Nattie Nesmith/Chapter 1

by Sophia Homespun

 

Nattie Nesmith;
Or,
The Bad Girl.

---

Chapter I.

Disobedience.

CAN'T, I sha'n't, and I won't!"

Three very bad sounding words, certainly. Do any of the little girls who have sat down to the reading of this book ever use any of them? I hope not; yet, it would be strange if they didn't, sometimes. I know more than a few grown-up people, who, if they do not say the words, exemplify the spirit of them in their lives.

When trouble comes, if, instead of evincing a courageous heart, we tamely sink under its weight, then we virtually say, "I can't;" when things go contrary to our wishes, if, instead of quietly submitting and making the best of it, our turbulent passions are stirred up in revolt, we say, "I sha'n't;" and when the blessed Saviour whispers, "Give me thy heart," and our inclinations rise in opposition, we virtually say, "I won't", to the winning call, which, if listened to and obeyed, would secure for us God's special care while here and a life of blessedness hereafter.

These words were spoken by a girl of thirteen years to her invalid mother; and now that you know this, children, they sound more ungracious than ever, do they not? To think that a child would speak thus to a sick parent seems doubly unkind and undutiful. But Nattie Nesmith had seen her mother in feeble health for a long while, and did not think much of it, save that it was "stupid and hateful to have a complaining old woman around all the time."

Think of her speaking thus of the kind mother who had cared for her from infancy. True, Nattie was but a child, and could not be expected to have the wisdom and discretion of maturer years; but she was more thoughtless, wayward and selfish than many children are, and than any children ought to be; because self and pride, unduly indulged, bring trouble and calamity to all who thus surrender themselves to the sway of passions which should be kept under the control of reason.

Nattie Nesmith was a girl of rather more than average natural abilities. Her parents were well to do in the world. She had one brother and one sister married, and a little sister at home, several years younger than herself.

The lines of family government were not very steadily held in the home of the Nesmiths. This was unfortunate, and the bad effects were most visible in Nattie's case. She was her father's favorite, and knew it quite too well. Her ready perceptions and lively humor acted on him as a pleasant relaxation from the toil and care of everyday life. The quick interest which she evinced in whatever interested him, her wit, and even her sauciness, afforded him not a little amusement. Thus, if the mother complained of her idleness, or corrected her pertness, the father too often sided with the daughter. This course could not fail to injure the child, rendering her careless and disobedient to her mother. Mr. Nesmith did not intend to bring about this state of things. He thought Nattie bright, and did not like to see her angry. He knew that she had considerable temper and will, but said that, when she was older, she would know how to manage herself, and would, he believed, make the smartest one of the family.

Thus started, Nattie ran rapidly in her own ways. Mr. Nesmith was absent from home a great deal, and thus the invalid mother was left quite to the caprices of her wayward, willful girl.

Nattie thought her lot the hardest that any girl of her age and tastes ever had to endure,—being obliged to sit in a close room from morning till night, and to hear the complaints and attend to the wants of an invalid; though that invalid was her own tender, loving mother, who never thought any hardship or privation too great to be endured for her child.

On this particular morning, Mrs. Nesmith wished to send a glass of currant jelly to a neighbor who had a little daughter ill of throat distemper. She wished Nattie to go on the errand; and it was in response to this request of her sick mother, that the girl had made use of the ungracious words at the head of this chapter. Her father, as he was leaving home, had filled her pocket with candy and nuts. She had got settled in her mother's cushioned chair, to eat them and to read a story book; consequently, her ease and comfort were much disturbed by this little request.

"I never saw anybody who loved to make trouble as well as you do!" she exclaimed, pettishly. "I never tried to have a good time, in my life, but you wanted to spoil it in some way. Father likes to see me enjoy myself, but you don't; you want to be driving me around all the time, to wait upon you. I am determined that I won't bear it any longer. Send Bridget with the jelly, or go yourself, for all I care."

"Why, Nattie!" said the mother, gently, "you know that it is impossible for me to go. I can not walk across my room without help."

