“It will owe none of its brightness to me,” said Miss Bethia, with sudden humility. “And I don’t suppose I shall begrudge the brightness of other folks’ crowns when I get there, if I ever do.”
In the pause that followed, David went and laid the baby in her cot, and when he returned the children came with him, and the talk went on. They all had something to say about what they should see and do, and the people they should meet with when they got there. But it would not bear repeating, all that they said, and they fell in a little while into talk of other things, and Jem, as his way was, made the little ones laugh at his funny sayings, and even Violet smiled sometimes. But David was very grave and quiet, and Miss Bethia, for a good while, did not seem to hear a word, or to notice what was going on.
But by and by something was said about the lessons of the next day, and she roused herself up enough to drop her accustomed words about “privileges and responsibilities,” and then went on to tell how different every thing had been in her young days, and before she knew it she was giving them her own history. There was not much to tell. That is, there had been few incidents in her life, but a great deal of hard work, many trials and disappointments—and many blessings as well.
“And,” said Aunt Bethia, “if I were to undertake, I couldn’t always tell you which was which. For sometimes the things I wished most for, and worked hardest to get, didn’t amount to but very little when I got them. And the things I was most afraid of went clear out of sight, or turned right round into blessings, as soon as I came near enough to touch them. And I tell you, children, there is nothing in the world that it’s worth while being afraid of but sin. You can’t be too much afraid of that. It is a solemn thing to live in the world, especially such times as these. But there’s no good talking. Each one must learn for himself; and it seems as though folks would need to live one life, just to teach them how to live. I don’t suppose there’s any thing I could say to you that would make much difference. Talk don’t seem to amount to much, any way.”
“I am sure you must have seen a great deal in your life, Miss Bethia, and might tell us a great many things to do us good,” said Violet, but she did not speak very enthusiastically, for she was not very fond of Miss Bethia’s good advice any more than her brothers; and little Jessie got them happily out of the difficulty, by asking:
“What did you use to do when you were a little girl, Aunt Bethia?”
“Pretty much what other little girls did. We lived down in New Hampshire, then, and what ever made father come away up here for, is more than I can tell. I had a hard time after we came up here. I helped father and the boys to clear up our farm. I used to burn brush, and make sugar, and plant potatoes and corn, and spin and knit. I kept school twenty-one seasons, off and on. I didn’t know much, but a little went a great way in those days. I used to teach six days in the week, and make out a full week’s spinning or weaving, as well. I was strong and smart then, and ambitious to make a living and more. After a while, my brothers moved out West, and I had to stay at home with father and mother, and pretty soon mother died. I have been on the old place ever since. It is ten years since father died. I’ve stayed there alone most of the time since, and I suppose I shall till my time comes. And children, I’ve found out that life don’t amount to much, except as it is spent as a time of preparation—and for the chance it gives you to do good to your neighbours; and it ain’t a great while since I knew that, only as I heard folks say it. It ain’t much I’ve done of it.”
There was nothing said for a minute or two, and then Ned made them all laugh by asking, gravely:
“Miss Bethia, are you very rich?”
Miss Bethia laughed, too.