A MISFORTUNE.

AS the two children talked, Gracie had been putting a few stitches in her mat.

"I b'lieve I'll do it," she said. "I'll tell Maggie we all want her to be May Queen."

"Then she'll know you've said something about it," said Hattie anxiously, feeling that this proceeding was likely to bring her into trouble.

"No, she needn't," said Gracie; "perhaps she does think I don't want her to be, 'cause at Christmas she knew I was mad about it."

"Are you going to beg her pardon?" asked Hattie.

"No," said Gracie, with one of her scornful tosses of her head. "I think I see myself doing such a thing! But I can write her a little note, and tell her we are all sorry because she won't be May Queen, and beg her to change her mind. I might do as much as that for Maggie," she added to herself.

Hattie tried to dissuade her no longer, and Gracie laid the mat down upon her desk, opened the lid, and took out a slip of paper and a pen. She dipped the pen in the ink, wrote, "My dear Maggie," at the top of the sheet, and then paused, biting the top of her pen.

"I can't think what to say, or how to begin it," she said. "My dear Maggie, I am very sorry—no. I had better say we—we are very sorry that you—that you—oh, pshaw! I've a great mind not to do it"—here she dipped her pen in the ink again, and so carelessly that it came forth quite too full. "Oh, bother!" she exclaimed with increasing ill-humor; "look at this hateful pen;" and, forgetting the precious piece of work which lay so near at hand, she gave a careless fillip to the pen which spattered forth the ink.

Gracie gave another impatient exclamation, and pushed away the paper, saying,—

"I shan't do it; if Maggie likes to be so foolish about nothing, she just can;" but she did not see the extent of the mischief she had done till Hattie said in a tone of great dismay,—

"O Gracie! just see what you've done!"

And there upon her beautiful mat was a great spot of ink.

Gracie gave a horrified little cry, and, snatching up the mat, thoughtlessly sopped up the spot with her handkerchief, thereby spreading and smearing it till it grew to the size of a two-cent piece, and left an ugly blotch on the bright blue worsted.

"What shall I do? oh! what shall I do? It's spoiled; it's quite spoiled!" she said despairingly.

"I don't believe it is; maybe it can be taken out," said Hattie, though she was almost as much startled as her little companion. "I'll bring some water, and we'll try to take it out."

"No, no," said Gracie; "I wish I had not touched it at all. We'll only make it worse; and I'll ask mamma to try as soon as I go home. Oh, dear, dear, dear! what shall I do? Grandmamma will surely say Nellie's is the best now. That hateful girl!"

"It's a great shame if she does," said Hattie. "Nellie is always trying to get ahead of you; and she don't deserve it, and I don't think your grandmamma is fair to you. She ought to think her own grandchild's work is the best."

"I suppose Nellie will just be glad when she sees what has happened to me," said Gracie, whose jealous eyes could now see nothing that was good or fair in Nellie's conduct.

Innocent, kind-hearted Nellie, who would not willingly harbor an unkind or unjust thought of another!

"I shan't let her see it," she continued, hastily rolling up the mat and putting it into her desk, as she heard the other children coming. "Don't say a word about it, Hattie, not to any one."

Hattie promised, really grieving herself for Gracie's misfortune, for she truly loved her, and was anxious that she should be the first.

This was to be a black day for Gracie; but all through her own jealousy and pride.

Her mind was so taken up with the remembrance of the defaced mat that she could not keep her thoughts upon her lessons; and, although she had known her history very well, her attention wandered so much that she answered incorrectly more than once.

Seeing, however, that something had disturbed her, Miss Ashton made allowances, and gave her one or two opportunities to correct herself and bring her thoughts back to the task before her.

But it was all in vain; Gracie had already lost her place in the spelling-class, and gone down below Dora Johnson and Laura Middleton; and now the fear of a fresh mortification, and of giving Nellie her place at the head of the history class added to her confusion, and she floundered more and more hopelessly. Nellie begged too that she might have still another chance, when at last Miss Ashton passed the question to her; but again Gracie failed and was obliged to yield her place.

Angry, mortified, and jealous, Gracie showed such determined ill-temper towards her generous little classmate, that Miss Ashton was obliged to reprove her, but without effect.

Again she called Gracie to order, and this time more severely.

The angry and wilful child hesitated for one moment, then pride and passion burst all bounds, and she answered Miss Ashton with such insolence, such ungoverned and unjustifiable impertinence that the whole class stood aghast.

There was a moment's perfect stillness. Miss Ashton turned very pale, and laying her book down upon the table, covered her face with her hand, while the children looked from her to Gracie and back again, in utter dismay and astonishment.

Then the stillness was broken by a piteous, "Oh, dear!" from poor little Belle, who finished with a burst of tears, and her example was followed by more than one of the others.

