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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aunt Madge's Story, by Sophie May
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Aunt Madge's Story
+
+Author: Sophie May
+
+Release Date: May 6, 2008 [EBook #25356]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT MADGE'S STORY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Erica Hills and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h5>[Transcriber's notes:<br /> Punctuation and inconsistencies in language and
+dialect found in the original book have been retained.<br />
+Sophie May is a pseudonym of Rebecca Sophia Clarke 1833-1906<br />
+Smilie/Smiley spelled two ways: used Smiley.]</h5>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+<h3>LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 176px;">
+<a href="images/frontispiece.jpg"><img src="images/frontispiece-tn.jpg" width="176" height="290" alt="Frontispiece."  />
+</a></div>
+
+
+<h1>AUNT MADGE'S STORY.</h1>
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h1>SOPHIE MAY,</h1>
+
+<h3>AUTHOR OF "LITTLE PRUDY STORIES," "DOTTY DIMPLE
+STORIES," ETC.</h3>
+
+<h2><i>ILLUSTRATED.</i></h2>
+<h2></h2>
+<h3>BOSTON:<br />
+LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.</h3>
+
+<h3>NEW YORK:<br />
+LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.</h3>
+<h3>1874.</h3>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<h6>Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871,<br />
+BY LEE AND SHEPARD,<br />
+In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.<br />
+<br />
+
+Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,<br />
+No. 19 Spring Lane.</h6>
+
+
+
+<h3><i>LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.</i></h3>
+
+<h5>TO BE COMPLETED IN SIX VOLS.</h5>
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+
+<h3>1. LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.<br />
+<br />
+2. PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE.<br />
+<br />
+3. AUNT MADGE'S STORY.<br /></h3>
+<h6>(Others in preparation.)</h6>
+<h1>AUNT MADGE'S STORY.</h1>
+
+
+<h1>CONTENTS.</h1>
+
+<h2>
+<a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b> <span class="smcap">CHAPTER I. Totty-Wax. 9</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b> <span class="smcap">CHAPTER II. The Lady Child. 20</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b> <span class="smcap">CHAPTER III. The Blue
+Parasol. 38</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b> <span class="smcap">CHAPTER IV. Lize Jane. 55</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b> <span class="smcap">CHAPTER V. The Party. 69</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b><span class="smcap">CHAPTER VI. The Patchwork
+School. 87</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b><span class="smcap">CHAPTER VII. The Little
+Lie-Girl. 108</span> </b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b><span class="smcap">CHAPTER VIII. The Tansy Cheese.
+122</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b><span class="smcap">CHAPTER IX. "Waxeration." 140</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b><span class="smcap">CHAPTER X. "The Child's Alive." 159</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b><span class="smcap">CHAPTER XI. The First Car Ride 174</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b><span class="smcap">CHAPTER XII. Better Than
+Kittens. 188</span></b></a></h2>
+<h2><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b><span class="smcap">CHAPTER XIII. Good
+By. 199</span></b></a></h2>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="AUNT_MADGES_STORY" id="AUNT_MADGES_STORY"/> AUNT MADGE'S STORY.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"/>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+<h2>TOTTY-WAX.</h2>
+
+<p>Here you sit, Horace, Prudy, Dotty, and Flyaway, all waiting for a
+story. How shall I begin? I cannot remember the events of my life in
+right order, so I shall have to tell them as they come into my mind.
+Let us see. To go back to the long, long summer, when I was a child:</p>
+
+<p>There once lived and moved a little try-patience, called Margaret
+Parlin; no more nor less a personage than myself, your affectionate
+auntie, and very humble servant. I was as restless a baby as ever sat
+on a papa's knee and was trotted to "Boston." When I cried, my womanly
+sister 'Ria, seven years old, thought I was very silly; and my brother
+Ned, aged four, said, "Div her a pill; <i>I</i> would!"</p>
+
+<p>He thought pills would cure naughtiness. If so, I ought to have
+swallowed some. Pity they didn't "div" me a whole box full before I
+began to creep; for I crept straight into mischief. Aunt Persis, a
+very proper woman, with glittering black eyes, was more shocked by me
+than words can tell. She said your grandma "spoiled me by baby-talk;
+it was very wrong to let little ones hear baby-talk. If she had had
+the care of me she would have taught me grammar from the cradle." No
+doubt of it; but unfortunately I had to grow up with my own father
+and mother, and ever so many other folks, who were not half as wise as
+Aunt Persis.</p>
+
+<p>They called me Marg'et, Maggie, Marjie, Madge; and your grandpa's pet
+name was Totty-wax; only, if I joggled the floor when he shaved, it
+was full-length "Mar-ga-ret."</p>
+
+<p>I was a sad little minx, so everybody kindly informed me, and so I
+fully believed. My motto in my little days seems to have been, "<i>Speak
+twice before you think once</i>;" and you will see what troubles it led
+me into. I never failed to "speak twice," but often forgot the
+thinking altogether. Margaret means Daisy; but if I was like any
+flower at all, I should say it was "the lady in the bower." You know
+it, Prudy, how it peeps out from a tangle of little tendrils? Just so
+I peeped out, and was dimly seen, through a wild, flying head of hair.
+Your grandma was ashamed of me, for if she cut off my hair I was
+taken for a boy, and if she let it grow, there was danger of my
+getting a squint in my eye. Sometimes I ran into the house very much
+grieved, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O, mamma, I wasn't doin' noffin, only sitting top o' the gate, and a
+man said, 'Who's that funny little fellow?'&mdash;Please, mamma, won't you
+not cut my hair no more?"</p>
+
+<p>I was only a wee bit of a Totty-wax when she stopped cutting my yellow
+hair, and braided it in two little tails behind. The other girls had
+braids as well as I; but, alas! mine were not straight like theirs;
+they quirled over at the end. I hated that curly kink; if it didn't go
+off it would bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.</p>
+
+<p>But, children, I fear some of the stories I told were crookeder than
+even my braids. In the first place, I didn't know any better. I told
+lies, to hear how funny they would sound. My imagination was large,
+and my common sense small. I lived in a little world of my own, and
+had very queer thoughts. Perhaps all children do; what think, Fly?
+When I was lying in the cradle I found my hands one day, and I
+shouldn't wonder if I thought they were two weeny babies come
+visiting; what do you suppose? Of course I didn't know they belonged
+to me, but I stared at them, and tried to talk. And from that time
+until I was a great girl, as much as five years old, I was always
+supposing things were "diffunt" from what they really were. I thought
+our andirons were made of gold, just like the stars, only the andirons
+had enough gold in them to sprinkle the whole sky, and leave a good
+slice to make a new sun. When I saw a rainbow, I asked if it was "a
+side-yalk for angels to yalk on?"</p>
+
+<p>I thought the cat heard what I said when I talked to her, and if I
+picked a flower I kissed it, for "mebbe" the flower liked to be
+kissed.</p>
+
+<p>I had a great deal of fun "making believe," all to myself. I made
+believe my mamma had said I might go somewhere, and off I would go,
+thinking, as I crept along by the fence, bent almost double for fear
+of being seen, "<i>Prehaps</i> she'll tie me to the bed-post for it."</p>
+
+<p>And she always did.</p>
+
+<p>I was the youngest of the family then, but I made believe I had once
+had a sister Marjie, no bigger than my doll, and a naughty woman in a
+green cloak came and carried her off in her pocket. I told my little
+friend Ruphelle so much about this other Marjie that she believed in
+her, and after a while I believed in her myself. We used to sit on the
+hay and talk about her, and wonder if the naughty woman would ever
+bring her back. We thought it would be nice to have her to play with.</p>
+
+<p>This was not very wicked; it was only a fairy story. But the mischief
+was, my dear mother did not know where to draw the line between fairy
+stories and lies. Once I ran away, and Mrs. Gray told her she had seen
+me playing on the meeting-house steps with Ann Smiley.</p>
+
+<p>"No, mamma," said I, catching my breath, "'twasn't me Mis' Gray saw; I
+know who 'twas. There's a little girl in this town looks jus' like me;
+has hair jus' the same; same kind o' dress; lives right under the
+meeting-house. Folks think it's me!"</p>
+
+<p>Your grandma was distressed to have me look her straight in the face
+and tell such a lie; but the more she said, "Why, Margaret!" the
+deeper I went into particulars.</p>
+
+<p>"Name's Jane Smif. Eats acorns; sleeps in a big hole. Didn't you never
+hear about her, mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>As I spoke, I could almost see Jane Smif creeping slyly out of the big
+hole with mud on her apron. She was as real to me as some of the
+little girls I met on the street; not the little girls I played with,
+but those who "came from over the river."</p>
+
+<p>My dear mother did not know what to do with a child that had such a
+habit of making up stories; but my father said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Totty-wax doesn't know any better."</p>
+
+<p>Mother sighed, and answered, "But <i>Maria</i> always knew better."</p>
+
+<p>I knew there was "sumpin bad" about me, but thought it was like the
+black on a negro's face, that wouldn't wash off. The idea of trying to
+stop lying never entered my head. When mother took me out of the
+closet, and asked, "Would I be a better girl?" I generally said, "Yes
+um," very promptly, and cried behind my yellow hair; but that was only
+because I was touched by the trembling of her voice, and vaguely
+wished, for half a minute, that I hadn't made her so sorry; that was
+all.</p>
+
+<p>But when I told that amazing story about Jane Smif, in addition to
+running away, mother whipped me for the first time in my life with a
+birch switch.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret," said she, "if you ever tell another wrong story, I shall
+whip you harder than this, you may depend upon it."</p>
+
+<p>I was frightened into awful silence for a while, but soon forgot the
+threat. I was careful to avoid the name of Jane Smif, but I very soon
+went and told Ruphelle that my mamma had silk dresses, spangled with
+stars; "kep' 'em locked into a trunk; did <i>her</i> mamma have stars on
+<i>her</i> dresses?" Ruphelle looked as meek as a lamb, but her brother
+Gust snapped his fingers, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O, what a whopper!"</p>
+
+<p>That is why I remember it, for Ruth heard him, and asked what kind of
+a whopper I had been telling now, and reported it to mother.</p>
+
+<p>Mother rose very sorrowfully from her chair, and bade me follow her
+into the attic. I went with fear and trembling, for she had that
+dreadful switch in her hand. Poor woman! She wished she had not
+promised to use it again, for she began to think it was all in vain.
+But she must not break her word; so she struck me across the wrists
+and ankles several times; not very hard, but hard enough to make me
+hop about and cry.</p>
+
+<p>When she had finished she turned to go down stairs, but I said
+something so strange that she stopped short with surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>can't</i> 'pend upon it, mamma," said I, looking out through my hair,
+with the tears all dried off. "You said you'd whip me harder, but you
+whipped me <i>softer</i>. I <i>can't</i> 'pend upon it, mamma. You've telled a
+lie yourse'f."</p>
+
+<p>What could mother say? I have often heard her describe the scene with
+a droll smile. She gave me a few more tingles across the neck, to
+satisfy my ideas of justice; but that was the last time she used the
+switch for many a long day. Not that I stopped telling marvellous
+stories; but she thought she would wait till she saw some faint sign
+in me that I knew the "diffunce" between truth and falsehood.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"/>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+<h2>THE LADY CHILD.</h2>
+
+<p>They say I grew very troublesome. Ruthie thought I was always "under
+foot," and nothing went on, from parlor to kitchen, from attic to
+cellar, but I knew all about it. There was not a pie, particularly a
+mince pie, that I didn't try to have a finger in.</p>
+
+<p>But I could not have been in the house <i>all</i> the time, for Abner
+declares I was always out of doors. My little shoes were generally
+thick with mud, and my little frocks ready every night for the
+wash-tub. If there was a spoon or a knife missing, Abner often found
+it in the ploughed field, where I had been using it as a kind of
+pickaxe to dig my way through to China. No matter how muddy or
+slippery the walking, I begged to go out. I had a feeling that I
+wanted to skip like a lamb, fly like a bird, and dart like a squirrel,
+and of course needed all out doors to do it in.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't fall down," cried mamma from the window; "look out for the
+ice."</p>
+
+<p>And I answered back from under my red, quilted hood,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if I do fall down and break me, mamma, you mus' pick up all my
+little bones and glue 'em togedder. God glued 'em in the firs' place,
+all but my tongue, and that's <i>nailed</i> in."</p>
+
+<p>Not nailed in very tight: I could move it fast enough.</p>
+
+<p>And when the snow and ice were gone, I liked to wade ankle-deep in
+the mud. Father had to buy me a pair of rubber boots, and that is the
+first present I remember. They filled my soul with joy. When I said my
+prayers I had one on each side of me, and when I slept it was with
+both boots on my pillow. At first I could think of nothing else to
+wish for; but one day I said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I was a pussy-cat, mamma, so I could have <i>four</i> yubber
+boots!"</p>
+
+<p>Brother Ned and I were great friends. Partly to keep his eye on me,
+and partly because he enjoyed my conversation, he would say in the
+cool spring days, "Come, Maggie, dear, bring your cloak, and I'll wrap
+you up all so warm, so you can sit out on the woodpile while I chop my
+stint."</p>
+
+<p>I think he must have been a little fellow to chop wood. After I got
+there, and was having a good time, he often remarked, in tones as
+cutting as the edge of his hatchet,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"If I had a brother, Miss Maggie, I shouldn't take pains to wrap up a
+speck of a girl like you for company."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if had a little sister, I wouldn't <i>be</i> yapped up for comp'ny,"
+retorted I, rubbing my small, red nose; "I'd be a-yockin' her cradle."</p>
+
+<p>Ned laughed at that; for it was just what he expected me to say. We
+had one bond of sympathy; he longed for a little brother, and I longed
+for a little sister. He liked to hear me talk grandly about "my new
+baby-girlie, Rosy Posy Parlin. She wouldn't bl'ong to him any 'tall.
+She'd be mine clear through."</p>
+
+<p>He led me on to snap out little sharp speeches, which he always
+laughed at; and I suspect that was one thing that made me so pert. I
+looked up to him as a superior being, except when I was angry with
+him, which was about half the time. I told Ruphelle Allen he was a
+"bad, naughty boy;" but when she said, "Yes, I think so, too," I
+instantly cried out, "Well, I guess he's gooder 'n <i>your</i> brother;
+so!"</p>
+
+<p>Ruphelle was my bosom friend. We had shaken rattles together before we
+were big enough to shake hands. She had beautiful brown eyes, and
+straight, brown hair; while, as for me, my eyes were gray, and my
+kinky hair the color of tow.</p>
+
+<p>Sister 'Ria called Ruphelle "a nice little girl;" while, owing to the
+way my hair had of running wild, and the way my frocks had of tearing,
+she didn't mind saying I was "a real romp," and looked half the time
+like "an up-and-down fright."</p>
+
+<p>As I always believed exactly what people said, and couldn't understand
+jokes, I was rather unhappy about this; but concluded I had been made
+for a vexation, like flies and mosquitos, and so wasn't to blame.</p>
+
+<p>Ruphelle lived on a hill, in the handsomest house in Willowbrook, with
+a "cupalo" on top, where you could look off and see the whole town,
+with the blue river running right through the middle, and cutting it
+in two.</p>
+
+<p>Ruphelle had an English father and mother. I remember Madam Allen's
+turban, how it loomed up over her stately head like a great white
+peony. There was a saucy brother Augustus, whom I never could abide,
+and a grandpa, who always said and did such strange things that I did
+not understand what it meant till I grew older, and learned that he
+was afflicted with "softening of the brain."</p>
+
+<p>Then in the kitchen there was a broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced woman,
+named Tempy Ann Crawford, whom I always see, with my mind's eye,
+roasting coffee and stirring it with a pudding-stick, or rolling out
+doughnuts, which she called crullers, and holding up a fried image,
+said to be a little sailor boy with a tarpaulin hat on,&mdash;only his
+figure was injured so much by swelling in the lard kettle that his own
+mother wouldn't have known him; still he made very good eating.</p>
+
+<p>There was a little bound girl in the family, Ann Smiley, who often led
+me into mischief, but always before Madam Allen looked as demure as a
+little gray kitten.</p>
+
+<p>Fel and I were uncommonly forward about learning our letters, and
+wished very much to go to school and finish our education; but were
+told that the "committee men" would not let us in till we were four
+years old. My birthday came the first of May, and very proud was I
+when mother led me up to a lady visitor, and said, "My little girl is
+four years old to-day." I thought the people "up street" would ring
+bells and fire cannons, but they forgot it. I looked in the glass, and
+could not see the great change in my face which I had expected. I
+didn't look any "diffunt." How would the teacher know I was so old?</p>
+
+<p>"O, will they let me in?" I asked. "For always when I go to school,
+then somebody comes that's a teacher, and tells me to go home, and
+says I musn't stay."</p>
+
+<p>"You will have to wait till the school begins," said my mother, "and
+that is all the better, for then little Fel can go too." I was willing
+to wait, for Fel was the other half of me. In three weeks she was as
+old as I was, and in the rosy month of June we began to go to the
+district school.</p>
+
+<p>Your grandfather lived a little way out of town, and Squire Allen much
+farther; so every morning Ruphelle and her brother Augustus called for
+me, and we girls trudged along to school together, while Gust followed
+like a little dog with our dinner baskets. This was one of the
+greatest trials in the whole world; for, do you see, he had a pair of
+ears which heard altogether too much, and when we said anything which
+was not remarkably wise, he had a habit of crying "Pooh!" which was
+very provoking. We went hand in hand, Fel and I, and counted the steps
+we took, or hopped on one foot like lame ducklings, and "that great
+Gust" would look on and laugh. I had so much to say to Fel that I
+couldn't help talking, though I knew he was there to hear.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like to be a <i>skurrel</i> once," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"O, pooh!" said Gust.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like to be 'em <i>once</i>, Gust Allen. I'd like to be 'em long enough
+to know how they feel. Once there was a boy, and he was turned into a
+skurrel, and his name was Bunny."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>That's</i> a whopper, miss!"</p>
+
+<p>Such were "the tricks and the manners" of Fel's disagreeable brother.
