before last, every stitch of it."
"Very well," said Miss Ashton, coolly, and without farther attention,
read aloud:--
"DEAR MISS ASHTON,--I think I ought to tell you that I did not do all
my petticoat myself, and it was not all because of my hurting myself,
but because I did not do it in good time, but put off until I had left
a good task for the last day, when my eye was so hurt I could not
sew. But dear Maggie had her's all done, and so she had time for a
kindness, and she finished mine; but I thought I ought to do myself
the mortification of telling you about it, for fear you and the other
children should give me praise I did not deserve.
"And now I am very sorry I was so sure of myself to be so certain I
would not fall into my bad habit again, which I find is not cured, as
I said it was; but I have to try very hard yet. And I know the other
children will think I thought myself very great, and I am ashamed
of it, and of my procrastination too, dear Miss Ashton, which you
told me would give me great trouble, and mamma too, and I see it. So
please excuse me, and my eye and my head are better, thank you; but
the doctor says I cannot use my eye for a good many days, and my head
aches some yet.
"Please give my love to all the children, and tell them to come and
see me.
"From your affectionate little scholar,
"LILY NORRIS."
If Lily's schoolmates did imagine that she thought herself "great," not
one of them said so; and the reading of her letter was followed by many
expressions of affection and sympathy, mingled with admiration for her
straightforward honesty, which would not let her receive credit which
was not her due.
However, when Miss Ashton unfolded the petticoat sent by Lily, and
examined the sewing, it was found that, wanting though she might have
been in punctuality and industry, Lily certainly deserved praise for
the manner in which her work was done. It was extremely neat and even
for such a little girl; and both her own share, and that completed by
Maggie Bradford received much approbation from Miss Ashton.
Maggie's petticoat merited a like meed of compliment, and Nellie
Ransom's apron, which came next, was pronounced remarkably well done.
"Why, Nellie, my dear," said Miss Ashton, looking with surprise at the
neatly laid gathers, even hems, and regular stitches, "is it possible
that you did this all yourself?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered steady, painstaking Nellie, who, although she
was perhaps less quick than any of her schoolmates, was seldom or
never behind the rest, for the reason that she was so industrious and
earnest,--"yes, ma'am. An apron was not very much for me to do, but I
wanted to be sure and have it nicely done."
"And, indeed, you have," said Miss Ashton, still examining the apron
with pleasure. "I must give you the credit, Nellie, of saying that I
never saw a piece of work better done by any child of your age. I do
not know that I would have done it as well myself."
"Mamma takes great pains to teach me to sew nicely," said Nellie,
dimpling and flushing with pleasure at her teacher's praise.
"And you must have taken great pains to learn, my dear," said Miss
Ashton, laying her hand on that of the modest little girl.
Two or three others received their share of praise, some more, some
less, according to their merits, though all were fairly done; and then
Miss Ashton came to Gracie's petticoat.
That it gave her far less satisfaction than the rest of the little
garments had done, was plainly to be seen by her countenance, as she
examined it.
"Why, Gracie, my dear," she said, "is it possible that you can sew no
better than this? No, it is not; for I have seen your work before, and
know that you can do better if you choose. Why, Gracie, the stitches
are not half as neat as those of the very little girls, and this band
will not hold at all. It is impossible for me to give in such work as
this. See here;" and as she drew the stitches slightly apart, with not
half the strain that would come upon them in the wearing, they parted
and ripped, showing with what extreme carelessness the work had been
done.
I do not think Miss Ashton would have said as much to any other one of
her little scholars; but she thought that this mortification and blow
to her self-conceit would do Gracie no harm.
"My dear," she continued, "you have not taken time enough to do your
work properly. Another time, better less haste and more care, Gracie. I
shall have to take out almost the whole of this, and do it over myself,
for I should be ashamed that our little orphans should have the example
of such work. Your mother was away, I know, so that you could not go to
her for help; but could you not ask some other person to show you how
it should be done?"
"I should think I might know how to make a petticoat," said Gracie,
rather saucily.