Miss Ashton raised her head.

"Go into the cloak-room, Grace," she said quietly.

Gracie was herself frightened at what she had done; but her pride and temper were still farther roused by the shocked and disapproving looks of her schoolmates, and she stood for an instant with determined stubbornness, while the words, "I won't," formed themselves upon her lips.

But they were not uttered, for there was something in Miss Ashton's face which checked her; something which not one of the little flock had ever seen before; and when the lady repeated her words in the same calm tone,—

"Go into the cloak-room," Gracie turned away and obeyed.

It was with head held high, and scornful look, however, that she passed out, although bitter shame and regret were burning in the poor, foolish little heart. But she called up all her pride and jealousy to stifle the better feeling which urged her to run to her teacher, and, in the face of the whole school, confess her fault, and beg Miss Ashton's pardon for the insulting words she had spoken.

"What will she do, I wonder," she said to herself; "will she tell mamma? What will mamma say, and papa too?" and, as the recollection of her parents' oft-repeated warnings against the pride and vanity which were her besetting sins came back to her mind, she could not but feel that this was the consequence of allowing them to gain such a hold upon her.

She felt it, for conscience would make itself heard; but she would not acknowledge it even to herself, and drowned the reproving whisper with such thoughts as,—

"Well, then, why is Miss Ashton so unjust? She is always trying to make me miss and lose my place. She is always glad when any one goes above me. She never praises me as much as I deserve;" and such unjust and untrue accusations.

It might be that Miss Ashton did not always bestow upon Gracie all the praise she would have given to another for a perfect lesson or good composition, for she did not think much praise good for her, as it only seemed to minister to Gracie's over-weening vanity. But only eyes that were wilfully blind and suspicious could find the slightest injustice or unkindness in her treatment of any one of her little scholars, and her gentleness and patience might have won gratitude from the most stubborn young heart.

But Gracie would not listen to the promptings of her better spirit; and the recollection of the dismayed and averted looks of her schoolmates added fuel to the flame of her angry pride. Even the ever admiring Hattie had looked shocked at her outburst.

"I don't care," she said again to herself. "It's only 'cause they know I am so much cleverer than any of them, and they are jealous of me. That hateful Nellie! She was so proud to go above me."

Wretched and unhappy, she spent the time in her solitude till the close of school, when the other children came into the cloak-room for their hats.

No one said a word to her, for they had been forbidden to do so; and if they had occasion to speak to one another they did so in whispers, as if something terrible had happened, and a great awe had fallen upon them. She sat in a corner, sullen and defiant, trying to put on an appearance of the utmost indifference, but succeeding very poorly. She even tried to hum a tune, but something rose in her throat and choked her. She scarcely knew what to do; whether or no to rise, and take her hat, and go down as usual to find the nurse, who was probably waiting for her below; and while she sat hesitating, one and another of her young companions passed out, as if glad to hurry from her presence, and she was left once more alone.

She had just taken down her hat, when Miss Ashton came in, and, handing her a note, said gravely,—

"Give this to your mother, Gracie," and left her again.

Ashamed and alarmed at the thought of what might follow when she should reach home, but with her pride and anger not one whit abated, Gracie went slowly on, giving short and snappish answers to the inquiries of her nurse, who plainly saw that something was wrong.

But she dared not face her mother when she should hear of her misconduct; and when they entered the house, she thrust the note into the hand of the maid, bidding her give it to Mrs. Howard, and ran quickly up to her own little room.

There she stayed, wondering and waiting. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, half an hour passed away, and still her mamma did not come.

Was it possible? could she really hope that the note had not been one of complaint of her conduct?

No, that could never be; there was the bell for the children's early dinner. Well, she would go down and act as if nothing had happened. But could she with this uncertainty of how much or how little mamma knew?

But there was mamma's step, and now Mrs. Howard entered the room. One half glance at her face and Gracie's eyes fell. It was enough to show her that her mother knew all.

"Mean old thing!" she said to herself, meaning Miss Ashton. "She's gone and told, and now I s'pose I'll be punished."

"Gracie," said her mother, "I suppose you scarcely need to be told what is in this note which Miss Ashton has sent me."

Gracie stood with head erect, pouting lip, and defiant eyes, idly tossing back and forth the tassel of the window curtain with as much indifference as she could assume.

"Has it come to this, my child," continued Mrs. Howard sorrowfully, "that you have allowed conceit and self-will to gain such a hold upon you, that you could wilfully and deliberately insult your teacher? I have been sure that you would fall into trouble, Gracie, for I knew that such foolish pride must sooner or later have a fall, but I could not have believed that you would be guilty of this. What did you say to Miss Ashton?"

