spent her days in lessons, play, mischief, and fun, like any other
lively, ten-year-older. But somehow, whenever the sewing-hour came, she
remembered that talk; and as she worked she fell into the way of
wondering whether Aunt Pen could guess from the patches what sort of
days she had passed. She wanted to try and see, but Aunt Pen refused to
read any more calico till the quilt was done: then, she said in a
queer, solemn way, she should make the good and bad days appear in a
remarkable manner.
This puzzled Patty very much, and she quite ached to know what the joke
would be; meantime the pile grew steadily, and every day, good or bad,
added to that other work called Patty's life. She did not think much
about that part of it, but unconsciously the quiet sewing-time had its
influence on her, and that little 'conscience hour,' as she sometimes
called it, helped her very much.
One day she said to herself as she took up her work, 'Now I'll puzzle
Aunt Pen. She thinks my naughty tricks get into the patches; but I'll
make this very nicely and have it gay, and then I don't see how she will
ever guess what I did this morning.'
Now you must know that Tweedle-dee, the canary, was let out every day
to fly about the room and enjoy himself. Mother Bunch never tried to
catch him, though he often hopped temptingly near her. He was a droll
little bird, and Patty liked to watch his promenades, for he did funny
things. That day he made her laugh by trying to fly away with a shawl,
picking up the fringe with which to line the nest he was always trying
to build. It was so heavy he tumbled on his back and lay kicking and
pulling, but had to give it up and content himself with a bit of thread.
Patty was forbidden to chase or touch him at these times, but always
felt a strong desire to have just one grab at him and see how he felt.
That day, being alone in the dining-room, she found it impossible to
resist; and when Tweedle-dee came tripping pertly over the table-cloth,
cocking his head on one side with shrill chirps and little prancings,
she caught him, and for a minute held him fast in spite of his wrathful
pecking.
She put her thimble on his head, laughing to see how funny he looked,
and just then he slipped out of her hand. She clutched at him, missed
him, but alas, alas! he left his little tail behind him. Every feather
in his blessed little tail, I do assure you; and there sat Patty with
the yellow plumes in her hand and dismay in her face. Poor Tweedle-dee
retired to his cage much afflicted, and sung no more that day, but Patty
hid the lost tail and never said a word about it.
'Aunt Pen is so near-sighted she won't mind, and maybe he will have
another tail pretty soon, or she will think he is moulting. If she asks
of course I shall tell her.'
Patty settled it in that way, forgetting that the slide was open and
Aunt Pen in the kitchen. So she made a neat blue and buff patch, and put
it away, meaning to puzzle aunty when the reading-time came. But Patty
got the worst of it, as you will see by-and-bye.
Another day she strolled into the store-room and saw a large tray of
fresh buns standing there. Now, it was against the rule to eat between
meals, and new hot bread or cake was especially forbidden. Patty
remembered both these things, but could not resist temptation. One
plump, brown bun, with a lovely plum right in the middle, was so
fascinating it was impossible to let it alone; so Patty whipped it into
her pocket, ran to the garden, and hiding behind the big lilac-bush, ate
it in a great hurry. It was just out of the oven, and so hot it burned
her throat, and lay like a live coal in her little stomach after it was
down, making her very uncomfortable for several hours.
'Why do you keep sighing?' asked Aunt Pen, as Patty sat down to her
work.
'I don't feel very well.'
'You have eaten something that disagrees with you. Did you eat hot
biscuits for breakfast?'
'No, ma'am, I never do,' and Patty gave another little gasp, for the bun
lay very heavily on both stomach and conscience just then.
'A drop or two of ammonia will set you right,' and Aunt Pen gave her
some. It did set the stomach right, but the conscience still worried
her, for she could not make up her mind to 'fess' the sly, greedy thing
she had done.
'Put a white patch in the middle of those green ones,' said Aunt Pen, as
Patty sat soberly sewing her daily square.
'Why?' asked the little girl, for aunty seldom interfered in her
arrangement of the quilt.
'It will look pretty, and match the other three squares that are going
at the corners of that middle piece.'
'Well, I will,' and Patty sewed away, wondering at this sudden interest
in her work, and why Aunt Pen laughed to herself as she put away the
ammonia bottle.
These are two of the naughty little things that got worked into the
quilt; but there were good ones also, and Aunt Pen's sharp eyes saw them
all.
At the window of a house opposite, Patty often saw a little girl who sat
there playing with an old doll or a torn book. She never seemed to run
about or go out, and Patty often wondered if she was sick, she looked so
thin and sober, and was so quiet. Patty began by making faces at her
for fun, but the little girl only smiled back, and nodded so
good-naturedly that Patty was ashamed of herself.
'Is that girl over there poor?' she asked suddenly as she watched her
one day.
'Very poor: her mother takes in sewing, and the child is lame,' answered
Aunt Pen, without looking up from the letter she was writing.
