Stepping Heavenward | Page 4

way to begin on
one's birthday, to be sure! Well, I had not time. And perhaps my good
resolutions pleased God almost as much as one of my rambling stupid
prayers could. For I must own I can't make good prayers. I can't think
of anything to say. I often wonder what mother finds to say when she is
shut up by the hour together.
I had a pretty good time at school. My teachers praised me, and Amelia
seemed so fond of me! She brought me a birthday present of a purse
that she had knit for me herself, and a net for my hair. Nets are just
coming into fashion. It will save a good deal of time my having this
one. Instead of combing and combing and combing my old hair to get it
glossy enough to suit mother, I can just give it one twist and one
squeeze and the whole thing will be settled for the day.

Amelia wrote me a dear little note, with her presents. I do really believe
she loves me dearly. It is so nice to have people love you!
When I got home mother called me into her room. She looked as if she
had been crying. She said I gave her a great deal of pain by my self-will
and ill temper and conceit.
"Conceit!" I screamed out. "Oh, mother, if you only knew how horrid I
think I am!"
Mother smiled a little. Then she went on with her list till she made me
out the worst creature in the world. I burst out crying, and was running
off to my room, but she made me come back and hear the rest. She said
my character would be essentially formed by the time I reached my
twentieth year, and left it to me to say if I wished to be as a woman
what I was now as a girl. I felt sulky, and would not answer. I was
shocked to think I had got only four years in which to improve, but
after all a good deal could be done in that time. Of course I don't want
to be always exactly what I am now.
Mother went on to say that I had in me the elements of a fine character
if I would only conquer some of my faults. "You are frank and
truthful," she said, "and in some things conscientious. I hope you are
really a child of God, and are trying to please Him. And it is my daily
prayer that you may become a lovely, loving, useful woman."
I made no answer. I wanted to say something, but my tongue wouldn't
move. I was angry with mother, and angry with myself. At last
everything came out all in a rush, mixed up with such floods of tears
that I thought mother's heart would melt, and that she would take back
what she had said.
"Amelia's mother never talks so to her!" I said. "She praises her, and
tells her what a comfort she is to her. But just as I am trying as hard as I
can to be good, and making resolutions, and all that, you scold me and
discourage me!"
Mother's voice was very soft and gentle as she asked, "Do you call this

'scolding,' my child?"
"And I don't like to be called conceited," I went on. "I know I am
perfectly horrid, and I am just as unhappy as I can be."
"I am very sorry for you, dear," mother replied. "But you must bear
with me. Other people will see your faults, but only your mother will
have the courage to speak of them. Now go to your own room, and
wipe away the traces of your tears that the rest of the family may not
know that you have been crying on your birthday." She kissed me but I
did not kiss her. I really believe Satan himself hindered me. I ran across
the hall to my room, slammed the door, and locked myself in. I was
going to throw myself on the bed and cry till I was sick. Then I should
look pale and tired, and they would all pity me. I do like so to be pitied!
But on the table, by the window, I saw a beautiful new desk in place of
the old clumsy thing I had been spattering and spoiling so many years.
A little note, full of love, said it was from mother, and begged me to
read and reflect upon a few verses of a tastefully bound copy of the
Bible, which accompanied it every day of my life. "A few verses," she
said, "carefully read and pondered, instead of a chapter or two read for
mere form's sake." I