It glitters like a golden crown, "On top of Motley's Mills!"
added Alice; while Fanny, calling out to Henry Boyd, repeated the whole verse as Susan's poetry, bidding him ask Miss Lindsay if Montgomery could beat that. Susan was highly offended, saying that she considered herself insulted, and chose to walk the remainder of the way.
"O no, Miss Sliver," said Joshua; "never mind Fanny Brighton—she is only one of the blunt sort, saying right to your face what other folks would say behind your back."
This explanation from Joshua was rather more favorable than Fanny deserved; for she had not the faithful Christian charity, which, while it unflinchingly speaks truth to those whom it concerns, is careful to speak no evil anywhere. It was well known, that though Fanny boasted of not being afraid to tell to people's faces what she thought of them, she was not less fearless in talking of the same things in their absence; so that she differed from common backbiters only in having more—shall we call it impudence?
It is a harsh name, but let us analyze the principle. What spirit possesses the human heart, when it shows a disposition to make others uncomfortable? Is it frankness—we know that it is sometimes dignified with that name; though it is little akin to the true Christian faithfulness, which, always at peace with truth, never offends against true courtesy. Charity regards the little foibles incident to fallen human nature with a lenient eye, never pointing them out to the scornful gaze of another, but remembering that they are to be touched tenderly, if touched at all; secretly, too, apart from the scrutiny of another, and by disinterested friendship alone.
"The Sliver girls make fools of themselves, and of each other," said Fanny, when Margaret and Susan, arrived at their own house, coldly took leave of the company.
"I know it," replied Alice. "To think that they will associate with us girls, pretending to be young, when everybody knows that they are not: dressing, prinking, reading novels, and making poetry; while their poor old slave of a mother is making butter and cheese."
"It provokes me when I think of it," answered Fanny; "and how you can flatter them so, calling their dresses becoming, and their poetry beautiful, I cannot imagine, when you know, Alice, that it is all a lie."
"Well," said Alice, laughingly, "I do it for fun. It is so amusing to see their languishing airs; and then, Fanny, to tell the truth, I have no objection to people's playing the fool, if it makes them feel better."
"But I shall hate you, by-and-by," said Fanny, "for being a hypocrite."