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The Step-Mother
by
“May I ask you the reason?”
There was a pause of some moments; then Mary replied:
“I promised one of the girls that I’d wear it. She asked me to. She wanted to see it.”
“Did you tell Hannah this?”
“No, ma’am. It wouldn’t have been any use. She never hears to reason.”
“But you’ll find me very different, Mary,” said Mrs. Arnold, tenderly. “I shall ever be ready to hear reason.”
All this was so far from what Mary had anticipated, that her mind was half bewildered. Her step-mother’s clear sight penetrated to her very thoughts.
Taking her hand, she drew her gently to her side. An arm was then placed lovingly around her.
“My dear child,”–it would have been a hard heart, indeed, that could have resisted the influence of that voice, “let us understand each other in the beginning. You seem to look upon me as an enemy, and yet I wish to be the very best friend you have in the world. I have come here, not as an exacting and overbearing tyrant, but to seek your good and promote your happiness in every possible way. I will love you; and may I not expect love in return? Surely you will not withhold that.”
As Mrs. Arnold spoke thus, she felt a slight quiver in the hand she had taken in her own. She continued:
“I cannot hope to fill the place of your dear mother, now in heaven. Yet even as she loved you, would I love you, my child.” The voice of Mrs. Arnold had become unsteady, through excess of feeling. “As she bore with your faults, I will bear with them; as she rejoiced over every good affection born in your heart, so will I rejoice.”
Outraged by the conduct of Mary, the housekeeper had gone to Mr. Arnold, whom she found in the parlour, and repeated to him, with a colouring of her own, the insolent language his child had used. The father hurried up stairs in a state of angry excitement. No little surprised was he, on entering the nursery, to see Mary sobbing on the breast of her step-mother, whose gentle hands were softly pressed upon the child’s temples, and whose low, soothing voice was speaking to her words of comfort for the present, and cheerful hope for the future.
Unobserved by either, Mr. Arnold stood for a moment, and then softly retired, with a gush of thankfulness in his heart, that he had found for his children so true and good a mother.
With Mary there was no more trouble. From that hour, she came wholly under the influence of her step-mother, learning day by day, as she knew her better, to love her with a more confiding tenderness. Wonderful was the change produced on the children of Mr. Arnold in a single year. They had, indeed, found a mother.
It is painful to think how different would have been the result, had the step-mother not been a true woman. Wise and good she was in her sphere; loving and unselfish; and the fruit of her hand was sweet to the taste, and beautiful to look upon.
How few are like her! How few who assume the position of step-mother,–a position requiring patience, long-suffering, and unflinching self-denial,–are fitted for the duties they so lightly take upon themselves! Is it any wonder their own lives are made, at times, miserable, or that they mar, by passion or exacting tyranny, the fair face of humanity, in the children committed to their care? Such lose their reward.