Nat and His Sister

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Nov 25, 1886

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 12, No. 45.

Nat and His Sister.

NAT HASTINGS was alone in the family sitting-room, with his Latin grammar open upon the center table before him. He liked to sit here evenings with his sister Fanny, and study his lessons for the next day. She was up-stairs now, hearing her small brothers say their prayers and tucking them snugly away in their cribs for the night. But she would come down before long and sit in that low chair on the other side of the table, with her work or book, making a pretty picture to Nat's eyes, in the soft light of the student's lamp.

And it was a pleasant room, beautiful and attractive as only good taste and a good deal of money can make any place. But this evening, for some reason, Nat seemed out of harmony with all the brightness and beauty around him. He was moody and absent-minded, and scarcely looked at his lessons; though usually he made the most of his time for study when his sister was up in the nursery, that they might have the more for those delightful little confidences in which they sometimes indulged later in the evening, while they roasted chestnuts in the ashes, or ate a dish of popped corn.

Nat had been in an uncomfortable frame of mind ever since he came home from school, at 4 o'clock. He had no appetite for his supper, was cross to his little brother, disobliging to Maggie when she asked a small favor of Master Nat, and almost snappish to his sister Fanny, whom he loved with all his heart, when she reminded him that he had left his books on the hat-stand and thrown his cap on the floor.

This grown-up girl was only seventeen, three years older than Nat; but she was wise and womanly beyond her years, especially concerning this brother, and happy in possessing his confidence! She never lectured him and seldom advised, only made suggestions, which, in the end, he was pretty sure to follow, though not always received with favor at first. So this evening, when she came down-stairs, she could see that her brother was very unhappy; and while her fingers were busy with her needle, her heart put up a little prayer that she might be able to give him the help he needed when he should open his heart to her, as she knew he would.

It was not long before he raised a clouded face to hers and said:—

"Fan, don't you think it's an awful bother to have a conscience?"

"It may be troublesome at times, Nat," she said, "but I don't see how we could get along without it very well."

"I suppose not," said Nat. Then a long silence ensued, broken at last by Fanny saying, kindly,

"You know there is sometimes relief for a troubled conscience, Nat."

"Yes I know it, and I suppose I may as well 'fess first as last; but, Fan, this is such a very bad thing," and Nat's voice broke a little.

"Better make a clean breast of it, dear."

"Well, you see, it was in the arithmetic class. We are in the hardest part of the book, and some of the examples none of the boys could do, not even Will Mason; and he is the best scholar in the class. But Ed Ridley has a key that his brother used when he taught school; and he pushed it toward me when I was studying, and I took it. I'm awful sorry, Fan, but I copied enough to be marked perfect in my recitation."

"Oh, dear, Nat, how could you?"

"Stop, Fan; I haven't got to the worst yet. Mr. Gray must have been suspicious, for he asked me if anybody helped me, and I said, 'No, sir.' You see, I thought I could say a book was nobody; and so it would not be an out-and-out lie. But it was, all the same. I know that well enough."

Fanny had always been very proud of Nat. She knew he had faults enough, but she never supposed he could tell a lie; and now that he had done such a thing, she was not sorry it made him unhappy. Their father and mother had been away upon a journey for three weeks, and Nat, meanwhile, had been all that she could desire. But, now, alas! she was troubled sorely.

How still the room seemed! How loudly the clock ticked! Nat could not bear it.

"Fanny, do say something, even if you scold me. I deserve it."

"I don't know what to say, Nat. How far is it to Mr. Gray's boarding-place?"

"Half a mile or more. I know what you mean, Fan, but I am not going there to-night. I've told you, and I can do the other part in the morning."

"But, Nat, dear, can you sleep with such a load upon your conscience? And it would be dreadful if it were to grow lighter except in the right way. If father and mother should come home on the eight o'clock train this evening—"

"I hope they won't; I don't want to see them to-night."

"But they may come. I expect them a little because we have had no letter to-day; and it is after seven now, Nat. Shall I get your cap and mittens?"

"I told you I wasn't going," said the boy. But she coaxed a little in a loving way, and presently, as she drew on those handsome mittens, his sister's gift, he said in a sober voice:—

"You are pretty hard on a fellow, Fan," then kissed her and hurried off to do the thing he dreaded. And Fanny's sore heart went up again in prayer for him and for herself, that she might at the right time be able to show her brother how very dreadful it would be to meet his heavenly Father one day with a load of sin upon his conscience.

We need not go with Nat to call upon his teacher. Some of us may have gone upon a similar errand and found, with Nat, that "confession was good for the soul."

Mr. Gray was a wise-hearted man, and his scholars loved him—Nat never so much before as when he whistled his way home from that call. True, there was something humiliating to be said before that class to-morrow; and he was perplexed that his teacher seemed no more surprised at his errand. But the worst was over, and his heart gave a bound when he came in sight of the house and saw a hack driving away from the door. And he rushed in to be hugged and kissed by his mother and father, and by Fanny, too, behind their backs.—Interior.