Little May, and her friend Conscience

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LITTLE MAY.

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MAY AND THE PEACH

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LITTLE MAY,

AND

HER FRIEND CONSCIENCE.

BY

MARIANNE PARROTT.



LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
BDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

1874.












LITTLE MAY.



PART I.



ts)

SvyNE fine autumn afternoon, little May
Idi Chumleigh was wandering about
alone in the most retired part of
her mamma’s garden. She had
left a happy little group of brothers
and sisters playing on the lawn before the
drawing-room window; and their merry
voices, floating on the breeze, still sounded
pleasantly in her ears. What can have
drawn her so far away from them? Is it
. that she likes so much to watch the lambs
_frisking in the meadow yonder? if so, she
will get a nice view of them from the steps
leading up to the summer-house. But, see!



6 AN INTIMATE FRIEND.

May does not go up the steps—she con-
tinues to walk up and down before that high
brick wall. I wonder what she sees there !
And now she is standing still, with her eyes
fixed upon a peach-tree.

“Tt is such a very beautiful peach!” said
the wicked Tempter in little May’s heart.

“But it is not yours,” whispered Con-
science ; “and papa and mamma have for-
bidden you to touch the wall-fruit.”
_ Now this Conscience was an intimate

friend of May’s, who followed her about
wherever she went: a curious little thing
she was; so very small, that, unlike good
girls in general—who are supposed to be
seen and not heard—she was heard and not
seen; and, although she now: and then
showed that she had a very loud voice, she
usually spoke in a whisper; but, for all that,
whatever she said was so good and right,
that I would strongly advise all my little
readers to find her out and cultivate hei
acquaintance.

“You know you're not to touch the wall-
fruit,” repeated Conscience.

“That’s true,” thought May, and she



CONSCIENCE AND THE TEMPTER. 7

scampered on in the direction of the lawn ;
but, before she reached it, she had to stoop
down to tie her shoe.

“ Now just turn back and take one more
look at it—only one,” said the Tempter.

“ Better not,” said Conscience; but the
Tempter spoke so loudly, that her gentle
voice was scarcely heard at all; and May
turned back.

A large black fly had settled on the peach.

«You nasty, greedy thing!” cried May ;
“you shall not have it, however ;” and out
went the little finger, but she only touched
it with the tip, just to frighten away the
fly : it felt very soft, and looked very rosy.

“ How ripe it is!” said the Tempter, “and
so sweet, I daresay.”

“Bread of deceit is sweet to a man; but
afterwards. his mouth shall be filled with
gravel,” said Conscience, making use of a
proverb which May had learned a day or
two before from her little text-book.

The child started at having these words
brought back to her memory; for her mamma
had explained them to her, and told her that
the wise king, Solomon, who wrote them,



8 INTO TEMPTATION,

meant, by “ bread of deceit,” anything that
is wrongfully obtained.

“ T will go and look at the lambs,” thought
she; and the next moment she was up on the
steps peeping over the hedge.

“Pretty innocent things,” said May to
herself, “how merrily they frisk about!
What gambols they are having, to be sure:
but, oh dear, my coming up here has fright-
ened therm, and now they are all running to
their mothers for protection.”

“Flad you not better run to yours?”
asked Conscience, who kept close at her
elbow.

“Perhaps I had,” thought the little girl,
and, jumping down the steps, she was off
with a hop and a skip to find mamma.

There were two paths; one led straight
to the house, the other went round by the
peach-tree.

‘¢ Better not go that way,” said Conscience ;
“he'll be at you again !”

“No, he won't,” thought May; for as she
had heard nothing of the Tempter for the
last five minutes, she fancied he had fallen
asleep. If he had, however, he was soon



“THOU SHALT NOT STEAL.” y

awake again; for no sooner did she catch
sight of the peach, than she heard him say,—

“Don’t be afraid, little May; gather it at
once ; no one sees you.”

“ Thou, God, seest me,” said Conscience ;
but poor Conscience, who is but a timid
little thing at best, was so afraid of the bold,
bad Tempter, that she always kept in the
background when he was by; and she spoke
now in such a very low voice, that May did
not hear her: so the little girl timidly
stretched out her hand towards the peach.

This, I suppose, made Conscience feel
quite desperate ; for, giving May’s elbow a
sharp twitch, that caused her to draw it back
again, she shouted in her ear, “Thou shalt
not steal,” and then ran away.

No wonder that poor littl May was
frightened at hearing such plain words as
these: a look of horror passed over her face,
and she was again preparing to fly from the
spot ; but the Tempter, who knew very well
what he was about, and who saw, besides,
that he had her now all to himself, cried,—

“Why, what a little coward you are!
How Horace would laugh at you, and say



10 DISAPPOINTMENT.

that it all comes of your being a poor spirit-
less girl; as if now it could be stealing to
take just one of your own papa’s peaches,
when there are so many others on the
tree.”

This was quite a new view of the case,
and, as May thought, a very pleasant one.
Yes, whatever was her papa’s was hers ; it
must be so, for she always said, “ Our house
—our garden.”

“To be sure,” said the Tempter; “ and
they’re our peaches too; so take it and enjoy
it” —«if you can—thought the Tempter to
himself, for he did not think it necessary to
repeat those words aloud.

Thus convinced that there was no harm
in it, little May put out her hand and
gathered the peach, but in her hurry she
dropped it on the ground ; and when she
took it up again, one side—and it was the
soft, rosy side too—was sadly bruised, and
all covered with dirt: she had to pull away
a great deal of it with her fingers, which
made them feel very sticky and disagreeable ;
and, before she had finished, she thought she
heard some one coming. Off she flew to





A FALSE ALARM. 11

the summer-house, cramming all that was
left of the peach into her mouth as she went
along, and swallowing it so quickly that it
nearly choked her. But it was a false alarm;
there was no one there, unless indeed—which
I think very likely—Conscience was hover-
ing somewhere near, watching what was
going on.

And now, little May’s grand feast being
over, she didn’t care to stay any longer alone
in that dull part of the garden; so, taking
this time the nearest path, away she ran to
join her brother and sisters: as for her
mamma, she thought she would rather not
see her just yet.

“Why, May, wherever have you been all
this time? you're always out of the way
when you're wanted,” cried Horace, as the
little girl appeared amongst them, with her
arms held up over her head, and looking
very ill at case. ‘“ How hot and dirty your
face looks! Ah, miss, you little think what
you've lost; you'd better by half have stayed
with us.” : .

“What have I lost?” cried the child
eagerly; “do tell me, Horace, or you,



12 WHAT MAY LOST.

Jessie dear; Horace is so tiresome, he de-
lights j in teasing one, but you'll tell me what
it is, won't you ? no?

“Well then, May, Robert has been up
the mulberry-tree, and mamma gave us leave
to have twelve each. Oh, we’ve had such _
fun—such a scramble! Only look at my
frock and Horace’s white trousers. But
nurse is not angry at all; she says accidents
will happen, and that she likes to see us
enjoy ourselves when mamma gives us leave.”

“Jessie talks of twelve,” said Horace
contemptuously ; “why, I should think Id
twenty-four at least, for papa came out and
gave me ever so many when the rest had
done, because ’m such a great boy now, I
may eat whatever [ like.”

“Pa dave me tum too, May,” lisped pretty
little Blanche ; “and loot how petty,” con-
tinued she, holding up her white pinafore,
as if quite proud of the stains upon it.

“And I was not here to have any,” said
May, in a tone of bitter disappointment.

“No,” said Jessie; “what a pity! Where -
could you be gone to, May ?”

“Oh, nowhere,” answered her sister, with



IN TO TEA, 13

a look of consciousness. ‘Never mind,
Jessie, I don’t care a bit about them.”

But this was not true, for she was think-
ing to herself all the while, “I should have
_ liked the mulberries a thousand times better
than that nasty cold peach; it wasn’t so
very ripe, after all. One part of it was quite
hard and sour.”

“You should have taken my advice, then,”
said Conscience, who was once more stand-
ing by May’s side.

And now it was tine to go in to tea; but
before they sat down, the frocks and pina-
fores had to be changed, and the hands and
faces washed.

“Why, Miss May, what have you been
doing with yourself? youre in the worst
plight of any. Here are sticky hands in-
deed! and only look at this frock! I don’t so
much mind the trouble of changing Horace
and Jessie, because their mamma gave them
leave to scramble for the mulberries; but
you've been in mischief, I know. What-
ever have you been doing, miss ?”

“Nothing at all, nurse; only it’s so very
hot.”



14 AN UNHAPPY GIRL.

‘Now don’t say that again,” whispered
Conscience ; “pray don’t.”

“ Hot, indeed,” said nurse, more crossly
than ever; “why, your face is quite scarlet
with heat, you naughty child! ”.

May did not enjoy her tea and bread and
butter at all: the half unripe peach which
she had swallowed in such a hurry, seemed
quite to have taken away her appetite ; be-
sides, she was fancying every moment that
she heard her mamma’s footstep coming up
the stairs, and, for the first time in her life,
little May did not wish to see her mamma.

“Wednesday is May’s birth-day, nurse,”
cried Horace, as they rose from table, “and
we're all to have lots of treats: in the first
place, we’re to breakfast and dine with papa
and mamma, little Blanche and all; that’s
glorious news for you, isn’t it, Mrs. Nurse?”

“Oh, won't it be joyful?” cried Jessie.
“T only wish it was my birth-day as well,
May.”

“T don’t care much about it,” said May
dejectedly. “TI think I’d rather be up here
in the nursery ! ”

“Qh, for shame, May! what, rather than



A GREAT TRIAL, 15

0

with dear papa and mamma!” cried her
brother and sister, as if with one voice ; and
tears filled poor May’s eyes, as she thought
what a strange, unkind speech she had ut-
tered.

She was very dull all the evening in the
drawing-room, and did not climb up on her
papa’s knee once: she did not even care to
play with little Floss; and when the doggy
fixed its bright black eye on her, as much
as to say, ““ Why won’t you come and have
a game with me, May?” all the answer he
got was, “ Don’t stare at me so, Floss; don’t,
you naughty dog.” But the greatest trial of
all was when papa and mamma kissed her as
they wished her good-night ; and, oh, how
miserable she felt, when her mamma said,—

“T cannot think, papa, how you came to
forget darling May when the mulberry feast
was going on: Horace tells me she has not
had one.”

“J did not forget her,” said Mr. Chum-
leigh. “ Papa never forgets any of his dear
children. You will find a plate of mulberries
on the breakfast-room table, May; I put
them there on purpose for you.”



16 UNCOMFORTABLE DREAMS.

May kissed and thanked him; but her
heart felt, oh, so heavy; and when she
reached the breakfast-room, she found, to
her surprise, that her taste for mulberries
was gone. She put one into her mouth, but
there was such an uncomfortable feeling in
her throat, that it almost choked her ; and, to
save herself from bursting into tears, she ran
hastily to bed.

“Be sure and think about it when you
say your prayers,” said Conscience, as they
were going up-stairs ; and May thought she
would, but somehow she forgot it again, and
did not even stop at the words, “ Forgive us
our trespasses.”

The poor little girl dreamed a great deal
that night: she had never had such uncom-
fortable dreams before. Once nurse was
obliged to wake her up, because she was
talking so strangely in her sleep: she said
something like, “ He told me so! he said it
was all mine,” and then she sobbed violently,
and called out, “ Papa—dear papa—don’t,
don’t kiss me.” Even when roused she
seemed so frightened, that nurse was half

frightened herself; and thinking she must
(357)





a il



THAT NASTY PEACH! 7

be ill, made her swallow down a large gray
powder, a thing of all others that little May
disliked.

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Chumleigh
were from home, which May was very glad
_of. She was restless and unhappy, and so
fretful that Horace and Jessie left her very
much to herself.

Once she sauntered up to the peach-tree,
with a sort of desperate hope that another
peach might have sprung up in the night, in
the place of the one she had taken ; but no!
there was the large vacant space, looking so
bare and naked, that any one who passed
that way must observe it.

“That nasty peach! the very thought of
it sets my teeth on edge.”

“T told you it would,” said Conscience.

At last came the birth-day morning ; and
long before papa and mamma made their ap-
pearance in the breakfast-room, a group of
happy little faces had assembled there: the
least happy of all was that of the heroine of
the day.

“T never saw such a foolish thing as you

are, May,” said boisterous Master Horace.
(357) 9



18 UNDESERVED KINDNESSES.

giving his sister a not very gentle shake.
“You don’t deserve to have a birth-day at
all, that you don’t; why, you haven’t even
looked at your presents yet.”

“Oh, do come and unpack them, May ;
do, there’s a dear, I want so to see what this
great parcel is,” said Jessie coaxingly.

May turned towards the table, and list-
lessly cut the strings: there was a handsome
work-box from papa; a very nicely bound
Bible from mamma; and a richly carved
Chinese puzzle from Aunt Jane.

“You don’t deserve them—you know you
don’t,” said Conscience, who had lately
dropped her gentle, persuasive tone, and
grown. very cross.

I suppose May thought so too, for she
returned to her seat at the breakfast-table,
leaving Horace and Jessie to admire the
presents alone.

In a few minutes their mamma entered
the room, and Mr. Chumleigh was seen to
cross the lawn and walk quickly towards the
kitchen-garden.

“God's best blessings be with you, my
darling,” said.the fond mother, pressing her



A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT, 19s

little girl to her bosom ; “and may He make:
you g good and happy, bee s

May’s heart throbbed high against her
mother’s, and her tears bean to How: but
she was a feeling child, and Mrs. Chumleigh
scarcely heeded them, as she wiped away the
large drops. with her handkerchief.

‘““Come, cheer up, my sweet May,” she-
said caressingly ; “we've such a happy day
in store. Papa has promised to give up the:
whole of it to us: will not that be nice ?”

“Once it would have been, but not now,”
thought May.

By the time all were seated, Mr. Chum-.
leigh came in, looking vexed and heated.

“JT have met with a sad disappointment, .
my dear,” said he, addressing his wife.

“Tndeed, Henry ! what is it?” she asked,
looking hastily up from her employment of’ -
spreading honey on little Blanche’s bread.

“Only that I have been for the last fort-
night anxiously watching the ripening of the
first peach, intending to have brought it in
this morning as a birth-day offering to my”
little May here; but, to my great annoy-
ance, I find that some one has been before-~



20 THE MISSING PEACH.

hand with me. I’m sure it was there on
Monday, for as the great day was drawing
so near, I went to see how it was going on.”

“Yes, indeed, I can answer for that,” re-
pled Mrs. Chumleigh ; “for, to tell you the
truth, I have been watching it too, though
I must confess I had intended to gather it
for some one else. We like to bring the
first-fruits to dear papa. Do we _ not,
May?”

It was well for poor May that mamma’s
eyes as well as those of the rest of the party,
were just now more intent on the glass hive
full of honey—old Dame Clark’s birth-day
present to Miss May—than on her cheeks,
for they were as red as fire.

“There, you see, nobody thought of them-
selves but you, you selfish thing !” said Con-
science ; “and all for the sake of a peach ;
so like greedy Dick in the Original Poems.”

“T’m sure I wish I had let it be,” thought
May to herselfi “TI should have been a
great deal better off; for I should have had
it now, at this very moment, quite ripe, and
not bruised at all. And it was such a large
one, that I could have cut it into six parts,



WHO TOOK IT? at

and given every one a bit! Oh dear! oh
dear !”

