Lily's attention had been entirely diverted from her sewing. In vain
did that faithful little monitor, Bessie, endeavor by hints and signs,
and softly whispered words, to persuade her to keep on with the work
already so far behindhand. For to all her entreaties, Lily only
answered, "There's time enough," or, "I'm going to do it in a minute,"
and so forth; while she watched the baby, and was rather disposed to
encourage her in her mischief. And when Miss Stanton put little Annie
up on the sofa, and began to tell her the story, Lily dropped her
sewing upon the floor, and, leaving her seat, hung over the arm of the
couch, listening and idling away her time. The other children were
amused, too, at Annie's pranks, especially at this last one, but they
kept on sewing industriously; even little Belle, who was unaccustomed
to it, laboriously and with much painstaking, setting in stitch after
stitch.
But even this good example had no effect on Lily; and seeing this, Aunt
Annie was not sorry when "the little hindering thing" declared she had
"better do wis" her mother. Mrs. Bradford thought so too; and carried
away the cunning but provoking monkey.
"O Lily!" said Maggie, reproachfully, "I thought you were not going to
bring Pro with you."
"Well, I didn't," said Lily. "I'm sure I've been sewing; at least, I've
sewed some; and I was just looking at Annie for a moment."
"For a good many moments, Lily," said Miss Stanton; "and even when you
had your work in your hand, you put in the stitches very slowly and
carelessly. See there, Lily," taking up the end of the seam on which
Lily was now working in great haste, in order to make up for lost
time, "what long, uneven stitches, my dear child."
"Oh, they'll do, Miss Annie," said Lily. "I'll do the rest better; but
I must have this seam done to-day."
Miss Stanton looked grave, and shook her head, and it was not a usual
thing for gay, merry Annie Stanton to look serious; and Lily saw that
she, like other people, did not think so lightly of this habit which
she considered of so little consequence.
For, as you will have perceived, Lily had already forgotten the sad
lesson she had received in the matter of the silver inkstand; and
Maggie, Bessie, and Belle afterwards acknowledged to one another that
their proverb picture had quite failed to produce the good effect they
had hoped for.
"Let's keep the sewing meeting in a little longer," she said, when the
hour was over, and the other children were preparing to put by their
work, which had made good progress during that time.
"No," said Miss Annie, "an hour's steady work is enough for any little
girl, and the others are tired. They have done enough for to-day."
"I think I'll do a little more," said Lily, who felt ashamed as she
compared her own work with that of her young companions, and saw how
much more they had accomplished.
"As you please," said Miss Stanton; "but I cannot attend to you longer,
Lily. I am going out to dinner, and must dress now. I hope you will do
better before next Thursday."
Lily went away with the others, intending to sew while they played,
at least, for a while; but, as you may believe, when she saw them all
engaged with their dolls, Procrastination came and put her virtuous
resolution to flight, whispering that she could make up for lost time
to-morrow; and, as usual, he had his way, and the petticoat was soon
altogether forgotten.
[Illustration]
VII.
_WHAT CAME OF THAT._
"Lily, darling," said Mrs. Norris, on Saturday morning, "let me see how
the little orphan's petticoat is coming on."
Lily went, rather sheepishly it must be confessed, and brought the
skirt to her mother.
"Is this all you have done?--this little piece of a seam?" said Mrs.
Norris. "And so badly too. Why, my child! what have you been thinking
of? You can sew far better than this."
Lily fidgeted, and hung her head.
"Did you not all sew yesterday, when you were at Mrs. Bradford's?"
asked her mamma, examining the work still more closely.
"Yes, mamma," murmured Lily.
"And did you not say Miss Annie showed you how it was to be done?"
"Yes, mamma."
"How is it, then, that you have done so very little, and that little so
badly?"
"Why, you see, mamma," said Lily, hesitatingly, "I did not have much
sewed, only a few stitches, and I wanted to catch up with the others;
and so--and so--so the stitches wouldn't come very nice."
"And why did you not have as much accomplished as the other children?
This is a very poor hour's work, dear."
"Yes, mamma; but Baby Annie was so funny, and I couldn't help looking
at her, and I thought I would have time enough. It was such a horridly
short hour; it was gone before I had time to do much."
"Ah, Lily," said Mrs. Norris, "it is the same old story, I fear.
