CHAPTER XII.
A GOOD CONSCIENCE MAKES ALL PLEASANT.
When we asked at the house for Jessie, we were told she was not there,having followed her grandmother, who, before she returned, had walkedout. On inquiring in what direction they had gone, we were shown afootpath which led first across a field and then through a wood, down toa stream of water on which a saw-mill had been built many years ago. Theold mill had been long out of order, and the spot where it stood was soshut in by trees, and was so still, that but for the occasional sound ofa wagon rumbling over a bridge not far off, or the merry whoop of achild at play in the wood, you might have fancied, when there, thatthere was not another person within miles of you. Mr. Dickinson and Iboth knew the place well, and we walked on quite briskly, he leading theway, for the path was too narrow for even two persons to walk side byside. We were quite silent, for Mr. Dickinson never talked much, and Iwas engaged with my own pleasant thoughts. In less than ten minutes wecame in sight of the old mill, and the open space around it. In thisopen space, near to the stream, one large old oak had been leftstanding, the roots of which grew out of the ground and then bent downinto it again, so as to form quite a comfortable seat. As we came nearthis tree, we heard a child's voice speaking, and Mr. Dickinson,supposing that Jessie was just telling her tale to her grandmother,motioned to me to stop. As I was quite sure that Jessie would tell thesimple truth, I had no hesitation in doing this. Mrs. Graham was seatedon the root of which I have told you. Her face was towards the water,and she was leaning back against the body of the tree. She had broughther knitting with her, and her needles were moving as quickly and asconstantly as if she had been in her parlor at home. As we stood we hada good side view of her, though she could only see us by turning quitearound. As Jessie sat on the grass at her grandmother's feet, she wasquite hidden from us, except the back of her head, a part of her dress,and one hand which rested on Mrs. Graham's lap. We soon found thatJessie's story must have been told before we came, for her voice ceasedas I obeyed Mr. Dickinson's sign to stop, and Mrs. Graham replied toher, "Yes, Jessie, this is one of the places that I spoke to you ofyesterday evening that I love so well. Many a pleasant hour have Ipassed with your dear grandfather under these shady trees, talking ofold friends and of our home across the sea, and this morning when Iheard that we were to go to a new home among strangers, I came here tomourn that I must leave it. But, Jessie, this was wrong, and now I feelit was, for while my child and my child's children are true and honest,I have much more cause to be grateful than to grieve. If we carry withus good consciences we shall find some prettiness in every place andsome good in every person."
"How is that, grandmother? our goodness cannot make them pretty andgood."
"It does not make them so, Jessie, but it makes us feel them to be so."
"I do not see how, grandmother."
"Look, Jessie, at the water, and tell me what you see in it."
"The blue sky and a white cloud sailing over it, and the trees on theother side--the water is so clear, grandmother, that I can see everyleaf."
"Well, Jessie, when we came here last and the water was low andmuddy--do you remember what you saw then?"
"I could hardly see any thing at all, grandmother, and what I did seelooked black and ugly."
"And yet, Jessie, there was the same bright blue sky above, and the samegreen trees on the other side. Now, Jessie, there is some beauty andsome goodness in every thing God has made, and he who has a pureconscience is like one looking into a clear stream; he sees it all;while to him who has a bad conscience, all things look as you say theydid in the muddy stream--black and ugly."
"Now, grandmother, I know what you mean, and I know it is true too, forif I had told a story to-day, and so father had got that pretty place, Iam sure I never should have liked it or thought it pretty again; andthen I should have been afraid of Mr. Dickinson, and have felt as if hemade me tell the story, and so I should not have liked him. But now,grandmother, I think he is a very good man, though he is a little crosssometimes, and I do not feel afraid of him at all."
