“Phebe,” she said, sitting upright and grasping her sister’s hand, “Phebe, you will not believe it, but our mother has commanded me to kneel down before the minister and ask his pardon for what I have done.”
A look of indignation, almost the first that had ever visited the sweet features of Phebe Gray, was all the answer she could give.
“But you did not obey?” she said at last.
“Obey! sister, no, no; but I said things which made them both look aghast. They called me audacious, and so I was—they called me an unnatural child, and so I was—for I told my mother that she was a tyrant to her face. I told Minister Brown that I was not audacious enough to mock my Creator, by giving the homage which he alone should have to a weak fellow creature; and when they would have read me a chapter in the Bible, I told them the holy book was given as a blessing, not to be used as a punishment, with much more—but this I fear has made you angry with me already. Dear Phebe, don’t you turn against me with the rest, I am wretched enough without that.”
“But what did the minister say? surely he did not wish you to humble yourself so far?” inquired Phebe, thoughtfully.
“No, he begged my mother not to urge it, and even said that he had perhaps acted unwisely in reprimanding me from the pulpit. But mother still insisted. I do believe she is setting her cap at Parson Brown, and thinks if I kneel to him he will return the compliment by kneeling to her.” Here Malina broke off with a hysterical laugh, while a flash of mischievous humor shone through her tears.
Phebe smiled very faintly, and kissing her sister once more, murmured, “But there is One to whom we may kneel,” and sinking to her knees, Phebe Gray kept Malina’s hand and would have drawn her to the same position.
“I am not fit to pray,” exclaimed the passionate girl, struggling faintly to free her hand.
Phebe did not urge her, but scarcely were the first faint words of her own petition breathed through the chamber, when Malina was by her side, and when they went to rest that night the high spirited girl went to sleep with her head nestled on her sister’s bosom, half subdued by her pure and affectionate counsel.
Mrs. Gray had no sympathy for the faults of a warm and sensitive disposition. She scarcely knew what an impulse was; even her anger was systematical, and she exhibited it with a cold perseverance which only served to irritate and mortify her daughter. Like all girls, Malina was fond of dress, but months went by and Mrs. Gray seemed altogether unconscious of her wants. She had kept her resolution not to enter the old meeting-house again, and when Mrs. Gray brought home a new dress or shawl for Phebe, Malina was quietly told that as she never went to meeting her old dresses were quite good enough for school; indeed it is doubtful if she would have been permitted to remain at home but for the claim which her majority would give upon the property. Mrs. Gray was quite too politic for violent measures, so she contented herself with annoying negatives, and tormented her sensitive and high-tempered child by doing nothing, while she comforted her self-sanctity with a belief that it was all meek and Christian forbearance. It was not long before the gay, dashing Malina became one of the most shabbily dressed girls in the village. She wore her thin straw gipsy and roses through all the cold winter months—mended her gloves over and over again—concealed her summer dresses beneath a cloak when she came to school, and returned the jeers of her schoolmates with a sort of important pride which soon silenced them. When spring came she still remained obstinate in a determination never to visit the old meeting-house so long as Parson Brown preached there. A few kind words from her mother might have persuaded her, but those words were not spoken. Mrs. Gray only showed her sense of this contumacious conduct by heaping that finery on poor Phebe which should have been her sister’s, but which she was forbidden even to share with her. Well, the spring came round again, and Malina was still obstinate. She bleached her bonnet, brightened up the roses, and altered over the old muslin dress with an ingenuity which made her wardrobe quite respectable once more; but she was not happy in her disobedience, the habits of her childhood could not be shaken off so easily, and many a quiet Sabbath as she sat by her chamber window and watched Phebe gather a handful of snowdrops in the yard, spread her green parasol and go forth to “meeting” by her mother’s side, looking so chaste and beautiful in her white dress and new cottage bonnet, poor Malina would turn away with tears in her eyes and think of the old meeting-house, with a yearning wish to sit in the family pew once more, which made her petty chamber seem almost like a prison.