“JT think it must have been little Willie,
the gardener’s boy, who took that peach,”
resumed Mrs. Chumleigh, when she had set
all her children’s mouths agoing. ‘“ He’s
constantly toddling about after his father.”

“Very likely,” returned her husband ;
‘and if so, we must beg of Parkins to leave
him at home. A garden full of ripe fruit is
a dangerous playground for a child who is
too young to know right from wrong.”

“J daresay he thought nobody saw him
pick it,” said Horace, who had quite settled
it in his own mind that poor little Willie
was the culprit.

“ He forgets that God’s eye is always upon
us,” said Jessie. “Do you know, mamma,
that nurse taught little Blanchy a text last
night ; and she was to have said it to you
this morning, only she forgot it!”

“ Indeed!” said Mrs. Chumleigh, looking
inquiringly at Blanche. ‘Can my pet re-
member it now ?”

Blanche thrust into her mouth her last
morsel of bread and honey, and made great



:22 A WONDERFUL EYE.

haste to swallow it. When it was quite
-gone, she began to consider.

“Thou—” prompted Jessie.

“ Thou—God—seest—me,” said Blanche,
making an unusual effort to speak plainly. »

“Well done, sweet one!” said papa, get-
ting up, and kissing the sticky little lips,
without at all heeding that they were sticky.
“My little Blanche must always remember
that the great God sees her, and then she
will take care not to do anything that would
make Him angry.”

“ Because He is such a good and loving
Father !” put in Mrs. Chumleigh, who was
always anxious that her children should
learn to think of God in the character of a
kind and tender Parent, rather than in that
-of an angry Judge.

May meanwhile had risen and gone to
the window, where she now stood looking
out upon the sky. Could it be a real eye
that she saw, or did she only fancy one?
But whether or not, there it seemed to be
looking down upon her from heaven : an eye
full of love and pity, very sorrowful too, but
so piercing that it looked into her very heart.



THE TEMPTER AGAIN, 23

It’s only fancy, thought May, locking down
at the flower-beds; but when she glanced
upwards again, there it was still ; and though
she seemed determined not to mind it, she
could not quite make it out.

For my own part, I shall always think
that Conscience had something to do with
it; for, little creature as she is, she has won-
derful power sometimes ; and she had cer-
tainly followed May to the window, for she
just then whispered in her ear,—

“Go and confess,_-do !__ It’s so hard that
poor little Willie should be suspected !”

But unfortunately that wicked Tempter,
who had not troubled May much for the last
day or two, here put in his voice again.

“ Nonsense!” said he. ‘ Willie’s such a
little thing, he won’t care about it ; besides,
he’s not old enough to deny it; and so they'll
be sure not to come at the truth.”

“But youll never be happy again,” said
Conscience. “Only to think of deceiving
such a dear, kind papa and mamma as
yours !”

“They don’t know that you're deceiving
them,” replied the Tempter ; “and I’m sure



24 THE DAY’S AMUSEMENTS.

youd be much more unhappy if they found
out that you stole that peach ; besides, how
anery they’d be.”

He called it stealing now, you see, though
before he had said it was not so; but the
Tempter was “a liar from the beginning.”

“No such thing. ‘ Whoso confesseth and
forsaketh his sins shall have mercy,’” said
Conscience, again taking up the words of
May’s little text-book.

“J wish you wouldn't,” said May, turning
sharply round ; “you do tease me so!” At
which Conscience, being very much offended,
flew away, and May returned to the break-
fast-table.

She found that during her absence her
papa and Horace had been settling the order
of the day’samusements. The children were
to play together until their early dinner-hour,
after which May was to ride out on her pony,
not as usual, with the groom walking beside
her, and holding the bridle, but with her
papa, mounted on his beautiful hunter ; and
though there was to be a leading rein, that
would not be seen at a little distance off
After their return in the evening, papa was



AS HAPPY AS A KING. 25

to show them all sorts of wonderful things
through his microscope.

“QO May, won't it be a happy day!” cried
Jessie, clapping her hands with joy.

“T, for one, shall be as happy as a king!”
cried Horace.

“T be a ting too!” echoed little Blanche,
who, in her profound admiration of “ Bud-
der Hollis,” always wished to do whatever
he did.

And mamma found something so very
witty im this speech, that she caught her up
in her arms, and almost devoured her with
kisses.

Never were such merry games as those
the children played at that morning ; for on
other days they were at their lessons from
ten to one—and it seemed so very nice to
have those hours to do what they pleased
with. Even May jumped like the rest,
and laughed very loudly—almost too loudly
sometimes, as Jessie reminded her. But
though she had silenced Conscience for a
time by her sharp unkind speech at the
window, the faithful little monitor had only
retired into a corner, where she sat watch-



26 CONSCIENCE AT WORK.

ing, taking an opportunity every now and
then to give May a sly twinge. And I
still think it must have been she who con-
trived that the kind, pitying, bright eye
should always be looking at her, whenever
she caught a glimpse of the sky. Once or
twice when this happened she heard the dis-
tant sound of a voice which seemed to say,—

“ Do confess ; now do, pray! Only think
of poor little Willie bearing the blame !”

But May played on as if she heard not ;
only as dinner drew near, she grew cross and
irritable, quarrelled with Jessie, and was, as
Horace rather roughly expressed it, so stupid,
that she wouldn’t agree to anything, until at
last, in the closing game, she was, by com-
mon consent, shut out, although it was her
birth-day. Again she withdrew towards the
window, and there was the eye still.

“Your Father in heaven saw it all,” said
Conscience, venturing again to come near
her, though she trod very cautiously. “He
saw it all, and has written it down in His
book.” Here she paused, to see how May
‘took it ; and as she looked rather frightened,
‘she added, “ But if you'll only confess it, and



PAPA’S SECRET. 27

feel very sorry, His love will blot it out
again.”

May did feel very sorry, but her sorrow
was not yet of the right kind: she was
thinking more of the punishment than of
the sin,

At length the games were at an end, dinner
too was over, and the whole family were as-
sembled in the drawing-room. Mamma had

. just proposed that May should go and put
on her riding-skirt ; and Horace, who, with
all his roughness, was a very good-natured
boy, had run down to the hall and brought
up his own little whip—the one with the
greyhound’s head, which Aunt Jane had
given him on his last birth-day—and offered
her the use of it. Thanking him with some-
thing of her old.kind manner, she was half-
way across the room when the sound of her
papa’s voice stopped her. .

“ As dear May has been such a very good
girl of late,” said he, “and as she has now,
I hope, broken herself of that ugly habit of
wishing for everything she sees, I will, with
your permission, mamma, let her into a
secret. What should you say, my darling,



28 STRANGE CONDUCT.

to going next week to pay the long-talked-
of visit to Aunt Jane? I think we may
trust you alone now, May.”

“Oh, will you not like that, May? Dear,
dear Aunt Jane! How I should like to go
too!—But, papa, look at May! How
strange she is! She doesn’t seem glad at
all. Only look, mamma.”

Well might Horace say his sister looked
strange ; for there she stood in the middle
of the room, her eyes staring at her father,
her mouth half open, as if trying to laugh,
but the laugh ending in a sort of scream, as,
turning round, and rushing up to her
mother, she threw herself on her knees
before her, and hiding her face in her lap,
cried in a voice broken by sobs,—

“Oh, mamma, mamma! Don’t let him
call me good, for I am so naughty, so very
naughty—indeed I am! JI took it!—I
took it!”

Every one present stood still amazed,
except little Blanche, who ran to her papa
and began to cry; while Mrs. Chumleigh,
slowly raising her daughter from her kneel-
ing posture, held her a little way off, and



A CONFESSION. 29

looked silently and sorrowfully into her
face. At length she spoke,—

“You took it, May! You took the
peach, and then suffered that poor little
innocent boy to be accused of it without
speaking! My child, how could you do
so?”

“Something told me, mamma. It said
there was no harm in it; that it was my
own.”

“Ti said! Whot What do you mean,
May ?”

“Something seemed to say so whenever
I looked at it,” sobbed May.

“Ah! I see it; I see how it is,” said
Mrs. Chumleigh, recollecting herself. “You
have been tempted, my poor child, and have
forgotten to ask your Father in heaven to
give you strength to resist the Tempter. Is
it not so, May?”

The child tried to answer, ‘‘ Yes, mamma,”
but her words were lost in a fresh burst of
tears.

“Come with me, my tried little one!”
said Mrs. Chumleigh, laying her soft, gentle
-hand on May’s shoulder, and drawing her



380 ALONE WITH MAMMA.

tenderly towards the door. ‘There can
be no peace for you, I see, until you have
poured all your sorrows into your mother’s
bosom.”

“ Be sure, now, and tell her everything,”
whispered Conscience. ‘The little lambs —
have no secrets from their mothers; and, I
daresay, that’s one reason why they’re so
happy.”

As Mrs. Chumleigh locked the door of
her dressing-room when she and May
entered it, shutting everybody out but Con-
science, who wouldn’t consent to be left
behind, I had no means of hearing exactly
what passed there; but from some hints
that were dropped afterwards, I suspect
that, in the first place, May told her mamma
everything, just as it had happened, and that
Mrs. Chumleigh showed her how she had
encouraged the wicked Tempter by going
again and again to look at the peach instead
_of running bravely away from it at first.

And then I know—for May told me that
herself—that she fetched the Bible, and
made her read about our blessed Saviour’s
being tempted in the wilderness by the



PEACE AT LAST, 31

same wicked enemy; and how, instead of
yielding to Lis temptations, He had said, in
answer to every one of his false speeches,
“Tt is written” (in God’s Scriptures), thou
shalt not do that wicked thing ; and that so
the Tempter, who could never stand in the
presence of God’s truth, had left Him. I
think, too,.Mrs. Chumleigh advised her
little girl always to allow herself to be
guided by her friend Conscience, who would
be sure to lead her to what was right ; and
that then they knelt down together, while
mamma prayed that the great God would
forgive little May’s sin, for the sake of “His
dear Son; and that if He should again
permit her to be led into temptation, He
would give her grace to resist it.

When, after an hour’s absence, they re-
turned to the drawing-room, May looked
almost happy again. It is true, indeed,
that her eyes were very red; but her face
had a sweet, peaceful smile upon it; and
though, when she flew into her papa’s out-
stretched arms, she sobbed, it was not al-
together a sorrowful sob like the other, as
she said,—



82 FORGIVENESS,

“ Dear papa, do forgive me, and I will
try never—no, never—to be so naughty.
again. And whenever I feel that wicked
Tempter coming into my heart, papa, I will
pray to the great God to take him away
from me.”

You may be sure papa was ready enough
to forgive his child, when he saw how peni-
tent she was.

And now my little readers will be glad
to hear that the latter part of May’s birth-
day was much happier than the beginning
had been. She took her ride with her
papa, and a very delightful ride it was.
Punch the pony behaved quite well; and
Hieover, papa’s hunter, was so polite, that
instead of frisking about as usual, he, out of
compliment, I suppose, to his little com-
panions, walked along as stately as possible,
and allowed Punch to come so close to him
that the leading-rein hung quite loose, and
was scarcely seen at all.

After their return, the microscope was
brought out, and they looked at the wings
of dozens of butterflies and scores of beetles,.



A HAPPY DAY, 33

and were surprised to see that what they
had taken for down upon them, were in
reality beautiful little feathers, each as per-
fect in its form as the large feathers in the
tail of their favourite peacock.

At last, to crown the pleasures of the
day, they had another scramble under the
mulberry-tree, which caused nurse to look
into her drawers, to see how the supply of
white frocks and trousers stood. But the
children knew nothing of that, and they
enjoyed the fun amazingly, May being very
glad to find that her liking for mulberries
had come back again.

As for Conscience, she was thoroughly
happy and at rest, having nothing to do now
but to sit in a corner and keep watch.



(357) 3







PART OI.

watched, day after day, and week
after week, until the weeks had
become months, and the months
grown into years ; more birth-days
had come and gone, and the peach-
tree had borne fruit again and again. And if
little May did now and then watch anxiously
for the ripening of the first peach, be sure it
was not for herself that she watched it, but
only that she might go and tell her mamma
that it was quite ready to surprise dear
papa with when he came in to lunch.
Indeed, after that unfortunate evening, May
never would take so much as an apple with-
out leave, though she would often beg one
for dear old Punch—for Punch was old
now, he having seen a great many more

af RK a so Conscience watched and









PONY LANGUAGE. 85:

birth-days than May had; and as he lived
chiefly in the paddock, just outside the
garden, he used, whenever he caught sight
of the children, to trot up and thrust his
nose over the palings and neigh; and
although they had none of them taken
lessons in pony’s language, they knew as
well as possible that he meant to say,
“Give me an apple or a lump of sugar;
pray do!”

Many a pleasant ride had May and
Punch taken together beside papa and
Hieover since the day she was seven years
old—not slow, dull, baby rides, but brisk,
merry canters over the green-sward, that
made her cheeks glow, and caused Hieover
to throw out his heels, and prick up his
ears with delight. May, too, had paid
several happy visits to Aunt Jane; and
every time had brought home a letter to
mamma, containing such a good character,
and a request that she might be allowed to
go again whenever papa travelled in that
direction ; but sometimes, although she was
the eldest, she was very pleased to give way,
and let Jessie or Blanche go instead of her.



36 WHAT MAY LEARNED.

And all this time May was growing
taller and taller—so tall, indeed, that papa
said, one day, he could not think now of
calling such a great girl his little May; at
which Master Horace, who was always
making some comical speech or other, said,
“Then, papa, you must call her your May-
pole!” Imagine how they all laughed at
that !

As Mr. and Mrs. Chumleigh took a great
deal of pains to teach their little girls, and
as they had a very nice, clever governess
who came to them every day besides, we
will hope that May grew much wiser as
well as much taller; at anyrate she learned
to play upon the piano, and to draw, and to
read and speak French. Those were the
things Miss Heely taught her ; but mamma
taught her still better things than these,
—such as how she might become one of
Christ’s little flock on earth, and so be pre-
pared by His Holy Spirit to make one of His
blessed family in heaven. As for papa, he
taught her to observe and admire the won-
ders of God’s creation; to look not only at
the flowers, but into them ; to see how com-



HAPPY IIALF-HOURS, 37

plete and beautiful they were in all their
parts ; and to watch the busy bees as they
flew back to the hive laden with the yellow
* pollen, which they were about to make into
honey and wax ; or the little ant boring its
hole in the ground and garnering up its
store of food for the winter, thus giving a
useful lesson to the sluggard, for girls and
boys—ay, and men and women too—may
learn something even from a poor little
insect. Many happy half-hours did May
and her brother and sisters spend with papa
over the microscope ; for he was so good, and
kind, and so fond of them all, that though
the great and learned men of the world
liked to hear him talk about what he knew,
he was never happier than when putting it
into simple language for the amusement and
instruction of his own dear children.

But then papas and mammas are so very
kind !

I think all the little girls who read this
history will be glad to hear that, amongst
her other accomplishments, May learned to
mend her own stockings and gloves, and
could, sometimes, when her mamma was



38 SISTERLY AFFECTION,

very busy, even be trusted to darn a hole or
sew up a slit in papa’s or Horace’s ; indeed,
I should not wonder if this fact were to
interest even little boys, for I fancy they
would be badly off indeed if girls did not
learn such things.

