"You were right about Betty Allis and me, Aunt Margaret, and I see I have been wrong all through!" said Martha, after breakfast, when they were alone together in the dining-room.
Martha was washing the breakfast things, which was a part of her regular duty.
"I am very glad you do," replied Aunt Margaret. "To see when you are wrong is more than half the battle. But, Martha, had you never known before that you were wrong in cherishing such a spirit? Had not your conscience told you so?"
"Yes, Aunt Margaret, but I would not listen. But I cannot think it was right in Betty to tell Miss Lyman of me. It was none of her business what I did."
"Perhaps not. Nevertheless, Martha, you must forgive, if you would be forgiven."
"I hope I have done so, aunt. I could not help it," added Martha, in a low tone; "when I thought how He forgave me. I would like to be friends with Betty if I could, but I don't know how to set about it."
"Pray for guidance, and keep your eyes open," said Aunt Margaret. "Depend upon it, your way will be made plain."
"Martha," said her mother, opening the door, "suppose you run over to auntie's and carry her these fresh ducks' eggs. She likes them very much, and they will just come in time for her breakfast, if you do not stop to change your dress. You can go through the lane."
"Auntie," was a great-aunt of Martha's, a very old lady. She breakfasted very late, and Martha often ran over to her house with a plate of warm biscuits, a dish of freshly gathered berries, or some other dainty which it was thought the old lady might fancy. She hastily throw on her sunbonnet, and without even taking off her white apron she went to carry the eggs. She staid nearly an hour, doing various little services for auntie, and sharing her morning cup of coffee. As she was returning, she overtook Betty Allis, who was walking slowly in the same direction.
"Just like her!" was Martha's first hasty thought. "Sure to meet me if I look like a fright!"