The Pearl of Peace: or, The Little Peacemaker

Leslie Madeline

The Pearl of Peace; or, The Little Peacemaker

CHAPTER I

THE QUARREL

SHE'S the meanest girl I ever saw! If she is my cousin, I'll say so. I wont speak to her again this term; see if I do!"

Sallie Munson was greatly excited, and walked in quick jerks by the side of her companion.

Matilda had been repeating to her, with some exaggeration, the remarks of Cynthia Manning, concerning her dress; but Matilda did not expect or intend to excite so much anger, and was almost frightened at Sallie's warmth.

"What are you talking about?" called a cheerful voice from behind. "I've been running my breath all away, trying to catch you; but I couldn't make you hear my call; I could only see Sallie gesturing away, as if she were practising her exhibition piece."

Matilda had only time to whisper hurriedly, "Don't tell her a word of what I said," when Harriet Maynard joined them.

One glance into her good-humored, serene face, would have put Sallie's anger to flight, if it had not been for a sly pinch Matilda gave her arm.

"Did you ever see the brook look so lovely, girls? I should have overtaken you sooner, only that I stopped at the bridge to see the water dash over Montworth Falls, as I have named that pretty cascade. I threw in a piece of wood, and over it went among the foam just like that boat we read of, over Niagara."

She rattled away in a gay tone, looking as smiling as a May Queen; but at last she could not help noticing that neither of her companions were in good humor.

"Why, what's the matter, Sallie?" she asked, affectionately. "You look as if you were in a high fever, and Matilda, too, is as solemn as a church. What is it?"

There was no answer; and, presently, a shadow crept over Hatty's smiling countenance.

"Sallie, Matilda," she exclaimed, eagerly, "you must tell. Have I done anything? Have I hurt your feelings?"

"No; oh, no, indeed!" answered Sallie, turning quickly to her friend. "It's nothing that you have anything to do with." She cast a quick glance down at her own dress, eager to know whether Hatty had also condemned it as low and vulgar; but her friend said, still more earnestly, —

"Tell me all about it, can't you? Do you know I begin to be jealous of Matilda? You have told her all your troubles."

"No, indeed! Matilda told me, – I" —

There was another pinch of the arm, and she stopped suddenly.

"Well, good-bye, then; I wish you were going my way: but I have the brook for company."

Then she laughingly waved her adieu, calling out after they were at some distance, "I've finished all those hard sums."

"What a girl Hatty is," exclaimed Sallie. "I wish I were always as happy as she is. I don't believe she ever cried in her life."

"Yes, she's gay," answered Matilda, "and good company; but still I do like people that have some feeling. She laughs a good deal. She knows that's her best look. She's awful proud of her white teeth."

"Now, Matilda, that's too bad! I don't believe she ever thinks of that in all her life. She laughs because she's happy; and, as for feeling, I think she has more than any of us. She's the best friend I have, any way. I never get angry when I'm with her."

"I didn't mean to say a word against her, I'm sure. I like her first-rate."

"Well, I shouldn't think you liked me first-rate, if I heard that you called me unfeeling and proud."

Sallie drew her arm from her companion, and walked on by herself in a dignified manner. Before long, Matilda reached her own home, and, with a pleasant good-bye, ran inside the gate.

When Sallie was left to her own reflections, her face grew more flushed and serious than ever. She was very angry with her cousin Cynthia, for criticizing her dress. She was angry with her mother, for obliging her to wear a gown that looked as if it came out of the ark. She was angry with Matilda for repeating her cousin's ill-natured remarks; and she was angry with herself for listening to them. It was only when she thought of Hatty, sweet Hatty Maynard, with her gay tone and pleasant, placid smile, that her forehead relaxed from the deep frown which had gathered upon it.

"I wonder," she said to herself, "why Hatty is so much happier than anybody else I know. She's real poor, and has to wait on that cross old uncle, and her deformed sister; she dresses old-fashioned, too; only she never seems to care. When she has on anything odd, she just laughs the more, and says, gayly, —

"'You know my dressmaker doesn't visit the city often.' Well, I suppose it's her way, and I wish 'twas my way, too."

