Chapter V: Fanny

"ISN'T it funny that Fanny and Claribel should have struck up such friendship?" said Percy to Flora one day. "Fanny is a good girl, but then she is such a scatter-brained thing, and so lazy."

"She has worked a great deal harder lately," said Percy. "I think Claribel is doing her good. How much better her compositions are!"

Percy looked a little grave. "Do you suppose, Flora," she asked, in a low voice—"do you suppose Claribel helps her in her compositions?"

"I have thought of that," answered Flora, "but I don't know that I think she does. You see, Claribel makes Fanny read and study, and of course that would improve her writing. I don't think Claribel would do anything wrong about it—anything sly or deceitful, I mean—like somebody you know."

"I know," said Flora. "No, I don't believe she would, but she might not think it was wrong to help Fanny a little, and I dare say she may give her a hint now and then. But if Fanny has improved, what do you think of Claribel?"

"I never saw such a change in anybody," answered Percy. "She does not even look the same. It seems as if her face had altered entirely since she came here. And how nicely she gets on with her drawing! Mrs. Claxton says she has more talent than any one in the class."

"So she has; anybody can see that. Well, I am sure I never would have thought I could like her so well that day we had the fuss about Bab; do you remember? I don't believe she thinks nearly so much about her looks as she used to."

The girls were right. Claribel had found an object in life outside herself, and that object was Fanny Moray.

Fanny was a little Texan girl who, having run as wild as one of her father's colts till she was thirteen, had then been sent North to school to be made a young lady of. We have heard her own story of her first experience of school life, from which she had been rescued by her uncle. Fanny would have been perfectly happy at Round Springs, only for the lessons. She was a pretty little creature, looking at least three years younger than her real age, and was a favourite with both teachers and playmates from her sunny, cheerful temper and her obliging ways, despite her heedlessness and laziness. For she was both heedless and lazy. She hated to study, she hated to mend her clothes and keep them in order, she hated to sweep and dust her room, and it may be doubted whether she would ever have done so of her own accord, so long as it could be made habitable by any process of picking up and tucking away.

Now, Claribel was just the opposite of all this. If Aunt Hepsey had taught her nothing else, she had at least made her neat and methodical. She had a place for everything, and everything in its place. Her clothes were always mended before they were put away, her books arranged in the most convenient and elegant order, and all the little knickknacks with which she had learned from the other girls to decorate her room were as carefully dusted and cared for as if they had been valued curiosities in a museum. It was the same with her lessons and school exercises. Fond as she was both of reading and work, Claribel never could enjoy either so long as a lesson remained unprepared or an exercise unwritten, while Fanny only cared to enjoy the present, always trusting that her lessons would get done "somehow."

"Fanny, have you done your French sentences?" Claribel would say.

"No, not yet," Fanny would answer; "there is time enough!"

"But French comes the very first thing, you know."

"Oh, well, I can learn it this evening."

"You have your arithmetic to do this evening, and your history analysis to have by heart. Come, Fanny, do write your French now to please me."

And partly to please Claribel, and partly to get rid of the teasing, Fanny would get out her books and write her exercises, or else she would make some excuse for going down stairs; where she would waste the hour in reading some little story which perhaps she had read a dozen times before. Then Fanny would be in disgrace with the French teacher,—a disgrace which Claribel felt, far more than she did.

Nevertheless, the girls did each other a great deal of good. The very vexations which Fanny caused her were good for Claribel, because they were vexations for another and took her attention from her own troubles. While she was fretting over her friend's indifference and carelessness of reproof, she forgot to look out for affronts and slights to herself.

But Fanny's good qualities did Claribel more service than her bad ones. Fanny was so good-natured, so self-sacrificing, so ready to put aside her own convenience or pleasures for the sake of others, that Claribel could not, for very shame, keep on expecting everybody to give way to her as she had done. When Fanny stayed at home from a boat ride to amuse one of the little girls who was sick, Claribel was ashamed to select for herself and keep the very best seat,—a thing she would have done as a matter of course when she first came to school; and so it was in other things.

And on the other side, when Claribel was so prompt in learning her lessons, and so careful in keeping her things in order, Fanny did not like to annoy her friend by carelessness and disorder. So each improved by association with the other.

