“Now, my dears, I've something very curious to tell you, so listen
quietly and then I'll give you your dinners,” said Molly, addressing the
nine cats who came trooping after her as she went into the shed-chamber
with a bowl of milk and a plate of scraps in her hands. She had taught
them to behave well at meals, so, though their eyes glared and their
tails quivered with impatience, they obeyed; and when she put the food
on a high shelf and retired to the big basket, the four old cats sat
demurely down before her, while the five kits scrambled after her and
tumbled into her lap, as if hoping to hasten the desired feast by their
innocent gambols.
Granny, Tobias, Mortification, and Molasses were the elders. Granny, a
gray old puss, was the mother and grandmother of all the rest. Tobias
was her eldest son, and Mortification his brother, so named because he
had lost his tail, which affliction depressed his spirits and cast a
blight over his young life. Molasses was a yellow cat, the mamma of four
of the kits, the fifth being Granny's latest darling. Toddlekins, the
little aunt, was the image of her mother, and very sedate even at that
early age; Miss Muffet, so called from her dread of spiders, was a timid
black and white kit; Beauty, a pretty Maltese, with a serene little face
and pink nose; Ragbag, a funny thing, every color that a cat could be;
and Scamp, who well deserved his name, for he was the plague of Miss
Bat's life, and Molly's especial pet.
He was now perched on her shoulder, and, as she talked, kept peeping
into her face or biting her ear in the most impertinent way, while the
others sprawled in her lap or promenaded round the basket rim.
“My friends, something very remarkable has happened: Miss Bat is
cleaning house!” and, having made this announcement, Molly leaned back
to see how the cats received it, for she insisted that they understood
all she said to them.
Tobias stared, Mortification lay down as if it was too much for him,
Molasses beat her tail on the floor as if whipping a dusty carpet, and
Granny began to purr approvingly. The giddy kits paid no attention, as
they did not know what house-cleaning meant, happy little dears!
“I thought you'd like it, Granny, for you are a decent cat, and know
what is proper,” continued Molly, leaning down to stroke the old puss,
who blinked affectionately at her. “I can't imagine what put it into
Miss Bat's head. I never said a word, and gave up groaning over the
clutter, as I couldn't mend it. I just took care of Boo and myself, and
left her to be as untidy as she pleased, and she is a regular old----”
Here Scamp put his paw on her lips because he saw them moving, but it
seemed as if it was to check the disrespectful word just coming out.
“Well, I won't call names; but what shall I do when I see everything in
confusion, and she won't let me clear up?” asked Molly, looking round at
Scamp, who promptly put the little paw on her eyelid, as if the roll of
the blue ball underneath amused him.
“Shut my eyes to it, you mean? I do all I can, but it is hard, when I
wish to be nice, and do try; don't I?” asked Molly. But Scamp was ready
for her, and began to comb her hair with both paws as he stood on his
hind legs to work so busily that Molly laughed and pulled him down,
saying, as she cuddled the sly kit.
“You sharp little thing! I know my hair is not neat now, for I've been
chasing Boo round the garden to wash him for school. Then Miss Bat threw
the parlor carpet out of the window, and I was so surprised I had to run
and tell you. Now, what had we better do about it?”
The cats all winked at her, but no one had any advice to offer, except
Tobias, who walked to the shelf, and, looking up, uttered a deep,
suggestive yowl, which said as plainly as words, “Dinner first and
discussion afterward.”
“Very well, don't scramble,” said Molly, getting up to feed her pets.
First the kits, who rushed at the bowl and thrust their heads in,
lapping as if for a wager; then the cats, who each went to one of the
four piles of scraps laid round at intervals and placidly ate their
meat; while Molly retired to the basket, to ponder over the phenomena
taking place in the house.
She could not imagine what had started the old lady. It was not the
example of her neighbors, who had beaten carpets and scrubbed paint
every spring for years without exciting her to any greater exertion
than cleaning a few windows and having a man to clear away the rubbish
displayed when the snow melted. Molly never guessed that her own efforts
were at the bottom of the change, or knew that a few words not meant for
her ear had shamed Miss Bat into action. Coming home from prayer-meeting
one dark night, she trotted along behind two old ladies who were
gossiping in loud voices, as one was rather deaf, and Miss Bat was both
pleased and troubled to hear herself unduly praised.
