Produced by Charles Aldarondo and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
A GARLAND FOR GIRLS
By Louisa May Alcott
TO R.A. LAWRENCE
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY HER GRATEFUL FRIEND,
L.M. ALCOTT
CONTENTS
MAY FLOWERS
AN IVY SPRAY AND LADIES' SLIPPERS
PANSIES
WATER-LILIES
POPPIES AND WHEAT
LITTLE BUTTON-ROSE
MOUNTAIN-LAUREL AND MAIDEN-HAIR
PREFACE
These stories were written for my own amusement during a period of
enforced seclusion. The flowers which were my solace and pleasure
suggested titles for the tales and gave an interest to the work.
If my girls find a little beauty or sunshine in these common
blossoms, their old friend will not have made her Garland in vain.
L.M. ALCOTT.
SEPTEMBER, 1887.
MAY FLOWERS
Being Boston girls, of course they got up a club for mental
improvement, and, as they were all descendants of the Pilgrim
Fathers, they called it the Mayflower Club. A very good name, and
the six young girls who were members of it made a very pretty posy
when they met together, once a week, to sew, and read well-chosen
books. At the first meeting of the season, after being separated all
summer, there was a good deal of gossip to be attended to before the
question, “What shall we read?” came up for serious discussion.
Anna Winslow, as president, began by proposing “Happy Dodd;” but a
chorus of “I've read it!” made her turn to her list for another
title.
“'Prisoners of Poverty' is all about workingwomen, very true and
very sad; but Mamma said it might do us good to know something of
the hard times other girls have,” said Anna, soberly; for she was a
thoughtful creature, very anxious to do her duty in all ways.
“I'd rather not know about sad things, since I can't help to make
them any better,” answered Ella Carver, softly patting the apple
blossoms she was embroidering on a bit of blue satin.
“But we might help if we really tried, I suppose; you know how much
Happy Dodd did when she once began, and she was only a poor little
girl without half the means of doing good which we have,” said Anna,
glad to discuss the matter, for she had a little plan in her head
and wanted to prepare a way for proposing it.
“Yes, I'm always saying that I have more than my share of fun and
comfort and pretty things, and that I ought and will share them with
some one. But I don't do it; and now and then, when I hear about
real poverty, or dreadful sickness, I feel so wicked it quite upsets
me. If I knew HOW to begin, I really would. But dirty little
children don't come in my way, nor tipsy women to be reformed, nor
nice lame girls to sing and pray with, as it all happens in books,”
cried Marion Warren, with such a remorseful expression on her merry
round face that her mates laughed with one accord.
“I know something that I COULD do if I only had the courage to begin
it. But Papa would shake his head unbelievingly, and Mamma worry
about its being proper, and it would interfere with my music, and
everything nice that I especially wanted to go to would be sure
to come on whatever day I set for my good work, and I should get
discouraged or ashamed, and not half do it, so I don't begin, but I
know I ought.” And Elizabeth Alden rolled her large eyes from one
friend to another, as if appealing to them to goad her to this duty
by counsel and encouragement of some sort.
“Well, I suppose it's right, but I do perfectly hate to go poking
round among poor folks, smelling bad smells, seeing dreadful sights,
hearing woful tales, and running the risk of catching fever, and
diphtheria, and horrid things. I don't pretend to like charity, but
say right out I'm a silly, selfish wretch, and want to enjoy every
minute, and not worry about other people. Isn't it shameful?”
Maggie Bradford looked such a sweet little sinner as she boldly made
this sad confession, that no one could scold her, though Ida
Standish, her bosom friend, shook her head, and Anna said, with a
sigh: “I'm afraid we all feel very much as Maggie does, though we
don't own it so honestly. Last spring, when I was ill and thought I
might die, I was so ashamed of my idle, frivolous winter, that I
felt as if I'd give all I had to be able to live it over and do
better. Much is not expected of a girl of eighteen, I know; but oh!
there were heaps of kind little things I MIGHT have done if I hadn't
thought only of myself. I resolved if I lived I'd try at least to be
less selfish, and make some one happier for my being in the world. I
tell you, girls, it's rather solemn when you lie expecting to die,
and your sins come up before you, even though they are very small
ones. I never shall forget it, and after my lovely summer I mean to
be a better girl, and lead a better life if I can.”
Anna was so much in earnest that her words, straight out of a very
innocent and contrite heart, touched her hearers deeply, and put
them into the right mood to embrace her proposition. No one spoke
for a moment, then Maggie said quietly,--
“I know what it is. I felt very much so when the horses ran away,
and for fifteen minutes I sat clinging to Mamma, expecting to be
killed. Every unkind, undutiful word I'd ever said to her came back
to me, and was worse to bear than the fear of sudden death. It
scared a great deal of naughtiness out of me, and dear Mamma and I
have been more to each other ever since.”
“Let us begin with 'The Prisoners of Poverty,' and perhaps it will
show us something to do,” said Lizzie. “But I must say I never felt
as if shop-girls needed much help; they generally seem so contented
with themselves, and so pert or patronizing to us, that I don't pity
them a bit, though it must be a hard life.”
“I think we can't do MUCH in that direction, except set an example
of good manners when we go shopping. I wanted to propose that we
each choose some small charity for this winter, and do it
faithfully. That will teach us how to do more by and by, and we can
help one another with our experiences, perhaps, or amuse with our
failures. What do you say?” asked Anna, surveying her five friends
with a persuasive smile.
