Ella Clinton; or, By Their Fruits Ye Shall Know Them. Finley Martha

before she reached the place. She chased him for a long distance, for she felt quite unwilling to lose her dinner, but at length he was quite out of sight, and she gave it up in despair. All out of breath with running, she returned to the spot where she had left her books, and picking them up, hurried on to school, for she now began to be quite frightened at the thought that it must be long past school time, and thinking to shorten her walk by going across a field, she climbed the fence, but in doing so caught her dress and tore a long slit which she must stop to pin up, and that took her much longer than it would have done to go by the road. She had at last almost reached the school-house, when she was met by two of the scholars who were going for water.

      "Has school commenced, girls?" asked Ella.

      "Yes! nearly an hour ago, I should think," said Sally Barnes. "How on earth did you come to be so late? You'll catch it, I can tell you; for the master's got the headache this morning, and he's as cross as a bear."

      Ella burst into tears. "Oh!" said she, "I just stopped a few minutes to play on the ice, and then a dog ran away with my dinner, and I had to run after him. O dear! what shall I do? I wish I had come straight to school."

      "Never mind, Ellie," said Mary Young, who was a very kind-hearted girl, and felt sorry to see her cry, "you can just tell him that your aunt sent you on an errand, and you couldn't get back any sooner."

      "But that would be telling a lie, Mary, and I could never do that," replied Ella, for with all her faults she was a perfectly truthful child. "My mother always told me it was a dreadful sin to say what was not true, and when she was dying she told me never, never to tell a lie. Oh no, I wouldn't tell him that to keep him from killing me."

      "Oh, let her alone, Mary," said Sally, "if she fancies a whipping, I'm sure she's welcome to it for all I care. But come along or we'll catch it too."

      "You had better take my advice, Ellie," said Mary, turning to go.

      Ella hung up her bonnet and cloak in the hall, entered the school room, and went to her seat as softly as possible, in hope that the teacher would not notice her. Vain hope!

      "Ella Clinton!" he called out in his sternest tones, "come here to me." Trembling with fear she obeyed. "Do you know what time it is, miss?" said he, looking at his watch. "Ten minutes to ten; nearly an hour past school time. Where have you been?"

      Poor Ella caught at the desk for support. The room was so still that the ticking of the watch could be distinctly heard.

      All were waiting in breathless silence for her answer.

      "Speak!" thundered the master, "where have you been?"

      "I stopped to slide a little on the ice, and" —

      "You did, did you? I'll teach you to do that again. Hold out your hand here. I'll make an example of you. You needn't think you'll escape a flogging because you're a girl," and taking hold of her little tender hand, he brought his heavy ruler down upon it again and again, until the palm was all blistered, and then sent her to her seat without one word of commendation for having told the truth.

      "I say, Jim," whispered one boy to another, "that's what folks get for telling the truth."

      "What are you whispering about there, sir?" called out the teacher.

      "I wasn't whispering; I was just saying, the lesson over to myself."

      "Well, sir, keep your eyes on the book when you move your lips, or I shall flog you for whispering."

      "I'm not going to be such a fool as to tell on myself just to get a licking," muttered the boy, with his eyes fixed on the book.

      Poor Ella! everything seemed to go wrong with her that day. So much time had been lost, and her mind was so taken up with her troubles, that it seemed impossible to learn her lessons, and she failed in every one; for which she was of course punished. She lost her place, and was in disgrace all day. She would have been without her dinner also, if some of her kind-hearted schoolmates had not shared with her. Oh, how long the day seemed! but it was over at last; school was dismissed, and Ella walked slowly and sadly homeward, dreading the moment when aunt Prudence should learn the sad accident which had befallen her dress. She was considering, as she walked along, what would be her wisest course of action, and remembering that her mother had often told her, if she would come and inform her immediately of an accident, without any attempt at concealment or deception, she would not punish her; she thought she would try that plan with her aunt. For once, Ella remembered to put her hood and cloak, her satchel and dinner-basket, in their places. She then entered the sitting-room, where Miss Prudence sat in her easy-chair beside the fire, stitching away industriously as usual. She looked up from her work as Ella opened the door, and exclaimed: —

      "Why, Ella Clinton! where have you been, and what have you been about, to get that great, long slit in your dress? Come here to me this instant, and tell me how you tore it."

      "I was just climbing a fence, aunt Prudence," sobbed the child, "and it caught and tore."

      "Climbing a fence! and what were you doing that for, I'd like to know? Do you think I'm made of money, and have nothing to do with it but to spend it in buying dresses for you to tear up this way? You haven't worn that dress three weeks, and just look at it now; nearly ruined. You're always climbing fences and trees. A perfect tom-boy you are, besides being the most careless, troublesome, ungrateful child I ever laid my eyes on. But I'll see if I can't put a stop to it. You shall just sit down here, and darn that yourself, and do it well too, and not a mouthful of victuals shall you have until it's done; and you deserve a good switching before you go to bed. Now just stop your crying, for I'll not have it."

      It was very late before Ella got her supper that night, for darning was a new business to her, the rent was a very long one, aunt Prudence very particular, and she herself, after all the labours and troubles of the day, very weary, and fingers and eyes ached sadly, long before the task was accomplished.

      "It's no use to try to be good," sobbed the poor child to herself, as she wet her pillow with her tears. "I did mean to be good to-day, but the more I try, the more I can't. Oh, mother, mother, I can't be good without you! I wish I was dead too, and I do believe aunt Prudence wishes I was. I don't believe she loves me at all, for she never kisses me, nor calls me her dear little girl, like you used to, and she's always scolding me, and calling me bad and troublesome."

      Ella did not stop to play on the way, next morning, but went directly to school; nor did she climb fences or trees again for some time, but still she was almost always in disgrace, and continually getting punished, both at home and at school, for there was scarcely a day that she did not fail in one or more of her lessons, or forget or lose something; either her book, pen, pencil or ink.

      At last Mr. Burton called upon her aunt to complain of her carelessness and indolence. "I can't help it, Mr. Burton," said aunt Prudence; "I've tried as hard as ever anybody could, to make her orderly and industrious, but I can't do it. She's a very bad child I know, but I can't help it. I'm sure I've done my duty. There's never a day passes over my head, that I don't give her a scolding or may be a whipping, but it don't seem to do a bit of good; indeed I believe she grows worse instead of better. She's enough to try the patience of Job, as I often tell her, and such an awful temper as she has got! you never saw any thing like it. I used to think she was a tolerably good child while her mother was living, but there's no doing any thing with her lately. The more I scold and punish her, the worse she seems to grow: I don't see that she'll ever be good for any thing, but there's one comfort, I've done my duty by her."

      It was very true; Ella was growing worse and worse. She made many resolutions to do better, but try as hard as she might, aunt Prudence never seemed to notice it; never gave her a word of praise or encouragement, and always found something to scold her for, and so the poor child grew discouraged, and gave up trying. "It's no use to try to be good, and please aunt Prudence," she would say to herself, "for she always scolds me just the same. Mother used to smile, and tell me she was glad to see me trying to do right, and then it seemed easier, but aunt Prudence never does, and I won't try to please her any more."

      One morning Ella reached the school room unusually early; it still wanted nearly an hour to school time, and there were but two other scholars present. A few moments had been spent in talking together, when Ella,