When Faith came in a few moments later, she found her father pacing up and down the room. His anger and vexation were still burning hot; he was still in his heart wishing that Roy were an older child, so that he might punish him more severely. It was a great relief to see Faith’s pale, anxious little face. Yes, without any doubt Faith was the real culprit. On Faith then should the full vials of his wrath fall.
“See what you have done,” he said; “come here, right over here, and see what you have done.”
Faith, her face growing a shade whiter, approached and saw the scattered pieces of the prize essay still lying on the floor.
“Wot h’ever is that, father?” she ventured to say.
“What ever is that? ’tis my essay, my prize essay, that your brother tore all into bits. How dare you, how dare you, I say, disobey me and leave the child alone? You have done mischief that can never be put right, and I’ll never forgive you.”
“Oh! father,” said Faith piteously. She went on her knees and took some of the tiny torn fragments into her hand.
“There! don’t touch them; ’tis jest enough to madden a man, but you shall suffer. If you can’t take care of the child, some one else shall. Yes, you shan’t hear the last of this. Now, tell me where you have been this hour and more.”
“I went to Sunday-school, father. I don’t know why I disobeyed you; indeed I never did it before, but I ’ad a kind of hankering to go jest once. I left Roy asleep, and I never guessed as he ’ud wake; I thought I’d be back long afore, and I never guessed as you’d come home; I never, never guessed it. Oh! Indeed I’m dreadful, bitter sorry, indeed I am.”
“You have need to be; you can’t even guess how angry God Almighty is with you; you’re a very, very wicked girl. There, get out of my sight go into the bedroom, you shan’t have no tea to-night.”
Faith went slowly towards the bedroom door, she opened it and shut it behind her; she cared nothing for the punishment of going without her supper, she was glad to be away from her father, glad to be alone with the dreadful, dreadful weight which rested on her heart. Her father had said that she was a very, very wicked girl, that no one could even guess how angry God was with her. Yes, she believed her father; she had done wrong. It was most certainly wrong to disobey, she had disobeyed her father’s strictest command. Tears burned in her eyes, but lay too heavy there to roll down her cheeks; she sat on the floor, a little bent-up bundle of misery, and forgot Roy and every one else in the anguish of being under God’s displeasure. And she had been having such a happy time. How sweet that Sunday-school was! how kind the teacher, who had welcomed the timid child standing at the door! then how gentle and good were her words—all, all about Jesus and His love—all about the tender care the great Heavenly Father takes of His little ones. Faith listened, and when all was over, with her heart quite full of her great question, she lingered behind the other scholars.