Annie Lovejoy had not been gone fifteen minutes, when there was a sharp ringing of Mrs. Parlin’s doorbell, and a little boy gave Norah the red scarf of Susy’s, and a note for Mrs. Parlin.

Norah suspected they both came from Mrs. Lovejoy, and she could see that lady from the opposite window, looking toward the house with a very defiant expression.

Mrs. Parlin opened the note with some surprise, for she had been engaged with visitors in the parlor, and did not know what had been going on up stairs.

Whatever Mrs. Lovejoy’s other accomplishments might be, she could not write very elegantly.  The ink was hardly dry, and the words were badly blotted, as well as incorrectly spelled.

    “Mrs. Parlin.

“Madam:  If my own doughter is a theif and a lier, I beg to be informed.  She has no knowlidg of the cake, whitch was so dryed up, a begar woold not touch it.  Will Miss Susan Parlin come over here, and take back her words?

    “SERENA LOVEJOY.”

Mrs. Parlin was at a loss to understand this, for she had quite forgotten the fact, that the children had any cake to use at their play of housekeeping.  She supposed that Susy must have accused Annie of prying into the china-closet, where the cakes and jellies were kept.  She sent for Susy at once.

“My daughter,” said she, in her usual quiet tones, “did you ever have any reason to suppose that Annie Lovejoy went about meddling with our things, and peeping into the closets?”

“Why, no, mother,” replied Susy, much surprised; “she never saw the closets, that I know of.  Why, mother, what do you mean?”

“Never ate cake, did she, without leave?”

“O, now I know what you mean, mother!  Yes’m, she ate some of that fruit-cake you gave us to play with; and when I told her of it, she got angry, and said she was going right home, and would tell her mother how I treated my company; but I don’t see how you found that out!”

“Never mind yet how I found it out, my dear.  I want to know if you are sure that Annie ate the cake?”

“Yes, mother:  just as certain sure as I can be!  You know Dotty can’t reach that high shelf in the nursery-closet, and I can’t, without getting into a chair; and Prudy can’t walk a step; and Flossy despises cake.”

“But,” said Mrs. Parlin, smiling, “I don’t see that you have proved Annie to be the guilty one.”

“Guilty?  O, I don’t know as she is guilty, mamma; but she ate the cake!  She ate it right before my face and eyes; but I told her it was just as well, she was perfectly welcome, and tried to be as polite as if she was a grown-up lady, mother.  But, O, dear, it didn’t make a speck of difference how much I said; for the more I said, the more angry she grew, and I couldn’t make her believe I didn’t think she was a thief and a liar!  Only think, a thief and a liar!  But I never said those words at all, mother!”

“Very well, my dear; I am sure you did not.  It is a great comfort to me, Susy, that I can always rely on your word.  You have done nothing wrong, and need not be unhappy; but Mrs. Lovejoy sends for you to go over and tell her just what you mean about the cake; are you willing to go?”

Susy was not willing; indeed, she was very much frightened, and begged her mother to excuse her in some way to Mrs. Lovejoy, or, if that would not do, to go herself and explain the matter for her.

But, as it was Susy’s own affair, Mrs. Parlin wished to have as little to do with it as possible.  Besides, she considered it a good opportunity to teach Susy a lesson in moral courage.

Susy started very reluctantly.

“I’m afraid Mrs. Lovejoy will scold real sharp,” said she.  “What shall I do?  O, mother, I didn’t see Annie eat all the cake; I didn’t watch.  How do I know but she gave some crumbs to the cat?  Can’t I ­can’t I say, I guess the cat ate it?”

“Susy!” said Mrs. Parlin, sternly, “are you more afraid of displeasing Mrs. Lovejoy than you are of displeasing God?  All that is required of you is the simple truth.  Merely say to Annie’s mother just what you have said to me; that you saw Annie eating cake several times, though there was no harm in it, and you did not call her either a thief or a liar.  Speak respectfully, but decidedly; and when you have said all that is necessary, leave her politely, and come home.”

Susy called up all her courage when she entered Mrs. Lovejoy’s house, and saw that lady sitting very erect on a sofa, with a bleak face, which looked somehow as if a north-east wind had blown over it, and frozen it.

“Well, little girl,” said she, without waiting for ceremony, “so you call my Annie all the bad names you can think of, it seems.  Is that the way you are brought up?”

“I didn’t call her names, ma’am; she ate the cake, but I was willing,” replied Susy, calmly and respectfully, though she trembled from head to foot.  There was one thought which sustained Susy; she was telling the truth, and that was just what God wanted her to do.

“Well,” said Mrs. Lovejoy, “I must say you’re a dignified little piece!  Do you know you’ve done the same thing as to tell me I lie?”

This was just the way Annie had spoken; warping innocent words, and making them the occasion of a quarrel.

Susy could think of nothing which seemed exactly right to say to Mrs. Lovejoy in reply; so she wisely held her peace.

“Yes, miss, you’ve insulted my child, and, as if that were not enough, you come over here, deliberately, and insult me, in my own house!”

