Chapter XII: The Class-Meeting

MONDAY and Tuesday were very busy and interesting days to Miss Ackerman's class. All the girls hastened to finish their work, and, to their credit be it said, not one was behindhand. Many were the "wonders" whether Eunice would be present, and whether she would "have the face" (this was Minny Haynes's expression) "to bring in any extra work."

"I shouldn't wonder. You know in class last Sunday she acted as if nothing was the matter till Fanny Gunderson spoke to her. Julia will expose her if she brings that worsted," said Phebe.

"Oh no, she won't—not after what happened yesterday. Didn't you hear about it?" And Minny proceeded to relate the story of the bear with many amplifications.

"Well, Minny Haynes, you may say what you please, but you won't make me believe a girl who would do a thing like that, and for a girl who had treated her as Julia has Eunice, would steal!" said Phebe with more good feeling than logic. "I wouldn't believe it—no, not if I saw her myself."

"What has that got to do with it?" asked Minny. "Besides, it was no such great thing to do. The bear was tame, and Eunice knew it."

"So was Mrs. Murray's horse tame, and you knew it, but that didn't hinder you from running away and leaving your little sister the day he got out," said Phebe.

"A horse is different—"

"From a bear. Yes, I should rather think he was."

"Oh, well, you can think what you like; I don't care," said Minny with a tone of superiority. "I don't half believe the story, anyway; such things always get stretched."

"Other things don't get stretched, I suppose?" said Phebe.

"Well, we shall see whether Eunice comes, and whether the girls will speak to her. Here we are, and here is Fanny Gunderson.—How do you do, Fanny?"

"Good-afternoon, Miss Haynes," returned Fanny stiffly; and she walked on without another word.

Fanny had been especially invited to the class-meeting by Miss Ackerman, and she had a long debate with herself and her mother before she decided to go; but curiosity and her mother's advice carried the day. She was very much vexed at the turn things seemed to be taking in favor of Eunice, whom she hated as people of her sort do hate those whom they have injured. She felt a strong desire to take out her vexation on somebody, and Minny was the first person who came in her way.

"See if I don't pay you out for that, Fanny Gunderson!" muttered Minny between her teeth.

A number of the girls were now assembled in the veranda outside the drawing-room windows, waiting for new-comers.

"Here is Mr. Hazleton's carriage," said some one, "but Julia is not in it."

"Isn't Julia coming, Ida?" asked Mary Edgar as Ida came into the veranda, followed by Emma Hazleton.

Ida was pale, and her hand was muffled up in a sling.

"No, she can't come; she is very sick," answered Ida.—"Take care, girls, don't break my arm," as the girls crowded round her.

"Does it pain you very much?" asked Mary.

"Yes, I guess it does; but I wanted to come to the meeting, and I told mother my hand might as well ache here as anywhere else."

"You've got good grit, anyhow," said Matilda, who had a great admiration for that quality.

"You couldn't finish your work, could you?"

"No. Eunice took it and finished it for me."

"I wonder if she is coming?" said Phebe.

"I told you I didn't believe she would," answered Minny Haynes in a tone of some triumph; "I don't believe you'll see her here again."

"Then you are very much mistaken, Miss Minny Haynes," returned Matilda, who had been one of the first arrivals. "She came half an hour ago with Mrs. Ferarra and Anita in the carriage."

Minny and Phebe looked at each other. One glance said, "I told you so;" the other, "I don't believe it."

There was no time for words, however. Miss Ackerman appeared at the door and called the whole party into the drawing-room, where they found not only Eunice and "the committee,"—that is to say, Amity and Percy—but Mrs. Ackerman and Mrs. Ferarra. A large table stood in the centre of the floor.

"We will first bring in our work and contributions," said Miss Ackerman when all were seated.—"Mary, you are the youngest; you may begin."

Mary laid down the flannel petticoat she had made, and then deposited beside it a neat, convenient work-box filled and packed with working-materials and all sorts of little conveniences. There were tapes, linen and cotton of different widths, black and white thread in assorted numbers, all sorts of needles from darners to fine cambric needles, bodkins, pins, black, white and safety, mending cotton in different colors, and, best of all, two or three button-hooks and a bunch of boot-lacings.

