BETTY'S QUILTING-BEE.
As for Sara, the interview with Robert Glendenning roused her to a new
interest in her changed life, and to new hopes and plans, which are
always delightful to youth; and these kept her from sinking back into
that settled sadness which had been almost unnatural in one of her
years. First, she wrote the promised letter to Madame Grandet, which was
no light task for one so little accustomed to the use of the pen.
It began stiffly enough, but after the first few sentences the interest
of her subject so occupied her, that she forgot to choose her words,
and, when afterwards she read it over, she felt almost frightened at its
ease and abandon.
"I'm afraid she will think it too--too--not respectful enough," she
said, eying the closely written sheets dubiously; "but if I write it
over I shall have to send Morton to Zeba's for more paper," and, pressed
as usual by economy, she let it go without change, thereby greatly
astonishing and delighting the madame. "For," thought she, "a girl who
can write like that is of no common clay, and is bound to find her
level. If it is to be as the wife of my Robare that she reaches it, have
I any right to keep her back?"
After Sara had written the letter, her loyal heart reproached her so
that she could not rest until she had also invited a talk with Miss
Prue; so one fine day when there was just a hint of spring softness in
the air, as delicate as the flavor in a perfect dish, she wrapped baby
in his cloak, and drew him on Morton's sled to the cosey bay-windowed
cottage. Miss Plunkett seemed delighted to see them, so was the parrot,
who insisted on so much notice at first, that conversation progressed
only by hitches; but, becoming sleepy after a time (for Miss Polly was
an ancient maiden, and extremely fond of her "forty winks"), she
relapsed into a grunting quiet, and, as baby was also still and happy
over some blocks always kept ready for his use, the two soon became
deeply engaged.
When, however, Sara had gotten as far as the removal to Boston, the
elder woman threw up her hands in dismay.
"Goodness! child, of what are you thinking? Are you left so well off
that you can afford even to think of this thing? Why, my dear, even I,
with my means, which most Killamet people think large, would feel as if
abandoned to the wolves, there! I couldn't begin to live on my income."
Sara's eyes opened wide.
"But, dear Miss Prue, I haven't so much altogether as you have in a
year."
"Then, are you crazy, child? You'll feel as if cast on a desert island
in that crowd of strangers, with no one to care whether you live or die;
and you couldn't live six months on so little."
"But Mr. Glendenning said I could get two or three rooms for somewhere
from eighteen to thirty dollars, and I hoped, with the rent of the
cottage here"--
"A month, Sara, a month; surely you didn't expect to pay so little for a
year!"
"Why, yes, I did; I'm afraid I'm dreadfully ignorant, Miss Prue."
"As bad as a chicken just out of the shell," shaking her head with
comical lugubriousness. "Go to Boston, indeed! you'd starve to death on
a doorstep, all four of you, I can see you now, laid out like a row of
assorted pins, for all the world. Humph! Boston, indeed!" with bridling
earnestness. "Besides, what business has that Glendwing, or whatever his
high-falutin name may be, to mix himself up with our affairs? I declare,
Sara, I've a great mind to move the whole lot of you down here, and take
care of you myself. I would, too, if it wasn't for Polly; but she'd
quarrel with the children all day long, and make life a burden."
Sara laughed, but looked disappointed too.
"I see it's not to be thought of now, Miss Prue; but I hoped I could
work there, and indeed I don't know what there is to do here."
"Well, there's that, of course, and I'll have to own that Cousin Nancy
Prime, who lives in Hartford, always says, when I talk so, that there's
no place where the poor are so well looked after as in a large city; but
it seems to me just like a howling wilderness, and, besides, who wants
to be looked after? I don't, nor you either; we want to have our own
means, and be independent of charity."
"Yes; but it won't take so very long to finish my little capital, then
what will I do if there is no work to be got? and you know there isn't
any here."
"Advertise for summer boarders," said Miss Prue brilliantly. "I don't
know why people shouldn't come to Killamet, as well as to fifty other
places along this coast. It's only because when they get here there's no
place to put them in, or, possibly, they haven't discovered our great
merits yet. Our beach, and the scenery about it, are finer than those of
half the places they throng, and what if they do have to come either by
stage or boat the last few miles! It gives all who don't consider time,
and are only off for an outing, so much the more variety. If you
advertise as I've seen people do before now, you could make it seem a
perfect paradise, and not be half so far out of the way, either."
"I never thought of that. _I_ take boarders? How queer!"
"Well, everything's queer, that is about you; my life has been humdrum
enough, we all know; but you seem marked out for exceptional fates--and
fortunes perhaps."
A funny light glinted in the girl's eyes.