“I always said Sister Dawes meant well; but she's getting into years,
and the care of two children is a good deal for her, with her cooking
and her rheumatiz. I don't deny she did neglect 'em for a spell, but
she does well by 'em now, and I wouldn't wish to see better-appearing
children.”
“You've no idee how improved Molly is. She came in to see my girls, and
brought her sewing-work, shirts for the boy, and done it as neat and
capable as you'd wish to see. She always was a smart child, but dreadful
careless,” said the other old lady, evidently much impressed by the
change in harum-scarum Molly Loo.
“Being over to Mis Minot's so much has been good for her, and up to Mis
Grant's. Girls catch neat ways as quick as they do untidy ones, and them
wild little tykes often turn out smart women.”
“Sister Dawes _has_ done well by them children, and I hope Mr. Bemis
sees it. He ought to give her something comfortable to live on when she
can't do for him any longer. He can well afford it.”
“I haven't a doubt he will. He's a lavish man when he starts to do a
thing, but dreadful unobserving, else he'd have seen to matters long
ago. Them children was town-talk last fall, and I used to feel as if it
was my bounden duty to speak to Miss Dawes. But I never did, fearing I
might speak too plain, and hurt her feelings.”
“You've spoken plain enough now, and I'm beholden to you, though you'll
never know it,” said Miss Bat to herself, as she slipped into her own
gate, while the gossips trudged on quite unconscious of the listener
behind them.
Miss Bat was a worthy old soul in the main, only, like so many of us,
she needed rousing up to her duty. She had got the rousing now, and
it did her good, for she could not bear to be praised when she had not
deserved it. She had watched Molly's efforts with lazy interest, and
when the girl gave up meddling with her affairs, as she called the
housekeeping, Miss Bat ceased to oppose her, and let her scrub Boo, mend
clothes, and brush her hair as much as she liked. So Molly had worked
along without any help from her, running in to Mrs. Pecq for advice, to
Merry for comfort, or Mrs. Minot for the higher kind of help one often
needs so much. Now Miss Bat found that she was getting the credit and
the praise belonging to other people, and it stirred her up to try and
deserve a part at least.
“Molly don't want any help about her work or the boy: it's too late for
that; but if this house don't get a spring cleaning that will make it
shine, my name ain't Bathsheba Dawes,” said the old lady, as she
put away her bonnet that night, and laid energetic plans for a grand
revolution, inspired thereto not only by shame, but by the hint that
“Mr. Bemis was a lavish man,” as no one knew better than she.
Molly's amazement next day at seeing carpets fly out of window, ancient
cobwebs come down, and long-undisturbed closets routed out to the great
dismay of moths and mice, has been already confided to the cats, and as
she sat there watching them lap and gnaw, she said to herself,--
“I don't understand it, but as she never says much to me about my
affairs, I won't take any notice till she gets through, then I'll admire
everything all I can. It is so pleasant to be praised after you've been
trying hard.”
She might well say that, for she got very little herself, and her trials
had been many, her efforts not always successful, and her reward seemed
a long way off. Poor Boo could have sympathized with her, for he had
suffered much persecution from his small schoolmates when he appeared
with large gray patches on the little brown trousers, where he had worn
them out coasting down those too fascinating steps. As he could not
see the patches himself, he fancied them invisible, and came home much
afflicted by the jeers of his friends. Then Molly tried to make him a
new pair out of a sack of her own; but she cut both sides for the same
leg, so one was wrong side out. Fondly hoping no one would observe it,
she sewed bright buttons wherever they could be put, and sent confiding
Boo away in a pair of blue trousers, which were absurdly hunchy behind
and buttony before. He came home heart-broken and muddy, having been
accidentally tipped into a mud-puddle by two bad boys who felt that such
tailoring was an insult to mankind. That roused Molly's spirit, and she
begged her father to take the boy and have him properly fitted out,
as he was old enough now to be well-dressed, and she wouldn't have him
tormented. His attention being called to the trousers, Mr. Bemis had a
good laugh over them, and then got Boo a suit which caused him to be the
admired of all observers, and to feel as proud as a little peacock.
