"I declare," said Fred, after thinking a moment, "I do not know."
"That's what a fellow gets for lending you his things," said Harry, crossly; "you never give them back, and never know where you leave them. I sha'n't let you have anything of mine again in a hurry."
"I know where it is, Harry," said Maggie. "I'll bring it to you. I saw it last night."
And away ran Maggie, always ready and willing to oblige; but as she reached the door, she stood still with the knob in her hand. "Harry, if I go for it, will you give me a penny?"
"Well," said Harry, "no, I will not."
"If you don't choose to go for it, tell me where it is, and I will go myself," said Fred.
But Maggie went without another word, and came back with the top in her hand.
"There's your penny," said Harry, throwing one on the table.
"That's as mean a thing as ever I knew," said Fred, "to want to be paid for going upstairs for a fellow who has a sprained leg and can't go for himself. You know mamma said he must not go up and down much till his ankle was well."
"I'd have thought anybody would have done such a thing sooner than you, Maggie," said Harry, reproachfully.
Maggie stood with crimson cheeks and a shaking lip. "I sha'n't have the penny!" she said, angrily. But just then papa and mamma came in and the bell was rung for morning prayers, which prevented any farther quarrelling.
But Maggie's troubles were not yet at an end for that morning. Breakfast was over, mamma gone to the nursery, papa to his library, and the children were alone in the breakfast-room.
"Midget," said Harry, "you know that pink fluted shell of yours?"
"Yes," answered Maggie.
"If you'll give it to me, I'll give you any two of mine you may choose."
"Oh, Harry, I can't! Aunt Annie gave me that shell, and I want to keep it for memory of her. Besides, it's my prettiest shell."
"Aunt Annie isn't dead," said Harry. "You don't keep a thing in memory of a person unless they're dead."
"She'll die one of these days," said Maggie; "every one has to die sometime, and I'll keep it till then. But I meant I wanted it because she gave it to me, Harry, and I can't let you have it." But presently, having forgotten about the penny, and thinking of the library box, Maggie added, "I'll give it to you for ten cents, Harry."
"Indeed, I shall not give ten cents for it!" said Harry. "It's not worth it and – why, Mag, you are growing as mean as, – as mean as – " Harry stopped, for he saw Maggie's color rising and the tears coming in her eyes, and he was not an unkind boy, who would willingly hurt or grieve his little sisters.
"She is a real miser," said Fred.
Poor Maggie! This was too much, and she burst into tears.
"Don't cry, Maggie," said Harry. "I did not mean to hurt you, but I do not know what to make of you."
"What's all this wonderful fuss about money, Bessie?" asked Fred.
"Ask me no lies, and I'll tell you no questions," said Bessie, holding up her head and looking at her brothers with a grave, reproving air, "You talk very unproperly to my Maggie."
At this, the boys shouted and laughed so loud and so long that Bessie felt as badly as her sister, and saying, "Let's go away, Maggie," they ran off.
When Mr. Bradford came out of his room, he saw his little girls sitting at the head of the stairs looking very unhappy. Maggie had been crying; Bessie had her arm around her waist, as though she were trying to comfort her, but looked as if she wanted comfort herself.
"Why, what ails my singing birdies this morning?" asked papa. "In trouble so early in the day?"
"Papa," said Bessie, in a grieved little voice, "we are having very misable times to-day."
"That is bad," said Mr. Bradford, sitting down on the stairs beside them; "but tell papa what it is, and see if he cannot help you into pleasanter times."
"People say things to us," said Bessie.
"And do you not wish people to speak to you?"
"Oh, yes, papa, if they say nice things; but first, nurse called our shells and sea-weed, 'truck.'"
"Very poor taste in nurse," said Mr. Bradford; "but I would not fret about that. Is there anything more?"
"Yes, papa," – Bessie hesitated, – "but I do not like to tell tales."
"But I want to know what the trouble is. I shall not think you are telling tales when I ask you."
"Harry called me 'mean,' and Fred said I was 'a miser,'" said Maggie, beginning to cry again. "And I wouldn't be such an ugly thing, now!"
"What is a miser, Maggie?" asked papa.
"An ugly old man, who makes believe he hasn't any money, when he has a whole lot in bags in a chest, and doesn't eat anything but crusts, with an ugly, thin cat who hunches up her back," said Maggie.
Maggie's idea of a miser was taken from a picture she had once seen.
"Then my rosebud does not look much like a miser," answered Mr. Bradford, patting Maggie's round, smooth cheek.
"But he meant I was like a miser, and they laughed at Bessie," said Maggie.
"But I quarrelled and said a cross thing to them, papa," said Bessie, who was always ready to own when she had done wrong.
"What did you say?"
Bessie repeated what she had said to the boys, making the same mistake she had done before, and her father could not wonder that they had laughed. He asked a question or two more, and soon knew the whole story of the penny and the shell.
"And it is very hard to have people say such things when it is a good purpose, papa," said Maggie, wiping her eyes as she finished.
"So it is, Maggie; but it is what we must all look for, more or less in this world. When we are trying to do good, other people will sometimes misunderstand us, think that we are doing the wrong thing, or perhaps doing the right thing in the wrong way; and they may tell us so, or make unkind remarks about us. But if we feel that we are doing right, and know that we are about the dear Saviour's work, we should not mind that. Yes, and we must bear to be laughed at too, my Bessie. I do not think though that your brothers have meant to grieve you so much. Fred, I know, will sometimes tease, but Harry is not apt to be unkind or provoking."
"No, papa," said Maggie. "Harry is a very good, kind brother."
"So I think," said papa. "Do the boys know why you are so anxious to earn money?"
"No, papa. I did not tell them, 'cause I thought maybe they would laugh at me."
"They shall not laugh at you, I will answer for that. But, although they were not very polite or kind in their way of telling you so, you can scarcely wonder that your brothers were surprised at your wish to be paid for any little favor you might do them. You are generally so obliging and willing, so ready to run and to do for the pleasure of helping others, that I myself might have thought you selfish and disobliging, had I heard you asking for pay without knowing your reason. And I would not do so again, dearie. Whatever you may be able to save by denying or taking any pains with yourselves, or may make by doing any little extra work for mamma or any one else, well and good; but I would not ask to be paid for such small things as you are in the habit of doing every day for those around you. You must not be too eager to gain money for any purpose."
"Not for a good one, papa?"
"No. Never do wrong that good may come of it."
"Do you think I was like a miser this morning, papa?"
"No. I do not think Fred quite understood the meaning of the word himself when he used it in that way. To be miserly, or like a miser, is to try to save and put by money only that we may look at it,