to-morrow, and Lily, in her favorite evening seat,--that is, perched
upon the arm of her father's chair while he read his paper,--was
happily playing with some paper dolls, while mamma and her friend
sat opposite, talking, when a person came with a message requiring an
immediate answer.
Mrs. Norris went to her secretary and wrote the note, using for the
purpose an ordinary inkstand which belonged there; and then said
approvingly to Lily,--
"My pet, how nicely you put away mamma's writing things; all the papers
in their proper places and order. Pretty well done for such a little
girl."
"Mamma," said Lily, wishing that she need not speak before Miss
Hamilton, but too honest to take credit which was not her just
due,--"Mamma, I did not put them away; it was Tom. I--I--forgot, mamma.
I waited to look at a monkey before I put them away, and then the puppy
came, and Tom took me out; and I forgot all about your things, and how
I had promised, and never remembered till we were out in the street;
and then Tom told me he had put them away, but he didn't know you had
told me to do it."
It was all out now; and Lily, as she glanced at Miss Hamilton, felt
as if she could not be thankful enough to that lady for seeming so
absorbed in the photograph album she was turning over.
Mrs. Norris uttered no word of reproach; but, as she looked within the
well-ordered secretary, she said,--
"Where did Tom put the silver inkstand? I do not see it."
"I don't know, mamma," answered Lily. "Is it not there? Tom said he
came in here and saw your things lying on the table, and he thought you
must have forgotten them, so he put them all away. Shall I go and ask
him what he did with the inkstand?"
"No," said her mother, "I do not wish to disturb him at his lessons. I
will look further."
But further search proved vain, though Mrs. Norris looked, not only
through each nook and partition of the secretary, but also all over the
room. Still she was not at all disturbed at the non-appearance of the
inkstand.
"Send up and ask Tom, my dear," said Mr. Norris.
"Oh, it is not necessary," said his wife. "He may have put it in some
unusual place. If he took care of it, it is quite safe. He will be down
presently, and I do not care to interrupt him."
"See what it is to have a good character, Lily," said her father,
passing his arm about the little figure on the arm of his chair, and
smiling into the rosy mischievous face before him. "How long before
mamma will be able to put such trust in you, do you think?"
"Oh, very soon, papa; you'll see," said Lily, confident in the strength
of her newly formed resolution.
It was not long before Tom made good his mother's words by appearing,
his lessons all ready for the next day, for it happened that he had not
had much to do that evening; and Mrs. Norris immediately asked him,--
"What did you do with my silver inkstand, my boy?"
"I did not have it, mamma," was the answer.
"But you put it away this afternoon, did you not?"
"No," answered Tom, wonderingly, but positively.
"Why, yes, Tom," said Lily, "you told me you had put away all mamma's
things that she left on the table."
"But there was no inkstand there," said Tom. "I remember noticing that,
because I said to myself, 'Mamma has taken time to put by her ink;' and
I supposed you had feared it would be spilled, mamma. There was no
inkstand upon the table, I am sure."
"Did you move the inkstand at all, Lily?" asked Mrs. Norris.
"No, mamma, I never touched it. I did not put away one single thing."
Tom helped his mother in a fresh search for the missing inkstand; but
all in vain.
Then the servant man was called, and questioned.
"I saw Miss Lily with her hand on the inkstand when I called her to
see the little dogs this afternoon, ma'am," he said, in reply to Mrs.
Norris's inquiries. "Do you remember, if you please, Miss Lily?"
"Oh, yes," said Lily. "I remember now, mamma. I did take it up to put
it away, but I set it down again when I ran after Robert to see the
puppies. I meant to come right back, but I never thought of it again."
"Master Tom," said Robert, "you were asking me had I seen a
beggar-woman about the door this afternoon. Could she have been in
here, and caught up the inkstand? If she'd just opened the library
door, and peeped in, it would have been the first thing she'd see, for
it stood right here, where Miss Lily left it."
Tom looked dismayed, and Lily still more so; for, if the inkstand were
indeed stolen, was it not all her fault? Owing to her procrastination,
to the putting off of the small service her mother had asked of her?
And so it proved; for nothing could be found of the inkstand, and it
was never heard of again. Its loss could be accounted for in no other
way than by supposing that the woman, finding the door left open, and
learning from Lily's imprudent words that there was no one about to
interfere with her, had walked in, opened the library door, and seeing
the inkstand, had snatched it up, and made off with it.