"I'm afraid the summer boarders would think _they_ had been marked
out for hard fortune, after eating my meals. What do I know about fancy
cooking?"
"Nothing; and you don't want to. Most of them have got their stomachs so
upset by their high-spiced Frenchy dishes that they've got to have a
change of diet. You can cook fish to perfection, for I've tried you, and
make good bread, and you are naturally neat and dainty, which goes for
much. Take my cookbook home, and study up a few simple, nice recipes
this winter, so's to be ready. Don't try for too much, but do
excellently well all you undertake; and try it. You know I'll help you
all I can; I believe you'll succeed!"
"But what rooms have I?"
"I knew you'd say that, and I am prepared with an answer. There is, to
begin with, the spare room off your living-room."
"Oh, that?" broke in Sara, as if Miss Prue had touched on something
sacred.
"Yes, just that: we all have too much veneration for our spare rooms.
Now, answer me truly, of what earthly use is it to you?"
"Why, none; but mother's best things"--
"Will lie there, given over to spiders, dampness, and moths, till they
fall to pieces. Use them; that's what they were made for, and, so far,
they haven't fulfilled their purpose in life much better than some of
the rest of us," smiling at her own conceit. "Get them out, air them,
and use them; then, if needs be, and you could get boarders enough to
warrant it, you could have the roof raised, and make that loft into two
nice rooms; but that is far ahead yet. Take two people first, for your
spare room, then get Mrs. Updyke and Mrs. Filcher to lodge a few more,
and you board them. Isn't that a scheme?" with a triumphant laugh.
"If I can do it; but I'm afraid, almost."
"So am I!" with a funny look. These sudden changes of base were a
characteristic of Miss Prue's; perhaps she believed, with Emerson, that
"unchanging consistency is the mark of a stagnant soul." "But what else
is there for you here, safe at home?"
"Nothing," discouragedly. "If there was only a canning factory, I could
work in that."
"Well, there isn't, so there's no use wishing. After all, I believe my
plan is practicable. Of course you are young in years, but you've had
any amount of experience; then you would only take women and children,
and they'd be easy with you." (O confiding Miss Prue!) "I believe I'd
try it, really."
If "in a multitude of counsellors there is safety," there is often also
confusion, as poor Job had occasion to experience; and Sara felt that
the more she talked about her future, the less she knew what disposition
to make of it. Finally she abandoned the subject with something like
despair, and asked a question in regard to the neighborhood, which made
Miss Prue say quickly, "Oh! that reminds me, Sara, I want you to be sure
to go to Betty's quilting-bee; you will, won't you?"
"O Miss Prue! must I? You know I never liked those bees, and now"--
"Yes, I understand all that, still I want you to go. I have reasons. You
are a King's daughter; make it one of your acts of self-denial."
Sara laughed.
"That seems odd enough, mayn't I ask your reasons?"
"No; well, yes, I believe I will tell you after all. I heard two of the
girls talking about you the other day, never mind who, and I didn't like
what they said. The fact is, Sara, they think you feel above them."
"Oh! how can they?"
"Well, they do, and perhaps they're half right; there, you needn't color
so! _I_ won't say you're not above them, but you mustn't feel so.
Did you ever think, Sara, that you might get up a circle of ten here?"
"Why, no."
"Well, why not? It wouldn't hurt the girls, nor you either," dryly.
"Anyhow, I want you to go to this quilting, wear that pretty new dress,
and be just as nice and cordial as you know how."
Sara sighed, but acquiesced. She had always obeyed Miss Prue, but this
was a trial. She wondered, all the way home, just why it should seem so.
Did she really feel above the other girls, that they failed to interest
her? Was it pride that made her long for quiet, and her books, rather
than for the society about her? Could it be she only cared for Miss Prue
because she was richer and better born than the others?
"No!" she said emphatically to that last, "I should love her in rags,
I'm sure; but I do like her better because she is neat and trim, and can
talk intelligently about anything. I wonder if it's wrong to feel so? I
must remember that being a King's daughter makes it more necessary that
I should be thoughtful for all. How prettily madame explained those two
words, '_Noblesse oblige_' to me. 'The nobility of my birth
constrains me.' So, if I call myself one of the royal family, how
courteous and kind I must be to every one, whether agreeable or not."