Cheered by this success, Molly undertook a set of small shirts, and
stitched away bravely, though her own summer clothes were in a sad
state, and for the first time in her life she cared about what she
should wear.
“I must ask Merry, and may be father will let me go with her and her
mother when they do their shopping, instead of leaving it to Miss
Bat, who dresses me like an old woman. Merry knows what is pretty and
becoming: I don't,” thought Molly, meditating in the bushel basket, with
her eyes on her snuff-colored gown and the dark purple bow at the end of
the long braid Muffet had been playing with.
Molly was beginning to see that even so small a matter as the choice of
colors made a difference in one's appearance, and to wonder why Merry
always took such pains to have a blue tie for the gray dress, a rosy one
for the brown, and gloves that matched her bonnet ribbons. Merry never
wore a locket outside her sack, a gay bow in her hair and soiled cuffs,
a smart hat and the braid worn off her skirts. She was exquisitely neat
and simple, yet always looked well-dressed and pretty; for her love of
beauty taught her what all girls should learn as soon as they begin
to care for appearances--that neatness and simplicity are their best
ornaments, that good habits are better than fine clothes, and the most
elegant manners are the kindest.
All these thoughts were dancing through Molly's head, and when she left
her cats, after a general romp in which even decorous Granny allowed her
family to play leap-frog over her respectable back, she had made up
her mind not to have yellow ribbons on her summer hat if she got a pink
muslin as she had planned, but to finish off Boo's last shirt before she
went shopping with Merry.
It rained that evening, and Mr. Bemis had a headache, so he threw
himself down upon the lounge after tea for a nap, with his silk
handkerchief spread over his face. He did get a nap, and when he waked
he lay for a time drowsily listening to the patter of the rain, and
another sound which was even more soothing. Putting back a corner of the
handkerchief to learn what it was, he saw Molly sitting by the fire with
Boo in her lap, rocking and humming as she warmed his little bare feet,
having learned to guard against croup by attending to the damp shoes
and socks before going to bed. Boo lay with his round face turned up to
hers, stroking her cheek while the sleepy blue eyes blinked lovingly at
her as she sang her lullaby with a motherly patience sweet to see. They
made a pretty little picture, and Mr. Bemis looked at it with pleasure,
having a leisure moment in which to discover, as all parents do sooner
or later, that his children were growing up.
“Molly is getting to be quite a woman, and very like her mother,”
thought papa, wiping the eye that peeped, for he had been fond of the
pretty wife who died when Boo was born. “Sad loss to them, poor things!
But Miss Bat seems to have done well by them. Molly is much improved,
and the boy looks finely. She's a good soul, after all;” and Mr. Bemis
began to think he had been hasty when he half made up his mind to get
a new housekeeper, feeling that burnt steak, weak coffee, and ragged
wristbands were sure signs that Miss Bat's days of usefulness were over.
Molly was singing the lullaby her mother used to sing to her, and her
father listened to it silently till Boo was carried away too sleepy for
anything but bed. When she came back she sat down to her work, fancying
her father still asleep. She had a crimson bow at her throat and one on
the newly braided hair, her cuffs were clean, and a white apron hid the
shabbiness of the old dress. She looked like a thrifty little housewife
as she sat with her basket beside her full of neat white rolls, her
spools set forth, and a new pair of scissors shining on the table. There
was a sort of charm in watching the busy needle flash to and fro, the
anxious pucker of the forehead as she looked to see if the stitches were
even, and the expression of intense relief upon her face as she surveyed
the finished button-hole with girlish satisfaction. Her father was wide
awake and looking at her, thinking, as he did so,--
“Really the old lady has worked well to change my tomboy into that nice
little girl: I wonder how she did it.” Then he gave a yawn, pulled off
the handkerchief, and said aloud, “What are you making, Molly?” for it
struck him that sewing was a new amusement.
