You should have heard the murmur of indignation which ran through the audience then!
“I can’t tell you how I felt,” said Grandma. “I went down to the sitting-room where the family were gathered, but I was too angry to trust my voice to tell the story. They were all busy, and I crept into a corner with my dark little face, and kept still. My cousin Mercy was at the piano. I ought to tell you about that piano, children,” said Grandma, breaking from her story. “It was the only one in that part of the world; pianos were scarcer in those days than they are now; and Mercy’s was a great curiosity; it had been sent to her by a rich uncle, who went away off to foreign parts and made a fortune.
“It would look very queer and old-fashioned to you, but it was a great wonder and delight to me.
MERCY AT THE PIANO.
“Mercy called me to come and sing a hymn, but dear me! I couldn’t have sung if they had promised me a piano of my own for doing it. Just then, my aunt Martha, who was grandfather’s housekeeper, said, as she looked from the window, ‘There comes Priscilla with three lighted candles in her hands; how often I have told that child not to carry three candles at once! Run, Ruthie dear, and open the door for her; she will burn herself, or set the house on fire.’
“But ‘Ruthie’ did not run. I sat as still as a stone. ‘Ruth!’ said my grandfather, astonished, while my cousin Stephen laid aside his book, and went toward the door: ‘I can’t open doors for her!’ I burst forth; ‘not if she burns herself up! She tore my exercise into little bits, and I hate her!’
“Children, don’t you feel ashamed of your Grandma? Was ever such a wicked and at the same time silly little burst of rage? It ended with a perfect flood of tears. Grandfather was a wise man, and felt that this was no time for explanations, but as I hurried from the room, I heard cousin Stephen’s mocking voice saying: ‘Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall.’
“It dried my tears in a minute, that verse did. All the Sunday evening talk, and my boastful words, came back to me, and I just hated myself, as I sat in my own little room in the dark, and went over the whole thing. How angry I had been with Priscilla; and yet, only three days before, I had wanted an enemy, that I might show everybody how noble I was! After awhile I cried again; but I don’t think there was any anger in those tears. I did feel so ashamed, and so disappointed in myself. To think that the Lord Jesus could wash the feet of Judas, and I could not open a door for a little girl who had torn my paper! I did want to be a good girl, and follow my Saviour’s example; and it seemed so dreadful to have failed!