Lily's shame and grief were very great, all the more so because she
knew that this inkstand was dearly loved and valued by her mamma,
because it had been the gift of a dead sister. And seeing this, her
mother could not bear to reproach her, for it was very unusual for
Lily to take her own wrong-doing much to heart. But this was, as she
said herself, "the worst consequence I ever did in all my long life;"
and she probably felt it all the more deeply for her kind mother's
forbearance.
That she was sufficiently punished by her own remorse was plainly to be
seen; and long after she was in bed and fast asleep, her mother heard
long sobs heaving her little breast, and found her pillow all wet with
tears.
"My poor little one! I hope it may be a lasting lesson to her,"
said the mother, as she pushed back the hair from the flushed and
tear-stained face. "If it should be, I shall think it cheaply purchased
even by the loss of my much valued inkstand."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
IV.
_LILY'S PROVERB PICTURE._
Lily was still in a very subdued and melancholy frame of mind when she
reached the Bradfords' house on the following day; and when her little
playmates inquired the cause, she made answer,--
"If mamma had given me my deservings, she would have shut me up in a
room by myself, and never let me come out in all my life, nor come to
spend the day with you any more. It's a great deal too good for such
a sinner as me, and something ought to be done to me. I don't mean to
have a nice time to-day."
This virtuous resolution was forgotten, however, before the day was
over; but at the time it much astonished her young friends, as did also
the low state of Lily's spirits.
Fresh questions followed; and Lily told her story, mingling her own
bitter self-accusations with reproaches against the supposed thief.
"For I told her she was not to come in, 'cause there was no one about
to 'tend to her," she said, as if this were an added aggravation of her
sorrows; "and I only left the door open for fear her feelings would
be hurt; but now I don't b'lieve she had any to hurt. I don't s'pose
thieves have many feelings, do you, Maggie?"
"No, I don't believe they have," answered Maggie. "I just expect their
feelings are 'lost to sight, and not to memory dear.'"
This fine sentiment, having been properly appreciated, called up the
recollection of the promised proverb picture.
"Did you find a proverb that would be a lesson for me, or did you have
to make one?" asked mournful Lily.
"Mamma told us one," said Maggie. "It is 'Procrastination is the thief
of Time.'"
"You'd better say the thief of inkstands," said Lily, ruefully. "Maggie
and Bessie and Belle, I feel 'most as if it was me who had stolen
mamma's inkstand."
The other little girls all set about consoling her; and Bessie took an
opportunity to whisper to Maggie that she thought they had better not
give Lily the proverb picture that day because it might make her feel
worse.
But this was not by any means Lily's view of the matter; and she
presently asked to be shown this joint production of her three little
friends, Maggie and Bessie and Belle.
Accordingly, the picture, or rather pictures, were brought forth, and
with them the poem which Maggie had composed to accompany them.
When the red ribbon which tied the first was taken off, and the
pictures unrolled, they proved quite a panorama; and Lily's mournful
face lighted up at the sight.
"How good of you!" she said. "It must have taken you ever so long to
draw all those pictures."
"There are four of them," said Bessie. "Belle made two, 'cause she can
draw the best, and Maggie made one, and I one; but Maggie made 'most
all the ideas. I think they're so very plain you can make them out for
yourself, Lily, but we'll 'splain them to you if you like."
"I'll see how much I can find out, and you can tell me the rest," said
Lily, setting herself at once to the study of the drawings.
"What's the reading on this one?" she asked.
"P-r-o-pro-c-r-a-s-cras--Oh! I s'pose this is 'Procrastination is the
thief of Time.'"
"Yes," said Maggie.
"And this is a skeleton," said Lily, "a skeleton with a goblet in one
hand, and a--and a"--Lily hesitated, wishing to be sure to hit the
right nail on the head--"and a--I'm not quite sure if it's a feather
dust-brush, or a coachman's whip."
"Oh!" exclaimed Belle, indignant.
"Why, Lily!" said Bessie, "that's Time with his hour-glass and scythe,
and Belle drew that picture, and we think it's the very best one of
all."
"I'm sorry," said Lily, rather ashamed of not having at once recognized
the articles in question.
"You know in the pictures Time is always a very thin old man," said
Bessie, "so we had to make him so to have it real; and Maggie told
Belle she'd better make him as thin as she could, 'cause that horrid
thief Procrastination bothers him so he hardly has any flesh on his
bones. This is a kind of allegory picture, you see, Lily."
