A KNITTING BEE.
"What shall the story be about?" asked grandma, her needles flashing as
they flew.
"When you were a little girl," answered Cricket, promptly, in the usual
formula. "Oh, grandma! I have an idea! haven't you a box of old things
that I could look over, and select something for you to tell me a story
about, like that dear old grandma in 'Old-Fashioned Girl?'"
"Yes, Jean, I have the very thing, and it's a good idea. Bring me that
little table that stands in the corner. That's right. Put it close
beside me. Now, open these drawers--yes, pull them way out. Now, lift
that dividing piece. You see the bottom is inlaid. Touch the second one
of the little black inlaid circles."
"A secret drawer!" cried Cricket, excitedly. "Oh, grandma! how book-y!"
"Yes. Grandpa brought this table from China, years ago. It is full of
secret places."
Cricket touched the spring, and the supposed bottom flew up, showing a
box below. The little stand was really more of a cabinet than a table,
though it had a flat top and rolled easily on its castors. In the box
thus opened were all sorts of things.
"They are all old keepsakes," said grandma. "Find something you want to
hear about."
Cricket lifted a string of oddly carved beads.
"This, grandma. Isn't it funny? Has it an interesting story?"
Grandma took the beads in her hands, thoughtfully.
"It's an old keepsake, to be sure, and I used to be very fond of it when
I was a girl, and I wore it a good deal, but I don't know that there is
any story connected with it. But I'll tell you how I got it. It taught
me a bit of a lesson. I'll tell you the story, and you can guess the
lesson for yourself, if you can.
"You know I lived in Boston when I was a girl. I went to a private
school there, of, perhaps, twenty girls. It was kept by Miss Sarah and
Miss Abbie Cartwright. We all loved Miss Sarah, but none of us liked
Miss Abbie, and I don't wonder at it when I think how little she
understood girls.
"We used to recite seated in a semi-circle around the teacher, and all
whispering was strictly forbidden during the recitation. One day--but I
must stop here, and tell you that we all wore white stockings and low
shoes then. We never had any high shoes at all. Our white stockings must
always be fresh and clean, of course, and I always put on a clean pair
every day. A soiled stocking would have made us feel simply disgraced.
Coloured stockings were perfectly unknown as far as I remember, and I
should have felt dreadfully mortified to wear anything but white."
"Oh, I know! like Ellen in the 'Wide, Wide World,'" broke in Cricket.
"Don't you remember her horrid aunt, who dyed all her white stockings
gray, and she felt so badly? I never knew why. Wouldn't I feel _silly_
in white stockings now!"
"Yes, but if everybody wore them, it would be different. There was one
girl, Phoebe Dawson, in my class, who was a very untidy girl. She
always had hooks off her dress, or a hook and eye put together that did
not mate, or her dress was broken from its gathers. _Her_ stockings were
always grimy around the ankles. Ours were always smoothly gartered up,
but hers wrinkled down over her shoes."
"Yes," nodded Cricket, "Sort of mousquetaire stockings."
Grandma laughed. "That exactly describes it. I know now there was some
excuse for her getting her stockings so dirty, for she had a much longer
walk to school than any of us did, as she came from Charlestown,--over a
long, dusty road.
"So, one day, as I was saying, the recitation was just over, and Miss
Abbie was talking about something just to fill up the time till the
class bell should ring. Phoebe Dawson sat just opposite me in the half
circle. I can see her now. The part in her hair was as uneven as
possible--what we used to call a 'rail-fence' parting, and her braids
straggled unevenly down behind her ears. She had forgotten the brooch
that should have fastened her collar. The facing of her dress was ripped
and was hanging down, and her pantalets were actually dirty."
"Pantalets, grandma?"
"Yes, we all wore pantalets, beautifully starched and ironed, that came
nearly to the tops of our village-ties, as we called them. We had very
fancy ones for Sundays, and plainer ones for every day, but we were very
particular about them. Phoebe sat with her feet crossed and actually
sticking out in front of her--which was considered very bad manners--and
her stockings were very grimy.
"I forgot about the rule of no whispering, and I said, suddenly, to
Dolly Chipman, who sat on the other side of me, 'Pearl-gray stockings
are the latest thing from Paris. You can always depend on Phoebe
Dawson to set the style--pig-sty-le.'
"Instantly Miss Abbie's cold, gray eyes were on me.
"'Did you speak, Miss Winthrop?' for we were all called, very formally,
by our last names.
"'Yes'm,' I answered, very meekly.
"'Very well, then, we will hear the remark you made, and judge if it was
necessary enough to excuse you for breaking the rule.'