+Do you wonder I called him a trial? But Fel didn't mind him much, for
+he was good to her, and never laughed at her as he did at me. She was
+"a lady-child," and her disposition was much sweeter than mine.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Clifford, who was fitting for college then, used to pass us with a
+book under his arm and pat our sun-bonnets, and call us "Juno's
+swans." We had never seen any swans, and did not know who Juno was,
+but presumed it was some old woman who kept geese and hens.</p>
+
+<p>When we reached the school-house we were sure of a good time, for the
+teacher lent us an old blunt penknife, with pretty red stones on the
+back, the like of which was never seen before in this world. Nobody
+else ever asked for the knife but us two little tots, and we went up
+hand in hand; and I spoke the words, while Fel asked with her eyes.
+Miss Lee smiled blandly, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, the best one may have the knife a little while."</p>
+
+<p>That always happened to be Fel; but it was all the same, for we sat
+together, and she let me play with it "more than my half." We were
+really very forward children, and learned so fast that Miss Lee says
+now she was very proud of us. I think she was, for I remember how she
+showed us off before the committee men. We could soon read in the
+Second Reader, and Fel always cried about the poor blind fiddler to
+whom Billy gave his cake, and I poked her with my elbow to make her
+stop. For my part I was apt to giggle aloud when we came to the story
+of the two silly cats, and the cheese, and the monkey.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, that dear old school-house, where we studied the "Primary's
+Joggerphy," and saw by the map that some countries are yellow and some
+fire-red, and the rivers no bigger than crooked knitting-needles! That
+queer old school-house, with the hacked-up benches, where we learned
+"rithumtick" by laying buttered paper over the pictures in Emerson's
+First Part, and drawing blackbirds, chairs, and cherries all in a row!
+Fel had a long wooden pencil, but poor I must do with half a one, for
+'Ria teased me by making me think people would call me selfish if I
+had a long pencil all to myself, while my grown-up and much more
+worthy sister went without any.</p>
+
+<p>That funny old school-house, where Miss Lee used to make a
+looking-glass of one of the window-panes, by putting her black apron
+behind it, and peeping in to see if her hair was smooth when she
+expected the committee men! How afraid we were of those committee men,
+and how hard we studied the fly-leaves of our "joggerphies" while they
+were there, feeling so proud that we knew more than "that great
+Gust!"</p>
+
+<p>That dear, queer, funny old school-house! No other hall of learning
+will ever seem like that to me!</p>
+
+<p>Didn't we go at noon to the spring under the river bank and "duck" our
+little heads, till our mothers found it out and forbade it? Didn't we
+squeeze long-legged grasshoppers, and solemnly repeat the couplet:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Grass'per, grass'per Gray,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Give me some m'lasses,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And <i>then</i> fly away."</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>Didn't we fling flat pebbles in the river to the tune of</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"One to make ready,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Two to prepare,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Three to go slap-dash,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Right&mdash;in&mdash;there"?</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>And how we enjoyed our dinners under the spreading oil-nut tree,
+chatting as we ate, and deciding every day anew that Tempy Ann made
+the nicest sage cheese in the world, and our Ruthie the best
+turnovers.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes at night father took me on his lap, and asked,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Do you whisper any at school?"</p>
+
+<p>I turned away my face and answered,</p>
+
+<p>"Fel whispers <i>orfly</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, does Totty-wax whisper too?"</p>
+
+<p>I dropped my head, and put my fingers in my mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Some</i>," said I, in a low voice. For I began to have a dim idea that
+it was not proper to tell a lie.</p>
+
+<p>When Fel and I had any little trouble,&mdash;which was not often, for Fel
+generally gave up like a darling,&mdash;Maria was always sure to decide
+that Fel was in the right. Fel thought 'Ria a remarkable young woman;
+but I told her privately, in some of our long chats at school, that
+older sisters were not such blessings as one might suppose. So far as
+I knew anything about them, they enjoyed scrubbing your face and neck
+the wrong way with a rough towel, and making you cry. And they had
+such poor memories, older sisters had. They could never call up the
+faintest recollection of a fairy story when you asked for one. They
+were also very much opposed to your standing in a chair by the sink to
+wipe dishes.</p>
+
+<p>Now Tempy Ann allowed Fel to wipe dishes, and pat out little pies on
+the cake-board, and bake doll's cakes. She was such a strong, large
+woman too, she could hold Fel and me at the same time; and after we
+were undressed, and had our nighties on, she loved to rock us in the
+old kitchen chair, and chat with us.</p>
+
+<p>We were confidential sometimes with Tempy Ann,&mdash;or I was,&mdash;and told
+her of our plan of going to Italy to give concerts when we grew up. I
+never saw but one fault in Tempy Ann; she would laugh over our solemn
+secrets, and would repeat the hateful ditty,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Row the boat, row the boat, where shall it stand?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Up to Mr. Parlin's door; there's dry land.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Who comes here, so skip and so skan?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Mr. Gustus Allen, a very likely young man.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He steps to the door, and knocks at the ring,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And says, 'Mrs. Parlin, is Miss Maggie within?'"</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>Fel and I were both shocked at the bare hint of such a thing as my
+marrying Gust. We didn't intend to have any great boys about. If Gust
+should want to marry me, and ride in our gilt-edged concert-coach,
+with four white horses, I guessed he'd find he wasn't wanted. I should
+say "No," just as quick!</p>
+
+<p>The more earnest I grew the more Tempy Ann shook with laughing; and I
+had some reason to suspect she went and told Madam Allen my
+objections to marrying her son, which I thought was most unfair of
+Tempy Ann.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"/>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+<h2>THE BLUE PARASOL.</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 176px;">
+<a href="images/blue-parasol.jpg"><img src="images/blue-parasol-tn.jpg"
+ width="176" height="290" alt="blue-parasol" /></a></div>
+
+
+<p>As I look back upon those make-believe days, naughty recollections
+spring up as fast as dust in August.</p>
+
+<p>Ruphelle seems to me like a little white lily of the valley, all pure
+and sweet, but I was no more fit to be with her than a prickly
+thistle. I loved dearly to tease her. Once she had some bronze shoes,
+and I wanted some too, but there were none to be had in town, and to
+console myself, I said to dear little Fel, "I'd twice rather have
+black shoes, bronzes look so rusty; O, my! If I couldn't have black
+shoes I'd go barefoot."</p>
+
+<p>Fel did not wish me to see how ashamed this made her feel, but I could
+not help noticing afterwards that she never wore the bronze shoes to
+church.</p>
+
+<p>I pined and fretted because I could not have nice things like her. She
+had a coral necklace, and a blue silk bonnet, and a white dress, with
+flowers worked all over it with a needle. Did <i>my</i> best dress have
+flowers worked over it with a needle? I should think not. And I hadn't
+a speck of a necklace, nor any bonnet but just straw. I did not know
+that Squire Allen was one of the wealthiest men in the state, and
+could afford beautiful things for his little daughter, while my father
+was poor, or at least not rich, and my mother had to puzzle her brains
+a good deal to contrive to keep her little romping, heedless,
+try-patience of a daughter looking respectable.</p>
+
+<p>Once, when I was about six years old, I did a very naughty thing. Why,
+Fly, what makes your eyes shine so? Can it be you like to hear naughty
+stories? Queer, isn't it? Ah, but this story makes me ashamed, even
+now that I am a grown-up woman. Wait a minute; I must go back a
+little; it was the parasol that began it.</p>
+
+<p>When Fel and I were going home from school one night, we stopped to
+take some of our make-believe slides. Not far from our house, near the
+river-bank, were two sloping mounds, between which a brook had once
+run. These little mounds were soft and green, and dotted with white
+innocence flowers; and what fun it was to start at the top of one of
+them, and roll over and over, down into the valley. Somehow, Fel,
+being a lady-child, never stained her cape bonnet, while mine was all
+streaks; and she never tore her skirts off the waist; but what if I
+did tear mine? They always grew together again, I never stopped to
+think how.</p>
+
+<p>This time, as we were having a jolly roll, Madam Allen rode along in
+the carryall, with Tempy Ann driving.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, and let us see what those children are doing," said she; and
+Tempy Ann stopped.</p>
+
+<p>Fel and I danced upon our feet, and started to run to the carryall,
+but of course I tumbled down before I got there. While I was picking
+my foot out of the hole in my frock, I heard Fel exclaim, joyfully,
+"O, mamma, is it for me? What a beauty, beauty, beauty!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear, I bought it for you, but if you are going to be a gypsy
+child, I suppose you won't want it."</p>
+
+<p>I looked and saw the cunningest little sunshade, with its head tipped
+on one side, like a great blue morning glory. Never again shall I
+behold anything so beautiful. Queen Victoria's crown and Empress
+Eugenie's diamonds wouldn't compare with it for a moment. They say we
+feel most keenly those joys we never quite grasp; and I know that
+parasol, swinging round in Fel's little hand, was more bewitching to
+me than if I had held it myself. O, why wasn't it mine? I thought of
+Fel's coral necklace, and blue silk bonnet, and the white dress with
+needlework flowers, and now if she was going to have a parasol too, I
+might as well die and done with it.</p>
+
+<p>"O, Marjie, Marjie!" cried she, dancing up to me with her sweet little
+face in a glow, "<i>do</i> you see what I've got?"</p>
+
+<p>I never answered. I just lay there and kicked dirt with my shoe. The
+carryall was in front of us, and Madam Allen could not see how I
+behaved.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, little daughter," called she, "jump in and ride home."</p>
+
+<p>But Fel thought she would rather walk with me, for I hadn't noticed
+her parasol yet. So her mother drove off.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it a teenty tonty beauty?" cried she, waving it before me.</p>
+
+<p>I shut my teeth together and kicked.</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't looked, Marjie; see what a teenty tonty beauty!"</p>
+
+<p>She never could quite enjoy her pretty things till I had praised them.
+I knew that, and took a wicked pleasure in holding my tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marjie," said she, in a grieved tone, "why don't you look? It's
+the teenty tontiest beauty ever you saw."</p>
+
+<p>"There, that's the <i>threeth</i> time you've said so, Fel Allen."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's the truly truth, Madge Parlin."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it isn't neither; and you're a little lie-girl," snapped I.</p>
+
+<p>This was an absurd speech, and I did not mean a word of it, for I
+doubt if Fel had ever told a wrong story in her life. "You're a little
+lie-girl. <i>Got a parasol, too!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>She only looked sorry to see me so cross. She couldn't be very
+unhappy, standing there stroking those soft silk tassels.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope your mamma 'll give you one, too," murmured the dear little
+soul.</p>
+
+<p>I sprang up at that.</p>
+
+<p>"O, do you s'pose she would?" I cried; and by the time I had taken
+another roll down the bank my spirits rose wonderfully, and I let her
+put the parasol in my hand, even exclaiming,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"No, I never did see anything so nice!" But I secretly hoped my own
+would be nicer still.</p>
+
+<p>"Come home to my house," said I, "and ask my mamma if I can have a
+parasol too."</p>
+
+<p>We were very near the house, and she went in with me. Mother was in
+the kitchen, stewing apple-sauce for supper. I remember what a tired
+look she had on her face, and how wearily she stirred the
+apple-sauce, which was bubbling in the porcelain kettle.</p>
+
+<p>"You speak now," whispered I to Fel. "You speak first."</p>
+
+<p>This was asking a great deal of the dear little friend I had just
+called a lie-girl. If she hadn't loved me better, much better than I
+deserved, she would have turned and run away. As it was, she called up
+all her courage, the timid little thing, and fluttering up to my
+mother, gently poked the end of the parasol into the bow of her black
+silk apron.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, O, please, Mrs. Parlin, do look and see how pretty it is."</p>
+
+<p>That was as far as she could get for some time, till mother smiled and
+kissed her, and asked once or twice, "Well, dear, what is it?"</p>
+
+<p>I ran into the shed and back again, too excited to stand still. Mother
+was always so tender of Fel, that I did think she couldn't refuse her.
+I was sure, at any rate, she would say as much as, "We will see about
+it, dear;" but instead of that she gave her an extra hug, and answered
+sorrowfully,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could buy Margaret a parasol; but really it is not to be
+thought of."</p>
+
+<p>I dropped into the chip-basket, and cried.</p>
+
+<p>"If she knew how to take care of her things perhaps I might, but it is
+wicked to throw away money."</p>
+
+<p>"O, mamma, <i>did</i> you s'pose I'd let it fall in the <i>hoss troth</i>?"
+screamed I, remembering the fate of my last week's hat, with the green
+vine round it. "If you'll only give me a pairsol, mamma, I won't
+never carry it out to the barn, nor down to the river, nor anywhere 'n
+this world. I'll keep it in your bandbox, right side o' your bonnet,
+where there don't any mice come, or any flies, and never touch it, nor
+ask to see it, nor&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There, that'll do," said mother, stopping me at full tide. "I would
+be glad to please my little girl if I thought it would be right; but I
+have said No once, and after that, Margaret, you know how foolish it
+is to tease."</p>
+
+<p>Didn't I know, to my sorrow? As foolish as it would be to stand and
+fire popguns at the rock of Gibraltar.</p>
+
+<p>I rushed out to the barn, and never stopped to look behind me. Fel
+followed, crying softly; but what had I to say to that dear little
+friend, who felt my sorrows almost as if they were her own?</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, and that's why she wouldn't give me
+no pairsol."</p>
+
+<p>No thanks for the kind office she had performed for me; no apology for
+calling her a lie-girl. Only,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, Fel Allen."</p>
+
+<p>She choked down one little sob that ought to have broken my heart, and
+turned and went away. You wonder she should have loved me. I suppose I
+had "good fits;" they say I was honey-sweet sometimes; but as I recall
+my little days, it does seem to me as if I was always, always snubbing
+that precious child. When she was out of sight, I dived head first
+into the hay, and tried for as much as ten minutes to hate my mother.
+After a long season of sulks, such as it is to be hoped none of <i>you</i>
+ever indulged in, I stole back to the house through the shed, and
+Ruth, who did not know what had broken my heart, exclaimed,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Maggie, what ails you? You've fairly cried your eyes out,
+child!"</p>
+
+<p>I climbed a chair, and looked in the glass, which hung between the
+kitchen windows, and sure enough I was a sight to behold. My eyes,
+always very large, were now red and swollen, and seemed bursting from
+their sockets. I had never thought before that eyes could burst; but
+now I ran to Ruthie in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>have</i> cried my eyes out! O, Ruthie, I've <i>started</i> 'em!"</p>
+
+<p>She laughed at my distress, kissed me, and set me at ease about my
+eyeballs; but the parasol was denied me, and I was sure that, blind
+or not, I could never be happy without it.</p>
+
+<p>The little bits of girls had afternoon parties that summer; it was
+quite the fashion; and not long after this Madam Allen made one for
+Fel. Everybody said it was the nicest party we had had; for Tempy Ann
+made sailor-boy doughnuts, with sugar sprinkled on, and damson tarts,
+and lemonade, to say nothing of "sandiges," with chicken in the
+middle. I loved Fel dearly, I know I did; but by fits and starts I was
+so full of envy that I had to go off by myself and pout.</p>
+
+<p>"A party and a pairsol the same year! And Fel never 'spected the
+pairsol, and didn't ask real hard for the party. But that was always
+the way; her mamma wanted her to have good times, and so did Tempy
+Ann. <i>Some</i> folks' mammas didn't care!"</p>
+
+<p>I was willing nice things should fall to Fel's lot; but I wanted just
+as nice ones myself.</p>
+
+<p>Fel showed the girls her "pairsol," and they all said they meant to
+have one too; all but me; I could only stand and look on, with my
+eyeballs just ready to pop out of my head.</p>
+
+<p>I remember what sick dolls we had that afternoon; and when any of them
+died, the live dolls followed them to the grave with weeping and
+wailing, and their wee handkerchiefs so full of grief that you could
+trace the procession by the tears that dripped upon the carpet. Yes;
+but the mourners all had the cunningest little "pairsols" of
+nasturtium leaves. There wasn't a "single one doll" that marched
+without a pairsol, not even my Rosy Posy; for I had a motherly heart,
+and couldn't mortify <i>my</i> child! She <i>should</i> have "sumpin to keep the
+sun off," if it cost the last cent her mamma had in the world!</p>
+
+<p>I had a dismal fit just before supper, and went into Grandpa
+Harrington's room, back of the parlor. He was always fond of little
+folks, but very queer, as I have told you. He had a fire in the
+fireplace, and was sitting before it, though it was summer. He looked
+up when I went in, and said, "How do, darling? My feet are as cold as
+a dead lamb's tongue; does your father keep sheep?"</p>
+
+<p>Next minute he said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"My feet are as cold as a dog's nose; does your father keep a dog?"</p>
+
+<p>That was the way he rambled on from one thing to another. But when he
+saw I was low-spirited, and found by questioning me that I needed a
+parasol, and couldn't live long without one, he took me on his knee,
+and said kindly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind it, Pet; you shall have a parasol. I will give you one."</p>
+
+<p>I could hardly speak for joy. I did not feel ashamed of myself till
+afterwards, for Grandpa Harrington did not seem like other people, and
+I saw no harm in whining to him about my troubles.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"/>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+<h2>LIZE JANE.</h2>
+
+<p>But my happiness did not last long. Grandpa Harrington never thought
+of my parasol again from that day to the day he died; and little witch
+and try-patience though I was, I dared not remind him of his promise,
+still less tell my mother about it.</p>
+
+<p>It was hard to have my hopes raised so high, only to be dashed to the
+ground; harder still to have to keep it all to myself, and see Fel
+trip along under that sunshade without a care in the world. If she had
+been the least bit proud I couldn't have borne it; but even as it was,
+it wore upon me. Once I called out in severe tones, "Ho, little
+lie-girl; got a pairsol too!" but was so ashamed of it next minute
+that I ran up to her and hugged her right in the street, and said, "I
+didn't mean the leastest thing. I love you jus' the same, if you
+<i>have</i> got a blue pairsol, and you may wear it to meetin', and I'll
+<i>try</i> not to care."</p>
+
+<p>And now I come to the naughty story.</p>
+
+<p>I could not always have Fel for a playmate; she was too delicate to be
+racing about from morning till night as I did, and when she had to
+stay in the house, I found other girls to romp with me. Sometimes,
+especially if I felt rather wicked, I enjoyed Eliza Jane Bean, a girl
+two or three years older than myself. There was a bad fascination
+about "Lize." When she fixed her big black eyes upon you, she made you
+think of all sorts of delightful things you wanted to do, only they
+were strictly forbidden. Her father and mother were not very good
+people, and did not go to church Sundays. They lived in a low red
+house near the Gordons. You never saw it, children; it was pulled down
+ever so long ago, and used for kindlings. People called the house "the
+Bean Pod," because there were nine little beans in it beside the big
+ones. Rattlety bang! Harum scarum! There was always a great noise in
+that house, and people called it "the rattling of the beans." It was
+well it stood on a corner lot, and poor old Mr. Gordon was so deaf.</p>
+
+<p>Lize Jane used to come to our house for currants. My mamma did not
+like to have me see much of her, but could not refuse the currants,
+for our bushes were loaded. It seemed as if the family must have lived
+half the summer on currants and molasses; for almost every night
+there was Lize Jane with her big tin pail. It had holes in the bottom,
+and the juice used to run out sometimes upon her dress; but it didn't
+make much difference, for her dress was never clean.</p>
+
+<p>One night she came for currants when they were almost gone. Mother had
+been sick, and was very late about making jelly. She told Eliza Jane
+she couldn't let her come any more after that night; the rest of the
+fruit must be saved for our own use. Lize Jane said nothing, but she
+rolled her black eyes round towards me, and I felt a little ashamed,
+for I knew she thought mother was stingy, and that was why she rolled
+her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>I went into the kitchen, and said to Ruth,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you want me to pick you a bowl of currants?"</p>
+
+<p>Of course she did. She didn't know Lize Jane was there, or she
+wouldn't have been so pleased and so ready to get me my sun-bonnet.