"Yes, I understand. And this rather beggar-looking child--" Lily
hesitated again, unwilling to run the risk of making any more such
uncomplimentary mistakes. "I think you'd better tell me about it. I'm
'fraid I'm rather stupid this morning. I think I went crazy last night
about that inkstand, and I'm hardly recovered yet. I b'lieve that's
the reason I didn't know Time's hour-glass and scythe at first."
Never before had her little friends known Lily to speak and look with
such solemnity, and they all felt very much for her.
Maggie, however, thought it well to improve the occasion.
"I did not want to seem severe with her," she said afterward to Bessie
and Belle, "but I thought the picture might make a deeper impression if
I let her see to what a dreadful condition procrastinating people might
come."
"Yes," she said to Lily, "yes, that is Procrastination, all ragged and
dirty and starved. He never has a nice time, and he hardly ever has any
thing to eat, 'cause when people say to him, 'Procrastination, dinner
is ready,' he says, 'I think I'll eat by and by;' and then when he
comes, the dinner is all gone, and he has to go hungry: and when they
say, 'Go and get washed, and have on clean clothes,' he says, 'Another
day I will;' so he becomes all ragged, and his friends are so ashamed
of him that they just let him take care of himself. That's the way
he looks so horridly. And poor old Time hardly knows what to do with
himself for the way that troublesome fellow worries him. He doesn't
leave Time alone to do his duty one minute. Do you see these things in
Procrastination's hand?"
"Yes; what are they?" asked Lily, deeply interested.
"They are Time's purse and pocket handkerchief that Procrastination--I
think we'd better call him Pro, because it takes so long to say
Procrastination--that Pro has stolen out of his pocket; and here at his
feet are some broken hour-glasses; and now he is running after Time,
and trying to steal his last hour-glass, so that the poor old fellow
will have none left. That means, when you're not talking allegory, that
Pro steals the hours and makes you lose all your time; but he can not
catch him up, which means that when you have lost your time, you never
can catch up with it."
"Yes," said Lily, dolefully; "but I think it would be better if you
made Pro stealing inkstands. It's just what I deserve. Is that all
about that picture?"
"Yes," answered Maggie; "now we come to real life. Bessie, this is your
picture; tell Lily about it."
It is to be observed that the ragged figure which represented
Procrastination, or "Pro," was to be seen in each successive picture.
This was considered a judicious mingling of the allegorical with
reality.
"This," said Bessie, "is a little girl whose mamma said to her, 'My
dear, there is a match upon the carpet; pick it up right away.' But
Procrastination"--Bessie would not on any account have shortened her
words, especially on such a grave occasion--"came and whispered to her,
'By and by will do; it's time enough;' and presently her little sister
came in and picked up the match, and set herself on fire, and she was
quite burnt up before she could be put out, and she was the only
sister the put-offing child had, and she stayed unhappy all the rest of
the days of her life."
"Like me," said Lily.
"Oh, no," said Maggie, cheerfully, "you'll get over that inkstand. I
find people generally do get over things; at least, I do. Take courage
by me, Lily. I thought I never should recover having papa's coat
stolen, but you see I have; and I think I'm about as happy as any child
could be."
"Ah! but you wasn't disobedient, and didn't put off," said Lily. "Tell
me some more."
"Perhaps we'd better not, 'cause you feel so badly," said Bessie.
"They do me good," answered Lily. "I don't think I can care for any
thing else to-day. Who made this picture?"
"I did," said Maggie, "and this is the story of it. This is fable or
allegory too;" and, unrolling another sheet of paper, Maggie read aloud
her famous poem, which had been pronounced a great success by both
Bessie and Belle. Her picture consisted of a series of small drawings,
which explained themselves as she read the verses.
"There's a bad little fellow,
His name it is Pro-
Cras-tin-a-_ti_-_on_;
And to you I will show
How he robs and he steals
And he plagues Father Time.
I'll tell you all this,
And I'll tell you in rhyme.
When to school he is sent,
He most slowly doth go,
For he stops first to play,
Then to look at some show;
By the hour he is there,
Why! the school is 'most out.
That's one way he robs Time,
This sad putting-off lout.
When his mother doth say,
'Go this errand for me,'
He will say, 'By and by;'
'Pretty soon;' 'I will see;'
Till at last 'tis too late,
Or his mother must go.
'Tis a base, heartless crime,
For a child to do so.
But there's worse yet to tell,
For to church he goes late;
And he reaches God's house
In a sad, dirty state;
For he never is dressed,
And he never is clean.
That 'tis all putting off,
Is quite plain to be seen.
He ne'er has a book,
Or a toy, or a pet,
For to put them away
He doth always forget;
So they're broken or lost,
Or most shamefully torn;
And he's nothing to do,
Which is very forlorn.
Take heed now, ye children,
And list to my tale;
What e'er you've to do,
Do at once, without fail;
For if you'd be happy,
And useful, and gay,
Don't put off till to-morrow
The work of to-day.
Remember, 'tis minutes
That make up the hours;
As the small, tiny seeds
Bring the beautiful flowers.
Don't procrastinate then,
O ye daughters of earth!
For woman's but grass
From the day of her birth."
In the ears of the little listeners this was a perfect gem of poetry,
far beyond any thing Maggie had ever written before, whether it were
"divine song," or "moral poem." The concluding lines were considered
particularly fine, and, indeed, had been added on account of their
striking effect.
Bessie and Belle had heard it before, but they listened with rapt
attention, and Lily was very much impressed. The third verse she
felt particularly adapted to her case, though Maggie had intended no
home thrust when she wrote it. But, to Lily's mind, it just suited
the affair of the inkstand; and when Maggie finished reading, she
exclaimed,--
"I should think I _was_ a base, heartless crime!"
The children all hastened to console her, and to assure her that they
thought she would not fail to improve, now that she saw her fault so
plainly.
"I didn't mean that the child in the poem was really you," said Maggie.
"That's the reason I made Pro a boy instead of a girl. I only wanted
to show you what people might come to who procrastinated all the time,
and never were punctual."
Maggie's drawing, as you have heard, was divided up into a number of
smaller pictures, each one suited to a particular verse of the poem;
and they explained themselves to one who had read or heard the latter.
The fourth and last picture had been drawn by Belle, the chief artist
among the little party.
This also represented Father Time, who had now grown fat and
flourishing, which was somewhat singular under the circumstances. He
was accompanied by another burly figure, and both were armed with many
lashes and whips with which they chased "Pro," now himself reduced to a
skeleton state, and vainly endeavoring to escape from his tormentors.
"This," said Belle, "is my drawing, but it is Maggie's idea, and Bessie
and I think it is pretty grand. Here is that naughty Pro, and he has
lost every thing and every one he had in the world, all through his
own putting off; and here," pointing to little dots and round _o_'s
with which the page was covered, "here are the hours and minutes flying
away from him too. The largest ones are the hours; the little ones, the
minutes. And here are Father Time and Remorse coming after him with
their--their--What kind of whips do they have, Maggie?"
"_Scorpion_ whips," answered Maggie. "It was a very convenient thing
that I happened to read the other day about the 'scorpion whip of
Remorse,' and it just gave me the idea for this picture. It means that
when we feel very badly about something we know we deserve, it is just
as bad as the stings of scorpions and bugs and other horrid things. And
I thought we'd make believe Remorse had two scorpion whips, and lent
one to Time to chase Procrastination with."
"Here's the ocean," said Belle, directing Lily's attention to where
high, curling waves were supposed to be leaping and dashing upward,
"and Pro was running away so fast from those dreadful scorpion whips
that he never saw it, but ran right into the water, and was drowned;
and that was the end of _him_."
Belle's tone was very triumphant when she uttered the last word, as
though she were glad to have thus disposed of a troublesome customer.
"I'm sure," said Lily, with an air of melancholy satisfaction, "I'm
sure I'm very much obliged to you all for taking so much trouble to
improve me; and I don't see how I can help being better now."
"Then that's all we ask," said Maggie, "and we shan't regret any
trouble we took. Now let's go and play."
If the other children had had any fears that Lily's remorse and the
"lesson" they had given her would interfere with her enjoyment of the
day, such fears were soon put to flight; for in ten minutes she was
as merry and roguish as ever, and quite disposed to join in all the
entertainment provided for her.
[Illustration]
V.
_PROMISING._
"How many of my little girls would like to help in a good work?" asked
Miss Ashton, some two or three days after this.
Ten little hands went up. Ten? Nay, I think there were thirteen or
fourteen; for some of the children were not content with holding up
one, but raised both in their zeal to show Miss Ashton they were ready
to do what she asked.
Miss Ashton went on to explain.
"I think you will all remember," she said, "the lame soldier who was
run over and killed on the corner of this street?"
There was a murmur of assenting voices, and little Belle added,--
"Papa said it was a very generous thing for you and Mrs. Ashton to take
care of his three children, Miss Ashton; and I think so too."
Miss Ashton smiled at her, and continued,--
"But we could not take care of them always, dear Belle, and through the
kindness of some friends we have found a pleasant home in the country
for them. It is necessary that they should be comfortably fitted out
before we send them there, however, and my uncle says that he will
provide all the materials that the school will make up. The young
ladies in my mother's room say they will make all the dresses and more
difficult garments, and leave the simple and easier ones for you, if
you choose to help. But before you make any promises, I wish you to ask
your parents' permission, and also to make up your minds to have the
garment you take finished by the end of two weeks, when the children
are to leave for their new home. You nearly all sew well enough to do
the easy work upon these little skirts and aprons, and I think your
friends at home will give you what help you may need."
"But, Miss Ashton," said little Belle, with woe-begone voice and look,
"I can hardly sew at all. Aunt Margaret has just begun to teach me, and
she says I _do_ take pains, but I b'lieve I do it pretty badly yet."
"And I don't know how to sew," said her cousin, Mabel Walton, who now
was sorry that she had always obstinately refused to learn how to use a
needle.
"I think we can find some easy thing for you both to do," said Miss
Ashton, kindly. "But remember, dear children, what you promise, you
must perform. If you undertake this work, you must have it finished at
the end of the time I have named,--two weeks. I do not _ask_ you to do
it, for the older girls are willing to do all the work; but I thought
it might be a pleasure to you to help."
"Oh, yes! indeed it will, Miss Ashton," said Lily, "and I'd like to
have two clothes to make. Mamma says I can sew pretty well fur such a
little girl, and Nora will show me how."
"One garment will be enough for you, Lily," said Miss Ashton; "if you
finish that in time, it is all we shall need."
"You need not be afraid I won't have it done in time, Miss Ashton,"
said Lily. "I don't put off any more, nor be unpunctual either. I've
been early at school every morning this week,"--this was Tuesday,--"and
mamma said I was beginning to improve. I couldn't help it very well, I
had such a horrid lesson about an old beggar-woman who was nothing but
a thief; and then Maggie and Bessie and Belle made me lovely proverb
pictures about the consequences of procrastination, and Maggie wrote a
splendid poem, so I ought to learn better with all that."
"I think so," said Miss Ashton; "but, by the way, I wonder if Maggie
and Bessie would not like to join us in this work. They always take
such an interest in all that goes on among us here that perhaps they
would be pleased if we offered to let them help."
"Yes, I know they would," cried Belle, always ready to speak in praise
of her beloved little playmates. "I know they would. Maggie and Bessie
are very full of good works; and they always like to do what we do, if
they can, too."
"Very well," said Miss Ashton. "You can ask them when you see them,
Belle; and if they would like to help us, tell them to come in
to-morrow, at the close of school. You can all bring me word then if
your parents are willing for you to undertake this work, and I will
give each one a piece to take home."
The next morning each little girl brought word that she had received
permission to take home and make such a garment as Miss Ashton should
see fit to give her; and they had all been promised help and teaching
by their mammas or other friends.
The curiosity and interest of the class having been much excited by
Lily's glowing account of the "proverb picture" and poem furnished her
by Maggie, Bessie, and Belle, she had been persuaded to bring them
with her; and being punctual for the third morning, she exhibited them
before school was opened, to the great satisfaction and delight of the
other children. They were also displayed to Miss Ashton.
"Maggie is quite a Murphy, isn't she, Miss Ashton?" said Lily.
"A what, dear?" asked the young lady, much puzzled.
"A Murphy--a M-m-ur-phy," said Lily, putting severe and long emphasis
on the word, as she saw that her teacher did not yet understand. "Don't
you know what a Murphy is, Miss Ashton? It means some one very wise and
good, who teaches right things."
"Oh!" said Miss Ashton, smiling, as light broke in upon her; "you mean
a Mentor, do you not, Lily?"
"Oh, yes, that's it," said Lily; "but I thought it was Murphy. But I
think Murphy is just as pretty a name as Mentor."
"But people would understand your meaning better if you put the right
name, Lily," said Miss Ashton, as she rang the bell for silence.