"I don't care," said Gracie passionately, without directly answering her mother's question. "It was all true, every word of it. She's as hateful as she can be, and unjust and mean;" and Gracie went on, pouring forth a torrent of invective and reproach against Miss Ashton and Nellie Ransom, without paying the slightest heed to her mother's commands to be silent. It was the long pent-up feeling of jealousy and ill-will and pride, that she had been nourishing for months past, and which now burst all bounds and swept every thing before it.

Respect, and even obedience towards her mother, reason, justice, and truth itself were totally lost sight of, as she poured forth accusation after accusation against the offenders, and upheld her own conduct in all she had done and said.

"And you have said all this to Miss Ashton, perhaps?" said her mother sternly, when the angry child at last came to a pause.

"It is true enough if I did," muttered Gracie again, though her passion was by this time beginning to cool down in a measure. "I'm sure I wish I never went to her hateful old school."

"It is more than probable that Miss Ashton wishes so now; but I shall leave you to think over what you have said to me and to Miss Ashton, and to find out how much of it is true. One thing Miss Ashton desires,—that you do not return to her school till you are ready to acknowledge your fault, and to apologize for your impertinence. And until this is the case, you must remain in your room. Your meals will be sent to you, and I shall not allow your brothers and sisters to have any intercourse with you till you are ready to make such amends as you can. You may send for me when you have any thing to say to me. Oh, Gracie, Gracie!"

With which words, spoken in a sad, despondent tone, Mrs. Howard went away, closing the door upon her stubborn, rebellious little daughter.

Gracie stood where her mother had left her, not one whit softened or humbled; for now her angry pride began to accuse her mother also of injustice and partiality and unkindness.

"Everybody in the world takes part against me," she said to herself; "but I don't care. Indeed, I won't beg Miss Ashton's pardon, not if I stay here a year. Mamma makes such a fuss about her being so kind and patient and all that. She's paid for teaching me, so it's nothing so wonderfully good. I hope I never will go back to the school where that hateful Nellie is."

Soon the door opened, and the nurse appeared, bearing a tray on which was Gracie's dinner. She set it upon a table, placed a chair, and went away without a word to her.

"I don't care," said Gracie once more, "no one need talk to me if they don't want to. I'm just as good as they are, and I'd just as lief stay here by myself."

She sat down before the dinner-tray, trying to believe that she would "just as lief eat her dinner alone;" but she found it was not so agreeable after all. She wondered what they were doing downstairs; if the children were chattering as merrily as usual, or if her absence made any difference in the family enjoyment. She had little appetite, as may be supposed, and left the nicely served meal scarcely touched.

But it must not be thought that she had any idea of yielding or acknowledging herself in the wrong. By and by she heard her brothers and sisters coming upstairs, then their voices in the nursery as they prattled to one another; and she knew that they were being made ready for their afternoon airing. Then tiny feet pattered along the hall, and little May's voice sounded through her closed door,—

"Am oo dood now, Dacie? We'm doin out, Dacie; am oo most dood? Pease don't be naughty dirl, Dacie," and the soft little hand tapped upon the panel as the baby voice pleaded.

"Come away, darling. Gracie may come out when she is good and says she is sorry," said mamma's voice; and Gracie knew that her mother had led the little pet away.

But all this only seemed to harden her. May was such a darling, the sweetest and dearest of all her brothers and sisters, Gracie thought; and, although the sweet, coaxing voice had touched her, she only found in her mother's interference fresh cause of offence.

"Mamma tries to set even May against me, and I s'pose she's been telling all the children what I did," she thought; "but I don't care. I believe they'll grow tired of having me away before I am tired of staying here. There's plenty for me to do. I can read, and I'll work on my mat."

But here it suddenly flashed upon her that she had not brought her mat home with her. Being sent away in disgrace and not returning to the school-room before leaving, she had quite forgotten it, and it still lay there in her desk. And that stain upon it, too, which she had intended to ask her mother to take out if possible. Mamma would not feel like doing it for her now, and she could ask no favors from her. Not unless she repented and—and—apologized to Miss Ashton. And this last she would not do; no, never, never.

She heard the children going downstairs, stood at the window and watched them get into the carriage and drive away with mamma, and began to wish that she were there too. And such a lovely afternoon, it was too bad to be shut up here. But still she never blamed herself for her imprisonment; no, mamma, Miss Ashton, Nellie, any one was in the wrong, but not her own wilful, stubborn little self. What was to be the end of this she did not know, but Gracie had no thought of yielding.

She whiled away the afternoon as she best could; but every thing seemed to have lost its zest. Her prettiest story-books had no interest; her dolls were "stupid" and poor company; even her stock of pretty materials for articles for the fair seemed less attractive than usual as she turned them over, and her work "would not go."

This was the first time in her life that Gracie had ever been punished in such a manner; and apart from the disgrace, which she was determined not to feel, she was a child who was fond of society and did not know how to bear being deprived of it.