Library Collections: Document: Full Text

Patience forgot that she need not have been thus shut out from the merry little groups on the green, if she had not been so cross and self-willed. Like many persons who do wrong, she laid the blame on others instead of herself, and thought how unkind everybody was to her.

She went on more slowly when she was out of the children's sight. The sunshine made everything look bright and pleasant, the birds sang sweetly in the trees and hedges, and the flowers by the wayside nodded their little heads, as much to say, "How do you do? What a beautiful world we live in!" But the sunbeams, though they rested on her old bonnet, and faded shawl, and danced up and down on her cotton frock, did not help to cheer Patience. She did not listen to the songs of the birds, and she trampled down many pretty crimson-tipped little daisies without even seeing them. She went along with a heavy heart, not seeming to care where she was going, so long as she could get out of everybody's way; and if she could only have run away from herself she would have been still more thankful. But she could not do that. We may leave other people, but we can not get rid of ourselves; and, therefore, it makes a great difference to our happiness what sort of "self" it is which we are carrying along with us. How could Patience have any real peace while she was burdened with such sinful tempers and feelings? and the burden seemed to get heavier and heavier every day.

There was a shady place at the end of the narrow lane, just at the bottom of a sloping bank, and Patience, t-ir-ed both in body and mind, threw herself on the soft grass, and felt as miserable at that moment as anybody in all the village.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" she said mournfully to herself; "nobody loves me! everybody teases me and tries to vex me! not one of the girls ever takes any part. It is too bad, that it is; I can not bear it any longer." And then Patience buried her face in her lap, and sobbed so violently that it was no wonder if she did not hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

Patience, in her childish misery, wished to die. She did not think, she did not know, how unfit she was to die, nor yet what a precious gift life is to those who use it rightly. She did not know how some dying persons would gladly part with all they have for one day or even one hour more to live.

We left Patience sitting in a shady place at the end of a narrow lane. Some one was very near to her as she sat sobbing there, although she did not see any one, because she never looked up. But presently a hand was quietly laid on her shoulder, and a gentle voice said kindly to her, "What is the matter, my poor child? Can I do anything for you?"

Patience raised her head at these words, a little startled and a little ashamed. A young lady, about sixteen years of age, in a neat dress, was bending over her. There was a sweet, loving expression in the face of Annie Leslie, which won your heart directly; at least, it gained the wayward heart of little Patience before she had time to consider about it. The young lady was quite a stranger to her, but Patience felt that she would be a friend to anybody who wanted one. And was not Patience in want of a friend? Indeed she was. Did she find one? We shall see.

Patience left off crying, but she did not speak for a minute. She was so surprised at the visitor that she hardly knew what to say. And when, after a slight pause, the above words were repeated, more gently, if possible, than at first, instead of answering them, Patience could not help crying again.

It was very strange, but the tears would come, although she tried hard to stop them. She was so unused to be spoken to so tenderly that it seemed like a dream to her. It was not a dream, however, for the young lady soon drew from Patience the story of her troubles; and, as you may imagine, it was a very sorrowful story which Patience told her. You would have thought, if you had heard it, that there was nobody in all the world so badly treated as she was. But she never touched upon her own faults, nor confessed how peevish and cross she had been.

Annie Leslie, however, formed a correct guess how matters stood. It was easy to tell, from the little girl's flashing eyes and fault-finding, that she was not very likely to take the most quiet side in a quarrel. Yet, when Patience came to the end of her account and looked up for words of kindness, she had them directly; for Annie pitied her very much and longed to comfort her. It might be that Patience had to blame herself for her troubles, but that only made them the harder to bear; and Annie said how sorry she was for her, and how wrong it was for the other girls to be selfish and unkind.

"But don't you think," she added, with a pleasant smile, "that perhaps you have been a little hasty as well as they?"

Patience colored. "I dare say I have," she answered, bluntly; "but it was impossible to help it; that Betsy Stevens is enough to provoke anybody. You never knew a worse girl than she is. She is always so spiteful to me. I hate her, that I do!"