“What COULD we do?”
“People will call us goody-goody.”
“I haven't the least idea how to go to work.”
“Don't believe Mamma will let me.”
“We'd better change our names from May Flowers to sisters of
charity, and wear meek black bonnets and flapping cloaks.”
Anna received these replies with great composure, and waited for the
meeting to come to order, well knowing that the girls would have
their fun and outcry first, and then set to work in good earnest.
“I think it's a lovely idea, and I'll carry out my plan. But I won't
tell what it is yet; you'd all shout, and say I couldn't do it, but
if you were trying also, that would keep me up to the mark,” said
Lizzie, with a decided snap of her scissors, as she trimmed the
edges of a plush case for her beloved music.
“Suppose we all keep our attempts secret, and not let our right hand
know what the left hand does? It's such fun to mystify people, and
then no one can laugh at us. If we fail, we can say nothing; if we
succeed, we can tell of it and get our reward. I'd like that way,
and will look round at once for some especially horrid boot-black,
ungrateful old woman, or ugly child, and devote myself to him, her,
or it with the patience of a saint,” cried Maggie, caught by the
idea of doing good in secret and being found out by accident.
The other girls agreed, after some discussion, and then Anna took
the floor again.
“I propose that we each work in our own way till next May, then, at
our last meeting, report what we have done, truly and honestly, and
plan something better for next year. Is it a vote?”
It evidently was a unanimous vote, for five gold thimbles went up,
and five blooming faces smiled as the five girlish voices cried,
“Aye!”
“Very well, now let us decide what to read, and begin at once. I
think the 'Prisoners' a good book, and we shall doubtless get some
hints from it.”
So they began, and for an hour one pleasant voice after the other
read aloud those sad, true stories of workingwomen and their hard
lives, showing these gay young creatures what their pretty clothes
cost the real makers of them, and how much injustice, suffering, and
wasted strength went into them. It was very sober reading, but most
absorbing; for the crochet needles went slower and slower, the
lace-work lay idle, and a great tear shone like a drop of dew on the
apple blossoms as Ella listened to “Rose's Story.” They skipped the
statistics, and dipped here and there as each took her turn; but
when the two hours were over, and it was time for the club to
adjourn, all the members were deeply interested in that pathetic
book, and more in earnest than before; for this glimpse into other
lives showed them how much help was needed, and made them anxious to
lend a hand.
“We can't do much, being 'only girls,'” said Anna; “but if each does
one small chore somewhere it will pave the way for better work; so
we will all try, at least, though it seems like so many ants trying
to move a mountain.”
“Well, ants build nests higher than a man's head in Africa; you
remember the picture of them in our old geographies? And we can do
as much, I'm sure, if each tugs her pebble or straw faithfully. I
shall shoulder mine to-morrow if Mamma is willing,” answered Lizzie,
shutting up her work-bag as if she had her resolution inside and was
afraid it might evaporate before she got home.
“I shall stand on the Common, and proclaim aloud, 'Here's a nice
young missionary, in want of a job! Charity for sale cheap! Who'll
buy? who'll buy?'” said Maggie, with a resigned expression, and a
sanctimonious twang to her voice.
“I shall wait and see what comes to me, since I don't know what I'm
fit for;” and Marion gazed out of the window as if expecting to see
some interesting pauper waiting for her to appear.
“I shall ask Miss Bliss for advice; she knows all about the poor,
and will give me a good start,” added prudent Ida, who resolved to
do nothing rashly lest she should fail.
“I shall probably have a class of dirty little girls, and teach them
how to sew, as I can't do anything else. They won't learn much, but
steal, and break, and mess, and be a dreadful trial, and I shall get
laughed at and wish I hadn't done it. Still I shall try it, and
sacrifice my fancy-work to the cause of virtue,” said Ella,
carefully putting away her satin glove-case with a fond glance at
the delicate flowers she so loved to embroider.
“I have no plans, but want to do so much! I shall have to wait till
I discover what is best. After to-day we won't speak of our work, or
it won't be a secret any longer. In May we will report. Good luck to
all, and good-by till next Saturday.”
With these farewell words from their president the girls departed,
with great plans and new ideas simmering in their young heads and
hearts.
It seemed a vast undertaking; but where there is a will there is
always a way, and soon it was evident that each had found “a little
chore” to do for sweet charity's sake. Not a word was said at the
weekly meetings, but the artless faces betrayed all shades of hope,
discouragement, pride, and doubt, as their various attempts seemed
likely to succeed or fail. Much curiosity was felt, and a few
accidental words, hints, or meetings in queer places, were very
exciting, though nothing was discovered.
Marion was often seen in a North End car, and Lizzie in a South End
car, with a bag of books and papers. Ella haunted a certain shop
where fancy articles were sold, and Ida always brought plain sewing
to the club. Maggie seemed very busy at home, and Anna was found
writing industriously several times when one of her friends called.
All seemed very happy, and rather important when outsiders
questioned them about their affairs. But they had their pleasures as
usual, and seemed to enjoy them with an added relish, as if they
realized as never before how many blessings they possessed, and were
grateful for them.
So the winter passed, and slowly something new and pleasant seemed
to come into the lives of these young girls. The listless,
discontented look some of them used to wear passed away; a sweet
earnestness and a cheerful activity made them charming, though they
did not know it, and wondered when people said, “That set of girls
are growing up beautifully; they will make fine women by and by.”
