MRS. CHASE'S BOTTLE.
You see Patty knew as much about her own little heart as she did about
Choctaw.
One Wednesday morning, early in September, Mrs. Lyman stood before the
kneading trough, with both arms in dough as far as the elbows. In the
farthest corner of the kitchen sat little Patty, pounding mustard-seed
in a mortar.
"Mamma," said she, "Linda Chase has got a calico gown that'll stand
alone."
"I've heard you tell of that before," said Mrs. Lyman, taking out a
quantity of dough with both hands, putting it on a cabbage-leaf, and
patting it into shape like a large ball of butter. A cabbage-leaf was as
good as "a skillet," she thought, for a loaf of brown bread.
"Did you ever see a gown stand all alone, mother? Linda says _hers_
does."
"Poh, it don't!" said Moses. "I know better."
"Then hers told a lie!" exclaimed little Solly. "George Wash'ton never
told a lie."
"Linda tells the truth," said Patty; "now, mamma, why don't _my_ gowns
stand alone?"
"I want to be like George Wash'ton," put in Solly again, pounding with
the rolling-pin, "and papa's got a hatchet; but we don't have no cherry
trees. I _can't_ be like George Wash'ton."
"O, what a noise! Stop it!" said Moses, tickling little Solly under the
arms.
"Mamma, I wish I was as rich as Linda," said Patty, raising her voice
above the din.
A look of pain came into Mrs. Lyman's eyes. It was not alone the
children's racket that disturbed her. She sighed, and turned round to
open the door of the brick oven. The oven had been heated long ago, and
Dorcas had taken out the coals. It was just the time to put in the brown
bread, and Mrs. Lyman set the cabbage-leaf loaves on the wooden
bread-shovel, and pushed them in as far as they would go.
After this was done she began to mix pie-crust; but not a word had she
to say about the gown that would stand alone.
"Now, Patience, you may clean the mortar nicely, and pound me some
cinnamon."
Patty thought her mother could not know how her little arm ached. Linda
Chase didn't have to pound things; her mother thought she was too
small. Linda's father had a gold watch with a chain to it, and Linda's
big brother drove two horses, and looked very fine, not at all like
George and Silas. Patty would not have thought of the difference, only
she had heard Betsy Gould say that Fred Chase would "turn up his nose at
the twins' striped shirts."
"Mamma," said she, beginning again in that teasing tone so trying to
mothers, "_I_ have to eat bread and milk and bean porridge, and Linda
don't. She has nice things all the time."
"Patience," said Mrs. Lyman, wearily, "I cannot listen to idle
complaints. Solomon, put down that porringer and go ask Betsey to wash
your face."
"But, mamma," said Patty, "why can't I have things like Linda Chase?"
"My little girl must try to be happy in the state in which God has
placed her," said Mrs. Lyman, trimming a pie round the edges.
"But I don't live in a state," said Patty, dropping a tear into the
cinnamon; "I live in the _District_ of Maine; and I want a gown that'll
stand alo-ne!"
"It's half past eight,
And I can't afford to wait,"
sang Moses from the south entry.
This was a piece of poetry which always aroused Patty. Up she sprang,
and put on her cape-bonnet to start for school at Mrs. Merrill's, just
round the corner.
"Daughter," said Mrs. Lyman, in a low voice, as she was going out, "you
have a happier home than poor Linda Chase. Don't cry for things that
little girl has, because, my dear, it is wicked."
"A happier home than poor Linda Chase!"
Patty was amazed, and did not know what her mother meant; but when she
got to school there was Linda in a dimity loose-gown, and Linda said,--
"_My_ mother wants you to come and stay all night with me, if _your_
mother's willing."
So Patty went home at noon to ask. Mrs. Lyman never liked to have Patty
gone over night; but the child pleaded so hard that she gave her
consent, only Patty must take her knitting-work, and musn't ask to wear
her Sunday clothes.
