"That's capital!" exclaimed Fred. "Give us another, Midge, will you?"
Fred had conducted himself with such becoming propriety, and his
applause had been so hearty, that Maggie felt not only quite reconciled
to his presence, but also ready to indulge him; and she answered,--
"Yes, I have one more, and it is to be instructive as well as amusing,
Fred, because it is an historical charade."
"Go ahead!" said Fred, scrambling back into his seat, which he had left
to help carry Sir Percy into retirement.
The preparations for the first syllable of the historical charade were
very imposing. Two chairs were placed face to face; upon these was
mounted the table, turned upside down, with its legs in the air; to one
of the legs was tied a large feather dust-brush,--the whole arrangement
supposed to represent an oak-tree, as Maggie explained.
Maggie, Nellie, Lily, and Belle were the performers on this occasion;
and in due time they all entered, escorting Sir Percy, now in the
character of King Charles, in full kingly costume, the red table-cloth
doing duty for his robes, and a crown, a "real crown" of tinsel paper
adorning his majesty's brows. He was held with some difficulty upon his
horse,--another chair turned down for the purpose,--and again Tom's
warning voice came from the store-room.
"You'd better look out with that old hobby. You'll hurt yourselves some
time, lugging him about that fashion."
But the suggestion was treated with disdain.
An old hobby indeed! King Charles an "old hobby"!
The horse--that is, the chair horse--paused beneath the tree, and then,
relieved of his burden, galloped off, led by Belle; while the other
three prepared to hoist his cumbersome majesty into the tree, he not
being agile enough to perform that office for himself.
Maggie had proposed that two of the children should be his enemies
in pursuit; but no one was willing to take that character. Staunch
little royalists they were, every one, and not to be reckoned among the
persecutors of the unfortunate king. So this little diversion from the
true historical facts had been permitted to suit the occasion, all the
more readily as it was feared that it would take the united strength of
the whole four to raise him to the necessary height. Still Maggie had
not been quite satisfied with such a very great departure from reality;
and, hearing the difficulty as they worked at the carpenter's bench,
Tom and Harry had good-naturedly offered to take upon themselves the
obnoxious part of the king's enemies, and as soon as he was safely
hidden in the tree to rush forth in search of him, and feign total
unconsciousness as they passed beneath his place of shelter.
This being settled, and Belle, having disposed of her horse, and
returned to give a hand to the lifting process, the royal fugitive was,
by the united exertions of his four devoted adherents, raised to his
hiding-place. But he proved too heavy for the slight construction; and
feather duster, chair, and table toppled over together, carrying King
Charles with them.
Maggie and Lily held fast, one on either side, but the other two had
left their hold. Fred, seeing the danger, sprang like a shot from his
seat, and his hand but just touched the old hobby-horse as it rolled
over, not soon enough to prevent its fall, but in time to turn the
heavy thing a little aside. It fell, carrying Lily back with it; and
the two came together to the floor, jarring the whole house. Tom and
Harry rushed out, not, alas! in the play in which they had offered to
join, but in sad and alarmed earnest; and Nora flew from her work.
Tom had Lily in his arms in an instant, but the poor little girl was
a sorry sight. Sir Percy's head had struck against hers as they fell
together, and blood was already streaming from an ugly wound just above
her temple. But for Fred's timely touch, which turned the weight of
the hobby-horse a little to one side, the child's head must have been
crushed, and she killed.
Oh, was not Maggie thankful that she had allowed her good-nature to
triumph over her fear of being laughed at, and had consented to let
Fred join in their fun!
Ah! the fun and frolic were changed now,--changed to distress and
alarm. Lily lay half stunned, gasping and death-like, while the cries
and shrieks of the other children rang through the house, and speedily
brought her mother to the spot.
It was indeed a sad ending to the merry afternoon, and for a few
moments the children could scarcely believe that Lily was not killed,
or at least dying, so white and quiet did she lie. Never did piteous
cry carry more relief to a mother's heart than that which at last broke
from the pale, trembling lips; for Mrs. Norris too had feared that her
darling was dangerously, if not fatally injured. It must have been so
indeed but for the care of the kind Father who had watched over her,
and sent Fred's timely help to turn aside a portion of the threatening
danger.
"Go for the doctor," said Mrs. Norris.