"No, Jessie, those who do right are seldom afraid, for you know theBible says, 'the righteous are as bold as a lion.' I am very glad, mychild, of all that has happened to you to-day. You may have hardertrials of your truth than even this before you die, but you willremember this day, and how happy you have felt for telling the truth;and you will remember, too, if all the good things on earth are offeredto you as the price of one falsehood, that your old grandmother told youtruth is better than all, Jessie,--truth is better than all. Will younot remember this, Jessie?"
"Yes, grandmother," said the child, in a low earnest voice.
"So may God bless you, my daughter," and Mrs. Graham laid her handsolemnly on Jessie's head.
Mr. Dickinson and I had been unwilling to interrupt this conversation,but he now stood aside that I might pass on, as he thought they would beless startled at seeing me than at seeing him. Jessie was the first tohear my step, and, turning her head quickly, to see me. She was on herfeet in a moment, and said, with a bright happy smile, "Oh! I am so gladto see you, ma'am, for you will hear me, and I can tell you how it was,and then I am sure you will not be angry with me."
"I know all already, Jessie, and am only angry with myself that I shouldhave seemed displeased with you even for a moment. No one is angry withyou now, Jessie, and Mr. Dickinson has come with me to tell you himselfthat he is not."
"Oh! ma'am!" said Jessie, with a little start, though she had just saidshe did not feel at all afraid of him. She looked around and saw Mr.Dickinson already standing close beside her.
"Do not be afraid, Jessie," said he, "for, as your grandmother told you,those who do right need not fear any one. If either of us should beafraid, it is I, for I was very unjust to you in refusing to hear yourexcuses, when I might have known, from what had already passed, that youwould have told me nothing but the truth. But I have heard all since,Jessie, and have come to make amends for my injustice."
How Mr. Dickinson was to make amends to Jessie I need not repeat to you,for you have heard it already. But Jessie's joy--this cannot bedescribed. She was wild with delight. Her grandmother was her firstthought, and as soon as she understood Mr. Dickinson, she was at herside exclaiming, "Just hear, grandmother--just hear! Father is to havethat pretty place after all, and it is just by the church--and you know,grandmother, you wanted to be by the church. Oh, grandmother! do tellMr. Dickinson how glad you are."
Mrs. Graham's gladness showed itself in a way that Jessie did not quiteunderstand. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, whileyet there was a smile upon her lips; and when she attempted to speak,her voice was so choked with weeping that she could say nothing.Surprised and disappointed, Jessie turned to Mr. Dickinson, and as if toapologize for what seemed to her so strange, said, "Indeed, sir, I amsure she is very glad, though she is crying."
"I do not doubt it, Jessie," said Mr. Dickinson.
"I hope not, sir, I hope not," said Mrs. Graham, who had by this timerecovered her voice; "I am both glad and thankful--first to Him,"looking up to heaven, "who gave you the heart to be so kind, and then toyou, sir, whom I hope God will bless for all your goodness."
Mr. Dickinson soon left us, having an engagement at home. He was to takemy carriage and send Harriet and Mary, who had remained to spend the daywith William, back in it. I begged that they might leave his house intime to be at home by five o'clock, and I invited Jessie to come over atthat hour to meet them. I will leave you to imagine what a happy eveningthey passed, for though they said a great deal, and it all seemed verypleasant at the time, I doubt whether much of it would look very wisewhen written down. I will tell you, however, of three things which weredecided upon. First--Mary Mackay promised to try to remember Mrs.Graham's lesson to Jessie, that "truth is better than all," especiallyas Jessie assured her that she had found it so; for that even before sheknew of Mr. Dickinson's kind intentions, she had felt quite happy athaving told the truth--happier a gr
eat deal than any thing could havemade her which she had gotten by telling a story. Next, that Jessie wasto have Mooly back again, Harriet having begged her of me as a presentfor her friend. Last, that when Mr. Graham had moved, Harriet and Mary,and two or three other little girls, of whom the first named was "BlindAlice,"[1] were to spend an evening with Jessie.
[Footnote 1: See the story of Blind Alice, by Aunt Kitty.]