The mayflowers were budding under the snow, and as spring came on
the fresh perfume began to steal out, the rosy faces to brighten,
and the last year's dead leaves to fall away, leaving the young
plants green and strong.
On the 15th of May the club met for the last time that season, as
some left town early, and all were full of spring work and summer
plans. Every member was in her place at an unusually early hour that
day, and each wore an air of mingled anxiety, expectation, and
satisfaction, pleasant to behold. Anna called them to order with
three raps of her thimble and a beaming smile.
“We need not choose a book for our reading to-day, as each of us is
to contribute an original history of her winter's work. I know it
will be very interesting, and I hope more instructive, than some of
the novels we have read. Who shall begin?”
“You! you!” was the unanimous answer; for all loved and respected
her very much, and felt that their presiding officer should open the
ball.
Anna colored modestly, but surprised her friends by the composure
with which she related her little story, quite as if used to public
speaking.
“You know I told you last November that I should have to look about
for something that I COULD do. I did look a long time, and was
rather in despair, when my task came to me in the most unexpected
way. Our winter work was being done, so I had a good deal of
shopping on my hands, and found it less a bore than usual, because I
liked to watch the shop-girls, and wish I dared ask some of them if
I could help them. I went often to get trimmings and buttons at
Cotton's, and had a good deal to do with the two girls at that
counter. They were very obliging and patient about matching some jet
ornaments for Mamma, and I found out that their names were Mary and
Maria Porter. I liked them, for they were very neat and plain in
their dress,--not like some, who seem to think that if their waists
are small, and their hair dressed in the fashion, it is no matter
how soiled their collars are, nor how untidy their nails. Well, one
day when I went for certain kinds of buttons which were to be made
for us, Maria, the younger one, who took the order, was not there. I
asked for her, and Mary said she was at home with a lame knee. I was
so sorry, and ventured to put a few questions in a friendly way.
Mary seemed glad to tell her troubles, and I found that 'Ria,' as
she called her sister, had been suffering for a long time, but did
not complain for fear of losing her place. No stools are allowed at
Cotton's, so the poor girls stand nearly all day, or rest a minute
now and then on a half-opened drawer. I'd seen Maria doing it, and
wondered why some one did not make a stir about seats in this place,
as they have in other stores and got stools for the shop women. I
didn't dare to speak to the gentlemen, but I gave Mary the Jack
roses I wore in my breast, and asked if I might take some books or
flowers to poor Maria. It was lovely to see her sad face light up
and hear her thank me when I went to see her, for she was very
lonely without her sister, and discouraged about her place. She did
not lose it entirely, but had to work at home, for her lame knee
will be a long time in getting well. I begged Mamma and Mrs.
Ailingham to speak to Mr. Cotton for her; so she got the mending of
the jet and bead work to do, and buttons to cover, and things of
that sort. Mary takes them to and fro, and Maria feels so happy not
to be idle. We also got stools, for all the other girls in that
shop. Mrs. Allingham is so rich and kind she can do anything, and
now it's such a comfort to see those tired things resting when off
duty that I often go in and enjoy the sight.”
Anna paused as cries of “Good! good!” interrupted her tale; but she
did not add the prettiest part of it, and tell how the faces of the
young women behind the counters brightened when she came in, nor how
gladly all served the young lady who showed them what a true
gentlewoman was.
“I hope that isn't all?” said Maggie, eagerly.
“Only a little more. I know you will laugh when I tell you that I've
been reading papers to a class of shop-girls at the Union once a
week all winter.”
A murmur of awe and admiration greeted this deeply interesting
statement; for, true to the traditions of the modern Athens in which
they lived, the girls all felt the highest respect for “papers” on
any subject, it being the fashion for ladies, old and young, to read
and discuss every subject, from pottery to Pantheism, at the various
clubs all over the city.
“It came about very naturally,” continued Anna, as if anxious to
explain her seeming audacity. “I used to go to see Molly and Ria,
and heard all about their life and its few pleasures, and learned to
like them more and more. They had only each other in the world,
lived in two rooms, worked all day, and in the way of amusement or
instruction had only what they found at the Union in the evening. I
went with them a few times, and saw how useful and pleasant it was,
and wanted to help, as other kind girls only a little older than I
did. Eva Randal read a letter from a friend in Russia one time, and
the girls enjoyed it very much. That reminded me of my brother
George's lively journals, written when he was abroad. You remember
how we used to laugh over them when he sent them home? Well, when I
was begged to give them an evening, I resolved to try one of those
amusing journal-letters, and chose the best,--all about how George
and a friend went to the different places Dickens describes in some
of his funny books. I wish you could have seen how those dear girls
enjoyed it, and laughed till they cried over the dismay of the boys,
when they knocked at a door in Kingsgate Street, and asked if Mrs.
Gamp lived there. It was actually a barber's shop, and a little man,
very like Poll Sweedlepipes, told them 'Mrs. Britton was the nuss as
lived there now.' It upset those rascals to come so near the truth,
and they ran away because they couldn't keep sober.”
