A GAME OF CHARACTERS.

AT home or at school, studying, working or playing—for the latter she had little heart now—Gracie could not shake off the weight that was upon her mind and spirits. Even her work for the fair had lost its interest; and as for the mat, Nellie's mat, she could not bear the sight of it. She went to sleep at night thinking of it, and trying to contrive some way out of her difficulty, though she would not listen to the voice of her conscience which whispered that there was but one way; and she woke in the morning with the feeling that something dreadful had happened. Appetite and spirits failed; she grew fretful and irritable, and her mother imagined that she must be ill, though Gracie resolutely persisted that there was nothing the matter with her, and that she felt quite well.

"Gracie," said Mrs. Howard one morning after three or four days had passed, "it appears to me that you are not doing much on your mat. How is that?"

"I don't care," answered Gracie, fretfully. "I don't believe I'll finish it. I'm tired of the old thing."

"That will not do, my child," said her mother. "You have undertaken to do this for your grandmamma and for the fair, and I cannot have you stop it now without some good reason. Bring the mat to me."

Gracie went for the mat very unwillingly, though she dared not refuse nor even show her reluctance.

"It really does you credit," said Mrs. Howard, taking it from her hands: "it is so smooth and even, and you have kept it so neat. But you must be more industrious, dear, if you are to have it finished in time. And see, Gracie," she continued, looking at it more closely, "these last few lines look not quite as nicely as the rest. There is a difference in the work, and you will have to take more pains than you have done here. It looks almost as if another person had worked it. You have not let any one help you with it, have you?"

"No, mamma," replied Gracie in a low tone and with a frightened feeling. Was there really such a difference between her work and Nellie's that it was so easily detected?

It had not occurred either to her or to Hattie, perhaps they did not know, that the work of two different hands seldom or never matches well upon embroidery in worsted, and that it is almost sure to be perceived. She was dismayed at the thought that her mother had noticed this, and now every stitch that she took seemed to make the difference more plain, take what pains she might.

She began to feel angry and indignant at Hattie for leading her into this sin, shutting her eyes to the fact that, if she had not allowed proud and jealous thoughts to creep into her heart, temptation would not have had so much influence over her.

She no longer took any pleasure in the society of her little friend, and shrank from her in a way that Hattie perceived, and by which she was hurt; for she was disposed in her own mind to throw all the blame upon Hattie, forgetting that she was really the most to blame, since she had been better taught, and saw more clearly the difference between right and wrong.

As for Nellie, poor, innocent, injured Nellie, Gracie felt as if she could not bear the sight of her; and when she saw in what a gentle, patient spirit she took her great misfortune,—for so all the children considered it,—she grew more and more ashamed and lowered in her own sight. Pride and self-esteem could not now blind her to the fact that Nellie was better, far better, than herself.

Meanwhile the change in Gracie was exciting the wonder of all, the pity of some, of her young friends and schoolmates. Only Hattie held the clew to it; and she was surprised that such "a trifle," as she considered it, should have such an effect upon Gracie and make her so unhappy.

But Gracie was not a really bad or deceitful child, although she had suffered herself to be led so far astray. She was not naturally more unkind or selfish than most of us who have not the love and fear of God before us; indeed she was what children call "generous" in giving or sharing what she had, and she was always glad to do a helpful or obliging act for another. But she had always trusted to her own strength, and believed she could not fall, and now she was learning that her high thoughts of herself, and her carelessness of what she considered little faults, had made her an easy prey to temptation and the indulgence of a foolish pride and jealousy had led her into this great sin into which she had not imagined she could fall. But although she saw this now, she was not truly repentant; for she would not take the only right and true way to make amends; and spent her time wishing vain wishes, and trying to contrive some way out of her difficulty without bringing disgrace upon herself or losing her character for honor and truthfulness among her young companions. It troubled Gracie far less to think how she already stood in the eyes of God, than it did to imagine how she might appear in the sight of her earthly friends if this thing were known.