Jessie and Blanche, and two or three more
little Chumleighs who came afterwards, were
very proud of their sister May, and, what
was better still, very fond of her. They used
to look up to her and watch everything she
said and did, and very often imitate her, as
younger sisters will elder ones, which is all
very well so long as they lead them right,
but it is a sad thing indeed, when the
younger ones learn from their elders to do
what is wrong. I’m glad to say May did
not often lead her sisters astray; and Tm .
not at all surprised, at their admiring her so
much. Not that she was pretty, for, if the
truth must be told, she was rather plain
than otherwise—her hair was too light, and
her nose just a little turned up, and her eyes
were not of a colour to please everybody ;
but then she kept a sweet, good-natured
smile always ready for use, and that made



CONSCIENCE ON THE WATCH. — 33

up for all. When May smiled, nobody
thought about her being plain; and as for
Horace, who was getting quite a great boy,
and who still teased her a good deal, he
would have felt very indignant indeed if
any one had ventured to say in his presence
that his sister May was not a pretty girl.
And so Conscience watched and watched ;
and the Tempter, who was by no means will-
ing to give May up, was sadly puzzled how
to get into her heart again. But, oh, that
cunning Tempter! he is such a one at watch-
ing for opportunities, and laying hold of weak
_points ; and poor May had her weak points
as well as other children. For instance, I’m
sorry to say that she was rather too fond of
finery, and apt to think a little too much
about how she looked; and no sooner had
the Tempter discovered this, than to work
he went. Luckily, however, Conscience had
found it out too, and so she took care to be
always close at hand while May was dress-
ing, especially while she stood before the
looking-glass, for there it was that the Temp-
ter was most busy. Sometimes he would ad-
vise her to draw her curls a little more over



40 . CONCERNING POCKET-MONEY.,.

her face, telling her that it made her look
prettier ; at others he would suggest whether
it would not be more interesting to wear
her hair banded plainly across her fore-
head ; and when Conscience would say 1m-
patiently,—

“There, you’ve been quite long enough at
the glass, you’re only wasting your time ;”
he would be sure to reply, —

“Your papa and mamma like to see you
look nice ; and Horace says he hates dowdily
dressed girls.”

And then the hair would be all pulled
down and dressed over again.

But the greatest ditficulty between May
and Conscience was the manner in which
the pocket-money should be spent; for by
this time Mrs. Chumleigh allowed her
daughter a small weekly sum for her own
private use,—and Conscience was for ever
telling her of some poor woman with a sick
baby, who had no money to pay the doctor ;
or some girl, who could not go to church for
want of a bonnet to wear; but when May,
who had a very feeling heart, would put her
hand in her pocket to draw out her purse,



THE TEMPTER SUCCESSFUL. 41

the Tempter was sure to remind her of some
gloves she meant to buy, because they were
of a prettier colour than those she had now ;
or of the blue ribbons that would look so
well on her white frock.

“ So hard-hearted!” would Conscience say,
“to be thinking of paltry ribbons when a
baby’s dying for want of medicine.”

“The parish must take care of that,” would
the Tempter reply ; “and those blue ribbons
will make you look so very nice—no colour
becomes you so well as blue.”

And so the gloves and the sash were
bought, and the poor little baby died ; and
when May went to church the next Sunday,
she saw the girl who had no bonnet laugh-
ing and romping with a number of other
girls and boys at what was called ‘the idle
corner.”

And so Conscience watched and watched,
sometimes in vain—because, perhaps, she did
not speak quite loudly enough—and so time
moved on until another birth-day approached
a birth-day that was to make May twelve
years old; quite a grand little woman in the
eyes of her brother and sisters, and a very





42 A MORNING CALL.

useful one, too, in her mamma’s, who scarcely
knew how to spare her even to visit Aunt
Jane, though mamma often put herself out
of the way rather than disappoint her dear
child. And it made May very happy to know
that she was missed at home, and so glad to
go back again when she thought how pleased
they would all be to see her.

One day, about a week before the birth-
day, Mrs. Graham, another of May’s aunts,
came with her daughter to pay a morning
visit to Mrs. Chumleigh.

Fanny Graham was about the same age
as her cousin May, and they had always
been great friends ; not that they were very
much alike, for poor Fanny, being the only
child of very rich parents, had been too much
indulged—indeed, some people thought en-
tirely spoiled. She scarcely knew what it
was to be contradicted; and I have heard
that the Tempter, who often paid her a visit,
found it much easier to deal with her than
he did with May, the reason of which I sup-
pose to be that the over-indulged little lady
did not care to cultivate so close an acquaint-
ance with Conscience.



THE TWO COUSINS. 43

As Mrs. Graham had had her horses taken
ont, and said she was come-to spend a long
morning, the children were very glad to run
into the garden; where, if my little reader
pleases, she shall go too, for I daresay she
had much rather follow them than stay with
those two quiet gentlewomen in the drawing-
room,

May and Fanny had a great deal to say
to each other, as they always had when they
met. First, they had to tell of the many
pleasant rides they had taken lately, and to
compare the merits of dear old Punch with
those of frisky little Harlequin, which was
the name of Fanny’s pony ; but as Fanny
and Harlequin had ridden two or three times
with Mr. Graham after the hounds, she had
most of the talk to herself, for gentle little
May could only wonder how ever Fanny
could muster courage to do that, and before
so many gentlemen, too !

Then they talked of their French verbs,
and May remarked how very difficult the
verb aller was to conjugate; but Fanny
thought that venir was much more so, the
preterite tenses were so hard to pronounce.



44 A FAVOURITE SUBJECT OF CONVERSATION.

Then May asked her cousin if she had
ever seen the moon through a telescope. To
which Fanny answered, “No! she didn’t
care much about the moon.”

“Oh, but you don’t know how beautiful it
is ; papa showed it us the other evening, and
T really thought I saw the mountains.” Upon
which Fanny set at rest a question that had
long puzzled the learned by replying,—

“Nonsense! there are no mountains in
the moon !”

And now for a moment the conversation
flagged, but it was soon renewed, and this
time it turned upon a favourite subject.

“ May, how do you like the feathers in my
new hat?” asked Fanny.

“Oh, very much indeed,” she replied ed
noticed them directly you came in.’

“Sweetly pretty, aren’t they? you never
wear feathers, I think ?”

““N—o,” answered May, bringing out the
word very slowly, as if half ashamed to
acknowledge the fact.

“Why do you not, then?”

“J don’t know ; I Suppose Mamma does
not like them for me.’



“THOU SHALL NOT COVET!”’ 45

“ How strange! why, no trimming looks
so well for a hat as feathers! I would have
them if I were you.”

To which expression of self-will, May, not
knowing exactly what to say, said nothing.

“ By-the-bye, I’ve not shown you my new
watch, and I came over almost on purpose,”
eried Fanny, drawing aside her mantle and
exhibiting a sweet little French watch, her
papa’s last present.

“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed May, taking
hold of it as it hung from Fanny’s neck, and
examining it closely.

“Don’t you wish it was yours?” asked
the Tempter.

“That I do,” thought May.

“*Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s
goods,’” said Conscience, giving her elbow
a jerk to try and force her to let it go; but
May held it too tightly.

“ Your papa ought to give you one,” said
the Tempter ; “he’s particular enough about
your always being in time; and how should
you know what o’clock it is if you’ve no
watch ?”

“Fanny, youll always be in good time



46 THE NEW FROCK.

for breakfast, now you've this dear little
watch,” said May.

“Oh, I don’t suppose that will make any
difference. I scarcely ever look what o’clock
itis. I only wanted it to wear.”

“Yes, but I should like to use it too,”
said May.

“Then you're just the person to have one,”
put in the Tempter; “and I say your papa
ought to give you one.”

“He’s the best judge of that, I should
think,” retorted Conscience sharply.

“May, you're to come and see me on my
birth-day,” said Fanny, after she had replaced
her watch by her side.

“Thank you, Fanny; I shall like it so
much if mamma will let me.”

“ Of course she'll let you! she can’t refuse
such a little thing as that. Besides, you
must come. I shall want you to see my new
frock. I am to have a pink gauze!”

“Oh dear! are you?” said May, rather
dolefully, for she was thinking of her own
washed muslin, and that it would not look
very well beside pink gauze, even though
she had the blue ribbons to set it off.



MAMMA’S PROMISE, 47

“Yes; the sweetest shade of pink, with a
handsome blonde lace round the neck.”

At this moment Jessie and Blanche and
pretty little Janette. made their appearance
in the garden, just fresh from the school-
room; and in a few minutes the whole
party were happily engaged in a game at
hide-and-seek. :

When Mrs. Graham and Fanny were
gone, Mrs. Chumleigh told May that she
had promised to take her over to the Elms.
for Fanny’s birth-day party, and that, per-
haps, she might leave her there for a day or
two afterwards. At first, the little girl was
highly delighted to hear this, but when she
came to think of it afterwards, there always
rose before her a vision of Cousin Fanny in
her beautiful pink gauze dress; and the
Tempter was for ever putting it in her head
that she ought on such an occasion to have
a new frock too: why should she not be
dressed as smartly as Fanny! And as,
from some unaccountable cause or other,
Conscience was so sleepy and heavy all that
afternoon that she didn’t seem even to
notice what was passing, he was bold and



48 A HAPPY HOME CIRCLE.

base enough once or twice to whisper that
her papa and mamma were not quite so kind
as uncle and aunt Graham.

To be sure, he only ventured to say this
when Mr. and Mrs. Chumleigh were out of
the way, for he knew very well it would be
of no use hinting such a thing when they
were present. Every look, and word, and
tone of theirs, would have contradicted the
shameful calumny.

But there was a great deal to happen
before Fanny’s birth-day came. First, there
was May’s own, the events of which are,
however, soon told, for mamma invited no
little party to keep it. Mr. and Mrs.
Chumleigh wished their dear children to
find their chief happiness in their own home
circle ; and did not, therefore, teach them
to look to strangers to make their festal
days happy ones. Horace, indeed, always
came home from school on these occasions :
and papa and mamma still managed to set
aside all other engagements that they might
give themselves up to the delightful task of
amusing their darlings: so that the twelfth
birth-day passed off much more happily than



THE BIRTH-DAY PRESENT. 49

the seventh had done, for there was even
more mirth, as many unlooked-for treats,
and not one drawback.

I have only one thing in particular to
tell about it, and that is, that Aunt Jane,
instead of sending a present from the Bazaar
as usual, sent a sweet little purse of her
own knitting, containing—oh, wonder of
wonders !—two bright, new sovereigns, and
with it a letter to say, that as her dear May
was now getting such a great girl, she
thought she might be trusted to lay out
money for herself, and that therefore, with
mamma’s permission, she was to be left to
dispose of those two pounds in whatever
way she pleased.

May’s eyes glistened with pleasure as she
dropped her treasure back into the purse ;
she had never possessed half so much money
of her own before. What a number of
things it would buy! Something for papa
—a gold watch-key, perhaps; for she had
heard him say his was worn out—and
something for mamma. leather purse, with a bright steel clasp, for

dear Horace ; and all sorts of things for the
‘357) 4





50 THE TEMPTER AT HIS POST.

little ones. And now that poor girl should
have a bonnet at last. What a pity the
poor baby was dead! And she wondered
whether she could manage a shawl] for nurse.
Never were two sovereigns to do so much
before. But these were birth-day thoughts,
when the Tempter felt it better to keep out
of the way: for of all days in the year that
was the one on which he found it most dif-
ficult to get near her. But the next morn-
ing early he was at his post again, and he
came stealing up so slyly, that she had no
warning of his approach until he was near
enough for his voice to sound ever so loudly
in her ear.

“ Now,” said he, “you can have as good
a frock as your cousin Fanny’s ; that money
will buy one!”

“Tt can’t be spared,” said Conscience ;
“it?s all promised.”

“ You'd better have blue gauze,” said the
Tempter, without heeding the interruption ;
“it will form a pretty contrast with Fanny’s ;
besides, your skin’s fairer than hers, and
blue suits you better.”

“T tell you the money can’t be spared,”



A CONTENTION. bY

said Conscience, speaking very loudly in-
deed ; for she had much more courage to
contend with the Tempter now than she
used to have. ‘‘ Papa must have his watch-
key, and Horace his purse ; and then there’s
that girl’s bonnet. She'll be quite ruined
with those idle ways, breaking the Sabbath
and all.”

“Your papa’s rich enough to buy watch-
keys for himself; and as for Horace, he has
lots of money given him !”—the Tempter
thought it wiser to say nothing about the
girl.

“Tm sure the white frock looks very
neat and pretty,” said Conscience; “and
only think what those blue ribbons cost the
other day !”

“JT say it’s frightful,” persisted the.
Wicked One. -“So mean! not at all fit to
visit carriage folks in.”

“Well, May, what do you mean to do
with all that gold of yours?” asked Horace,
as they stood together beside their mamma’s
work-table after breakfast.

May blushed.

“Why, youre as rich as old Croesus



52 MAY’S CHOICE,

himself,” resumed the merry boy. “I hope
you mean to make me a handsome present,
that’s all.”

‘Stop, Horace! don’t be in such a
hurry,” said Mrs. Chumleigh ; “poor May
has scarcely had time to realize the amount
of her possessions yet, much less to have
made up her mind how to dispose of them.”

“T think I have made up my mind
though, mamma,” said May, blushing: still
more deeply, for she knew there was no
time to be lost, as in ten days the dress
would be wanted. She was not at all sorry,
however, that Horace was just then called
away, and that she and her mamma were
left to talk the matter over alone.

“Indeed, my love! so soon decided ?”
exclaimed Mrs, Chumleigh, looking up from
her work. “You must have chosen some-
thing you have very much at heart, May.
What is it?”

“Well, mamma, I wish to buy myself a
new frock !”

“A new frock, May!” exclaimed Mrs.
Chumleigh, looking very much disappointed,
“of all things in the world, that’s the very



THE WHITE MUSLIN FROCK. 58

last I should have thought of. Why,
you've plenty of frocks, my own May!”

“Yes, mamma, but not one smart one;
not one, I mean, that will do for Cousin
Fanny’s birth-day.”

“Yes, love! there’s your white muslin
with that pretty blue sash you bought, or
your plaid silk !”

“OQ mamma! that would not do at all!
Do you know Fanny is going to have a new
pink gauze? My white muslin used to be
pretty ; but don’t you think it has grown
very shabby ?”

“Indeed I do not, May,” said Mrs.
Chumleigh ; “or I should have bought you
another. Papa was remarking the other
day how very nice it looked.”

“Was he, mamma?” said May, feeling a
little staggered ; for she thought a great deal
of her papa’s taste.

“Yes, love! it’s just what he likes. He
would not be pleased to see his little girl
too finely dressed.”

“No, not too finely, mamma,” said May ;
“but a blue frock would not be so very
fine—would it ?”

& 3



54 MAY AND HER MAMMA.

“Tt depends upon what kind of frock it
is, May,” replied Mrs. Chumleigh. “ How-
ever, as Aunt Jane so particularly requested
that you might be allowed to spend her
present as you thought proper, neither papa
nor I shall interfere ; though I would advise
you, love, to think the matter over again,
and not to be in too great a hurry to decide.”

“ But, mamma, you are not angry; are
you?”

“No, dear May! certainly not angry ;
perhaps I was at first a little disappointed.
But I should be sorry to mar your pleasure,
if you think the possession of this new frock
will give you pleasure.”