“Shirts for Boo, sir. Four, and this is the last,” she answered, with
pardonable pride, as she held it up and nodded toward the pile in her
basket.
“Isn't that a new notion? I thought Miss Bat did the sewing,” said Mr.
Bemis, as he smiled at the funny little garment, it looked so like Boo
himself.
“No, sir; only yours. I do mine and Boo's. At least, I'm learning how,
and Mrs. Pecq says I get on nicely,” answered Molly, threading her
needle and making a knot in her most capable way.
“I suppose it is time you did learn, for you are getting to be a great
girl, and all women should know how to make and mend. You must take a
stitch for me now and then: Miss Bat's eyes are not what they were,
I find;” and Mr. Bemis looked at his frayed wristband, as if he
particularly felt the need of a stitch just then.
“I'd love to, and I guess I could. I can mend gloves; Merry taught me,
so I'd better begin on them, if you have any,” said Molly, much pleased
at being able to do anything for her father, and still more so at being
asked.
“There's something to start with;” and he threw her a pair, with nearly
every finger ripped.
Molly shook her head over them, but got out her gray silk and fell to
work, glad to show how well she could sew.
“What are you smiling about?” asked her father, after a little pause,
for his head felt better, and it amused him to question Molly.
“I was thinking about my summer clothes. I must get them before long,
and I'd like to go with Mrs. Grant and learn how to shop, if you are
willing.”
“I thought Miss Bat did that for you.”
“She always has, but she gets ugly, cheap things that I don't like. I
think I am old enough to choose myself, if there is someone to tell me
about prices and the goodness of the stuff. Merry does; and she is only
a few months older than I am.”
“How old are you, child?” asked her father, feeling as if he had lost
his reckoning.
“Fifteen in August;” and Molly looked very proud of the fact.
“So you are! Bless my heart, how the time goes! Well, get what you
please; if I'm to have a young lady here, I'd like to have her prettily
dressed. It won't offend Miss Bat, will it?”
Molly's eyes sparkled, but she gave a little shrug as she answered, “She
won't care. She never troubles herself about me if I let her alone.
“Hey? what? Not trouble herself? If _she_ doesn't, who does?” and Mr.
Bemis sat up as if this discovery was more surprising than the other.
“I take care of myself and Boo, and she looks after you. The house goes
any way.”
“I should think so! I nearly broke my neck over the parlor sofa in the
hall to-night. What is it there for?”
Molly laughed. “That's the joke, sir, Miss Bat is cleaning house, and
I'm sure it needs cleaning, for it is years since it was properly done.
I thought you might have told her to.”
“I've said nothing. Don't like house-cleaning well enough to suggest it.
I did think the hall was rather dirty when I dropped my coat and took it
up covered with lint. Is she going to upset the whole place?” asked Mr.
Bemis, looking alarmed at the prospect.
“I hope so, for I really am ashamed when people come, to have them see
the dust and cobwebs, and old carpets and dirty windows,” said Molly,
with a sigh, though she never had cared a bit till lately.
“Why don't you dust round a little, then? No time to spare from the
books and play?”
“I tried, father, but Miss Bat didn't like it, and it was too hard for
me alone. If things were once in nice order, I think I could keep them
so; for I do want to be neat, and I'm learning as fast as I can.”
“It is high time someone took hold, if matters are left as you say. I've
just been thinking what a clever woman Miss Bat was, to make such a tidy
little girl out of what I used to hear called the greatest tomboy in
town, and wondering what I could give the old lady. Now I find _you_ are
the one to be thanked, and it is a very pleasant surprise to me.”
“Give her the present, please; I'm satisfied, if you like what I've
done. It isn't much, and I didn't know as you would ever observe any
difference. But I did try, and now I guess I'm really getting on,” said
Molly, sewing away with a bright color in her cheeks, for she, too,
found it a pleasant surprise to be praised after many failures and few
successes.
“You certainly are, my dear. I'll wait till the house-cleaning is
over, and then, if we are all alive, I'll see about Miss Bat's reward.
