Stories Told to a Child. Jean Ingelow
heard the father laughed at in his absence, and ridiculed for his peculiarity about the fruit, and we had nothing to say; we saw sister seeking for us in the shrubbery, and eluded her, and had lost courage against their orders to come out of our hiding-place and show ourselves. Yet these cousins kept us in high spirits, or rather in a state of considerable excitement; we spent the whole day with them in games of play, and went to bed at night thoroughly tired, and not at all inclined to talk together as usual.
At six o'clock the next morning we got up and went. out into the garden; the excitement of the past day was still upon us; we were not at all like the children who had walked there previous to this visit.
It was a very sultry morning, the air was still, the dew was dried already from the grass. It wanted an hour yet to breakfast time, and as Lucy and I sauntered leisurely through the wilderness, we discussed her cousins, blaming them very freely in their absence, though we had wanted courage to do it at the proper time.
We passed into the walled garden, and there the heat, for the tune of day, was quite remarkable; we got under the shade of the wall, and took off our bonnets to use by way of fans. Apples, pears, plums, lay thickly under the trees; the neighborhood of the frames was fragrant with the scent of the melons, which seemed as if it might have been collecting there all night, for there was not the least waft of air to carry it away. We came to the little apricot-tree, and stopped before it as usual; the six apricots were now quite ripe. Lucy was quite sure her father would gather them that day, and hoped he would give one to us.
We were just about to pass on, when, O sad mischance! a ripe one fell heavily from the highest branch at our feet, and broke nearly in half with the force of the fall. It was not one of the six, we counted them, and all were in their places; a tuft of spleenwort grew out of the wall just where it fell from; behind that and some leaves this apricot must have ripened, and been entirely concealed.
Before we knew what we were about, Lucy had picked it up and divided it. 'Look,' she said, 'father does not know of this, and the wasps would spoil it before he came out; eat thy half, and I will eat mine.' She put it into my hand, and I immediately tasted it and ate it.
I cannot say that even in eating that apricot was nice to the taste; it was imbittered by conscience; and hot as the morning was, it did not refresh me.
A short silence followed; we remained standing before the apricot-tree; then, without looking each other in the face, we moved slowly to the door into the wilderness.
Broken rules and regulations began to rush back into my recollection, with shame, and repentance, and regret, till Lucy, suddenly bursting into tears, and exclaiming, 'O, I am so sorry, Sophia! I am so sorry I gave it thee! 'I turned to look at her, and saw in her hand the other half of the apricot. Her face was crimsoned through agitation, the cause of it was evident, when she added, that if I wished it she would now eat the other half, for, as she had tempted me, I should not be alone in the punishment.
I was far from having any such wish; she had hesitated at the right moment. Unhappy as I was, it would have been no relief to know she had as much cause for sorrow as myself. I asked her to give me the other half of the apricot, and we found a little space bare of grass at the foot of a lily, where we made a small hole and buried it, and covered it down.
When we had done this Lucy appeared relieved; but as for me, every moment increased my uneasiness; I wondered, I was astonished to think, that for such a very paltry gratification I should have put my neck under such a yoke; either I must conceal this fault, and be always in fear lest it should be discovered, or I must confess it—confess to greediness, a fault children feel peculiar shame in—and not to my own father, but to a gentleman whose hospitality I was enjoying, who gave me as much of his fruit as he thought good for me every day, and who allowed me to play in his garden, only on the express promise on my part that I never would take any without his leave. All this, and much more, passed through my mind, as we walked slowly in to breakfast. I thought not only of my fault with reference to man, but having such slight experience as yet in the frailty of my nature, I wondered how it was that when it most behooved me to remember it, I should have forgotten our resolution when we found ourselves free from the consequences we deserved at the drawing back of the red curtain, and wondered more than all that I should have forgotten the saying that hung so often in my sight, 'Thou, God, seest me.'
We entered the house and found breakfast ready; the heat was wonderful, and the stillness in the air was complete. A singular glow was diffused over everything, though the sun was not shining, and through the open window came multitudes of minute flies like morsels of black thread.
Sister said there was going to be a storm; we all felt oppressed. Lucy was quiet, but a restless feeling of apprehension hung over me. My mind was busy with the young apricot-tree, and in every face I fancied I saw a reflection of my thought.
It was impossible to keep the flies off the bread; the tea was sprinkled with them, as well as the tablecloth and our clothes. The grandmother presently began to tell how such a swarm had preceded a great storm which took place in her youth, when a house was struck, and a bed driven into the middle of a room, while two children who were sleeping in it remained uninjured.
The wearisome meal at length was over, the poor little children were quite overpowered; the youngest came up to his sister, and leaning his head against her, said, 'I want to sit on thy knee.' As she took him up, James and Lucy brought their stools to her side, and looked in her face apprehensively.
'What art thou afraid of?' she said composedly to Lucy; 'God is in the Storm, He can take care of thee.'
The father and grandmother went out of the room to give some orders, and the next instant several vivid flashes of lightning seemed to dash across our faces. 'There,' she said, when the thunder which followed them ceased, 'dost thou see how quiet Sophia is? She is not afraid.'
'I am not afraid of the storm,' I replied; and I asked her if I might go up to my own room.
She gave me leave, and I moved up stairs to the little chamber. I remember something of the terrible dimness which seemed to have gathered in an instant; and of the glowing heat that appeared to strike against me as from the door of an oven. But sister's remark that God was in the storm, was paramount to everything else, and before the thought of safety came the necessity to ask forgiveness.
Let no one say my fault was a trifling one; it was the same which had cost my first mother her place in Paradise. I had eaten forbidden fruit; and as I knelt at the foot of the bed and hid my face, I remembered what sister had said on this subject, and how I had despised her advice to keep away from temptation.
Again, there rushed over my heart the sudden comprehension of the nearness of God. In my childish thought I felt His presence so close to me, that I did not need to pray aloud; but as well as I could I entreated forgiveness, though the deafening peals of thunder seemed to drown my words, and confuse my very thoughts and senses. The floor shook under me, and I heard the furniture rattle and reel; but God, I knew, was in the storm, and gradually, as I prayed to Him, His near presence, which had been so terrible to me, became, to my apprehension, a source of rest, and brought a consciousness of protection.
There was nothing else to trust in during that great danger; but it was enough. I was quite alone, and though sometimes a little stunned by the noise, was able to distinguish the strange sounds, the creaking and crashing of boughs of trees, the lowing of the frightened cattle, the distressed cries of the rooks. The very house itself seemed endowed with power to complain, and groaned and trembled to its foundation.
One other incident I remember of that half-hour: something soft had brushed across my hands; I lifted up my face, and saw two trembling, dripping swallows sitting on my pillow!
And now the sound of drenching rain was added to the tumult of the thunder. I remained kneeling, but was no longer afraid. Then came a short pause, and I thought I would get up and look for Lucy's father. I did not doubt that my fault was forgiven, but my head was still a little confused with the noise, and I wished to tell him my fault without considering whether this was a convenient season.
I wandered about, but could