One day when Claribel was alone in her room working very hard at her French, Rebecca Stiney came in. Rebecca was no great favourite with her schoolmates, though no one could exactly tell the reason, except that she was always complaining and finding fault with the school. Claribel looked up in some displeasure as Rebecca entered, for she had put up her "engaged" card on the door, which should have secured her from any intrusion.

"Isn't the card on the door?" said she. "I asked Fanny to put it up when she went out."

"I didn't see any card on the door," said Rebecca. This was true. The card had blown down from the door and lay on the floor beside it, but with its face up, and Rebecca knew very well where it belonged. "Of course I shouldn't have come in, if I had seen it. But, Claribel, I want you to do me a favour if you will."

"I will, if I can," said Claribel, mindful of her promise to Mr. Hausen. "What is it?"

Rebecca closed the door after her, and coming close to Claribel as she sat at the table, said in a half whisper, "I want you to write my composition for me."

"To write your composition for you!" Claribel paused, amazed at the audacity of the proposition.

"Yes. It is only for once. I haven't had time to touch it yet, and I want a good one, because we are to have company this week. Why, Claribel, you needn't look so wonderfully innocent and astonished. Everybody knows that, you help Fanny, and why shouldn't you help me?"

"Everybody knows that I help Fanny write her compositions!" repeated Claribel. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Fanny herself says so, and all the girls believe it. And why shouldn't you? Dear me! It is a very common thing, and nobody cares, so long as it is not found out."

"Do you mean to tell me that Fanny says that I write her compositions for her, and that the girls believe it?" asked Claribel.

"Well, perhaps she didn't exactly say so in so many words," replied Rebecca, qualifying a little, "but she certainly did let it be understood; and everybody thinks so, because Fanny's compositions are so much better than they used to be. And I don't see why you shouldn't help me as well as Fanny Morey. Come, do, Claribel, just this once. There won't be any harm in it, and you can write so easily."

"If there is no harm in it, I suppose you would have no objection to my asking Mrs. Richardson's permission," said Claribel. "If she is willing, I will do it for you this afternoon."

"What nonsense!" said Rebecca, peevishly. "Of course I can't do that. I never heard anything so absurd. Just as though one wanted to tell everything that one does!"

"But, Rebecca, if I write your composition, and then you pretend it is yours, that will be a lie, and you know what Mr. Hausen said yesterday about liars. It is in the Bible, too, for Fanny and I found the text last night."

Rebecca writhed uneasily in her chair:

"Oh, well, of course; a great many things are in the Bible that we ought to mind more than we do. But then it, is only for once, and I thought you would be obliging enough. Come, do, Claribel; I will never tell. And I am sure it is in the Bible that we ought to help one another. You and Percy and all the girls help little Maud, and why shouldn't you do as much for me? And all the girls think you write Fanny's compositions and exercises, and Fanny lets them think so; and where is the harm? Come, do, Claribel, please."

Claribel paused, hardly knowing what to say or think for a moment. Then, as she remembered Mr. Hausen's remarks the day before, she answered, decidedly,—

"No, Rebecca, I can't. I am sure it wouldn't be right for me to write you a composition and for you to hand it in as your own. It would be lying. I'll give you a subject if you like, and that is all I can do."

"Oh, well, just as you please," said Rebecca, sulkily. "Only I don't see why you can't do as much for me as for Fanny Morey. I don't make fun of your crutch and your high shoulders, and call you old Dame Crump."

"Neither does Fanny."

"Oh no, of course not. Did I say she did? I only said I didn't. Well, good-bye; I am sure I am much obliged to you for your kindness."

Never since the scene about Bab had Claribel been nearer to a screaming fit than she was at that moment. A lump rose in her throat, and it seemed as if her heart swelled to bursting. Fanny would be up directly, she knew, and she could not meet her. She snatched her hat; and rushing down stairs and up the garden walk to a secluded spot among the trees, she threw herself down on the ground and gave way to a tempest of mingled grief and indignation:

"So this is what comes of trying to help other people—of putting aside my own taste and my own convenience! This is what comes of trusting to a friend! Fanny said that I wrote her composition for her, and made fun of my crutch and my deformity. There is no use in trying to do anything or be anybody. People are all unkind and selfish and treacherous alike, and I dislike them all!"