"It is impossible for me to go, too," responded Nattie, cracking the nuts, sharply, with her sound, white teeth.

"Don't crack those hard filberts thus," said the mother; "how many times have I told you that you would ruin your teeth? What is the reason that you can't do this errand for me?"

"Because I can't,—I sha'n't,—and I won't!"

Nattie crunched the very biggest filbert which she could find in her pocket, as she spoke these words. Then, emptying her shells on the carpet, she drew forth a long stick of candy, and resettled herself to reading the story book.

The mother observed all these movements, her heart writhing with more cruel pain than her poor, spent body, even; and then, uttering a low, distressed groan, she turned, her face to the wall, silently praying for her disobedient child.

In the course of an hour, Bridget came in from the kitchen. Her honest Irish face flushed when she saw the litter around Nattie's chair. She cried, in a loud voice, which caused Mrs. Nesmith to turn toward her:

"Shure, and what is the use for the likes o' me to swape? when no better than an hour agone, I did the room up illegant, and now it looks more like a pig-sty than a sick lady's parlor, where she resaves her docther and all her fine visitors. Shurely, Mrs. Nasmith, ye won't be afther thinking that poor Biddy will stay along wid yees, to be sarved like this. I couldn't do it, no, not at all, Mrs. Nasmith."

Nattie's black eyes looked saucily at the enraged Irish girl, while Mrs. Nesmith's pale cheek grew still paler, as she faintly responded:

"Biddy, we have to put up with a good many trying things, in this world."

"I should say as much," added Nattie, scowling.

"Shure, an' its meself that would say the same, ma'am," responded Bridget; "but if ye'd allow it, I'd add that I don't see the use o' bein thried and disthressed for nothing; and when I swapes and dusts yer room of a morning, and comes back in an hour to find it worse than before I touched it, that is what I calls labor in vain, ma'am; which same Biddy never was made for to do, ma'am; I think I'll be looking for new quarters, and wish you a long good day, ma'am, and as much better a maid as Biddy Wales as you may find, to swape and work in vain, ma'am."

Mrs. Nesmith groaned, and looked toward Nattie. The little girl was somewhat alarmed at the prospect of Biddy's leaving, for she thought that her hardships would be increased if the maid went away. It was not Bridget's first threat of the kind, however, but her usual resort when things got wrong, to restore them to better courses again. Nattie laid down her book, crossly, and began to pick up the shells scattered on the carpet.

"Can't I eat a few filberts without having such a noise as this?" she said. "What a house this is for flurries! and, Bridget Wales, you had better go back to your work in the kitchen. As to your going away from here, I don't believe that we could drive you off, if we tried. Who, but we, would sing Irish songs with you, Saturday nights? or stay at home to do your work and let you go to Mass as often as you choose?"

"There, Miss Nattie, many's the good times we has, singing of ould Ireland; and, if ye'd be a bit more careful, like, wid yer dirt and litter, I might stay wid yer till the day o' my doom."

"That will be as long as we shall want you, Biddy," said Nattie, langhing, and throwing the last of the shells into the grate.

"Would there be anything you'd be afther wanting me to do for ye now, Misthress Nasmlth?" Biddy asked, going to the bed.

"I would like to send this cup of jelly to Hattie Hartwell; the doctor told me yesterday how much the poor child was suffering with her throat, and could not swallow her food."

"Poor childer!" said Biddy. "Shure, an I'll do your bidding; but couldn't I do anything for your own self, to aise your pains? such as to bathe your head, or put up your pillows?"

The sick woman sighed, as she thought how much more kindness the Irish girl showed than her own daughter.

"I'd rather you would carry the jelly," she answered. "I told the doctor that it should be sent, and fear that the sick child will needlessly fret about it. I know that when one is sick, one thinks much of having any little relish sent in by a friend."

"That is thrue, Misthress; an' I'll go with the cup before I brings dinner to the table; though Miss Nattie, here, must plase to look to the mate and praties whilst I'm gone."

"That I can easily do," said Nattie, from her cushioned chair.