CHAPTER II

SALLIE'S HOME TROUBLES

SALLIE MUNSON was the daughter of a man who had sailed as Captain of a schooner, bound for the West Indies, more than five years before the date of our story. He left a wife and seven children, of whom Sallie was the youngest, and the only daughter. At the time he left home she was just past six, and was therefore now eleven.

Five long, weary, waiting years of watching, suspense and anxiety, had left Mrs. Munson careworn and old before her time. Her eldest son was married and settled at a distance; the second had gone with his father as a sailor; the sixth boy, her darling, blue-eyed Jamie, was buried at the end of her little garden; leaving four children dependant on her labor for their support. To be sure, Abner, the oldest at home, was nearly seventeen; but though steady and honest, he lacked energy and thrift. When away from home he was the butt and laughing-stock of his more shrewd companions; and so his patient mother obtained what employment she could for him, under her own eye, and sent his brother Joseph, a stout, fun-loving lad of fifteen, to work in a neighboring tan yard.

Edward and Sallie went to school during the short sessions both in summer and winter, though the care and pains it cost their mother to fit them out in clothes and books, I can hardly describe.

Once a year Mrs. Barnes, the Captain's sister, came to the sea-shore to spend a few days, and always brought with her a bundle of half-worn clothes, out of which the widow made useful, if not fashionable, garments for her family.

It was shortly after one of these visits, that Sallie wore to school a dress, made from one given her by her aunt. It was a bright plaid, and with great pains had been made to fit her neatly. Whether the boddice and sleeves were in the prevailing mode, she was ignorant, until informed by her school-mate, Matilda.

This young girl had some good traits of character. She was diligent in her studies, and prompt in obliging a friend. But she had one terrible failing; a love of gossip or mischief-making, which rendered her dangerous to the peace of those with whom she associated.

This habit often led her much farther than she anticipated, and betrayed her into sundry exaggerations which she sometimes keenly regretted.

At recess, Cynthia Manning refused to lend a new book to Matilda; and to show her spite, she determined to make a quarrel between the cousins. The two girls lived not far apart, and usually walked home together in company with Hatty.

This time Matilda hurried her friend along, and began at once to say:

"It's strange you can't have anything new, without Cynthia being so envious. Just because you've got a handsome new gown, she's so mad, she can't say enough against it. She made all manner of fun of it behind your back, and called it real dowdy. 'I do declare,' she said, tossing back her head, 'for all Sallie is so set up with her new dress, I wouldn't be seen wearing such a vulgar-looking thing.'"

This was what had made Sallie exclaim in anger against her cousin. The reason Matilda was unwilling her companion should explain why she looked feverish, was because she well knew Hatty's character as a peace-maker; and her conscience loudly whispered that she had told much more than was true.

After the girls parted, and she went into her own home, do you think she was happy? Are quarrelsome people generally so? We shall see.

Matilda was the eldest of five children. The baby, as Master Tom, a sturdy little fellow of two years was called, was playing near the steps as she walked up the path from the gate. He gave a shout of welcome; but she pushed over his pile of stones with her foot, laughed at his cry of disappointment, and opened the door, with a frown on her face.

It was Wednesday; and the afternoon was a holiday. She felt quite sure there would be no play for her, and was resolved to show her displeasure at once.

She threw her pile of books into a chair, tossed her hat on another, and, passing through the common sitting-room, asked in a complaining tone, —

"Isn't dinner most ready?"

"Oh, Matilda!" said her mother, "you're just in time; run back as quick as you can to the store, and ask Mr. Pratt to cut you a thick slice of ham. Your father will be home in ten minutes, and be angry if dinner isn't ready. There, catch up your hat, and run quick."

"It's always the way," pouted Matilda, snatching the plate her mother held toward her. "I wanted to eat my dinner, and go nutting; but I never can do any thing."

She did not hurry in the least; but, just outside the gate, met her two brothers, who were quarreling about a jack-knife, one of them had found.

Instead of trying to make peace, she entered into the quarrel, and soon had both of them railing at her.

When her father came from his toil, hungry and impatient for his dinner, his wife was fretting; and his daughter nowhere in sight.

