THE FIRST DAY'S WORK.
IN the pleasant breakfast-room, which was also a schoolroom, the two
girls were left by Aunt Mary, while she gave some orders on household
matters. Everything was arranged here with order and neatness, but there
was nothing superfluous; there was a place for everything, and
everything seemed to be in its place, if we except a large quantity of
unbleached calico, which had been unrolled, and had spread itself upon
the floor.
'What is all that coarse stuff for?' inquired Mabel of her cousin. 'You
surely don't call that your work, do you, Clara? I brought some
embroidery with me, for I hate plain work. I hope aunt will not set me
to do any.'
'I am quite sure she will, though,' replied Clara; 'and this very day,
too; for she is going to cut out two night-shirts for the poor man we
are going to see, and we shall have to make them, as well as pinafores
for the children, and flannel petticoats for two old women who are in
Aunt Mary's district. Oh, such nice old dames they are, Mabel! I am sure
you will like them, dear; and they are so thankful for any little
kindness we do for them.'
'Such stupid, humdrum work!' exclaimed Mabel. 'I'm sure I shall be
miserable here. Hard lessons, coarse work, and looking after old and
sick people! I wonder you are not moped to death, Clara; it's even worse
than I thought it would be.'
'Well, wait a little while,' said patient Clara; 'you have had no
experience yet. I know very well you will alter your mind before six
months are over.'
'Six months!' exclaimed Mabel; 'why, I should be dead in that time, if
mamma suffers me to remain here. But I shall tell her all about it, and
beg her to let me go home.'
The entrance of Aunt Mary broke off the dialogue of the cousins, and
soon the obnoxious calico was spread out, and fashioned into useful
articles of wearing apparel.
'Here is your new workbox, my dear Mabel,' said her aunt; 'you will find
it stocked with all necessary things--thimble, and scissors, and
needles, and cotton--and all that I require of you is to keep it tidy.'
It was impossible for Mabel not to dismiss _some_, at least, of her
foolish prejudice against this kind friend, and the thanks she returned
for the really handsome present were hearty and genuine; and on fitting
on her thimble, and examining the bright scissors and the very pretty
needle, even her feelings respecting the coarse work on which they were
expected to be employed appeared to undergo a wonderful change.
'I can't do plain work very quickly, aunt,' said Mabel, when that lady
had given her a pair of sleeves to make; 'I never did much at home.'
'All right, my child; if you do your best, I promise you I shall be
satisfied. I know you will improve in time,' said Aunt Mary, kindly.
There was no reading this morning, because Clara and Aunt Mary, who
were both rapid seamstresses, had agreed, if possible, to finish the
night-shirt that had been cut out, and take it with them in the evening,
when they went to call at the cottage of poor Simmons, whom they had not
seen since their return home, but of whom they had learned from Bridget
a pretty satisfactory account. The good woman had taken them under her
especial care while her mistress was away.
There was no lack of pleasant conversation when Aunt Mary was in the
room, and the work progressed well during the morning hours; but,
unfortunately, about three o'clock in the afternoon some friends came to
call, and as it was evident to Miss Livesay that this would prevent
their visit to the cottage that evening, she bade the young people put
away their work, and try to find some amusement in the garden. Clara
felt sorry and disappointed at this postponement, though she said
nothing, but prepared to obey her aunt. With Mabel, however, this was
quite an unexpected pleasure, and so rapidly did she gather up her work,
without folding it neatly together, that the needle ran into her finger,
and brought the blood so quickly that two or three large spots were
deposited on the sleeves.
'Oh, aunt will be so cross when she sees what I have done!' said the too
hasty Mabel. 'Must I try to wash the spots out, Clara?' she inquired.
'No, no!' replied her cousin; 'Bridget will do that for you with a
little brush. But I wonder, Mabel,' she added, 'at your thinking dear
aunt would be _cross_ because you have had an accident. You seem to have
some very strange ideas in your head; you will know better soon, I
hope.'
The room was quickly cleared, and Clara, taking the soiled sleeve in her
hand, went with her cousin into the kitchen, where they found the tidy
servant-of-all-work already clean, and sitting comfortably with her
knitting in hand, and the cat on her knee. Bridget readily undertook the
task required of her; and the young people, having obtained the food for
the poultry, ran off to distribute it.
A capital house Clara's feathered family had, with no rent nor taxes to
pay. It was a long shed under the tall trees at the bottom of the
garden, boarded over at the top, but with wire-work all across the
front, where a door was made to go in at, in order to clean out the
floor.
Inside, it was the picture of comfort, and of cleanliness too, for
careful Bridget took care of that. Old Netty and her chicks had a place
to themselves--a house within a house--so that the little ones could not
make an escape.
'Oh, I see there are two new-laid eggs,' said Clara. 'I am so glad; we
can take them to poor Simmons when we go to-morrow. I dare say there are
two or three more in the house that I may have.'
'I thought you said the fowls were your own, to do what you liked with,'
said Mabel. 'If I were you, I should sell the eggs, and not give them
away,' she added.
'And what should I do with the money?' inquired Clara. 'I have
everything I want; aunt takes care of that.'
'But you might buy nice gloves and neckties with the money you would get
for the eggs,' urged Mabel. 'I don't see that you have much of that sort
of thing.'
'I have all that I want in that way,' replied her cousin. 'I would ten
times rather give away the eggs than take money for them. When I first
came to live with dear aunt, she had this place fitted up on purpose for
me; and she bought the fowls, and food, and everything that was wanted,'
said Clara. 'In three months' time I had a beautiful brood of chickens;
and when they were grown, aunt asked me what I meant to do with my
surplus stock. I said that I really did not know; so she suggested that
I should sell the chickens, and give the money to the poor. "Sell that
ye have, and give alms," said my aunt. "This, dear Clara, is our
Saviour's advice," she added, and I was only too glad and thankful to
follow her advice. So I made a purse, in which I save up my
egg-and-chicken money, and we buy calico, and print, and flannel, and
provide other things,' said Clara, in great glee, for it was, indeed,
one of her chief sources of pleasure to give to the poor.
'I'm sure you would not catch me doing in that way,' said Mabel. 'I see
no fun in keeping fowls only for the sake of giving to other people.'
'No _fun_, perhaps,' replied her cousin; 'but you would find real
pleasure, Mabel, in being able to relieve the wants of the sick and the
afflicted. Oh, I know,' she added, 'you will--you _must_ change your
mind when you go with us to some of the neighbouring cottages. I do hope
we shall not be prevented from going to-morrow.'
Whatever effect time and scenes were to have on our young friend Mabel,
certainly her cousin's arguments and declarations produced none at the
present; so we must close the chapter of the first day, and begin
another.