THE PIECE BAG
“Elizabeth, you must set things to rights in the attic,” said Mrs.
Hollins the next day. “Everything is in confusion there, and you know I
can’t allow that.”
“Oh yes, mother, I will do it,” Elizabeth assured her, “but you see we
had to leave it so yesterday because we were imprisoned, incartcerated.”
Mrs. Hollins smiled. “You dearly like a redundancy of letters in your
words, don’t you, daughter?”
“What is redundancy?” inquired Elizabeth, pleased at hearing a new word.
“It means more than enough.”
“I suppose Elizabeth thinks one cannot have too much of a good thing,”
remarked Dick, looking up from his book. “The longer she can make the
word the better. Where were you ‘incartcerated,’ Elizabeth?”
“In the packing closet with the moth balls,” replied his sister. “It
was an awfully stuffy place.”
“I should think so, and it is a wonder you were not asphyxiated,”
returned Dick. “There is a good long word for you, Libzie.”
“Say it again,” begged Elizabeth.
Dick repeated the word and Elizabeth slowly said it after him.
“Ass-fix-he-ate-ed. It would make a lovely charade, Dick.”
Her brother put back his head and roared. “I’ll bet you can’t spell it.
I’ll give you a nickel if you can.”
Elizabeth made several attempts but failed in each one, so Dick
finally had to tell her, and she carefully wrote it down on a piece of
paper that she might puzzle Betsy when she should come, though at the
same time she maintained that she still thought it would make a good
charade. She was so intent upon planning this out that she entirely
forgot about the condition of the attic and, as it was a bright, clear
morning, she decided that if she could gather an audience and press
Betsy into service they could act charades out of doors.
However, she failed in her errand, because Betsy had gone to town with
her aunt Emily and any sort of play which demanded much imagination
was not worth attempting without Betsy. Bess claimed her, however,
always being rather pleased when, as second best, she could demand the
privileges of first best.
So all day the old rocking-chair lay on its back while Elizabeth played
with Bess. When night came Mrs. Hollins reminded Elizabeth of her
shortcomings.
“Elizabeth,” she said, “you did not do as I told you about putting
things in order up in the attic. I went up there to get something and
came near hurting myself when I stumbled over the chair. You must go up
there the very first thing tomorrow and don’t come down till you have
put things where they belong.”
Elizabeth was very contrite. “Oh dear, I am so forgetless,” she sighed.
“Did you hurt yourself very badly, mother dear?”
“Oh no, not badly, although I might have done so, and you know my rule
is that you must put back in its place anything taken away. I don’t in
the least object to your amusing yourself in any innocent manner, and
to your using anything that will help to make your play more pleasant,
but I have not the time to run after you and pick up after disorderly
little girls.”
Elizabeth accepted the reproof meekly. She knew that with but one
servant her mother had more than enough to do, and she truly did not
mean to make more work for her, but once an idea took possession of her
it was to the exclusion of everything else.
She went to bed in a very humble frame of mind and decided before she
went to sleep that she must do something to make her remember another
time. Therefore, the next morning when Betsy appeared, it being a rainy
day, Elizabeth was still up in the attic.
“You can go right up, Betsy,” Mrs. Hollins gave permission. “I dare say
you will find Elizabeth in her playroom.”
Betsy ran up the stairs and called, but the voice which answered did
not come from the playroom.
“Why, where are you?” inquired Betsy, peering around.
“Here!” The answer came from a dark corner.
Betsy made her way to the spot. “Why, what in the world are you doing
sitting away off there?” asked Betsy.
From the depths of the old chair Elizabeth replied: “I am doing
penance. I forgot all about putting this back where it belongs, and
mother nearly broke her neck falling over it, so I have to do something
to make myself remember. I thought if I sat here long enough I couldn’t
possibly forget where the chair belonged.”
“How long have you been there?” asked Betsy, quite accustomed to
Elizabeth’s methods of dealing out punishments to herself.
“Oh, a long time. I don’t know exactly. I have put away all the other
things. It looks quite orderly--don’t you think so?”
“It looks very nice indeed,” replied Betsy. “I should have been here
to help you, for it was as much for me as for you that the things were
used.”
“No, it isn’t your attic and you were company,” answered Elizabeth,
settling that question.
“Don’t you think you can come now?” asked Betsy. “I have some lovely
pieces. Aunt Emily let me bring a piece bag, and it is a rainy day, you
know.”
This quite decided Elizabeth to put an end to her punishment, and she
came forth with alacrity, eager to see what Betsy had brought.
“Aunt Emily was really very good about it,” said Betsy, following her
friend to the playroom. “She said you were very generous to let me use
your idea for a scent bag and she liked my making it for Miss Jewett.
She said to tell you that you were to have any pieces from this bag.”
“I think that is mighty kind of her,” said Elizabeth, well pleased at
this reward of virtue.