"Well done, Mary!" said Percy as she took out the last article. "I don't think we shall have anything better than this."

"I suppose her sister bought it," said Minny Haynes.

"No indeed, she didn't," said Ida eagerly, as Mary did not answer. "Mary picked out all the things her own self; didn't you, dear?"

"Yes, but Aunt Barbara Van Zandt advised me," answered Mary, blushing. She had indeed passed a superlatively happy morning in Selig's shop buying the box and filling it under the superintendence of Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt.

"And of course Mrs. Van Zandt gave you the money to pay for them," said Minny Haynes, who somehow seemed to feel the box a personal injury.

"No," replied Mary; "it was my own money."

"Let me tell about it, Mary," said Ida eagerly. And then, without regarding Mary's blushing shake of the head, she went on: "Mary sold her beautiful twelve-dollar doll, and bought these things with part of the money."

"Good for her!" said Matilda.

"Ida shouldn't have told," said Mary.

"Well, I do like to tell of it when people do nice things," said Ida.

"In which you are very different from a good many other people," said Amity.—"Now, Ida, it is your turn."

"I haven't much," said Ida, blushing. "Eunice finished my work after I hurt my thumb, but I sold a Roman lambrequin I had begun to Cousin Louisa Edgar, and laid out the price in stationery—at least, mother did it for me. There it is on the table."

"That is a very nice present," said Percy; "and of course you couldn't finish your work after you hurt your thumb."

"It wasn't my thumb," said Ida. "I had plenty of time before that, if I had used it, but I kept putting it off till at last I lost the chance of doing it at all."

"Folks do that sometimes about more important things than sewing," observed Matilda.

"Yes, about the most important concern of all," said Miss Ackerman. "They wait and think there is plenty of time, and at last, while they go to 'buy,' the door is 'shut'—Who is next?"

One after the other the girls deposited their gifts great and small. All had done the work promised, and almost all had something else to offer. Phebe had knitted a baby's sacque. Matilda had made a pretty house-jacket of blue cashmere.

"It was my sister's that died," said she. "Ma gave it to me, and I have never felt like wearing it, so I kept it put away. But I am sure if Jenny were here, she would rather the jacket was being of some use to somebody; so I cut it over and trimmed it up a little. And here are three pairs of her stockings; ma sent these."

Anita now brought forward the work she had done, and produced her two pretty crocheted head-dresses.

"These should be considered as much the work of Eunice as my own," said she. "Eunice selected the wool for me at Mrs. Ray's, and taught me how to construct them."

Again the glances were exchanged between Phebe and Minny.

"Here are my stockings," said Eunice, producing them. "Mrs. Ray matched the yarn for me very nicely; and I have made a pair of oversocks besides from some thick cloth that Sarah Southmayd gave me. She says she spun the wool herself when she was a young girl."

"Julia sends her work," said Emma Hazleton, producing it, "and also these books, which she selected from her own library. There are some which she valued very much, but I fear she never will want them again." Miss Emma put her handkerchief to her eyes as she spoke and went quickly out of the room.

"Is Julia so very sick, Ida?" asked some one.

"Oh yes, very," said Ida sadly. "She is out of her head a great deal of the time, and then she is always talking about the bear, and wanting Eunice to come and drive him away."

"Do you suppose the bear would really have hurt her, Anita?" asked Minny Haynes.

"I suppose it probable he might, only for Eunice," replied Anita. "He has been very ferocious several times lately, and James has had much trouble with him.—That was a consequence of putting things off too," added Anita. "Philip told James only the day before that he thought the—the staple which held Bruin's chain had worked loose and was not secure, and James said he would see to it in a day or two—it would do for the present. I think it will ever be a lesson to me about putting off."

"I am sure it will to me," said Ida. "If I don't learn to do things in the time for them after this, I shall be a fool in good earnest. Are all the things in? What a fine parcel!"