The members of the club indulged in a general smile as they recalled
the immortal Sairey with “the bottle on the mankle-shelf,” the
“cowcuber,” and the wooden pippins. Then Anna continued, with an air
of calm satisfaction, quite sure now of her audience and herself,--
“It was a great success. So I went on, and when the journals were
done, I used to read other things, and picked up books for their
library, and helped in any way I could, while learning to know them
better and give them confidence in me. They are proud and shy, just
as we should be but if you REALLY want to be friends and don't mind
rebuffs now and then, they come to trust and like you, and there is
so much to do for them one never need sit idle any more. I won't
give names, as they don't like it, nor tell how I tried to serve
them, but it is very sweet and good for me to have found this work,
and to know that each year I can do it better and better. So I feel
encouraged and am very glad I began, as I hope you all are. Now, who
comes next?”
As Anna ended, the needles dropped and ten soft hands gave her a
hearty round of applause; for all felt that she had done well, and
chosen a task especially fitted to her powers, as she had money,
time, tact, and the winning manners that make friends everywhere.
Beaming with pleasure at their approval, but feeling that they made
too much of her small success, Anna called the club to order by
saying, “Ella looks as if she were anxious to tell her experiences,
so perhaps we had better ask her to hold forth next.”
“Hear! hear!” cried the girls; and, nothing loath, Ella promptly
began, with twinkling eyes and a demure smile, for HER story ended
romantically.
“If you are interested in shop-girls, Miss President and ladies, you
will like to know that _I_ am one, at least a silent partner and
co-worker in a small fancy store at the West End.”
“No!” exclaimed the amazed club with one voice; and, satisfied with
this sensational beginning Ella went on.
“I really am, and you have bought some of my fancy-work. Isn't that
a good joke? You needn't stare so, for I actually made that
needle-book, Anna, and my partner knit Lizzie's new cloud. This is
the way it all happened. I didn't wish to waste any time, but one
can't rush into the street and collar shabby little girls, and say,
'Come along and learn to sew,' without a struggle, so I thought I'd
go and ask Mrs. Brown how to begin. Her branch of the Associated
Charities is in Laurel Street, not far from our house, you know; and
the very day after our last meeting I posted off to get my 'chore.'
I expected to have to fit work for poor needlewomen, or go to see
some dreadful sick creature, or wash dirty little Pats, and was
bracing up my mind for whatever might come, as I toiled up the hill
in a gale of wind. Suddenly my hat flew off and went gayly skipping
away, to the great delight of some black imps, who only grinned and
cheered me on as I trotted after it with wild grabs and wrathful
dodges. I got it at last out of a puddle, and there I was in a nice
mess. The elastic was broken, feather wet, and the poor thing all
mud and dirt. I didn't care much, as it was my old one,--dressed for
my work, you see. But I couldn't go home bareheaded, and I didn't
know a soul in that neighborhood. I turned to step into a grocery
store at the corner, to borrow a brush or buy a sheet of paper to
wear, for I looked like a lunatic with my battered hat and my hair
in a perfect mop. Luckily I spied a woman's fancy shop on the other
corner, and rushed in there to hide myself, for the brats hooted and
people stared. It was a very small shop, and behind the counter sat
a tall, thin, washed-out-looking woman, making a baby's hood. She
looked poor and blue and rather sour, but took pity on me; and while
she sewed the cord, dried the feather, and brushed off the dirt, I
warmed myself and looked about to see what I could buy in return for
her trouble.
“A few children's aprons hung in the little window, with some knit
lace, balls, and old-fashioned garters, two or three dolls, and a
very poor display of small wares. In a show-case, however, on the
table that was the counter, I found some really pretty things, made
of plush, silk, and ribbon, with a good deal of taste. So I said I'd
buy a needle-book, and a gay ball, and a pair of distracting baby's
shoes, made to look like little open-work socks with pink
ankle-ties, so cunning and dainty, I was glad to get them for Cousin
Clara's baby. The woman seemed pleased, though she had a grim way of
talking, and never smiled once. I observed that she handled my hat
as if used to such work, and evidently liked to do it. I thanked her
for repairing damages so quickly and well, and she said, with my hat
on her hand, as if she hated to part with it, 'I'm used to
millineryin' and never should have give it up, if I didn't have my
folks to see to. I took this shop, hopin' to make things go, as such
a place was needed round here, but mother broke down, and is a sight
of care; so I couldn't leave her, and doctors is expensive, and
times hard, and I had to drop my trade, and fall back on pins and
needles, and so on.'”
Ella was a capital mimic, and imitated the nasal tones of the
Vermont woman to the life, with a doleful pucker of her own blooming
face, which gave such a truthful picture of poor Miss Almira Miller
that those who had seen her recognized it at once, and laughed
gayly.
“Just as I was murmuring a few words of regret at her bad luck,”
continued Ella, “a sharp voice called out from a back room, 'Almiry!
