“I deserve it,” I said. “Elsie, I’m a brute. I could knock my head on the wall. Please forgive me.”
“It’s not me,” she answered. “You didn’t hurt me. I didn’t mind it.”
“Oh, Elsie! I struck you with that horrid snowball.”
“It was only on the back of my neck. It didn’t hurt me much. It only frightened me.”
“I didn’t know it was you. If I had known, I am sure I shouldn’t have done it. But it was wicked and contemptible anyhow, to any girl.”
I broke down again, half from shame, half from the happiness of having cast my sin from me by confessing it. Elsie held my hand now.
“Never mind; never mind,” she said; “you won’t do it again.”
That moment a pair of strong hands caught hold of mine, and the next I found myself being hoisted on somebody’s back, by a succession of heaves and pitches, which did not cease until I was firmly seated. Then a voice said--
“I’m his horse again, Elsie, and I’ll carry him home this very night.”
Elsie gave a pleased little laugh; and Turkey bore me to the fireside, where my father was talking away in a low tone to the old woman. I believe he had now turned the tables upon her, and was trying to convince her of her unkind and grumbling ways. But he did not let us hear a word of the reproof.
“Eh! Turkey, my lad! is that you? I didn’t know you were there,” he said.
I had never before heard my father address him as Turkey.
“What are you doing with that great boy upon your back?” he continued.
Half ashamed, I began to struggle to get down, but Turkey held me tight.
“But you see, sir,” said Turkey, “we’re friends now. _He’s_ done what he could, and _I_ want to do what I can.”
“Very well,” returned my father, rising; “come along; it’s time we were going.”
When he bade her good night, the old woman actually rose and held out her hand to both of us.
“Good night, Grannie,” said Turkey. “Good night, Elsie.” And away we went.
Never conqueror on his triumphal entry was happier than I, as through the starry night I rode home on Turkey’s back. The very stars seemed rejoicing over my head. When I think of it now, the words always come with it, “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth,” and I cannot but believe they rejoiced then, for if ever I repented in my life I repented then. When at length I was down in bed beside Davie, it seemed as if there could be nobody in the world so blessed as I was: I had been forgiven. When I woke in the morning, I was as it were new born into a new world. Before getting up I had a rare game with Davie, whose shrieks of laughter at length brought Mrs. Mitchell with angry face; but I found myself kindly disposed even towards her. The weather was much the same; but its dreariness had vanished. There was a glowing spot in my heart which drove out the cold, and glorified the black frost that bound the earth. When I went out before breakfast, and saw the red face of the sun looking through the mist like a bright copper kettle, he seemed to know all about it, and to be friends with me as he had never been before; and I was quite as well satisfied as if the sun of my dream had given me a friendly nod of forgiveness.