“'Then, mamma, if I do not change my
mind, will you take me somewhere to buy
it?”

“Yes, dearest. J am going from home for
two or three days ; but on Saturday morning,
if you still wish it, we will drive over to Col-
chester together.”

“Thank you, dear mamma; and please
don’t say anything to papa and Horace yet.”

“JT will not, if you wish it, May. But do
you not think, love, there must be some-



FANNY’S NOTE. 55

thing not altogether right in a decision
which you wish to conceal from your best
friends ?”

“ T think I will go and look again at my
white frock, mamma.”

May retired from this interview, not very
well satisfied with herself, and when she
had opened her drawer and shaken out her
white frock, she thought it really did look
very nice; it had such very pretty real lace
round the neck—and those tucks, too, were
of dear mamma’s own running. Yes, she
thought it would do very well after all.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Graham had_ occa-
sion that afternoon to send a note over to
her sister, and Fanny took the opportunity
of writing one to May at the same time.
Poor Fanny! I really don’t think she meant
to take part with the Tempter against her
cousin ; but, whether or not, she did so.

“«JT hope youre getting ready for my
birth-day,’ she wrote ; ‘we're to have such a
large party. There will be some sweet
dresses, I know, for I’ve heard of two or
three. Mine is home, and looks quite beau-
tiful; and Tl let you into a great secret,



56 POOR WIDOW BROWN.

May—mamma is going to lend me a pear]
brooch !’”

“There, that old white will never do,”
said the Tempter, as May folded up her
note. And again she decided that indeed
it would not do.

The next afternoon, as the children were
playing together on the lawn, May saw a
poor woman, whom she knew very well by
name, leaning over the garden-gate, and
looking wistfully at her as if she had some-
thing to say. Widow Brown’s face was
very pale and haggard, and the clothes she
had on, though clean and well patched,
were sadly shabby ; the children paused in
their sports, and cast pitiful looks towards
her,

“What does she want, May?” said
Jessie; ‘she looks so sad. J think she has
been crying.”

“ve a great mind to ask her,” said
May, moving a little nearer the gate.

“Do, there’s a dear May,” said bright-
eyed Blanche. ‘I want to know what’s the
matter with her.”

Thus encouraged and supported by the



A CHARITABLE LADY, 57

little tribe behind her, May timidly ap-
proached Mrs. Brown, and asked her, in
gentle accents, if she wished to see mamma.

“T beg pardon for intruding, little lady,”
said the woman, dropping a low courtesy.
“The servants told me good Madam Chum-
leigh was out; but I thought, mayhap, they
only wanted to save themselves the trouble
of going to her.”

“Oh, but mamma is out,” said May;
‘“she is gone to London with papa, and will
not be home until Friday evening.”

‘All the worse for me, then,” said the
poor woman, lifting the corner of her apron
to her eyes, “for she’d have helped me,
I know; she helps everybody that’s in
trouble,—God bless her for a good chari-

table lady, as she is.’

“What is it you want, poor Mrs. Brown?”
asked May, whose heart thrilled with joy at
hearing such praises bestowed on her dear
mamma.

“Why, you see, miss, I’m a poor lone
widow with seven little ones, and none of
them able to earn a bit of bread for them-
selves. And now there’s a decent sort of



58 AN OPENING FOR JOHNNY.

man—a shopkeeper, miss—who’s come to
visit his brother, grocer Harriss; and he’s
took a fancy to my little Johnny here, and
offers to take him and bring him up in his
shop, if I can only get enough money to-
gether to new clothe him. He says he can’t
take him in these rags; ’taint to be ex-
pected he can, Miss Chumleigh.”

As Mrs. Brown spoke she drew forward
a little ragged, shame-faced boy, who had
been keeping himself shyly in the back-
ground, but who now, at a word from his
mother, took off his little rimless cap to the
young ladies, and exhibited a head clustered
over with thick dark curls, and a pair of eyes
of uncommon brightness.

“He's the eldest of seven, and a good
active little lad as you’d wish to see, though
I say it as shouldn’t,” said poor Widow
Brown, looking down on him with all a
mother’s pride.

“Poor little fellow,” thought May, “and
he with no dear papa to love him!” while
baby Janette stretched her hand through
the palings in a vain attempt to draw the
little stranger closer to her.



WANTED—-TWENTY SHILLINGS. 59

“It’s hard,” said Mrs. Brown, “to give
up such a chance ; but there’s no help for it,
now good Mrs. Chumleigh’s away.”

“Oh, but I daresay mamma will give
you some money when she comes home on
Friday evening,” said May.

“ But twill be too late then, Miss May.
Mr. Harriss is going away on Friday
morning. He says it’s now or never, for
there’s scores of boys to be found, and he
won't wait an hour for nobody.”

“ How much money do you want, poor
~ woman ?” asked May anxiously.

“Two pounds in all, miss. But you sce
I’ve got ten shillings towards it, and I
think I can borrow ten more; for I wouldn’t
mind working my fingers to the bone rather
than keep poor Johnny here idling about
the streets, and such an opening as that
before him.”

“Ten and ten,” said May, reckoning,
“that’s twenty; and twenty and twenty
would be forty ; and forty shillings are two
pounds. Then you want twenty shillings,
poor Mrs. Brown ?”

“ Yes, that’s just it, young lady,” replied



60 A MOMENT OF HESITATION,

the woman; “and where they’re to come
irom J don’t know, now Madam Chum-
leigh’s away—she’d have helped me ; for she
helps everybody.” And tears fell fast from
her eyes as she spoke.

“Wait here a minute; please do,” said
May; and away she flew into the house,
and up-stairs ; and, unlocking the drawer in
which she kept her purse, snatched it up,
and was rushing down again with all speed,
when, at the door, whom should she meet
but the Tempter.

“Why, to be sure, you're not going to
give up the blue gauze after all, and the
bronze slippers and silk socks, and have to go
to that large party such a figure as you'll be.”

“Never mind that; poor. little Johnny
will have his new clothes and get a good
place. And only think how well he’ll look in
a neat jacket and trousers, with that curly
hair, and those beautiful black eyes!” said
Conscience.

“ And you've beautiful eyes too, and curls
that will match with anybody’s, if you’d only
set them off properly; but they’ve no chance
beside Fanny’s blonde and pearls.”



BLIGHTED HOPES. 61

“Girls aren’t to adorn themselves with
gold and pearls and costly array, but with
good works; the Bible says so,” remonstrated
Conscience. But poor Conscience remon-
strated in vain—the Tempter was too much
for her.

“T should like to know what Horace will
say when he sees his sister so meanly dressed!
He'll be vexed enough.”

This settled the point at once. Dear
Horace must not be vexed at anyrate. So
the purse was put slowly back into the
drawer, and May returned with heavy steps
to the spot where Mrs. Brown and Johnny
stood waiting for her.

“Tm sorry I can’t give you anything,
poor woman!” said she, in a very tremulous
voice.

Ah, May! well might her voice be tremu-
lous ; it was cruel indeed to raise hopes and
then blight them thus.

“God help us then!” said Mrs. Brown,
turning away ; “for there’s no help in man.
Come, Johnny, we must go home and give
it up; and if you do grow up idle and good
for nothing, my poor lad, it won’t be your



62 RAGS AND TEARS.

fault. You would have gone to work if
they’d have let you; wouldn’t you, Johnny?”

May stood watching Widow Brown and
her boy until they were out of sight, Con-
science all the while giving her such pinches,
that if the finger and thumb that adminis-
tered them had not been very small ones
indeed her body must have been black and
blue.

The little girls now returned to their in-
terrupted sports, sweet Janette wishing that
she had “a’apenny to dive to that poor old
‘oman ;” but there was no more pleasant
play for May that afternoon. Wherever
she went little Johnny and his mother were .
before her, in their rags and their tears ;
and the thought that she might have dried
the tears, and bid them cast the rags away,
and had not done it, made her restless and
unhappy.

“Who knows,” thought she, “but that if
Johnny had gone with that good Mr. Harriss
he might have come to be a shopkeeper too,
and then he could have taken this poor Mrs.
Brown and all her little children into his
shop, and how happy they’d have been



A CARELESS LITTLE CHRISTIAN. 68

then! I almost wish Vd given her my
money ; but-—”

“You haven’t prayed against temptation
this long time—you know you haven't,” said
Conscience.

“That’s it,” said May; “that’s it. Ive
never once thought of it since my birth-day,
that I haven’t. Oh dear, what a careless
little Christian I am! I think I hardly
deserve to be called one of Christ’s lambs at
all. And yet I’m sure I love Him, and wish
to please Him, only I forget so.”

“Then go and pray to Him now,” said
Conscience.

And May did go; and shutting herself
into her room, she fell on her knees, and her
humbled heart poured itself out, as the heart
of a penitent child melts in the presence of
a tender and loving parent, as her lips uttered
the words, “‘O my Father who art in heaven,
lead me not into temptation, but deliver me
from evil.”

And her prayer was heard ; for when she
rose from her knees the Tempter was gone,
and in his place was a sweet and gentle spirit
—the spirit of love and good-will—who told



64 WHAT A PRAYER DID.

her how her Saviour, when He was on earth,
had fed the hungry and clothed the naked ;
and how He had taught His disciples to do
the same, saying, “ Freely ye have received,
freely give.” And with these words still
ringing in her ears, May ran to nurse, and
telling her story, begged of her not to lose
a moment in sending for the Widow Brown
back again.

“For you know, nurse,” said she, “ neither
papa nor mamma, nor Aunt Jane either,
could object to my giving my money to
clothe little Johnny ; though I do not think
they would quite have liked my spending it
on fine clothes for myself.”

Nurse seemed to think just as her little
lady thought on that subject, and she hob-
bled down-stairs so quickly,—for she had
become quite lame with the rheumatism
lately,—that May was halt afraid she’d fall
and hurt herself. And ina very short time,
though it seemed rather long to the impa-
tient little girl, Widow Brown came bustling
back, looking so bright and cheerful, for she
felt sure there was good news in store for
her. And you may imagine, my dear little



A POOR WOMAN’S BLESSING. 65

reader, how grand and happy May Chum-
leigh felt as she placed in her hands thirty
shillings—for nurse had changed one of her
sovereigns for her—and told her that she
need not bring any of it back again, not
even one shilling, for it was all her own,
and she never wished to see any of it more.

«So you see, poor Mrs. Brown,” concluded
May, “you need not work your fingers to
the bone, because that would be so very
shocking.”

Dame Brown could scarcely believe her
eyes. First she courtesied, and then she cried,
and then laughed, and then courtesied again ;
till at last the great big feeling of joy that.
made her heart swell so, found vent in words,
and stretching cut her hands over the head of
her little benefactress, she raised her hands to
heaven, and fervently asked God to bless her.

And it is my belief that May Chumleigh
will be the better for that blessing all her
life long !

After this Mrs. Brown went away, but
the next evening she came back again, and
brought little Johnny with her on purpose

to show May how well he looked in his new
{357) 5



66 JOHNNY IN HIS NEW CLOTHES.

jacket and trousers and cap. And indeed
May thought he looked quite beautiful, for
his curls, which he had dipped three times
in a pail of water, hung prettily round the
back of his little cap, and his cheeks glowed
with happiness.

As for Blanche and Janette, they wished
very much that, instead of going with Mr.
Harriss, that smart little boy might stay and
play with them.

“And Johnny has all them new shirts
and stockings, Miss May,” said Mrs. Brown,
pointing to a little bundle which the boy
held under his arm, all in readiness for his
journey, “and two bright new sixpences in
his pocket besides ; haven’t you, Johnny ?”

At which question Johnny dived down
deeply into his trousers-pocket, and with a
shy, happy laugh drew forth his treasure.

Poor little fellow! I daresay he thought
that with such a fortune as that to start with,
he should never want money more.

And this is my doing, thought May. Oh,
how glad I am I gave up the frock, and
made these poor people so happy. And papa,
and mamma, and dear Aunt Jane, all will



TELLING MAMMA. 67

be happy too when. they hear of it, for
they’re always thinking how they can help
others !

And happy indeed was May when her
papa and mamma came home. She hugged
them both round the neck more tightly than
she had ever done before—so tightly, indeed,
that mamma was obliged to cry out; upon
which May, instead of letting go her hold,
drew her more closely towards her, and
whispered in her ear that she had changed
her mind, and did not intend to have a new
frock after all; with which piece of infor-
mation Mrs. Chumleigh expressed herself
greatly delighted. But May left it for
nurse to tell how she had already disposed
of the greater part of her aunt’s present, for
she knew it was not becoming in little girls’
to be reporters of their own good deeds.

Nurse, however, was ready enough to do
her dear Miss May justice; and when mamma
had once heard the story of Dame Brown
and little Johnny, she was not long in telling
it to papa and Horace, for she knew very
well that May had no longer a reason for
desiring her secret to be kept; and though



63 THE BIRTH-DAY PARTY.

they none of them thought it necessary to
praise her for doing a right action, she felt,
by the more than common kindness of their
manner towards her, how pleased they were.
And on the night of Fanny’s party, when
the little girl, neatly dressed in her white
frock and blue ribbons, followed her mamma
into the carriage, the tender care with which
Mr. Chumleigh wrapped his warm cloak
round her, and drew her closer to his bosom,
calling her his own pretty little May, made »
her heart beat with joy as she felt how
fondly she was beloved by her dear papa.
On their arrival at the Elms, they found
Miss Fanny very gay indeed in her blonde
and pearls, and surrounded by a number of
smart little ladies, several of whom cast
rather contemptuous glances at the washed
muslin, in spite of the pretty blue ribbons
which papa had so much admired; but May
did not mind them at all, for Mrs. Brown
had been that morning to tell them that
she had had a letter from Mrs. Harriss to
say that Johnny had arrived quite safely,
and was very happy, and promised to be a
good and useful boy ; and, at the end of the



HORACE’S OPINION OF HIS COUSIN. 69-

letter, she had said, How handsome he is,
and.so neatly dressed too!

Another reason why May did not care
about what the young ladies thought of her
was, that Horace kept very near her all the
evening, and seemed to like to talk and dance
with her better than with any one else. In-
deed, she almost wondered why he didn’t
ask Cousin Fanny to dance with him ; but
when she mentioned it, he answered in his
usual droll manner,—

‘Oh, it would never do for a rough clumsy
tellow like me to meddle with that pretty
piece of gossamer. I should be afraid of
crushing it with a touch ; it’s only fit to be
locked up in a glass-case, and looked at.”

May laughed at this, because she always
laughed at Horace’s droll sayings ; but she
rather wished that he would not speak in
that way of Cousin Fanny—for Fanny was
her friend, and she loved her in spite of her
faults. .

And so ended May’s last great tempta-
tion; for I’m glad to say that ever since
that time she has been on such very good



70 CONCLUSION.

terms with her friend Conscience, and the
sweet spirit of love and good-will has kept
so close to her, that they have been able
together to keep the Tempter away. And,
as we are told in God’s own Word that if we
resist him he will flee from us, I really hope
now that he will not give her much more
trouble ; in which case I think you would
have to go a long way before youd find a
nicer little girl than May Chumleigh.

* * * *

I have opened these pages again just to
mention a fact that may interest my little
readers. It is, that poor old Punch died
last week after a few days’ illness, during
which he was most tenderly watched by
Horace and his sisters. Papa immediately
gave them another pony, which is, at their
particular request, to be called Punchinella.