But Fred, with a thoughtfulness which he sometimes showed, had already
asked Tom if he should not do this, and had started off with his
direction.
The grass never grew beneath Fred's nimble feet at any time; and now,
when he believed there was need for speed, he almost flew over the
ground, and, happily finding the doctor at home, brought him back with
him at once.
Lily had been carried downstairs and laid upon her little bed, where
her mother was doing for her all that she could, though that was not
much, until the doctor came.
A group of frightened and distressed little faces met the good old
physician's eye as he passed through the hall. He spoke a few cheering
words as he went by, but as he did not yet know how much Lily was
hurt, he did not put much heart into his young hearers. Still it was a
comfort to know that he had come, and it always did one good to see Dr.
Banks' kind, helpful face.
Before the doctor arrived, Lily had opened her eyes, and smiled at her
mother with a bewildered look; but when she saw the blood which was
streaming from the wound in her head, she was frightened, and began to
cry again.
But the dear old doctor soon quieted her fears, and those of her
anxious mother; and the good news presently spread through the house
that he did not think her dangerously hurt. There was a deep, ugly cut
on her head just above the temple, it was true, and her eye was already
swelling and blackening; but he had no fears that her injuries were
serious, and with some care and quiet she would soon be well again.
But Lily had had a very merciful escape, and Maggie could not be
sufficiently glad and thankful that she had been kind and obliging, and
allowed Fred "to come to the charades," when she heard every one saying
that but for the thrust from his hand which had turned aside the weight
of the old hobby-horse, the heavy thing must have crushed the dear
little head of her young playmate.
"It was quite a mountain of mercy out of a mole-hill of kindness,"
quaintly said dear Maggie, as she wiped from her eyes the tears of joy
and gratitude.
Hearing that Lily must be kept quiet, the thoughtful Harry carried away
his sisters, and all the other little visitors, as soon as they were
assured that there was no cause for alarm, and saw them all safely to
their separate homes.
Lily lay patient and gentle under the doctor's handling, as he felt
the poor little bruised head, and tenderly cut away the hair from the
wound, and bound it up; but every now and then she put up her hand,
with a piteous, anxious expression, to the eye which was swelling and
closing so fast.
"Does it pain you so, darling?" her mother would ask.
"Not so very much, mamma," she would answer, "but"--and here her words
always came to an end.
But when the doctor was through, and the aching head laid carefully on
a soft pillow, the trouble that was weighing on her mind broke forth.
"Doctor," she asked wistfully, "is my eye going out?"
"Going out? No, indeed," answered the doctor, cheerily. "I rather think
it is going in, my Lily-bud. It is shutting up pretty tight now, it
is true; but we'll take the swelling down in a day or two, and it will
soon be as useful and bright as ever."
"By Monday, Doctor?" questioned Lily, anxiously.
"Ho, no, indeed, my little woman! You will not have much use of this
peeper for a week or ten days to come. Even if you could see out of it,
you must keep quite quiet, lie here on the bed or on the sofa, and be
petted and nursed for a few days, or this little head may give you some
trouble."
Lily looked as if something was giving her a good deal of trouble now;
for as the doctor spoke, her face grew longer and longer, and now she
burst into tears again, as she sobbed out,--
"My petticoat! O mamma, my orphan petticoat!"
"Hallo!" said the doctor, "what is that, I should like to know? I have
heard of a good many kinds of petticoats, but I never heard of an
orphan petticoat before. But this will not do, my child. You _must_
lie down and keep quiet."
"Do not trouble yourself about the petticoat now, darling," said her
mother, gently laying her back upon the pillow, from which she had
started up in her distress, "I will arrange that."
"But, mamma," said Lily, piteously, "you know you said--you said that
you could not let Nora finish it for me, and--and--oh, dear!--you
couldn't break your word, you know, and my orphan child won't have any
petticoat, and it was all my old Pro, and so what can I do? Oh, if I
only didn't have Pro! I b'lieve he's my worst enemy."
"What is all this about petticoats and pro's, Mrs. Norris?" said
the doctor. "Put her mind at rest if you can, or we shall be having
headache and fever."
