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HERE'S Joe Briggs now. He peeked around the corner of the fence. I just saw him." Frances stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk.
"So did I," and little Bertha caught hold of Sister Marie's hand with both of hers.
Marie stood on tiptoe and looked toward the corner of the street. "Yes," she said, with a frown, "and I can see the red tassel of Fred's cap, over the top of the fence. They are waiting for us as usual, and I suppose they have a whole bushel of snow-balls."
"Oh, dear, and they are such hard ones!" wailed Bertha.
Marie put a protecting arm about her little sister. "It's a shame!" she exclaimed angrily. "I just wish I knew how to get even with them. It wouldn't be so bad if it was only once in a while; but every single night when we go home from school they wait for us and pelt us. I've a notion to tell Teacher."
"No," said Frances, "that would just make it worse. They only do it for fun now; but if you told, they would be mad and it would be worse than ever. Come on, let's cross the street here, and then run as soon as they begin td throw. We'll take Bertha between us."
"That's just the way we do every night," sobbed Bertha, "and it always frightens me so when they yell, and I got an awful bump on my head last night, where one hit."
"It makes me so mad!" exclaimed Marie, stamping her foot. "I wouldn't care so much if it wasn't for little Bertha. I'd just walk right up and tell them what I think of them."
"You told them that last night while we were running," laughed Frances; "but they didn't seem to mind it much."
"Oh, they don't mind anything! They're too mean. I think—" Marie stopped in the middle of her sentence and bit her lip.
"What?" Frances turned and looked at her.
Marie was looking down and digging in the snow with the toe of her shoe.
"What did you say?" asked Frances again.
Marie's face flushed. "Nothing, only—I was just thinking— This week's lesson is on Love, you know."
Frances nodded slowly. "No one would think we were Christian Science children, would they?"
Marie shook her head. "I guess it's partly our fault," she said, thoughtfully. "We don't seem to be reflecting much love."
Frances leaned up against the fence. "Let's find out what's the trouble," she said, "and see if we can't help ourselves. When things go wrong it always means that mortal mind is talking to us, and we've got to find out what it is saying, and then know that the opposite is true."
"Well, it's telling me that I'm angry," said Marie with a good deal of vigor.
"And it's telling me that I'm awfully afraid," whimpered Bertha, still clinging to Marie's hand.
"And it's telling me that there's some big, rough boys waiting around the corner, just on purpose to make us afraid and angry," said Frances, looking grimly down the street.
"Then if the opposite of all this is true, I s'pose I've got to know that I'm not angry," said Marie, slowly. "Of course I know it's only mortal mind that says I am; but it seems awfully real." She caught herself. "No, it don't seem real. It isn't real. Mortal mind can't tell me anything, for it isn't real itself. It can't tell me that I'm angry. I won't listen to it. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not! Love is the opposite of hate, and I do love everybody, everybody there is, and mortal mind can't make me think any different." Marie was doing her work out loud, and was doing it well and with zeal.
"And what's the opposite of being afraid?" asked Bertha, clutching her sister's hand tighter, as she saw a red cap appear around the corner of the fence.
Marie bent over and kissed the little one. "It's trust, dearie. Trust in God, that he won't let anything hurt you. Just keep saying to yourself that you do trust God, and are not afraid. Isn't that right, Frances?"
"Yes," said Frances, "it seems so to me, and I suppose that I have got to know that instead of rough boys hiding around the corner, there's nothing but mortal mind there, and mortal mind can't hurt God's children."
"If there's only mortal mind there, then there really isn't anything," said Marie.
"That's so," said Frances; "but I guess I'm getting a little mixed up; because there's surely something there, and it looks like boys," and she shook her head with a puzzled little laugh.
"I know what is there," said Marie, suddenly. "It's God's children, just the same as we are. We can't be angry or afraid when there's only God's children there. Come on. I don't mind it a bit any more."
They started briskly forward, Bertha walking between the two older girls; but they had not advanced far when Joe's face peered out again, and then a big, hard snow-ball came whizzing through the air and hit Frances' muff, nearly knocking it from her hands.
Frances only laughed. "I'm going to hoist a flag of truce," she said, stopping to tie her handkerchief to her ruler. "There, how is that," and holding it well in view they walked forward once more.
In a moment Joe's face peered around the corner again to see why the girls did not scream and run, as they usually did when the attack began. He was just aiming another ball when he caught sight of Frances' flag of truce. He hesitated, uncertain what to do.
"What's the matter?" whispered Fred. "Are they going back?"
"No, they're waving a handkerchief on a ruler. I guess it means truce. Wonder what they're up to," said Joe in a puzzled tone.
"Well, we'll have to honor a flag of truce, that's sure," said Fred, laughing, "especially when they were smart enough to think of it. Come on, let's go and see what they want."
The boys dropped their snow-balls and came out from behind the fence. "What's the matter?" called Fred, as the girls approached.
"We're not afraid any more," explained little Bertha eagerly, before the others could speak, "because we know you don't want to hurt us or make us angry."
The boys glanced at each other, and their faces flushed. Bertha was such a very little girl, and she had always screamed so loudly when she ran from the hail of snow-balls.
Here Marie broke in. "We knew you didn't want to really hurt us," she said pleasantly, "but just thought it was fun to make us run and see us get angry and frightened; but it wasn't any fun for us, so we made up our minds that we wouldn't run any more, or say anything mean. We knew that you wouldn't be ugly to us if we did that way."
The boys both stood silent, their faces still red. Frances laughed merrily:—
"It's mean to spoil your fun this way, isn't it," she said brightly. "But really, it wasn't much fun, after all, was it? Last night one of those hard balls raised a big lump on little Bertha's head, and she cried all the way home. You couldn't hurt her to-day, because she wasn't afraid."
"We're awfully sorry if we hurt her," said Fred, awkwardly. "We really didn't mean to. We just got interested in the chase, I suppose, and didn't know how hard we threw the balls. We won't bother you any more, will we, Joe?"
"No, we won't," said Joe, heartily. "We've been pretty mean to you, but it was just for fun. We didn't want to hurt you. You needn't be afraid any more."
"We're not," said Marie, quickly. "We have learned better. Good-bye, boys, and thank you for being nice to us."
"Good-bye, good-bye," called Bertha and Frances.
Fred had been busy for a few moments throwing a pile of snow-balls off of the long bod-sled which was drawn up behind the fence. Now he brought it forth, proudly.
"Jump on, girls," he cried gayly, "and we'll give you a ride. We're going your way, and we'll draw you home. We're on our way over to Black Hill, coasting, and say, any time that you come out to the hill, you come to us, and we'll take you down on our sled as many times as you want to go. She's the fastest one on the hill, and we don't generally take girls, because they are always afraid; but you won't be, so we'll give you a good time whenever you come out."
The girls thanked them delightedly, and then sat down on the sled and in a moment they were spinning down the street, the snow from the heels of their kindly steeds flying in their faces.
Presently Marie leaned forward over little Bertha's shoulders and whispered in Frances' ear: "Well, I've learned what love can do. Isn't it wonderful?"
Frances turned her head and replied, softly, "Yes, and I have learned that 'the truth is my shield and buckler.'"
"And what have you learned, dearie?" whispered Marie, tightening her arms about her little sister.
"That being afraid isn't anything," gasped Bertha, her face shining with happiness and the cold wind, "and that Joe and Fred are awfully nice, kind boys, and I wish it was ten miles to our house."