The school-girls' treasury

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

According to the usual course of story-books, Eva ought, I suppose, to be represented as proud, and haughty, and vain. I am glad to say that she was nothing of the sort. She was a kindhearted, truthful, good girl, always ready to help her school-mates in their lessons and to amuse them with telling stories of what she had seen. She was, for that matter, not nearly so proud as her classmate and most particular friend Amy Preston.

Amy was the daughter of a widow lady, who kept a fancy-store in the place where Eva lived. Mrs. Preston was the widow of an artist. She might have had a home with her husband's relatives, but like a good and sensible woman as she was, she preferred supporting herself by the beautiful work she had learned to do abroad, and by selling materials for embroidery and other fancywork; and this she did with an honesty and energy which made her very much respected. Mrs. Preston had only one child, and she wished to give her such an education as would enable her to support herself if it became necessary. Her own business was prosperous enough to enable her to afford it: so she kept Amy at the best school in the place and allowed her to take music lessons of the same master who taught Eva Morrison.

Eva had "taken," as the girls say, to Amy Preston from the very first; but it was a good while before Amy responded to her advances. For Amy was proud, as perhaps was only natural, and she was afraid that people would say she flattered and courted the heiress. She persisted for a good while in being very cool to Eva, but at last Eva's loving frankness and persevering kindness won the day, and the two girls were now the best friends in the world.

Mrs. Morrison entirely approved of this friendship. She had known Mrs. Preston for years, and she did not believe that Eva was likely to learn anything bad from Amy. Besides, Amy was a good scholar and very industrious; and Mrs. Morrison thought she might have a good influence over Eva, who was inclined to be rather lazy over all her lessons but music and drawing.

We have said that Amy was proud, and that it was only natural that she should be so. There is a certain sort of pride, if pride it can be called, which is very proper. I mean the feeling which makes people prefer helping themselves, when they are able, to being helped by others; and causes them to be cautious and delicate about receiving expensive presents, and the like.

But this very proper feeling may be carried too far, and too far Amy certainly did carry it. She would walk home from school in the rain rather than ride in the carriage which Mr. Morrison sent for Eva. She would not receive the smallest present from Eva without making her one in return; and it was a long time before she would consent to borrow from Eva's large library of story-books.

In fact, Amy was jealous of her friend's wealth and so-called station. It often happens that we go on indulging very serious faults, just because we will not allow ourselves to call these faults by their right names. Thus we call anger just resentment, and pride self-respect, and blunt rudeness sincerity, and so on.

If Amy had really become aware that she was cherishing envy and jealousy, she would have been shocked, for she was trying very hard to be a Christian. But she christened her fault by the pretty name of self-respect. When the cow-bird lays her egg in the sparrow's nest, the sparrow cherishes it and brings up the intruder as her own; but the cow-bird hatches sooner, and grows faster than the young sparrows, and very soon turns them all out of the nest. So this intruder, which Amy called self-respect, was rapidly outgrowing all the gentle virtues of charity, humility and love in Amy's heart, and was getting ready, when occasion served, to turn them all out and keep the nest to itself.

The occasion was not very far off. There was one girl in the school who entirely disapproved of the warm friendship which existed between Eva and Amy, and that was Dora Hayes. Dora was a far-away cousin of Eva's and would have liked to be very intimate with her. Dora had no pride to prevent her from accepting any amount of obligations from her rich relations, and she would have boarded, and lodged, and dressed at Mr. Morrison's expense the year round without having her feelings hurt or her gratitude excited in the least degree.

Dora was always hanging about Eva, contriving to sit next to her, and fishing for invitations to visit her. But Eva, though she was, or meant to be, kind to Dora, did not like her. She thought her both mean and deceitful, as indeed she was. And while she sometimes made her presents and lent her books, she would never encourage Dora's attempts at intimacy.