Almiry! come here.' It sounded very like a cross parrot, but it was
the old lady, and while I put on my hat I heard her asking who was
in the shop, and what we were 'gabbin' about.' Her daughter told
her, and the old soul demanded to 'see the gal;' so I went in, being
ready for fun as usual. It was a little, dark, dismal place, but as
neat as a pin, and in the bed sat a regular Grandma Smallweed
smoking a pipe, with a big cap, a snuff-box, and a red cotton
handkerchief. She was a tiny, dried-up thing, brown as a berry, with
eyes like black beads, a nose and chin that nearly met, and hands
like birds' claws. But such a fierce, lively, curious, blunt old
lady you never saw, and I didn't know what would be the end of me
when she began to question, then to scold, and finally to demand
that 'folks should come and trade to Almiry's shop after promisin'
they would, and she havin' took a lease of the place on account of
them lies.' I wanted to laugh, but dared not do it, so just let her
croak, for the daughter had to go to her customers. The old lady's
tirade informed me that they came from Vermont, had 'been wal on 't
till father died and the farm was sold.' Then it seems the women
came to Boston and got on pretty well till 'a stroke of numb-palsy,'
whatever that is, made the mother helpless and kept Almiry at home
to care for her. I can't tell you how funny and yet how sad it was
to see the poor old soul, so full of energy and yet so helpless, and
the daughter so discouraged with her pathetic little shop and no
customers to speak of. I did not know what to say till 'Grammer
Miller,' as the children call her, happened to say, when she took up
her knitting after the lecture, 'If folks who go spendin' money
reckless on redic'lus toys for Christmas only knew what nice things,
useful and fancy, me and Almiry could make ef we had the goods,
they'd jest come round this corner and buy 'em, and keep me out of a
Old Woman's Home and that good, hard-workin' gal of mine out of a
'sylum; for go there she will ef she don't get a boost somehow, with
rent and firin' and vittles all on her shoulders, and me only able
to wag them knittin'-needles.'
“'I will buy things here, and tell all my friends about it, and I
have a drawer full of pretty bits of silk and velvet and plush, that
I will give Miss Miller for her work, if she will let me.' I added
that, for I saw that Almiry was rather proud, and hid her troubles
under a grim look.
“That pleased the old lady, and, lowering her voice, she said, with
a motherly sort of look in her beady eyes: 'Seein' as you are so
friendly, I'll tell you what frets me most, a layin' here, a burden
to my darter. She kep' company with Nathan Baxter, a master
carpenter up to Westminster where we lived, and ef father hadn't a
died suddin' they'd a ben married. They waited a number o' years,
workin' to their trades, and we was hopin' all would turn out wal,
when troubles come, and here we be. Nathan's got his own folks to
see to, and Almiry won't add to HIS load with hern, nor leave me; so
she give him back his ring, and jest buckled to all alone. She don't
say a word, but it's wearin' her to a shadder, and I can't do a
thing to help, but make a few pinballs, knit garters, and kiver
holders. Ef she got a start in business it would cheer her up a
sight, and give her a kind of a hopeful prospeck, for old folks
can't live forever, and Nathan is a waitin', faithful and true.'
“That just finished me, for I am romantic, and do enjoy love stories
with all my heart, even if the lovers are only a skinny spinster and
a master carpenter. So I just resolved to see what I could do for
poor Almiry and the peppery old lady. I didn't promise anything but
my bits, and, taking the things I bought, went home to talk it over
with Mamma. I found she had often got pins and tape, and such small
wares, at the little shop, and found it very convenient, though she
knew nothing about the Millers. She was willing I should help if I
could, but advised going slowly, and seeing what they could do
first. We did not dare to treat them like beggars, and send them
money and clothes, and tea and sugar, as we do the Irish, for they
were evidently respectable people, and proud as poor. So I took my
bundle of odds and ends, and Mamma added some nice large pieces of
dresses we had done with, and gave a fine order for aprons and
holders and balls for our church fair.
“It would have done your hearts good, girls, to see those poor old
faces light up as I showed my scraps, and asked if the work would be
ready by Christmas. Grammer fairly swam in the gay colors I strewed
over her bed, and enjoyed them like a child, while Almiry tried to
be grim, but had to give it up, as she began at once to cut out
aprons, and dropped tears all over the muslin when her back was
turned to me. I didn't know a washed-out old maid COULD be so
pathetic.”
Ella stopped to give a regretful sigh over her past blindness, while
her hearers made a sympathetic murmur; for young hearts are very
tender, and take an innocent interest in lovers' sorrows, no matter
how humble.
“Well, that was the beginning of it. I got so absorbed in making
things go well that I didn't look any further, but just 'buckled to'
with Miss Miller and helped run that little shop. No one knew me in
that street, so I slipped in and out, and did what I liked. The old
lady and I got to be great friends; though she often pecked and
croaked like a cross raven, and was very wearing. I kept her busy
with her 'pin-balls and knittin'-work, and supplied Almiry with
pretty materials for the various things I found she could make. You
wouldn't believe what dainty bows those long fingers could tie, what
ravishing doll's hats she would make out of a scrap of silk and
lace, or the ingenious things she concocted with cones and shells
and fans and baskets. I love such work, and used to go and help her
often, for I wanted her window and shop to be full for Christmas,
and lure in plenty of customers. Our new toys and the little cases
of sewing silk sold well, and people began to come more, after I
lent Almiry some money to lay in a stock of better goods. Papa
enjoyed my business venture immensely, and was never tired of joking
about it. He actually went and bought balls for four small black
boys who were gluing their noses to the window one day, spellbound
by the orange, red, and blue treasures displayed there. He liked my
partner's looks, though he teased me by saying that we'd better add
lemonade to our stock, as poor, dear Almiry's acid face would make
lemons unnecessary, and sugar and water were cheap.