CHAPTER III

HATTY'S PEACEFUL HOME

NOW, let us follow Hatty as she ran gayly up the narrow lane toward her humble home. The brook, she loved so well, tumbled on over the stones and pebbles at her side, dancing and sparkling in the sunlight, as happy as she.

"Oh, how pretty these everlastings are!" she said to herself, stopping to take a nearer view of the late fall flowers; and there's dear Esther sitting at her sewing.

"Am I late?" she asked, running into their one room, which served for parlor, sitting-room and kitchen.

"Oh, no, dear!"

There was an affectionate kiss between the two sisters, and then Hatty, after hanging up her school hat and sack, laid some fresh sticks into the stove, filled the tea-kettle, and put some potatoes already washed into the oven to bake. Then she proceeded to lay on a cloth very coarse, but white as snow; and to set out the common plates they used, her tongue running merrily all the while.

"Oh, Esther! I wish you could see Montworth Falls. The water foams, and dashes, and sparkles so beautifully, I stood a moment to look at it; and then I had to run to catch the girls."

Esther smiled; a patient, calm face hers was, almost always lighted with that trusting, placid smile.

"I can see it," she answered, "almost as well as if I were there. You are my eyes, you know."

"Oh, sister!" Hatty went on, after bringing from the cellar a dish of cold meat and a plate of large cucumber pickles, "the girls are going nutting. Do you suppose I could go? Ethel Frost says chestnuts and shagbarks are ever so thick. There's one reason, specially, why I want to go to-day."

Esther quite laughed this time.

"You know I tell you everything," Hatty went on, her face growing a little anxious. "Sallie Munson is in trouble. I want to make her feel better; and I guess I can."

"Well, my dear peace-maker, you can go as well as not. You know uncle Oliver likes nuts in winter. They remind him of old times. You'd better carry them up stairs and dry them, and then give him a pleasant surprise."

"So I will!"

Hatty peeped into the oven to see how the potatoes were coming on, singing a line of her favorite hymn: —

"Oh how happy are theyWho their Saviour obey,And have laid up their treasure above,No tongue can express,The sweet comfort and peace,Of a soul in its earliest love."

Just as the tea was drawn (uncle Oliver was as set in his way as an old smoker, and declared that he couldn't live without tea with every meal), the old man made his appearance. He was bent a good deal with rheumatism; his face was wrinkled, and his hair grew low down on his forehead. His shaggy eyebrows nearly met over his nose, and his deep grey eyes looked cold to a stranger, but, notwithstanding all this, his nieces loved him. Years ago when his only sister, who was their mother, died, he promised her, that as well as he knew how, he would be a father to her daughters; and faithfully had he kept his word.

He had only a little money; but that little was freely given for their necessities. When they first came to live with him, people called him hard and crusty, an odd stick; but Esther and Hatty had crept into his heart and made it soft and tender.

For their mother's sake he had allowed Hatty to attend church and Sabbath school; and in this way a blessing had come home to all of them. Hatty was not only eyes to her deformed sister, and described to her the beauties of nature which she seldom saw herself, but she was ears to both of them. Every word she could remember of the Sunday teachings was stored to be repeated at home; and thus both the old man and his deformed niece had learned to love the sacred truths of the Bible. Indeed a blessed peace had settled on the whole household, a peace and contentment at which many of their neighbors wondered.

When Hatty heard her uncle's step, she ran to the door to welcome him. If he had been the handsomest man in America, she couldn't have looked more lovingly in his face. She playfully took off his hat, hung it on its hook, and then seated him at the table.

"Come, Esther," she exclaimed, "dinner's ready; and here's your chair."

It was no wonder uncle Oliver smiled as he watched her flitting about, first to lay Esther's work on a small table away from harm, then to push up her chair before her plate, snatching a kiss for her pains, and last seating herself demurely while the old man said grace. It was no wonder at all that he asked God to bless every one of them, and continue life and health to the child who was the joy of their hearts as well as the delight of their eyes.

CHAPTER IV

THE PEACE-MAKER

HATTY had a special reason for hurrying through her after-dinner work. She did not think it right to tell even Esther that her school-mate had tried to make hard feeling between cousins; but she did tell her heavenly Father, and asked his blessing on her effort to make peace between them.