"Lily, darling," said her mother, "you must set your mind at rest about
the petticoat. You certainly cannot finish it now; but I shall not let
the little orphan suffer. By and by I will see what is best to do, but
now you must talk and think no more about it. Mamma will arrange it all
for you, and you will make yourself worse if you fret."
"Dear mamma," said Lily, "I should think you would want to arrange not
to have such a bothering little thing as me for your own little girl;
only I don't s'pose you do. I b'lieve mammas generally don't."
"Hush, hush, my darling," said her mother, whose own heart was swelling
with gratitude that a Higher Hand had "arranged" that her dear "little
bothering thing," as Lily called herself, was not to be taken from her,
but that she was still spared to be the joy of all who loved her, the
"sunbeam" of the home that would have seemed so dark without her.
Lily obeyed the soothing touch of her mother's hand, and, confident
that she would find some way to help her out of her trouble, said
no more of the unfinished task. But it was upon her mind for all
that, as was proved when the evening wore away, and the fever and
light-headedness the doctor had feared came on. A very slight illness
was enough to make Lily light-headed, and the blow she had received was
by no means a slight one. So it was not strange that it should have
that effect. And she talked pretty wildly about petticoats and puppies,
work-boxes and rocking-horses, and had many bitter words for her enemy
Pro; and all her mother could say would not soothe her.
But at last she grew more quiet, and the poor little bruised head
ceased to wander, and she fell asleep; and when she awoke in the
morning, her mind was as bright and clear as ever.
But her face was sadly disfigured, and one eye was quite closed up, so
that it was plainly to be seen that Lily would not have much use of
it for some days to come. All this would pass away in time, however;
swelling and discoloration would disappear by and by; and, happily, the
cut upon her head came where the scar would be hidden by her hair.
Somewhat to Mrs. Norris' surprise, Lily said no word of the petticoat
all the next day; but she was very glad that it was so, and took pains
to avoid any thing that might turn her thoughts that way. Lily did
think of it, however, although she said nothing; and she could not but
wonder now and then how her mother would contrive to help her without
breaking her word. But she felt languid and ill, and it was a trouble
to talk, so she let it go for the present, believing as usual that it
would come right somehow.
But on Monday morning, when Nora was dressing her, the nurse said,--
"Miss Lily, darling, I am just going to ask your mamma to let me finish
your petticoat for you. I think she'll excuse you this once, since you
cannot do it for yourself."
"No," said Lily earnestly, "you must not ask mamma, Nora, 'cause it
would only give her the uncomfortableness of saying no. She told me
she would not let the little orphan suffer for my fault, and she will
find a way to make it right, though I don't know what it is, and
I am too ashamed to ask her. But you know she said very surely and
pos-i-tive-ly, Nora, that she would not let you finish it, if it was
not done through my putting off; and that was the reason it was not
done on Saturday morning, as it ought to have been. I know I cannot do
it now myself, but I could have done it before; and mamma can not break
her word."
Lily concluded with a sigh, for she really did not know what plan her
mother could have for helping her, and she was very anxious, though, as
she said, too much ashamed to ask any more.
But it so happened that Mrs. Norris overheard this conversation, and
she was thankful to find how strong in her Lily was that sense of truth
which would not allow her to believe for one moment that mamma could go
back from her word under any circumstances. It was rather remarkable
that with all her heedlessness and volatile spirits, Lily was so
strictly truthful and upright, for they never betrayed her into an
equivocation, as carelessness and want of thought are too apt to do.
The morning was not far gone before Lily's mind was set at rest on the
subject of her petticoat, for her mamma came to sit beside her, and
brought her work with her.
And what was her work?
Lily noticed it in a moment; a petticoat for a child,--not of such
muslin as her own skirts, but coarser and stronger, just such as her
"orphan petticoat" was made of.
"Mamma?" she said, with her eyes fixed upon the strips of muslin in her
mother's hand.
"Yes, dear," said her mother, "you know I said the little orphan must
not suffer through you, and I told you Nora could not finish your
petticoat, and send it as your work, if you did not do it yourself; so
I shall make this one, and send it to Miss Ashton in the place of the
other."
"And tell Miss Ashton, mamma?"
"Well, yes, dear, I must. Do you not think so?"
