21

Friendships

The intimate friendship that existed between Carrie Raymond and Julia Keene had not proved very beneficial to either of them. Their natures were such that neither seemed fitted to exert a very strong influence over the other, either for good or evil; but if one of them got into trouble the other was generally a sharer in it, as has been shown in one instance. And here is another.

One day Julia complained of a severe toothache, and Carrie told her that common table salt would alleviate the pain. Julia then asked Carrie to accompany her down to the dining room to get some salt. Carrie consented, but just as they reached the hall leading to the dining room, it occurred to her that a law had recently been made forbidding the pupils from entering the dining room between meals on any pretense whatever. That thought caused her to arrest Julia’s progress and remind her of the rule. Julia had forgotten all about it, and now, as it had been recalled by Carrie’s words, she stood still, not daring to venture further. As they stood there in the hall, which was perfectly lawful territory, a servant came along and was about to enter the dining room when Julia beckoned to her and requested her to bring some salt. The servant went on into the room and soon returned with a salt dish, from which Julia procured as much as she wanted.

Meanwhile some of the other girls had seen the two going toward the dining room and hurried up to the matron’s room to inform her of the fact. The result was that in spite of the assurance of both Julia and Carrie that they had not disobeyed the law, they were severely punished—first, being prohibited from attending for one evening the callisthenic exercises which a lady from the city was teaching the girls; next, when study hour came round, receiving several stinging blows, besides being compelled to stand on the floor for a while. That was about as severe a punishment as any offender usually received, and, in that instance, it was unmerited. While the superintendent and others were inclined to be lenient with the younger and casual offenders, they would not overlook any great offense or allow those who set bad examples to go unpunished.

Once in a while it was found necessary to expel some person who proved incorrigible. But that seldom happened. Most of the pupils entered the school while young, with plastic natures, and could be rightly influenced.

Besides Julia Keene, Carrie Raymond had another friend to whom she was becoming more and more attached. Mary Mayfield was of such gentle, lamb-like disposition that she was a general favorite.

As Carrie’s friendship for Mary grew stronger, she was seen less and less in the company of Julia Keene. She was finding in Mary’s gentle nature elements that attracted her as nothing in Julia’s ever had done. Then, too, Mary was not only gentle, but she was patient, diligent, and conscientious as well. From habitually associating with her, Carrie was, by degrees, acquiring something of her nature. That was evident from the fact that some of her schoolmates began to remark upon her changed manner, and she was much more generally liked than previously.

Mary was thus unconsciously exerting an influence for good over those around her. It may be quite true that

We shape, ourselves, the “good or ill”

Of which the coming “years” are made,

And fill our future’s atmosphere

With sunshine or with shade.

But do we not usually secure our pattern from those with whom we associate? It often seems so.

There was another girl, Addie Jenkins by name, who was a warm friend of Mary Mayfield’s, but she very much disliked Carrie. Addie was lithe in form and fragile in appearance, yet she was really much stronger than she appeared; Carrie sometimes received rather rough treatment from her. During that term, however, Addie’s rough manner toward Carrie ceased and, like Mary, she too became her friend. Her strength, which had been used against Carrie, was now employed to protect her from any injustice or abuse from others.

One day, some weeks before the Christmas holidays came round, the superintendent entered Mr. Vance’s schoolroom and asked him for the names of those of his pupils who were making the greatest progress. Instead of answering his request at once, Mr. Vance replied, suspiciously, “You want to steal them from me!” “Tell me,” repeated the superintendent; and Mr. Vance complied by giving the names of Gertie Hawley and Carrie Raymond.

He at once summoned those two girls to follow him, and they proceeded down the long corridor. They felt sure, as they followed him, that they were to be promoted. They were surprised, however, when he passed by the fifth grade and led them on to the end of the corridor and entered the room of the sixth grade! There they were kindly received and shown to seats by the teacher, Mr. Arnold, who was himself a deaf-mute. The superintendent then took one of the girls, who was making but slow progress in her studies, from this grade and placed her in the fourth grade, from which Carrie and Gertie had just been taken. They soon learned that their studies now would be in United States history, intermediate geography, arithmetic, and Scripture lessons. Although Carrie felt gratified at being promoted, she regretted the loss of genial Mr. Vance as a teacher.

Mr. Arnold was an old bachelor and had the reputation of being an austere man. But Carrie and Gertie soon learned from observation that, though he was inclined to be severe toward wrongdoers, he had a decidedly kind heart; as they both endeavored to please him by right conduct, they soon won his favor.

Addie Jenkins was a member of the fifth grade, and every day at recess, or the close of school, she would dart forward and link her arm in Carrie’s as the latter passed the door, and then the two would race down the corridor. That soon became so customary that Carrie came to expect it as one of the inevitables. She was therefore surprised when one day Addie failed to make her appearance. Upon inquiring for her, she learned that she was sick, but, much to her relief, she found that she was not dangerously so.

About this time Victor Walling was lying very sick with typhoid fever. A week or so elapsed, and it was announced that he was dead. Some who were with him in his last moments said he had spoken of hearing beautiful music, and Carrie remembered how he had once told her of his desire to hear. He had said that he would willingly give a house full of gold, if he possessed it, to have his hearing restored to him. Though this wish was not granted in this mortal life, he had learned truths from God’s holy word to guide him to the “better land,” where misfortunes of every kind are unknown. It is believed that in the spirit world, he now lives in full possession of the desired sense of hearing, and, in gratitude, is praising God, saying, “Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb forever and ever.”

He was a young man of steady, industrious habits, and of good character. He was much liked by his schoolmates. After the funeral services the pupils took a last look at the earthly remains. There was a peaceful expression on the features, as if he had only sunk into a quiet sleep. After the pupils with sober, awestruck faces, on some of which were traces of tears, had filed slowly past the coffin in which he lay, it was taken up and borne away to beautiful Crown Hill Cemetery.

It is a fearful thing to die when the soul is at enmity with God; but when, through repentance and faith in Christ, forgiveness of past errors has been obtained and peace given, the soul can enter “the dark valley of the shadow of death” fearlessly. How needful, then, that everyone should understand the grand plan of salvation as taught in the Bible, and thus be able to come to Christ in full assurance of faith, and obtain through him eternal life.

Victor Walling’s death impressed his articulation teacher strongly; so when one of his classes gathered in his room the following day, he, instead of giving them the usual lesson, discoursed upon the uncertainty of life—how unexpectedly death might come to any of us, and the necessity of being prepared for it—after which he dismissed the class. Though at the time his words affected some of them deeply, it is not natural for the heart, in youth, to be long clouded by gloomy reflections or to be permanently impressed by thoughts of death. So, in the rush of events which followed, the sad occurrence was soon out of sight.