"Yes, I think the box will be the best we ever sent," said Miss Ackerman. "The work is all neatly done, and the contributions are well chosen in every case, and show that a good deal of industry and self-denial has been bestowed upon them.—And now, girls, there is another matter about which I wished to see you—one which has given me great pain. I observed last Sunday that several of you—I am glad to say not all—treated Eunice Riker very unkindly."

Miss Ackerman paused a moment.

Percy and Amity, who had been away and had not heard the story, looked surprised, Matilda looked triumphant, and several others very much confused.

"I suppose," continued Miss Ackerman, "that those who did so were influenced by a stupid and malicious slander which has been going the rounds—a slander so foolish and improbable that I should wonder at any one's being affected by it if I did not know that there are people in every community who 'rejoice in iniquity' and take pleasure in repeating any sort of slander. I allude to the report that Eunice stole some yarn which my mother gave her to knit into stockings for Ethelind Swift, and exchanged it for wool to use for her own purposes. The story is false in every particular."

Miss Ackerman paused, and Miss Emma Hazleton spoke.

"It was my sister Julia who started that story," said she. "She asked me to come here this afternoon and make this statement. She says she saw Eunice buy the wool, and 'being angry and envious of Eunice'—I use her own words by her express desire—she was ready to believe any evil. She is very sorry, and begs Eunice's pardon again, as she has done before. She is in great distress of mind when she is able to think at all, and she asks you all to pray for her."

Miss Emma sat down weeping, and most of the girls wept with her. Fanny Gunderson pressed her lips together and looked straight out of the window. She was so angry she could hardly sit still, and yet she did not know what to do about it.

Then Mrs. Ferarra told her story. She did not excuse her cousin, but said, what was quite true, that as soon as she arrived at home, Miss Fay had written to Mrs. Gunderson the true account of the thimble. She expressed the greatest respect and regard for both Mrs. Riker and Eunice; and, smiling, Mrs. Ferarra said she hoped it would be a lesson to her not to mislay her thimble again.

"I knew it! I told ma so!" exclaimed Matilda, unable any longer to repress the expression of her triumph. "I said there was some perfectly simple way of explaining the whole if we only knew it."

"You were quite right, you see," said Miss Ackerman.—"And I must add, girls, that it was Matilda's straightforward good sense which has brought this whole matter to light. As soon as the calumny came to her ears, she brought it directly to me, and has thus enabled us to clear Eunice entirely."

"Exactly so," said Mrs. Ferarra; "and as I feel greatly obliged to Matilda, I am going to ask her to do me the favor to accept the thimble in question—the very small base on which this great Tower of Babel has been erected."

She held up the pretty gold thimble as she spoke, and then put it into Matilda's hand.

"I don't know what to say—I don't hardly think I ought to take it," said Matilda, stammering between delight and embarrassment. "Ma don't like me to take presents; and besides, I think if any one has the thimble, it ought to be Eunice, and not me."

"Your mother's principle is a good one in general, if it be not carried too far, but I don't think it applies in the present instance," said Mrs. Ferarra. "As for Eunice, I do not think the thimble would have as pleasant associations for her as it would for you. I am sure she would rather you had it."

"Yes indeed," said Eunice.—"I am sure I never can repay you, Matilda."

"That wasn't anything," answered Matilda. "I only did as I would be done by."

"'Tis n't every one who does that," said Ida. "Anyhow, I'm glad I never believed it."

"Ida never believes any thing bad about any one," said one of the girls, "or, if she has to believe it, she is sure there is some good excuse, if one only knew it."

"Well, I did believe it, and I'm sorry I did, and that I refused to speak to Eunice," said Phebe, governed, as usual, by the spirit of the hour, and perhaps in this case by something better. "And I beg Eunice's pardon; so, there!"

"I don't know as I have got anything to beg her pardon about," said Minny Haynes sharply. "I heard the story on good authority, and I repeated it. I don't see any great harm in it, either."

"What did you want to repeat it for, supposing it was true? That's what I want to know," said Matilda.

"And it is a very pertinent question," said Miss Ackerman. "Suppose we know, of our own knowledge or on the best authority, an evil thing of our neighbor; what is the use of repeating it? What good end is gained by making others think ill of him as well as ourselves?"