"Yes, mamma, and I s'pose the girls must know. Even if she don't tell
them, I think I ought to when I go back to school. They ought not to
think I was industrious and good like the rest when I just put off and
put off until this sad accident came, and then I really couldn't do
it;" and here a great tear rolled down Lily's cheek.
"My darling," said her mother, dropping her work, and bending over to
kiss the sorrowful little face, "mamma cannot bear to see you mortified
and grieved, but she does want this to be a lesson to you, and to save
you from future trouble and loss."
"Yes, mamma, I know," answered Lily, "and it serves me quite right; but
it does make me feel very badly to know that all the other children can
feel that the little orphans are having some good of their kindness,
and they do not have one bit of mine."
Mrs. Norris hesitated before she spoke again. She felt as if she could
not bear to have her poor child so hardly punished now when she was
suffering, and had just escaped such a great danger. She could not let
Nora finish the petticoat, but why not finish it herself, she thought,
as well as make another, and send it to Miss Ashton with a message from
Lily that she had not done the whole of it herself?
Just then came a knock at the door, and, being bidden to enter, Robert
brought a note for Miss Lily, saying the messenger waited for an answer.
"It is Maggie's writing, I think," said Mrs. Norris.
Lily raised herself, and held out her hand.
"You cannot read it for yourself, dear. Shall I do it?" asked her
mother.
Lily assented, and, opening the note, Mrs. Norris read as follows:--
"DEAR LILY,--We are so sorry for you, all of us, but we are so very
happy you were not killed by Sir Percy Hotspur, who is very nice to
play with, but not nice to fall underneath, and we are glad you are
not such a victim as that. But, Lily, dear, we do not know, Bessie
and I, if you have finished your petticoat for the orphan child. We
did not ask you on Saturday because we thought if it was not done you
wouldn't like to say so, but we thought perhaps the reason you did
not speak about it was because a 'burnt child dreads the fire,' which
means people don't like things that bring them into trouble, or to
speak about them. So we thought it was quite probable that it was not
done, and we know you cannot finish it now, for yesterday we met Dr.
Banks when we were coming from church, and he said you could not go to
school, or use your poor hurt eye for a good many days. So, dear, if
you would let me finish it for you, I would be very glad, and Bessie
will too, and you can send it to me by Patrick. And you need not think
I will have to do it all in my play-time, for mamma says I can do it
in my sewing-lesson to-day, which is half an hour, and if there is
any more, I'd just as lieve do it afterwards, and the heart which
would not do that is not worthy of a friend, but ought to be like a
man we read about the other day who lived in a tub and was cross to
everybody. And do you believe, people called him a wise man!!! Which
shows they must have been very stupid people in those days to call
such an old cross-patch wise, and I'm glad I was never acquainted with
him for I would not consider him fit to know.
"So ask your mamma to send me the petticoat if it is not done, that
my true friendship may have the pleasure of finishing it. From your
esteemed friend,
"MAGGIE STANTON BRADFORD.
"P.S. If a pretty bad button-hole would be any relief to your feelings
instead of strings, I would just as lieve make one, but it don't look
very nice."
To have seen Lily's eyes--or rather her eye, for you know there was
only one to be seen--as her mother finished reading this letter to her!
to have seen the pleading of her poor little face!
"Well, dear," said her mother, smiling back in answer to the unspoken
question that was written in every line of her Lily's countenance.
"Well, dear, shall we accept Maggie's offer?"
"Oh, mamma! if you think I might," cried Lily.
"Yes," said her mother, "since dear Maggie is so good as to offer,
and give up her time to you, perhaps I will let you accept. But, my
darling, I do not want you to forget that here again the consequences
of your habit of procrastinating are falling on another. Maggie is
doing the work which should have been done by you, and although, I am
sure she does it willingly, and with all her heart, dear little friend
that she is, still you must own that it is hard she should have her own
share, and part of yours too."
"Yes, mamma," answered Lily, penitently, "and I know I don't deserve to
have any of the work I have done go to the orphan that has no father or
mother, and I am very thankful to darling Maggie. And, mamma, I think
I ought to ask you to write a note to Miss Ashton, and let her tell
the other children that I did not do the whole of the petticoat, or it
would not be quite fair. 'Specially, mamma, 'cause some of them said I
wouldn't have my petticoat done, and I _scorned_ what they said, and
was very sure of myself. So it would be more true, I think, to tell
them how it was."
