A SPARK THAT KINDLED FRIENDSHIP.
By Anna Felzel
MRS. DOUGLASS was surprised to see her daughter at home before school was out, but a look at the girl’s face plainly told her that something was wrong. Mary laid her head on the table, and gave way to her grief. “Tell me all about it, Mary,” said her mother. Soon her grief was abated, and, in broken sentences, she unburdened her heart. “If that is all, Mary, you can set your mind at ease, as the guilty one will be found, and you will be stronger to meet the trials that even children have. ‘Right will triumph in the end.’ Pay no attention to any one who may taunt you, or hint at your having committed a theft.” O what a comfort to have such a mother! The load that seemed to bear her to the ground was now lifted, and in its place was peace and kind feeling toward every one. Mary knew who it was that had played the cruel joke, but did not tell her mother, as the latter did not ask her. The mother also had her suspicion, but did not make it known, for fear that she might be misjudging an innocent person. Mary went to school again, but she could see who were her enemies, as they seemed to avoid her. When she passed them she could hear their whispered taunts, such as, “We have no ribbons on to-day,” or “We wore the ribbons but a short time.” But she gave no heed, yet it was hard to bear, knowing she was innocent. The few friends she had showed by kind little deeds that they felt for her. So matters went on, and no clue had yet been found, but when the teacher one day asked Mary if she had any idea who the guilty one was, Mary blushingly said, “I have, but would rather not tell, as I might be wrong.” “Very well, Mary, I respect you more than ever, and had I entertained the slightest doubt of your honesty, your noble action now has dispelled it.” The teacher, too, had her suspicion. How was it with the perpetrator of the deed? Did he, too, feel any remorse? Yes! at times his better nature would assert itself, and he felt that he must speak out and proclaim11himself the coward he was. It was just this cowardice that kept him from doing right. So he let matters go on, intending some day to make amends. “Mary,” said Mrs. Douglass one day, as they were at home alone, “I smell something burning; step to the door and see what it is.” Mary did, and rushing out called to her mother that Vane’s barn was on fire. They ran as near as they dared, but saw that any efforts on their part would be useless. They had seen a man drive in but a few minutes before with a load of hay, which was even now being rapidly consumed. It was undoubtedly he who had caused the fire through carelessness with his pipe. What to do they did not know, as the town was a mile away. “O, mother there is a telephone in the house,” and without delay she darted toward the house, but it was locked, the family having gone to town. Was help so near, and yet so far? “I’ll break one of those large window-panes, and get in,” said Mary. She did so, and with trembling hand seized the receiver, and sent in the message that Mr. Vane’s place was on fire. Her work now done, she unlocked the door, and stepped out, and as she did so she noticed that her wrist was cut and bleeding. By this time a few men had gathered, and through their efforts many pieces of machinery were saved. Soon the fire department arrived, and further damage was prevented. Mr. Vane and family hearing of the fire hastened home, and the former was very profuse in his thanks to Mrs. Douglass and Mary. Mrs. Vane simply thanked them. Albert, however, like his father, thought Mary had rendered them a service that could hardly be repaid with simple thanks. There was a tumult in his heart. O, the hot coals were being heaped on his head, and they had sunk into his heart, and were kindling a flame of remorse and shame. His course lay open. The time had come when he must make a clean breast of his guilt, and take from Mary’s shoulders the burden which she had so patiently borne. O that to-morrow were Monday that he might beg her pardon before the whole school. Of course he could tell her alone and receive the pardon, which he was sure her noble heart would grant; but he had openly wronged her, and now in the same way he must make amends. Monday came at last, and Albert started off earlier than usual, as he said to himself, “I must give my heart time to settle down in its proper place, as it seems now to be up in my throat.” As soon as the school was opened, he held up his hand, saying, “Miss Ford, may I speak please?” Permission being granted, he stood before the school and said: “I have a confession to make, a pardon to ask. It was I who tied those ribbons on Mary’s hair, and let the finger of scorn be pointed at her, and now I humbly beg her pardon. Will you forgive me, Mary?” Although Mary knew who it was that had wronged her, yet she was surprised at the open declaration of his guilt. As soon as she could collect her thoughts, she arose, and, with a trembling voice, and tearful eyes, she said: “I freely forgive you. I never had any ill feelings toward you, and will be glad to be friends.” “Albert, you may take your seat, while I give the pupils a clearer insight into Mary’s noble nature. She knew all the while who tied the ribbons on her hair, but would not give his name, altho asked to do so. She preferred not to accuse, and so suffered in silence. Who of us could have done more?” When recess came, every pupil shook hands with Mary, and said a few kind words, except Helen, who, through shame, could not face Mary. It was not long, however, before she and her mother were won over to the “enemy’s side,” as Albert laughingly put it. Even their proud spirits could not withstand such charity which “endureth all things.”