Meantime, you go with Mrs. Grant and get whatever you and the boy need,
and send the bills to me;” and Mr. Bemis lighted a cigar, as if that
matter was settled.
“Oh, thank you, sir! That will be splendid. Merry always has pretty
things, and I know you will like me when I get fixed,” said Molly,
smoothing down her apron, with a little air.
“Seems to me you look very well as you are. Isn't that a pretty enough
frock?” asked Mr. Bemis, quite unconscious that his own unusual interest
in his daughter's affairs made her look so bright and winsome.
“This? Why, father, I've worn it all winter, and it's _frightfully_
ugly, and almost in rags. I asked you for a new one a month ago, and you
said you'd 'see about it'; but you didn't, so I patched this up as well
as I could;” and Molly showed her elbows, feeling that such masculine
blindness as this deserved a mild reproof.
“Too bad! Well, go and get half a dozen pretty muslin and gingham
things, and be as gay as a butterfly, to make up for it,” laughed her
father, really touched by the patches and Molly's resignation to the
unreliable “I'll see about it,” which he recognized as a household word.
Molly clapped her hands, old gloves and all, exclaiming, with girlish
delight, “How nice it will seem to have a plenty of new, neat dresses
all at once, and be like other girls! Miss Bat always talks about
economy, and has no more taste than a--caterpillar.” Molly meant to say
“cat,” but remembering her pets, spared them the insult.
“I think I can afford to dress my girl as well as Grant does his. Get
a new hat and coat, child, and any little notions you fancy. Miss Bat's
economy isn't the sort I like;” and Mr. Bemis looked at his wristbands
again, as if he could sympathize with Molly's elbows.
“At this rate, I shall have more clothes than I know what to do with,
after being a rag-bag,” thought the girl, in great glee, as she bravely
stitched away at the worst glove, while her father smoked silently for a
while, feeling that several little matters had escaped his eye which he
really ought to “see about.”
Presently he went to his desk, but not to bury himself in business
papers, as usual, for, after rummaging in several drawers, he took out
a small bunch of keys, and sat looking at them with an expression only
seen on his face when he looked up at the portrait of a dark-eyed woman
hanging in his room. He was a very busy man, but he had a tender place
in his heart for his children; and when a look, a few words, a moment's
reflection, called his attention to the fact that his little girl was
growing up, he found both pride and pleasure in the thought that this
young daughter was trying to fill her mother's place, and be a comfort
to him, if he would let her.
“Molly, my dear, here is something for you,” he said; and when she stood
beside him, added, as he put the keys into her hand, keeping both in his
own for a minute,--
“Those are the keys to your mother's things. I always meant you to have
them, when you were old enough to use or care for them. I think you'll
fancy this better than any other present, for you are a good child, and
very like her.”
Something seemed to get into his throat there, and Molly put her arm
round his neck, saying, with a little choke in her own voice, “Thank
you, father, I'd rather have this than anything else in the world, and
I'll try to be more like her every day, for your sake.”
He kissed her, then said, as he began to stir his papers about, “I
must write some letters. Run off to bed, child. Good-night, my dear,
good-night.”
Seeing that he wanted to be alone, Molly slipped away, feeling that she
had received a very precious gift; for she remembered the dear, dead
mother, and had often longed to possess the relics laid away in the one
room where order reigned and Miss Bat had no power to meddle. As she
slowly undressed, she was not thinking of the pretty new gowns in which
she was to be “as gay as a butterfly,” but of the half-worn garments
waiting for her hands to unfold with a tender touch; and when she fell
asleep, with the keys under her pillow and her arms round Boo, a few
happy tears on her cheeks seemed to show that, in trying to do the duty
which lay nearest her, she had earned a very sweet reward.
So the little missionaries succeeded better in their second attempt than
in their first; for, though still very far from being perfect girls,
each was slowly learning, in her own way, one of the three lessons all
are the better for knowing--that cheerfulness can change misfortune into
love and friends; that in ordering one's self aright one helps others to
do the same; and that the power of finding beauty in the humblest things
makes home happy and life lovely.