CLEARED.

Gretchen came slowly up the lawn, and stood for a moment shyly by the side of Miss Eunice.

“Is there anything I can do for you, my child?” said the young lady, pleasantly, desiring to put her at her ease.

“Please, will you write my name there?” she said, pointing to the list. “I can’t write English letters, and I was ashamed to have the other girls know.”

“That is nothing to be ashamed of,” said Etta. “I don’t believe any of the other girls can write German letters. But, Gretchen, do you honestly want to give yourself to your Saviour, and to live so as to serve and please him?”

“Yes, Miss Etta. I shall never forget the night you prayed for me when I was so sick. You said the Lord Jesus would hear the prayer, and take me if I came to him. I think he did so, and I have been coming to him again and again, ever since. He has been good, so good to me, saving me from dying and making me get well from that terrible sickness. The more I read about him in my Bible, the more I love him and want to honor him. But, Miss Etta, it was you who told me about him, and I shall never forget that night.”

Etta’s eyes filled with glad tears, while her sister added the sixteenth name to the list, and she clasped the hard, red hand with a feeling of sisterhood, for which she could hardly account.

Gretchen’s sickness had greatly improved her appearance, toning down her overbright color, and giving her a look of greater delicacy. Mrs. Robertson and Katie had managed to exchange the dark woolen petticoat and jacket for a simple summer dress such as the other girls wore; while contact with the others in the friendly home life had brightened up her intellect, and her new, deeper feelings and desire after a spiritual life had given her a certain earnestness of expression which made the homely German features very pleasant to look upon.

She was just going away after thanking both her teachers in a quaint, formal manner, when Etta said:

“Gretchen, I don’t want you to tell tales about your companions, and you need not answer unless you wish to do so, but I have been told that you know facts concerning a rumor about Katie Robertson, that I very much desire to find out. Can you, honorably, tell me anything about it?”

“Some of the girls don’t like her; I don’t know why. She’s always a very nice girl to me, and so good to her mother!”

“But the rumor is that she is dishonest, and that you saw her steal something.”

“I saw Katie steal?” said Gretchen, very slowly. “Never, never in my life. Oh, I know,” a light breaking over her face at a sudden recollection. “Bertha and I both saw her find a bill in an old vest-pocket one day, and put it in her own. Bertha spoke about it to me, but it wasn’t my business. Finding isn’t stealing.”

“It isn’t quite honest to keep what we find,” said Miss Eunice. “We should try to restore it to the owner.”

“But how could she find the owner?” said Gretchen, eagerly. “He might be away over in Germany, or or anywhere.”

“That is true,” said Etta, thoughtfully. “It’s strange! I can’t believe that Katie’s dishonest.”

“Oh, she isn’t; I’m sure she isn’t! I only wish I could prove it; but this is all I know about the matter.”

“Well, dear, thank you for saying what you have said. Don’t say a word about it among your companions. I know I can trust you that far, and I will find out the mystery somehow. Good-night, Gretchen. God bless you in your new service,” and Miss Eunice kissed her, little German factory-girl though she was.

“Find out the mystery? Of course we can; just as easy as possible, now,” said Etta. “All we’ve got to do is just to ask James if such an occurrence ever happened in the mill.”

And Mr. James Mountjoy promptly coming in at that moment, both sisters appealed to him, and heard in return a very simple statement of the whole affair.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I did mean to. I thought it so noble in the child. Five girls out of every six would have put the money into their pockets, and said nothing about it. It was very brave in her, too, to tell me how she had been tempted to keep it.”

“I know why he did not tell,” said the elder sister, looking fondly at her brother. “Five employers out of six would have accepted the money as their right, and the finder have been none the better for it. Our James is not apt to trumpet his own praises.”

The young man colored, and said:

“I think Katie Robertson is an uncommonly fine girl. I was struck by something she said the day she entered the mill. I asked her if she thought she could be a faithful little girl, and she said she was trying to please God everywhere, and she was sure he would help her here. I think she has acted up to that idea ever since. I have watched her from time to time, and I can not find that she has ever been guilty of disobedience to rules, or any kind of underhand behavior. Her work has always been faithfully done, and her example has been of great use in keeping order among the others. Sanderson is enthusiastic in his praises of her bravery and womanly unselfishness. He says she came to his house at the risk of her own life, and helped his poor, tired-out wife take care of the two sick children with as much earnestness, and almost as much skill, as a professional nurse. She stayed there till the aunt from the city came, thus losing five days’ work. I offered her the wages for those days when I found it out, but she told me Mr. Sanderson had given her the amount, and she did not want to be paid twice over.”

“And this is the girl we have been suspecting of dishonesty!” said Etta. “We really owe her something to make amends. What a little wretch that Bertie Sanderson must be! I really think her parents ought to be told all the circumstances.”

All this while a pile of unopened letters, brought by the evening mail, was lying upon the centre-table. The young gentleman turned them over, took possession of several which were directed to himself, and then, handing Etta one which he said was for her, left the room.

“Who can it be from?” said the young lady, eyeing the strangely folded and badly directed epistle, without opening it, as is the manner of so many people.

