Bessie Bradfords Prize | Page 4

now and going away with her mother. It isn't likely Mrs.
Neville will want to be leaving her child again after such an escape as
she's had. I'm sure I couldn't abide one of mine out of my sight after
such a thing. And the bravery of her, too, the dear young thing. My
husband says it was a risk a strong man, and one of the police
themselves, might have shrunk from."
This was an unusually long speech for Mrs. Richards, who was that
which Mrs. Granby so mistakenly called herself, "a woman of few
words," for she, as well as the rest of the family, had been greatly
interested in the adventure of the heroic little girl who had braved and
endured so much to rescue her young brother and sister.

Maggie hesitated one moment, then said:
"No, Mrs. Richards. Mrs. Neville has gone back to her son, but Miss
Lena has not gone with her. She is to stay with Colonel and Mrs. Rush
for a long time, perhaps a year, and we are all so glad about it."
"And could the mother go and leave her, and she might any time take a
turn for the worse, and be took off sudden?" interposed Mrs. Fleming,
whose tears did not prevent her from hearing all that passed. "You
never know when there's been burnin' if there ain't smothered fire, an' it
shows up when you least hexpect it."
No one took any notice of this cheerful prophecy, but Mrs. Granby
asked:
"And the young lady is like to be quite well again and about soon, Miss
Maggie?"
"Oh, yes," answered Maggie, confidently; "and we hope to have her
back at school before long. She is quite well enough now to enjoy
everything except walking; but her feet are still tender and she cannot
yet walk about. But come, girls, it is time to go;" and the young party
took their leave.
When not far from their respective homes, which were all in the same
neighborhood, they met Gracie Howard, and Maggie stopped to speak
to her, although Gracie had shown no sign of wishing to do so; indeed,
she seemed as if she would rather pass on. Of course, the others
lingered too.
"Gracie," said Maggie, "I hope you will come to the meeting of our
club the day after to-morrow. It is so long since you have been."
Gracie colored violently, looked down upon the ground, and in a
nervous way dug the toe of her overshoe into the snow which had fallen
that morning and still lay in some places on the street.
"I don't know; no, I think not--I think--perhaps I may go out with
mamma," she stammered, anxious for some excuse, and yet too honest
to invent one that was altogether without foundation. Perhaps she
would go out with her mother; she would ask her to take her.
"Oh, come, Gracie; do come," persisted Maggie, determined to carry
her point if possible. "It is so long since you have been, and you know
there is a paper owing from you. Your turn is long since passed; and
we'll all be so glad to have you."
Grade's color deepened still more, and she cast a sidelong glance at

Lily, who stood at Maggie's elbow; and Lily saw that she was doubtful
if that "all" included herself. Lily was very outspoken, particularly so
where she saw cause for disapproval, and above all if she thought
others were assuming too much; and she had on certain occasions so
plainly made known her opinion of some of Grade's assumption, that a
sort of chronic feud had become established between the two, not
breaking out into open hostility, but showing itself in a half-slighting,
half-teasing way with Lily, and with Gracie in a manner partly scornful,
partly an affectation of indifference.
Some six weeks since, at a meeting of the club of the "Cheeryble
Sisters," to which all three little girls belonged, Gracie's overweening
self-conceit and irrepressible desire to be first had led her into conflict
with another of her classmates, Lena Neville, in which she had proved
herself so arrogant, so jealous and ill-tempered that she had excited the
indignation of all who were present. But if they had known what
followed after Gracie had been left alone in the room where she had so
disgraced herself, how would they have felt then? How she had stood
by and seen the source of contention, a composition, which she
believed had been written by Lena, torn to atoms by a mischievous
little dog, withholding her hand from rescuing it, her voice from
warning the dog off from it simply for the indulgence of that same
blind, overpowering jealousy. The destruction was hardly wrought,
when repentance and remorse too late had