Then with a parting kiss to Esther, who sat patiently at her sewing, she ran off to call for Sallie before Matilda joined the party.

"I've come begging," she said, laughing gayly, as she found her friend lingering over her afternoon task of picking beans for her mother to bake. "Here, let me help you; and I'll tell you what I want. You and I are just the same size; and I admired your new dress so much I'm going to get Esther to cut mine just like it. I want you to wear it over to our house, and let her see it; and then I can try it on. If it does fit me, and I'm sure it will, I can borrow your mother's pattern, and that will make it so easy for Esther, you know."

Sallie's cheeks grew crimson. She thought at first that Hatty must be joking. She had begun to hate that dress, but then, if Hatty liked it, it must be pretty, for every one in school acknowledged Hatty's good taste.

She sat thinking of this, while her friend took up handful after handful of beans, and put them into the pan.

"I'm going to try, and make it all myself," she went on gayly. "I am old enough now; and Esther has so much to do."

"Mother will lend you her pattern," answered Sallie, "but now really, Hatty, do you like my dress?"

"Yes, indeed; or I wouldn't wish mine like it; and I heard ever so many of the girls say how prettily it looked. Cynthia said those bright colors were very becoming, you're so pale, you know."

"Cynthia! did she say that?"

"Yes, she didn't like the tight sleeves at first; but I told her I did; and besides it's the fashion. You know," she added with a merry laugh, "when the fashion is a sensible one, we ought to follow it."

"But Hatty, Matilda says, Cynthia talked horridly about my dress. I got awfully angry about it, and said I wouldn't speak to her again this term."

"Oh, Sallie! that would be unkind and unforgiving, even if she had done all that Matilda says; but I do really think, Matilda is mistaken; I heard Cynthia praise the dress myself."

"No, she was not mistaken," cried Sallie in great excitement. "She meant to make a fuss. She's always trying to get people into a quarrel. There, the beans are done; and I'm going right to her house to tell her I've found her out; and I want nothing more to do with her."

"But Sallie, it's time we were going to the grove. The best nuts will all be gone; and I want to get good ones for uncle Oliver."

"Come on, then, I'm ready. Mother, is Edward going with us?"

"He's been gone with Ethel for an hour. He has a chance to sell a bushel, if he can pick them."

"I hope Matilda wont be there," said Sallie. "If she is, I sha'n't speak to her."

"I shall," added Hatty in a decided tone; "because, though I'm afraid she's done wrong, I don't think that would be the way to cure her, I think it would be best to let her see that we all love each other too well to allow a few hasty words to make us quarrel."

"I hate people who are always making a fuss."

Hatty laughed. "Matilda can't make a fuss with me," she said, showing all her white teeth.

"She tried to," answered Sallie. "She called you proud, and said you laughed to show your handsome teeth; but I wouldn't hear you talked against; and I told her so. After that she shut her mouth pretty quick."

"I'm afraid I do laugh too much," said Hatty, blushing crimson; "but I'm so happy, I can't help it. I hope I'm not proud, though I try to be thankful."

"You're the dearest girl in the world," exclaimed Sallie, putting her arms tightly around her friend's neck. "If it hadn't been for you, I should have had a quarrel with Cynthia; and mother would have worried awfully about it, for we're own cousins, you know."

"Well, dear Sallie, for my sake, forgive Matilda too. She was to blame for what she said; but we must pity her. I don't think Matilda is very happy."

Sallie shook her head, but presently asked, —

"What makes you always want people to forgive? I don't see how it will make you any happier."

"Oh, yes indeed it will! It seems dreadful to me to see two school-mates feeling unkindly to each other; and then, you know," she added with a deeper blush, "who has said, 'Be of one mind, live in peace, and the God of love and peace shall be with you;' don't you remember what a blessing is promised to the peace-makers?"

"No, I don't."

"Why, Sallie! The minister preached about it last winter. I remembered ever so much of the sermon for uncle Oliver and Esther. You know I have to preach it over again to them. Esther says, she thinks it's one of the most beautiful verses in the Bible:"

"Blessed are the peace-makers; for they shall be called the children of God."