Thus, when the Wednesday came which was to see Betty's quilt upon the
frames, Sara left baby, with many instructions, to the children; and,
dressed in her best, wended her way to the low brown house in the edge
of the pine grove, where Betty lived with her parents, and an
overflowing household of younger children, and whence she was not sorry
to go to the smaller, but less crowded cottage of young Nathan Truman,
second mate of a schooner, of whom she was as proud and fond as if he
had been captain of an East Indiaman, with both a town and country
house. To-day the front room, which resembled Sara's, only that its
furniture was far more battered and worn, was cleared of everything but
a row of chairs, which followed the length of its four walls in lines as
even and true as those of an infantry regiment "dressed up" to the toe-
mark for inspection; and through the centre, upon the rude and clumsy
frame, was stretched a quilt of wonderful construction and a blinding
confusion of colors. It was a "Remembrance Quilt," Betty explained, as
soon as the company had arrived and filled the funereal rows of chairs,
being pieced from bits given her by all of her friends and
acquaintances.
"Here," she said, indicating a point of brick-red calico which helped to
form a many-rayed figure, whose round centre was in bright yellow, "is
the first new dress ma had after she got merried, and here," indicating
a lilac muslin with white spots, "is her weddin' gown itself. Then
there's a bit of the dress 'at was found on thet gal 'twas cast ashore
ten year ago; and there's a piece o' thet one 't Zeba Osterhaus hed on
when she hed her pictur' took, an' these," blushing brightly, "are
scraps o' my own dresses thet I ain't wearin' yet. Then there's hunderds
more, but I guess you'll reco'nize most on 'em. I've pieced it 'star-
pattern', ye see,--an' do ye know?--there's one thousand an' ninety
pieces in thet thar very quilt!"
There was a universal cry of admiration and astonishment at this
triumphant announcement.
"How long did it take you?" asked Zeba, examining the pattern and
workmanship with renewed interest.
"Wall, I've been at it now this goin' on two year; kep' it fur ketch-up
work, ye know."
"Wall, we'd better set to," sniffed Mrs. Updyke, fitting on a huge steel
thimble open at the top; "they ain't much arternoons to these short
days, anyhow. I'll take this star, an' you, Sairay, may work on the
next, so't I kin kinder watch ye. 'Twon't do to hev any botch-work on
this quilt."
Sara obeyed, but not with alacrity. It only needed the added discomfort
of Mrs. Updyke's supervision to make her quite wretched; but Miss Prue,
at the other end, happened to look up just in time to see the
disconsolate air with which the girl drew her chair forward, and called
out sharply,--
"Why, what are you doing over there, Sara? I thought, of course, I could
depend upon you to thread my needles for me;" and Sara, not daring to
show her pleasure at this release, made a gentle word of excuse to Mrs.
Updyke, and crossed the room to her friend.
"Oh, thank you!" she murmured, dropping beside the older maiden, who was
chuckling slyly; "I couldn't have sewed well at all there, she frightens
me so."
"Humph! Well, she needn't, for there isn't a poorer needlewoman in
Killamet. There's the queer thing about that woman--she can't really do
one thing well, yet her satisfaction is complete." All this in an
undertone, entirely covered by the scraping of chairs, rustling of
dresses, and wagging of tongues, as the company drew up to their
positions around the masterpiece; and still thus protected, Sara
whispered on,--
"But, dear Miss Prue, tell me, isn't such a piece of work an awful waste
of time? Calico is only a few cents a yard now, and it does not take
such a great deal."
"But think, my child," interrupted Miss Prue with a solemn look, "these
remembrances!" And, as if by chance, her finger dropped upon an ugly
chocolate colored bit both remembered as having been worn by a poor
crazed creature called "Silly Jane," who belonged in the county house,
but spent a good deal of time wandering about the shore.
Sara burst into one of her rare laughs, and Betty called out,--
"What's the fun, Sairay? Pass it 'round, can't you? We've been a-
wonderin' what you 'n' Miss Prue was a-gigglin' over!"
The idea of Miss Prue's "giggling" rather shocked Sara; but that lady
answered at once,--
"And _we_'ve been wondering if anybody else would ever take the
time to do such a piece of work as this."
"Oh!" cried Betty, quite complimented, "I guess there's plenty would; I
enjoyed it! It's such fun, when you're j'inin' the pieces together, to
call up where you seen 'em last, an' what the folks that wore 'em was
doin'."
"Well, there's something in that I'll admit; but do you need a piece of
my dress to recall my personality to your memory always, Betty? If I've
got to cut my clothes into bits"--
"Oh, no'm," laughing; "but it's different with you. We'd all remember
you, of course, but there's some, now"--
"Silly Jane, for instance? I see you've a piece of her usual gown."
Betty hardly knew how to take this, but Miss Prue looked so pleasant and
kind, she laughed again.
"Wall, in course, there ain't much to remember her for; but she was
about the only one in town 't I hadn't been to, so I thort I wouldn't
leave her aout, ye see."
