"Now I am going all alone, and mother will never know it; I will not wear my shoes to-day." So, when she was just starting, she stole softly round to the back-side of the house, and hid her shoes behind the rain-barrel. On she skipped, but not so light-hearted and happy as usual. It was her first act of wilful disobedience. As she went on she at last repented that she had ventured to disobey her kind mother; but something seemed to whisper in her heart, "It will do you no harm: your mother will never find it out."
Do any of my little readers know whose voice that was in Annie's heart? It was the voice of him who spoke the first lie ever uttered in this beautiful world; who in the garden of Eden said to our first mother, " Ye shall not surely die."
As she approached the school-room, she stopped near a huge pile of rocks at the road-side to gather some flowers for her teacher. She found a great many, and, among others, some which she had never seen before. As she stooped forward hastily to pluck them, she heard a sound close by her. Looking quickly about her, she spied a large snake just below her naked feet, among the loose stones. Uttering a loud scream, she sprang terrified from the spot; nor did she slacken her speed until she reached the schoolhouse, her delicate feet cut and bleeding in several places, and a large thorn in the side of one foot, which pained her sadly. The girls laughed at her fright, and one rude boy ran out, shouting, at the top of his voice,—
"Hallo, boys! hallo! Annie Allis has come to school barefooted."
Poor, foolish child! what would she have given if she had only obeyed her mother!
The little white feet swelled and ached all the day long. Annie had hardly ever felt so much pain in all her life, and there was nobody to pity her. But the pain in her feet was nothing to the pain in her heart. How could she meet her dear mother, after having so wickedly disobeyed her? At length school was out. Slowly and painfully she walked homeward. As she approached the house she shook with pain and dread. Down in the little grove at her right hand she saw Susie and Mary with the dear little baby, and they beckoned her to come to them; but she could not. Oh, how could the guilty child look into the clear, sweet eyes of that innocent one, with such a load of sin and disobedience on her heart?
Softly—just like a
thief
—she stole round the house, as she thought,
unobserved. She sat down on the little green mound beside the rain-barrel,
and reached behind it. Suddenly she started back as if a serpent had stung
her. Again she reached quite around the barrel, as far as she could stretch
her little arms; but nothing was there. Then she peered carefully into the
place; but no shoes were to be found. It is plain now,—quite plain. What
shall be done? Some one has taken the shoes away! Overpowered entirely, she
bursts into a passionate fit of crying. Who is it that approaches the
erring child and so kindly and tenderly inquires,—
"What is the matter, Annie?"
It is the mother, weary as she can be, and made still more weary and sorrowful by her little daughter's disobedience. She takes the child into the house and lays her upon the bed. The aching feet are bathed in water, the dirt is washed from the scratches and wounds, while poor Annie weeps and sobs as if her little heart would break. But the ugly thorn would not come out: it must ache on until father comes. Silently and sadly the mother bends over her suffering child, bathing her aching head. At length Annie said,—
"Dear, dear mother, forgive me; and I will never,
never
want to disobey
you again!"