health, and the life she loved, so soon. Yet I do not think she ever
regretted the sacrifice when she saw the grateful child well and safe,
for little Sally was her best comforter, and through the long weeks she
lay there half blind and suffering, the daily visit of the little one
cheered her more than anything else. The poor mother was lost in the
great fire, and Cora adopted the orphan as her own, and surely she had a
right to what she had so dearly bought.
"They went away together at last, one quite well and strong again, the
other a sad wreck, but a better woman for the trial, I think, and she
carried comfort with her. Poor little Sally led her, a faithful guide, a
tender nurse, a devoted daughter to her all her life."
Here the pin paused, out of breath, and Miss Ellen shook a bright drop
off the lace that lay in her lap, as she said in a tone of real
interest,--
"What happened next? How long did you stay in the hospital?"
"I stayed a year, for Nurse used me one day to pin up a print at the
foot of a poor man's bed, and he took such comfort in it they let it
hang till he died. A lovely picture of a person who held out his arms to
all the suffering and oppressed, and they gathered about him to be
comforted and saved. The forlorn soul had led a wicked life, and now lay
dying a long and painful death, but something in that divine face taught
him to hope for pardon, and when no eye but mine saw him in the lonely
nights he wept, and prayed, and struggled to repent. I think he was
forgiven, for when at last he lay dead a smile was on his lips that
never had been there before. Then the print was taken down, and I was
used to pin up a bundle of red flannel by one of the women, and for
months I lay in a dark chest, meditating on the lessons I had already
learned.
"Suddenly I was taken out, and when a queer round pin-ball of the
flannel had been made by a nice old lady, I was stuck in it with a party
of fat needles, and a few of my own race, all with stout bodies and big
heads.
"'The dear boy is clumsy with his fingers, and needs strong things to
use,' said the old lady, as she held the tomato cushion in both hands
and kissed it before she put it into a soldier's 'comfort bag.'
"'Now I shall have a lively time!' I thought, and looked gaily about me,
for I liked adventures, and felt that I was sure of them now.
"I cannot begin to tell you all I went through with that boy, for he was
brave as a lion and got many hard knocks. We marched, and camped, and
fought, and suffered, but we _never_ ran away, and when at last a Minie
ball came smashing through the red cushion (which Dick often carried in
his pocket as a sort of charm to keep him safe, for men seldom use
pins), I nearly lost my head, for the stuffing flew out, and we were all
knocked about in a dreadful way. The cushion and the old wallet together
saved Dick's life, however, for the ball did not reach his brave heart,
and the last I saw of him as I fell out of the hasty hand that felt for
a wound was a soft look in the brave bright eyes, as he said to himself
with a smile,--
"'Dear old mother hasn't lost her boy yet, thank God!'
"A colored lad picked me up, as I lay shining on the grass, and pins
being scarce in those parts, gave me to his mammy, who kept me to fasten
her turban. Quite a new scene I found, for in the old cabin were a dozen
children and their mothers making ready to go North. The men were all
away fighting or serving the army, so mammy led the little troop, and
they marched off one day following the gay turban like a banner, for she
had a valiant soul, and was bound to find safety and freedom for her
children at all risks.
"In my many wanderings to and fro, I never made so strange a journey as
that one, but I enjoyed it, full of danger, weariness and privation as
it was; and every morning when mammy put on the red and yellow
handkerchief I was proud to sit aloft on that good gray head, and lead
the forlorn little army toward a land of liberty.
"We got there at last, and she fell to work over a washtub to earn the
bread for the hungry mouths. I had stood by her through all those weary
weeks, and did not want to leave her now, but went off pinning a paper
round some clean clothes on a Saturday morning.
"'Now I wonder what will come next!' I thought, as Thomas Jefferson, or
'Jeff,' as they called him, went whistling away with the parcel through
the streets.
"Crossing the park, he spied a lovely butterfly which had strayed in
from the country; caught and pinned it on his hat to please little Dinah
when he got home. The pretty creature soon writhed its delicate life
away, but its beauty attracted the eye of a pale girl hurrying along
with a roll of work under her arm.
"'Will you sell me that?' she asked, and Jeff gladly consented,
wondering what she would do with it. So did I, but when we got to her
room I soon saw, for she pinned the impaled butterfly against a bit of
blue paper, and painted it so well that its golden wings seemed to
quiver as they did in life. A very poor place it was, but full of lovely
things, and I grew artistic with just looking about me at the pictures
on the walls, the flowers blooming on plates and panels, birds and
insects kept for copies, and gay bits of stuff used as back-grounds.