Tears sprang to Susy’s eyes, but she resolutely crushed them back.  There was, in her childish mind, a certain sense of self-respect, which made her unwilling to cry in the presence of such a person as Mrs. Lovejoy.  She felt instinctively that the woman was not a lady.  Susy was too young to reason about the matter; but she was quite sure her own mother was a model of good manners; and never, never had she known her mother to raise her voice to such a high key, or speak such angry words!

Mrs. Lovejoy said a great many things which were both severe and unjust; but Susy managed to keep up a respectful manner, as her mother had directed.  Mrs. Lovejoy was disappointed.  She had expected Susy would quail before her presence and make the most humble confessions.

“I always knew,” cried Mrs. Lovejoy, becoming more and more exasperated, ­“I always knew Mrs. Parlin held her head pretty high!  She is a proud, stuck-up woman, your mother is; she has taught you to look down on my little girl!  O, yes, I understand the whole story!  You’re a beautiful family for neighbors!”

Poor Susy was fairly bewildered.

“Now you may go home as straight as you can go!  But remember one thing:  never, while we live in this city, shall my daughter Annie darken your doors again!”

Susy walked home with downcast head and overflowing eyes.  Her heart was very heavy, for she felt she had been disgraced for life, and could never be respected any more.  Here was a trial so terrible that it caused the death of little Dandy to seem almost a trifle by comparison.

It was strange, Susy thought, how people could live through such severe troubles as had fallen to her lot to-day.  She was a little girl of quick and sensitive feelings, and a sharp word always wounded her more than a blow.  How that angry woman had talked about her mother!

Susy decided, upon the whole, that this was the sting ­this was the “pin in the lash,” which had hurt her more than the lash.  How dared Mrs. Lovejoy say a word about her own mother, who was certainly the best woman that ever lived, always excepting the good people in the Bible!

By the time she entered the house, her indignation had risen like a blaze, and burned away all her tears.  But should she tell her mother what Mrs. Lovejoy had said about her ownself, about her being “stuck up,” and holding her head pretty high?  Susy could not decide whether she ought to tell her, and risk the danger of almost breaking her heart!  But before she had time to decide, she had poured out the whole story in a torrent.

Strange to say, Mrs. Parlin listened with perfect calmness, and even said, when Susy had finished, ­

“Very well, my dear; now you may go and hang up your hood and cloak.”

“But, mother,” said Susy, rushing up stairs again, quite out of breath, “now I’ve taken care of my things; but did you understand what I said, mother?  Annie will never come into this house, never again!  Her mother forbids it!”

“That is quite fortunate for me, Susy, as it saves me the trouble of forbidding it myself!”

“Why, mother, you wouldn’t do such a thing as that!  Why, mother, I never heard of your doing such a thing in my life!”

“I should regret the necessity very much, my child; but wouldn’t it be better, on the whole, to have a little moral courage, and put an end to all intercourse between the two families, than to live in a constant broil?”

“Why, yes, mother, I suppose so.”

Susy was beginning to feel more composed.  She saw that her mother understood the whole story, yet her heart was far from being broken!

“What is moral courage, mother?”

“The courage to do right.”

“Did I have moral courage when I told Mrs. Lovejoy the truth?”

“Yes, dear.  It was hard for you, wasn’t it?  If it had been easy, there would have been no moral courage about it.”

“I am glad I had moral courage!” said Susy with animation.  “I knew I did something right, but I didn’t know what you called it.”

“Now,” continued Mrs. Parlin, “I have this very day been talking with a lady, who once lived next door to Mrs. Lovejoy; and she tells me enough about her to convince me that she is not a person I wish for a neighbor.  And I have heard enough about Annie, too, to feel very sure she is not a safe companion for my little daughter.”

“But, mother,” said Susy, “you are not ­you don’t feel ‘stuck up’ above Mrs. Lovejoy?”

Mrs. Parlin smiled.

“That is not a very proper expression, Susy; but I think I do not feel stuck-up above her in the least.  I am only anxious that my little daughter may not be injured by bad examples.  I don’t know what sort of a little girl Annie might be with proper influences, but ­”

“Now, mamma, I don’t want to say anything improper,” said Susy, earnestly; “but wouldn’t it be the piousest for me to play with Annie, and try to make her go to Sabbath school, and be better?”

Mrs. Parlin did not answer at once.  She was thinking of what she had said to Susy about people who are “home missionaries,” and do a great deal of good by a beautiful example.

“If you were older, dear, it would be quite different.  But, instead of improving Annie, who is a self-willed child, I fear you would only grow worse yourself.  She is bold, and you are rather timid.  She wants to lead, and not to follow.  I fear she will set you bad examples.”

“I didn’t know, mamma; but I thought I was almost old enough to set my own examples!  I’m the oldest of the family.”

Susy said no more about becoming a home-missionary to Annie; for, although she could not quite see the force of her mother’s reasoning, she believed her mother was always right.

“But what does she mean by calling me timid?  She has blamed me a great deal for being bold.”

Yes, bold Susy certainly was, when there was a fence to climb, a pony to ride, or a storm to be faced; but she was, nevertheless, a little faint-hearted when people laughed at her.  But Susy was learning every day, and this time it had been a lesson in moral courage.  She did not fully understand her mother, however, as you will see by and by.