But poor Claribel was not long left to her dangerous mood. A new spirit was stirring in her, and presently began to make itself heard above the storm. She had been studying the life of her Lord and praying to be like him, and that prayer is one which never goes unanswered. Suppose Fanny had laughed at and misrepresented her? Could she not forgive her and go on helping her just the same? He had done so toward her. She had treated him with neglect and ingratitude all her life. To what sin had she ever been tempted that she had not committed? And yet he had never forsaken her, never tired of doing her good, and he had led her into this home where she had so many comforts and so much that was pleasant.

Claribel covered her face and hushed her sobs as like a great flood. It rushed over her soul for the first time—the wonderful love of God for her, for all mankind. The love of God was shed abroad in her heart by his Spirit which he had given her, and all tumult and discord was hushed in its presence. It was hardly any longer a question of forgiving Fanny. She was ashamed to think of it, after all that had been done for her.

As Claribel sat quietly looking out through the trees upon the lake, she heard a step. And before she could rise, Fanny, with her face all bathed in tears, came running up the path and threw herself down beside her, hiding her head on her lap. She sobbed so violently that at first she could not speak, but presently she found her voice, and exclaimed,—

"Oh, Claribel, you didn't say I was a mean, deceitful girl, and that you never would help me any more as long as you lived, did you? You never said you wrote all my compositions for me, and I never should have any lessons only for you?"

"No, of course not," answered Claribel; "I never said such a word. Who told you so?"

"Rebecca," sobbed Fanny; "she said—"

But Fanny could get no farther, and laid down her head in a fresh burst of crying.

"There, there I don't cry so. You will make yourself sick," said Claribel, forgetting her own distress in Fanny's. "Rebecca isn't worth minding. She told me ever so many things about you, and I dare say they are just as true as the other. She said you said I helped you with your lessons and wrote all your compositions for you, and that you laughed at my crutch and my high shoulders, and made fun of me every way, and I was just silly enough to believe it."

"It was no such thing!" said Fanny, vehemently. "I did say you helped me about my lessons, and so you have, because you always will make me learn them and won't leave me any peace till I do. And I do think I have written better since I have begun to read books with some sense in them, and I never should, only to please you."

"I wonder whether the other girls think so?" said Claribel. "There go Percy and Eva; I mean to ask them."

And Claribel called the two girls and told them the story.

The girls looked at each other.

"Well, Claribel, I shouldn't wonder if some of them did think so, because Fanny has improved so much," said Eva. "But, dear me! Thee needn't mind a bit if they do."

"But I do mind," said Claribel; "I mind very much. Mr. Hausen made me promise to help everybody I could, and I am sure I like to do it, but there is not much comfort in it if one is to be accused of such things."

"Oh, Claribel," said Percy, "you mustn't think that. Dear me! If you are going to leave off helping people every time anybody accuses you of doing wrong! You ought to hear how they talk about my aunt. She just runs after poor people all day long. She fixed up a room in the widows' home for old Mrs. Stokes, and fitted her all up with nice clothes, and the old woman told everybody that my aunt spent all her money for her ownself, and gave her nothing but old rags. And she hadn't a single cent of her own, only five dollars that aunt laid out in a shawl which the old woman wanted."

"And did your aunt do anything for her after that?"

"Oh yes; she said it was only Mrs. Stokes. And people are always saying that the ladies who work for the asylums and for missionaries, and so on, do it just to make a figure and have people talk about them. There is no use in caring."

"Well, anyway, it was mean in Rebecca to tell such stories," said Fanny. "See if I don't give her a piece of my mind the next time I see her!"

"Now, Fanny, if thee will be advised, thee will keep thy mind to thyself," said Eva. "It won't do any good. If thee says ever so much to Rebecca, she won't care, and she will contrive to get out of it. She will say that if Claribel didn't say so in words, she gave her that impression."

"Yes, we all know about Becky's impressions," said Percy. "But it was rather cool than otherwise to ask Claribel out and out to write her composition for her."

"Well, anyhow, I think it is mean in the girls to suppose I would do such a thing as to steal mine," said Fanny.

"So it is, and I don't wonder thee feels it; but I wouldn't let it make me unhappy," said Eva. "Just keep on doing thy best, and it will all come out right. And whatever thee does, Claribel, don't leave off trying to help people. Thee knows," added Eva, in a low voice—"thee knows who it was that went about doing good and healing all the sick folks, though his own friends didn't believe on him and his countrymen said he was helped by the prince of the devils."

"Yes, but we can't be like him," said Fanny.

"It is certainly our duty to try to be like him," answered Claribel.