"But more beautiful than anything she made was the girl's quiet, busy
life alone in the big city; for, she was hoping to be an artist, and
worked day and night to compass her desire. So poor, but so happy, I
used to wonder why no one helped her and kept her from such hard, yet
patient, waiting. But no one did, and I could watch her toiling away as
I held the butterfly against the wall, feeling as if it was a symbol of
herself, beating her delicate wings in that close place till her heart
was broken, by the cruel fate that held her there when she should have
been out in the free sunshine. But she found a good customer for her
pretty work, in a rich lady who had nothing to do but amuse herself, and
spent much time and money in fancy-work.
"I know all about it; for, one day an order came from the great store
where her designs were often bought, and she was very happy painting
some purple pansies upon velvet, and she copied her yellow butterfly to
float above them.
"The poor insect was very dry, and crumbled at a touch, so my task there
was done, and as my mistress rolled up the packet, she took me to fasten
it securely, singing as she did so, for every penny was precious.
"We all went together to the rich lady, and she embroidered the flowers
on a screen very like that one yonder. I thought she would throw me
away, I was so battered now, but she took a fancy to use me in various
ways about her canvas work, and I lived with her all winter. A kind
lady, my dear, but I often wished I could suggest to her better ways of
spending her life than everlasting fancy-work. She never seemed to see
the wants of those about her, never lent an ear to the poor, or found
delight in giving of her abundance to those who had little, to brighten
their lives; but sighed because she had nothing to do when the world was
full of work, and she blessed with so many good gifts to use and to
enjoy. I hope she will see her mistake some day, and not waste all her
life on trifles, else she will regret it sadly by and by."
Here the pin paused with a keen glance at Miss Ellen, who had suddenly
begun to sew with a bright color in her cheeks, for the purple pansies
were on the screen that stood before her fire-place, and she recognized
the portrait of herself in that last description. But she did not fancy
being lectured by a pin, so she asked with a smile as she plaited up her
lace,--
"That is all very interesting, but you have not yet told me what becomes
of the pins, Granny."
"Pins, like people, shape their own lives, in a great measure, my dear,
and go to their reward when they are used up. The good ones sink into
the earth and turn to silver, to come forth again in a new and precious
form. The bad ones crumble away to nothing in cracks and dust heaps,
with no hope of salvation, unless some human hand lifts them up and
gives them a chance to try again. Some are lazy, and slip out of sight
to escape service, some are too sharp, and prick and scratch wherever
they are. Others are poor, weak things, who bend up and lose their heads
as soon as they are used. Some obtrude themselves on all occasions, and
some are never to be found in times of need. All have the choice to wear
out or to rust out. I chose the former, and have had a useful, happy
life so far. I'm not as straight as I once was, but I'm bright still, my
point is sharp, my head firm, and age has not weakened me much, I hope,
but made me wiser, better, and more contented to do my duty wherever I
am, than when I left my native paper long ago."
Before Miss Ellen could express her respect for the worthy old pin, a
dismal groan was heard from the blue cushion, and a small voice croaked
aloud,--
"Alas, alas, I chose to rust out, and here I am, a miserable, worthless
thing, whom no one can use or care for. Lift the ruffle, and behold a
sad contrast to the faithful, honest, happy Granny, who has told us such
a varied tale."
"Bless me, what possesses everything to-day!" exclaimed Miss Ellen,
looking under the frill of the old cushion to see who was speaking now.
There to be sure she found a pin hidden away, and so rusty that she
could hardly pull it out. But it came creaking forth at the third tug,
and when it was set up beside Granny, she cried out in her cheery way,--
"Try Dr. Emery, he can cure most cases of rust, and it is never too late
to mend, neighbor."
"Too late for me!" sighed the new comer. "The rust of idleness has eaten
into my vitals while I lay in my silken bed, and my chance is gone
forever. I was bright, and strong, and sharp once, but I feared work and
worry, and I hid, growing duller, dimmer, and more useless every day. I
am good for nothing, throw me away, and let the black pins mourn for a
wasted life."
"No," said Miss Ellen, "you are not useless, for you two shall sit
together in my new cushion, a warning to me, as well as to the other
pins, to choose the right way in time, and wear out with doing our duty,
rather than rust out as so many do. Thank you, Granny, for your little
lecture. I will not forget it, but go at once and find that poor girl,
and help her all I can. Rest here, you good old soul, and teach these
little things to follow your example."
As she spoke, Miss Ellen set the two pins in the middle of the red satin
cushion, stuck the smaller pins round them, and hastened to put on her
shawl lest something should prevent her from going.
"Take me with you; I'm not tired, I love to work! use me, dear mistress,
and let me help in the good work!" cried Granny, with a lively skip that
sent her out upon the bureau.
So Miss Ellen pinned her shawl with the old pin instead of the fine
brooch she had in her hand, and they went gaily away together, leaving
the rusty one to bemoan itself, and all the little ones to privately
resolve that they would not hide away from care and labor, but take
their share bravely and have a good record to show when they went, at
last where the good pins go.
THE END.
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End of Project Gutenberg's Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag, Vol. 5, by Louisa M. Alcott