+She had to reach it down from a hook in the ceiling. That was the
+place where Ned hung it when he wanted to "pester" me; he did it with
+an old rake handle.</p>
+
+<p>When I was going anywhere to meet Lize Jane, I always felt as if I was
+stealing raisins. I never exactly stole raisins; but when my mother
+said I might go to the box and get two or three, I had sometimes taken
+a whole handful. I knew by the pricking of my conscience that that was
+wrong, and in the same way I knew that this was wrong too. Mother was
+in the green chamber, covering an ottoman with green carpeting, so
+she wouldn't see me from that side of the house.</p>
+
+<p>I ran into the garden, and, going up close to Lize Jane, began to pick
+with all my might. "My bowl fills up faster 'n your pail," said I.
+"Cause its littler," said she; "and besides, I'm picking 'em off the
+stems."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you do that for, Lize Jane? It takes so long."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it; it takes foreverlastin'; but mother told me to, so'st I
+could get more into my pail."</p>
+
+<p>I opened my eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"She told me to get my pail chuck full. She didn't use to care, but
+now the currants are most gone, and she wants all she can get."</p>
+
+<p>I said nothing, but I remember I thought Mrs. Bean was a queer woman,
+to want our very last currants.</p>
+
+<p>"Sh'an't you have your party before they're all gone?" said Lize Jane.</p>
+
+<p>"What party?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, the one you're going to have."</p>
+
+<p>I suppose she knew my heart was aching for one.</p>
+
+<p>"I want a party dreffully," said I, "but mamma won't let me."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't let you?" cried Lize Jane, in surprise. "Why, Fel Allen had
+hers last week."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, and Tempy Ann made us some lemonade."</p>
+
+<p>"Did she? I wish I'd been there," said Lize, pursing her lips. "But
+Fel lives in such a monstrous nice house, and wouldn't ask me to her
+party; that's why. Mother says I hadn't oughter care, though, for
+when she dies she'll lay as low as me."</p>
+
+<p>I did not understand this speech of Mrs. Bean's, which Lize Jane
+repeated with such a solemn snap of her black eyes; but it came to me
+years afterwards, and I think it the worst teaching a mother could
+give her little child. No wonder Lize Jane was full of envy and spite.</p>
+
+<p>"But you'll ask me to <i>your</i> party, won't you?" said she, with a
+coaxing smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't, if I don't have one, Lize Jane."</p>
+
+<p>"You're a-makin' believe, Mag Parlin. You will have one; how can you
+help it, with a garden full of gooseb'ries and rubub?"</p>
+
+<p>"And thimbleberries, too," added I, surveying the premises with a
+gloomy eye. We certainly had enough to eat, and it was a very strange
+thing that I couldn't give a party.</p>
+
+<p>"Has your mother got any cake in the house?" added Lize.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, lots in the tin chest; but she never lets me eat a speck,
+hardly," bemoaned I. I was not in the habit of talking to Lize Jane of
+family matters; but she had shown so much good sense in saying I ought
+to have a party, that my heart was touched.</p>
+
+<p>"Your mother, seems to me, she never lets you do a thing," returned
+Lize Jane, in a pitying tone. "Ain't you goin' to have a silk pairsol,
+like Fel Allen's? I should think you might."</p>
+
+<p>She had driven the nail straight to the mark that time. I could have
+wailed; but was I going to have Lize Jane go home and tell that I was
+a baby? No! and I spoke up very pertly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Where's <i>your</i> pairsol, Lize Jane Bean? You never had one any more'n
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"No; but there's something I have got, though, better than that. Good
+to eat, too. And I'll tell you what; if you'll ask me to your party,
+I'll bring you some in a covered dish."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Lize? Ice cream?"</p>
+
+<p>For her face was wondrous sweet.</p>
+
+<p>"Ice cream! How'd you s'pose I kep' that froze? No!" and the
+bewitching sparkle of her eye called up luscious ideas. I could almost
+see apricot preserves, pine apples, and honey-heart cherries floating
+in the air. But why was it a covered dish? "Somethin' nuff sight
+better 'n ice cream, but I shan't tell what."</p>
+
+<p>"O, I wish you'd bring it to me in the covered dish, 'thout any
+party, for my mother won't let me have one, Lize, now truly."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you can't have the&mdash;what I was goin' to bring," said Lize Jane,
+firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's too bad," I cried; but it was of no use talking; she couldn't
+be moved any more than the gravel walk, or the asparagus bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Your mother ain't much sick, is she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not now," replied I; "her strength is better."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, why don't you ask some girls to come, and she'll get 'em
+some supper; see if she don't."</p>
+
+<p>I was so shocked that I almost fell into a currant bush.</p>
+
+<p>"Lize Jane Bean, what you talking about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you said your mother warn't sick."</p>
+
+<p>"No, her strength is better, but she don't 'low me to do things, Lize
+Jane Bean, 'thout&mdash;'thout she lets me."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not; but I guess she don't know you want a party so
+dreadful bad, Maggie, or she <i>would</i> let you. I don't believe your
+mother is ugly."</p>
+
+<p>"But she never said I might have a party, though."</p>
+
+<p>"No, for she don't think about it. She ain't a bad woman, your mother
+ain't, only she don't think. Your mother don't <i>mean</i> to be ugly."</p>
+
+<p>Lize Jane spoke in a large-hearted way, at the same time stripping
+currant-stems very industriously. "She'd feel glad afterwards,
+s'posing you <i>did</i> have a party, I'll bet."</p>
+
+<p>"O, Lize Jane, what a girl! 's if I'd do it 'thout my mother said I
+might."</p>
+
+<p>"O, I didn't mean a real big party; did you s'pose I did? I didn't
+know but you could ask me and some of the girls to supper, and not
+call it a party. We'd play ou' doors."</p>
+
+<p>"O, I didn't know <i>that's</i> what you meant. But I
+can't,&mdash;'cause,&mdash;'cause."&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you needn't, if you don't want to; but I didn't know but you'd
+like to see that&mdash;what I's going to bring."</p>
+
+<p>"But I can't be naughty, and get tied to the bed-post," said I,
+thoughtfully. "Is that what you's going to bring, something I never
+saw in all my life, Lize Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'm certain sure you never."</p>
+
+<p>And she made up another delicious face, that filled the air around
+with sweet visions.</p>
+
+<p>"And would you bring it if I didn't ask but&mdash;but&mdash;two girls?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't <i>think</i> I could," replied Lize Jane, squinting her eyes
+in deep meditation. I don't hardly think I <i>could</i>; but if you had
+four girls I'd bring it, and <i>risk</i> it."</p>
+
+<p>"Four 'thout you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, me 'n three more, if you're so dreadful scared."</p>
+
+<p>That settled the matter. With my usual rashness I cried out,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll ask 'em."</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"/>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+<h2>THE PARTY.</h2>
+
+<p>I went to bed that night in great excitement, and I dare say did not
+get to sleep for ten minutes or so. What strange thing was this I was
+about to do?</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said I, "it's only four girls, that's all. I know my mamma 'd
+be glad to have me have 'em, but I don't dare ask her; so I'll have
+'em <i>'thout</i> asking. She says she wants her little daughter to be
+happy. That's what she says; but she don't give me no pairsol. How'd
+she 'spect I's goin' to be happy? But I could be some happy if I had
+four girls,&mdash;not a party, but four girls."</p>
+
+<p>The next day was Saturday, the day I had agreed upon with Lize Jane. I
+chewed my bonnet-strings all the way to school, and never invited Fel
+till we got into the entry. At recess I asked Abby Gray and Dunie
+Foster; that made up the four girls. But when school was out, I
+happened to think I might as well have a few more, and singled out
+Sallie Gordon, Mary Vance, and Anna Carey; but Phebe Grant was
+standing close by, and I knew she would be "mad" if I didn't ask her;
+and after that I flew about and dropped invitations right and left,
+till I entirely forgot that I was doing it without leave. "I want you
+to come to my house, to my party, to-morrow afternoon,"&mdash;began to
+sound perfectly proper.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of speaking <i>twice</i> before I thought, I spoke thirty or forty
+times. I didn't slight anybody. I asked all the First and Second
+Reader classes, and the little specks of girls in A B C. They all
+looked very much pleased. Some of them had never been invited to a
+party before, and didn't know enough to find the way to "my house;"
+but I thought, while I was about it, I might as well make a clean
+sweep: it was no wickeder to have a big party than a little one. I was
+sorry enough that boys were not in fashion, for I wanted a few. There
+was Tommy Gordon in particular, who always had his pockets full of
+"lickerish" and pep'mints; it was as much as I could do to help asking
+him. As for Gust Allen, I would as soon have had a wild monkey, and
+that is the truth.</p>
+
+<p>I trudged home at noon, with my eyes looking strange, I know. I had
+done my <i>speaking</i>, and now I began to <i>think</i>. It came over me like
+a little whirlwind. I realized for the first time what I had done.</p>
+
+<p>Ruth was hurrying up the dinner.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't come near me, child," said she. "I've got <i>my</i> hands full."</p>
+
+<p>I went into the sitting-room. There was mother on the sofa, bathing
+her head with cologne. It didn't seem much like having a party! She
+could eat no dinner, and father said she looked as if she ought to be
+in bed.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel almost sick enough to be in bed," said she; "but I must help
+Mrs. Duffy put down that parlor carpet. I have waited for her ever
+since the carpet was made, and this was the very first day she could
+come."</p>
+
+<p>"O, dear," thought I, "where'll I have my party?"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't Mrs. Duffy put the carpet down alone?" asked father.</p>
+
+<p>"No; she would skew it badly."</p>
+
+<p>"But, my dear, you are sick; why not have Ruth help her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ruth does not understand the business as well as I do; and more than
+that, we have a large quantity of raspberries to be made into jelly.
+They would spoil if they were kept over Sunday."</p>
+
+<p>Worse and worse! Who was going to get supper for my party?</p>
+
+<p>Then I remembered that wonderful <i>something</i> which Lize Jane had
+promised to bring in the covered dish,&mdash;that delicious mystery which
+had been the first cause of getting me into trouble. Perhaps there
+would be enough of it to go round, and we could finish off with cake.
+I began to think it wasn't much matter what we had to eat.</p>
+
+<p>While life lasts I shall never forget that horrible afternoon. What
+could I say? What could I do? I felt as Horace used to, as if I should
+"go a-flyin'." I ran into the parlor where mother and Mrs. Duffy were
+putting down the carpet, and hopped about till I got a tack in my
+foot; and after mother had drawn it out, and I had done crying, I
+ventured to say,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma, there's a little girl coming to see me this afternoon. Are you
+willing?"</p>
+
+<p>"This afternoon? Who?"</p>
+
+<p>She might have asked who wasn't coming, and I could have answered
+better.</p>
+
+<p>I thought a minute, and then said, "Fel," for I knew she liked her
+best of all the little folks.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said mother, and went on stretching the carpet.</p>
+
+<p>Fel came so often that it was hardly worth mentioning.</p>
+
+<p>"But, mamma, there's somebody else coming, too. It's&mdash;it's&mdash;Dunie
+Foster."</p>
+
+<p>Dunie was a lady-child, almost as well-behaved as Fel.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! I'd rather have her come some other time. But run away, dear, you
+are troubling me. Take the little girls into the dining-room. I want
+the sitting-room kept nice for callers."</p>
+
+<p>I couldn't get my mouth open to say another word. Three o'clock was
+the usual hour for little girls to go to parties, and I flew into the
+kitchen to ask Ruth what time it was.</p>
+
+<p>"Two o'clock," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"And in an hour would it be three? How many minutes was an hour? Did
+that jelly boil fast enough? Did jelly bake all hard in the little
+glass cups so you could eat it the same day&mdash;the same night for
+supper? Was there any cooked chicken in the house, with breastings in
+(stuffing)? Any sandiges? Why didn't Ruthie make sandiges? Do it very
+easy. Why didn't Ruthie make sailor-boy doughnuts? <i>I</i> could sprinkle
+the sugar on 'em, see 'f I couldn't."</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of my troublesome chatter Abner came around to the
+kitchen door with the horse and wagon, saying he was going to mill,
+and would Tot like to go, too?</p>
+
+<p>"Will you be back by three o'clock?" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; it won't take me half an hour."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what's the child's notion of watching the clock so snug,"
+remarked Ruth, as I was darting into the parlor to ask if I might go
+to mill.</p>
+
+<p>As I rode along with Abner, and felt the soft summer air blow on my
+face, and saw the friendly trees nodding "Good day," it seemed as if
+I had left trouble behind me. What was the use in going back to it? I
+had half a mind to run away.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't want to stay and see those little girls starve to death. No
+place but the 'dine-room' and the barn to play in! Be tied to the
+bed-post for it too! Ought to be! Wicked-bad-girl! But would mamma tie
+me any <i>shorter</i> if I staid away till the moon came up? And then the
+girls 'd be gone! Get away from Abner just 's easy! He'll be a talkin'
+to the man 'th flour on his coat, then he'll look round an' I'll be
+gone, an' he'll say, 'That child's "<i>persest'</i>"; he always says
+'<i>persest</i>,' and then he'll go home and forget."</p>
+
+<p>But stop a minute; what would the girls think?</p>
+
+<p>"They'll think me very <i>unagreeable</i> to go off and leave my party.
+They'll call me a little lie-girl; they wont ask me to their house no
+more."</p>
+
+<p>So I didn't run away. I sat in the wagon, groaning softly to myself.
+The way of the transgressor <i>is</i> hard. <i>Every</i> way was hard to me
+since I had set out to do wrong. It was hard to run off and be called
+"unagreeable," and very, very hard to go home and face my troubles.</p>
+
+<p>I had not supposed there was the least danger of any one's coming
+before three o'clock; but to my surprise, when we reached the house, I
+found the front entry full of small girls&mdash;the little specks in A B C.