Sallie remained silent for a few moments. When they came in sight of the grove, she caught her friend's hand and said earnestly, —

"Oh, Hatty! I wish I were like you, and could claim that promise. I see now why you're always so happy. You – "

"'Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee,'" added her companion, with a reverent glance upward.

CHAPTER V

MATILDA'S CONSCIENCE

MATILDA did not make her appearance in the grove. Her father was so angry at her tardiness in bringing the ham for his dinner that he forbade her the pleasure. She passed the afternoon in a very unhappy state of mind, continually quarrelling with her brothers and sisters, and stirring up strife in the whole household.

From her chamber window she saw Hatty and Sallie walk on, arm in arm, swinging their baskets; and conscience whispered, – "They will talk of you, and you have no one but yourself to blame for all your wretchedness."

Disgusted with herself, she still sat gazing from the window, when serious thoughts began to arise.

"Why can't I be happy?" she asked herself. "I have a better home than either of those girls. That is, the rooms look better, and father has more money. But things never go right. Mother always wants errands done so quick; and father gets angry and cross; and the boys are so touchy," —

"And Matilda, the eldest daughter is worse than all the rest; for she might be a help to her mother, a comfort to her father, and an example of love and peace to the whole family."

This was what conscience said; and conscience this time was determined to be heard.

"You hate yourself now," the inward monitor went on, "but not so badly as you will by and by. Every day that you indulge in these evil passions, you will grow worse and worse. Try to reform. Begin to-day, and take this verse for your motto: 'If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.'"

"That is Hatty's rule," exclaimed Matilda, starting from her seat. "I'll try it. I'm sorry now, I told Sallie that Cynthia didn't like her dress. I'm afraid there'll be a fuss about that. Sallie wont speak; and her cousin will find out what I said, and then the blame will all come on me."

"Where it belongs," urged conscience again.

"Well, I'll never tell tales again; that is, if I can help it. I mean to try and be like Hatty. Father and mother will wonder what has come over me; I wish I knew what I ought to do first."

Already she felt happier than for a long time. She ran down to the sink, bathed her face and eyes; then back to her room and combed her hair, confining it in her net, after which she joined her mother in the sitting-room.

"Where's that little apron," she began, "that you cut out yesterday? I'm going to make it."

Mrs. Manning glanced up from her work in surprise. "What has happened?" she asked herself; but she smilingly directed her daughter where she might find the apron.

Before her needle was threaded, baby Tom fell from the steps and began to scream with all his might.

Mrs. Manning started up, letting her sewing fall to the floor. "I sha'n't sew a stitch at this rate," began Matilda impatiently; but recovering herself, she exclaimed, —

"Come here, Tommy. I'll show you the bossy;" and they trotted off together to the barn.

The other boys were there playing in the hay, and at any other time Matilda would have begun to quarrel directly; but with her good resolves fresh in mind she began to coax them to come off the hay, and show her how to make bossy stand on his feet.

Her tone was so pleasant that they came at once, wondering at the change; and for the next half hour they had a merry time together.

Then she returned to the house with the baby mounted on her back.

When her father came home to supper, he evidently expected to find her cross and impatient at having been kept from accompanying her companions to the grove. He heard her singing before he reached the gate, and was not a little delighted to find his wife sitting at her sewing, and Matilda putting the last dishes on the table for tea.

"Well, now, this is as it ought to be," he said heartily, as they drew their chairs about the table. "Wife, you said you wanted a new gown, and here's money to buy cloth for you and Matilda, too. I'm always ready with the cash for good daughters."

A few hours later, when the young girl retired to her bed, she said to herself, – "It isn't so very hard to do right after all. How pleased father was. Now if I only knew that Sallie wouldn't say anything about what I told her, I should be happier than I have been for a month."

I wish Hatty had been there to remind her that she ought to thank her heavenly Father for help to keep her resolutions, else she could not have done one right thing. As it was, Hatty was giving uncle Oliver and Esther an account of her call at Mrs. Munson's; and they were thinking, – "What a blessing our dear girl is to us, and how lonely our cottage would be without her."

The nuts, a peck of each, were safely stored in the attic to dry, before the old man came home to supper; and then Hatty had time to run to a neighbor's with the vest Esther had just completed.