Christmas at Cedar Hill

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

Frank returned to his companions with his heart not much lightened by the news that they might very probably be snowed up on the road and detained for an indefinite length of time, even if nothing worse happened to them. To do him justice, he cared very little for his own share of the disappointment. True, he regretted missing the party, the Christmas tree, and the presents, but he thought much more of the discomfort of his companions, the anxiety of his parents, and above all the possible danger to Agatha's health by the exposure, for Agatha was rather a delicate child, and especially apt to take cold. Added to this was the reflection that it was all owing to him—the consequence of a fault against which he had been often warned and which he had lately striven to overcome.

Frank's great defect was a certain pride and self-conceit, which made him very impatient of reproof or advice, especially when they came from those whom he considered as equals or inferiors. This disposition often brought him into disgrace and caused him many annoyances, both at home and at school, besides bringing failure and disappointment to many of his undertakings. Bought wit may be best, but it is often very expensive. Many a drawing and exercise, many a bit of carpentry and gardening had Frank spoiled, because he would accept of no assistance or advice from those better acquainted with the business than himself.

For example, he once put up a set of shelves in his room at Doctor Bower's to hold his books, his papers, and the endless varieties of curiosities which he was always collecting. Herbert warned him that his supports were not strong enough to bear the weight he intended to put upon them; but Frank had a theory of his own, and demonstrated, to his own satisfaction at least, that shelves supported in the manner he intended, could not possibly fall.

"All this sounds very fine in theory," said Herbert, quietly, when the lecture was concluded, "but it won't work! You may depend upon it that, if you put up your shelves in that way, sooner or later they will fall!"

"We shall see!" said Frank, not descending to argue the point further, and putting on the superior and contemptuous smile he was apt to wear when any one disagreed with him.

"We shall see!" said Claude; "but when your birds eggs and shells are all smashed, it will be too late to alter the arrangement."

The shelves were finished and neatly painted, and their contents arranged to their owner's great satisfaction. Frank's room was directly over the school-room where family worship was held, and in the middle of the prayers a crash was heard overhead. Frank's heart told him what had happened, but he strove to stifle the misgiving, and by the time prayers were over he had almost persuaded himself that it could not be the shelves—a window must have fallen, or a blind slammed with the wind. All this, however, did not hinder hint from rushing upstairs the moment he was released.

Several of the boys followed him, but Herbert was not among the number. He knew very well what had happened, but he had no desire to triumph in the fulfilment of his prediction. There lay books, shells, and minerals in one confused heap upon the floor, in company with a bottle of ink and one of varnish, both broken, while of Frank's beloved and really valuable collection of birds' eggs, which he had been years in getting together, hardly one remained entire. The boys were loud in their condolences and sympathy, but Frank said not a word till Doctor Bower, who had followed to learn the cause of the disaster, remarked, after examining the supports of the shelves:

"It is a wonder they did not fall by their own weight. I thought you were more of a carpenter, Frank. You should have consulted Herbert. He would have told you in a moment that shelves put up in that manner could not be safe."

This was the last drop in the cup Of mortification. Frank burst into tears. The doctor, who knew every one of his pupils like a book, as the boys had it, guessed at once what had been the true state of the case. Thinking, however, that Frank had been sufficiently punished, he said no more, but began to assist in rescuing what was still uninjured from the inky streams which threatened destruction to all in their way. In the course of two or three hours, the room was restored to its usual state of neatness, but nothing could restore the crushed eggs and shells or take out the ink-stains from books and furniture. This lesson did Frank good for some time.