+There they stood, some of them with fingers in their mouths, while
+mother held the parlor-door open, and was asking them very kindly what
+they wanted. "Margaret," said she, "these little girls have
+been here as much as ten minutes; I don't know yet what they came for;
+perhaps you can find out."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 134px;">
+<a href="images/the-party.jpg"><img src="images/the-party-tn.jpg" width="134" height="215" alt="The Party. " title="" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<p>Poor, sick mother was holding her head with her hand as she spoke. I
+hated myself so that I wanted to scream.</p>
+
+<p>"Hattie," stammered I, taking one of the tiny ones by the hand, "come
+out in the garden, and I'll get you some pretty posies." Of course the
+rest followed like a flock of sheep. But we had hardly reached the
+garden before I saw three or four more girls coming. It was of no use;
+something must be done at once. I left the A B C girls staring at the
+garden gate, and ran to the house for dear life.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma, mamma!" cried I, as soon as I could get my breath; and then I
+rolled myself up into a little ball of anguish on the parlor carpet.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's the camfire?" exclaimed Mrs. Duffy, springing up; "that
+child's really a fainting off." Mother came to me and took my hands;
+she says I was so pale that it quite startled her. "Where do you feel
+sick, dear?" she asked tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>That sympathetic tone broke me down entirely. My stubborn pride
+yielded at once, and so did that bitter feeling I had been cherishing
+so long in regard to the parasol.</p>
+
+<p>"O, mamma!" sobbed I, catching the skirt of her dress and hiding my
+head in it, and forgetting all about Mrs. Duffy; "I don't care what
+you do, mamma. You may send 'em home, and tell 'em they didn't be
+invited; you may go to the front door and say it this minute."</p>
+
+<p>"It's gone till her head," said Mrs. Duffy, laying down the hammer;
+"see her shuvver! She nades hot wather till her fate, poor thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care what you do to me, mamma; you may tie me to the
+bed-post, and sew me up in a bag and throw me in the river. You would,
+if you knew what I've been a doin'. I&mdash;I&mdash;<i>I've got a party</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Mother held her hand to her head and stared at me. Just then the
+door-bell rang.</p>
+
+<p>"That's some of the party," wailed I. "And those little bits of girls
+were some, and this is some now, and more's a comin'. I'm <i>so</i> glad
+you didn't give me no pairsol, mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"It can't be; Margaret, you haven't&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have too. Yes, mamma, I've got a party! I'm wickeder 'n ever
+you heard of. Wont you put me in the river? I want you to. O, I'm <i>so</i>
+glad you didn't give me no pairsol."</p>
+
+<p>Mother pulled the carpet and looked at me, and then pulled the carpet
+again. She was considering what to do. Ruthie had gone to the door
+when the bell rang; we heard her voice in the entry.</p>
+
+<p>"Call Ruth in here to me," said mother, "and take your little girls
+into the garden."</p>
+
+<p>I knew by that, that she didn't mean to send them home; and O, how I
+loved her. It seemed to me I loved her for the first time in my life,
+for I never knew before how good she was, or how beautiful! Her head
+was tied up in a handkerchief, and she wore a faded calico dress and a
+tow apron, but I thought she looked like an angel. I lay flat at her
+feet and adored her.</p>
+
+<p>While I was taking my little girls into the garden and trying to play,
+mother was talking to Ruthie about this strange freak of mine. This I
+learned afterwards.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like to disappoint all these little children," said she,
+"and I don't like to expose my naughty daughter either. You see, Ruth,
+if they find out what a dreadful thing she has done, they will not
+like her any more, and their mothers will not let them come to see
+her. And that may make Margaret a worse girl, for she needs a great
+deal of love."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it," said Ruthie; "she's got a big, warm heart of her own, and
+one can feel to forgive such children better than the cold, selfish
+ones; you know that yourself, Mrs. Parlin. Why, bless her, she never
+had an orange or a peach in her life, that she didn't give away half."</p>
+
+<p>It gratified my poor mother to see Ruthie so ready to take my part. It
+was more than she liked to do to ask the tired girl to go to work
+again over the hot stove and prepare a supper for an army of
+children; but Ruthie did not wait to be asked; for love of mother and
+for love of me, she set herself about it with a hearty good-will. I do
+not remember much that was said or done for the rest of the afternoon;
+only, I know every single girl came that was invited, and they all
+said it was a nicer party than even Fel's; but Fel didn't care; she
+was glad of it. Of course it was nicer, for Ruthie spread the table in
+the front yard, and 'Ria was so kind as to adorn it with flowers, and
+lay wreaths of cedar round the plates. We had cup-custards and
+cookies, and, something I didn't expect, little "sandiges," with cold
+ham in the middle. But didn't I know it was more than I deserved?
+Didn't my heart swell with shame, and guilt, and gratitude? I remember
+rushing into the house in the very midst of the supper, just to hug
+mother and Ruthie.</p>
+
+<p>The funny thing, the only funny thing there was to the whole party,
+was Lize Jane's present. In my agitation I had almost forgotten how
+anxious I was to see it. She came dressed very smartly in red calico,
+with a blue bow at her throat. Her hair was remarkably glossy, and she
+told us, in a loud whisper, she had "stuck it down with bear's grease
+and cologne." She brought her old tin pail, the very one she picked
+currants in, only it really had a cover on it now, and <i>that</i> was what
+she called "a covered dish." And guess what was in it?</p>
+
+<p><i>Pumpkin sauce!</i> The drollest looking mess. Dried pumpkin stewed in
+molasses. She said I never tasted anything like it before, and I am
+sure I never did, and never should want to again.</p>
+
+<p>And that was the end of my party. Mother didn't sew me up in a bag and
+throw me in the river, for she was the most patient woman alive. She
+only forbade my going to anybody's house for a long time to come. It
+was a hard punishment; but I knew it was just, and I could not
+complain. My heart was really touched, and I had learned a lesson not
+easily forgotten. When I think of that party now, it is with a feeling
+of gratitude to my dear mother for her great forbearance, and her wise
+management of a wayward, naughty little girl.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"/>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+<h2>THE PATCHWORK SCHOOL.</h2>
+
+
+<p>Fel and I had begun to read before we were four years old, and by the
+time we were six we knew too much to go to the town school any more. I
+believe that was what we thought; but the fact was, Fel was very
+delicate, and her mother considered the walk to the school-house too
+long for her, and the benches too hard. She wished to have a governess
+come and live in the house, so the child could study at home. I
+thought this was too bad. I knew almost as much as Fel did. Why must
+I go to the town school if it wasn't good enough for her?</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma, I wish I was del'cate," whined I. "Ned snipped off my finger
+in the corn-sheller,&mdash;don't that make me del'cate?"</p>
+
+<p>"Delicate!" said Ned. "You're as tough as a pine knot."</p>
+
+<p>I thought this was a cruel speech. He ought to be ashamed to snip off
+my finger, and <i>then</i> call me tough.</p>
+
+<p>In looking about for a governess, Madam Allen thought at once of dear
+Martha Rubie, who lived just across the garden from their house. Uncle
+John's wife was her sister, the aunt Persis I told you about, who
+thought I ought not to hear baby-talk. Aunt Persis wasn't willing her
+sister Martha should go away from home; she said Fel might trip across
+the garden and say her lessons at her house. Fel didn't like to do
+it, for she was afraid of aunt Persis&mdash;she wouldn't go unless I would
+go with her; and finally mother said I might; so it turned out just as
+well for me as if I was delicate. She wanted Gust to go too, and he
+wasn't willing. But if Fel set her heart on anything it generally came
+about.</p>
+
+<p>"Augustus," said Madam Allen, smiling with her pleasant black eyes,
+which had a firm look in them, "you will recite to Miss Rubie if I
+wish it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, I want some of the other fellows to 'cite too," sniffed
+little Gust; "'tisn't fair for one boy to go to a patchwork school,
+long o' girls."</p>
+
+<p>And thus it happened that several children joined us, and Miss Rubie
+had quite a sizable school.</p>
+
+<p>And now I must tell you what sort of a house we went to; for the whole
+thing was very queer. In the first place, there was dear uncle
+John,&mdash;yes, <i>your</i> uncle John; but don't ask any questions; I'll tell
+you more by and by,&mdash;and his wife, that was aunt Persis; and his
+wife's sister, dear sweet Martha Rubie; and his little boy, Zed. Aunt
+Persis was an elegant, stately woman, but there was always something
+odd about her. I think myself it was odd she shouldn't like baby-talk.</p>
+
+<p>She knit herself into my earliest recollections when she was Pauline
+Rubie, and after she married uncle John, she knit my stockings just
+the same, and uncle never interfered with the stripes, red and white,
+running round and round like a barber's pole. They were the pride of
+my life till Gust Allen said they made my little legs look like
+sticks of candy, good enough to eat. Then I hated them; but aunt
+Persis had got in the way of knitting stripes, and wouldn't stop it,
+beg as I might&mdash;for she always thought her way was right, and couldn't
+be improved.</p>
+
+<p>Among other things she thought she knew all about medicine. There was
+a system called "hot crop," or "steaming," and she believed in it, and
+wanted everybody to take fiery hot drinks, and be steamed. That was
+the chief reason why we were so afraid of her.</p>
+
+<p>Her house was a very pleasant, cosy one, or would have been if it
+hadn't had such a scent of herbs all through it. The first day we went
+to school aunt Persis met us at the door, and asked Fel to put out her
+tongue. Then she took us to a cupboard, and gave Fel something to
+drink, that we both thought was coffee; but it was stinging hot
+composition tea. Miss Rubie came into the kitchen just as Fel was
+catching her breath over the last mouthful, and said she,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O, Persis, how could you?"</p>
+
+<p>We followed Miss Rubie into the school-room as fast as we could go.
+This school-room was right over a little cellar, just deep enough for
+a grown person to stand up in. It was called the "jelly-cellar," and
+when we were naughty Miss Rubie opened a trap-door and let us down. I
+was so restless and noisy that for a while I spent half my time in
+that cellar, surrounded by jars of jelly and jam. And I am afraid I
+could say sometimes, "How sweet is solitude!" for there was just light
+enough from the one window to give me a clear view of the jars, with
+their nice white labels, and more than once I did&mdash;I blush to confess
+it&mdash;I did put my fingers into a peach jar and help myself to
+preserves. I was old enough to know better; I resisted the temptation
+a great many days, but one unlucky morning I espied Dunie Foster
+coming up from the cellar with jelly stains on her white apron, and
+that set me to thinking.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, ha; Dunie eats perserves, and looks just as innocent's a lamb!
+Folks think she's better 'n me, but she isn't, she's a
+<i>make-believer</i>. I wonder if it's dreadful wicked to take perserves?
+Prehaps auntie spects us to eat 'em. Any way, Fel Allen never gets put
+down cellar, and it's real mean; and if I have to stay down there the
+whole time I ought to have something to make me feel better; I feel
+real hungry, and they ought to <i>spect</i> I'd eat perserves." So I did
+it; partly because Dunie did, partly because Fel wasn't punished and
+ought to be, and partly because it was most likely auntie put 'em
+there a-purpose! I think I never did it but three times; and the third
+time it was thoroughwort and molasses! Strong, I assure you, boiled
+down to a thick sirup. I had the jar at my lips, and had taken a long,
+deep draught, when I happened to look up, and there was aunt Persis
+going by the window, and looking straight down at me!</p>
+
+<p>I was so startled by the bitter taste in my mouth and the sight of
+aunt Persis, both coming at the same time, that I gave a little
+scream, and pranced round and round the cellar like a wild animal.
+Miss Rubie heard me, and came down to see what was the matter. She did
+not ask if I had been meddling with the jars; but she must have
+known, for a sticky stream was trickling over my dress, and I had set
+the sirup down on the floor with the cover off. She bent a keen glance
+on me, and at the same time I saw a little twinkle in her eye. I
+suppose she thought my guilt would bring its own punishment, for she
+probably knew the thoroughwort would make me sick.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ready now to be a good, quiet girl?" said she. I had been
+shut down for noisiness.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes'm," said I, meekly, and followed her up stairs.</p>
+
+<p>But though my heart was heavy with shame, I could not help thinking,
+"What orful tastin' perserves!" and wondering if aunt Persis really
+was crazy, as Tempy Ann said she was.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Rubie had had reason to think before that some of the children
+went to those jars, but she did not say so; she merely remarked,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It is nearly noon, children; you may lay aside your books now, and,
+if you like, I will tell you a story."</p>
+
+<p>Everybody was pleased but me. I wanted to go home. The story was from
+the text, "Thou, God, seest me." It was about Adaline Singleton, a
+little girl who took her mother's cake without leave, and her mother
+counted the slices, and found her out.</p>
+
+<p>I could not look up at Miss Rubie all the while she was talking, but I
+noticed Dunie Foster did. I was trying to rub that zigzag stream of
+sirup off my apron; and O, how sick I grew! Would she ever stop?</p>
+
+<p>I knew God had seen me yesterday and day before, when I ate peach
+preserves, and I had no doubt it was to punish me that I had been
+allowed to swallow this bitter stuff to-day. But, O, if I could go
+home!</p>
+
+<p>I never see that story of Adaline Singleton now among my books but it
+calls up a remembrance of guilt and nausea too. I would give a great
+deal, little Fly, if I hadn't so many bad things to remember. It is
+because I hope to do you good that I am willing to tell of them. May
+you have a purer childhood to look back upon!</p>
+
+<p>Thankful was I when school was out that noon, but I wasn't able to go
+again in the afternoon; and my mother knew why!</p>
+
+<p>It was the last time I was ever put in that cellar. Miss Rubie found
+another method of punishment; and I think I can say truthfully it was
+the last time I ever took sweetmeats without leave. I did other wrong
+things in plenty, but that I could never do again. When mother said I
+might go to the box and get "half a dozen raisins," I got half a
+dozen, and not a handful. Those solemn words rang in my ears,&mdash;"Thou,
+God, seest me,"&mdash;just as Miss Rubie had spoken them in her low, sweet
+tones.</p>
+
+<p>For days I dared not meet aunt Persis's eye, but she treated me just
+the same, often loading me down with pennyroyal and spearmint to take
+home to mother. I did not know she was near-sighted, and had not seen
+me drinking her thoroughwort. It was the first medicine of hers I had
+ever taken, and that bitter taste in my mouth decided me, upon
+reflection, that she <i>was</i> crazy. As it proved, I was not very far
+wrong.</p>
+
+<p>There had been something the matter with her wits for two or three
+years, and she was growing queerer and queerer. People began to wonder
+what made her want to look at their tongues so much. She said now if
+she met people on her way to church, "Please, put out your tongue;"
+and sometimes said it on the very church steps. This was queer; but
+they did not know how much queerer she was at home. We children could
+have told how she came into the school-room and felt all our pulses,
+but we thought Miss Rubie would be sorry to have us tell.</p>
+
+<p>Her little boy Zed, about four years old, had to take her dreadful
+medicines, of course, for medicine was the very thing auntie was crazy
+about. He carried some of his doses into school to drink at recess,
+and we all pitied him. Sometimes he ate dry senna and raisins mixed on
+a plate, and we teased away the raisins, and he had to chew the senna
+"bare." He cried then, and said we ought to help eat that too, and we
+did. I thought it had a crazy taste, like the thoroughwort, and was
+sorry Zed had a liver inside him, and wished that his mother hadn't
+found it out.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Rubie was very good and patient with us, but we began to dread to
+go to school. I overheard Tempy Ann say to Polly Whiting,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The story is, that Mrs. Adams (aunt Persis) steamed her own mother
+out of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say so!" said Polly. "How long since?"</p>
+
+<p>"About two years ago. The poor old lady sailed off very easy, with a
+jug of hot water close to her nose."</p>
+
+<p>That frightened us dreadfully. We knew aunt Persis steamed Zed, for he
+said so; and what if she should steam us all out of the world with
+jugs of hot water close to our noses? And she was always trying to
+make Fel swallow something bad, and always talking about her white
+face. "Tell your mother to let me have you for a month," said she,
+"and I'll put roses into your cheeks, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>Fel was so afraid that she trembled when we went into the house,
+expecting auntie would spring out upon her, and set her over the fire
+to steam. But she was such a patient, still little thing that she
+never complained, even to her own mother, and I was too rattle-brained
+to think much about it, though if I myself had expected to be cooked,
+the whole town would have heard of it.</p>
+
+<p>Zed grew paler and paler. I asked Miss Rubie, privately, "what made
+his mother boil him?" And she smiled, though not as if she was happy,
+and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"She doesn't boil him when I can help it, dear."</p>
+
+<p>About this time I heard my mother say to my father she wished uncle
+John was at home, for auntie acted so odd, and her eyes looked so
+strange.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mamma," cried I, rushing in from the nursery, "she boils her
+little boy, and she wants to boil Fel. I should think you'd tell Fel's
+mother, for Fel dassent tell, she's so scared."</p>
+
+<p>I think mother went right to Madam Allen with what I said, for the
+next night, when I was at Squire Allen's, and Fel was sitting in her
+mamma's lap, Madam Allen said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't my little girl let me know she was afraid of Mrs. Adams?
+When darling feels unhappy about anything she must always tell mamma."</p>
+
+<p>Fel was so glad somebody was going to protect her, that she threw her
+arms about her mother's neck, and sobbed for joy. "Don't let her hurt
+Zed either," said she. She was such a dear little soul, always
+thinking about others.</p>
+
+<p>"Now tell me if that boy has got a name?" spoke up grandpa Harrington.
+That was what he always asked when any one spoke of Zed.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; his name is Rosalvin Colvazart," said Madam Allen. "Zed is
+for short."</p>
+
+<p>"I know, I know, Rose Albert Coffeepot," laughed grandpa. He had said
+that fifty times, but he always thought it a new joke.</p>
+
+<p>That night, while we were all soundly asleep, we were suddenly roused
+by the sharp ringing of the door-bell. Squire Allen went to the door,
+and there, on the steps, stood our dear teacher, Martha Rubie, in her
+night dress, with a shawl over her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"O, Mr. Allen! O, madam! come quick! My sister is worse. She has
+steamed Zed, and she was trying him with a fork; but I locked him into
+the closet. Do come and take care of her. She is putting lobelia down
+the cow's throat."</p>
+
+<p>Fel and I screamed, and Tempy Ann had to come in and soothe us. Fel
+wasn't willing her father and mother should go; but I said, "Don't you
+be afraid; aunt Persis won't boil 'em; they're too big to get into the
+kettle."</p>
+
+<p>Tempy Ann laughed in her shaky way&mdash;which always made me provoked.</p>
+
+<p>"Tempy Ann," cried I, jumping over the foot-board, "I guess <i>you</i>
+wouldn't laugh if <i>you</i> should be doubled up, and put over the stove!
