George—he's the driver—was beginning to ask, "Is thishyer some swimmin' match that's goin' on?" when a wasp hit him on the neck, and another hit me on the cheek. We left that carriage in a hurry, and I never stopped till I got to my room and rolled myself up in the bedclothes. All the wasps followed me, so that Mr. Travers and Sue and the rest of them were left in peace, and might have gone to the picnic, only they felt as if they must come home for arnica, and, besides, the horses had run away, though they were caught afterward, and didn't break anything.
This was all because that lecturer advised me to study wasps. I followed his directions, and it wasn't my fault that the wasps began to study Mr. Travers and his aunt, and Sue and Dr. Jones, and me and George. But father, when he was told about it, said that my "conduct was such," and the only thing that saved me was that my legs were stung all over, and father said he didn't have the heart to do any more to them with a switch.
[AUNT RUTH'S TEMPTATION.]
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.
Chapter I.
If you don't know Aunt Ruth, I can scarcely expect you to understand just how lovely she is: the most unselfish, good-humored of women. She is not very tall, but there seems to me something queen-like in her manner. She is very pretty, but the charm of her face is its sweetness. When she smiles, her eyes grow very tender; when she is serious, a look comes into them of a peace I can not describe.
Aunt Ruth lives in a big old-fashioned house in the country, at which her many nieces and nephews are always welcome, and all the country people adore her. Though there is so much of what papa calls personality about her, yet she never seems to be thinking of herself, i and one day when the girls and I were clustering about her in her own sitting-room, I exclaimed: "Aunt Ruth, do you ever think about yourself for one moment? You seem just made for other people."
Now a sudden strange look came into Aunt Ruth's face. It was not pain exactly, but of some recollection that seemed to grieve her for a moment even as she smiled. I know Aunt Ruth thinks me rather the spoiled child of her little circle of nieces, and when she looked at me and smiled, and said, "Why, Kitty dear, we can make ourselves what we like, with help," I felt a little conscience-stricken. I supposed I was lazy and selfish; but how could Aunt Ruth know what it was to take care of three little brothers and sisters; get up early in the morning to study; stay in-doors, lovely June weather, sewing and patching and mending? Everything came easily to Aunt Ruth that was for other people. Perhaps she read my thoughts in my face. Her own brightened, and she said, pleasantly: "Girls, I wonder if you would like to hear a story—a chapter out of my own experience. I have often thought of telling it to you."
Aunt Ruth's story-telling is as famous as her gentle charity; and we were soon in comfortable attitudes, listening. The story had a peculiar charm, because it was about her early girlhood, and as she is only our aunt by marriage, we knew less of her young days than of the older life so happily associated with our own.