"Yes, darling," said her mother, glad that her little girl was so
truthful, and unwilling to take any credit that was not rightly her
own; and then she kissed her, and, bringing the unfortunate petticoat,
rolled it up, and sent it away to the dear little sunbeam who was so
ready to shed light and comfort wherever she had the power to do so.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XII.
_LILY'S NEW RESOLVE._
There was a good deal of bustle and excitement, as you may imagine, on
Tuesday morning, when Miss Ashton's little scholars came, each with her
respective parcel.
Poor Lily of course was not there; it would be many a day yet before
she was able to come to school, but all the others were in their
places, and very anxious for the lessons to be over. Nor were Maggie
and Bessie there during school-hours; but they were to come afterwards,
and bring the little garments they had made.
"Let's see who finished her work first," said Gracie. "Dora, when did
you finish yours?"
"Saturday morning," answered Dora.
"Pooh!" said Gracie, "how long you were. Nellie, when was yours done?"
"Last night," answered Nellie; "and I was very glad I had not taken a
petticoat, for I could not have finished it."
Gracie only looked her contempt, but she did that so plainly that
it might have placed her in the ranks of the anti-politers quite as
readily as rude and scornful words could have done. Nellie felt it,
colored, and looked hurt.
"Belle, when did you finish yours?"
"I _perfer_ not to tell you," answered Belle, with magnificence.
"Why?" asked Gracie.
"If your guilty conscience don't tell you, it's no use for me to speak
about it," replied Belle, with well-deserved severity, supposed to be
kept within the bounds of courteousness.
Gracie gave her head a little toss, as much as to say that Belle's
opinion was quite beneath her notice; but that her "guilty conscience"
did accuse her was to be seen from the fact that she questioned no more
of her classmates, but said conceitedly,--
"I finished my petticoat the very Saturday after I took it;" and then
looked about her for the applause which no one had the mind to offer.
It was strange that the frequency of the disappointments of this nature
which she received did not teach Gracie that those who sought the most
eagerly for food for their own vanity were not the most apt to receive
it; but her insatiable self-conceit needed some severe teaching before
it would lose its hold of her, and such slight blows as these were
without much effect on the still increasing evil.
"I am sure I could easily have made two if I had chosen," continued
Gracie. "It is nothing so very great to make a petticoat in a week."
"I don't know," said Nellie, who seldom bore malice, "I think it is
pretty well for little girls to make one in two weeks. I am slow, I
know, but as Lily said,--poor dear Lily,--I am a steady tortoise after
all, and have done my task in time."
"Is Lily's petticoat finished?" asked Mabel. "Does any one know?"
No, no one knew; but more than one thought it quite likely that Lily
would be behindhand. They knew her ways well. But, before they had time
for much more conversation on the subject, Miss Ashton came in, and the
business of the day began.
Twelve o'clock came, bringing with it Maggie and Bessie, who also
brought each the little garment she had completed; and, school being at
an end, the children gathered about Miss Ashton to have her verdict on
their work.
Belle's bag was the first to be examined, and Miss Ashton pronounced
it very well done for a little girl who was but just learning to sew.
There were some long and crooked stitches, it is true; but they were
tight and close, and showed that she had taken great pains. So did
Bessie's; and Mabel's also was considered a success. Carrie Ransom's
did not show quite as much care, but it would pass. So much for the
bags made by the four lesser children; and now Miss Ashton turned to
the petticoats.
"I have here a note from Lily," she said, "which I shall read first.
She sent it to me this morning, with her work, and a request that I
would tell you what it contained."
"Oh," said Gracie, "I suppose she has not finished her petticoat. She
never does things when she ought to, and she is always behindhand. I
finished my petticoat on the first Saturday, Miss Ashton."
Now, would you not have thought that Gracie disliked Lily, and was glad
to have the chance of showing up her faults? But it was not really so;
for if you had asked Gracie, she would have told you that she was fond
of Lily, and thought her on the whole a very good little girl. But
Gracie's habit of comparing herself with others to their disadvantage
gave her, not only the appearance of great conceit, but also of
constant fault-finding with her companions.
Miss Ashton took no notice of her speech, but opened the envelope, and
took out the note, which Mrs. Norris had written at Lily's dictation.