Girls of the Forest Part 25

"I have something to confess, Aunt Sophy. I hope you won't be terribly angry."

"Something to confess, my dear child? Well, I am glad you have the courage to confess when you do wrong. There is nothing like owning up one's faults, Pauline. There is nothing else that really strengthens the soul. Well, I am listening, dear. Now, what is it?"

Pauline slowly unfastened the handkerchief which she had bound round her arm, and showed the great burn to Miss Tredgold.

Miss Tredgold started, uttered an exclamation, took the little arm in her hand, and looked tenderly at the ugly place.

"My poor little girl," she said. "Do you mean that you have been suffering from this all this time? But how in the world did it happen?"

"That is what I want to confess. I did something extremely naughty the day you kept me in Punishment Land."

"What was it?"

"You sent me to bed at seven o'clock."

"Yes; that was part of the punishment."

"Well, I didn't like it. Oh! here comes Verena. Renny, I am confessing my sins."

Verena ran up, her face full of anxiety. She put her arm round Pauline's waist.

"See how bad her poor arm is," she said, glancing at Miss Tredgold.

"Yes," said Miss Tredgold, "it is badly hurt; but don't interrupt, Verena. I am listening to the story of how Pauline burnt her arm."

"You sent me to bed at seven o'clock," said Pauline, who, now that she had embarked on her narrative, felt emboldened and, strange to say, almost enjoyed herself. "I could not possibly sleep at seven o'clock, you know; so, to amuse myself, I tried on my new white dress; and then I lit a candle, drew down the blinds, and looked at myself in the gla.s.s. I was so pleased! I did look nice; I felt quite conceited."

"You needn't tell me how you felt, Pauline. I want to hear facts, not accounts of your feelings. You did wrong to put on your white dress, for it had already been fitted on by the dressmaker, and it was being carefully kept for Sunday wear. But proceed. After you lit the candle and drew down the blinds what happened?"

"A great puff of wind came in through the window, and it blew the blind against the candle, and the flame of the candle came towards me, and I had my hand up to arrange my hair. I was fastening it up with hairpins to make myself look quite grown-up."

"Well?"

"And the candle caught my sleeve and set it on fire."

Miss Tredgold now began to look so pale that Verena vaguely wondered if she were going to faint. The little culprit, however, stood bolt upright and gazed with defiant black eyes at her aunt.

"Yes," said Pauline, "I suffered awful pain, and the sleeve blazed up like anything; but I ran to the basin of water and put it out. I was afraid to tell you. I had to tell Renny that I had burnt my arm, but I didn't tell her how it happened, and I wouldn't allow her to breathe to you that I was in pain. That was the reason I could not wear my pretty blouse last night, and you were angry with me. I hope you won't be angry any more; but the sleeve of the dress is burnt badly. Perhaps you won't give me any birthday present because the sleeve of my new dress is so much injured."

"I will see about that. The thing is to cure your arm. The doctor must come immediately."

"But it is getting better."

"You must see the doctor," said Miss Tredgold.

She went out of the room as she spoke. Pauline sank into a chair; Verena looked down at her.

"Have you told the truth?" asked Verena suddenly.

Pauline nodded with such a savage quickness that it made her sister positively certain that she had not heard the right story.

Miss Tredgold came back in a minute.

"I have sent for Dr. Moffat," she said. "I hope he will be here after dinner. My dear child, why didn't you tell me before?"

"Are you going to forgive me?" faltered Pauline. "I--I almost think I'd rather you didn't."

"You are a very queer child, and I may as well tell you frankly you are talking nonsense. You did wrong, of course, to put on the white dress; but I think, my dear, your sufferings have been your punishment. We will say no more now about the burnt sleeve. Fortunately I have plenty of the same muslin in the house, and the mischief can be quickly repaired. Now, dear, lie back in that chair. No; you are not to come in to dinner. It shall be sent to you here on a tray."

For the rest of the evening Pauline was so pitied and fussed over, and made so thoroughly comfortable, that she began to think the black, black lie she had uttered quite a good thing.

"Here am I half out of my sc.r.a.pe," she thought. "Now, if I can only persuade Nancy not to force us to go to that midnight picnic, and not to tell if we don't go, and if I can get the thimble back, I shall be once more as happy as the day is long. This wicked black lie shall not frighten me. There is no other way out. I cannot possibly tell the truth.

What would Nancy think if I did?"

The doctor came. He ordered a healing lotion for the arm; he also felt the pulse of the little patient. He declared her to be slightly feverish, and ordered her to bed.

Half the next day Pauline stayed in her comfortable bed. She was fed with dainties by Aunt Sophia, was not expected to learn any lessons, and was given a fascinating story-book to wile away the time. During the morning, when she was not engaged in the schoolroom, Miss Tredgold stayed by the little girl's side, and mended the burnt dress, cutting out a new sleeve and putting it in with deft, clever fingers.

Pauline watched her as one fascinated. As she looked and observed the graceful figure, the kindly expression of the eyes, and the n.o.ble pose of the head, there stole over her desolate little heart a warm glow. She began to love Aunt Sophia. When she began to love her she began also to hate herself.

"I don't want to love her a bit," thought the child. "I want quite to detest her. If I love her badly--and perhaps I may--it will make things that must happen much more difficult."

Aunt Sophia left the room. She came back presently with a dainty jelly and some home-made biscuits. She put an extra pillow at Pauline's back, and placed the little tray containing the tempting food in front of her.

"What are you thinking about, Paulie?" she asked suddenly.

"About how nice you are," answered the child; and then she added, "I don't want you to be nice."

"Why so?"

"Because I don't. I can't tell you more than just I don't."

Miss Tredgold said nothing more. She resumed her work, and Pauline ate her jelly.

"Aunt Sophy," she said presently, "I want to be awfully good at my lessons next week. I want to learn real desperate hard. I want to turn into a very clever girl. You'd like me to be clever, wouldn't you?"

"Provided you are not conceited with it," said Aunt Sophia in her abrupt way.

"Perhaps I should be," said Pauline. "I was always thought rather smart.

I like people to call me smart. You don't want me to turn stupid because I may get conceited."

"No, dear; I want you to be natural. I want you to try very hard to be learned, to be good, to be a lady. I want you to be the sort of woman your mother would have wished you to be had she lived. I want you to grow up strong in mind and strong in body. I want you to be unselfish. I want you to look upon life as a great gift which you must not abuse, which you must make use of. I want you, Paulie, and your sisters to be the best in every sense of that great word. You will fail. We all fail at times; but there is forgiveness for each failure if you go to the right and only source. Have I said enough?"

"Yes," said Pauline in a low voice.

Her conscience was p.r.i.c.king her. She lowered her eyes; the long black lashes trembled with tears. Miss Tredgold stooped and kissed her.

"I hear Briar in the garden," she said. "I will send her up to you. Be as merry as you please with her, and forget my words for the present."