"It seems you do not," replied Miss Ashton, gravely. "As I must do
this over, you cannot expect that it should be given in as your work,
Gracie."
Gracie tossed her head, and looked very angry, muttering, she "did not
care," then burst into tears, saying it was "too bad," and "real mean,"
and she knew "it was just as good as the rest, only Miss Ashton never
would think she did any thing fit to be seen," and altogether allowed
her temper and wounded vanity so far to get the better of her that Miss
Ashton bade her leave the room.
I am glad to say, however, that a few moments' solitude and reflection
in the cloak-room brought her to her right senses; and before she went
home, she returned to her teacher, and begged her pardon for the temper
and disrespect she had shown.
"But my work was finished long before any of the other children's,
Miss Ashton," she said once more, after the lady had assured her she
was forgiven, giving her at the same time a gentle, and, alas! too
oft-repeated warning against the hold her besetting sin was gaining on
her temper and character.
Miss Ashton shook her head.
"But it is all thrown away, and worse than thrown away, Gracie," she
said, "for it will need more time for me to take it to pieces and do
it over again than it would have taken to make it myself at once.
I can give you no credit, my child, for striving to outstrip your
schoolmates, merely that you might have the pleasure of saying that you
had done so. You are severe with Lily for her want of punctuality and
promptness; but too great haste, especially when it springs from a bad
motive, is perhaps as bad. And, Gracie, Lily sees and acknowledges her
fault, while you will not."
Gracie hung her head, but she was none the more convinced; and, in
spite of her confession, went home, thinking herself hardly used, and
Miss Ashton very unjust.
With the exception of Gracie, there was not one of the little
work-women whose sewing was not at least passable, and her garment
tolerably well made; and they were dismissed, well satisfied with the
praise they received, and the knowledge that their own self-denial and
effort had helped those who were in need.
Mrs. Norris had begged that Maggie and Bessie would come and see Lily
that afternoon, as she was now well enough to receive them, and tell
her all that had taken place in the morning; and accordingly they
presented themselves in Lily's room, bringing with them their dolls.
"My dollies haven't had their dresses changed since Saturday, before I
was hurt," said Lily, at the sight of the last-mentioned young ladies.
"Will you dress them for me while you tell me about this morning?"
Dolls and dolls' clothes were brought forth, Lily possessing a
multitude of both; and the two little sisters fell to dressing the
neglected children of an invalid mamma.
"It wasn't putting off this time," said Lily, apologetically, "for I
really did seem to be so tired every time I tried to do any thing, even
play, that mamma told me I had better lie still."
"Yes, we know," said Bessie, "and even if it was procrastination, dolls
don't really suffer, so I s'pose it's not much harm to put off doing
things for them. It don't hurt," she added thoughtfully, as she drew a
comb about three inches long through the flowing locks of the waxen
Georgianna upon her lap,--"it don't hurt to put off play and pleasure,
I believe, but only duties, and things that will do good to others."
"Yes," said Lily, rather ruefully, as if she wished that pleasures and
duties might alike fall under the same head, "so I find most people
think. The trouble of it, and what makes it so hard is, that when a
duty and a pleasure both come at once, it 'most always seems right to
take the duty first; and I like pleasure so much better than duty that
I expect that's the reason I procrastinate so often."
"I believe that's the case with most people," said Maggie, putting on
her wisdom cap to suit the solemnity of the conversation. "I find the
human race generally like pleasure better than duty, 'specially if the
duty is very disagreeable, and the pleasure is very nice."
"That's the way with me, anyhow," said Lily, with a sigh, as she lay
back upon her sofa pillows once more. "And sometimes, even when the
duty is not very disagreeable, I feel like putting it off, just because
I know I ought to do it, I believe. That petticoat was not so very
horrid to do, and yet I let every thing put me away from doing it, till
at last you know the consequence."
"Miss Ashton praised your petticoat very much, anyhow," said Maggie.
"She said you had done the most of it, and it was all _well_ done."
"She praised Maggie's part too," said Bessie, unwilling that her
sister should not receive her full share of credit, "and she said the
button-hole was even better than that on Maggie's own petticoat."