There was a small children's party at Mrs. Bradford's. Gracie did not care to go; indeed she would much rather not have done so: but her mother had accepted for her, and she had no good excuse for staying away.

She was more restless and miserable than usual that afternoon: she set up her opinion against that of all the rest, found fault with her playmates in every game that was begun, was more than usually sure that she knew every thing and could do better than any one else, and, not having her wits and thoughts about her, miserably failed in all the plays in which she meant to shine.

"What shall we play now?" asked Bessie at length, when they had all tired of some romping game.

"Let's take a little rest, and play 'Characters,'" said Gracie, who was very good in this, having no match among her present playmates save Maggie.

"Well," said Maggie, willing to please her if possible, although she saw some objections to the game just now; "we'll play it; but it is rather hard for the younger ones, so we must take easy characters. Who'll go out?"

"I will," said Lily; "but mind you do take an easy one. Somebody we know very well, not any history or jography character. I don't want to bother my head about lesson people when I'm playing."

"Very well," said Maggie; and Lily went out, singing loudly in the hall that she might "be sure and not hear."

"Let's take Cromwell," said Gracie, always anxious, no matter what her frame of mind, to display her knowledge.

"No," said Maggie, "that's too hard for Lily; and she wants us to take some one we know."

"I should think any goose might know about Cromwell," said Gracie.

"We did not know about him till a few weeks ago," said Dora Johnson. "We've only just had him in our history, and I don't b'lieve Lily knows much about him."

"Then take Lafayette," said Gracie.

"Lily means some of the people we have in our own lives," said Bessie. "Make haste: she'll be tired."

This was seconded by Lily's voice calling from without, "Why don't you make haste? I should think you were choosing a hundred people."

"Let's take Flossey," said Belle, looking at the dog, who had jumped upon a chair beside Maggie, where he sat with a wise and sedate air as if he were listening to all that passed, and ready to take his share in the game.

This was agreed upon by all but Gracie, who declared that it was "ridiculous to choose a dog," and she had "a great mind not to play the game in such an absurd way."

Lily was called in and proceeded to ask her questions.

"Male or female?" was the first, beginning at Dora.

"Male," answered Dora.

"Black or white?" asked Lily.

"Neither," said Belle, who was next in turn, "least he's not black at all; but he's some white."

Lily looked rather puzzled at this.

"And what color besides is he?"

"Brown," answered Bessie.

"A brown and white man," said Lily. "Oh! I know. It's old black Peter."

"No, no, no," echoed around the circle.

"Not one scrap of Peter is white," said Mamie Stone. "He's the blackest old man I ever saw."

"Part of his eyes are white and his teeth too," said Lily, who was generally pretty sure of her ground when she stated a fact. "Where does he live?"

"In this country," said Nellie.

"In this city?"

"Yes," answered Maggie.

"Is he good or bad?"

"Good, most generally," answered Mabel; "only sometimes pretty mischievous."

"Oh," said Lily, light beginning to break upon her. "Can he talk?"

"He tan't talt, but he tan bart pretty well," said Frankie, to whom the question fell.

"Oh! oh! that's too plain," cried one and another laughing; and Maggie, thinking Frankie did not understand the game well enough to be allowed to go out, gave a hint to Lily, but not wishing to hurt her little brother's feelings took refuge in the French language, and said:—

"Ne guessez pas a lui."

Frankie, however, was too sharp for her; there was not much that escaped him, and he exclaimed in a very aggrieved tone that it was "not fair," and that Lily should guess at him.

So Lily said "Flossey" was the character; and, amid much laughter, the young gentleman betook himself to the hall with a pompous air, telling the little girls to make haste.

"Let's take himself," said Bessie, which being agreed upon, Frankie was called back almost before he was well out of the room.

"Is he blat or white?" he asked, following Lily's example, and beginning as she had done at Dora.

"He's white," said Dora laughing; and, in obedience to a suggestion from Maggie to help him out, she added,—"white, with brown eyes and red cheeks and brown hair."

