The Potato Child and Others | Page 5

expected anything so serious would come of it. He deserved the
disgrace. It only hurt him through his love for her. But only forgive him,
and he would show her what he could yet do.
What had he done?
He had tied a calf to the president's door-bell.
She remembered her answer to this letter, asking for her forgiveness. It
stood before her, written in characters of flame.
Had she in this been harsh to the boy, the only legacy her dying mother
had to leave her?
"Never speak to me, nor see my face again. You have disgraced
yourself and me."
It was not so long a letter but that she could easily remember it.
Afterward, the president himself had written again to her. He thought
he had been too hasty. It was truly only a boy's prank. It was, of course,
ungentlemanly, but the trick was played on All-Fool's Night, and that
should have had greater weight than it did. The faculty were willing,
after proper apologies were made, to excuse it, and take her brother
back.
Where was her brother? He could not be found, and not one word had
she heard of him since she sent that dreadful letter. He might be dead.
Oh, how often she thought that! Now she wrung her hands and covered
her wet cheeks with them. Her hair fell about her shoulders, as she

shook in her agony of remorse.
* * * * * * *
What noise is this? the door-bell pealing through the silent house.
Again and again it rings.
She did not hear this bell. She was listening to another, and how it rang!
Louder and louder, how it rang, and well it might, with a calf jumping
about, trying to get away from it. Even in all her misery - so near
together are the ecstasies of emotion - she laughed aloud and then
shuddered at the thought that she should never again hear any noise
quite so loud as this of the past.
Then she felt in the silent, chill room a tattered presence, a little
half-frozen hand upon her own. She turned her streaming eyes, and
they were met by the big, wide eyes of Elsie.
"Miss Amanda, didn't you hear the door-bell ringing? There is
something - no, there is somebody - waiting down-stairs for you."
Half dazed, half afraid, ashamed of her tears, Miss Amanda left the
room, led by the child as by an unearthly presence into an unearthly
presence.
Who was this bearded man that folded her in his strong, true arms?
* * * * * * *
"I have so much to tell you, dear child. I am such a happy little girl.
Miss Amanda's dear brother has come home. She is so happy, and she
loves him so much. And, oh darling, they both love me! And it was all
you! You did it all! Oh, there is no knowing how much good one sweet,
loving, contented potato-child can do in a house."

A Story That Never Ends

Tommy was very angry. He rushed up-stairs and into his mother's room,
utterly forgetting his knock or "Am I welcome, mother?"
"Bang!" echoed the door behind him with a noise that resounded over
the whole house. Why he was angry was plain enough. His eye was
black, nose bleeding, coat torn, collar hanging. His mother took it off as
he bent over the wash-bowl.
"Oh, Tommy," she said, "you've been fighting again."
"Well, mother," he exclaimed, "what do you expect me to do? That
Bob Sykes threw rocks at me again and called me names. He said I was

- "
"Hush," said his mother, "you only grow more angry as you speak. Is it
hard for you now to remember the rule, 'The good things about others,
the naughty things about yourself''?"
"Good! There is nothing good about him. I hate him. I wish he was
dead, I do. I wish I could kill him."
Sternly his mother took him by the arm and led him before the mirror.
One look at the face he saw there silenced him.
"To all intents and purposes you have killed him. 'Whosoever hateth his
brother is a murderer.' You cannot but remember who said it, Tommy.
It is late in the afternoon. The sun is going down. To-morrow is His
birthday. Hadn't you better forgive Bob?"
"The sun may go down and the sun may come up for all I care," he
answered, "I'll never forgive him."
Without further word his mother bathed his heated face and led him to
her bed. "Lie down and rest," she said, "you are over excited. Quiet will
help you."
He lay and looked at her as she sat quietly and gravely at her work