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or avaiic ta

LITTLE MAY.

wea sahiirtieane
Yi



MAY AND THE PEACH

LRT TCE




LITTLE MAY,

AND

HER FRIEND CONSCIENCE.

BY

MARIANNE PARROTT.



LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
BDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

1874.






LITTLE MAY.



PART I.



ts)

SvyNE fine autumn afternoon, little May
Idi Chumleigh was wandering about
alone in the most retired part of
her mamma’s garden. She had
left a happy little group of brothers
and sisters playing on the lawn before the
drawing-room window; and their merry
voices, floating on the breeze, still sounded
pleasantly in her ears. What can have
drawn her so far away from them? Is it
. that she likes so much to watch the lambs
_frisking in the meadow yonder? if so, she
will get a nice view of them from the steps
leading up to the summer-house. But, see!
6 AN INTIMATE FRIEND.

May does not go up the steps—she con-
tinues to walk up and down before that high
brick wall. I wonder what she sees there !
And now she is standing still, with her eyes
fixed upon a peach-tree.

“Tt is such a very beautiful peach!” said
the wicked Tempter in little May’s heart.

“But it is not yours,” whispered Con-
science ; “and papa and mamma have for-
bidden you to touch the wall-fruit.”
_ Now this Conscience was an intimate

friend of May’s, who followed her about
wherever she went: a curious little thing
she was; so very small, that, unlike good
girls in general—who are supposed to be
seen and not heard—she was heard and not
seen; and, although she now: and then
showed that she had a very loud voice, she
usually spoke in a whisper; but, for all that,
whatever she said was so good and right,
that I would strongly advise all my little
readers to find her out and cultivate hei
acquaintance.

“You know you're not to touch the wall-
fruit,” repeated Conscience.

“That’s true,” thought May, and she
CONSCIENCE AND THE TEMPTER. 7

scampered on in the direction of the lawn ;
but, before she reached it, she had to stoop
down to tie her shoe.

“ Now just turn back and take one more
look at it—only one,” said the Tempter.

“ Better not,” said Conscience; but the
Tempter spoke so loudly, that her gentle
voice was scarcely heard at all; and May
turned back.

A large black fly had settled on the peach.

«You nasty, greedy thing!” cried May ;
“you shall not have it, however ;” and out
went the little finger, but she only touched
it with the tip, just to frighten away the
fly : it felt very soft, and looked very rosy.

“ How ripe it is!” said the Tempter, “and
so sweet, I daresay.”

“Bread of deceit is sweet to a man; but
afterwards. his mouth shall be filled with
gravel,” said Conscience, making use of a
proverb which May had learned a day or
two before from her little text-book.

The child started at having these words
brought back to her memory; for her mamma
had explained them to her, and told her that
the wise king, Solomon, who wrote them,
8 INTO TEMPTATION,

meant, by “ bread of deceit,” anything that
is wrongfully obtained.

“ T will go and look at the lambs,” thought
she; and the next moment she was up on the
steps peeping over the hedge.

“Pretty innocent things,” said May to
herself, “how merrily they frisk about!
What gambols they are having, to be sure:
but, oh dear, my coming up here has fright-
ened therm, and now they are all running to
their mothers for protection.”

“Flad you not better run to yours?”
asked Conscience, who kept close at her
elbow.

“Perhaps I had,” thought the little girl,
and, jumping down the steps, she was off
with a hop and a skip to find mamma.

There were two paths; one led straight
to the house, the other went round by the
peach-tree.

‘¢ Better not go that way,” said Conscience ;
“he'll be at you again !”

“No, he won't,” thought May; for as she
had heard nothing of the Tempter for the
last five minutes, she fancied he had fallen
asleep. If he had, however, he was soon
“THOU SHALT NOT STEAL.” y

awake again; for no sooner did she catch
sight of the peach, than she heard him say,—

“Don’t be afraid, little May; gather it at
once ; no one sees you.”

“ Thou, God, seest me,” said Conscience ;
but poor Conscience, who is but a timid
little thing at best, was so afraid of the bold,
bad Tempter, that she always kept in the
background when he was by; and she spoke
now in such a very low voice, that May did
not hear her: so the little girl timidly
stretched out her hand towards the peach.

This, I suppose, made Conscience feel
quite desperate ; for, giving May’s elbow a
sharp twitch, that caused her to draw it back
again, she shouted in her ear, “Thou shalt
not steal,” and then ran away.

No wonder that poor littl May was
frightened at hearing such plain words as
these: a look of horror passed over her face,
and she was again preparing to fly from the
spot ; but the Tempter, who knew very well
what he was about, and who saw, besides,
that he had her now all to himself, cried,—

“Why, what a little coward you are!
How Horace would laugh at you, and say
10 DISAPPOINTMENT.

that it all comes of your being a poor spirit-
less girl; as if now it could be stealing to
take just one of your own papa’s peaches,
when there are so many others on the
tree.”

This was quite a new view of the case,
and, as May thought, a very pleasant one.
Yes, whatever was her papa’s was hers ; it
must be so, for she always said, “ Our house
—our garden.”

“To be sure,” said the Tempter; “ and
they’re our peaches too; so take it and enjoy
it” —«if you can—thought the Tempter to
himself, for he did not think it necessary to
repeat those words aloud.

Thus convinced that there was no harm
in it, little May put out her hand and
gathered the peach, but in her hurry she
dropped it on the ground ; and when she
took it up again, one side—and it was the
soft, rosy side too—was sadly bruised, and
all covered with dirt: she had to pull away
a great deal of it with her fingers, which
made them feel very sticky and disagreeable ;
and, before she had finished, she thought she
heard some one coming. Off she flew to


A FALSE ALARM. 11

the summer-house, cramming all that was
left of the peach into her mouth as she went
along, and swallowing it so quickly that it
nearly choked her. But it was a false alarm;
there was no one there, unless indeed—which
I think very likely—Conscience was hover-
ing somewhere near, watching what was
going on.

And now, little May’s grand feast being
over, she didn’t care to stay any longer alone
in that dull part of the garden; so, taking
this time the nearest path, away she ran to
join her brother and sisters: as for her
mamma, she thought she would rather not
see her just yet.

“Why, May, wherever have you been all
this time? you're always out of the way
when you're wanted,” cried Horace, as the
little girl appeared amongst them, with her
arms held up over her head, and looking
very ill at case. ‘“ How hot and dirty your
face looks! Ah, miss, you little think what
you've lost; you'd better by half have stayed
with us.” : .

“What have I lost?” cried the child
eagerly; “do tell me, Horace, or you,
12 WHAT MAY LOST.

Jessie dear; Horace is so tiresome, he de-
lights j in teasing one, but you'll tell me what
it is, won't you ? no?

“Well then, May, Robert has been up
the mulberry-tree, and mamma gave us leave
to have twelve each. Oh, we’ve had such _
fun—such a scramble! Only look at my
frock and Horace’s white trousers. But
nurse is not angry at all; she says accidents
will happen, and that she likes to see us
enjoy ourselves when mamma gives us leave.”

“Jessie talks of twelve,” said Horace
contemptuously ; “why, I should think Id
twenty-four at least, for papa came out and
gave me ever so many when the rest had
done, because ’m such a great boy now, I
may eat whatever [ like.”

“Pa dave me tum too, May,” lisped pretty
little Blanche ; “and loot how petty,” con-
tinued she, holding up her white pinafore,
as if quite proud of the stains upon it.

“And I was not here to have any,” said
May, in a tone of bitter disappointment.

“No,” said Jessie; “what a pity! Where -
could you be gone to, May ?”

“Oh, nowhere,” answered her sister, with
IN TO TEA, 13

a look of consciousness. ‘Never mind,
Jessie, I don’t care a bit about them.”

But this was not true, for she was think-
ing to herself all the while, “I should have
_ liked the mulberries a thousand times better
than that nasty cold peach; it wasn’t so
very ripe, after all. One part of it was quite
hard and sour.”

“You should have taken my advice, then,”
said Conscience, who was once more stand-
ing by May’s side.

And now it was tine to go in to tea; but
before they sat down, the frocks and pina-
fores had to be changed, and the hands and
faces washed.

“Why, Miss May, what have you been
doing with yourself? youre in the worst
plight of any. Here are sticky hands in-
deed! and only look at this frock! I don’t so
much mind the trouble of changing Horace
and Jessie, because their mamma gave them
leave to scramble for the mulberries; but
you've been in mischief, I know. What-
ever have you been doing, miss ?”

“Nothing at all, nurse; only it’s so very
hot.”
14 AN UNHAPPY GIRL.

‘Now don’t say that again,” whispered
Conscience ; “pray don’t.”

“ Hot, indeed,” said nurse, more crossly
than ever; “why, your face is quite scarlet
with heat, you naughty child! ”.

May did not enjoy her tea and bread and
butter at all: the half unripe peach which
she had swallowed in such a hurry, seemed
quite to have taken away her appetite ; be-
sides, she was fancying every moment that
she heard her mamma’s footstep coming up
the stairs, and, for the first time in her life,
little May did not wish to see her mamma.

“Wednesday is May’s birth-day, nurse,”
cried Horace, as they rose from table, “and
we're all to have lots of treats: in the first
place, we’re to breakfast and dine with papa
and mamma, little Blanche and all; that’s
glorious news for you, isn’t it, Mrs. Nurse?”

“Oh, won't it be joyful?” cried Jessie.
“T only wish it was my birth-day as well,
May.”

“T don’t care much about it,” said May
dejectedly. “TI think I’d rather be up here
in the nursery ! ”

“Qh, for shame, May! what, rather than
A GREAT TRIAL, 15

0

with dear papa and mamma!” cried her
brother and sister, as if with one voice ; and
tears filled poor May’s eyes, as she thought
what a strange, unkind speech she had ut-
tered.

She was very dull all the evening in the
drawing-room, and did not climb up on her
papa’s knee once: she did not even care to
play with little Floss; and when the doggy
fixed its bright black eye on her, as much
as to say, ““ Why won’t you come and have
a game with me, May?” all the answer he
got was, “ Don’t stare at me so, Floss; don’t,
you naughty dog.” But the greatest trial of
all was when papa and mamma kissed her as
they wished her good-night ; and, oh, how
miserable she felt, when her mamma said,—

“T cannot think, papa, how you came to
forget darling May when the mulberry feast
was going on: Horace tells me she has not
had one.”

“J did not forget her,” said Mr. Chum-
leigh. “ Papa never forgets any of his dear
children. You will find a plate of mulberries
on the breakfast-room table, May; I put
them there on purpose for you.”
16 UNCOMFORTABLE DREAMS.

May kissed and thanked him; but her
heart felt, oh, so heavy; and when she
reached the breakfast-room, she found, to
her surprise, that her taste for mulberries
was gone. She put one into her mouth, but
there was such an uncomfortable feeling in
her throat, that it almost choked her ; and, to
save herself from bursting into tears, she ran
hastily to bed.

“Be sure and think about it when you
say your prayers,” said Conscience, as they
were going up-stairs ; and May thought she
would, but somehow she forgot it again, and
did not even stop at the words, “ Forgive us
our trespasses.”

The poor little girl dreamed a great deal
that night: she had never had such uncom-
fortable dreams before. Once nurse was
obliged to wake her up, because she was
talking so strangely in her sleep: she said
something like, “ He told me so! he said it
was all mine,” and then she sobbed violently,
and called out, “ Papa—dear papa—don’t,
don’t kiss me.” Even when roused she
seemed so frightened, that nurse was half

frightened herself; and thinking she must
(357)





a il
THAT NASTY PEACH! 7

be ill, made her swallow down a large gray
powder, a thing of all others that little May
disliked.

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Chumleigh
were from home, which May was very glad
_of. She was restless and unhappy, and so
fretful that Horace and Jessie left her very
much to herself.

Once she sauntered up to the peach-tree,
with a sort of desperate hope that another
peach might have sprung up in the night, in
the place of the one she had taken ; but no!
there was the large vacant space, looking so
bare and naked, that any one who passed
that way must observe it.

“That nasty peach! the very thought of
it sets my teeth on edge.”

“T told you it would,” said Conscience.

At last came the birth-day morning ; and
long before papa and mamma made their ap-
pearance in the breakfast-room, a group of
happy little faces had assembled there: the
least happy of all was that of the heroine of
the day.

“T never saw such a foolish thing as you

are, May,” said boisterous Master Horace.
(357) 9
18 UNDESERVED KINDNESSES.

giving his sister a not very gentle shake.
“You don’t deserve to have a birth-day at
all, that you don’t; why, you haven’t even
looked at your presents yet.”

“Oh, do come and unpack them, May ;
do, there’s a dear, I want so to see what this
great parcel is,” said Jessie coaxingly.

May turned towards the table, and list-
lessly cut the strings: there was a handsome
work-box from papa; a very nicely bound
Bible from mamma; and a richly carved
Chinese puzzle from Aunt Jane.

“You don’t deserve them—you know you
don’t,” said Conscience, who had lately
dropped her gentle, persuasive tone, and
grown. very cross.

I suppose May thought so too, for she
returned to her seat at the breakfast-table,
leaving Horace and Jessie to admire the
presents alone.

In a few minutes their mamma entered
the room, and Mr. Chumleigh was seen to
cross the lawn and walk quickly towards the
kitchen-garden.

“God's best blessings be with you, my
darling,” said.the fond mother, pressing her
A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT, 19s

little girl to her bosom ; “and may He make:
you g good and happy, bee s

May’s heart throbbed high against her
mother’s, and her tears bean to How: but
she was a feeling child, and Mrs. Chumleigh
scarcely heeded them, as she wiped away the
large drops. with her handkerchief.

‘““Come, cheer up, my sweet May,” she-
said caressingly ; “we've such a happy day
in store. Papa has promised to give up the:
whole of it to us: will not that be nice ?”

“Once it would have been, but not now,”
thought May.

By the time all were seated, Mr. Chum-.
leigh came in, looking vexed and heated.

“JT have met with a sad disappointment, .
my dear,” said he, addressing his wife.

“Tndeed, Henry ! what is it?” she asked,
looking hastily up from her employment of’ -
spreading honey on little Blanche’s bread.

“Only that I have been for the last fort-
night anxiously watching the ripening of the
first peach, intending to have brought it in
this morning as a birth-day offering to my”
little May here; but, to my great annoy-
ance, I find that some one has been before-~
20 THE MISSING PEACH.

hand with me. I’m sure it was there on
Monday, for as the great day was drawing
so near, I went to see how it was going on.”

“Yes, indeed, I can answer for that,” re-
pled Mrs. Chumleigh ; “for, to tell you the
truth, I have been watching it too, though
I must confess I had intended to gather it
for some one else. We like to bring the
first-fruits to dear papa. Do we _ not,
May?”

It was well for poor May that mamma’s
eyes as well as those of the rest of the party,
were just now more intent on the glass hive
full of honey—old Dame Clark’s birth-day
present to Miss May—than on her cheeks,
for they were as red as fire.

“There, you see, nobody thought of them-
selves but you, you selfish thing !” said Con-
science ; “and all for the sake of a peach ;
so like greedy Dick in the Original Poems.”

“T’m sure I wish I had let it be,” thought
May to herselfi “TI should have been a
great deal better off; for I should have had
it now, at this very moment, quite ripe, and
not bruised at all. And it was such a large
one, that I could have cut it into six parts,
WHO TOOK IT? at

and given every one a bit! Oh dear! oh
dear !”