"It isn't from any good," said Matilda. "It is just because folks like to have something to tell that nobody else knows. It makes them of consequence."

"That is one reason, no doubt, and I fear there is another, which is founded in the evil which belongs to human nature. People take pleasure in evil. They like to think ill of their neighbors. They 'rejoice in iniquity.' But quite as often Matilda's reason is the true one, and I presume it has been so in this case."

Fanny Gunderson rose, pale and trembling with anger. "If you think you have insulted me enough, I will go home," said she. "I told the story about Eunice because it came from one of Mrs. Ferarra's own family, and from Julia, who pretended to know."

"Why didn't you tell of the contradiction when that came from Mrs. Ferarra's own family?" asked Matilda. "I didn't hear of your running down to Mrs. Murray's with that the first minute you got it."

"Hush, Matilda!" said Miss Ackerman.—"Fanny, my words did not apply any more to you than to any one else who has repeated this story. I consider that every person who repeats a slander without knowing it to be true makes himself a partaker in the guilt of the slander. To tell a true story to any person's injury, needlessly, is an act of evil-speaking; to make up such a story is lying; to repeat it without knowing it to be true is slandering; and all are offences against that charity which we are told is the greatest of the three heavenly graces (1 Cor. xiii. 13), and without which all our doings, though we 'should give all our goods to feed the poor, and our bodies to be burned,' are nothing worth."

"But it is needful to speak evil sometimes," said one of the girls.

"It may be necessary once in a thousand times perhaps," answered Miss Ackerman, smiling.

"Please, Miss Ackerman, don't say any more about the matter," said Eunice, speaking for the first time. "All the harm that was done was done thoughtlessly, I am sure. I know Fanny is sorry that she helped to injure me, though she does not say so. It is all over now, and no one is the worse. Please don't say any more about it."

"You are a good girl, Eunice Riker," said Minny Haynes, almost as if the words came against her will. "I don't suppose you'll ever forgive me."

"Yes indeed I will," answered Eunice heartily. "I do too many wrong things myself to afford to be unforgiving."

"Dear me! What a pious set we are!" sneered Fanny—"Quite too good for such a sinner as I am; so I will go away and leave you. You can just tell your sister, Miss Hazleton, that I will never speak to her again the longest day I live."

"I fear you will never have a chance, Fanny," said Miss Emma.

"I don't care if I don't," returned Fanny. "I think this has been just a great fuss about nothing."

"That is it exactly: who made the fuss?" said Matilda.

"You did most of it—running and telling your Sunday-school teacher everything, like a good little girl in a book," retorted Fanny. "As for Eunice, she is a sanctimonious little humbug, who just flatters rich folks for what she can get. I dare say she let the bear out herself, just to get a chance to make a scene."

The universal laugh which greeted this reasonable supposition was too much for Fanny, and she burst into a violent flood of tears.

"Come! Come!" said Mrs. Ackerman. "I think, with Eunice, that the subject had better be dropped. Fanny has had her lesson, which I am sure she will not forget, and when she takes time to think about it, she will see that she has nothing to complain of. My advice to you all is, to go out on the lawn and see which of you can make the best shots, with the new bows and arrows, which came down from the city this morning; only take care you don't shoot each other.—Come with me, Fanny, and don't cry any more."

The girls were not unwilling to take Mrs. Ackerman's advice, for archery was then just becoming the rage, and all were anxious to try their skill. Fanny joined them after a while. Her tears had cooled her anger, and she was able to see that she was in a false position, from which there was but one way of escape. She was not naturally malicious or silly, but she had been brought up by a stepmother who was both, and to whom scandal was as the breath of her nostrils.

"Girls," said she in a pause of the games, "I have been very wrong and foolish this afternoon. I am sorry; and, Eunice, I am sorry I told the story about you, and I hope you will forgive me."

"Good!" said Matilda. "I call that talking like a lady."

"I am sure I do forgive you, Fanny," said Eunice, kissing her. "Don't think any more about it."

"Only just enough to keep her from doing so again," said Ida; and there the matter ended.