Two little girls came home from school one day carrying on a very lively discussion. Their animation, and their complete absorption in the subject were very inspiring to see. One could not help but thrill at the manifestation of buoyant, interested, and healthful youth. But when they came into the house, and their mother overheard the nature of their conversation, she was woefully disappointed. These girls were not discussing the problems raised by their lessons; neither were they rejoicing at the prospect of the coming girls' hike to the canyon. In fact, the subject of their animated discussion was neither uplifting nor invigorating. On the contrary, it was disgusting—so thought their mother; and she was sorry to hear her girls indulge in such conversation. For the girls were gossiping; nay—they were slandering.
The theft.
It appears that someone had lost some money that day at school. The loser declared, however, that she had not merely lost the money. It had been stolen! The principal had called the pupils together, and had stated the case plainly to them. He had said that if anyone had actually stolen the money, it would be much better for the thief to confess than to be discovered, or even successfully to conceal the dishonest act. Such a thing would leave a scar upon one's character for life. But no one confessed. The lost coin was not found.
Our two little friends, however, had observed that Mary Jones, who sat not far away, acted very suspiciously when the principal came into the room. She turned quite pale, and looked afraid. When the principal appealed to the offender to make a clean breast of his guilt, Mary had hung her head. Was it not proof positive that Mary had stolen the money; or that, at least, she knew where it was? At recess, and after school was out, the girls had talked it over. They had confided their suspicions to a few intimate friends; these in turn had confided in other intimate friends; soon the whole school was in possession of what was assumed to be a fact, that Mary Jones had stolen the money, but that she would not confess. The two little girls who first suspected Mary had grown firmly to believe their suspicions, and assured their mother that they knew that Mary was the thief.
The discovery.
The developments of the next few days, however, proved to these little girls how much truth there really is in the little bit of doggerel verse their mother had taught them.
"There is so much that is bad in the best of us,
And so much that is good in the worst of us,
That it doesn't behoove any of us
To talk about the rest of us."
Poor Mary Jones suffered keenly for three days. Both the boys and the girls shunned her as if she were a leper. The girls huddled together and whispered when she passed. Once a rude, unfeeling boy called after her, "Why don't you 'fess up, Mary?" But Mary had really nothing to "'fess up," and on the third day the truth came to light. Out in the hallway, the janitor noticed something shining in a little crack between the boards of the floor. It was in the afternoon, and the light coming through the transom of the west door fell just then upon the spot. The janitor stooped to see what the shining object was. It was money! He pried it out with his pocket knife. It was of the same denomination as that which had been reported stolen. Immediately, the janitor returned it to the teacher with a full explanation.
The tables turned.