"An' I'll be much obleeged," returned Biddy, taking the glass of jelly and retiring.

The little time-piece on the mantel ticked away till fifteen minutes were told. The mother then reminded Nattie of the articles of food in process of cooking, which required looking to.

"Pretty soon," was the response; "Biddy has but just gone out, now."

"She has been gone a quarter of an hour," said Mrs. Nesmith; "I'm sure the potatoes must need to have the water poured off, and the kettle set back on the stove."

"Oh, dear! I never can have a minute's peace," cried Nattie, angrily; "but I'm determined that I won't stir till I have a mind to."

"If you had carried the jelly, you needn't have been troubled with going to the kitchen," said Mrs. Nesmith.

"Well, I didn't carry the jelly; and, what's more, I didn't intend to. The truth is, I don't care if Hat Hartwell is sick."

"Nathalie!" said the mother, reproachfully, "what if you should be ill, yourself? Would you like to have any one speak of you so unfeelingly?"

"I don't intend to be sick. Hat wouldn't have been if she hadn't wet her feet in the slush, going to school, and then been afraid to ask to go to the fire and dry them."

"Hattie is very timid, and a good girl, I believe, generally."

"Oh, yes, she is too good. She don't know enough to stand her own ground. Anybody can push her around and impose upon her as much as is agreeable. She has no spirit at all, and never stands up for her rights.

"Whoever takes advantage of her timidity to wrong her, does a cruel, unjust thing, and will be punished accordingly."

"I'd rather make Hat Hartwell cry, any time, than eat when I'm hungry."

"Nattie, you distress me, exceedingly," said the mother; "unless you control these perverse propensities of yours, I fear the worst for your future."

"Don't be scared, Marm Nesmith," drawled Nattie; "you are always in a fret about something."

A smell of burning victuals now came from the kitchen. Nattie dropped her book and rushed out, leaving the door open behind her; so her mother's apartment was quickly filled with the stifling smoke and sickening odors. The water had boiled out of the potatoes, and they were burning on the bottom of the pot. She caught hold of the bail to lift it from the stove, when the cover came off, letting the hot steam up in her face. She screamed, and let go the kettle, which fell to the floor, and the hot potatoes went rolling in all directions. Just then Bridget came in, and her face put on its reddest tinge when she saw the state of things in the kitchen. The stifling smoke which filled the sick-room, and, indeed, the whole house, had brought upon Mrs. Nesmith a severe fit of coughing, while Nattie was driving about in a wild manner, complaining of the smart which the hot steam had given her face and hands.

"What shall I do, Biddy?" she cried. "I am afraid the skin will all come off from my face; and my eyes are running out of my head."

"If ye had minded my words, the pain wouldn't have come to ye," said Biddy, with a hardness rather unusual to her. "As for me, I shall go at once to your poor mother, as has got one of her coughings on her, all owing to your misdoings; and you had better be afther claning up the spot o' work you've made on my kitchen floor, that I washed the last thing before I went abroad, this blessed day."

"My face smarts so that I can't," said Nattie, in tears.

"It won't smart none the worse, nor quite so bad, when you're to work," responded Bridget, flinging out of the kitchen with an indignant air.

Nattie had a little awe of Biddy when she was vexed; so, with her smarting face and fingers, she set about gathering the broken potatoes together, and wiping the smeared hearth. The kettle she put away under the sink, without cleaning.

The coughing fit of Mrs. Nesmith brought on bleeding, and the doctor had to be sent for in haste. Nattie was driven forth on this errand; for Biddy's wrath was up, and she declared that she would not trust het with the house "a blessed minute, again." The cold air made the smarting face feel better, while she was exposed to it, though the pain seemed doubled when she returned to the warm atmosphere of the house. Nattie well knew that her own willfulness had brought the pain upon her, and this seemed to aggravate its intensity. Bridget would not pity her a bit, but cast the most scathing, disapproving eyes upon her all the afternoon, as she sat in a corner of the kitchen, holding a cloth, moistened with alcohol, to her face.