+You needn't think Fel and I are babies, and don' know what you said
+about her boiling her mother up the chimney, with a jug on her nose;
+but we do know, and it's so, and sober true, for we've seen the
+kettle."</p>
+
+<p>But it wasn't of the least use to reason with Tempy Ann when she had
+one of those shaky spells. So silly as she was at such times, I almost
+wished she could be boiled half a minute, to see if it wouldn't sober
+her down.</p>
+
+<p>It seems aunt Persis had really become very crazy indeed; and that
+dear, sweet, patient, good Martha had been trying to keep it a
+secret; but it couldn't be done any longer. She acted so badly that
+Martha couldn't manage her. When Squire Allen went into the house, she
+was stirring "Number Six" into some corn-meal for the hens, and was
+very angry with him because he made her leave off and go to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Father and mother had to take care of her till uncle John came; but
+she was as sick as she was crazy, and did not live till October.</p>
+
+<p>I remember looking at her beautiful, white face, the first I ever saw
+in death, and thinking,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"How glad auntie is to be so still."</p>
+
+<p>No one told me she was tired, but somehow I knew it, for she was
+always flying about in such a hurry, and I was sure it must rest her
+very much to go to sleep. I received then a pleasant, peaceful
+impression of death, which I never forgot.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Rubie staid at Squire Allen's for some time, and taught Fel. Now
+she is a person whom you all know very well; but I shall not tell who
+she is till by and by.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"/>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+<h2>THE LITTLE LIE-GIRL.</h2>
+
+<p>And now I will skip along to the next summer, and come to the dreadful
+lie I told about the hatchet. You remember it, Horace and Prudy, how I
+saw your uncle Ned's hatchet on the meat block, and heedlessly took it
+up to break open some clams, and then was so frightened that I dared
+not tell how I cut my foot. "O, mamma," said I, "my foot slipped, and
+I fell and hit me on something; I don't know whether 'twas a hatchet
+or a stick of wood; but I never touched the hatchet."</p>
+
+<p>It was very absurd. I think I did not know clearly what I was
+saying; but after I had once said it, I supposed it would not do to
+take it back, but kept repeating it, "No, mamma, I never touched the
+hatchet."</p>
+
+<p>Mother was grieved to hear me tell such a wrong story, but it was no
+time to reason with me then, for before my boot could be drawn off I
+had fainted away. When I came to myself, and saw Dr. Foster was there,
+it was as much as they could do to keep me on the bed. I was
+dreadfully afraid of that man. I thought I had deceived mother, but I
+knew I couldn't deceive him.</p>
+
+<p>"So, so, little girl, you thought you'd make me a good job while you
+were about it. There's no half-way work about you," said he. And then
+he laughed in a way that rasped across my feelings like the noise of
+sharpening a slate pencil, and said I mustn't be allowed to move my
+foot for days and days.</p>
+
+<p>Every morning when he came, he asked, with that dreadful smile,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Let us see: how is it we cut our foot?"</p>
+
+<p>And I answered, blushing with all my might, "Just the same as I did in
+the first place, you know, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Upon which he would show all his white teeth, and say,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, stick to it, my dear; you remember the old saying, 'A lie well
+stuck to is better than the truth wavering.'"</p>
+
+<p>I did not understand that, but I knew he was making fun of me. I
+understood what Ned meant; for he said flatly, "You've told a bouncer,
+miss."</p>
+
+<p>I was so glad Gust Allen wasn't in town; he was a worse tease than
+Ned. When Abner came in to bring me apples or cherries, he always
+asked,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Any news from the hatchet, Maggie?" And then chucked me under the
+chin, adding, "You're a steam-tug for telling wrong stories. Didn't
+know how smart you were before."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Rubie said nothing; she came in with Fel every day; but I
+presumed she was thinking over that solemn text, "Thou, God, seest
+me."</p>
+
+<p>'Ria did not say anything either; but I always felt as if she was just
+going to say something, and dreaded to have her bring in my dinner.</p>
+
+<p>I knew that father "looked straight through my face down to the lie;"
+but I still thought that mother believed in me. One day I found out my
+mistake. Ned had been saying some pretty cutting things, and I
+appealed to her, as she came into the room:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Mayn't Ned stop plaguing me, mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"No more of that, Edward," said mother, looking displeased. "It is too
+serious a subject for jokes. If Margaret has told us a wrong story,
+she is, of course, very unhappy. Do not add to her distress, my son.
+We keep hoping every day to hear her confess the truth; she may be
+sure there is nothing that would make us all so glad."</p>
+
+<p>So mother knew! She must have known all along! She turned to bring me
+my dolly from the table, and I saw her eyes were red. I wanted to
+throw myself on her neck and confess; but there was Ned, and somehow I
+never saw mother alone after that when I could make it convenient.</p>
+
+<p>She was right in thinking me unhappy, but she little dreamed how
+wretched I was. Horace and Prudy, you have heard something of this
+before; but I must tell it now to Dotty and Fly; for that hatchet
+affair was a sort of crisis in my life.</p>
+
+<p>You know I had not always told the truth. My imagination was active,
+and I liked to relate wonderful stories, to make people open their
+eyes. It was not wrong in the first place, for I was a mere baby. The
+whole world was new and wonderful to me, and one thing seemed about as
+strange to me as another. I could not see much difference between the
+real and the unreal, between the "truly true" and the make believe.
+When I said my mamma had silk dresses, spangled with stars, I was
+thinking,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps she has. There's <i>sumpin</i> in a trunk locked up, and I <i>guess</i>
+it's silk dresses."</p>
+
+<p>But as I grew older I learned better than to talk so. I found I must
+keep such wild fancies to myself, and only tell of what I knew to be
+true. Every time I wanted to utter a falsehood, a little voice in my
+soul warned me to stop.</p>
+
+<p>Fly, you are old enough to know what I mean. Your eyes say so. You
+didn't hear that voice when you were patting round grandma's kitchen,
+making Ruthie's coffee-mill buzz. You were too little to hear it then.
+It had nothing to say to you when you stole your mamma's "skipt," and
+soaked it in the wash-bowl; or when you stuffed your little cheeks
+with 'serves without leave, or told lies, lies, lies, as often as you
+opened your sweet little lips.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't 'member actin' so?"</p>
+
+<p>O, no; it was "so <i>many</i> years ago!" But I was going to say you did
+all those dreadful things, and still you were not naughty. Nobody
+thinks any the worse of you to-day for all your baby-mischief. We only
+laugh about it, for you did not know any better. But if you were to do
+such things now, what <i>should</i> we say? Your soul-voice would tell you
+it was wrong, and it would be wrong.</p>
+
+<p>My soul-voice talked to me, and I was learning to listen to it. I was
+not in the habit of telling lies; I had been hurried and frightened
+into this one, and now it seemed as if I could not stop saying it any
+more than a ball can stop rolling down hill.</p>
+
+<p>It was dreadful. I had to lie there on mother's bed and think about
+it. I could not go out of doors, or even walk about the room. Fel had
+lain in her pretty blue chamber day after day, too sick to eat
+anything but broths and gruel; but then her conscience was easy. I
+wasn't sick, and could have as many nice things to eat as the rest of
+the family; still I was wretched.</p>
+
+<p>My little friends came to see me, and were very sorry for me. I was
+glad to be remembered; but every time I heard the door open, I
+trembled for fear some one was going to say "hatchet."</p>
+
+<p>And when I was alone again I would turn my face so I could watch the
+little clock on the mantel. It ticked with a far-away, dreamy sound,
+like a child talking in its sleep, and somehow it had always one story
+to tell, and never any other;&mdash;"You've told&mdash;a lie;&mdash;you've told&mdash;a
+lie."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," thought I, "I know it; but stop plaguing me."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pretty picture on the clock door of a little girl, with
+her apron full of flowers. It was to this little girl that I
+whispered, "Well, I know it; but you stop plaguing me." She went
+right on just the same,&mdash;"You've told&mdash;a lie; you've told&mdash;a lie." I
+turned my face to the wall to get rid of her, but always turned it
+back again, for there was a strange charm about that dreadful little
+girl. I could tell you now just how she was dressed, and which way she
+bent her head with the wreath of flowers on it. You have noticed the
+old clock in Ruth's room at grandpa's? That's the one. I never see it
+now but its slow tick-tock calls to mind my sad experience with the
+hatchet.</p>
+
+<p>Days passed. I was doing my first real thinking. Up to that time I had
+never kept still long enough to think. It was some comfort to draw the
+sheet over my head, and make up faces at myself.</p>
+
+<p>"You've told a lie, Mag Parlin. Just 'cause your afraid of getting
+scolded at for taking the hatchet. You're a little lie-girl. They
+don't believe anything what you say. God don't believe anything what
+you say. He saw you plain as could be when you cut your foot, and
+heard you plain as could be when you said you never touched the
+hatchet. And there he is up in heaven thinking about you, and not
+loving you at all! How can he? He don't have many such naughty girls
+in his whole world. If he did, there'd come a rain and rain all day,
+and all night, for as much as six weeks, and drown 'em all up 'cept
+eight good ones, and one of 'em's Fel Allen. But 'twouldn't be you,
+for you're a little lie-girl, and you know it yourself."</p>
+
+<p>It is idle to say that children do not suffer. I believe I never felt
+keener anguish than that which thrilled my young heart as I lay on
+mother's bed, and quailed at the gaze of the little girl on the clock
+door.</p>
+
+<p>Still no one seemed to remark my unhappiness, and I have never heard
+it alluded to since. Children keep their feelings to themselves much
+more than is commonly supposed, especially proud children. And of
+course I was not wretched all the time; I often forgot my trouble for
+hours together.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not till long after I had left that room that I could bring
+my mind to confess my sin. I took it for granted I was ruined for
+life, and it was of no use to try to be good. I am afraid of tiring
+you, little Fly; but I want you to hear the little verse that grandpa
+taught me one evening about this time, as I sat on his knee:</p>
+
+<p>"If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our
+sins."</p>
+
+<p>I see you remember it, Dotty. Is it not sweet? "God is faithful and
+just." I had always before repeated my verses like a parrot, I think;
+but this came home to me. I wondered if my dreadful sin couldn't be
+washed out, so I might begin over again. I knew what confess meant; it
+meant to tell God you were sorry. I went right off and told him; and
+then I went and told father, and I found he'd been waiting all this
+time to forgive me. It was just wonderful! My heart danced right up. I
+could look people in the face again, and wasn't afraid of the girl on
+the clock door, and felt as peaceful and easy as if I'd never told a
+lie in my life&mdash;only I hated a lie so. I can't tell you how I did hate
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll never, never, never tell another as long as I breathe,"
+whispered I to the blue hills, and the sky, and the fields, and the
+river. And I knew God heard.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose it is a little remarkable, Fly; but I believe this really
+was my last deliberate lie. Children's resolves are not always the
+firmest things in the world, and my parents did not know how much mine
+was good for. They did not dream it had been burnt into my soul with
+red-hot anguish.</p>
+
+<p>I have always been glad, very glad, I was allowed to suffer so much,
+and learn something of the preciousness of truth. It is a diamond with
+a white light, children. There is no other gem so clear, so pure.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"/>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+<h2>THE TANSY CHEESE.</h2>
+
+
+<p>You are not to suppose from this that I became a good girl the very
+next day. No, nor the day after. I ceased from the wickedness of
+telling lies, just as I had stopped pilfering sweetmeats. This was
+all; but it was certainly better than nothing.</p>
+
+<p>I was soon able to play once more, only I could not run as fast as
+usual. How pleasant it was out of doors, after my long stay in the
+house! The flowers and trees seemed glad to see me, and I knew the
+hens and cows were, and old Deacon Pettibone, the horse. I resumed my
+old business of hunting hens' nests, though it was some weeks before I
+dared jump off the scaffold, and it seemed odd enough to come down on
+the ladder.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd twice rather have it be you that had cut your foot, Fel Allen,"
+said I, "for you don't want to run and jump; and folks that don't want
+to, might just as well have a lame foot as not."</p>
+
+<p>Fel couldn't quite understand that, though it was as clear to <i>me</i> as
+A B C. And after all my suffering, she wouldn't own I was as
+"delicate" as she. I didn't like that.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't remember how many bad things have happened to me," said I,
+waving my thimble-finger, which had lost its tip-end in the
+corn-sheller.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Ned's going to give you a gold thimble to pay for that, and I
+suppose you're glad it's cut off," said Fel, who had never met with an
+accident in her life, and was naturally ashamed of not having a single
+scar or bruise on her little white body, not so much as a wart or
+pimple to show me. I could not help feeling my superiority sometimes,
+for I had been cut and burnt, and smashed and scalded, and bore the
+marks of it, too.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but you don't have so bad headaches as me," said Fel,
+recovering her self-esteem. "Your mamma never has to put mustard
+<i>pace</i> on your feet, and squeeze up burdock leaves and tie 'em on your
+head, now, does she?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don' know but she did when I was a baby; I never heard her say,"
+returned I, coolly. "Folks don't think much of headaches. Polly
+Whiting has 'em so she can't but just see out of her eyes. But that
+isn't like hurting a place on you so bad your mother doesn't dass do
+it up! I guess you'd think it <i>was</i> something if you cut your foot
+most in two, and the doctor had to come and stick it together!"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 132px;">
+<a href="images/squeezing-herdsgrass.jpg"><img src="images/squeezing-herdsgrass-tn.jpg" width="132" height="213" alt="Squeezing Herdsgrass."  />
+</a></div>
+
+<p>That silenced Fel, and I had the last word, as usual.</p>
+
+<p>It was already quite late in the summer. One day Fel and I were
+snuggled in the three-cornered seat in the trees, trying to squeeze
+herdsgrass, to see which would be married first, when Ruthie came out
+at the side door to sweep off the steps.</p>
+
+<p>"Maggie'll be pleased," said she; "but how we shall miss her little
+mill-clapper of a tongue."</p>
+
+<p>She was talking to 'Ria, who was going back and forth, doing something
+in the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, we shall miss her," said 'Ria; "but I shan't have her dresses to
+mend. I pity poor cousin Lydia; she'll think&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Then 'Ria's voice sounded farther off, and I did not hear what cousin
+Lydia would think.</p>
+
+<p>"Put your head down here, Fel Allen. I've found out something,"
+whispered I, starting suddenly, and tearing my "tyer" on a nail.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to cousin Lydia Tenney's."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, didn't you hear 'Ria say she shouldn't have to mend my dresses?
+That means I shan't be here, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps it means you'll be a better girl, and not tear 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"O, no, it don't. 'Ria knows better 'n that. Didn't you hear her say
+she pitied poor cousin Lydia? Well, it's because she'll have <i>me</i> in
+her house; and that's why 'Ria pities her."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I wouldn't go to her house, if 'twill make her feel bad," said
+Fel.</p>
+
+<p>"O, I know what makes you say that; its because you don't want me to
+go."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I don't. Who'd I have to play with?"</p>
+
+<p>"Lize Jane Bean."</p>
+
+<p>"H'm."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, there's Dunie Foster; you think she's a great deal nicer
+'n me."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Madge Parlin, I only said she kept her hair smoother; that's all
+I said."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's Abby Gray and Sallie Gordon," added I, well pleased to
+watch the drooping of my little friend's mouth. "You can play with
+them while I'm gone. And there's your own brother Gust, that <i>you</i>
+think's so much politer 'n Ned."</p>
+
+<p>"You know there's nobody I like to play with so well as I do you,"
+said Fel, laying her cheek against mine, and we sat a while, thinking
+how dearly we did love each other. Then we saw Abner wheeling the
+chaise out of the barn. I ran down the steps from the tree, and
+asked,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is anybody going anywhere, Abner?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes; I believe your pa's going over yonder," said he, pointing
+off to the hills.</p>
+
+<p>"Anybody&mdash;anybody going with him?"</p>
+
+<p>"He talks of taking the Deacon," said Abner, dryly, as he began to
+wrench off the wheels, and grease them.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, Madge, where are you?" called 'Ria, from the side door. "Come
+into the house; I have something to tell you."</p>
+
+<p>It was just as I expected. I was going to Bloomingdale to-morrow. The
+news had been kept from me till the last possible moment, for when I
+was excited about anything, I was noisier than ever, and as Ruthie
+said, "stirred up the house dreadfully."</p>
+
+<p>Next morning father tucked me into the chaise, behind old Deacon. I
+didn't know why it was, but I couldn't help thinking about the
+hatchet, and wondering mother should have taken so much pains to get
+such a naughty girl ready. I had been told I might stay till after
+apple-gathering, and I was glad, for I wanted to make Fel as lonesome
+as she had made me those two weeks she spent in Boston. I had never
+been away from home but twice to stay over night, and my playmates
+couldn't any of them know my true value, of course.</p>
+
+<p>But as I looked at the dear friends on the piazza, growing dearer
+every minute, especially mother, I had my doubts whether I cared much
+about cousin Lydia's apples.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll be back with father," remarked Ned, "as homesick as a kitten."</p>
+
+<p>"Just you see if I do!"</p>
+
+<p>It was well we were driving away just then, for my brave laugh came
+very near ending in a sob.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm on business," said father, whipping up the Deacon, "and shall
+come back to-morrow; but you can do as you please, Totty-wax&mdash;you can
+come with me, or wait a month or six weeks, and come with cousin
+Lydia."</p>
+
+<p>I was disposing, privately, of a stray tear, and could not answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Your cousin will take the cars," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Take the cars!" I slipped off the seat, and stood upright in my
+surprise. The railroad had only just been laid to one corner of
+Willowbrook, and I had never taken a car in my life; had never seen
+one; didn't even know how it looked. This had been a great
+mortification to me ever since Fel went to Boston.</p>
+
+<p>"O, father," cried I, whirling round and getting caught in the reins,
+"did you say the cars? I s'posed cousin Lydia would come in a wagon,
+and I didn't know's I cared about staying. <i>Did</i> you say the cars?"</p>
+
+<p>"There, there; don't fall out over the Deacon's back. Did you ever
+hear what the water-wagtail said?"</p>
+
+<p>Then I knew father was laughing at me. When I was so happy I couldn't
+keep still, he often asked me if I ever heard what a small bird,
+called the water-wagtail, said, who thought the world was made for
+him:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Twas for my accommodation</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Nature rose when I was born;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Should I die, the whole creation</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Back to nothing would return."</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>That was what the little bird said. But father was mistaken this time.
