"Good morning," said Julia, not waiting for an answer; "I shall call for you to-morrow," and Lucy went on her way alone. She had been almost led to speak unkindly of a person she really loved, because she was afraid to say boldly what was in her mind.
As she came in sight of Mrs. Tappan's quiet house, she saw her father coming out of the gate, looking thoughtfully on the ground. He did not see her, and she had to run very fast to overtake him before he got into his chaise.
"Father! dear father!" she said, "do stop a minute; is Mrs. Tappan very ill? Do not be angry with me, here is the medicine."
The doctor looked quite serious while Lucy told him of her fright in the morning, and her sorrow after she reached school at not having delivered the medicine. The dreaded dog was standing within the gate while they were talking without; the doctor called him and made Lucy look into his mild eye and pat him gently. "You see, my dear," said the father, as the hand of the little girl rested on the head of the quiet animal, "that you need not have been afraid of Rover. You should have remembered that in not delivering the medicine you might be doing more harm to another than the dog would have done to you. Even after you were at school, all might have been well if you had had the courage to tell the whole truth to your teacher; she would certainly have excused you. I cannot say what will be the consequence of your foolish timidity. Mrs. Tappan is very ill!"
As her father spoke these words, Lucy's tears fell fast. Not another syllable was spoken until they reached home. Harty came out to meet them, calling out to his sister, "Are those red eyes the sign of bad lessons?" She made him no reply, but hastened to her room to think on her own folly, and poor Mrs. Tappan.
It was a long afternoon to the little girl; her dinner was sent to her, and she remained alone until dark. This was the day which had commenced so pleasantly, and in which Lucy had intended to please everybody. Alas! the poor child had not asked God's help to enable her to do her duty, nor had she been faithful in her own exertions.
When the tea-bell rang, she hastened down stairs, hoping to hear from her father good news about Mrs. Tappan, but he did not appear. Harty seeing his sister look so unhappy, forbore to tease her, and the meal passed over in silence. Eight o'clock came, and Mrs. Maxwell gave Lucy her light, and told her to go to bed. She did not dare to ask to sit up a little longer, for she knew the request would not be granted. Feeling like a criminal, the little girl went to her room—that pretty room, how many unhappy hours she had passed there! but none more wretched than on that evening.
In vain she tried to sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, the form of the sick woman would rise before her, and she could almost fancy she heard her groans. Nine o'clock struck, and ten, yet Lucy was awake. About eleven she heard the street-door open; then there was a careful step upon the stairs, and some one moved towards the doctor's room. She was out of bed in an instant, and hastening towards the door. It was locked as usual, and before she could open it, her father had passed. She almost flew along the passage, and sought his arm as he was entering his room. He clasped her to his breast and kissed her tenderly, saying at the same time, what she so much wished to hear, "Thank God, Mrs. Tappan is out of danger. You ought to be very grateful," he continued, "my dear child, that your fault has led to no evil; I trust that this will teach you not to let childish fears lead you to neglect your duty!" Much relieved she returned to her own room, but no thanks were uplifted from her young heart to Him who had been pleased to spare the stroke of death.