“Have you any new ideas?” asked Betsy anxiously, still feeling that she
was a little selfish to take advantage of Elizabeth’s ingenuity.
“I have two lovely ones,” replied Elizabeth; “at least they are not
mine but they are things Kathie showed me, and if I have the materials
she will show me how to make them.”
“Shall you make them both?” inquired Betsy.
“That depends. They are both so nice I don’t know which to choose.”
“Tell me about them.”
“One is for handkerchiefs. You cover two squares of pasteboard cut a
little larger than a folded handkerchief and cover both sides, one
with any pretty piece of silk and the other side with white, then
you have a strap of elastic to hold them together when you put the
handkerchiefs inside. It doesn’t muss the handkerchiefs, takes up no
room and makes it very handy for you to see just what you want when you
are looking for a handkerchief.”
“I should think that would be very nice,” declared Betsy. “Now what is
the other one?”
“It is a case for threaded needles. You take a piece of ribbon about so
long,”--Elizabeth measured with her two hands a distance of a little
less than three quarters of a yard,--“and about so wide,”--she measured
again about three and a half inches. “You sew one end over a piece of
pasteboard the length of the longest needle you intend to have and you
fasten in a strip of flannel not quite so long as the ribbon and a
little narrower, then you thread needles with black silk and cotton and
white silk and cotton; you run them in and out the flannel, fold the
ribbon over and over, tie it together with a little narrow ribbon and
when you are in a great hurry or when you are travelling you don’t have
to stop to thread needles.”
“I think that is fine,” returned Betsy, who had listened attentively.
“I believe I would like that better than the scent bag.”
Elizabeth made no reply. She really liked it better herself and had
quite a feeling of triumph that she had found something so simple and
yet so useful. But it would take quite a length of ribbon and she was
not at all sure she could find a piece exactly suited. “Kathie says she
has some flannel I can use,” she remarked after awhile, “if only I can
get the ribbon. I suppose I could save up and buy it, but I haven’t
a great deal of time to save in, for Christmas comes very soon after
Thanksgiving, and the pennies don’t come in as fast as the days fly
by. Besides, I need all I can get to buy what I most want to get for
mother.”
Betsy was absorbed in peeping into the bag she held, and began to draw
forth one piece after another. Elizabeth watched her with interest.
“There,” she exclaimed, pouncing upon a bit of delicately flowered
silk, “that would just do for the scent bag. Isn’t it pretty?” she
added, holding it up. “Shall you use that?” she asked.
“If I don’t see anything I like better,” answered Betsy. “This might
do for your handkerchief case,” she went on, as she laid two ends of
silk in Elizabeth’s lap. They were not very pretty pieces, Elizabeth
thought, and she looked at them doubtfully. Miss Jewett should have
only the very loveliest, she considered. “Maybe we can find something
else,” said Betsy, noticing Elizabeth’s expression.
“These are rather dark,” said Elizabeth, brightening.
Betsy began diving deeper into the bag. Presently she drew forth a
fluttering end but quickly thrust it back again, giving a keen glance
at Elizabeth as she did so and murmuring: “Oh, that wouldn’t do,” and
she fumbled again among the pieces. Presently she brought forth from
the collection a very pretty piece of delicate blue silk sprinkled with
tiny bunches of flowers. “How would you like this?” she asked as she
laid it in Elizabeth’s lap.
“Oh, that is perfectly lovely!” cried Elizabeth. “But wouldn’t it be
big enough for your bag, Betsy?”
“Maybe, but I think I can find something else, or I can take the other,
the first one, if you like this best.”
“Oh, I do like it best of anything, and I think you are very generous
to let me have it. I am going to run down and show it to Kathie and
get her to measure, though I am sure there will be loads to make it
the right size.” She ran off, saying as she went, “I’ll be right back,
Betsy.” She had been a little disappointed that Betsy had not emptied
the contents of the bag that they might both look them over together,
but she did not think of this now that she was so entirely satisfied
with what had been given her.
No sooner was she out of sight than Betsy hastily drew out the end
which she had thrust back and held it up, a very rich and beautiful
length of ribbon. “It is the very prettiest yet,” murmured Betsy.
She reached over and took Elizabeth’s little tape-measure from the
work-basket which stood on the chair near by. She measured the ribbon;
it was just three and a half inches wide and lacked a little of being
three quarters of a yard in length. “It is exactly right,” said Betsy
to herself. “I cannot let her have it. After all I ought to let her
give the scent bag because it was her idea, and besides if I give her
the silk for it and don’t take any of the dried leaves I will really be
very generous.”
Still she did not feel exactly comfortable as she smoothed out the
ribbon on her lap and finally, at the sound of Elizabeth’s approach,
stuffed it down into the very bottom of the bag, nor did she feel any
happier when Elizabeth said: “Kathie says you are a dear. She thinks
this is lovely and it is big enough for either a scent bag or the
handkerchief case. I really think you ought to have it, Betsy.”