Procrastination, and want of attention to the duty of the time, and
perhaps a little idleness and heedlessness added to them. These last
two are great helpers to procrastination, Lily; or perhaps I should
say, procrastination is a great helper to the sad fault of idleness.
It is so very easy, when we do not feel industrious, to believe that
another time will answer as well for the duty or work we should do
now. So the duty is put off; and then, when shame or need calls us to
the neglected task, it is hurried through heedlessly, and it may be so
badly that it is quite useless, or must be done over again, as this
must, my child."
"Mamma!" exclaimed Lily, in a tone in which there was displeasure as
well as distress.
"Yes, indeed, my daughter. I cannot allow this to be returned to Miss
Ashton with such work upon it. You are but a little girl, and no one
would expect to see such neat sewing come from your hands as from those
of an older person; but I should be ashamed to have it thought that my
Lily cannot do better than this."
"Then I'll never have the petticoat done at all," said Lily, her eyes
filling with tears. "It is 'most a week now since Miss Ashton gave them
to us, and if I have to take that out it will be all to do from the
beginning, and Maggie and Bessie and Belle have ever so much done on
theirs, and I shan't have one stitch done on mine."
Mrs. Norris looked grieved at the rebellious tone.
"Whose fault is it, Lily?" she asked sorrowfully.
Lily hesitated for a moment; then, for the first time in her life,
temper had the better of her love and reverence for her mother, and she
answered passionately,--
"_Yours_, if you make me pull that out!"
For a moment, surprise held Mrs. Norris silent and motionless. Never
before had Lily spoken so to her; never before had she been other than
her loving, docile little child, not always strictly obedient it might
be, but that was not so much from wilfulness as from that sad habit of
putting off,--of not obeying at once.
Then the surprise died out, and left only pain and grief; and while
Lily was wondering what mamma would do, could do, after such a dreadful
thing as that (for the very utterance of the words had sobered her, and
calmed down her temper), Mrs. Norris rose, and laying down the skirt,
without one word, without one look at her naughty little child, slowly
and sorrowfully left the room.
Lily stood still one moment, herself almost breathless with surprise
and dismay at what she had done. Had she really said such dreadful
words to mamma? and could mamma ever, ever forgive them? Her own dear,
loving, indulgent mamma to hear such words from the lips of her own,
only little daughter. What would papa say, what would Tom say, when
they should know it? what would Maggie and Bessie say? For when mamma
treated her as she deserved to be treated from this time forth, they
would surely know that something was wrong, and must learn what she
had done. And, oh! how angry God must be with her!
Some little boys and girls, who are in the habit of saying unkind and
disrespectful things to their mothers,--and, alas! there are too many
such,--may wonder at our Lily's distress and remorse; but Lily was not
accustomed to behave in this way to her mother; as you have heard, it
was the first time in her life that she had done so, and now she was
fairly frightened when she remembered how she had let passion master
her.
And what had brought this about?
Lily did not think of it just then, in all the tumult of feeling which
swelled her little heart; but had it not all arisen from the sad habit
of procrastination, of which she thought so lightly?
She felt as if she dared not run after her mother, and ask her
forgiveness. True, mamma always was ready to forgive her when she was
penitent after any naughtiness; but then--oh! she had never, never
done any thing like this before--and Lily threw herself down upon the
rug in a paroxysm of tears and sobs.
By and by the door was opened, and Tom came in. He stood still for a
moment in surprise at the state in which he found his little sister,
then came forward.
"My pet, what is it? What is the matter?" he said, stooping over her,
and trying to raise her. But Lily resisted; and so Tom sat down on the
floor beside her. A fresh burst of sobs came from Lily.
"What is it, dear?" asked Tom again. "Shall I call mamma?"
"Oh, no, no!" sobbed Lily. "She wouldn't c-c-come if you did. She'll
never want to come near m-me a-a-gain."
"Why? What is wrong?" asked Tom, whose fears that Lily was ill or had
hurt herself were now removed; for he saw that it was not bodily but
mental trouble which ailed her.
"Oh! I've done the most horrid, the most dreadful thing, Tom,"
confessed Lily, still hardly able to speak for the fast-coming tears
and sobs. "Oh! I spoke so wickedly to mamma; to my own dear, precious,
darling mamma. It was 'most worse than the inkstand, oh, it was, it
was! I'm so bad, oh, such a bad child!"
"Are you willing to tell me about it?" asked Tom, soothingly.