'Her doll is nothing but an old shawl tied round with a string, and she
don't seem to have but one book. Wonder if she'd like to have me come
and play with her,' said Patty to herself, as she stood her own big doll
in the window, and nodded back at the girl, who bobbed up and down in
her chair with delight at this agreeable prospect.
'You can go and see her some day if you like,' said Aunt Pen, scribbling
away.
Patty said no more then, but later in the afternoon she remembered this
permission, and resolved to try if aunty would find out her good doings
as well as her bad ones. So, tucking Blanch Augusta Arabella Maud under
one arm, her best picture-book under the other, and gathering a little
nosegay of her own flowers, she slipped across the road, knocked, and
marched boldly upstairs.
Mrs. Brown, the sewing-woman, was out, and no one there but Lizzie in
her chair at the window, looking lonely and forlorn.
'How do you do? My name is Patty, and I live over there, and I've come
to play with you,' said one child in a friendly tone.
'How do you do? My name is Lizzie, and I'm very glad to see you. What a
lovely doll!' returned the other child gratefully; and then the ceremony
of introduction was over, and they began to play as if they had known
each other for ever so long.
To poor Lizzie it seemed as if a little fairy had suddenly appeared to
brighten the dismal room with flowers and smiles and pretty things;
while Patty felt her pity and good-will increase as she saw Lizzie's
crippled feet, and watched her thin face brighten and glow with interest
and delight over book and doll and posy. 'It felt good,' as Patty said
afterwards; 'sort of warm and comfortable in my heart, and I liked it
ever so much.' She stayed an hour, making sunshine in a shady place, and
then ran home, wondering if Aunt Pen would find that out.
She found her sitting with her hands before her, and such a sad look in
her face that Patty ran to her, saying anxiously--
'What's the matter, aunty? Are you sick?'
'No dear; but I have sorrowful news for you. Come, sit in my lap and
let me tell you as gently as I can.'
'Mamma is dead!' Cried Patty with a look of terror in her rosy face.
'No, thank God! but the dear, new baby only stayed a week, and we shall
never see her in this world.'
With a cry of sorrow Patty threw herself into the arms outstretched to
her, and on Aunt Pen's loving bosom sobbed away the first bitterness of
her grief and disappointment.
'Oh, I wanted a little sister so much, and I was going to be so fond of
her, and was so glad she came, and now I can't see or have her even for
a day! I'm _so_ disappointed I don't think I _can_ bear it,' sobbed
Patty.
'Think of poor mamma, and bear it bravely for her sake,' whispered Aunt
Pen, wiping away her own and Patty's tears.
'Oh, dear me! there's the pretty quilt I was going to make for baby, and
now it isn't any use, and I can't bear to finish it;' and Patty broke
out afresh at the thought of so much love's labour lost.
'Mamma will love to see it, so I wouldn't give it up. Work is the best
cure for sorrow; and I think you never will be sorry you tried it. Let
us put a bright bit of submission with this dark trouble, and work both
into your little life as patiently as we can, deary.'
Patty put up her trembling lips, and kissed Aunt Pen, grateful for the
tender sympathy and the helpful words. 'I'll try,' was all she said; and
then they sat talking quietly together about the dear, dead baby, who
only stayed long enough to make a place in every one's heart, and leave
them aching when she went.
Patty did try to bear her first trouble bravely, and got on very well
after the first day or two, except when the sewing-hour came. Then the
sight of the pretty patchwork recalled the memory of the cradle it was
meant to cover, and reminded her that it was empty now. Many quiet tears
dropped on Patty's work; and sometimes she had to put it down and sob,
for she had longed so for a little sister, it was very hard to give her
up, and put away all the loving plans she had made for the happy time
when baby came. A great many tender little thoughts and feelings got
sewed into the gay squares; and if a small stain showed here and there,
I think they only added to its beauty in the eyes of those who knew what
made them. Aunt Pen never suggested picking out certain puckered bits
and grimy stitches, for she knew that just there the little fingers
trembled, and the blue eyes got dim as they touched and saw the
delicate, flowery bits left from baby's gowns.
Lizzie was full of sympathy, and came hopping over on her crutches with
her only treasure, a black rabbit, to console her friend. But of all the
comfort given, Mother Bunch's share was the greatest and best; for that
very first sad day, as Patty wandered about the house disconsolately,
puss came hurrying to meet her, and in her dumb way begged her mistress
to follow and see the fine surprise prepared for her--four plump kits as
white as snow, with four gray tails all wagging in a row, as they laid
on their proud mamma's downy breast, while she purred over them, with
her yellow eyes full of supreme content.
It was in the barn, and Patty lay for an hour with her head close to
Mother Bunch, and her hands softly touching the charming little
Bunches, who squeaked and tumbled and sprawled about with their dim eyes
blinking, their tiny pink paws fumbling, and their dear gray tails
waggling in the sweetest way. Such a comfort as they were to Patty no
words could tell, and nothing will ever convince me that Mrs. Bunch did
not know all about baby, and so lay herself out to cheer up her little
mistress like a motherly loving old puss, as she was.
