THE VICTORY by K. Sumner

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 10, 1880

THE VICTORY.

By K. Sumner

It may not seem much of a victory to you, but Sue thought at the time that it was the hardest thing in all the world to do. Poor little Sue! The girls were hard on her, harder than they thought for, I am sure. If they had realized how they were grieving her tender heart, surely they would not have treated her so, but I presume they never gave the subject half a minute's thought. And Sue never complained, not she.

It was Grace Dennis's fault, to begin with. If she had not given Sue the cold shoulder, the rest never would have thought of it. But Grace did decidedly, the very first thing, and when did the girls fail to follow in Grace's lead?

That was just the trouble. Grace had always been leader among the girls, partly because her father was Judge Dennis, and partly because hers was just the nature that other girls pattern and follow after. And the minute she saw her, she felt a strong presentiment that the seemingly quiet little figure, with such a roguish twinkle in her eyes, would prove a dangerous rival unless she was careful. So she utterly ignored Sue after a cool "Good-morning" nod.

Sue sat in her seat alone that first recess, with swelling heart, while the other girls had such a jolly game. To be sure, Nell Harris did venture to whisper to Grace that perhaps the new girl would like to play.

"Perhaps she would," replied Grace, in her clearest, coolest tones, "but I cannot say that I would like to have her. I am not in the habit of associating with drunkards' daughters, and her mother goes out sewing by the day."

The little golden head that had been bent suddenly raised itself, and pride equal to Grace Dennis's own shone from the brown eyes. After that none of the girls ventured to plead for Sue, in fact I am afraid they forgot her. To be sure they never forgot that she always knew her lessons, and best of all, she never refused to help any one.

But Grace grew haughtier and colder every day, for she was finding very rapidly that the place at the head of the class, that she had held so easily before Sue came, could be hers now only by hard work. And this fact greatly increased her dislike for Sue. "I'll study night and day, but she shall never get ahead of me," she said to herself.

Just then Mr. Rodgers offered the Algebra class a prize. For some reason the class had never done very well, and in hope of creating an enthusiasm, he offered a handsome copy of Shakespeare to the one who should stand highest at the end of the year, marking from daily recitations. It was astonishing how Algebra became the most interesting of all studies, but it was not so very long before it was quite plain that either Grace Dennis or Sue Ingraham would be the successful one.

Under any circumstances Grace would have exerted herself to the utmost, but when her father promised her a long coveted watch and chain if she would win, she redoubled her efforts, if that were possible. And then she would never let Sue win—oh no—not for anything.

Still, after all, Grace could not help a growing feeling of discomfort every time she met the glance of the brown eyes that had lost their merry twinkle, or noted how thin and pale Sue's face was growing. It troubled her, though she tried hard not to have it, and strange to say, the more it troubled her, the worse she treated Sue.

But it was Harry Archer's going over to the enemy's side that hurt her most.

Grace, suffering from a hard cold, and feeling out of sorts with everybody, had treated poor Sue most unmercifully all day.

They were all in the dressing-room, and Grace said something that brought the quick tears to Sue's eyes, though she turned away and went out quietly.

"Grace," said Harry before them all, "I always gave you credit for good common sense, but excuse me for saying it, I think you are acting abominably foolish now."

Then he hurried out after Sue, took her books, and walked down the street with her as politely as possible. After that Sue had one friend, at any rate, and one upon whom Harry Archer bestowed favor was never quite sent to Coventry. And Grace sorrowed in secret over the loss of one who had been her firm friend and ally ever since she could remember.

One morning almost at the end of the term, when Sue came in she saw Grace at her desk studying busily, with a vexed, anxious look on her face. In a few minutes Nell Harris appeared.

"What's the matter?" she said, going over to Grace.

"Why, Uncle Will came for me to go to ride last night. I looked at my Algebra, and it seemed so easy and simple that I went. But I found this morning that it was anything but simple. Papa is away, so I had no one to explain it to me, and I am in a pretty fix."