"Practice makes perfect, you know," said Maggie. "Miss Ashton said not
one piece of work was better made than that petticoat, except Nellie's
apron, and that was the best of all. Miss Ashton seemed quite surprised
at it, it was so very nice. And I don't mean to tell tales about
Gracie, but you would hear about it, I suppose, when you go back to
school, so we may as well tell you, 'cause you want to know about every
thing."
And between them, first one taking up the tale, and then the other,
Lily had soon heard a full and particular account of all the
occurrences of the morning.
"And did not any one say hateful things about me when Miss Ashton read
my letter, and they knew I had not done what I was so sure I would do?"
asked Lily.
"No indeed," said Bessie. "We wouldn't have listened to them if they
had wanted to; but then no one would say an unkind thing about you when
you were so honest and true, Lily. They were only sorry for you, and
didn't seem to think you were naughty one bit."
"But I was," said Lily, "and I'm never going to boast myself again, for
I do feel too ashamed when I think how sure I was that I would do so
much. I don't believe I ever will cure myself of procrastination, do
you?"
"Why, yes," answered Bessie, "if you try enough."
"I'm sure I did try," said Lily, "but it was no use. If I did not
forget so easily, I think I would not have so much trouble from
procrastination; but, you see, sometimes I leave a thing just for one
moment, at least I mean to come back in a moment, and then I never
think any thing more about it. That was the way the puppy found my
petticoat lying on the floor, and dragged it about till it had to be
washed before I could sew on it, and then it was too late."
"I used to be just as careless as that," said Maggie; "and though mamma
says I have improved a great deal, and am pretty neat and careful now,
yet I find it hard work still, and I have to make a rule for myself not
to leave a thing one moment after I know I ought to do it, or else I am
almost sure to forget. I don't always keep that rule yet," she added,
rather remorsefully, "but it helps me, and makes me better than I used
to be."
"Is that what cured you of carelessness? for I don't think you are much
careless now," said Lily.
"Yes," said Maggie, slowly, "that--and--and"--here she fell into a
sudden fit of bashfulness at her own confession, and Bessie had to help
her out of it.
"Partly that, and partly because she asked Jesus to help her," said
the little sister. "And He did, 'cause He always does if we really and
truly ask Him. Did you ever ask Him to help you, Lily?"
"What, about putting off?" said Lily. "Why, no, I never thought much
about it--and--besides--it seems such a queer thing to pray about, and
to ask Jesus to help you in. It is not a sin, you know. It does make
me sin sometimes," she added, thoughtfully, as she recalled various
naughtinesses into which her sad habit had led her. "Oh, if you knew
something it had made me do, you would think I was too horrid!" She was
thinking of the way in which she had spoken to her mother but a few
days since.
"Well, then," said Bessie, tenderly, "isn't that a reason for asking
Him? I don't b'lieve Jesus thinks any thing is no matter if it makes us
do something that is wrong, and I don't b'lieve He thinks even a bad
habit is a little thing, and I'm sure He'll help you if you only ask
Him."
"Sometimes when I was praying, I have thought maybe I had better ask
Jesus not to let me put off," said Lily, "but I did not think _much_
about it, and it hardly seemed worth while, and I generally thought I
could do it some other time."
Lily said these last words in rather a shamefaced manner, as if she
were mortified to recollect and confess that she had allowed her
failing to come even between her and the Great Helper.
"But you will ask Him now, won't you?" asked Bessie anxiously.
"Yes, I will," said Lily earnestly, and as if she really meant it; and
I am glad to say that she kept her resolution, and "put off" no longer
asking the help which could not, and would not fail her. And receiving
what she sought, as all shall do who seek it in truth, and in the right
spirit, and continuing also to strive with the temptation of the moment
which bids her postpone the duty before her, our Lily is gaining the
victory over the enemy which brought her into so much trouble, and had
more than once led her so far astray.
[Illustration]
Cambridge: Press of John Wilson and Son.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's
original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact.