“Now you will be a good girl, Fanny Jane, while I am gone-won’t you?” said Fanny Grant, who has several times before appeared in these stories, to Fanny Jane Grant, her namesake, who has not before been presented to our readers.

“O, yes, Miss Fanny; I will be ever so good; I won’t even look wrong,” replied Fanny Jane, whose snapping black eyes even then beamed with mischief.

“I am afraid you don’t mean what you say,” added Miss Fanny, suspiciously.

“Yes, I do; I mean every word of it, and more too.”

“You make large promises; and I find when you promise most, you perform least.”

“But, certain true as I live, I won’t do a single thing this time,” protested Fanny Jane.  “Won’t you believe me?”

“You have deceived me so often that I do not know when to trust you.”

“I have turned over a new leaf, and I mean to be just as good as ever I can be.”

“If you are not good, Fanny Jane, I shall feel very bad when I return.  I have done a great deal for you, and I hope you will think of it if you are tempted to do wrong during my absence.  This time, in particular, I wish you to behave very well, and not do any mischief.  You know what father says about you?”

“He don’t like me,” pouted Fanny Jane.

“When you are good he likes you.”

“He scolds me all the time.”

“He never scolds you; he reproves you when you do wrong, and I am sorry to say that is very often indeed.  He says, if you do not behave better, he shall send you back to your uncle at the west.”

“I don’t want to go there.”

“But you must, if you do not do better.  He would have sent you before if I had not interceded for you.”

“Hadn’t what?”

“If I hadn’t begged him not to do so.”

“I won’t be sent back to my uncle’s, any how,” replied Fanny Jane, sharply; for the intimations of what might be, roused a spirit of resentment, rather than of penitence, in her mind.

“We will not talk about that now, Fanny Jane.  We are going to Hudson to spend a week.  The strongest objection to our visit was, that you would not behave well while we were gone.”

“O, I will behave well!”

“We intend to trust you once more.  If you disappoint me this time, I shall not be able to say another word in your favor; and I am quite sure father will send you off to Minnesota just as soon as we get back.”

The carriage was waiting at the door; Bertha was already seated, and Fanny, having done all she could to insure the good behavior of the troublesome young miss who had become her peculiar charge, hastened to join her sister, and they were driven away towards the railroad station.

In the two tall and elegant ladies, seated in the Woodville family carriage, our readers would hardly recognize Bertha and Fanny Grant, for eight years have elapsed since they were introduced, as children, to our young friends.  Bertha maintains her pure and beautiful character, and is still a blessing to the family, and to the neighborhood in which she resides.  Fanny is taller and prettier than her sister; and, having put away her childish follies, she is quite a dignified personage.

Mighty events had transpired since they were children, and the country was entering upon the second year of the great civil war, which desolated the sunny South, and carried mourning to almost every household of the free North.  Richard Grant had already distinguished himself as a captain in a popular New York regiment, of which the Rev. Ogden Newman, whilom Noddy, was the chaplain.

Mr. Grant had retired from active business, and had been succeeded by Mr. Sherwood, his clerk, who, having a high appreciation of the excellent character of Bertha, was about to enter into more intimate relations with his employer and predecessor in business.  Bertha was to become Mrs. Sherwood in June, and, as Mr. Grant had reluctantly accepted a financial mission from the government, which compelled him to visit Europe, it had been arranged that the bridal tour should be a trip across the Atlantic, in which Fanny was to accompany them.  If the general conduct of Miss Fanny Jane Grant had been sufficiently meritorious to warrant the extending of the privilege to her, doubtless she also would have been one of the party, for she had been for two years a member of the family.

Fanny Jane was a distant relative of the Grants of Woodville.  Mr. Grant had two cousins, John and Edward, the latter of whom-the father of the wayward girl-had died three years previous to her introduction to the reader.  At the time of his decease, he was in the employ of the wealthy broker, as a travelling agent.  Just before his death, which occurred in a western city, while conscious that his end was near, he had written a letter to Mr. Grant, begging him to see that his only child was properly cared for when he could no longer watch over her.

Edward Grant’s wife had been dead several years.  At her decease Fanny Jane had been committed to the care of her father’s brother, then residing in Illinois.  Mr. Grant, impressed by the solemn duty intrusted to him by his deceased cousin, promptly wrote to the child’s uncle, who was dependent upon his own exertions for his daily bread, offering any assistance which the orphan might need; but no demand was made upon him.

A year after the father’s death, Mr. Grant’s business affairs required him to visit the west, and he improved the opportunity to satisfy himself that the charge committed to him by the dying father was well cared for.  On his arrival he was not pleased with the relations subsisting between Fanny Jane and her aunt.  Mrs. Grant declared that the child was stubborn, wilful, and disobedient, needing frequent and severe punishment.  On the other hand, Fanny said that her aunt abused her; worked her “almost to death;” did not give her good things to eat, and whipped her when she “did not do anything.”

Mr. Grant was a prudent and judicious man.  He conversed with each party alone, and, being then in doubt, he consulted the uncle.  John Grant’s testimony, in the main, confirmed that of his wife, though he was willing to confess that the aunt “might have been a little hard on the child.”  Mr. Grant was far from satisfied; he thought it more than probable that Fanny was wilful, but he could not endure to think of her being abused.  The sacred duty imposed upon him could not be trifled with, and, as the only method by which he could meet the demands of his conscience, he decided to take the orphan to Woodville with him.

