Emily's mother found her unusually attentive and obedient that morning. But if she could have looked inside her little daughter's heart, she would have seen that Emily was trying to drown her thoughts, for she was feeling very uncomfortable in her conscience.
If she had been really sorry for what she had done, she would have confessed all to her mother at once. She would also have got down on her knees and asked God's forgiveness and the help of His Holy Spirit to guard her against future temptation. But though at times during the day she felt very unhappy, Emily did not really repent of her sin.
When Emily's morning duties were over, her mother praised her for her attention, and told her how happy it made her to see her so diligent.
Emily blushed scarlet; it was the blush of shame. Her mother's praises, which usually were so delightful to her, now only increased her distress.
“Now you can go and play in the garden," her mother continued. "You have done quite enough for today. And before supper go and put on your white dress and make yourself as neat as possible. You know we expect Uncle George and Aunt Winnie this evening; and I think," she added, "I think my little girl well deserves to wear her merit sash today. Your aunt will be delighted to see you with that on." Her merit sash was a white satin ribbon worn across the right shoulder with the words, "For a good girl," worked on it in pink silk.
Emily hurried off, not to enjoy herself in the garden, but to sit quite still and sorrowful on the swing. Every now and then she glanced at the pantry window, with strong feelings of remorse, and vainly wished she could restore the apples to the apple pie, and herself to the happiness of the day before.
The breeze blew softly upon her, the birds were singing cheerily in the trees, and the fragrant blossoms hung from the boughs. But to Emily there was no freshness in the breeze, no beauty in the blossoms, no gladness in the song of the birds. At such times she had been accustomed to lift her heart to that gracious God who had made everything so beautiful. But how could she look up to Him against whom she had sinned, and whose forgiveness she had not asked?
At the sound of the village clock striking the hour, Emily hastily rose and ran into the house to get dressed for supper. As she entered her room, her canary fluttered his wings joyfully, and from his outstretched little throat poured forth one of the sweetest songs.
“I wish he would be quiet, and let me alone," said Emily. "What a noise he is making!”
“Let you alone?" exclaimed Susan, who had just entered the room. "Why, what harm is the bird doing you? Shame on you, Emily; you seem unhappy about something today.”
“Don't talk to me like that," answered Emily. "Mommie says I'm to wear my white dress and get ready for supper.”
Susan helped Emily dress in spite of the rude way in which the little girl spoke. The white dress was put on, and her hair nicely brushed.
“What sash did your mother say you were to wear?" asked Susan.
Emily pulled out the drawer where her sashes were kept. There lay, in a little box nicely lined with pink paper, her merit sash. She lifted it out of the box and looked at it steadily for a moment.
“No, I dare not, I cannot wear it," she whispered to herself. "For a good little girl! Oh, I am not that!" And hastily replacing it in the box, she lifted out her blue sash, and proceeded to put it on without uttering a word.
Susan helped her tie on the sash, and Emily went down to the living room. As she entered, her mother was seated at the table writing a letter, and did not look up. Glad of this, Emily crept softly into a recess in the window and took up a book. Presently she heard the rustling of paper, as if her mother was folding a letter.
“Come out of your hole, you quiet little mouse," said Mother. "You are a good little girl not to disturb me.”
Poor guilty Emily! Trembling violently, and with her face and neck covered with blushes, she stood before her mother, who glanced for a moment, first at Emily's face and then at her blue sash. She could see something was wrong, but asked no questions, for she trusted that her little girl would tell her all in the evening when she went into her room for the usual quiet bedtime talk.
Emily did not see Charles till they met after school, so she had no opportunity to talk with him, but she noticed that he looked unusually grave and unhappy. They went for a walk with their father and mother, and then they seated themselves at the open window to watch for the arrival of their Uncle George and Aunt Winnie. In this interesting occupation they forgot their sorrows for a while.
The sun had just gone down, leaving the sky richly streaked with gold and purple, and soon they were absorbed in imagining castles in the air and tracing mountains in the fleecy clouds.
“Listen!" said Emily. "Charles, I hear a car; I am sure I do. Listen!”
“I can hear it too," said Charles; "but that is not the sound of a car; it is a cart, I am sure." As he spoke the baker and his cart appeared in view, but soon disappeared out of sight.
“How smart of you to guess that!" said Emily. "But what is that sound now? is it the wind? No, it is a car. They are coming, Charles; oh, do say it is their car!”
“No," said her brother. "But hush!" and he held down his ear to listen, "I am almost sure it is a motor of some kind." The next moment the village druggist drove past, exclaiming, "Hello, Charles. Good evening, Emily." And off and out of sight he was in a moment.
“But, hooray! where have both our ears been now?" exclaimed Charles, as another car sped rapidly through the village, and stopped at the garden gate. It was Uncle George and Aunt Winnie.
“How well those dear children look, sister," said their Aunt Winnie, as she entered, holding a hand of each. "My little Emily is blooming like a rose.”
“It is her joy at your coming that has given her that color," said Mrs. Lloyd, "for Emily has been looking very pale all day.”
“Oh no, sister, you must not say that, for that means sending her to bed I fear. Now you must not refuse my request, and that is that both the children should stay up and have supper with us tonight.”
“But we are not to be quite alone," said Mrs. Lloyd. "I asked some neighbors, the Drummonds, to come and meet you. We shall not have room for everyone at the table.”
“Oh! I shall take care of that," Aunt Winnie insisted; "so now you have consented.”
Charles and Emily clapped their hands.
“Thank you, Aunt Winnie! Thank you!" they both exclaimed joyfully.
Then suddenly they stopped. They looked at each other and both were silent.