Lucy Ellen Guernsey

“ Did Anne dress you?"
"No, Cousin Debby: I dressed myself. I did not think it was any harm," said poor Lucy, who was so used to being blamed, whatever she did, that she was by no means sure she had not committed a grave offense in being her own dressing-maid.
"There is no harm in that, my child. I am glad to have you learn to do every thing for yourself; but you must be neat and careful about it, and try always to look like a lady. I suppose, however, you were in a great hurry to find your thimble: so I will excuse you this time. ”

“ Burgess is not afraid of her, you see," said Lucy. "He called her an impostor, and said he meant to drive her out of the parish. I will have nothing more to do with her; of that I am resolved, come what will."
"Then you will lose the knife as well as the thimble," said Anne: "and what will your cousin say to that?"
"I fear she will be very angry, but I cannot help that," replied Lucy. "I am not going to do any more wrong things if I can help it. One lie just leads to another, and so on, till there is no end to them." ”

“ Lucy said these words with all energy which showed that she was thoroughly in earnest, and which made the gentle little Dulcie look up with surprise and horror.
"Oh, Lady Lucy, you should not feel so! It is not right. If she has treated you ever so bad, you ought to forgive her."
"Aunt Bernard never forgave me or anybody," returned Lucy. "She said once that she never forgave or forgot; and I have heard Margery say that she would never answer her own son's letter, when he wrote begging her pardon for running away to sea." ”

“ I may just as well play while I can."
"'Tis true what the child says," remarked Anne, the housemaid, as Margery looked grave: "my mistress has left her marking and open-hem enough for a grown woman, besides all her other tasks,—more shame to her, I say, to have no feeling for her own flesh and blood! Never mind, Lady Lucy: I will take hold of it when my work is done, and you shall have one good play. But you must mind and wear your gloves and your hood, and not break your nails and scratch your hands with the brambles, or my mistress will find you out." ”

“ She called her a liar and an outlandish witch. No, Polly: I can't. I do hate her, and I always shall."
"But, Lady Lucy, what will become of you when you die, if you go on so?" argued Dulcie. "You know you cannot go to heaven unless you do forgive your enemies and are in charity with all men; and you know your mamma is in heaven," she added, in a low voice.
"And you cannot go to heaven unless God forgives you, either," added Polly. "You know we all do a great many wrong things, that need to be forgiven."
Lucy thought of the thimble lying under the aloe-leaf on the terrace. ”

“ So she set about making currant buns and a gooseberry fool—an old-fashioned country dish, than which there are few better—for Lucy's supper. But Lucy was not destined to the enjoyment of these dainties.
She played in the garden and down by the brook as long as she could see, forgetting for a while books, lute, and all the rest of her torments. She talked to Polly Burgess across the stream, and watched her as she milked her own little black Welsh cow, wishing all the time that she had a cow to milk and take care of. ”

“ Lady Lucy was young,—only a little past eleven years old,—and small for her age: nevertheless, she was the rightful heir of the splendid room in which she now sat, with its heavy carved furniture, its worked tapestry hangings, and inlaid cabinets,—of the fine old house, Stanton Court,—of the lovely gardens and shrubbery which lay stretched before the windows, and the beautiful park, and many a farm and moorland besides. ”

“ It was not quite noon when Cousin Debby and Lucy sat down to dinner.
Lucy had all her life been limited and scrimped as to her food. Aunt Bernard's housekeeping was far from liberal, at the best. True, she had always some sort of meat for dinner; but of this Lucy seldom got more than a very small taste, and right glad was she to be helped to enough of the batter-pudding, or dumpling cooked with the meat, to stay her hunger. Of tart, pudding, or any thing of that sort, she never tasted save by stealth when Margery or Anne would smuggle away a bit for her. ”

“ She was very silent for the rest of the evening, and did not seem disposed to listen to Anne's gossip as usual, but sat knitting on the stocking which she had begun the day before, now and then glancing at the Bible which lay open before her at the ninety-first Psalm.
Anne thought she was getting it by heart.
"How loud the sea roars!" said Lucy. "I haven't heard it so loud since we came here."
"There is going to be a storm," replied Anne. "See there is a flash already! Mercy on me, Lady Lucy! What shall we do if there is a thunder-storm?" ”

“ But, Lucy," she added, seriously, detaining the little girl a moment, "if you really wish to be good, you must ask the help of your heavenly Father to make you so. Ask him to put his Spirit in your heart and make you love him. That is the only way to be good and happy, in this world or the next. Now go and take your ride, and see how many pleasant things you will have to tell me when you come home."
"I don't believe any one in the world is so good as my cousin Deborah," said Lucy to Anne. ”

“ Polly and Dulcie were strong, healthy, high-spirited girls, and, with their warm hearts and truthful ways, were as good companions as could be found for the poor, crushed, reserved little lady. So Cousin Debby thought; and she resolved to encourage a friendship between them. They gave Lucy a warm welcome, and did their best to entertain her,—showing her their gardens, the grotto which they were ornamenting with shell-work after the fashion of the time, and finally took her into the meadow, to show her Polly's little hornless cow, which was as tame and almost as playful as a kitten. ”

“ Lucy had never been much accustomed to think about what she read, and she had no answer ready.
"Let us see if we cannot find a meaning in it," said Cousin Deborah. "How can any one regard wickedness in his heart?"
"By wanting to do what is wrong, I suppose," replied Lucy, after some thought.
"Yes,—by wishing and intending to do what is wrong. If you were to pray to God for his blessing, while all the time you were wishing and meaning to do something wicked, God would not regard your prayer. You would not have any right to expect it. ”