"I fairly gasped, for nothing would have made me repeat the remark, and
hurt Phoebe's feelings. In spite of her untidiness, we all liked her,
for she was always good company. Besides, we really respected her, for
she was one of the best scholars in the class.
"'Please excuse me, Miss Abbie,' I said, getting furiously red. 'It was
a silly little remark I made, and I had no business to make it.'
"'We will be the best judge of that, Miss Winthrop,' she said, in her
severest tones. Just then the class bell rang outside the room. This
happened to be the last class of the morning. Some of the girls got up
to go, but Miss Abbie motioned them down.
"'If you choose to keep the whole class waiting,' she said to me, 'it
will not be pleasant, but we can wait. I hope you enjoy feeling we are
all waiting for you.'"
"How perfectly horrid of her!" cried Cricket.
"I really think it was, myself. Well, the girls groaned softly, and
frowned at me, and motioned 'tell,' with their lips, but nothing would
have induced me to have repeated my silly little speech, and make them
all laugh at Phoebe.
"I was ashamed of myself already, for saying a mean thing of one of my
classmates, even to one girl, and I certainly did not intend to repeat
the remark for the benefit of the whole class.
"'I can't tell you before them all, Miss Abbie,' I said, desperately,
'but I will tell you all by yourself. It was something I had no
business to say.'
"'If it was fitting to be said to one girl, it is fitting to be heard by
all,' she said, inexorably. I have always thought that she was very dull
not to see that it must have been some uncomplimentary personal
remark--possibly about herself, for all she knew."
"Oh, I wish it had been!" broke in Cricket.
"I am very glad it wasn't. But we were well-trained girls in those days,
and rarely thought of grumbling at anything our teachers did. We might
not like them, but I don't remember talking about them much.
"'We are waiting,' she said, again, after a moment.
"'I _can't_ tell you before the class,' I repeated, obstinately. 'But
I'll tell you by yourself. I'm ashamed I said it, anyway.'
"Perhaps Phoebe had noticed me glance at her, or perhaps she knew,
more than we realized, that we sometimes made fun of her untidiness, for
she suddenly said, good-naturedly:
"'Do tell what it is, if it's anything about me, I sha'n't care. I'd
much rather go home and get my dinner.'
"'Was it about Phoebe?' asked Miss Abbie, instantly.
"To this point-blank question, I had to say 'Yes.'
"'Tell it,' urged Phoebe, good-naturedly.
"'Well, then,' I began, desperately,--but I could not say it. I
hesitated, and then added, quickly:
"'I said I wondered how Phoebe Dawson always managed to keep herself
looking so nice!'
"A little surprised look, then a laugh, went around the class. Every one
knew that I was not speaking the truth, and I dare say Miss Abbie knew
it herself. She cast a very sharp glance at me, but, nevertheless,
dismissed the class. Every one surrounded me in the cloak-room,
laughing, and teasing me about what I had said. But I only waited till
Miss Sarah was at liberty, and then I went to her and told her the
story. I was very angry, and in a state of great indignation against
Miss Abbie, and finally I burst out with, 'She made me tell that lie,
herself!'
"'Hush! my dear!' Miss Sarah said, gravely. 'If you think, you will see
that the trouble was that your sense of politeness was stronger than
your sense of truth. Again, if you hadn't broken the rule about
whispering in class in the first place, nothing would have happened. So
I think we won't blame Miss Abbie. I will tell her about it myself, and
nothing more will be said about it to you.'
"I thought Miss Sarah was very good and kind, but my conscience troubled
me very much. Phoebe Dawson, too, made me feel thoroughly ashamed of
myself. When she came to school the next day she brought me this lovely
string of beads, which she said her uncle had brought her home from
India.
"'You had all that trouble on my account yesterday,' she said, in her
good-natured way, 'so I brought you these to make up. My uncle brings me
quantities of things, so you must take these, to please me,' for, of
course, I protested against taking them.
"'You needn't have minded about telling what you really did say,' she
went on. 'I know I'm dreadfully untidy, but if I had a mother, or a
sister, or any one to look out for me, I'd be different, perhaps,' and
her eyes filled with tears.
"Well, I grew very fond of Phoebe Dawson after that, and soon I went
to see her. She had a lovely home, full of beautiful things, but
everything was as untidy and uncared for as she was herself. Phoebe's
mother had died when she was a baby, and her father was a great scholar,
who was always buried in his books, and the two servants managed things
as they liked. But Phoebe improved very much as she grew older, and we
remained friends always."
"Is she living now?" asked Cricket, turning over the beads with
interest.
"No, she died several years ago, and she was the grandmother of your
little friend, Emily Drayton."
"_Was_ she? How funny! And what was the lesson you learned, grandma?"
"You may guess that for yourself," said grandma, smiling. "Will you
choose again?"