Effie Maurice | Page 6

of food, she did not tell, and there was none to help her.
'We will speak to father about her,' said Harry, as they proceeded homeward, 'perhaps he can do something for them,--it is a sweet little baby, Effie, with a skin clear and white, and eyes--oh, you never saw such eyes! they look so soft and loving, that you would think the poor thing knew every word you said, and how I pitied it. I could hardly help crying, Effie.'
'I am glad you followed the poor woman.'
'So am I. But Effie, you don't know how vexed I was with that selfish little miss, that bought the rocking-chair.'
'Harry!'
'Now, don't go to taking her part, Effie, it will do no good, I can tell you; she is the most selfish and unfeeling little girl that I ever saw. Because the woman wore an old bonnet, she couldn't help her--only think of that! how mean!'
'She--O Harry! now I know what mother meant when she talked to me so much about having charity for people, and told me that we could not always judge the heart by the actions. I thought as badly of her as you at first, but I'm sure now she is not unfeeling.'
'Well, if she has any feeling, I should like to see her shew it, that's all. I tell you, Effie, if anybody ever made a god of self, it is that little girl we saw to-night. She thought her gratification of more consequence than that poor baby's life.'
'No, Harry, she is one of the thoughtless ones mother tells us so much about. If you had seen her when she gave me this money,' putting the silver piece into her brother's hand, 'you would never call her unfeeling.'
'Did you tease her for it?'
'No, I didn't ask her again, for I did feel a little vexed--yes, a good deal so, at first, but, Harry, I don't feel vexed now, I am sorry for her. There was a tear in her eye, I am pretty sure, though she was ashamed to have me see it, and her lips quivered, and she looked--oh, so sad, when she told me her mother was dead; I wish you could have seen her, Harry.'
'I would rather not see her again, for I can't bear proud people--' Effie was about interrupting her brother in defence of the little stranger girl, but at that moment a new object attracted their attention. It was a fine sleigh drawn by a pair of beautiful gray horses, that, with proudly arched neck and flowing mane, stepped daintily, as if perfectly aware of the fact that they were gentlemen's horses, and carried as fashionable a load as New York afforded. A little girl leaned quite over the side of the sleigh, and smiled and nodded to Effie, then waving her handkerchief, to attract still more attention, dropped something upon the ground. It was the child they had seen at the toy-shop. Harry flew to pick up the offering, and gave it to his sister.
'Now, what do you think of her?' inquired Effie, as her eye lighted on the self-same purse she had seen but a little while before; 'I knew she must be kind-hearted--did you ever see anything so generous? Here is ever so much money, and all for the poor woman and her sick baby--why don't you speak, Harry?'
'Because--I--'
'You don't think she is selfish now, I hope?'
'I don't think anything about it, Effie, because I don't know. If she gave her own money she is generous, but if she begged it of somebody else to give--'
'If she begged it of somebody else, it was generous in her to give it to this poor woman, instead of putting it to some other use.'
'Well, Effie, the money will certainly do the poor woman a great deal of good, and I rather think the little girl feels better for giving, so I am sure we ought to be glad.'
'I wish I could find out her name,' said Effie, 'perhaps it is on the purse.' Harry drew the silken purse from his pocket, and after examining it closely, found engraved on one of the rings the name of 'ROSA LYNMORE.'
In the evening the children related the events of the day to their mother, and found her approbation a sufficient reward for all their self-denial. The conduct of Rosa Lynmore was duly canvassed, too; and, while Mrs Maurice praised her generosity, she endeavoured to shew her children the difference between this one impulsive act, and the constant, self-denying effort which is the result of true benevolence. 'This little girl,' she said, 'may make but a small sacrifice in parting with this money, not half so great as it would be to go and seek out the poor woman and administer to her necessities, but still