Seven Times by Lynde Palmer

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 14, 1868

“Seven Times.”

By Lynde Palmer

LITTLE Milly, who felt very happy sitting in the sunshine, was anxious to do something to please the good God who had made such a beautiful world. So, as she learned her verse, “And if thy brother trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent, thou shalt forgive him,”—her gray eyes looked very thoughtful, and her small mouth grew firm with some very important resolution.

Pretty soon down stairs she came to the sitting-room, and found nobody there but brother Frank, who had two years the start of her in the race of life, but was not so far ahead as you might suppose. He was looking very discontented. The first words she heard were,

“Real mean!”

“What’s real mean?”

“Real mean to spend such a day as this in school!” and the book he held in his hand was transferred to his foot and sent spinning in the air, from whence it returned with a broken back, and two fluttering leaves.

“O Frank! isn’t that my arithmetic, and you know I was trying to keep it like a new book?” cried Milly.

“I declare it is. I thought it was mine; I’m very sorry; won’t you forgive me?” said Frank in a tone of real regret.

“Yes,” said Milly, slowly picking up the scattered leaves, and thinking of her verse, “Yes, I suppose so;” and under her breath she added, “One.”

Breakfast over, they started for school together.

“Milly,” cried Frank, suddenly, “here comes a big dog—tongue out, red eyes! Look out for hydrophobia! Run for your life!”

Poor Milly ran forward in great terror, too frightened to see where she stepped. Down went one foot in a treacherous hole, and the rest of Milly came tumbling after. This was a serious mishap; for the skin was quite rubbed off from one dimpled elbow, and, worst of all, one of the Morocco shoes—bright as a mirror—had a great white unsightly graze. Milly burst into tears, not about the elbow, for she could bear pain like a hero, and she knew that Nature, with the help of that experienced old tailor, Time, would soon set in a patch so nicely joined that she could never find the seam; but the new shoe, that was hopeless.

“O Frank, how could you? And the dog was only good old Cato, that would not hurt a fly.”

“Why, Millie, I’m sure I never thought you’d fall. I only meant to give you a nice little run. It is too bad that you’re hurt. I am so sorry; won’t you forgive me?”

“Yes, I’ll try,” said Milly, swallowing a lump in her throat. “Two,” she sighed softly to herself.

At school Frank was very aggravating, and Milly had great temptation to forget her verse. He borrowed her slate pencil and lost it, and once when she went up to her class, he put his feet in the way, and Milly, stumbling over them, fell, to her great mortification, and the laughter of the school. But Frank was so sorry. How could he help it? He tried very hard to keep them under the desk, but there was room there only for one. He was sorry, and patient Milly had to forgive him.

There were two or three other grievances in the morning which I have not time to relate. We will pass on to the time when school was out, and Milly found, to her great dismay, that there had been a change in the weather, and the rain was pouring down in torrents; but chivalrous Frank borrowed an umbrella, and taking Milly’s plump hand under his arm, started off as valiant as Greatheart.

“Look out! you swing the umbrella so that half the time it drips on my head,” cried Milly.

“A little water won’t hurt you, will it?” cried careless Frank.

But when they reached home, poor Milly found that the coloring matter had run from the umbrella, and long dingy streams disfigured the cherry lining of her pretty hood.

“Well, now, that is too bad,” cried Frank, observing her look of blank dismay.

“Well, Milly, you know I didn’t mean to. I’m sure you’d forgive me if you knew how sorry I felt.”

“I do forgive you,” said Milly with an effort, and she counted something on her fingers. “Seven,” said she to herself, with a great sigh of relief.

“What have you been counting all day, Milly?” asked Frank, curiously.

Milly did not answer; but as she ran in to dinner, a very self-satisfied smile was on her face, and she repeated to herself, “Seven times. Well, I hope God has been pleased, for it has been very hard; and I am so glad it’s over, for I don’t think I could hold out any longer.”

It rained so hard in the afternoon that Milly and Frank were allowed to stay at home and study in the play-room.

“Oh dear,” said Frank with a yawn, “before I begin this ‘rule of three that puzzles me,’ let’s have one little tune out of that music box that Uncle Charley gave you.”

Milly’s eyes brightened. She could not resist the temptation, and running from the room she soon returned with the treasure. Carefully she put in the little key and turned it with great caution; but mischievous Frank slipped in a little wooden wedge to the delicate works, and when she paused and listened, with smiling lips, and head turned on one side, the wonderful box was mute.

“What is it?” cried she, turning quite pale.

“Oh,” said Frank magnificently, “don’t be alarmed. I’m a great magician. Just let me put my finger in the box one second, and all will be right.”

Milly entrusted it to him with trembling hands. In went Frank’s confident fingers, but they pulled out the wedge a little too roughly. Snap! went some delicate spring. There was a dreary noise, as if the whole box were going to fly in pieces, and then all was still again. Frank examined the box with a dismayed face.

“Milly,” said he at length, with an effort, “it’s broken—spoiled! Can you ever forgive me?”

“No,” said Milly, stamping her little foot, and bursting into vehement tears—“I can’t, and I needn’t either. It is the eighth time! My dear, darling music box! You did it on purpose! You are bad to me! I’ll run right to your room and tear your kite and spoil everything I can find.”

Poor, remorseful Frank offered no opposition, and across the hall she ran, with streaming eyes and burning cheeks, and stumbled right into Uncle Charley’s arms.

“Hity tity! what’s the matter now?” But before the words were out of his mouth she was pouring forth her pitiful story.

Uncle Charley looked grave when she finished. “And so you think it right to be angry now?”

“Yes,” said little Milly, impetuously. “It is quite right. I’ve forgiven him seven times. This makes eight.”

“But didn’t you know,” said Uncle Charley, “that there is another verse in which Jesus tells Peter not only to forgive his brother seven times, but until seventy times seven?”

“Seventy times seven,” cried Milly, looking bewildered. “Oh, I am sorry I ever begun. I shall have to give up trying to please God that way.”

“I hope not,” said Uncle Charley.

“But you don’t know how hard it is to keep forgiving and forgiving,” wept little Milly.

“Yes, I think I do. And I shouldn’t wonder if the disciples knew it, too. It certainly is hard, but we must always keep trying, and not count the times either; for I think seventy times seven means that we should always forgive.”

“Oh, I can’t do it,” sobbed Milly, turning decidedly away from poor Frank, who stood in the doorway, the image of despair.

“I’ll give you my new book of travels, Milly, and save all my money until I can buy you another box,” cried Frank, in doleful tones.

But Milly would not listen.

“Very well, I would advise you not to say ‘Our Father’ for a day or two,” said Uncle Charley.

“Why,” said Milly, in surprise.

“Why, just think how very sad it would be to have to pray in this way: ‘And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive Frank, who has trespassed against us.’”

Milly’s cheeks grew burning red. She hesitated a moment, and then crying, “I can’t give up ‘Our Father,’” she ran to the sorrowful figure in the door, threw her arms around his neck, and had a good cry on the left pocket of his brown roundabout.

Good-hearted, blundering Frank has grown much more tender and careful of his little sister since then, and as for her, if you should ask Frank, “How often does Milly forgive now, till seven times?” you would see his honest eyes fill with affectionate tears, as he answers softly,

“Milly is too good to count, and I don’t dare to; but I am quite sure till seventy times seven.”—Lynde Palmer.