When she went home with Linda she found Mrs. Chase sitting by the parlor
window very grandly dressed. She kissed Patty, without once looking at
Patty's gingham loose-gown; but her eyes were quite red, as if she had
been crying.
"I like to have you come to see Linda," said she, "for Linda has no
little sister, and she feels rather lonesome."
Then the children went up stairs to see the wonderful calico gown which
cost "four and sixpence" a yard, and _almost_ stood alone (that was all
Linda had ever said it could do).
Mr. Chase and Fred were both away from home; and Patty was glad, for Mr.
Chase was so very polite and stiff, and Fred always talked to her as if
she was a baby. She did not like to go to see Linda when either of them
was there.
Mrs. Chase took both the little girls in her lap, and seemed to enjoy
hearing their childish prattle. Patty glanced at the gay rings on the
lady's fingers, and at the pictures on the walls, and wondered why it
wasn't a happy home, and what made Mrs. Chase's eyes so red. Then all at
once she remembered what Siller Noonin had said: "O, yes, Mrs. Chase
has everything heart can wish, except a bottle to put her tears in."
Patty did not see why a handkerchief wasn't just as good; but she could
not help looking at Linda's mother with some curiosity. If she really
had a strong preference for crying into a bottle, why didn't her rich
husband buy her a bottle, a glass one, beautifully shaped, with gold
flowers on it, and let her cry into it just as much as she pleased? He
was rich, and he ought to.
When they went to bed in the beautiful chamber that had such pretty
furniture, Mrs. Chase kissed them good night, but not in a happy way,
like Patty's mother.
"What makes your ma look so?" said Patty; "has she got the side-ache?"
"No, I guess not," replied little Linda; "but she says she feels bad
round the heart."
"My ma don't," returned Patty, thoughtfully. "I never heard her say so."
That was the last Patty knew, till ever so long afterwards, right in the
middle of a dream, she heard a great noise. It was a sound of scuffling,
and something being dragged up stairs. She saw the glimmer of lights,
and heard somebody's voice--she thought it was Mr. Chase's--say, "Look
out for his head, George."
"What is it?" whispered Patty. "O, _what_ is it?"
Linda covered her face with the sheet, and whispered, trembling all
over,--
"I _guess_ Freddy's sick."
"No, no, no," cried Patty; "hear how loud he talks!"
"O, but he's very sick," repeated Linda.
They heard him in the next chamber, kicking against the wall, and saying
dreadful words, such as Patty had never heard before--words which made
her shiver all over as if she was cold.
"Is it 'cause he is sick?" said she to Linda.
Linda thought it was.
Next morning, bright and early, Patty had to run home to help Moses turn
out the cows; there were nine of them, and it took two, besides the dog
Towler, to get them to pasture. She told her mother what she had heard
in the night, and her mother looked very sober; but Rachel spoke up
quickly,--
"I'll tell you, Patty, what makes Fred Chase have such sick turns; he
drinks too much brandy."
"Yes," said big brother John; "that fellow keeps a bottle in his room
the whole time."
"Is it his mamma's bottle?" asked Patty; for it flashed over her all at
once that perhaps that was the reason Mrs. Chase didn't have a bottle to
cry into, because Fred kept it up in his room--full of brandy.
Nobody knew what she meant by asking "if it was his mamma's bottle;" so
no one answered; but Mrs. Lyman said,--
"You see, Patty, it can't be very pleasant at Linda's house, even if she
does have calico dresses that stand alone."
"It don't _quite_ stand alone, mamma."
"And I hope you won't cry again, my daughter, for pretty things like
hers."
"No, I won't mamma.--Is that why Linda's mother 'feels bad round her
heart,' 'cause Freddy drinks out of the bottle?"
"Yes, dear, it makes Mrs. Chase very unhappy."
"Then I'm sorry, and I won't ever cry to have things like Linda any
more."
"That is right, my child; that's right!--Now, darling, run and help
Moses turn out the cows."