Lily raised her head, and threw it upon her brother's knee, allowing
him to wipe away her tears; although, as she told her story, they
flowed as fast as he dried them.
"Lily," said Tom, hoping that this might prove a good lesson to
her,--ah! how often had Lily's friends vainly hoped that the trouble
she brought upon herself might prove of service to her,--"Lily, how was
it that your work was so very badly done?"
And Lily made a fresh confession, Tom gently leading her back to what
he truly suspected to be the first cause of all this difficulty.
"Lily, dear," he said, "I am sure I do not want to seem to find fault
with you, or to reproach you when you are feeling so badly; but I would
like you to see how all this has come about. You think it such a small
fault, such a very little thing, to put off your duties, and even your
pleasures, if it happens to suit the convenience of the moment. As to
pleasures, I suppose that does not matter much, so long as we do not
let our want of punctuality interfere with the pleasure of others;
but although it may not be what we call a great sin in itself, just
see into what sin and sorrow procrastination may lead us. One little
duty neglected or put off may interfere with another; or, as you have
done, we may have to hurry through with it in such a manner as to
leave it worse than if we had not tried to do it at all. And so we are
disappointed and vexed, and perhaps we grow cross and ill-tempered, or
fly into a passion, and do some very wrong or unkind thing."
"Yes; or behave worse than any child that ever lived, to our darling,
lovely, precious mammas, just like me," broke forth poor, penitent
Lily.
"Yes," said Tom, gravely, but kindly, "you see to what it has led
you,--disrespect and impertinence to dear mamma. Is not this enough,
Lil darling, to show you how much pain and trouble may come from this
habit, and why you ought to try to break yourself of it? It is not only
the inconvenience which _must_ come from it, but the wrong which _may_
grow from it, which should teach us to try and keep it from gaining a
hold upon us. Do you see, Lil?"
"I should think I did," said Lily, dolefully, though she now sat
upright, but with a most rueful and despairing countenance. "I should
think it had made me bad enough to see what it can do. But, Tom,"--with
an admiring look at her brother from the midst of her gloom and
distress,--"but, Tom, what a wise boy you are! You talk as if you were
grown up; quite as if you were a minister; only I understand all you
say, and I don't understand all ministers say."
"No, I suppose not," said Tom, speaking more gayly; "but we will not
have any more preaching just now, only--I would like to tell you a
story, Lily. Shall I?"
"Yes, indeed, please do," answered Lily, brightening a little at the
prospect.
"It is a very sad story, but I thought it would just fit here," said
her brother.
"I'm not in a state of mind for a pleasant story," said Lily, who had
lately fallen into the way of using long words, and "grown-up" phrases,
after the example of her little friends, Maggie and Bessie.
"No, I suppose not," said Tom, suppressing all inclination to smile.
"Well, you know Will Sturges, Lily?"
"Oh, yes, that very sorry-looking boy, whose father is dead, you told
me," said Lily. "Tom, it always makes _me_ feel sorry to see him. He
hardly ever smiles, or looks happy. You know mamma told you to ask him
here often, and see if you could not brighten him up; but he don't seem
to brighten up at all. Bessie said he looked 'as if he had a weight on
his mind' all the time."
"Ah! that is just it," said Tom. "He has a terrible weight on his mind;
a grief that is there night and day. He thinks it is through his fault
that his father was killed; and I suppose that it is so. At least it
was brought about by a small neglect of his,--procrastination, or
putting off, Lily."
"Did he ever put off?" asked the little girl, opening great eyes of
wonder. "Why, he always seems so very punctual, so very ready just when
he ought to be."
"Yes," said Tom, "but he was not always so, dear. Never was a more
unpunctual, a more dilatory boy than Will Sturges used to be. Poor dear
fellow! he has learned better by such a sad lesson. I hope my little
sister may never have the like."
"I'm sure," said Lily, "I don't know who has had a sad lesson, if I
have not."
"Ah! but, Lily," said her brother, "you have yet the time and chance
to show you are sorry, and want to try to do better--if you really do
repent--and to gain forgiveness from the one you have injured,--dear
mamma; but poor Will, he never had the chance to make up for his
neglect of his duty."
"Tell me," begged Lily, all curiosity and interest.
"Well," said Tom, "Will Sturges used to be, as he is now, about the
brightest and quickest boy in our class."
Lily shook her head doubtfully at this; it was all Tom's modesty, she
thought, and more than she could conveniently believe. Tom understood
her, but continued his story without interruption.
"But, for all that, he never was at the head of his class, nor even
took a very high standing in it; for never was such a boy for being
behindhand as Will Sturges. Every thing that could be put off was
put off, and he never seemed to like to attend to any duty or task
at the proper moment. It was not laziness either, for he would leave
some small task which should have been done at once, perhaps to take
up one that was far harder, but which might well have waited till he
had finished the first. He never could be persuaded to attend to his
regular lessons _first_, but would let himself be led away from them,
not always by play or pleasure, but often to take up some book which
there was no need for him to study, always believing and saying that
there was 'time enough'--'no hurry'--'by and by he would do it,' and so
forth; until, as you may suppose, his lessons were left until the last
moment, when they would be scrambled through, and Will just contrived
to keep himself from disgrace. It was so with every thing; he never
was ready in time for either work or pleasure. If he were going on a
journey, or any excursion, ten to one but he was left behind by being
too late for the boat or train; all his own fault too, for his father
and mother used to take pains enough to have him ready in time. When
Mr. Peters took the school on a picnic or frolic, it was always a part
of the entertainment to see Will come tearing down the dock, or by
the side of the cars just at the last moment, often _after_ the last
moment, and when it was too late. No boy in school had so many tardy
marks; none lost so many books, papers, and pencils, because he always
thought it was time enough to put them in their places by and by. No
lesson did him any good, no disappointment or inconvenience he brought
upon himself seemed to cure him; until at last the sad thing happened
of which I am going to tell you.
"One afternoon his father said to him, 'Will, if you are going out,
I wish these papers posted at the station. Take them with you, and
attend to them at once, my son, before you go upon your own errand.
They must go to grandfather by to-night's train. Can I depend upon you
for once?' 'Yes, indeed, you may, sir,' promised Will, meaning what
he said too; and when he left the house, he intended to go directly
to the post-office station. But he had not gone far when he met a
friend; and this boy begged him to go home with him, and see a fine
new dog he had just bought. Will hesitated, looked at his watch, and
found that there were still nearly two hours before the next mail would
leave the station, that mail by which the papers must go if they were
to reach the evening train. 'There'll be plenty of time, and all papa
cared for was that they should reach the station before the mail left
it,' he said to himself; and he went with his friend. He stayed with
him more than an hour; then he said good-by, having, as he promised
himself, more than time enough to reach the post, and mail his papers.
But, just as he was about leaving the house, a little brother of his
friend fell downstairs, hurting himself very badly; and, in the hurry
and distress of the moment, he was begged to run for the doctor. He
forgot his papers--indeed, how could one refuse such an errand at such
a time?--and ran for the doctor, who lived far off, and in quite a
different direction from the station. This last was not his fault, and
if he had obeyed his father at once all would have been right; but,
what with one thing and another, he was too late, and the mail had
left. He tried all he could to send the papers by that evening train,
but it was useless, for he could find no one to take charge of them,
and he knew it would not do to trust them to chance hands. So he could
do nothing but take them home again, which he did, and confessed his
fault. His father looked very grave; but, as poor Will has often told
me, did not scold him, only saying, 'Then I shall probably have to
leave town myself to-morrow, and it will be a great inconvenience to
me. I fear, my boy, that you will never learn the value of punctuality
and the evil of procrastination until they are taught you by some
severe lesson.' Poor, dear old Will! what a lesson that was to be!
Well, his father was telegraphed the next day to come himself, since
the papers had not arrived; and he left his home, Lily, never to come
back. The train by which he went met with a fearful accident, and
Mr. Sturges was killed in an instant. And from that day Will has been
the sad, melancholy fellow you see him; for he blames himself for his
father's death, and says but for him he would have remained at home,
and so been safe. And, Lily, we must see that it is so, and that, if
Will had not put off the duty he should have attended to, all this
would probably never have taken place. If you could hear him talk about
it!"
Lily drew a long sigh, partly from pity for Will Sturges, partly from
dread of what sorrows might come to herself if she were not cured of
this sad fault, then said,--
"But, after all, Tom, he was not so bad to his father as I was to
mamma, for he did not mean to be naughty, and I'm afraid I did. Do you
know, I was in a real passion, a _passionate_ passion, with mamma. O,
Tom! what shall I do?"