“ She caught the word "thimble," and easily guessed that Lucy had lost something of that sort.
"I can tell what has happened lately, too," she continued, in a mysterious tone. "I can see what is lost, and where it lies, shining like silver and gold, fit for a lady's finger when she is working for her true lover. Only cross the poor gipsy's hand with silver, and you shall see. As for you," she added, looking at Anne with a penetrating glance, "you have lately had a rise in life, and shall soon have another and there is a stout lad abroad at the wars who shall bring home a gold ring some day." ”

“ I don't like filling a young head with such things, for my part. Time enough when you grow an old lady, like Mrs. Corbet."
"Perhaps I shall never live to be an old lady like Mrs. Corbet," said Lucy: "and the French soldiers will not wait for me to grow up, to shoot at my dear papa."
"And that is true, too," said Anne. "Well, my dear, I am sure I am glad you find comfort in the Bible, and I would be the last one to oppose you. I remember when my poor sister was in the waste of which she died; after her sweetheart was drowned in the fishing-boat, the Bible was her only comfort. ”

“ Then came the sewing; and Lucy's heart sank as Cousin Debby opened the work-box.
Strangely enough, however, she did not appear to miss the thimble, although the little satin-lined compartment where it belonged was plainly empty.
"Now let me see how diligent you can be," said she, as she unfolded the little petticoat. "You have done this very neatly, Lucy,—as well as I could have done it myself. Aunt Bernard must have taken great pains with your needlework. There are very few girls of your age who can work so neatly. You see you have at least one thing for which to thank her." ”

“ And, now, tell me another thing, Lucy. Do you think it is a very pleasant thing for a little girl to have secrets which she is afraid will be found out by those who have the care of her?"
"No, indeed, Cousin Deborah! I hope I shall never have another secret as long as I live."
"I know," continued Cousin Deborah, "that the way in which you have hitherto been brought up has made you timid and reserved. You have always been so severely treated for every little fault and mishap, that you have fallen into the habit of concealing your faults, and even of lying to hide them. ”

“ No need to bid your man drive me away. I will go fast enough, never to return; and no more shall some one else, neither shall that which is lost ever be found again: mind that, my fair lady. Never again shall you find what you have lost or see your father's face. ”

“ Margery might have come, too, and both Lady Lucy and Anne begged her to do so; but Margery refused.
"I am not going to leave my old mistress, now that she is in trouble and disgrace," said she. "I shall stay and stand by her. She will find it hard to suit herself, with all these stories flying about the country. She is growing infirm in body and, I believe, in mind; and I will not leave her with no one about her whom she can trust but Hannah."
The stories to which Margery referred were exaggerated and distorted accounts of her mistress's treatment of Lady Lucy. ”

“ I did not examine it, because I thought you would like the pleasure of breaking the seal yourself."
"Just the way," thought Lucy. "She always thinks of what I shall like. Oh, how wicked I am! Oh, if I only dared tell her all about the thimble! I wonder if I could? But, then, the gipsy-woman, and those terrible threats. Oh, dear! I never thought I could be so unhappy at Stanton Court."
Lucy broke the seal of the letter neatly, as Cousin Deborah showed her how to do, and opened the broad sheet, which was closely written from end to end.
"Please to read it for me, Cousin Debby. ”

“ The old bloodhound, her self-elected guardian, was faithful to his trust, stalking up and down the terrace at Lucy's side, sitting at her elbow at meal-times, and lying at her feet while she was reading or working in the terrace parlour. There was nothing very remarkable in the dog's taking a fancy to the lonely little girl, who had always a kind word for him in passing and often gave him a share of the bun, or the bit of ginger-bread which Cousin Deborah allowed her. ”

“ Her evil passions were aroused, and had become her masters.
"You must do as you please," said she, coldly. "I shall doubtless find other servants in your place easier than you will find other services,—especially at your age, Margery."
"I can't help that," said Anne, tossing her head. "Better a crust in quietness than a full dish under the curse of the orphan."
Two or three days passed on, and nothing was seen of Lucy. She remained shut up in her attic chamber, visited by her aunt or Hannah once a day, with scanty and coarse provisions. ”

“ But Lucy was very much in earnest, and under Cousin Deborah's gentle and wise government, she had few temptations to hide her faults and mishaps. By degrees, she lost the frightened, crushed manner which had grown upon her under Aunt Bernard's reign. She grew strong and active in mind and body, and at the end of a year could work in the garden, walk, ride, and run races as well as Polly Burgess herself. ”

“ If there were only a wise woman, now, like the one my aunt went to about her mistress's silver spoons!"
"What do you mean by a Wise woman, Anne?"
"Oh, a woman that can tell all sorts of things,—how to cure cattle, and how to find things that are lost or stolen. There was such a woman in Stanton-Corbet once; but Parson Burgess would not let her practise her arts there. He said she was a deceiver and an im——— What was the word, now?"
"An impostor?" said Lucy. ”

“ Corbet does for her. Come, Lady Lucy; we must be on our way, if we are going to the village."
"Are you going across the common?" asked Mary Bolton. "You had better take the path through the plantation, I think. The gipsies on the common, and my little lady might be frightened."
"Gipsies?" asked Lucy, looking a little scared.
"Yes; and a wild lot they do look, to be sure. They say the old women are witches; and all the girls in the village are agog to have their fortunes told."
"Don't you be scared, Lady Lucy," said Anne. "They won't meddle with us, I dare say. ”

“ It is to be hoped that almost any little girl of the present day would have more sense than to be influenced as Lucy was. And yet I am not sure that one could not find both children and grown-up people doing quite as foolish things as going to a gipsy-woman about a lost thimble. Indeed, if there can be said to be any sense in the matter, there would seem to be two or three grains more in going to a live woman for information than in asking a dead table. ”