“JT think it must have been little Willie,
the gardener’s boy, who took that peach,”
resumed Mrs. Chumleigh, when she had set
all her children’s mouths agoing. ‘“ He’s
constantly toddling about after his father.”

“Very likely,” returned her husband ;
‘and if so, we must beg of Parkins to leave
him at home. A garden full of ripe fruit is
a dangerous playground for a child who is
too young to know right from wrong.”

“J daresay he thought nobody saw him
pick it,” said Horace, who had quite settled
it in his own mind that poor little Willie
was the culprit.

“ He forgets that God’s eye is always upon
us,” said Jessie. “Do you know, mamma,
that nurse taught little Blanchy a text last
night ; and she was to have said it to you
this morning, only she forgot it!”

“ Indeed!” said Mrs. Chumleigh, looking
inquiringly at Blanche. ‘Can my pet re-
member it now ?”

Blanche thrust into her mouth her last
morsel of bread and honey, and made great
:22 A WONDERFUL EYE.

haste to swallow it. When it was quite
-gone, she began to consider.

“Thou—” prompted Jessie.

“ Thou—God—seest—me,” said Blanche,
making an unusual effort to speak plainly. »

“Well done, sweet one!” said papa, get-
ting up, and kissing the sticky little lips,
without at all heeding that they were sticky.
“My little Blanche must always remember
that the great God sees her, and then she
will take care not to do anything that would
make Him angry.”

“ Because He is such a good and loving
Father !” put in Mrs. Chumleigh, who was
always anxious that her children should
learn to think of God in the character of a
kind and tender Parent, rather than in that
-of an angry Judge.

May meanwhile had risen and gone to
the window, where she now stood looking
out upon the sky. Could it be a real eye
that she saw, or did she only fancy one?
But whether or not, there it seemed to be
looking down upon her from heaven : an eye
full of love and pity, very sorrowful too, but
so piercing that it looked into her very heart.
THE TEMPTER AGAIN, 23

It’s only fancy, thought May, locking down
at the flower-beds; but when she glanced
upwards again, there it was still ; and though
she seemed determined not to mind it, she
could not quite make it out.

For my own part, I shall always think
that Conscience had something to do with
it; for, little creature as she is, she has won-
derful power sometimes ; and she had cer-
tainly followed May to the window, for she
just then whispered in her ear,—

“Go and confess,_-do !__ It’s so hard that
poor little Willie should be suspected !”

But unfortunately that wicked Tempter,
who had not troubled May much for the last
day or two, here put in his voice again.

“ Nonsense!” said he. ‘ Willie’s such a
little thing, he won’t care about it ; besides,
he’s not old enough to deny it; and so they'll
be sure not to come at the truth.”

“But youll never be happy again,” said
Conscience. “Only to think of deceiving
such a dear, kind papa and mamma as
yours !”

“They don’t know that you're deceiving
them,” replied the Tempter ; “and I’m sure
24 THE DAY’S AMUSEMENTS.

youd be much more unhappy if they found
out that you stole that peach ; besides, how
anery they’d be.”

He called it stealing now, you see, though
before he had said it was not so; but the
Tempter was “a liar from the beginning.”

“No such thing. ‘ Whoso confesseth and
forsaketh his sins shall have mercy,’” said
Conscience, again taking up the words of
May’s little text-book.

“J wish you wouldn't,” said May, turning
sharply round ; “you do tease me so!” At
which Conscience, being very much offended,
flew away, and May returned to the break-
fast-table.

She found that during her absence her
papa and Horace had been settling the order
of the day’samusements. The children were
to play together until their early dinner-hour,
after which May was to ride out on her pony,
not as usual, with the groom walking beside
her, and holding the bridle, but with her
papa, mounted on his beautiful hunter ; and
though there was to be a leading rein, that
would not be seen at a little distance off
After their return in the evening, papa was
AS HAPPY AS A KING. 25

to show them all sorts of wonderful things
through his microscope.

“QO May, won't it be a happy day!” cried
Jessie, clapping her hands with joy.

“T, for one, shall be as happy as a king!”
cried Horace.

“T be a ting too!” echoed little Blanche,
who, in her profound admiration of “ Bud-
der Hollis,” always wished to do whatever
he did.

And mamma found something so very
witty im this speech, that she caught her up
in her arms, and almost devoured her with
kisses.

Never were such merry games as those
the children played at that morning ; for on
other days they were at their lessons from
ten to one—and it seemed so very nice to
have those hours to do what they pleased
with. Even May jumped like the rest,
and laughed very loudly—almost too loudly
sometimes, as Jessie reminded her. But
though she had silenced Conscience for a
time by her sharp unkind speech at the
window, the faithful little monitor had only
retired into a corner, where she sat watch-
26 CONSCIENCE AT WORK.

ing, taking an opportunity every now and
then to give May a sly twinge. And I
still think it must have been she who con-
trived that the kind, pitying, bright eye
should always be looking at her, whenever
she caught a glimpse of the sky. Once or
twice when this happened she heard the dis-
tant sound of a voice which seemed to say,—

“ Do confess ; now do, pray! Only think
of poor little Willie bearing the blame !”

But May played on as if she heard not ;
only as dinner drew near, she grew cross and
irritable, quarrelled with Jessie, and was, as
Horace rather roughly expressed it, so stupid,
that she wouldn’t agree to anything, until at
last, in the closing game, she was, by com-
mon consent, shut out, although it was her
birth-day. Again she withdrew towards the
window, and there was the eye still.

“Your Father in heaven saw it all,” said
Conscience, venturing again to come near
her, though she trod very cautiously. “He
saw it all, and has written it down in His
book.” Here she paused, to see how May
‘took it ; and as she looked rather frightened,
‘she added, “ But if you'll only confess it, and
PAPA’S SECRET. 27

feel very sorry, His love will blot it out
again.”

May did feel very sorry, but her sorrow
was not yet of the right kind: she was
thinking more of the punishment than of
the sin,

At length the games were at an end, dinner
too was over, and the whole family were as-
sembled in the drawing-room. Mamma had

. just proposed that May should go and put
on her riding-skirt ; and Horace, who, with
all his roughness, was a very good-natured
boy, had run down to the hall and brought
up his own little whip—the one with the
greyhound’s head, which Aunt Jane had
given him on his last birth-day—and offered
her the use of it. Thanking him with some-
thing of her old.kind manner, she was half-
way across the room when the sound of her
papa’s voice stopped her. .

“ As dear May has been such a very good
girl of late,” said he, “and as she has now,
I hope, broken herself of that ugly habit of
wishing for everything she sees, I will, with
your permission, mamma, let her into a
secret. What should you say, my darling,
28 STRANGE CONDUCT.

to going next week to pay the long-talked-
of visit to Aunt Jane? I think we may
trust you alone now, May.”

“Oh, will you not like that, May? Dear,
dear Aunt Jane! How I should like to go
too!—But, papa, look at May! How
strange she is! She doesn’t seem glad at
all. Only look, mamma.”

Well might Horace say his sister looked
strange ; for there she stood in the middle
of the room, her eyes staring at her father,
her mouth half open, as if trying to laugh,
but the laugh ending in a sort of scream, as,
turning round, and rushing up to her
mother, she threw herself on her knees
before her, and hiding her face in her lap,
cried in a voice broken by sobs,—

“Oh, mamma, mamma! Don’t let him
call me good, for I am so naughty, so very
naughty—indeed I am! JI took it!—I
took it!”

Every one present stood still amazed,
except little Blanche, who ran to her papa
and began to cry; while Mrs. Chumleigh,
slowly raising her daughter from her kneel-
ing posture, held her a little way off, and
A CONFESSION. 29

looked silently and sorrowfully into her
face. At length she spoke,—

“You took it, May! You took the
peach, and then suffered that poor little
innocent boy to be accused of it without
speaking! My child, how could you do
so?”

“Something told me, mamma. It said
there was no harm in it; that it was my
own.”

“Ti said! Whot What do you mean,
May ?”

“Something seemed to say so whenever
I looked at it,” sobbed May.

“Ah! I see it; I see how it is,” said
Mrs. Chumleigh, recollecting herself. “You
have been tempted, my poor child, and have
forgotten to ask your Father in heaven to
give you strength to resist the Tempter. Is
it not so, May?”

The child tried to answer, ‘‘ Yes, mamma,”
but her words were lost in a fresh burst of
tears.

“Come with me, my tried little one!”
said Mrs. Chumleigh, laying her soft, gentle
-hand on May’s shoulder, and drawing her
380 ALONE WITH MAMMA.

tenderly towards the door. ‘There can
be no peace for you, I see, until you have
poured all your sorrows into your mother’s
bosom.”

“ Be sure, now, and tell her everything,”
whispered Conscience. ‘The little lambs —
have no secrets from their mothers; and, I
daresay, that’s one reason why they’re so
happy.”

As Mrs. Chumleigh locked the door of
her dressing-room when she and May
entered it, shutting everybody out but Con-
science, who wouldn’t consent to be left
behind, I had no means of hearing exactly
what passed there; but from some hints
that were dropped afterwards, I suspect
that, in the first place, May told her mamma
everything, just as it had happened, and that
Mrs. Chumleigh showed her how she had
encouraged the wicked Tempter by going
again and again to look at the peach instead
_of running bravely away from it at first.

And then I know—for May told me that
herself—that she fetched the Bible, and
made her read about our blessed Saviour’s
being tempted in the wilderness by the
PEACE AT LAST, 31

same wicked enemy; and how, instead of
yielding to Lis temptations, He had said, in
answer to every one of his false speeches,
“Tt is written” (in God’s Scriptures), thou
shalt not do that wicked thing ; and that so
the Tempter, who could never stand in the
presence of God’s truth, had left Him. I
think, too,.Mrs. Chumleigh advised her
little girl always to allow herself to be
guided by her friend Conscience, who would
be sure to lead her to what was right ; and
that then they knelt down together, while
mamma prayed that the great God would
forgive little May’s sin, for the sake of “His
dear Son; and that if He should again
permit her to be led into temptation, He
would give her grace to resist it.

When, after an hour’s absence, they re-
turned to the drawing-room, May looked
almost happy again. It is true, indeed,
that her eyes were very red; but her face
had a sweet, peaceful smile upon it; and
though, when she flew into her papa’s out-
stretched arms, she sobbed, it was not al-
together a sorrowful sob like the other, as
she said,—
82 FORGIVENESS,

“ Dear papa, do forgive me, and I will
try never—no, never—to be so naughty.
again. And whenever I feel that wicked
Tempter coming into my heart, papa, I will
pray to the great God to take him away
from me.”

You may be sure papa was ready enough
to forgive his child, when he saw how peni-
tent she was.

And now my little readers will be glad
to hear that the latter part of May’s birth-
day was much happier than the beginning
had been. She took her ride with her
papa, and a very delightful ride it was.
Punch the pony behaved quite well; and
Hieover, papa’s hunter, was so polite, that
instead of frisking about as usual, he, out of
compliment, I suppose, to his little com-
panions, walked along as stately as possible,
and allowed Punch to come so close to him
that the leading-rein hung quite loose, and
was scarcely seen at all.

After their return, the microscope was
brought out, and they looked at the wings
of dozens of butterflies and scores of beetles,.
A HAPPY DAY, 33

and were surprised to see that what they
had taken for down upon them, were in
reality beautiful little feathers, each as per-
fect in its form as the large feathers in the
tail of their favourite peacock.

At last, to crown the pleasures of the
day, they had another scramble under the
mulberry-tree, which caused nurse to look
into her drawers, to see how the supply of
white frocks and trousers stood. But the
children knew nothing of that, and they
enjoyed the fun amazingly, May being very
glad to find that her liking for mulberries
had come back again.

As for Conscience, she was thoroughly
happy and at rest, having nothing to do now
but to sit in a corner and keep watch.



(357) 3




PART OI.

watched, day after day, and week
after week, until the weeks had
become months, and the months
grown into years ; more birth-days
had come and gone, and the peach-
tree had borne fruit again and again. And if
little May did now and then watch anxiously
for the ripening of the first peach, be sure it
was not for herself that she watched it, but
only that she might go and tell her mamma
that it was quite ready to surprise dear
papa with when he came in to lunch.
Indeed, after that unfortunate evening, May
never would take so much as an apple with-
out leave, though she would often beg one
for dear old Punch—for Punch was old
now, he having seen a great many more

af RK a so Conscience watched and






PONY LANGUAGE. 85:

birth-days than May had; and as he lived
chiefly in the paddock, just outside the
garden, he used, whenever he caught sight
of the children, to trot up and thrust his
nose over the palings and neigh; and
although they had none of them taken
lessons in pony’s language, they knew as
well as possible that he meant to say,
“Give me an apple or a lump of sugar;
pray do!”

Many a pleasant ride had May and
Punch taken together beside papa and
Hieover since the day she was seven years
old—not slow, dull, baby rides, but brisk,
merry canters over the green-sward, that
made her cheeks glow, and caused Hieover
to throw out his heels, and prick up his
ears with delight. May, too, had paid
several happy visits to Aunt Jane; and
every time had brought home a letter to
mamma, containing such a good character,
and a request that she might be allowed to
go again whenever papa travelled in that
direction ; but sometimes, although she was
the eldest, she was very pleased to give way,
and let Jessie or Blanche go instead of her.
36 WHAT MAY LEARNED.

And all this time May was growing
taller and taller—so tall, indeed, that papa
said, one day, he could not think now of
calling such a great girl his little May; at
which Master Horace, who was always
making some comical speech or other, said,
“Then, papa, you must call her your May-
pole!” Imagine how they all laughed at
that !

As Mr. and Mrs. Chumleigh took a great
deal of pains to teach their little girls, and
as they had a very nice, clever governess
who came to them every day besides, we
will hope that May grew much wiser as
well as much taller; at anyrate she learned
to play upon the piano, and to draw, and to
read and speak French. Those were the
things Miss Heely taught her ; but mamma
taught her still better things than these,
—such as how she might become one of
Christ’s little flock on earth, and so be pre-
pared by His Holy Spirit to make one of His
blessed family in heaven. As for papa, he
taught her to observe and admire the won-
ders of God’s creation; to look not only at
the flowers, but into them ; to see how com-
HAPPY IIALF-HOURS, 37

plete and beautiful they were in all their
parts ; and to watch the busy bees as they
flew back to the hive laden with the yellow
* pollen, which they were about to make into
honey and wax ; or the little ant boring its
hole in the ground and garnering up its
store of food for the winter, thus giving a
useful lesson to the sluggard, for girls and
boys—ay, and men and women too—may
learn something even from a poor little
insect. Many happy half-hours did May
and her brother and sisters spend with papa
over the microscope ; for he was so good, and
kind, and so fond of them all, that though
the great and learned men of the world
liked to hear him talk about what he knew,
he was never happier than when putting it
into simple language for the amusement and
instruction of his own dear children.

But then papas and mammas are so very
kind !

I think all the little girls who read this
history will be glad to hear that, amongst
her other accomplishments, May learned to
mend her own stockings and gloves, and
could, sometimes, when her mamma was
38 SISTERLY AFFECTION,

very busy, even be trusted to darn a hole or
sew up a slit in papa’s or Horace’s ; indeed,
I should not wonder if this fact were to
interest even little boys, for I fancy they
would be badly off indeed if girls did not
learn such things.