+I felt remarkably humble for me. I had been thinking so much about the
+hatchet that I couldn't have a very high opinion of myself, to save my
+life.</p>
+
+<p>It was twenty miles to cousin Lydia's. When we got there she was
+looking for us. I knew her very well, but had never been at her house
+before. It was a pretty white cottage, with woodbines creeping over
+it, and Boston pinks growing by the front door-stone. There was a red
+barn and barnyard on one side of the house, and a woodshed on the
+other; and in front of the porch door, facing the street, was a well,
+with an old oaken bucket, hanging on a pole. I had never seen a
+well-sweep before, and supposed it must be far nicer than a pump.</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Lydia had a farmer husband in a striped frock, and a beautiful
+old mother in a black dress and double-frilled cap. Then there were
+her husband's two sisters, who lived with her, and a cat and a dog;
+but not a child to be seen.</p>
+
+<p>I didn't feel quite clear in my mind about staying; but cousin Lydia
+seemed to expect I would, and showed me a little cheese-hoop, about as
+big round as a dinner-plate, saying she would press a cheese in it on
+purpose for me, and I might pick pigweed to "green" it, and tansy to
+give it a fine taste. So I should almost make the cheese myself; what
+would my mother say to that? Then there were the beehives, which were
+filling with honey, and some late chickens, which were going to chip
+out of the shell in a week. Remarkable events, every one; but it was
+the tansy cheese which decided me at last, and I told father he might
+go without me; I wanted to stay and make a visit.</p>
+
+<p>It was not till he was fairly out of sight that I remembered what a
+long visit it would be. Why, I shouldn't see mother for as much as a
+month! A new and dreadful feeling swept over me, as if I was left all
+alone in the great empty world, with nothing to comfort me as long as
+I lived.</p>
+
+<p>Samantha, one of Mr. Tenney's sisters, found me an hour afterwards
+sitting beside a chicken-coop, crying into my apron. She asked me if
+I was homesick. I thought not; I only wanted to see my mother, and I
+felt bad "right here," laying my hand on the pit of my stomach. The
+feeling was not to be described, but I did not know homesickness was
+the name for it.</p>
+
+<p>Samantha consoled me as well as she could with colored beads to
+string, and a barrel of kittens out in the barn. I felt a little
+better at dinner time, for the dinner was very nice; but my spirits
+were still low.</p>
+
+<p>Julia, the other young lady, was not very fond of little girls, and
+had no box of trinkets as Samantha had, or, at any rate, did not show
+any to me. She seemed to be always talking privacy with her sister, or
+with cousin Lydia, and always sending me out of the room. Not that she
+ever told me, in so many words, to go away&mdash;but just as if I didn't
+know what she meant!</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you want to go out in the barn and hunt for eggs?" said she.</p>
+
+<p>No, I certainly didn't. If I had wanted to I should have found it out
+without her speaking of it. But I was only a little girl; so I had to
+go, and couldn't answer back. The neighbors' children were few and far
+between; and though I strolled about for hours behind cousin Joseph
+Tenney and the hired man, there were times when I liked to see what
+was going on in the kitchen, and it was vexing to hear Julia say,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"If I was a little girl about your age, I never should get tired of
+looking at that speckled bossy out in the barn."</p>
+
+<p>Indeed! I almost wished she had to be fastened into the stall a while,
+just to <i>see</i> if she wouldn't get tired of that speckled bossy.</p>
+
+<p>But when the time came to make my cheese, I had a right to stay in
+the house. Cousin Lydia let me look on, and see it all done. First, I
+picked the pigweed and tansy, or how could she have made the cheese?
+Then she strained some milk into a pan, and squeezed the green juices
+through a thin cloth. After that she put in a little rennet with a
+spoon.</p>
+
+<p>"There," said she, "isn't that a pretty color? Watch it a few minutes,
+and you will see it grow thick, like blanc-mange, and that will be
+curd."</p>
+
+<p>Then she made some white curd in another pan, without any green juice.
+After the curd "came," it was very interesting to cross it off with a
+pudding-stick, and this she let me do myself. Next morning she drained
+the curd in a cloth over a cheese-basket, and put on a stone to press
+out the whey. When it was drained dry enough, she let me cut it up in
+the chopping-tray, and she mixed the two curds together, the green and
+the white, salted them, and put them in that cunning hoop, and then
+set the hoop in the cheese-press, turned a crank, and weighed it down
+with a flatiron. There, that is the way to make a cheese. When it came
+out of the press it was a perfect little beauty, white, with irregular
+spots of green, like the streaks in marble cake. I knew then how that
+greedy Harry felt, in the story, when his mother sent him a plum cake,
+and he couldn't wait for a knife, but "gnawed it like a little dog."</p>
+
+<p>Of course I did not gnaw the cheese, but I did want to have it cut
+open, to see if it tasted like any other I ever ate. But cousin Lydia
+covered it with tissue paper, and oiled it, and set it in a safe, and
+every day she oiled it again, and turned it. I would have spent half
+my time looking at it, only she said I must not open the dairy-room
+door to let the flies in.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"/>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+<h2>"WAXERATION."</h2>
+
+
+<p>Still, in spite of cheeses, beehives, bossies, and kittens, I had many
+lonesome hours, and sometimes cried after I went to bed. Samantha must
+have known it, for I slept with her; I was afraid to sleep alone.</p>
+
+<p>There were times when I thought I would start off secretly, and go
+home on foot. I asked the hired man how long he supposed it would take
+a little girl to walk to Willowbrook, and what were the chances of her
+getting lost if she should try it? I thought I spoke in such a guarded
+way that Seth would not have the least idea what I meant; but he must
+have been very quick-witted, for he understood in a minute. He did not
+let me know it, though, and only answered coolly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Wal, I should think now it would take her about a week's steady
+travel, and no knowing but she'd starve to death on the road. Why,
+<i>you</i> hain't heerd of a little gal that thinks of such a thing, I
+hope?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; I don't see many little girls," said I, with a dismal sigh; "they
+don't have anything here but bossies and horses."</p>
+
+<p>I did not know, till Seth nipped it in the bud, what a sweet hope I
+had been cherishing. Should I truly starve to death if I took my
+little cheese in a basket on my arm, and some doughnuts and
+turn-overs? But no, it would be stealing to take things out of cousin
+Lydia's cupboard, and run off with them. I would rather stay at
+Bloomingdale and suffer, than be a thief.</p>
+
+<p>I know now that Seth told cousin Lydia what I said to him, and her
+kind heart was touched. I am sure she must have had a hard time with
+me, for she knew nothing about children, and was as busy as she could
+be with her dairy and her "fall work." I ought not to have been so
+unhappy. Some children at that age, with so much done for their
+amusement, would have felt perfectly contented; but I had naturally a
+restless disposition, and wanted, as Ned said, "sumpin diffunt."</p>
+
+<p>Ah, Horace! very gallant in you to say I have "got bravely over it."
+Thank you, dear; I hope I have, to some degree; still I might have got
+over it much younger if I had only tried a little harder. A child of
+seven is old enough to be grateful to its friends, when they do all
+they can for its comfort and pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Lydia wrote mother about my state of mind; and it troubled her.
+She talked with Madam Allen, who was always full of plans. Madam
+thought a minute, and then said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Marjie, we can't have her homesick. Do you suppose she would
+like to have Ruphelle go there and stay with her?"</p>
+
+<p>Of course mother knew I would be happy with Ruphelle.</p>
+
+<p>Then Madam Allen wished mother would please write cousin Lydia, and
+ask if Fel might go to Bloomingdale a few weeks. She hoped the
+mountain air would be strengthening to the dear little girl, who
+seemed rather drooping.</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Lydia was willing; and Madam Allen sent Ruphelle by cars, with
+a gentleman and lady who were going to Boston. Not a word was said to
+me; and when Seth harnessed the horse and went to the station to meet
+her, I supposed he was only "going to see his mother;" for that was
+what he always said when I asked any questions. It was about three
+miles to the flag station, and I believe his mother lived somewhere on
+the way.</p>
+
+<p>I was not watching for him to come back, or thinking anything about
+him, when I happened to look out of the window and see him helping a
+little girl out of the wagon. The red and white plaid looked exactly
+like Fel's dress; and as the little girl turned around, there were the
+soft, brown eyes, and the dark, wavy hair, and the lovely pale face of
+Fel Allen herself!</p>
+
+<p>I never expect to be much happier till I get to heaven than I was for
+the next hour or two. I danced and screamed, and laughed and cried,
+and wondered how Fel could keep so calm, when we hadn't seen each
+other for as much as three weeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see what's the matter with me," sobbed I; "I never was so
+glad in my life; but I can't help a-crying!"</p>
+
+<p>Fel was not one of the kind to go wild. She usually knew what she was
+about. Supper was ready, and she sat at the table, and ate honey on
+her bread and butter, as if she really enjoyed it; also answered every
+one of cousin Lydia's many questions like a little lady.</p>
+
+<p>I had no appetite, and could hardly have told what my name was if any
+one had asked me.</p>
+
+<p>But from that time my homesickness was gone. I took my little friend
+all about the farm, which was a very nice place, only I had never
+thought of it before, and showed her the speckled bossy, which seemed
+to have grown handsomer all in one night.</p>
+
+<p>"Here are some black currants, Fel; do you like 'em?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I don't; I just despise 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't like 'em <i>very</i> well," said Fel; for after our long
+separation she could not bear to disagree with me in anything.</p>
+
+<p>"Cousin Lydia," said I, very soon after Fel came, "may we tell scare
+stories after we go to bed? She wants us to."</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Lydia did not know what I meant by "scare stories."</p>
+
+<p>"It's all the awful things we can think of," said I, eagerly. "And we
+like to, for we want to see 'f our hair 'll stand out straight."</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Lydia laughed, and said "children were perfect curiosities."</p>
+
+<p>"It makes us shiver all over. It's splendid," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you may try it this once," said cousin Lydia, "if you'll stop
+talking the moment I tap on the wall."</p>
+
+<p>So, as soon as we got into bed we began. "You tell first," said
+Ruphelle; "you can tell the orfulest, and then I'll tell."</p>
+
+<p>"Mine'll be about the Big Giant," said I, clearing my throat.</p>
+
+
+<p>"<i>The Big Giant.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Once upon a time he had three heads, and he roared so you could hear
+him a mile."</p>
+
+<p>"That isn't anything," said Fel; "my hair don't stand out a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I hadn't but just begun. You wait and see what comes next. Did I
+say the Big Giant had three heads? He had sixteen. And every one of
+'em had three mouths, and some had ten; and they made a noise when he
+chewed grass like&mdash;&mdash;like thunder."</p>
+
+<p>"It don't scare me a bit," said Fel, stoutly.</p>
+
+<p>"Did I say the Big Giant ate grass? He ate <i>fire</i>; he ate live coals,
+the <i>liver</i> the better."</p>
+
+<p>"I should have thought 'twould have burnt him all up," said Fel.</p>
+
+<p>"There, miss, you needn't pretend not to be scared! I'm so scared
+myself I can't but just tell!&mdash;No, it didn't burn him up; it came out
+at his great big nose. And when the Big Giant walked along the streets
+folks ran away, for he blazed so. And there wasn't enough water in
+Willowbrook to put him out!"</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't live at Willowbrook?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, right between your house and my house; <i>and lives there
+now</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>By that time Fel began to tremble and creep closer to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell some more," said she, laughing. "It don't scare me a bit."</p>
+
+<p>And I told, and I told. There was no end to the horrible things that
+Big Giant had done, was doing, or was going to do.</p>
+
+<p>"Does your hair stand up, Fel?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; feel and see if it does. But there's a creepy feeling goes over
+me; don't it over you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said I, highly excited. "Got your eyes shut, Fel?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, shut up tight."</p>
+
+<p>"Open 'em," said I, solemnly; "for how do you know but that Big
+Giant's got into this room? Can't you <i>see</i> the fire coming out of his
+nose?"</p>
+
+<p>Fell couldn't, exactly.</p>
+
+<p>"Get out," said I, "and get the wash-bowl and pitcher, and let's throw
+it at him kersplash."</p>
+
+<p>"I dassent," said Fel, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I dassent neither."</p>
+
+<p>By that time I was out of bed, much more frightened than Fel was, and
+calling "Cousin Lydia," as loud as I could shout. She came in in great
+surprise, and it was some time before she could succeed in calming us.
+I remember how heartily she laughed, and how my teeth chattered. I
+actually had to be wrapped in a blanket and dosed with ginger tea. I
+wonder how many times cousin Lydia said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, children <span class="smcap">ARE</span> perfect curiosities."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>We could not think of such a thing as spending the night alone after
+all this, and Samantha was obliged to get into our bed and sleep in
+the middle. Cousin Lydia said we made too much hard work for the
+family by telling "scare stories," and we must not do it again while
+we staid at her house.</p>
+
+<p>"I have just found out, Marjie, why it is that you are afraid to sleep
+alone," said she; "it is because you allow yourself to think about
+such frightful things. Is it not so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes'm," said I, quivering in the blanket.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, child, you must stop it at once; it is a very foolish habit,
+and may grow upon you. Never think of dreadful things. Say your little
+prayer, asking God to take care of you, and then lie down in peace,
+for he will certainly do it. Ruphelle, are you ever afraid?"</p>
+
+<p>"No'm, only when I'm with Marjie; but I like to hear her tell things;
+I ask her to."</p>
+
+<p>Fel often said she had beautiful thoughts about angels after she went
+to bed, and dreamed that they came and stood by her pillow.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, that was no common child; she lived very near the gates of heaven.
+Strange I could have associated with her so much, and still have been
+so full of wrong desires and naughty actions!</p>
+
+<p>Julia Tenney, who was not very fond of children, certainly not of me,
+took a decided fancy to Fel the moment she saw her. I soon found this
+out, for she did not try to conceal it, and said more than once that
+"that child was too good for this world." I thought everybody liked
+her better than me, from Miss Julia down to the cat. I did not
+consider this at all strange; only I longed to do something to show
+myself worthy of praise, as well as she.</p>
+
+<p>There was a panic at that time about small-pox, and the doctor came
+one day to vaccinate everybody in the house. We children looked on
+with great interest to see the lancet make a scratch in cousin Lydia's
+arm, and then in Miss Samantha's, and Miss Julia's.</p>
+
+<p>"Now for the little folks," said the doctor, and drew Fel along to
+him; but she broke away in great alarm, and began to cry. "Well,
+well," said the doctor, turning to me, "here's a little lady that will
+come right up, I know she will; <i>she</i> won't mind such a thing as a
+prick of a needle."</p>
+
+<p>No, I really didn't mind it; why should I, when I had been gashed and
+slashed all my life? So I walked up very quickly to show my courage.