"Yes, I see," stooping to bite her thread; at which Mrs. Updyke sniffed
out,--
"Wall, fer my part, I think it's a purty nice thing when a gal spends
her time in sich work; she cain't be doin' anythin' wuss" (sniff),
"that's sartain!"
Miss Prue laughed.
"Makes me think of Grannie Green. When her rot of a husband used to be
sleeping off his sprees, she'd say, 'I'm allers so thankful when he gits
real far gone, fur then I'm sure he cain't be doin' anythin' wuss.'"
"Dear me!" bridled Betty, "I hope you don't mean to compare me to thet
wretched old Jed Green!"
"No, my dear; but I used to wonder, then, if he couldn't have been doing
something better,--but there! It wasn't to discuss poor old Jed Green
that I came here; but, first, to work on this wonderful quilt, and,
second, to ask you girls why you don't get Sara to form you into a
society of King's Daughters here?"
"'King's daughters?' We look like king's daughters, don't we?" tittered
Dolly Lee.
"Very much," said Miss Prue, with that air of hers which made her so
great a favorite, an air of _bonhomie_, almost impossible to
describe. "We've been told on good authority that we are made in the
King's image, so it must be true."
"Oh!--_that_?" cried Betty.
"Certainly; you didn't think we free-born Yankees--descendants of the
Puritan Fathers--were going to claim relationship with any of those
effete European aristocracies, did you?" with a droll look at Sara.
"N--no."
Betty, not half understanding, but fully aware of Miss Prue's
drolleries, was determined not to be caught in any trap now, so kept to
monosyllables; and the latter, having created sufficient interest to
insure a hearing, proceeded to make her explanations in regard to such a
circle.
In a small, isolated village anything which links one, even distantly,
with the great throbbing world outside, is eagerly welcomed by the
young. These all have their dreams, hopes, and fancies connected with
this sphere on which we move, and they are usually far too wide to be
contained within one square mile of territory; unless, perchance, that
mile teems so thickly with humanity as to offer every possible form of
comedy and tragedy. For it is not trees and hills and skies, or even the
sea, which can satisfy youth; but living, breathing, suffering human
nature. By and by they tire, perhaps, of the latter, and go back to
nature,--in love, as they have never been with man,--but that is after
disappointment has made the heart sore.
To-day the thought of allying themselves with thousands of other girls
and women in the effort to do good, set every pulse to new beating, that
had ever throbbed with one spark of love for the Master; and there
succeeded one memorable quilting where Dame Gossip was almost entirely
excluded. As they scattered for home, after Betty's nice supper, Sara
found herself, as usual, at Miss Prue's side; and, looking up into her
friend's face, said, with a mischievous smile,--
"So that's why you wanted me to go to the quilting, is it? If you had
told me"--
"You wouldn't have gone!" interrupted her friend promptly. "I know you
so well, Sara! There's a--a--well, an aloofness about you that I feel
it my duty to struggle with," giving the girl a merry glance;
"_some_ people might call it pride,--I don't."
Sara looked troubled.
"I know you think so, Miss Prue, but I'm sure I don't feel so. What,
indeed, have I to be proud of?" sadly. "Only," with more spirit, "I
can't tell all I know to every one, and it bores me dreadfully to have
them tell me all they know!"
Miss Plunkett laughed with enjoyment. She liked to rouse Sara
occasionally; and listened with dancing eyes as the latter continued,--
"Now, yesterday, Zeba and Dolly came to call (by the way, I was reading
your Ruskin's 'Stones of Venice' so think what it was to be
interrupted!), and what do you suppose they talked about every minute?
Why, it seems Mrs. Felcher has a brother living in Boston, who has
invited her to visit him, and sent her a box of pretty things; they
named over every one, even to a 'frame-bunnit covered with sating, and
with a bunch of blows on top!'"
Miss Prue had grown grave.
"Yet poor Zeba could teach us both a grand lesson in cheerful patience,"
she said gently.
Sara crimsoned, but did not answer for a moment. They had reached Miss
Prue's gate now, and the latter turned into it. "Wait!" the girl then
said, almost passionately. "I am not worthy to be a King's daughter!
Leave me out of your ten; tell them I can't live up to the simple
requirements; I"--
"Hush! Sara," laying a hand on her young friend who was quivering with
feeling, "I understand it all; you think the Lord has put you into a
niche where you do not belong, for which you have no fitness. Are you
sure you know more than your Maker? Perhaps He sees that, by clipping a
bit here, or adding a trait there, you will be exactly the one for this
niche. Why don't you try and help this beautiful plan, instead of
hindering it?" Then, with a quick change of tone, "Well, good-night,
daughter; remember the first meeting of our circle next Thursday: I
shall depend upon you!" and she hurried in, not giving time for another
word.