Jessie and Blanche, and two or three more
little Chumleighs who came afterwards, were
very proud of their sister May, and, what
was better still, very fond of her. They used
to look up to her and watch everything she
said and did, and very often imitate her, as
younger sisters will elder ones, which is all
very well so long as they lead them right,
but it is a sad thing indeed, when the
younger ones learn from their elders to do
what is wrong. I’m glad to say May did
not often lead her sisters astray; and Tm .
not at all surprised, at their admiring her so
much. Not that she was pretty, for, if the
truth must be told, she was rather plain
than otherwise—her hair was too light, and
her nose just a little turned up, and her eyes
were not of a colour to please everybody ;
but then she kept a sweet, good-natured
smile always ready for use, and that made
CONSCIENCE ON THE WATCH. — 33

up for all. When May smiled, nobody
thought about her being plain; and as for
Horace, who was getting quite a great boy,
and who still teased her a good deal, he
would have felt very indignant indeed if
any one had ventured to say in his presence
that his sister May was not a pretty girl.
And so Conscience watched and watched ;
and the Tempter, who was by no means will-
ing to give May up, was sadly puzzled how
to get into her heart again. But, oh, that
cunning Tempter! he is such a one at watch-
ing for opportunities, and laying hold of weak
_points ; and poor May had her weak points
as well as other children. For instance, I’m
sorry to say that she was rather too fond of
finery, and apt to think a little too much
about how she looked; and no sooner had
the Tempter discovered this, than to work
he went. Luckily, however, Conscience had
found it out too, and so she took care to be
always close at hand while May was dress-
ing, especially while she stood before the
looking-glass, for there it was that the Temp-
ter was most busy. Sometimes he would ad-
vise her to draw her curls a little more over
40 . CONCERNING POCKET-MONEY.,.

her face, telling her that it made her look
prettier ; at others he would suggest whether
it would not be more interesting to wear
her hair banded plainly across her fore-
head ; and when Conscience would say 1m-
patiently,—

“There, you’ve been quite long enough at
the glass, you’re only wasting your time ;”
he would be sure to reply, —

“Your papa and mamma like to see you
look nice ; and Horace says he hates dowdily
dressed girls.”

And then the hair would be all pulled
down and dressed over again.

But the greatest ditficulty between May
and Conscience was the manner in which
the pocket-money should be spent; for by
this time Mrs. Chumleigh allowed her
daughter a small weekly sum for her own
private use,—and Conscience was for ever
telling her of some poor woman with a sick
baby, who had no money to pay the doctor ;
or some girl, who could not go to church for
want of a bonnet to wear; but when May,
who had a very feeling heart, would put her
hand in her pocket to draw out her purse,
THE TEMPTER SUCCESSFUL. 41

the Tempter was sure to remind her of some
gloves she meant to buy, because they were
of a prettier colour than those she had now ;
or of the blue ribbons that would look so
well on her white frock.

“ So hard-hearted!” would Conscience say,
“to be thinking of paltry ribbons when a
baby’s dying for want of medicine.”

“The parish must take care of that,” would
the Tempter reply ; “and those blue ribbons
will make you look so very nice—no colour
becomes you so well as blue.”

And so the gloves and the sash were
bought, and the poor little baby died ; and
when May went to church the next Sunday,
she saw the girl who had no bonnet laugh-
ing and romping with a number of other
girls and boys at what was called ‘the idle
corner.”

And so Conscience watched and watched,
sometimes in vain—because, perhaps, she did
not speak quite loudly enough—and so time
moved on until another birth-day approached
a birth-day that was to make May twelve
years old; quite a grand little woman in the
eyes of her brother and sisters, and a very


42 A MORNING CALL.

useful one, too, in her mamma’s, who scarcely
knew how to spare her even to visit Aunt
Jane, though mamma often put herself out
of the way rather than disappoint her dear
child. And it made May very happy to know
that she was missed at home, and so glad to
go back again when she thought how pleased
they would all be to see her.

One day, about a week before the birth-
day, Mrs. Graham, another of May’s aunts,
came with her daughter to pay a morning
visit to Mrs. Chumleigh.

Fanny Graham was about the same age
as her cousin May, and they had always
been great friends ; not that they were very
much alike, for poor Fanny, being the only
child of very rich parents, had been too much
indulged—indeed, some people thought en-
tirely spoiled. She scarcely knew what it
was to be contradicted; and I have heard
that the Tempter, who often paid her a visit,
found it much easier to deal with her than
he did with May, the reason of which I sup-
pose to be that the over-indulged little lady
did not care to cultivate so close an acquaint-
ance with Conscience.
THE TWO COUSINS. 43

As Mrs. Graham had had her horses taken
ont, and said she was come-to spend a long
morning, the children were very glad to run
into the garden; where, if my little reader
pleases, she shall go too, for I daresay she
had much rather follow them than stay with
those two quiet gentlewomen in the drawing-
room,

May and Fanny had a great deal to say
to each other, as they always had when they
met. First, they had to tell of the many
pleasant rides they had taken lately, and to
compare the merits of dear old Punch with
those of frisky little Harlequin, which was
the name of Fanny’s pony ; but as Fanny
and Harlequin had ridden two or three times
with Mr. Graham after the hounds, she had
most of the talk to herself, for gentle little
May could only wonder how ever Fanny
could muster courage to do that, and before
so many gentlemen, too !

Then they talked of their French verbs,
and May remarked how very difficult the
verb aller was to conjugate; but Fanny
thought that venir was much more so, the
preterite tenses were so hard to pronounce.
44 A FAVOURITE SUBJECT OF CONVERSATION.

Then May asked her cousin if she had
ever seen the moon through a telescope. To
which Fanny answered, “No! she didn’t
care much about the moon.”

“Oh, but you don’t know how beautiful it
is ; papa showed it us the other evening, and
T really thought I saw the mountains.” Upon
which Fanny set at rest a question that had
long puzzled the learned by replying,—

“Nonsense! there are no mountains in
the moon !”

And now for a moment the conversation
flagged, but it was soon renewed, and this
time it turned upon a favourite subject.

“ May, how do you like the feathers in my
new hat?” asked Fanny.

“Oh, very much indeed,” she replied ed
noticed them directly you came in.’

“Sweetly pretty, aren’t they? you never
wear feathers, I think ?”

““N—o,” answered May, bringing out the
word very slowly, as if half ashamed to
acknowledge the fact.

“Why do you not, then?”

“J don’t know ; I Suppose Mamma does
not like them for me.’
“THOU SHALL NOT COVET!”’ 45

“ How strange! why, no trimming looks
so well for a hat as feathers! I would have
them if I were you.”

To which expression of self-will, May, not
knowing exactly what to say, said nothing.

“ By-the-bye, I’ve not shown you my new
watch, and I came over almost on purpose,”
eried Fanny, drawing aside her mantle and
exhibiting a sweet little French watch, her
papa’s last present.

“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed May, taking
hold of it as it hung from Fanny’s neck, and
examining it closely.

“Don’t you wish it was yours?” asked
the Tempter.

“That I do,” thought May.

“*Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s
goods,’” said Conscience, giving her elbow
a jerk to try and force her to let it go; but
May held it too tightly.

“ Your papa ought to give you one,” said
the Tempter ; “he’s particular enough about
your always being in time; and how should
you know what o’clock it is if you’ve no
watch ?”

“Fanny, youll always be in good time
46 THE NEW FROCK.

for breakfast, now you've this dear little
watch,” said May.

“Oh, I don’t suppose that will make any
difference. I scarcely ever look what o’clock
itis. I only wanted it to wear.”

“Yes, but I should like to use it too,”
said May.

“Then you're just the person to have one,”
put in the Tempter; “and I say your papa
ought to give you one.”

“He’s the best judge of that, I should
think,” retorted Conscience sharply.

“May, you're to come and see me on my
birth-day,” said Fanny, after she had replaced
her watch by her side.

“Thank you, Fanny; I shall like it so
much if mamma will let me.”

“ Of course she'll let you! she can’t refuse
such a little thing as that. Besides, you
must come. I shall want you to see my new
frock. I am to have a pink gauze!”

“Oh dear! are you?” said May, rather
dolefully, for she was thinking of her own
washed muslin, and that it would not look
very well beside pink gauze, even though
she had the blue ribbons to set it off.
MAMMA’S PROMISE, 47

“Yes; the sweetest shade of pink, with a
handsome blonde lace round the neck.”

At this moment Jessie and Blanche and
pretty little Janette. made their appearance
in the garden, just fresh from the school-
room; and in a few minutes the whole
party were happily engaged in a game at
hide-and-seek. :

When Mrs. Graham and Fanny were
gone, Mrs. Chumleigh told May that she
had promised to take her over to the Elms.
for Fanny’s birth-day party, and that, per-
haps, she might leave her there for a day or
two afterwards. At first, the little girl was
highly delighted to hear this, but when she
came to think of it afterwards, there always
rose before her a vision of Cousin Fanny in
her beautiful pink gauze dress; and the
Tempter was for ever putting it in her head
that she ought on such an occasion to have
a new frock too: why should she not be
dressed as smartly as Fanny! And as,
from some unaccountable cause or other,
Conscience was so sleepy and heavy all that
afternoon that she didn’t seem even to
notice what was passing, he was bold and
48 A HAPPY HOME CIRCLE.

base enough once or twice to whisper that
her papa and mamma were not quite so kind
as uncle and aunt Graham.

To be sure, he only ventured to say this
when Mr. and Mrs. Chumleigh were out of
the way, for he knew very well it would be
of no use hinting such a thing when they
were present. Every look, and word, and
tone of theirs, would have contradicted the
shameful calumny.

But there was a great deal to happen
before Fanny’s birth-day came. First, there
was May’s own, the events of which are,
however, soon told, for mamma invited no
little party to keep it. Mr. and Mrs.
Chumleigh wished their dear children to
find their chief happiness in their own home
circle ; and did not, therefore, teach them
to look to strangers to make their festal
days happy ones. Horace, indeed, always
came home from school on these occasions :
and papa and mamma still managed to set
aside all other engagements that they might
give themselves up to the delightful task of
amusing their darlings: so that the twelfth
birth-day passed off much more happily than
THE BIRTH-DAY PRESENT. 49

the seventh had done, for there was even
more mirth, as many unlooked-for treats,
and not one drawback.

I have only one thing in particular to
tell about it, and that is, that Aunt Jane,
instead of sending a present from the Bazaar
as usual, sent a sweet little purse of her
own knitting, containing—oh, wonder of
wonders !—two bright, new sovereigns, and
with it a letter to say, that as her dear May
was now getting such a great girl, she
thought she might be trusted to lay out
money for herself, and that therefore, with
mamma’s permission, she was to be left to
dispose of those two pounds in whatever
way she pleased.

May’s eyes glistened with pleasure as she
dropped her treasure back into the purse ;
she had never possessed half so much money
of her own before. What a number of
things it would buy! Something for papa
—a gold watch-key, perhaps; for she had
heard him say his was worn out—and
something for mamma. leather purse, with a bright steel clasp, for

dear Horace ; and all sorts of things for the
‘357) 4


50 THE TEMPTER AT HIS POST.

little ones. And now that poor girl should
have a bonnet at last. What a pity the
poor baby was dead! And she wondered
whether she could manage a shawl] for nurse.
Never were two sovereigns to do so much
before. But these were birth-day thoughts,
when the Tempter felt it better to keep out
of the way: for of all days in the year that
was the one on which he found it most dif-
ficult to get near her. But the next morn-
ing early he was at his post again, and he
came stealing up so slyly, that she had no
warning of his approach until he was near
enough for his voice to sound ever so loudly
in her ear.

“ Now,” said he, “you can have as good
a frock as your cousin Fanny’s ; that money
will buy one!”

“Tt can’t be spared,” said Conscience ;
“it?s all promised.”

“ You'd better have blue gauze,” said the
Tempter, without heeding the interruption ;
“it will form a pretty contrast with Fanny’s ;
besides, your skin’s fairer than hers, and
blue suits you better.”

“T tell you the money can’t be spared,”
A CONTENTION. bY

said Conscience, speaking very loudly in-
deed ; for she had much more courage to
contend with the Tempter now than she
used to have. ‘‘ Papa must have his watch-
key, and Horace his purse ; and then there’s
that girl’s bonnet. She'll be quite ruined
with those idle ways, breaking the Sabbath
and all.”

“Your papa’s rich enough to buy watch-
keys for himself; and as for Horace, he has
lots of money given him !”—the Tempter
thought it wiser to say nothing about the
girl.

“Tm sure the white frock looks very
neat and pretty,” said Conscience; “and
only think what those blue ribbons cost the
other day !”

“JT say it’s frightful,” persisted the.
Wicked One. -“So mean! not at all fit to
visit carriage folks in.”

“Well, May, what do you mean to do
with all that gold of yours?” asked Horace,
as they stood together beside their mamma’s
work-table after breakfast.

May blushed.

“Why, youre as rich as old Croesus
52 MAY’S CHOICE,

himself,” resumed the merry boy. “I hope
you mean to make me a handsome present,
that’s all.”

‘Stop, Horace! don’t be in such a
hurry,” said Mrs. Chumleigh ; “poor May
has scarcely had time to realize the amount
of her possessions yet, much less to have
made up her mind how to dispose of them.”

“T think I have made up my mind
though, mamma,” said May, blushing: still
more deeply, for she knew there was no
time to be lost, as in ten days the dress
would be wanted. She was not at all sorry,
however, that Horace was just then called
away, and that she and her mamma were
left to talk the matter over alone.

“Indeed, my love! so soon decided ?”
exclaimed Mrs, Chumleigh, looking up from
her work. “You must have chosen some-
thing you have very much at heart, May.
What is it?”

“Well, mamma, I wish to buy myself a
new frock !”

“A new frock, May!” exclaimed Mrs.
Chumleigh, looking very much disappointed,
“of all things in the world, that’s the very
THE WHITE MUSLIN FROCK. 58

last I should have thought of. Why,
you've plenty of frocks, my own May!”

“Yes, mamma, but not one smart one;
not one, I mean, that will do for Cousin
Fanny’s birth-day.”

“Yes, love! there’s your white muslin
with that pretty blue sash you bought, or
your plaid silk !”

“OQ mamma! that would not do at all!
Do you know Fanny is going to have a new
pink gauze? My white muslin used to be
pretty ; but don’t you think it has grown
very shabby ?”

“Indeed I do not, May,” said Mrs.
Chumleigh ; “or I should have bought you
another. Papa was remarking the other
day how very nice it looked.”

“Was he, mamma?” said May, feeling a
little staggered ; for she thought a great deal
of her papa’s taste.

“Yes, love! it’s just what he likes. He
would not be pleased to see his little girl
too finely dressed.”

“No, not too finely, mamma,” said May ;
“but a blue frock would not be so very
fine—would it ?”

& 3
54 MAY AND HER MAMMA.

“Tt depends upon what kind of frock it
is, May,” replied Mrs. Chumleigh. “ How-
ever, as Aunt Jane so particularly requested
that you might be allowed to spend her
present as you thought proper, neither papa
nor I shall interfere ; though I would advise
you, love, to think the matter over again,
and not to be in too great a hurry to decide.”

“ But, mamma, you are not angry; are
you?”

“No, dear May! certainly not angry ;
perhaps I was at first a little disappointed.
But I should be sorry to mar your pleasure,
if you think the possession of this new frock
will give you pleasure.”

