Vexed with the clerk for the insinuating smile which accompanied his words, and more angry with herself for having given him the opportunity to speak so familiarly, she hastily returned home.
With a weight on her heart, she walked slowly along, ever and anon saying to herself, "What shall I do? I think it's real mean in Aunt Collins not to give me money, and then I should not have to run up a bill." Upon each member of the family in turn did she try to affix the blame which conscience told her belonged only to herself.
Hurrying up to her own chamber, she stealthily drew a sheet of paper from her cousin's desk. Under other circumstances, she would have begged her aunt for what she needed; but the fear that she would be asked what she wanted of paper led her to the commission of another crime; so true it is that one sin leads to many others.
With a lead pencil, which she was obliged to wet continually, the point was so blunt, Ellen rapidly wrote, or rather scrawled, a few lines to Aunt Clarissa,—for to her she had concluded the application must be made,—in which, in words badly spelled, she expressed her desire for some money; she did not care how much, only it must be more than five dollars.
She now considered it fortunate that the post office was kept at the store; for she had concluded to ask the clerk to direct and post it for her. This was another humiliation to which her falsehood had subjected her; and her cheeks burned as she made the request.
"Ah!" said he, with a coarse laugh. "Aunt Collins is not to know all we do."
Ellen was too angry to reply, and turned away with a toss of her head; but presently remembering she was still in his power, went back to say, "When my letter comes, I will pay your money at once;—and never have anything more to do with you," she muttered to herself, as she went abruptly out of the store.
"Oh, how very unhappy I am!" she soliloquized, as with slow and faltering steps she made her way home. "I mean to tell aunt I am homesick, and had rather live with father."
She sighed heavily, and forcibly restrained her tears, as conscience reminded her of a passage occurring in her last Sunday's lesson: "The way of transgressors is hard."
"But I used to be a great deal worse than I am now," she went on, "and I thought nothing about it. I used to tell lies all the time; and take Aunt Clarissa's cake and jellies, which Mary considers as bad as stealing."