“Well, Christmas came, and we did a great business, for Mamma came
and sent others, and our fancy things were as pretty and cheaper
than those at the art stores, so they went well, and the Millers
were cheered up, and I felt encouraged, and we took a fresh start
after the holidays. One of my gifts at New Year was my own
glove-case,--you remember the apple-blossom thing I began last
autumn? I put it in our window to fill up, and Mamma bought it, and
gave it to me full of elegant gloves, with a sweet note, and Papa
sent a check to 'Miller, Warren & Co.' I was so pleased and proud I
could hardly help telling you all. But the best joke was the day you
girls came in and bought our goods, and I peeped at you through the
crack of the door, being in the back room dying with laughter to see
you look round, and praise our 'nice assortment of useful and pretty
articles.'”
“That's all very well, and we can bear to be laughed at if you
succeeded, Miss. But I don't believe you did, for no Millers are
there now. Have you taken a palatial store on Boylston Street for
this year, intending to run it alone? We'll all patronize it, and
your name will look well on a sign,” said Maggie, wondering what the
end of Ella's experience had been.
“Ah! I still have the best of it, for my romance finished up
delightfully, as you shall hear. We did well all winter, and no
wonder. What was needed was a little 'boost' in the right direction,
and I could give it; so my Millers were much comforted, and we were
good friends. But in March Grammer died suddenly, and poor Almiry
mourned as if she had been the sweetest mother in the world. The old
lady's last wishes were to be 'laid out harnsome in a cap with a
pale blue satin ribbin, white wasn't becomin', to hev at least three
carriages to the funeral, and be sure a paper with her death in it
was sent to N. Baxter, Westminster, Vermont.'
“I faithfully obeyed her commands, put on the ugly cap myself, gave
a party of old ladies from the home a drive in the hacks, and
carefully directed a marked paper to Nathan, hoping that he HAD
proved 'faithful and true.' I didn't expect he would, so was not
surprised when no answer came. But I WAS rather amazed when Almiry
told me she didn't care to keep on with the store now she was free.
She wanted to visit her friends a spell this spring, and in the fall
would go back to her trade in some milliner's store.
“I was sorry, for I really enjoyed my partnership. It seemed a
little bit ungrateful after all my trouble in getting her customers,
but I didn't say anything, and we sold out to the Widow Bates, who
is a good soul with six children, and will profit by our efforts.
“Almiry bid me good-by with all the grim look gone out of her face,
many thanks, and a hearty promise to write soon. That was in April.
A week ago I got a short letter saying,--
“'DEAR FRIEND,--You will be pleased to hear that I am married to Mr.
Baxter, and shall remain here. He was away when the paper came with
mother's death, but as soon as he got home he wrote. I couldn't make
up my mind till I got home and see him. Now it's all right, and I am
very happy. Many thanks for all you done for me and mother. I shall
never forget it My husband sends respects, and I remain Yours
gratefully, ALMIRA M. BAXTER.'”
“That's splendid! You did well, and next winter you can look up
another sour spinster and cranky old lady and make them happy,” said
Anna, with the approving smile all loved to receive from her.
“My adventures are not a bit romantic, or even interesting, and yet
I've been as busy as a bee all winter, and enjoyed my work very
much,” began Elizabeth, as the President gave her a nod.
“The plan I had in mind was to go and carry books and papers to the
people in hospitals, as one of Mamma's friends has done for years. I
went once to the City Hospital with her, and it was very
interesting, but I didn't dare to go to the grown people all alone,
so I went to the Children's Hospital, and soon loved to help amuse
the poor little dears. I saved all the picture-books and papers I
could find for them, dressed dolls, and mended toys, and got new
ones, and made bibs and night-gowns, and felt like the mother of a
large family.
“I had my pets, of course, and did my best for them, reading and
singing and amusing them, for many suffered very much. One little
girl was so dreadfully burned she could not use her hands, and would
lie and look at a gay dolly tied to the bedpost by the hour
together, and talk to it and love it, and died with it on her pillow
when I 'sung lullaby' to her for the last time. I keep it among my
treasures, for I learned a lesson in patience from little Norah that
I never can forget.
“Then Jimmy Dolan with hip disease was a great delight to me, for he
was as gay as a lark in spite of pain, and a real little hero in the
way he bore the hard things that had to be done to him. He never can
get well, and he is at home now; but I still see to him, and he is
learning to make toy furniture very nicely, so that by and by, if he
gets able to work at all, he may be able to learn a cabinet-maker's
trade, or some easy work.
“But my pet of pets was Johnny, the blind boy. His poor eyes had to
be taken out, and there he was left so helpless and pathetic, all
his life before him, and no one to help him, for his people were
poor and he had to go away from the hospital since he was incurable.
He seemed almost given to me, for the first time I saw him I was
singing to Jimmy, when the door opened and a small boy came fumbling
in.
“'I hear a pretty voice, I want to find it,' he said, stopping as I
stopped with both hands out as if begging for more.
“'Come on. Johnny, and the lady will sing to you like a bobolink,'
called Jimmy, as proud as Barnum showing off Jumbo.
“The poor little thing came and stood at my knee, without stirring,
while I sang all the nursery jingles I knew. Then he put such a thin
little finger on my lips as if to feel where the music came from,
and said, smiling all over his white face, 'More, please more, lots
of 'em! I love it!'
“So I sang away till I was as hoarse as a crow, and Johnny drank it
all in like water; kept time with his head, stamped when I gave him
'Marching through Georgia,' and hurrahed feebly in the chorus of
'Red, White, and Blue.' It was lovely to see how he enjoyed it, and
I was so glad I had a voice to comfort those poor babies with. He
cried when I had to go, and so touched my heart that I asked all
about him, and resolved to get him into the Blind School as the only
place where he could be taught and made happy.”