As Patty lay on the rug that evening while Aunt Pen sung softly in the
twilight, a small, white figure came pattering over the straw carpet,
and dropped a soft, warm ball down by Patty's cheek, saying, as plainly
as a loud, confiding purr could say it--
'There, my dear, this is a lonely time for you, I know, so I've brought
my best and prettiest darling to comfort you;' and with that Mother
Bunch sat down and washed her face, while Patty cuddled little
Snowdrop, and forgot to cry about baby.
Soon after this came a great happiness to Patty in the shape of a letter
from mamma, saying she must have her little girl back a week earlier
than they had planned.
'I'm sorry to leave you, aunty, but it is _so_ nice to be wanted, and
I'm all mamma has now, you know, so I must hurry and finish my work to
surprise her with. How shall we finish it off? There ought to be
something regularly splendid to go all round,' said Patty, in a great
bustle, as she laid out her pieces, and found that only a few more were
needed to complete the 'moral bed-quilt.'
'I must try and find something. We will put this white star, with the
blue round it, in the middle, for it is the neatest and prettiest piece,
in spite of the stains. I will sew in this part, and you may finish
putting the long strips together,' said Aunt Pen, rummaging her bags and
bundles for something fine to end off with.
'I know! I've got something!' and away hurried Lizzie, who was there,
and much interested in the work.
She came hopping back again, presently, with a roll in her hand, which
she proudly spread out, saying--
'There! mother gave me that ever so long ago, but I never had any quilt
to use it for, and now it's just what you want. You can't buy such
chintz now-a-days, and I'm _so_ glad I had it for you.'
'It's regularly splendid!' cried Patty, in a rapture; and so it was, for
the pink and white was all covered with animals, and the blue was full
of birds and butterflies and bees flying about as naturally as possible.
Really lovely were the little figures and the clear, soft colours, and
Aunt Pen clapped her hands, while Patty hugged her friend, and declared
that the quilt was perfect now.
Mrs. Brown begged to be allowed to quilt it when the patches were all
nicely put together, and Patty was glad to have her, for that part of
the work was beyond her skill. It did not come home till the morning
Patty left, and Aunt Pen packed it up without ever unrolling it.
'We will look at it together when we show it to mamma,' she said: and
Patty was in such a hurry to be off that she made no objection.
A pleasant journey, a great deal of hugging and kissing, some tears and
tender laments for baby, and then it was time to show the quilt, which
mamma said was just what she wanted to throw over her feet as she lay on
the sofa.
If there _were_ any fairies, Patty would have been sure they had done
something to her bed-cover, for when she proudly unrolled it, what do
you think she saw?
Right in the middle of the white star, which was the centre-piece,
delicately drawn with indelible ink, was a smiling little cherub, all
head and wings, and under it these lines--
'While sister dear lies asleep,
Baby careful watch will keep.'
Then in each of the four gay squares that were at the corners of the
strip that framed the star, was a white bit bearing other pictures and
couplets that both pleased and abashed Patty as she saw and read them.
In one was seen a remarkably fine bun, with the lines--
'Who stole the hot bun
And got burnt well?
Go ask the lilac bush,
Guess it can tell.'
In the next was a plump, tailless bird, who seemed to be saying
mournfully--
'My little tail, my little tail!
This bitter loss I still bewail;
But rather ne'er have tail again
Than Patty should deceive Aunt Pen.'
The third was less embarrassing, for it was a pretty bunch of flowers so
daintily drawn one could almost think they smelt them, and these lines
were underneath--
'Every flower to others given,
Blossoms fair and sweet in heaven.'
The fourth was a picture of a curly-haired child sewing, with some very
large tears rolling down her cheeks and tumbling off her lap like
marbles, while some tiny sprites were catching and flying away with them
as if they were very precious--
'Every tender drop that fell,
Loving spirits caught and kept;
And Patty's sorrows lighter grew,
For the gentle tears she wept.'
'Oh, aunty! what does it all mean?' cried Patty, who had looked both
pleased and ashamed as she glanced from one picture to the other.
'It means, dear, that the goods and bads got into the bed-quilt in spite
of you, and there they are to tell their own story. The bun and the lost
tail, the posy you took to poor Lizzie, and the trouble you bore so
sweetly. It is just so with our lives, though we don't see it quite as
clearly as this. Invisible hands paint our faults and virtues, and
by-and-bye we have to see them, so we must be careful that they are good
and lovely, and we are not ashamed to let the eyes that love us best
read there the history of our lives.'
As Aunt Pen spoke, and Patty listened with a thoughtful face, mamma
softly drew the pictured coverlet over her, and whispered, as she held
her little daughter close--
'My Patty will remember this; and if all her years tell as good a story
as this month, I shall not fear to read the record, and she will be in
truth my little comforter.'
(FOR SECOND SERIES, SEE 'SHAWL-STRAPS.')
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON