, and at first she took me for a stranger, till I said,
"It is I, Miss Howe; do you not know me?" She turned me towards the
light that was still left in the west, and in a second exclaimed,
"Why, it is little Sue, my orphan girl!" This was too much for me.
She put her arms round me, and I cried again like a child; but they
were not such bitter tears as I had shed before.
"What brought you here at this time?" said she, "and what is the
matter? But come take some supper first, and tell me afterwards; you
look very tired." She took off my bonnet, and made me sit down by
the fire, and finished getting her tea ready which she was preparing
when I came in, and made me drink a cup of it before she asked
another question, and then she said, "Now, Susan, tell me what is
the matter; something has happened, I know." Then I told her all
that I knew myself, for why my mistress had treated me so I could
not tell.
When I had finished, she said, "Now, Susan, you will find the
advantage of a good character; if I did not believe that you would
starve sooner than steal or tell a falsehood, I should be afraid
about you now; but as it is, I do not feel uneasy, for I believe
that innocence always prevails. I will do the best I can for you; I
shall never forget the penknife; so, my child, do not cry any more,
and let us talk of other things; you shall have half of my bed and
whatever I have, till you can get a place to suit you; so, dear, do
not be downcast."
O, young ladies, you must know what it is to be alone in the world,
and to be accused wrongfully, to be able to know the blessing of
kindness, of true Christian charity; it seemed as if a voice had
said to my troubled heart, "Peace, be still."
Directly after breakfast the next morning, Miss Howe left me; she
said she was going to take a short walk before school began, and
should soon return. She looked much pleased when she came back. "I
think," said she, "I have got a good place for you. It is at the
minister's; I heard they wanted some one; I went and told them all
about you, and they believe you are innocent. Mr. A--says he
remembers you in Mrs. Brown's sick chamber, but his wife thinks it
proper to go and see the lady you have been living with, and he will
come and see you this evening."
At first this made me feel very badly; my pride and my anger began
to rise, but after a while I conquered them. I remembered that no
one could take away my good conscience, and I could no
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