“I thought you were bound there the day I met you, Lizzie; but you
looked as solemn as if all your friends had lost their sight,” cried
Marion.
“I did feel solemn, for if Johnny could not go there he would be
badly off. Fortunately he was ten, and dear Mrs. Russell helped me,
and those good people took him in though they were crowded. 'We
cannot turn one away,' said kind Mr. Parpatharges.
“So there my boy is, as happy as a king with his little mates,
learning all sorts of useful lessons and pretty plays. He models
nicely in clay. Here is one of his little works. Could you do as
well without eyes?” and Lizzie proudly produced a very one-sided
pear with a long straw for a stem. “I don't expect he will ever be a
sculptor, but I hope he will do something with music he loves it so,
and is already piping away on a fife very cleverly. Whatever his
gift may prove, if he lives, he will be taught to be a useful,
independent man, not a helpless burden, nor an unhappy creature
sitting alone in the dark. I feel very happy about my lads, and am
surprised to find how well I get on with them. I shall look up some
more next year, for I really think I have quite a gift that way,
though you wouldn't expect it, as I have no brothers, and always had
a fancy boys were little imps.”
The girls were much amused at Lizzie's discovery of her own powers,
for she was a stately damsel, who never indulged in romps, but lived
for her music. Now it was evident that she had found the key to
unlock childish hearts, and was learning to use it, quite
unconscious that the sweet voice she valued so highly was much
improved by the tender tones singing lullabies gave it. The fat pear
was passed round like refreshments, receiving much praise and no
harsh criticism; and when it was safely returned to its proud
possessor, Ida began her tale in a lively tone.
“I waited for MY chore, and it came tumbling down our basement steps
one rainy day in the shape of a large dilapidated umbrella with a
pair of small boots below it. A mild howl made me run to open the
door, for I was at lunch in the dining-room, all alone, and rather
blue because I couldn't go over to see Ella. A very small girl lay
with her head in a puddle at the foot of the steps, the boots waving
in the air, and the umbrella brooding over her like a draggled green
bird.
“'Are you hurt, child?' said I.
“'No, I thank you, ma'am,' said the mite quite calmly, as she sat up
and settled a woman's shabby black hat on her head.
“'Did you come begging?' I asked.
“'No, ma'am, I came for some things Mrs. Grover's got for us. She
told me to. I don't beg.' And up rose the sopping thing with great
dignity.
“So I asked her to sit down, and ran up to call Mrs. Grover. She was
busy with Grandpa just then, and when I went back to my lunch there
sat my lady with her arms folded, water dripping out of the toes of
her old boots as they hung down from the high chair, and the biggest
blue eyes I ever saw fixed upon the cake and oranges on the table. I
gave her a piece, and she sighed with rapture, but only picked at it
till I asked if she didn't like it.
“'Oh yes, 'm, it's elegant! Only I was wishin' I could take it to
Caddy and Tot, if you didn't mind. They never had frostin' in all
their lives, and I did once.'
“Of course I put up a little basket of cake and oranges and figs,
and while Lotty feasted, we talked. I found that their mother washed
dishes all day in a restaurant over by the Albany Station, leaving
the three children alone in the room they have on Berry Street.
Think of that poor thing going off before light these winter
mornings to stand over horrid dishes all day long, and those three
scraps of children alone till night! Sometimes they had a fire, and
when they hadn't they stayed in bed. Broken food and four dollars a
week was all the woman got, and on that they tried to live. Good
Mrs. Grover happened to be nursing a poor soul near Berry Street
last summer, and used to see the three little things trailing round
the streets with no one to look after them.
“Lotty is nine, though she looks about six, but is as old as most
girls of fourteen, and takes good care of 'the babies,' as she calls
the younger ones. Mrs. Grover went to see them, and, though a
hard-working creature, did all she could for them. This winter she
has plenty of time to sew, for Grandpapa needs little done for him
except at night and morning, and that kind woman spent her own
money, and got warm flannel and cotton and stuff, and made each
child a good suit. Lotty had come for hers, and when the bundle was
in her arms she hugged it close, and put up her little face to kiss
Grover so prettily, I felt that I wanted to do something too. So I
hunted up Min's old waterproof and rubbers, and a hood, and sent
Lotty home as happy as a queen, promising to go and see her. I did
go, and there was my work all ready for me. Oh, girls! such a bare,
cold room, without a spark of fire, and no food but a pan of bits of
pie and bread and meat, not fit for any one to eat, and in the bed,
with an old carpet for cover, lay the three children. Tot and Caddy
cuddled in the warmest place, while Lotty, with her little blue
hands, was trying to patch up some old stockings with bits of
cotton. I didn't know how to begin, but Lotty did, and I just took
her orders; for that wise little woman told me where to buy a bushel
of coal and some kindlings, and milk and meal, and all I wanted. I
worked like a beaver for an hour or two, and was so glad I'd been to
a cooking-class, for I could make a fire, with Lotty to do the
grubby part, and start a nice soup with the cold meat and potatoes,
and an onion or so. Soon the room was warm, and full of a nice
smell, and out of bed tumbled 'the babies,' to dance round the stove
and sniff at the soup, and drink milk like hungry kittens, till I
could get bread and butter ready.