"Flossey," cried Frankie triumphantly.

"No, no; not Flossey again," said the children.

"Does he have four feets?" asked the little boy.

"No, only two," said Belle.

"Does he live in the stable?" asked Frankie.

"No, he lives in this house," said Bessie.

"Blackie," said Frankie, who was unable to give up the idea that since it was not Flossey it must be the little pony owned by his sisters.

"Does he eat hay?" was his next question.

"No," answered Nellie, "he eats fruit and meat and bread and milk, and, oh! how he does love sugar and candy!"

"Me," cried Frankie, feeling that this description exactly suited himself.

The character having been guessed at Nellie she now went out, and Maggie, willing to put Gracie in a good humor if possible, asked her who they should take this time.

"Mary, Queen of Scots," answered Gracie promptly.

It was not altogether probable that the younger children knew much of this unfortunate lady, but Gracie's choice was acceded to and Nellie called.

"Male or female?" was of course the first question.

"Female," answered Dora.

"Old or young?"

"Um—m—m, pretty old," said Belle; "at least she was grown up."

"Is she alive now?"

"No," answered Bessie.

"Where did she live?"

"Well," said Lily, "she lived in a good many places. But not in this country. Generally in France or Scotland."

"Oh," said Nellie to whom this answer gave an inkling of the truth; but she passed on to the next.

"Was she good or bad, Maggie?"

"Some think her quite celestial and some think her quite infernal," answered Maggie with grand emphasis; "but on the whole I think she was not either, only rather middling like the most of us."

Nellie felt more confident than ever; but not caring to risk one of her three guesses as yet, she passed on. The questions she put to Mabel and Frankie were simple and very easily answered; then came Gracie's turn.

"What was she celebrated for?"

"For cruelty and persecuting people," answered Gracie confidently; and Nellie's idea was at once put to flight by the reply.

"That's a mistake," said Dora. "You are thinking of another character, Gracie."

"I'm not, either," said Gracie. "Don't I know history better than any of you?"

"You don't know that, anyway," said Maggie. "Gracie, you are wrong. She was not the character you are thinking of, and was not celebrated for that."

"But she was," persisted Gracie.

"Nellie," said Maggie, "you need not guess by what Gracie has told you, for she is not right."

"I'll put my question another way," said Nellie. "Can I ask Gracie once again?"

All agreed and Nellie asked,—

"Was she celebrated for her beauty and her misfortunes?"

"I shan't tell you," said Gracie snappishly. "If I do, I shan't be believed, but they'll all go and contradict me. I suppose I know what I know; and any of you might be proud if you knew as much history as I do and had kept the head of the class so long."

Gracie had for a moment forgotten how disgracefully she had lost her place at the head of the history class, but the silence that followed her ill-tempered speech brought it back to her and increased her vexation.

"You all think you know so much," she said, throwing herself back sullenly in her chair.

Bessie had begged Lily to bear with Gracie and not to aggravate her as she seemed so miserable and out of spirits, and Lily had been very forbearing; at least, so she thought. But now her small stock of patience was quite exhausted and she exclaimed vehemently:—

"Gracie, we try to stand you; we do try with all our might and main; but you use up every bit of standing there is in me!"

This did not mend matters in Gracie's present state of mind, but led to a pretty severe quarrel between her and Lily which the others vainly tried to heal, Lily being rather provoking, and Gracie obstinately sullen and ill-tempered.

It ended in a violent burst of tears from the latter, and a declaration that she would go home at once. But this was impossible, since it was now evening; and the children's supper-time being near at hand, Mrs. Bradford could not just then spare a servant to go home with Gracie.

No soothing or coaxing proved of any avail, nor did Lily's repentance; for she was sorry now that she had been provoking, and would readily have kissed and made up if Gracie could have been persuaded to do so.

Gracie said that she would not stay where Lily was, and went sulkily upstairs to the room where Maggie and Bessie slept.