“I’d see if I were you,” said her sister; and seeing that this was good advice, Etta took it, glanced at the signature, and exclaimed:

“Bertie Sanderson! what a coincidence!”

The letter was as follows:

NEW YORK, August 15, 18 .

My Dear Miss Etta, I don’t know how to write letters very well, but I must tell you something that is upon my mind. It is about Katie Robertson. You remember I told you she was a thief, and I told all the girls she was dishonest. I didn’t know that she was; I only saw her find a fifty-dollar bill among the rags one day, and put it in her pocket. I didn’t know what she did with it, and I didn’t try to find out, because I was jealous and hated her. She used to tell me it was dishonest to break rules, and talk, and idle, when one was paid for working, and I felt kind of glad to think I had found her out in being dishonest too. I told the girls about it not all, but just enough to make them think her a thief, because at first they all seemed to think so much more of her than they did of me, and I told you just the same thing when you asked me. I tried to tell father when he used to praise up Katie Robertson’s independence and industry, and wish I would follow her example. You see, it was all because of her that he put me in the mill. But somehow I couldn’t tell him. I was afraid.

You see, Miss Etta, I have been a very wicked girl, and when I got so sick I was afraid to die. I tried to think I hadn’t told a lie, because I did see her find the money, and I didn’t know what she had done with it; but I knew I had “borne false witness,” and I hadn’t “loved my neighbor as myself.” I knew, too, that nobody could go to heaven with a heart full of malice and hatred, and I wanted to tell Katie all about it, and ask her to forgive me, and when I got wild I kept calling for her. Then she came and stayed and took such good care of me, I’ve been ashamed since I knew about it; but I didn’t know her or any one then, only one day my wits seemed to come back to me and I told her all about it, and she explained so simply how she had found the money and taken it to Mr. James, and Mr. James had told her to keep it, that I saw in a moment that it was only because I wanted to think her bad that I didn’t find out just how it was long before.

I felt so bad then, Miss Etta, because I thought I was surely dying, and going before God with all that unforgiven sin upon me, and Katie talked so sweetly about Jesus and his forgiveness and help that I thought I’d like to try. But then I didn’t know anything for a long time till I woke up and found my aunt there, and they said I couldn’t see Katie again, because she might get the fever or carry it to her brothers.

I was dreadfully unhappy, even after I came here, not only about this, but because of all the other bad things I’ve done all my life. I’ve been selfish and vain, and unkind and untruthful and dishonest, and I almost wished I had died when I was sick, only then I could not have gone to heaven, and I never could have cleared Katie.

Since I have been here I have been to church a good deal with my cousins, who are Congregationalists, and are both going to join the church. There is a daily service, and there have been a large number of conversions. I have talked a good deal with my aunt, and I really do want to commence over again and be a good girl. Aunt Anna says that Jesus died so that the very worst sinners might be forgiven, and I think he will forgive me. She wants me to stay and be received with her daughters here, but I’d rather join the dear church in Squantown, with the other girls, if you think I might.

But I want Katie and all the girls to know just how bad I have been and just how sorry I am. Please tell them all that I have said, and write and tell me if you think I might join the church, when I’ve been so wicked.

Give my best love to Miss Eunice and ask her to forgive me, too.

Your affectionate Sunday scholar,
BERTHA SANDERSON.

“I think we may join in the joy of the angels in the presence of God over the one sinner that repenteth,” said Miss Eunice, as her sister finished this long and evidently earnest letter. “I think you may safely write to the dear child to come home and commence her new life among us. Your class is greatly blessed, my sister, and I think when we remember what it has done for Gretchen and Bertie, we may well thank God for the ship-fever as for an angel in disguise.”

The next Sunday Etta Mountjoy detained her class a few moments after the school session, and read to them the whole of Bertie’s letter.

It was received with various expressions of surprise, which were greatly augmented when the whole story of the fifty-dollar bill was told.

“I have brought this all before you, girls,” she said, “not to make you think hardly of Bertie. She has suffered too much and is too evidently sincerely sorry for me to do that. I want you to rejoice with me in her repentance, and when she comes back, to receive her with full forgiveness and sympathy, and aid her in her efforts to lead a new life. I thought you ought to know how well one little girl among us has behaved under the most unjust suspicions and great unkindness. Not one of us has understood Katie Robertson. She has known for four weeks, from Bertie’s statement to her, what was the real reason of our avoidance and suspicion, and she has never opened her mouth to explain the true state of the case and clear herself, as she might easily have done, because by so doing she would have been obliged to tell of the unkindness and malice of her companion.

“I think we all ought to ask her pardon for being so ready to condemn her unheard and to believe what was whispered against her; and, more than that, we ought to be very thankful to the Lord for giving her such a grand victory over herself.”

Katie blushed and could find nothing to say, as one after another the girls and their teacher shook hands with her and kissed her; but it was a very happy heart the little girl carried home with her that bright Sunday.

“Tessa,” she said, “it’s all true, every word:

“’Commit thy way unto the Lord,
And He shall bring it to pass.’”