“It was great fun! and when we had cleared things up a bit, and I'd
put food for supper in the closet, and told Lotty to warm a bowl of
soup for her mother and keep the fire going, I went home tired and
dirty, but very glad I'd found something to do. It is perfectly
amazing how little poor people's things cost, and yet they can't get
the small amount of money needed without working themselves to
death. Why, all I bought didn't cost more than I often spend for
flowers, or theatre tickets, or lunches, and it made those poor
babies so comfortable I could have cried to think I'd never done it
before.”
Ida paused to shake her head remorsefully, then went on with her
story, sewing busily all the while on an unbleached cotton
night-gown which looked about fit for a large doll.
“I have no romantic things to tell, for poor Mrs. Kennedy was a
shiftless, broken-down woman, who could only 'sozzle round,' as Mrs.
Grover said, and rub along with help from any one who would lend a
hand. She had lived out, married young, and had no faculty about
anything; so when her husband died, and she was left with three
little children, it was hard to get on, with no trade, feeble
health, and a discouraged mind. She does her best, loves the girls,
and works hard at the only thing she can find to do; but when she
gives out, they will all have to part,--she to a hospital, and the
babies to some home. She dreads that, and tugs away, trying to keep
together and get ahead. Thanks to Mrs. Grover, who is very sensible,
and knows how to help poor people, we have made things comfortable,
and the winter has gone nicely.
“The mother has got work nearer home, Lotty and Caddy go to school,
and Tot is safe and warm, with Miss Parsons to look after her. Miss
Parsons is a young woman who was freezing and starving in a little
room upstairs, too proud to beg and too shy and sick to get much
work. I found her warming her hands one day in Mrs. Kennedy's room,
and hanging over the soup-pot as if she was eating the smell. It
reminded me of the picture in Punch where the two beggar boys look
in at a kitchen, sniffing at the nice dinner cooking there. One
says, 'I don't care for the meat, Bill, but I don't mind if I takes
a smell at the pudd'n' when it's dished.' I proposed a lunch at
once, and we all sat down, and ate soup out of yellow bowls with
pewter spoons with such a relish it was fun to see. I had on my old
rig; so poor Parsons thought I was some dressmaker or work-girl, and
opened her heart to me as she never would have done if I'd gone and
demanded her confidence, and patronized her, as some people do when
they want to help. I promised her some work, and proposed that she
should do it in Mrs. K.'s room, as a favor, mind you, so that the
older girls could go to school and Tot have some one to look after
her. She agreed, and that saved her fire, and made the K.'s all
right. Sarah (that's Miss P.) tried to stiffen up when she learned
where I lived; but she wanted the work, and soon found I didn't put
on airs, but lent her books, and brought her and Tot my bouquets and
favors after a german, and told her pleasant things as she sat
cooking her poor chilblainy feet in the oven, as if she never could
get thawed out.
“This summer the whole batch are to go to Uncle Frank's farm and
pick berries, and get strong. He hires dozens of women and children
during the fruit season, and Mrs. Grover said it was just what they
all needed. So off they go in June, as merry as grigs, and I shall
be able to look after them now and then, as I always go to the farm
in July. That's all,--not a bit interesting, but it came to me, and
I did it, though only a small chore.”
“I'm sure the helping of five poor souls is a fine work, and you may
well be proud of it, Ida. Now I know why you wouldn't go to matinees
with me, and buy every pretty thing we saw as you used to. The
pocket money went for coal and food, and your fancy work was little
clothes for these live dolls of yours. You dear thing! how good you
were to cook, and grub, and prick your fingers rough, and give up
fun, for this kind work!”
Maggie's hearty kiss, and the faces of her friends, made Ida feel
that her humble task had its worth in their eyes, as well as in her
own; and when the others had expressed their interest in her work,
all composed themselves to hear what Marion had to tell.
“I have been taking care of a scarlet runner,--a poor old
frost-bitten, neglected thing; it is transplanted now, and doing
well, I'm happy to say.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ella, while the rest looked very curious.
Marion picked up a dropped stitch in the large blue sock she was
knitting, and continued, with a laugh in her eyes: “My dears, that
is what we call the Soldiers' Messenger Corps, with their red caps
and busy legs trotting all day. I've had one of them to care for,
and a gorgeous time of it, I do assure you. But before I exult over
my success, I must honestly confess my failures, for they were sad
ones. I was so anxious to begin my work at once, that I did go out
and collar the first pauper I saw. It was an old man, who sometimes
stands at the corners of streets to sell bunches of ugly paper
flowers. You've seen him, I dare say, and his magenta daisies and
yellow peonies. Well, he was rather a forlorn object, with his poor
old red nose, and bleary eyes, and white hair, standing at the windy
corners silently holding out those horrid flowers. I bought all he
had that day, and gave them to some colored children on my way home,
and told him to come to our house and get an old coat Mamma was
waiting to get rid of. He told a pitiful story of himself and his
old wife, who made the paper horrors in her bed, and how they needed
everything, but didn't wish to beg. I was much touched, and flew
home to look up the coat and some shoes, and when my old Lear came
creeping in the back way, I ordered cook to give him a warm dinner
and something nice for the old woman.
“I was called upstairs while he was mumbling his food, and blessing
me in the most lovely manner; and he went away much comforted, I
flattered myself. But an hour later, up came the cook in a great
panic to report that my venerable and pious beggar had carried off
several of Papa's shirts and pairs of socks out of the clothes-basket
in the laundry, and the nice warm hood we keep for the girl to hang
out clothes in.