruptly, that Nelly had no time to see what was coming. Confused, stunned, angry, and hurt, she raised herself slowly to her knees and looked around her. There was at first, a dull, bruised feeling, about her head, but this passed away. Something in the deadly whiteness of her face made Melinda look a little alarmed, as she stood leaning against the wall, ready to continue the battle, if occasion required any efforts of the kind; but knowing well, in the depths of her cowardly heart, that, as the largest and strongest child at school, her victims could not, personally, revenge themselves upon her, to any very great extent. Looking her companion in the eyes, like a hunter keeping a wild animal at bay, Nelly staggered to her feet. She had meant to be so good that day! And this was the encouragement she received! Truly, the influence of Melinda on Nelly’s character was most pernicious. All the evil in her nature seemed aroused by the association. Tears, not resulting from physical pain, but from the great effort she still made to control her temper, rose to her eyes, as she saw a sneering smile on Melinda’s countenance. Till now she had striven to bear Martin’s advice in mind; but as this sneering smile broke into an ill-natured laugh, Nelly’s self-control gave way. Her face burned. She tossed the little golden gift, with disdainful roughness, at her persecutor’s feet, and said, in a gruff, and by no means conciliating voice,—
“There’s a box for you, Melindy. And Martin says I mustn’t hate you any more. But I do, worse than ever! There!”
Melinda gave a contemptuous snort. She walked up to the little gilt box, set her coarse, pegged shoe upon it, and quietly ground it to pieces. Then, without another word, she pushed open the school-room door, entered, and banged it to again, in poor Nelly’s red and angry face. The child leaned against the house and cried quietly, but almost despairingly.
“I wanted to be good,” she sobbed; “I wanted to be good so much, but she will not let me!”
[CHAPTER III.]
COMFORT’S NEFFY.
“Comfort,” said Nell, that night, leaning her head on her hand, and looking at the old woman sideways out of one eye, as she had seen the snowbirds do when they picked up the crumbs every morning around the kitchen door, “Comfort, can’t you tell me what you were laughing about yesterday afternoon, when you were br’iling of the fish for tea?”
“Yes,” said Comfort, “I think I can.”
Nelly sat waiting to hear the expected revelation, yet none came. Comfort was busy with her pipe. She paused every now and then to puff out great misty wreaths of bluish-gray smoke, but she didn’t condescend to utter one word.