Emilie the Peacemaker

by Mrs. Thomas Geldart

Edith flew to her room almost as fast as if she had been on the "Flying Trunk," in the Fairy Tale. When there, she could not read, and in displeasure with herself and with every one, dashed the little volume away and cried long and bitterly. Edith had not been an insensible spectator of the constantly and self-denying gentle conduct of Emilie. Her example, far more than her precepts, had affected her powerfully, but she had much to contend with, and it seemed to her as if at the very times she meant to be kind and gentle something occurred to put her out. "I will try, oh, I will try," said Edith again and again, "but it is such hard work."—Yes, Edith, hard enough, and work which even Emilie can scarcely help you in. You wrestle against a powerful and a cruel enemy, and you need great and powerful aid; but you have read your Bible Edith, and again and again has Emilie said to you, "of yourself you can do nothing."

Edith had had a long conversation on this very subject only that morning with her friend, as they were walking on the sea shore, and under the influence of the calm lovely summer's sky, and within the sound of Emilie's clear persuasive voice, it did not seem a hard matter to Edith to love and to be loving. She could love Fred, she could even bear a rough pull of the hair from him, she could stand a little teasing from John, who found fault with a new muslin frock she wore at dinner, and we all know it is not pleasant to have our dress found fault with; but this attack of Fred's about the book, was not to be borne, not by Edith, at least, and thus she sobbed and cried in her own room, thinking herself the most miserable of creatures, and very indignant that Emilie did not come to comfort her; "but she is gone out after that tiresome old woman, with her scalt foot, I dare say," said Edith, "and she would only tell me I was wrong if she were here—oh dear! oh dear me!" and here she sobbed again.

Solitude is a wonderfully calming, composing thing; Emilie knew that, and she did quite right to leave Edith alone. It was time she should listen seriously to a voice which seldom made itself heard, but conscience was resolute to-day, and did not spare Edith. It told her all the truth, (you may trust conscience for that,) it told her that the very reason why she failed in her efforts to do right was because she had a wrong motive; and that was, love of the approbation of her fellow creatures, and not real love to God. She would have quarrelled with any one else who dared to tell her this; but it was of no use quarrelling with conscience. Conscience had it all its own way to-day, and went on answering every objection so quietly, and to the point, that by degrees Edith grew quiet and subdued; and what do you think she did? She took up a little Bible that lay on her table, and began to read it. She could not pray as yet. She did not feel kind enough for that. Emilie had often said to her that she should be at peace with every one before she lifted up her heart to the "God of peace." She turned over the leaves and tried to find the chapter, which she knew very well, about the king who took account of his servants, and who forgave the man the great debt of ten thousand talents; and then when that man went out and found his servant who owed him but one hundred pence, he took him by the throat, and said, "Pay me that thou owest." In vain did the man beseech for patience, he that had only just been forgiven ten thousand talents could not have pity on the man who owed him but one hundred pence.

Often had Edith read this chapter, and very just was her indignation against the hard-hearted servant, who, with his king's lesson of mercy and forgiveness fresh in his memory, could not practise the same to one who owed him infinitely less than he had done his master; and yet here was little Edith who could not forgive Fred his injuries, when, nevertheless, God was willing to forgive hers. Had Fred injured her as she had injured God? surely not; and yet she might now kneel down and receive at once the forgiveness of all her great sins. Nay, more: she had been receiving mercy and patience at the hands of her Heavenly Father many years. She had neglected Him, done many things contrary to his law, owed him, indeed, the ten thousand talents, and yet she was spared.

She had a great deal of revenge in her heart still, however; and she could not, reason as she would, try as she would, read as she would, get it out, so she sunk down on her knees, and lifted up her heart very sincerely, to ask God to take it away. She had often said her prayers, and had found no difficulty in that, but now it seemed quite different. She could find no words, she could only feel. Well, that was enough. He who saw in secret, saw her heart, and knew how it felt. She felt she needed forgiveness, and that she could only have it by asking it of Him who had power to forgive sins. She took her great debt to Jesus, and he cancelled it; she hoped she was forgiven, and now, oh! how ready she felt to forgive Fred. How small a sum seemed his hundred pence—his little acts of annoyances compared with her many sins against God. Now she felt and understood the meaning of the Saviour's lesson to Peter. She had entered the same school as Peter, and though a slow she was a sincere learner.

She is in the right way now to learn the true law of kindness. None but the Saviour, who was love itself, could teach her this. If any earthly teacher could have done so, surely Emilie would have succeeded.

She went down to tea softened and sad, for she felt very humble. The consideration of her great unlikeness to the character of Jesus, affected her. "When he was reviled he reviled not again; when he suffered he threatened not;" and this thought made her feel more than any sermon or lecture or reproof she ever had in her life, how she needed to be changed, her whole self changed; not her old bad nature patched up, but her whole heart made new. She did not say much at tea; she did not formally apologise to Fred for her conduct to him. He looked very cross, so perhaps it was wiser to act rather than to speak; but she handed him the bread and butter, and buttered him a piece of toast, and in many little quiet ways told him she wished to be friends with him. John began at her frock again. She could not laugh, (she was not in a laughing humour,) but she said she would not wear it any more, during his holidays, if he disliked it so very much. The greatest trial to her temper was the being told she looked cross. Emilie, who could see the sun of peace behind the cloud, was half angry herself at this speech, and said to Mr. Parker, "If she looks cross she is not cross, Sir, but I think she is not in very good spirits. Every one looks a little sad sometimes;" and Mr. Porker, happily, being called out to a patient at that moment, gave Edith opportunity to swallow her grief.

After tea the boys prepared to accompany their sister and her governess in the usual evening walk. Edith did not desire their company, but she did not say so; and they all went out very silent for them. On their road to the beach they met a man who had a cage of canaries to sell, the very things that Fred had desired so long, and to purchase which he had saved his money.

Edith had no taste for noisy canaries; few great talkers have, for they do interrupt conversation must undeniably, but Fred thought it would be most delightful to have them, and as he had a breeding cage which had belonged to one of his elder sisters years before, he asked the price and began to make his bargain. The birds were bought and the man dispatched to the house with them, with orders to call for payment at nine o'clock, before Fred remembered that he did not exactly know where he should keep them. In the sitting room it would be quite out of the question he knew, for the noise would distract his mother. Papa was not likely to admit canaries into his study for consultations; and Fred knew only of one likely or possible place, but the door to that was closed, unless he could find a door to Edith's heart, and he had just quarrelled with Edith; what a pity! To make it up with her, however, just to gain his point, he was too proud to do, and was therefore gloomy and uncivil.

"Where are you going to keep your canaries Fred?" asked his sister.