+I guessed they wouldn't laugh about my Big Giant now! I rolled back my
+sleeve with an air of triumph, and looked down on Fel, who shrank into
+a corner. Everybody was surprised, and said, "Well done!" and hoped I
+wasn't <i>all</i> the brave child there was in the house.</p>
+
+<p>I walked on thrones, I assure you; for there was Fel crying, and
+begging to wait till after dinner. Why, she hadn't any more courage
+than a chicken. I was ashamed of her. The doctor said he would wait
+till after dinner if she would surely have it done then.</p>
+
+<p>"O, you little scare-girl!" said I, as he walked out to talk with
+cousin Joseph, and we two children were left alone in the room.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor had laid his lancet and the little quill of vaccine matter
+on the table, having no thought, I suppose, that such small children
+as we would dare touch them.</p>
+
+<p>"I can waxerate as well as he can," said I, taking up the lancet, "for
+I watched him. Push up your sleeve, Fel, and I'll waxerate you, and
+then when the doctor does it, you'll get used to it, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you, <i>don't</i> you touch that sharp thing, Madge Parlin."</p>
+
+<p>"Poh! do you think I'm a little scare-girl like you?" returned I,
+proudly, for my little head was quite turned with flattery. "He didn't
+say folks musn't touch it, did he, Miss Fel? It's just like a needle;
+and who's afraid of a needle but you? I'll waxerate <i>me</i>, if <i>you</i>
+don't dast. Just you look! When I've done it three times to me, will
+you let me do it to you?"</p>
+
+<p>Fel wouldn't promise, but I went boldly to work. Let me count the
+scars&mdash;yes, twenty scratches I made above my elbow, never forgetting
+the vaccine, saying, as I stopped to take breath,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Ready now, Fel?"</p>
+
+<p>She never was ready, but she stood looking on with such meekness and
+awe, that I was just as well satisfied. After the doctor was gone, and
+she was in cousin Lydia's lap, quite overcome by the fright of
+"waxeration," I told what I had done, expecting to be praised.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Maggie!" said cousin Lydia, really shocked, "what will you do
+next? It was very, very wrong for you to meddle with the doctor's
+lancet."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, well," said Miss Julia, "I guess she'll be a sick enough child
+when it 'takes.'"</p>
+
+<p>I did not understand that, but I saw I had sunk again in everybody's
+esteem. And that very afternoon Miss Julia allowed Fel, who had been
+such a coward, to dress up in her bracelets, rings, pin, and even her
+gold watch, only "she must be sure and not let Maggie touch them."</p>
+
+<p>Of course I see now what a heedless child I was, and don't wonder Miss
+Julia wished to preserve her ornaments from my fingers; still she
+ought not to have given them to Fel before my very eyes. I thought it
+was hard, after scratching myself so unmercifully, not to have either
+glory or kisses, or even a bosom-pin to wear half an hour. My arm
+smarted, and I felt cross. As Miss Julia went out of the room she
+patted Fel's head, but took no notice of me, and cousin Lydia did the
+very same thing two minutes afterwards. It was more than I could bear.</p>
+
+<p>"Ho, little <i>borrow-girl</i>," said I to Fel, "got a gold watch, too!
+'Fore I'd wear other folks's things! I don't wear a single one thing
+on me but b'longs to me; you may count 'em and see!"</p>
+
+<p>It seemed as if I could not let her alone; but such was the sweetness
+of nature in that dear little girl that she loved me through
+everything.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you wanted to go out doors and play with me," said I; "and
+if you do, you'd better take off your borrowed watch!"</p>
+
+<p>Fel did not answer, but tucked the watch into her bosom; and we went
+out in no very pleasant mood.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"/>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+<h2>"THE CHILD'S ALIVE.*"</h2>
+<h3>*The following is a true incident.</h3>
+
+<p>Samantha and Julia were gone to a neighbor's that afternoon, and
+cousin Lydia was filling a husk-bed in the barn. There was no one at
+home but lame and half-blind grandma Tenney.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care if they are gone, for they all think I'm a naughty, bad
+girl," thought I. "O, why don't they love me? My mamma loves me, and
+hugs me every day when I'm home."</p>
+
+<p>I walked along to the well, my eyes half-blinded by tears. That
+well-sweep had always fascinated me, and I had been allowed to play
+with it freely; but lately cousin Joseph had observed that the curb,
+or framework round the mouth of the well, was out of order; the boards
+were old, and the nails were loosened; he should put on new boards as
+soon as he could stop; but until he did so, I must let it alone. Would
+I remember?</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said I, at the same time thinking in this wise: "Why, I
+drawed water day before yes'day, and he didn't say the boards were
+old. How could they grow old in one day?"</p>
+
+<p>Still I fully intended to obey. I forgot myself when I said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Fel, le's do a washing, and wash our dollies' clo'es. I'll go get a
+little tinpail to draw water with."</p>
+
+<p>For I could not lift the bucket.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said she; "and I'll go get a cake o' soap."</p>
+
+<p>She had heard nothing about the well-curb, and did not know we were
+doing wrong to draw water. She enjoyed swinging the pole just as much
+as I did, and we soon forgot our slight disagreement as we watched the
+little pail drop slowly into the well.</p>
+
+<p>"There are stars down there," said I, "for I saw 'em once; they say
+it's stars, but I shouldn't wonder if 'twas pieces of gold&mdash;should
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>I was letting the pail down as I spoke, and Fel was leaning against
+the curb, peeping into the well.</p>
+
+<p>"O, I forgot," cried I; "cousin Joseph said&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But even before I had finished the sentence, the rotten boards gave
+way, and Fel pitched suddenly forward into the well!</p>
+
+<p>My brain reeled; but next moment my reason&mdash;all I ever had and more
+too&mdash;came to my aid. I can't account for it, but I felt as strong and
+brave as a little woman, and called out,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Take hold of the pole, Fel! take hold of the pole!"</p>
+
+<p>I don't know whether she heard me or not, for her screams were coming
+up hoarse and hollow from the watery depths. All I know is, she did
+put out both her little hands, and clutch that short pole. The
+ten-quart pail was dangling from the end of the pole, within two feet
+of the water.</p>
+
+<p>What was I to do? I could draw up the little tin pail, but not such a
+heavy weight as Fel. My hope was that I might keep her above water a
+while, and as long as I could, of course she would not drown. It was
+a wise thought, and showed great presence of mind in a child of my
+age. I am glad I have this one redeeming fact to tell of myself&mdash;I,
+who ran wild at the silly story of a make-believe Big Giant!</p>
+
+<p>Yes, I held up that long pole with all the might of my little arms,
+crying all the while to Seth in the barn,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Come quick! come quick!"</p>
+
+<p>It was just as much as I could do. I am sure strength must have been
+granted me for the task. For a long while, or what seemed to me a long
+while, nobody heard. Seth was making a great noise with his flail, and
+if my shout reached his ears he only thought it child's play; but when
+it kept on and on, so shrill and so full of distress, he dropped his
+flail at last and ran.</p>
+
+<p>Not a moment too soon; my little strength was giving out.</p>
+
+<p>"Jethro! what's this?" cried he, and caught the pole from my hand.
+"Well, you're a good one! Don't be scared, little dear." That was to
+Fel. "Hold on tight, and I'll fetch you up in a jiffy."</p>
+
+<p>She did hold on; stupefied as she was, she still had sense enough to
+cling to the pole.</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, that's a lady! Both arms round my neck! Up she comes!"</p>
+
+<p>By that time cousin Lydia was on the spot, looking ashy white, and
+Seth, with Fel in his arms, was rocking her back and forth like a
+baby, and saying, "There, there, little girlie, don't cry."</p>
+
+<p>"The Lord be praised!" exclaimed cousin Lydia; "the child's alive! the
+child's alive!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and this Marjie here is a good one," said Seth, pointing to me;
+"she's got the right stuff in her. I never saw a young one of that
+age do anything so complete in my life."</p>
+
+<p>I cried then; it was the first time I could stop to cry. Cousin Lydia
+put her arms round me, and kissed me; and that kiss was sweet to my
+soul.</p>
+
+<p>Seth carried Fel into the house. She was trembling and sobbing
+violently, and did not seem at first to understand much that was said
+to her. Cousin Lydia rubbed her, and gave her some cordial to drink,
+and I looked on, half proud and half ashamed. Seth kept saying there
+were five feet of water in the well, and if I hadn't held Fel up, she
+must have drowned before anybody could get to her. I knew I had been
+very brave, and had saved Fel's life. I knew it before Seth said so.
+But who drowned her in the first place? I expected every minute
+cousin Lydia would ask that question; but she didn't; she never
+seemed to think of it.</p>
+
+<p>When the young ladies came home, Miss Julia took me in her lap, and
+said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Marjery, you're a smart child; there's no doubt about it&mdash;a
+very smart child."</p>
+
+<p>Just think of that from Miss Julia! It wouldn't have been much from
+Miss Samantha, for she had a soft way with her; but Miss Julia! Why,
+it puffed me out, and puffed me out, till there was about as much
+substance to me as there is to a great hollow soap-bubble.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said cousin Joseph, in his slow way, "Marjery is smart enough,
+but she ought to be very smart to make up for her heedlessness."</p>
+
+<p>There, he had pricked the bubble that time! I twinkled right out.</p>
+
+<p>And it was the last time Julia admired me; for she happened to think
+just then of her gold watch. It was not on Fel's neck; it had gone
+into the well where the stars were. Seth got it out, but it was
+battered and bruised, and something had happened to the inside of it,
+so it wouldn't tick.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Julia never took me in her lap again; but she liked Fel as well
+as ever. She said Fel was not at all to blame. I knew she wasn't, and
+somehow, after that dreadful affair, I was willing people should love
+Fel better than me. I had been fairly frightened out of my crossness
+to her. O, what if I <i>had</i> drowned her? Every time I wanted to snub
+her I thought of that, and stopped. I suppose I put my arms round her
+neck fifty times, and asked, "Do you love me <i>jus</i> the same as if I
+hadn't drowned you?"</p>
+
+<p>And she said "Yes," every time, the precious darling!</p>
+
+<p>I had a very lame arm not long after this; it almost threw me into a
+fever. I was ashamed to have that doctor come, for they had told me
+what was the matter. It has always been my luck, children, if I ever
+tried to show off, to get nicely paid for it!</p>
+
+<p>Now I think of it, Dotty, how easily Fel could have turned upon me at
+this time, and said, "Ho, little meddle-girl! Got a sore arm, too!"</p>
+
+<p>But you may be sure she never thought of such a thing. It grieved her
+to see me lie in bed, and toss about with pain. She sat beside me, and
+patted my cheeks with her little, soft hands, and sometimes read to
+me, from a Sabbath school book, about a good girl, named Mary
+Lothrop,&mdash;she could read as well as most grown people, for she really
+was a remarkable child,&mdash;but I didn't like to hear about Mary
+Lothrop, and begged her to stop.</p>
+
+<p>"She's too tremendous good," said I. "It killed her to be so good, and
+I'm afraid&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>I believe I never told Fel what I was afraid of; but it was, that she
+was "too tremendous good" herself, and would "die little," as Mary
+Lothrop did. I thought she seemed like Mary; and hadn't Miss Julia
+said she was too good for this world? O, what if God should want her
+up in heaven? I had thought of this before; but if I had really
+believed it, I should all along have treated her very differently. We
+should none of us speak unkindly if we believed our friends were soon
+going away from us, out of this world. What would I give now if I had
+never called the tears into that child's gentle eyes!</p>
+
+<p>My arm got well, and the next thing that happened was a letter from
+home&mdash;to us two little chickens, Fel and me both. Seth brought it from
+the "post-ovviz," directed to Miss Ruphelle Allen and Miss Margaret
+Parlin, care of Joseph Tenney, Esq. Here it lies in my writing-desk,
+almost as yellow as gold, and quite as precious. How many times do you
+suppose we little girls read it and kissed it? How many times do you
+suppose we went to sleep with it under our pillows? We took turns
+doing that, and thought it brought us pleasant dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Her mother wrote one page of the letter, and my mother another; 'Ria a
+few lines, and Ned these words, in a round hand:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">DEAR SISTER:</span>
+I suppose you want to hear all about our house and
+barn. I went to Gus Allen's party. We trained, and a pretty set
+of fellows we were."</p></div>
+
+
+<p>That was all he told about our house and barn, and he did not sign his
+name. Perhaps he would have said more after resting a while; but Miss
+Rubie saved him the trouble, and ended the letter, by inviting "you
+darlings,"&mdash;Fel and me,&mdash;to her wedding, which was to take place in a
+few weeks.</p>
+
+<p>We had a little waltzing to do then! A wedding! We danced right and
+left, with that letter under our feet.</p>
+
+<p>"I should think you'd better read on, and see what the man's name is,
+you little Flutterbudgets," said cousin Joseph, laughing at us.</p>
+
+<p>We hadn't thought of that. We looked, and found it was uncle John!
+Another surprise. It was a new idea to both of us, that a man who had
+had one wife should ever have another. We remembered aunt Persis, who
+wanted to steam Fel.</p>
+
+<p>"And she died years, and years, and <i>years</i> ago."</p>
+
+<p>"About eleven months," said cousin Lydia. Your uncle John is obliged
+to go to England this fall, and wants to take Zed; and I am very glad
+Miss Rubie is willing to be Zed's mother, and will go with them."</p>
+
+<p>"How can she be his mother?" said I. "She's his auntie."</p>
+
+<p>But we didn't care about the relationship, Fel and I; all we cared
+about was the wedding. And I did hope I should have a string of wax
+beads to wear on my neck.</p>
+
+<p>Here is our reply to the letter. (The words in Italics are Fel's.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Little Mothers:</span>
+
+We thought we would write to you. <i>We are
+glad we shall go to the wedding.</i> Do you think you can buy me
+some wax beeds? <i>We want to see you very much.</i> But I want the
+wax beeds, too. Fel said a prayer for my sickness. I think she is
+a very pias girl. The cow is dead, &amp;c., &amp; ect. So good by.</p>
+
+<p>
+"From <span class="smcap">Maj</span> and <span class="smcap">Ruphelle</span>."<br />
+</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"/>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+<h2>THE FIRST CAR RIDE.</h2>
+
+<p>It seemed as if cousin Lydia never would get ready to start. Ever
+since the letter from our mammas, Fel and I had been sure we were
+wanted at home; but there was no end to the things cousin Lydia had to
+do, and so far as we could see, Miss Samantha and Miss Julia didn't
+help her much. We dared not say this, however; we laid it away in our
+minds, with twenty other things we meant to tell our mothers when we
+got home.</p>
+
+<p>My great consolation while waiting was a Maltese kitten with white
+toes, and eyes the color of blue clay; and when, at last, the joyful
+time came for going to Willowbrook, I begged to take that kitty with
+us. Miss Julia said, "Nonsense!" But cousin Lydia was really a
+sensible woman; for what did she do but butter Silvertoe's paws, and
+tie her into an egg-basket.</p>
+
+<p>"But you must take care of her yourself, Maggie; I shall have my hands
+full with you, and Ruphelle, and the baggage."</p>
+
+<p>Kitty behaved beautifully at first; but presently the rough mountain
+roads began to jar upon her nerves, I think; for by the time the stage
+reached the station, she was scratching and mewing at such a rate that
+I was ashamed of her. I lagged behind, so cousin shouldn't hear.</p>
+
+<p>And was this the depot? A jail, I should say. Such a wicked man
+staring through the hole in the wall! Wonder what he was put in for?</p>
+
+<p>"The ticket-master, that is," said cousin Lydia, smiling at me, though
+I hoped she couldn't see what I had been thinking.</p>
+
+<p>Then she bought the tickets; but she wouldn't let Fel or me keep ours.
+She said the kitty was all I could manage. So I should think!</p>
+
+<p>We heard a shriek like my Big Giant. It frightened me dreadfully; I
+began to think there <i>was</i> such a man. No wonder kitty jumped. Next
+moment some yellow things came tearing along. Then I knew it was the
+cars.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," said cousin Lydia, climbing the steps.</p>
+
+<p>Well, I intended to come. My foot was just a little stiff, but I was
+hurrying as fast as I could, when up sprang the cover of the basket,
+and out popped the kitty. Of course, I wasn't going without
+Silvertoes. She scampered round the end of the depot, and I ran after
+her. It was of no use; she dropped into a hole. I couldn't have been
+gone half a minute; but those yellow things took that time to whisk
+off. I ran the whole length of the platform, calling, "Whoa!" but they
+never stopped.</p>
+
+<p>The black-whiskered man had come out of his cell, and was locking the
+depot door.</p>
+
+<p>"O, won't you stop that railroad? Please, for pity's sake!"</p>
+
+<p>The man made no reply; only shut one eye and whistled. I danced and
+screamed. There were those things puffing out of breath, and
+determined not to stop.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain't no use to make a rumpus. The cars won't take back tracks for
+nobody."</p>
+
+<p>I thought he didn't understand.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, my cousin Lydia bought me a ticket, sir, right out of that hole.
+Don't you <i>know</i> she did? And that railroad went off and left me. I
+was getting in in a minute, as soon as I found my kitty!"</p>
+
+<p>"O, that's it, hey? Well, you see this ere's only a flag-station, and
+they don't stop for cats."</p>
+
+<p>I began to cry. The man patted me on the back, just as if I had a
+fish-bone in my throat, and called me "Poor sissy." It made me very
+angry&mdash;seven <i>whole</i> years old&mdash;to be called sissy! I wiped my eyes at
+once, and told him decidedly that I thought my cousin would make the
+"driver" come back for me.</p>
+
+<p>The man whistled harder. This caused me to feel a little like a dog
+that has lost his master; and I felt so all the more when the man
+pointed his finger at me and told me to follow him, and he would try
+to get me "put up" for the night. But not knowing anything better to
+do, I trudged after him with my empty basket, forgetting all about the
+kitten.</p>
+
+<p>We crossed the road, and went through a long yard where clothes were
+drying, till we came to a little brown house. Near the open door of
+the porch sat a woman beating eggs in a yellow pudding-dish. She had a
+skin somewhat the color of leather, and wore a leather-colored dress,
+gold beads, a brass-topped comb, and gold ear-drops, like upside down
+exclamation points. I thought she looked a little like a sheepskin
+book father had in a gilt binding.</p>
+
+<p>"This little creeter got left by the train, Harr'et; I don't see but
+we shall have to eat and sleep her. What say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eat and sleep me!" I took a step backward. Of course they did not
+mean what they said; but I thought joking on this occasion was in very
+poor taste.</p>
+
+<p>"Got left over? Poor little dear!"</p>
+
+<p>The woman stopped her work to pity me, and drops of egg dripped from
+the fork-tines like yellow tears. I fell to crying then.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems she's some related to Captain Tenney's folks," said the
+whistling man, ending with another love-pat, and "Poor Sissy!"</p>
+
+<p>But even those insulting words could not stop my crying this time.</p>
+
+<p>"Leave her to me, Peter," said the woman. "Most likely she's afraid of
+men folks."</p>
+
+<p>The man went away, to my great relief, and she took my bonnet and
+cloak, and then made me tell her all about my trials, while she beat
+time with her fork. My mouth once open, I talked steadily, giving the
+complete history of my life between my sobs,&mdash;only leaving out my lie
+about the hatchet.</p>
+
+<p>"Something cut my foot and I go a little lame, or I could have catched
+that kitty,&mdash;she has white <i>pors</i>. But <i>does</i> the railroad have any
+right to run off and leave folks that's bought tickets?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, dear, you're welcome to stay over with us. Brother Peter
+and I never calculate to turn folks away while we have a crust to eat,
+or a roof to cover us."</p>
+
+<p>"O, dear, what poor people!" I ought not to stay. But it seemed they
+were to have something to-night better than crusts. Harr'et was frying
+pancakes,&mdash;how could she afford it?&mdash;and shaking them out of the
+kettle with a long-handled skimmer into a pan in a chair. She brought
+me one, which she called her "try-cake;" but it didn't look like
+Ruth's, and I was too homesick to eat; so I managed to slip it into my
+pocket.</p>
+
+<p>Harr'et wore heavy calfskin shoes, and shook the house fearfully when
+she walked. I couldn't help thinking of what she had said about the
+roof, and it seemed as if it might fall any minute and "cover us,"
+sure enough.</p>
+
+<p>While I sat on the door-step watching her, all forlorn, she drew out a
+red armchair, gave it a little twitch, as you would to a sunshade, and
+lo! it turned into a table, with a round top. Then she covered it with
+a cloth, from a drawer in the chair part of the table, and put on some
+green and white dishes.</p>
+
+<p>When tea was ready, the whistling man seemed to know it, and came in.
