Five Happy Weeks | Page 7

bade each sit down, in the room with her, and read a chapter
in the Bible. As Mabel could not read, she gave her a picture Bible to
look at. She sat by, with so grave a face, and had so little to say, that
they all began to feel uncomfortable, and wished themselves
somewhere else. Edith's face was covered with blushes, Mabel began to
swallow a lump in her throat, and Johnnie at last, growing angry,
determined to stand it no longer. He shut up his Bible, and marched to
Aunt Maria, who looked at him through her spectacles, and said:
"Well, sir? Who told you to shut up your book?"
"It does no good to read the Bible when anybody's mad with you," said
Johnnie. "What have we done, Aunt Maria?"
"I did not say you had done anything."
"But you look so cross, and sit up so straight, and--who ever heard of
reading the Bible, in the middle of the afternoon, on a week day?" said
Johnnie with an air of assurance.
"Well, Johnnie, to tell the truth, I did not like your bringing all the
riff-raff of the town to eat my nice cherries."
"But you said we might do it."
"I should think, Johnnie, you would have liked better to have such
friends as Percival Lester and Reginold Randolph, or Maggie and Clara
Vale, to play with. I fear you have low tastes, child."
At this charge, little Johnnie colored up, but he stood his ground.
"The reason we asked them was because they couldn't buy any fruit, if
they wanted it ever so much; and we thought it would please them and
make them happy."

Edith had been thoughtfully turning over the leaves of her Bible, and
now she said:
"Auntie, here are some verses I once read to mamma:
"'When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy
brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbors, lest they also bid
thee again, and a recompense be made thee.
"'But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the
blind; and thou shalt be blessed, for they cannot recompense thee, for
thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.'"
"There," said Johnnie, "haven't we made a Bible feast?"
"Yes, my dears," Aunt Maria replied, "and I beg your pardon. The truth
is, I have not been very much displeased with you, but thought I would
try you a little. Now as you have had a good rest, you may all go out
and play."
"I think Aunt Maria ith a naughty woman," said Mabel in a very low
voice to Edith, as they left the room.
Rose, who had been present all the while, heard her, and so did Aunt
Maria, but neither said a word, till the children were out of hearing.
Then Rose said,
"I'm afraid I agree with little Mabel. Dear Mrs. MacLain, what made
you pretend to be vexed, if you were not?"
"I am not obliged to explain my actions to every one, am I, Rose?" said
the lady. "Children are a sort of a puzzle to me, never having had any
of my own; and I don't believe I know how to bring them up. But these
of Helen's are pretty good, especially Johnnie."
Aunt Maria had some very stylish friends who occasionally visited her.
They sent word beforehand concerning their coming, and great
preparations were made. On the day of their arrival, the little folks were

arrayed in their very best, and Edith and Mabel took their dolls, and
were seated in the parlor, that they might not get into the least disorder.
"Mrs. Featherfew is very particular," said Aunt Maria. "She will be sure
to take notice, if you don't behave splendidly."
"I'll be glad when she's been and gone," remarked Johnnie.
Mrs. Featherfew however was quite different from what the children
had been led to expect. She was a slender pretty looking lady, who
seemed to float down the long parlor, she walked so lightly and
gracefully, her long silk dress trailing behind her. The next day the two
little girls amused themselves by playing "Mrs. Featherfew," Edith
putting on a long gown of her aunt's for the purpose.
Two very elegant children came with Mrs. Featherfew, Wilhelmine and
Victorine. They spoke very primly and politely, and seemed to our little
folks like grown-up ladies cut down short. But when after dinner they
all went out into the grounds to play, Mine and Rine, as they called
each other, could play as merrily as the others.
The little girl to whom the dolly had been lent happened to be looking
through the palings, just when the fun was at its height. She had rather
a dirty