But Betsy shook her head. “No, I don’t want it. You must take it.”
“Well, I am sure I am a thousand times obliged to you,” said Elizabeth.
“See, I have brought up the little thread and needle case for you to
see how easy it will be to make; anyone could do it.”
Betsy took the proffered article in her hand and examined it carefully.
Yes, anyone could make it, that was quite true. She thought of the
ribbon in the depths of the bag and tried to feel pleased. “Wouldn’t
you really like to make a scent bag better than anything else for Miss
Jewett?” she asked. “Tell me truly, Elizabeth, if you had your choice
which of the three things would you rather give her? Tell me truly.
Cross your heart.”
Elizabeth went through the ceremony of crossing her heart. “Well, if I
had just the very handsomest piece of ribbon, I believe I would rather
give her the thread and needle case than anything else, because she
would probably use it oftener than the bag.”
“Not oftener than she would the handkerchief case. She would think of
you every time she saw that, you know.”
“So she would. Well then, I should like to make both.”
“I don’t think that is fair,” said Betsy. “It isn’t fair for you to
give her two presents when I have only one, unless my one were very,
very handsome.”
“But you wanted the scent bag; you know you did, Betsy.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want it, did I? Besides, you know you haven’t
the ribbon to make the needle and thread case even if you wanted to.”
“No, I know I haven’t, but we were talking of what we would like best
to give, not what we really were able to. Have you decided upon what
you will take for your scent bag?”
“No, and I don’t think I will decide today. Maybe aunt Emily will come
across some more pieces. I wouldn’t begin on the handkerchief case yet,
Elizabeth.”
“Why not? It is such a nice rainy day, and Kathie is at home to show me
just how, and you know we said we would begin the first rainy day so as
to get them done in time.”
Betsy looked uneasy. “I’m not going to begin mine,” she declared.
“Oh, please, Betsy.”
Betsy shook her head.
“I know just why you aren’t going to,” Elizabeth asserted; “it is
because you have given me the nicest piece and the only one that will
do, and you are too generous to say so. You have just got to take it
back and I will use that dark one.”
Betsy backed away as Elizabeth tried to force the silk upon her.
“I will not have it,” she maintained. “I am not an Indian giver;
besides, aunt Emily said that you were to have anything in the bag you
wanted.” Betsy had a sharp pang of conscience as she made this speech,
remembering what was hidden in the depths of the bag on her arm. “I
must really go, Elizabeth.”
“But it is early and I did think we would have such a good time.”
“I will come some other time.” Betsy hesitated before continuing: “I
wish you would put off doing yours, too. There is no telling what we
may get after another hunt.”
“But I couldn’t have anything better than this,” returned Elizabeth,
giving the blue silk an admiring look, “not if I searched the world
over.”
“You’d better wait,” repeated Betsy and then she went off, leaving
Elizabeth feeling somewhat mystified and rather disappointed.
As soon as Betsy reached home she went to her room and drew forth
the coveted bit of ribbon. Yes, it was even more beautiful than she
thought. She had never seen anything of the kind that she admired as
much. Suppose her aunt Emily had made a mistake in putting it in that
special bag, or suppose she should say that she had missed it and
wanted to use it herself. Even if she might have it her aunt would
question as to her use of it.
This Miss Emily did when, a little later, Betsy went to her. “Could I
have this, aunt Emily?” she asked, producing the piece of ribbon. “It
was in the piece bag and you said we could have anything in it.”
“Then if I said so I must keep my word,” replied Miss Emily. “It is a
very pretty piece of ribbon. What do you intend to do with it?”
Betsy paused before she answered: “Elizabeth showed me a very nice
thread and needle case; I thought I would like to make one for
Christmas.”
“Whom would you give it to? It is such a very handsome piece of ribbon
you should not waste it on merely anyone.”
“I thought I would give it to Miss Jewett.”
“What about the scent bag? I thought you had decided upon that and that
Elizabeth was to share her gathered sweets with you.”
Betsy was silent before she said: “That was Elizabeth’s own idea and I
think she ought to be allowed to keep it.”
Miss Emily smiled approbation. “In that case, as a reward for your
generosity in giving up the more personal and original gift, I must
certainly allow you to have the ribbon.”
Betsy walked away feeling ashamed instead of happy at receiving
approval for something which she knew she did not quite deserve. She
laid the ribbon carefully away but she did not forget it.
Whether it was the commandment, “Thou shalt not covet,” whether it was
a sermon upon the subject of petty deceits or whether it was her own
tender conscience is not certain, but there was a reason somewhere
which made Betsy very miserable all the next day, not that her excuse
in keeping the ribbon was not a perfectly proper one, but because she
had pretended to a different motive from the real one, and she knew she
had received praise where no praise was due. She wished she had never
seen the ribbon; she wished thread and needle cases had never been
invented; she almost wished there were no Christmas.