The uncle and the aunt, who had no children of their own, objected to this procedure, both because they did not wish to part with the child, and because her withdrawal from their care implied a condemnation of their former treatment of the orphan.  Mr. Grant, however, succeeded in overcoming both of these objections, and they consented that Fanny should remain at Woodville for two years; Mrs. Grant assuring the benevolent broker that he would be glad to get rid of her in less than six months.

Fanny had behaved so well during the stay of Mr. Grant at her uncle’s house, that he was completely deceived in regard to her real character.  The presence of so important a person as the wealthy broker, who had been represented to her as a person hardly less dignified than the President of the United States, had overawed her, and put her on her best behavior.  Her kind friend, therefore, was unable to realize that the orphan girl was half so bad as she was described to be by her aunt.

Edward Grant, while in the employ of the broker, had often visited Woodville, and being especially pleased with the person and the manners of Miss Fanny, had named his own daughter after her.  On the arrival of the orphan at her new home, it was deemed fitting that Miss Fanny should have the especial care of her namesake, then only ten years of age.  Fanny Jane, amid the novelties of the great house, and the beautiful grounds, was so much occupied for a few weeks that she behaved very well; but when she grew weary of horses and boats, house and grounds, she astonished her young mistress by conduct so outrageous that Miss Fanny wept in despair over the miserable failure she made in governing her charge.

Miss Bertha was called in to assist in taming the refractory subject; but it was soon found that Fanny Jane had none of the chivalrous reverence which had rendered the wild Noddy Newman tolerably tractable, and her failure was as complete and ignominious as that of her sister.  Mr. Grant was finally appealed to; and the sternness and severity to which he was compelled to resort were, for a time, effectual.  But even these measures began to be impotent, and the broker realized that the uncle and aunt had understood the case better than himself.

As a last resort, he threatened to send the wayward girl back to her uncle, who had now removed to Minnesota; for it would be better for such a child to put her down to hard work, and to keep her constantly under the eye of her guardians.  This threat was more efficient than all the other means which had been used to keep the child within the bounds of common decency; but even this had grown stale upon her.

Miss Fanny, finding that her failure involved no disgrace, renewed her exertions to reform her pupil and charge.  With the utmost diligence she instructed her in her moral and religious duties, and endeavored by love and gentleness to win her from the error of her ways.  Sometimes she felt that there was much to encourage her, at other times she despaired of ever making any impression upon her pupil.  Her father induced her to persevere, for he had hope.  He remembered what Edward Grant, her father, had been when a child; that he was accounted the worst and most hopeless boy in the town where he resided; but in spite of this unpromising beginning, he had become a very worthy and respectable man.  Such a change might in due time come over the daughter, and Mr. Grant frequently impressed upon Fanny the necessity of perseverance, and of remitting no effort to reach her pupil’s moral and spiritual nature.

If Miss Fanny did not improve her pupil, she did improve herself, for the more of love and truth we impart to others, the more we have for ourselves; making the very pretty moral paradox, that the more of love and truth we subtract from our store, the more we have left in our own heart.

Fanny Jane was undoubtedly a very naughty girl.  We do not mean to say that she was merely rude and unlady-like in her manners; that she was occasionally angry without a just cause; that she had a few bad habits, and a few venial faults:  she was impudent to her benefactors; she was untruthful, and even dishonest.  Not only to Fanny and Bertha, but also to Mr. Grant, she was openly defiant.  She used bad language, told falsehoods by wholesale, and had several times been detected in stealing valuable articles from the house.

Yet with all her faults and failings, there were some good traits in Fanny Jane, though they seemed like the two grains of wheat in the bushel of chaff.  What these redeeming features of her character were, we shall let our story disclose.  One meeting the wayward girl on the lawn for a moment, or spending a few hours in the house with her, would have been deceived, as Mr. Grant had been, for her black eyes were full of animation; her manner was spirited, and her answers were quick and sharp.  She was light and rather graceful in form; she did not appear to walk; she flashed about like a meteor.  She was bold and daring in her flights, and as strong as most boys of her years.  She would not run away from a rude boy; she laughed in the thunder storm, and did not fear to go through the glen at midnight.

Bertha and Fanny had gone up to Hudson to spend a few days with the family of Mr. Sherwood’s father, previous to their departure for Europe.  This visit had been talked about for a fortnight, and the wayward girl knew that it was to take place.  Contrary to her usual custom, she made the fairest of promises to her kind mistress, who, from this very readiness, suspected her sincerity; and her fears were more than realized.

Fanny Jane stood at the open door gazing at the carriage until it disappeared beyond the hill.  Her black eyes snapped under the stimulus of certain exciting thoughts which agitated her mind.  When the carriage could no longer be seen, she slammed the front door, and bounded like a gazelle across the entry to the library of Mr. Grant, which she entered, closing the door behind her.

“O, yes!  I’ll be good!” laughed she; “I’m always good!  Send me to my uncle’s?  I should like to see them do it!  I won’t go!  There are not men and women enough at Woodville to make me go!”

Then she bounded to the windows in the library, one after another, and looked out at each.  She closed the inner blinds of one, before which the gardener was at work on the lawn.

“I can do as Miss Berty did, if worse comes to worst,” said she, throwing herself into a great armchair.  “She went to live out, and had her own way, and I can do the same; but I won’t be as poor as she was.  Ha, ha, ha!  I know their secrets,” she continued, as she crawled under the desk, in the middle of the room, and pushing the middle drawer out, took from a nail behind it a key.  “They needn’t think to cheat me.”

She sprang to her feet again with the key in her hand, laughing with delight at her own cunning.