WHO WAS THE MOST GUILTY?
By Irene Wildemer Hartt
“Mattie, is that you?” called Mrs. Nash from the kitchen, where she was baking pies. “Yes’m,” came in low, reluctant tones. “Well, what have you broken now? We won’t have a dish to our name, the way you break and smash. What have you broken, I say?” “Nothing of yours this time,” returned Mattie. “It’s the bowl Mrs. Weaver sent over with the broth for Jennie.” “She didn’t give me the bowl, and it should have gone home long ago.” A critical ear, and Mattie’s were very critical where mother’s tones were concerned, could have detected a shade of relief as Mrs. Nash said that. It was not her bowl. Mattie was openly glad it was not a dish from their own poor stock. Mrs. Weaver was well off, and even if she had not given the bowl with the broth, she would never miss it. Mattie took a glass from the pantry more carefully this time, and went into the kitchen for a drink. “It’s a shame,” her mother said, opening the oven door to see if it was at the right heat, “that you never took that bowl back. What with Jennie being sick, and the men boarding here, I don’t have time to think of anything. Hurry now, and get to school, or you’ll be late. You better stop at Mrs. Stowell’s as you come10back, and ask her to lend me her wrapper pattern.” Mattie took her straw sailor, trimmed with faded ribbon, from its nail behind the door, and ran out. School was out a long time before she returned. “Mrs. Stowell wouldn’t let you have the pattern, ma,” she cried, as she burst in. “She said you never gave her back her sleeve pattern.” “Well, she is mighty particular about a little thing. There, take that thickened milk to Jennie. She feels as if she could eat a bit. I’m clean tired out with the baking and ironing and waiting on Jennie. Humph, Mrs. Stowell is particular!” “O ma,” Mattie called from the dining-room, as she carried the thickened milk carefully to Jennie, “what do you think? All the wood’s been stolen out of the schoolhouse shed, and they think that Fred Carleton did it.” “I’ll be bound he did. Those Carleton boys are born thieves. Is he in jail?” “No, but they are going to arrest him. O, Miss Wade is in such a state of indignation! Are you awake, Jennie?” as she softly opened a door the other side of the dining-room. “Yes,” returned a low voice, “and with a little bit of an appetite.” “I’m so glad. Maybe you are getting better. This is only thickened milk, but it is nice, and I am sure you will relish it,” said Mattie, as she sat down by the bed. “It is very nice, thank you, and all ma can afford. When I get well, and get my school back, she shall not work so hard. What were you saying to her about wood being stolen?” “O, all the wood has been stolen from the schoolhouse shed! It has been going gradually, and Miss Wade has just found out that Fred Carleton is the one who has been taking it. Those Carleton boys are regular thieves, every one knows.” “Why? Because they take what does not belong to them?” “Why, of course. Don’t you call that stealing, and isn’t it wrong? What are you talking about, Jennie?” “Certainly it is wrong. No one says it isn’t. I wonder how many ways there are of breaking that commandment, and who are the most guilty.” “What do you mean? You say such queer things since you were sick.” “Do I? Well, you know I lie here and think and think. I have nothing else to do. One thing I have thought of, often and often, is that ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ Miss Green loaned me. You remember I mislaid it, and when I found it again, it was so torn I did not like to return it.” “Why, Jennie, Miss Green’s gone away long ago, and likely has forgotten all about it. Don’t worry about that.” “I am not worrying. I am regretting my carelessness and dishonesty.” “Yes, just that. She did not give me that book. She loaned it to me. She did not tell me to keep it. I kept it, doubtless, against her wishes. Was not that dishonest? I might just as well have entered her library, and secretly have taken that book from her shelves, as have kept it without her permission.” “O Jennie, I am sure you are mistaken! You can not mean what you say. You look at it too seriously.” “No, Mattie, I am not mistaken. Neither am I too serious. It is really a great wrong to keep or destroy anything that is kindly loaned us by a neighbor or friend. It is keeping what is not ours. O, so many are careless about this! I have been very careless myself. Don’t you remember when I spilled that ink on the dining-room wall, I said, ‘No matter, the house don’t belong to us’?” “How could that be wrong? You couldn’t help spilling the ink.” “It was the spirit, not the act. Another thing, if the house were ours,” returned the elder sister, “I should have tried to get the stains out. There they are, to this day, a living witness against me, that I did not mind breaking the eighth commandment. You know it is the spirit always, the heart, that the Lord cares about. The act is secondary.” “Jennie, eat some more, won’t you?” “Thank you, I can not. Tell ma it was very nice. When I am up, I shall have more appetite.” Mattie sat still with the half-filled bowl in her lap. “I suppose that bowl cost ten cents,” she said after a while; “and Mrs. Weaver loses that much.” “You wouldn’t like to take ten cents out of her pocket, would you?” “That’s putting it pretty strong.” “Maybe it is; but just look at it. Mrs. Weaver needs her bowl. She will have to spend ten cents for another one. Isn’t that taking money from her?” “No,” Mattie burst out. Then she added, “I’ll take ten cents out of my bank, and buy a new one for her. I’ve got just twenty-five pennies. I am saving money to buy a book.” There was a bit of entreaty in her tone, as if her sister might be won to take pity on her small possessions. Jennie was strong in her convictions, and immovable. “I would, Mattie,” she said simply. Mattie took the remains of the thickened milk back to the kitchen. When she returned to Jennie’s room, she carried three books. Two of them were decidedly worse for the wear. “These were new books when Miss Trowbridge loaned them to me,” she said. “Look at them now. I’ve read them to pieces. This one tumbled down, and the back got loose. I am ashamed to take them to her. What shall I do?” “I don’t see what else you can do. She doubtless would rather have them in that condition than not have them at all.” “I would rather buy her new ones, if I had the money.” “But you haven’t, you know, and maybe I shall not be able to teach all winter. So I’ll have none to give you, else I would. I’m sorry, Mattie.” “Well, no one is to blame but myself.” Nevertheless, Mattie looked at the books as if, in some way, they were to blame. “I have been just as careless of my neighbor’s property. I have put my hand into the pocket of many a person, and have taken out money.” “O Jennie, don’t say that!” “Well, here goes. I’ll go buy the bowl, and I’ll take these books back with the best apology I can make. You may rest assured, I’ll do no more of what you call stealing. I don’t care to be on a level with Fred Carleton. Jennie, you are right,” she added gravely, standing with her hand on the doorknob. “Suppose we form a society, you and I, that we will respect the property of others, and care for it as we would our own. You be president, and I will be vice-president. Good-by. I’m going to buy the bowl.”—Irene Wildemer Hartt, in S. S. Times.