“'Then, mamma, if I do not change my
mind, will you take me somewhere to buy
it?”

“Yes, dearest. J am going from home for
two or three days ; but on Saturday morning,
if you still wish it, we will drive over to Col-
chester together.”

“Thank you, dear mamma; and please
don’t say anything to papa and Horace yet.”

“JT will not, if you wish it, May. But do
you not think, love, there must be some-
FANNY’S NOTE. 55

thing not altogether right in a decision
which you wish to conceal from your best
friends ?”

“ T think I will go and look again at my
white frock, mamma.”

May retired from this interview, not very
well satisfied with herself, and when she
had opened her drawer and shaken out her
white frock, she thought it really did look
very nice; it had such very pretty real lace
round the neck—and those tucks, too, were
of dear mamma’s own running. Yes, she
thought it would do very well after all.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Graham had_ occa-
sion that afternoon to send a note over to
her sister, and Fanny took the opportunity
of writing one to May at the same time.
Poor Fanny! I really don’t think she meant
to take part with the Tempter against her
cousin ; but, whether or not, she did so.

“«JT hope youre getting ready for my
birth-day,’ she wrote ; ‘we're to have such a
large party. There will be some sweet
dresses, I know, for I’ve heard of two or
three. Mine is home, and looks quite beau-
tiful; and Tl let you into a great secret,
56 POOR WIDOW BROWN.

May—mamma is going to lend me a pear]
brooch !’”

“There, that old white will never do,”
said the Tempter, as May folded up her
note. And again she decided that indeed
it would not do.

The next afternoon, as the children were
playing together on the lawn, May saw a
poor woman, whom she knew very well by
name, leaning over the garden-gate, and
looking wistfully at her as if she had some-
thing to say. Widow Brown’s face was
very pale and haggard, and the clothes she
had on, though clean and well patched,
were sadly shabby ; the children paused in
their sports, and cast pitiful looks towards
her,

“What does she want, May?” said
Jessie; ‘she looks so sad. J think she has
been crying.”

“ve a great mind to ask her,” said
May, moving a little nearer the gate.

“Do, there’s a dear May,” said bright-
eyed Blanche. ‘I want to know what’s the
matter with her.”

Thus encouraged and supported by the
A CHARITABLE LADY, 57

little tribe behind her, May timidly ap-
proached Mrs. Brown, and asked her, in
gentle accents, if she wished to see mamma.

“T beg pardon for intruding, little lady,”
said the woman, dropping a low courtesy.
“The servants told me good Madam Chum-
leigh was out; but I thought, mayhap, they
only wanted to save themselves the trouble
of going to her.”

“Oh, but mamma is out,” said May;
‘“she is gone to London with papa, and will
not be home until Friday evening.”

‘All the worse for me, then,” said the
poor woman, lifting the corner of her apron
to her eyes, “for she’d have helped me,
I know; she helps everybody that’s in
trouble,—God bless her for a good chari-

table lady, as she is.’

“What is it you want, poor Mrs. Brown?”
asked May, whose heart thrilled with joy at
hearing such praises bestowed on her dear
mamma.

“Why, you see, miss, I’m a poor lone
widow with seven little ones, and none of
them able to earn a bit of bread for them-
selves. And now there’s a decent sort of
58 AN OPENING FOR JOHNNY.

man—a shopkeeper, miss—who’s come to
visit his brother, grocer Harriss; and he’s
took a fancy to my little Johnny here, and
offers to take him and bring him up in his
shop, if I can only get enough money to-
gether to new clothe him. He says he can’t
take him in these rags; ’taint to be ex-
pected he can, Miss Chumleigh.”

As Mrs. Brown spoke she drew forward
a little ragged, shame-faced boy, who had
been keeping himself shyly in the back-
ground, but who now, at a word from his
mother, took off his little rimless cap to the
young ladies, and exhibited a head clustered
over with thick dark curls, and a pair of eyes
of uncommon brightness.

“He's the eldest of seven, and a good
active little lad as you’d wish to see, though
I say it as shouldn’t,” said poor Widow
Brown, looking down on him with all a
mother’s pride.

“Poor little fellow,” thought May, “and
he with no dear papa to love him!” while
baby Janette stretched her hand through
the palings in a vain attempt to draw the
little stranger closer to her.
WANTED—-TWENTY SHILLINGS. 59

“It’s hard,” said Mrs. Brown, “to give
up such a chance ; but there’s no help for it,
now good Mrs. Chumleigh’s away.”

“Oh, but I daresay mamma will give
you some money when she comes home on
Friday evening,” said May.

“ But twill be too late then, Miss May.
Mr. Harriss is going away on Friday
morning. He says it’s now or never, for
there’s scores of boys to be found, and he
won't wait an hour for nobody.”

“ How much money do you want, poor
~ woman ?” asked May anxiously.

“Two pounds in all, miss. But you sce
I’ve got ten shillings towards it, and I
think I can borrow ten more; for I wouldn’t
mind working my fingers to the bone rather
than keep poor Johnny here idling about
the streets, and such an opening as that
before him.”

“Ten and ten,” said May, reckoning,
“that’s twenty; and twenty and twenty
would be forty ; and forty shillings are two
pounds. Then you want twenty shillings,
poor Mrs. Brown ?”

“ Yes, that’s just it, young lady,” replied
60 A MOMENT OF HESITATION,

the woman; “and where they’re to come
irom J don’t know, now Madam Chum-
leigh’s away—she’d have helped me ; for she
helps everybody.” And tears fell fast from
her eyes as she spoke.

“Wait here a minute; please do,” said
May; and away she flew into the house,
and up-stairs ; and, unlocking the drawer in
which she kept her purse, snatched it up,
and was rushing down again with all speed,
when, at the door, whom should she meet
but the Tempter.

“Why, to be sure, you're not going to
give up the blue gauze after all, and the
bronze slippers and silk socks, and have to go
to that large party such a figure as you'll be.”

“Never mind that; poor. little Johnny
will have his new clothes and get a good
place. And only think how well he’ll look in
a neat jacket and trousers, with that curly
hair, and those beautiful black eyes!” said
Conscience.

“ And you've beautiful eyes too, and curls
that will match with anybody’s, if you’d only
set them off properly; but they’ve no chance
beside Fanny’s blonde and pearls.”
BLIGHTED HOPES. 61

“Girls aren’t to adorn themselves with
gold and pearls and costly array, but with
good works; the Bible says so,” remonstrated
Conscience. But poor Conscience remon-
strated in vain—the Tempter was too much
for her.

“T should like to know what Horace will
say when he sees his sister so meanly dressed!
He'll be vexed enough.”

This settled the point at once. Dear
Horace must not be vexed at anyrate. So
the purse was put slowly back into the
drawer, and May returned with heavy steps
to the spot where Mrs. Brown and Johnny
stood waiting for her.

“Tm sorry I can’t give you anything,
poor woman!” said she, in a very tremulous
voice.

Ah, May! well might her voice be tremu-
lous ; it was cruel indeed to raise hopes and
then blight them thus.

“God help us then!” said Mrs. Brown,
turning away ; “for there’s no help in man.
Come, Johnny, we must go home and give
it up; and if you do grow up idle and good
for nothing, my poor lad, it won’t be your
62 RAGS AND TEARS.

fault. You would have gone to work if
they’d have let you; wouldn’t you, Johnny?”

May stood watching Widow Brown and
her boy until they were out of sight, Con-
science all the while giving her such pinches,
that if the finger and thumb that adminis-
tered them had not been very small ones
indeed her body must have been black and
blue.

The little girls now returned to their in-
terrupted sports, sweet Janette wishing that
she had “a’apenny to dive to that poor old
‘oman ;” but there was no more pleasant
play for May that afternoon. Wherever
she went little Johnny and his mother were .
before her, in their rags and their tears ;
and the thought that she might have dried
the tears, and bid them cast the rags away,
and had not done it, made her restless and
unhappy.

“Who knows,” thought she, “but that if
Johnny had gone with that good Mr. Harriss
he might have come to be a shopkeeper too,
and then he could have taken this poor Mrs.
Brown and all her little children into his
shop, and how happy they’d have been
A CARELESS LITTLE CHRISTIAN. 68

then! I almost wish Vd given her my
money ; but-—”

“You haven’t prayed against temptation
this long time—you know you haven't,” said
Conscience.

“That’s it,” said May; “that’s it. Ive
never once thought of it since my birth-day,
that I haven’t. Oh dear, what a careless
little Christian I am! I think I hardly
deserve to be called one of Christ’s lambs at
all. And yet I’m sure I love Him, and wish
to please Him, only I forget so.”

“Then go and pray to Him now,” said
Conscience.

And May did go; and shutting herself
into her room, she fell on her knees, and her
humbled heart poured itself out, as the heart
of a penitent child melts in the presence of
a tender and loving parent, as her lips uttered
the words, “‘O my Father who art in heaven,
lead me not into temptation, but deliver me
from evil.”

And her prayer was heard ; for when she
rose from her knees the Tempter was gone,
and in his place was a sweet and gentle spirit
—the spirit of love and good-will—who told
64 WHAT A PRAYER DID.

her how her Saviour, when He was on earth,
had fed the hungry and clothed the naked ;
and how He had taught His disciples to do
the same, saying, “ Freely ye have received,
freely give.” And with these words still
ringing in her ears, May ran to nurse, and
telling her story, begged of her not to lose
a moment in sending for the Widow Brown
back again.

“For you know, nurse,” said she, “ neither
papa nor mamma, nor Aunt Jane either,
could object to my giving my money to
clothe little Johnny ; though I do not think
they would quite have liked my spending it
on fine clothes for myself.”

Nurse seemed to think just as her little
lady thought on that subject, and she hob-
bled down-stairs so quickly,—for she had
become quite lame with the rheumatism
lately,—that May was halt afraid she’d fall
and hurt herself. And ina very short time,
though it seemed rather long to the impa-
tient little girl, Widow Brown came bustling
back, looking so bright and cheerful, for she
felt sure there was good news in store for
her. And you may imagine, my dear little
A POOR WOMAN’S BLESSING. 65

reader, how grand and happy May Chum-
leigh felt as she placed in her hands thirty
shillings—for nurse had changed one of her
sovereigns for her—and told her that she
need not bring any of it back again, not
even one shilling, for it was all her own,
and she never wished to see any of it more.

«So you see, poor Mrs. Brown,” concluded
May, “you need not work your fingers to
the bone, because that would be so very
shocking.”

Dame Brown could scarcely believe her
eyes. First she courtesied, and then she cried,
and then laughed, and then courtesied again ;
till at last the great big feeling of joy that.
made her heart swell so, found vent in words,
and stretching cut her hands over the head of
her little benefactress, she raised her hands to
heaven, and fervently asked God to bless her.

And it is my belief that May Chumleigh
will be the better for that blessing all her
life long !

After this Mrs. Brown went away, but
the next evening she came back again, and
brought little Johnny with her on purpose

to show May how well he looked in his new
{357) 5
66 JOHNNY IN HIS NEW CLOTHES.

jacket and trousers and cap. And indeed
May thought he looked quite beautiful, for
his curls, which he had dipped three times
in a pail of water, hung prettily round the
back of his little cap, and his cheeks glowed
with happiness.

As for Blanche and Janette, they wished
very much that, instead of going with Mr.
Harriss, that smart little boy might stay and
play with them.

“And Johnny has all them new shirts
and stockings, Miss May,” said Mrs. Brown,
pointing to a little bundle which the boy
held under his arm, all in readiness for his
journey, “and two bright new sixpences in
his pocket besides ; haven’t you, Johnny ?”

At which question Johnny dived down
deeply into his trousers-pocket, and with a
shy, happy laugh drew forth his treasure.

Poor little fellow! I daresay he thought
that with such a fortune as that to start with,
he should never want money more.

And this is my doing, thought May. Oh,
how glad I am I gave up the frock, and
made these poor people so happy. And papa,
and mamma, and dear Aunt Jane, all will
TELLING MAMMA. 67

be happy too when. they hear of it, for
they’re always thinking how they can help
others !

And happy indeed was May when her
papa and mamma came home. She hugged
them both round the neck more tightly than
she had ever done before—so tightly, indeed,
that mamma was obliged to cry out; upon
which May, instead of letting go her hold,
drew her more closely towards her, and
whispered in her ear that she had changed
her mind, and did not intend to have a new
frock after all; with which piece of infor-
mation Mrs. Chumleigh expressed herself
greatly delighted. But May left it for
nurse to tell how she had already disposed
of the greater part of her aunt’s present, for
she knew it was not becoming in little girls’
to be reporters of their own good deeds.

Nurse, however, was ready enough to do
her dear Miss May justice; and when mamma
had once heard the story of Dame Brown
and little Johnny, she was not long in telling
it to papa and Horace, for she knew very
well that May had no longer a reason for
desiring her secret to be kept; and though
63 THE BIRTH-DAY PARTY.

they none of them thought it necessary to
praise her for doing a right action, she felt,
by the more than common kindness of their
manner towards her, how pleased they were.
And on the night of Fanny’s party, when
the little girl, neatly dressed in her white
frock and blue ribbons, followed her mamma
into the carriage, the tender care with which
Mr. Chumleigh wrapped his warm cloak
round her, and drew her closer to his bosom,
calling her his own pretty little May, made »
her heart beat with joy as she felt how
fondly she was beloved by her dear papa.
On their arrival at the Elms, they found
Miss Fanny very gay indeed in her blonde
and pearls, and surrounded by a number of
smart little ladies, several of whom cast
rather contemptuous glances at the washed
muslin, in spite of the pretty blue ribbons
which papa had so much admired; but May
did not mind them at all, for Mrs. Brown
had been that morning to tell them that
she had had a letter from Mrs. Harriss to
say that Johnny had arrived quite safely,
and was very happy, and promised to be a
good and useful boy ; and, at the end of the
HORACE’S OPINION OF HIS COUSIN. 69-

letter, she had said, How handsome he is,
and.so neatly dressed too!

Another reason why May did not care
about what the young ladies thought of her
was, that Horace kept very near her all the
evening, and seemed to like to talk and dance
with her better than with any one else. In-
deed, she almost wondered why he didn’t
ask Cousin Fanny to dance with him ; but
when she mentioned it, he answered in his
usual droll manner,—

‘Oh, it would never do for a rough clumsy
tellow like me to meddle with that pretty
piece of gossamer. I should be afraid of
crushing it with a touch ; it’s only fit to be
locked up in a glass-case, and looked at.”

May laughed at this, because she always
laughed at Horace’s droll sayings ; but she
rather wished that he would not speak in
that way of Cousin Fanny—for Fanny was
her friend, and she loved her in spite of her
faults. .

And so ended May’s last great tempta-
tion; for I’m glad to say that ever since
that time she has been on such very good
70 CONCLUSION.

terms with her friend Conscience, and the
sweet spirit of love and good-will has kept
so close to her, that they have been able
together to keep the Tempter away. And,
as we are told in God’s own Word that if we
resist him he will flee from us, I really hope
now that he will not give her much more
trouble ; in which case I think you would
have to go a long way before youd find a
nicer little girl than May Chumleigh.

* * * *

I have opened these pages again just to
mention a fact that may interest my little
readers. It is, that poor old Punch died
last week after a few days’ illness, during
which he was most tenderly watched by
Horace and his sisters. Papa immediately
gave them another pony, which is, at their
particular request, to be called Punchinella.


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