Grace did not intend Sue to hear, but she did, and an exultant smile passed over her face. They stood just even now, and both knew that this would give Sue the advantage.

"Ask her to help you," whispered Nell, with a glance at Sue.

"I guess not," said Grace haughtily, "besides, she wouldn't, if I did."

"I rather guess she wouldn't," thought Sue to herself, "she isn't quite such a goose at that."

Then, presently, the bell rang, and the scholars took out their Bibles to follow the morning reading. Two of them, however, paid but little attention. Grace was trying in her mind to solve her vexatious problems, and Sue's heart was full of glad rejoicing. "How proud mother will be, dear little mother," she thought.

"But I say unto you, love your enemies, bless those that curse you, do good to those that hate you, and pray for those that despitefully use you."

Sue started: that was a very uncomfortable verse to hear just then! How hard she had been trying all these long weeks to pray for the one that had so despitefully used her; that had been hard enough, but this was harder—"do good to them that hate you." Then the books were closed, and heads bowed for prayer, but Sue's lips were motionless. How could she pray, "Forgive us our trespasses, even as we forgive those who trespass against us?"

She took out her books with the rest, but she could not study, but she could not keep her eyes from the figure across the room.

The look of anxiety deepened every minute, as with flushed face and throbbing head, Grace tried in vain to conquer her lesson. Once Sue was sure she saw tears in the bright eyes. As for Sue herself—well, she never forgot the struggle of that morning. In vain she tried to assure herself that for her mother's sake she was justified in keeping still.

"Sue Ingraham," she said to herself at last in great vexation, "you know that's all bosh. You only want to be revenged. Your mother would be a great deal more pleased with you if you behave yourself and do right, and you know it too."

The Algebra class was to come directly after recess. She watched the scholars all out, then she stole quietly over to that desk the side of the room. Grace's hand shielded her face now, for the tears were dropping fast. Sue put her arm gently around her.

"They are dreadfully hard, aren't they? At least they seem so. I puzzled away over them last night till I was nearly wild. My brother helped me—I'll tell you what he told me, and you'll be perfectly astonished to see how quick they come right."

Then there was just a few words in explanation, and Sue was gone without waiting for thanks. Somebody standing in the doorway suddenly disappeared with a low whistle.

"We—ll, if that don't humble my lady Grace, there's no hopes of her."

The eventful day had come, as such days do in course of time. Fathers and mothers, big brothers and sisters had gathered to witness the triumphs of those dear to them. In the seat of honor was Judge Dennis, a look of pleased expectancy on his face; in a quiet, out-of-the-way corner was Mrs. Ingraham in her widow's garb, on the desk in sight of all lay an elegant copy of Shakespeare. The decisive moment had come. Mr. Rodgers rose to present the prize.

"It is my privilege and pleasure to present to Miss Grace Dennis the reward offered to the one who should stand at this time, highest in the class. The contest has been a close one, very close between two, but Miss Dennis has won." He paused, the book in his hand waiting, but Grace stood irresolute, her face flushing and paling by turns.

"May I ask how much I am winner?"

The question came hurriedly.

"By a few marks only, but those few give you fair possession."

Again Grace paused—then passing rapidly to the desk, she took the book, and to the surprise and no small wonderment of all, wended her way to Sue's desk.

"It is yours—not mine," she said to Sue.

"You all know," she continued, turning to teacher and scholars, "how I have treated her, but she overcame evil with good, and helped me when she knew it was to her own hurt. It is hers, not mine."

For an instant there was a hush. Then some one, and it was worth more to Grace than the prize, said a little huskily, "Three cheers for Grace Dennis!"

Then came three for Sue, and little Mrs. Ingraham could scarcely contain herself, she felt so proud and happy.

"Oh mother," said Sue that night, "suppose I had been mean and ugly, and not helped her, how miserable I should be to-night, but instead it has been the happiest day of my life."—K. Sumner.