"What ought you to do first?" asked Tom.
"Go and ask mamma to forgive me; but how can she, Tom?" asked Lily,
sobbing again.
"Mamma would forgive any thing, if she thought you were truly sorry,"
said her brother.
"I'm sure I am," answered the little girl. "If she could see in my
heart, she would know it very well."
"You can show her what is in your heart, dear, by letting her see that
you are really trying to break yourself of the troublesome fault which
has led you to behave so to her."
Lily threw her arms around her brother's neck, and kissed him; the
next moment she was gone in search of her mamma. When she reached her,
she could find no words, none but a piteous "O mamma!" But her voice
and her face spoke for her; and in another moment she was clinging
fast around her mother's neck, her dear, kind arms about her, her kiss
of forgiveness on the little head which buried itself in shame and
contrition upon her shoulder.
But, though Lily was forgiven, she could not recover her spirits all
that day, a thing very unusual with her; but then, as she said, she had
"never been so wickedly naughty before," and she felt as if she could
not do enough to make up to her mother for her offence.
She was rather droll, too, as she was apt to be, when by any means she
fell into low spirits.
When her papa came home, she did not go to meet him with her usual
light and dancing step; and he missed that, and the joyous face with
which she was accustomed to greet him.
"Why," he said, "what ails my little sunbeam to-day?" for Mr. Norris
had heard of Belle's idea about the sunbeams in the family, and he
delighted to call his Lily so.
"I'm not a sunbeam to-day, papa," said Lily.
"You're not a little cloud, I hope," said papa.
"Oh, no!" answered Lily, mournfully, "not even so good as a cloud.
I've been so very, very naughty that I believe I'm a--a"--Lily was
racking her imagination for a comparison that should seem severe enough
enough--"I've been quite a January thaw, papa."
Mr. Norris opened the door of the coat closet, and hastily put his head
therein, taking a remarkably long time to hang up his hat, Lily thought.
Now you must know that a January thaw was Lily's idea of all that was
most disagreeable in the weather. For, the last winter, she had had a
severe attack of diphtheria; and just as she was well enough to go out,
a long spell of damp, foggy days set in, keeping her a prisoner for
some weeks longer, and depriving her of many little pleasures on which
she had set her heart.
"She must not go outside of the door until this January thaw is over,"
the doctor said several times; and Lily had come to look upon this as
the very worst specimen of weather.
"Don't you scorn me, papa?" she asked, when she had made her confession
to him.
"No, I do not scorn you by any means, Lily," he answered; "and I am
glad to see that you do really feel your fault, for it gives me hope
that you may try to correct it with more earnestness than you have yet
done."
And then he talked to her for some time longer, setting before her very
plainly all the trouble and inconvenience, yes, and sin too, which
might come from indulgence in this habit of procrastination.
Certainly our Lily did not want for teachers, both wise and kind; for
her friends, young and old, seemed all to have set themselves to give
her help in the right way, if she would but heed them.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VIII.
_A LITTLE TALK._
It did really seem now that Lily was taking herself to task in earnest,
and it was surprising to see how much she improved during the next
few days. There was no more dilly-dallying with any little duty or
task she had to perform; if her mother or any other person asked some
small service from her, she ran promptly and at once; when Nora called
her to make ready for school or her walk, there was no more stopping
"only to do this," or "just to look at that." She was not once tardy
at school; not once late at meals, a thing which her father disliked
extremely, but to which Lily had until now paid but little heed. Play
and nonsense were given up at school, save at the proper times, and
she came to her classes with her lessons correctly prepared; for, when
Lily failed here, it was not from stupidity, or want of quickness,
but simply from idleness, or her habit of saying "there's time enough
still."
The little petticoat, too, was progressing nicely, with a prospect of
being finished in time after all; for Lily had begged her mamma to
divide it off into certain portions, so much to be done on each day,
that she might know her appointed task, and so be sure to have it
completed. And she persevered, though the little unaccustomed fingers
did grow rather tired every day before they were through with the
allotted portion of seam or hem; for, having been so idle, or rather
procrastinating, she found it hard to make up for lost time. Now she
regretted that she had not taken the advice of her mother and teacher,
and chosen one of the little aprons, instead of the petticoat.
Nora could not bear to see her plodding away over it, and more than
once begged Mrs. Norris to let her help Lily, or "give her a lift," as
she called it.