THE LITTLE SEAMSTRESS.
All dusty and ragged, Minnie stood wondering whither she should turn
next, and what would become of her.
No place seemed safe, no friends stood by her long; her garments were
torn to fringes, and the hot sun pelted down its rays upon her so that
she was faint.
She had barely strength to climb a tall pine-tree near, in whose boughs
she had often swung through the long afternoons. But that was in
happier days. The sighing of the wind among the branches, which used to
be such pleasant music, was so mournful now that it filled Minnie's eyes
with tears. It seemed as if a hundred soft, sad voices were calling,
just as Minnie's heart called, for her mother to come and fold her in
her own dear arms once more, and comfort her, and forgive her, and take
her home, never, never to wander or be disobedient again.
"Halloa!" said a voice. "What's the matter this time? Have you lost your
fine cloak, or has some one else grown tired of my little woman, and
sent her off to starve?"
"Pray, squirrel, don't tease me, now. I'm so homesick, and so poor, and
tired, and discouraged, that it seems to me I shall die."
"That's what I said you'd come to, when you left us; but I'm your
friend, Minnie, though I am such a rude fellow, and I don't mean you any
harm. Good-by!"
Master Squirrel was frisking off, when Minnie called, "Wait, wait!
Couldn't you--"
"O, you mustn't ask any favors. I'm full of business and care. Since we
parted I have found a mate; and have a nest of my own, and lots of
little ones. Call and see us!"
He had hardly gone, when Mrs. Yellow-bird came in sight. "My dear
friend," Minnie began.
"A pretty friend!" she interrupted; "think of the trouble you've caused
me!"
"How?"
"Ah, you can pretend not to know; but I am sure Master Squirrel has told
you what he did, in spite, because I helped carry the humming-bird home
for you, one day, and tipped him out of the car. You never even came to
say you were sorry."
"How could I? I do not even know what the mischief was."
"He upset my nest, and killed all my pretty little birds!" And she
poured forth a song that seemed to say, "All my little ones, all my
pretty birds gone! I can never be happy again!"
Even after yellow-bird was out of sight, the sad notes of her song came
back, and she never knew of the tears that Minnie shed for her.
A spider now let herself down by her silken thread from the bough above,
where she had been listening to Minnie's words, and pitying her sorrow.
"Come! this is no way to be happy," she said, "and no way to make
friends. Who'd care to know such a ragged little witch as you? And
you're dusty as a toad. Why don't you wash your face, and mend your
gown, and let folks see you are good for something?"
"O, I have tried!" said Minnie, mournfully. "I tried to sew a new gown
out of elm leaves; but they were so tender they wilted and tore before I
could put them together. Then I picked some beautiful oak leaves, and
they were so tough they blunted my needle, and frayed the spider-webs I
was sewing with."
"O, well, come down in the grass, and see what we can do together."
Down leaped Minnie, like a squirrel, and down dropped spider on her
silken thread. They ran through the grass together till they came to a
dwarf-oak, from which Minnie picked the large leaves, while spider wove
them together with her curious web.
Minnie seated herself on a mushroom, and watched her good-natured friend
at work. Spider wove her threads back and forth, till the seams appeared
to be laced together with silvery, silken cords. She finished each with
silver tassels; and, when Minnie had dressed in her handsome gown, wove
a scarf of silver-gauze to throw across her shoulders.
Then Minnie twisted grass-blades together, as yellow-bird had taught
her, and made a strong girdle for her waist, and tucked a rose leaf
under it for apron, and picked for bonnet a purple snap dragon, with a
golden frill inside.
But, alas, the happy, laughing look was gone from Minnie's eyes; and the
rags and the little sun-burnt face looked out beneath all her finery!