+It didn't look very inviting to me. The biscuits were specked with
+brown spots as if the oven had freckled them; and I didn't like
+molasses for sauce.</p>
+
+<p>I thought of home, and the nice supper cousin Lydia was eating there,
+and could almost see her sitting next to mother, with my purse in her
+pocket, and my ticket too. And I could almost see Fel, and hear her
+queer grandpa asking her questions, while Miss Rubie looked on, all
+smiling, and dressed in her wedding-gown, of course.</p>
+
+<p>They all thought I was lost, and they should never see me again.
+Perhaps they never would. How could I go home without a ticket? Once
+there was a man put off the car because he couldn't show a ticket.
+Fel saw the "driver" do it.</p>
+
+<p>That thought choked me, together with the sudden recollection that I
+hadn't told Harr'et my purse was gone. She and Peter might be
+expecting to make quite a little sum out of my board, enough to keep
+the roof on a while longer.</p>
+
+<p>"Do eat, child," said the man.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't tell you, sir," I sobbed, "that the railroad ran off with my
+purse,&mdash;cousin Lydia, I mean,&mdash;and I haven't the leastest thing to pay
+you with!"</p>
+
+<p>I drew out my handkerchief in a great hurry, and out flew the pancake.
+Peter and Harriet looked at it and smiled, and I hid my face in shame.</p>
+
+<p>"Never you worry your little head about money," said Peter, kindly. "I
+know young ladies about your size ain't in the habit of travelling
+with their pockets full of rocks&mdash;&mdash;let alone doughnuts."</p>
+
+<p>O, what a kind man! And how I had mistaken him! I forgave him at once
+for calling me poor sissy.</p>
+
+<p>"If you've done your supper, Peter, I motion you take her out and show
+her the sheep and lambs."</p>
+
+<p>Peter did so, besides beguiling me with pleasant talk; but pleasantest
+of all was the remark,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be a bit concerned about your ticket; I'll make that all right
+to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>And this was the man I had been so afraid of, only because he was
+rough-looking, and liked to make jokes.</p>
+
+<p>He told me his name was Peter Noble, and Harr'et was his sister, and
+kept house for him; and I actually told him in confidence that I meant
+to go to Italy when I grew to be a lady; for we became close friends
+in a few minutes, and I felt that he could be trusted.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost dark when we went back to the kitchen; but there was
+Harriet, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Whose kitty?" said she.</p>
+
+<p>And it was Silvertoes, lapping milk out of a saucer by the stove. She
+was very hungry, and I suppose came to that house because it was so
+near the depot. I felt as happy as Robinson Crusoe when he found
+Friday. My trials were now nearly over.</p>
+
+<p>I remember little more, except Peter's taking me into a car next day
+in his arms, and Harriet's giving me my kitty through the window. I
+hope I thanked them, but am not sure. That was the last I saw of them;
+but I carried the marks of Harriet's "try-cake" while my frock
+lasted, for soap took out the color.</p>
+
+<p>The "driver" treated me with marked politeness, and when we reached
+Willowbrook Corner, put me into the yellow stage, with as much care as
+if I had been a china tea-set.</p>
+
+<p>There was a shout when I got home, for all the family were at the
+gate.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"/>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+<h2>BETTER THAN KITTENS.</h2>
+
+
+<p>Yes, they seemed just as glad to see me as if I was the Queen of
+England, and had been gone all the days of my life. Father,
+especially, looked really overjoyed.</p>
+
+<p>"How they must have missed me!" thought I, springing out of the coach
+and falling headlong over old Towser. "O, please catch that kitten."</p>
+
+<p>Ned seized the empty basket and whirled it over his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Who cares for such trash? We've got something in the house that's
+better than sixteen kittens."</p>
+
+<p>"Rabbits?"</p>
+
+<p>"Come and see," said 'Ria, giving me one hand, while she stroked
+Silvertoes with the other.</p>
+
+<p>"O, I don't believe it's anything. Is it wax beads? You haven't asked
+where I came from, nor whose house I staid to. There was a woman with
+gold beads, and he called her Harret, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I knew they'd take good care of you," said cousin Lydia.</p>
+
+<p>"And where d'you s'pose I found my kitty?" But no one seemed to hear.
+I had expected to be pelted with questions as to my eating, drinking,
+and sleeping, and to be pitied for the late distress of my mind. But
+no one showed the slightest curiosity; they all seemed in a great
+hurry to get into the house.</p>
+
+<p>I stopped talking, and walked along with all the dignity of an
+offended pea-chicken. There might or might not be something worth
+going to see; but I was resolved to keep perfectly cool. Up stairs?
+Well, up stairs then, or up in the attic, or out on the roof,&mdash;it made
+no difference to me. I could keep from asking questions as long as
+they could, if not longer.</p>
+
+<p>O, mother's room, was it? Well, I'd been wondering all the while where
+mother was, only I wouldn't ask. Dear me, was she sick? "So glad to
+see little Madge," she said, kissing me over and over again. "And what
+a hard time I had had."</p>
+
+<p>There, <i>she</i> knew how I'd been suffering, and was just going to ask me
+some questions, when that troublesome Ned whisked me right up in his
+arms, and whirled me round towards the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>"If you've got any eyes, Maggie, look there."</p>
+
+<p>My eyes were good enough, if that was all; but what was that woman
+sitting there for? I thought she had a heap of woollen clothes in her
+lap.</p>
+
+<p>Father took it.</p>
+
+<p>"Come here, Totty-wax."</p>
+
+<p>I put out my hands, and felt something as soft as kittens.</p>
+
+<p>"Presto, change!" cried Ned, and pulled down the top of the blanket.
+There lay a little, wrinkled, rosy face, a baby's face, and over it
+was moving a little wrinkled hand.</p>
+
+<p>I jumped, and then I screamed; and then I ran out of the room and back
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"O, O, O! Stop her! Hold her!" said Ned.</p>
+
+<p>But they couldn't do it. I rushed up to the baby, who cried in my
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"What <span class="smcap">IS</span> that?" said I; and then I burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Your little sister," said father.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't," sobbed I, and broke out laughing.</p>
+
+<p>Everybody else laughed, too.</p>
+
+<p>"Say that again," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Your little sister," repeated father.</p>
+
+<p>"Does Fel know it? And it <i>isn't</i> Ned's brother?" seizing father by
+the whiskers. "And he can't set her on the wood-pile! Came down from
+heaven. What'm I crying for? Came down particular purpose for me."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Totty-wax," said father, smiling, with a tear in the corner of
+his eye,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"'Twas for my accommodation</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Nature rose when I was born."</span><br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p>"Has this child had any supper?" asked mother, in a faint voice from
+the bed.</p>
+
+<p>"No, <i>she</i> can't eat," laughed I; "her face looks like a roast apple."</p>
+
+<p>"Your mother means you, Maggie. You are tired and excited," said
+cousin Lydia. "Ruth made cream-cakes to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"But I shan't go, 'thout I can carry the baby. Ned's holding her. She
+isn't <i>his</i> brother. I haven't had her in my arms once. How good God
+was! O, dear, what teenty hands! She can't swallow 'em, on 'count of
+her arms. Sent particular purpose for me&mdash;father said so. 'Ria Parlin,
+she's nowhere near your age. You have everything, but you can't have
+this. She gapes. She knows how to; she's found her mouth; she's found
+her mouth!"</p>
+
+<p>And so I ran on and on, like a brook in a freshet, and might never
+have stopped, if they had not taken me out of the room, and tied me
+in a high chair before a table full of nice things. And Ruthie stood
+there with a smile in her eyes, and said if I spoke another word, I
+shouldn't see baby again that night.</p>
+
+<p>I couldn't help pitying Ned. I wasn't sure I had treated him just
+right. I had prayed, off and on, as much as two or three weeks in all,
+that God would send me a sister, and of course that was why she had
+come. I didn't wish Ned to know this; he would be so sorry he hadn't
+thought of it himself, and prayed for a brother. I told Fel about it,
+and she didn't know whether it was quite fair or not. "Yes, it was,
+too," said I; for I never would allow Fel the last word. "It was fair;
+Ned's older 'n me, and ought to say his prayers a great deal more
+<i>reggurly</i>."</p>
+
+<p>O, that wonderful new sister! For days I never tired of admiring her.</p>
+
+<p>"Look, mamma! 'Ria, did you ever, ever see such blue eyes?"</p>
+
+<p>And then I sat and talked to the new sister, and asked her</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Where did she get her eyes of blue?"</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>But she did not answer, as the baby does in the song,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Out of the sky, as I came through."</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Some of the starry spikes left in."</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Where did you get that pearly ear?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">God spake, and it came out to hear."</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>Ah! If she could only have talked, wouldn't she have told some sweet
+stories about angels?</p>
+
+<p>I couldn't have left her for anything else but that wedding; but
+Ruthie promised to take good care of her&mdash;and I could trust Ruthie!
+Ned wasn't going; there were to be no children but Fel and me. Well,
+yes, Gust was there; but that was because he happened to be in the
+house. The wedding was in Madam Allen's parlors. <i>I</i> stood up before
+the minister, with wax beads on my neck, and white slippers on my
+feet. Somebody else stood there, too; for one wouldn't have been
+enough. Fel dressed just like me&mdash;in white, with the same kind of
+beads; only she was pale, and I wasn't, and she looked like a white
+rosebud, and I didn't.</p>
+
+<p>We stood between the "shovin' doors,"&mdash;that was what Gust called
+them,&mdash;and there was a bride and bridegroom, too. I nearly forgot
+that. I remember lights, and flowers, and wedding cake; and by and by
+Madam Allen came along, looking so grand in her white turban, and gave
+the bride a bridal rose, but not Fel or me a single bud. Then, when
+people kissed the bride, I kissed her, too, and she whispered,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Call me aunt Martha, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, Miss Rubie," said I; "you are my cousin, aunt Martha."</p>
+
+<p>For I could not understand exactly.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle John hugged me, and said they were all going away in the
+morning, he and aunt Martha, and Zed; and then I felt sorry, even with
+my wax beads on, and said to father,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you what, I love my uncle John <i>that was</i>."</p>
+
+<p>No, Fly, he didn't have any horse then called "Lighting Dodger;" but
+it was the same uncle John, and aunt Martha is the very woman who pets
+you so much, and has that pretty clock, with a pendulum in the shape
+of a little boy in a swing.</p>
+
+<p>After that wedding there was a long winter. I went to school, but Fel
+didn't. She looked so white that I supposed her mother was afraid she
+would freeze. Miss Rubie was gone, and there were no lessons to learn;
+but Madam Allen didn't care for that; she said Fel was too sick to
+study. Whenever I didn't have to take care of the baby, I went to see
+her; but that baby needed a great deal of care! For the first month of
+her life I wanted to sit by her cradle, night and day, and not let any
+one else come near her. The next month I was willing Ned should have
+her half the time; and by the third month I cried because I had to
+take care of her at all.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"/>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+<h2>GOOD BY.</h2>
+
+
+<p>It happened that she was a cross baby. It did not take her long to
+forget all about heaven. She liked to pull hair, and she liked to
+scratch faces; and no matter how much you trotted her up and down, she
+just opened her toothless mouth and cried.</p>
+
+<p>"She's a wicked, awful baby!" exclaimed I, scowling at her till my
+eyes ached.</p>
+
+<p>"Div her a pill, <i>I</i> would," said Ned, laughing. He could laugh, for
+he didn't have to sit and hold her, as I did.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little thing isn't well," said mother.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't 'spect she knows whether's she's well or not," returned I, in
+disgust. "She just hates everybody, and that's what she's crying
+about."</p>
+
+<p>"You grieve me, Madge. I thought you loved this dear sister."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I did; but I don't love her any more, and I don't ever want to
+rock a baby that hates me so hard she can't keep her mouth shut."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mean you are not glad God sent her? O, Madge!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes'm, that's what I mean. I'm real sorry he sent her, and I wish
+he'd take her back again."</p>
+
+<p>Hasty, bitter speech! Even a child knows better than to talk so
+recklessly. Next day, and for many days, those words came back to my
+heart like sharp knives. Little sister was very ill, and I knew by the
+looks of people's faces that they thought she would cross the dark
+river, on the other side of which stand the pearly gates. Mother saw
+me roving about the house, crying in corners, and sent me away to the
+Allens to stay all night. When I got there, Madam Allen took me right
+up in her motherly arms, and tried to soothe me; but I refused to be
+comforted.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought baby looked a little better this morning," said she.</p>
+
+<p>I shook my head.</p>
+
+<p>"Has baby grown any worse?"</p>
+
+<p>"No'm."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why do you shake your head?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Cause," sobbed I, "'cause&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>And then, hiding behind her turban, I whispered,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O, if you tell God you want anything, is that a prayer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear, if you tell him you want little sister to get well, that
+is a prayer."</p>
+
+<p>I moaned still more bitterly at these words, and slid out of her lap.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what is it, darling?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't tell you," said I; "I can't, I can't. There isn't anybody in
+this world I can tell but just Fel."</p>
+
+<p>Then Madam Allen went out of the room, and left us two little girls
+alone.</p>
+
+<p>"O, Fel," said I, as soon as my sobs would let me speak, "I said I
+wished God would take my little sister back again."</p>
+
+<p>Fel looked very much shocked.</p>
+
+<p>"And O, I'm afraid it was a truly prayer, and God 'll do it."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I guess it wasn't a truly prayer, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>"What makes you think it wasn't?" cried I, eagerly, for I supposed she
+must know.</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't you mad when you said it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, very. She made that long scratch on my nose, and I was very
+mad."</p>
+
+<p>"She did dig awful deep; I don't wonder you felt bad," said Fel,
+soothingly. "But you didn't want her to die, any more'n anything; now
+did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, O, no!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, if you didn't want her to die, God knows you didn't; for
+he knows everything, don't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And so it wasn't a truly prayer," added Fel, positively.</p>
+
+<p>"And won't he answer it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what you 'spose? Of course not, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>She seemed to feel so clear upon the subject, that I began to breathe
+more freely. O, it was everything to have such a wise little friend!</p>
+
+<p>"But I oughtn't to said it, Fel! O, dear! What s'pose made me? <i>You</i>
+never say bad things, never!"</p>
+
+<p>Fel thought a moment, and then answered, as she looked at me with her
+clear, happy eyes,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you have lots of things to plague you, Madge; but I don't.
+Everybody's real good to me, because I'm sick."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at her, and began to cry again. My little heart had been
+stirred to its very depths, and I could not bear to have her speak of
+being sick.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Fel Allen," said I, "you don't s'pose you're going to die 'fore
+I do? I can't live 'thout you! If you die, I'll die too."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I never said a thing about dying," returned Fel, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you won't never leave me, will you? Say you won't never! Just
+think of you up in heaven and me down here. I can't bear it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you should go up to heaven first, Fel, you'd sit there on
+those steps, with a harp in your hand, and think about me; how I said
+cross things to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what cross things did ever you say to me, Madge Parlin?"</p>
+
+<p>"There, there," cried I, smiling through my tears, and beginning to
+dance; "<i>have</i> you forgot? O, that's nice! Why, Fel, I called you a
+lie-girl."</p>
+
+<p>"O, well, I don't care if you did. I wasn't, <i>was</i> I?"</p>
+
+<p>"And I called you a borrow-girl, too. And I drowned you, and I&mdash;I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you'd stop talking about that," said Fel, "or you'll make me
+cry; for you're just the nicest girl. And who cares if you do scold
+sometimes? Why, it's just in fun, and I like to hear you."</p>
+
+<p>Now, Dotty Dimple, I declare to you that this conversation is sweeter
+to my memory than "a nest of nightingales." Naughty as I was, Fel
+didn't know I was naughty!</p>
+
+<p>When I went home next morning, the little Louise was much better, and
+in a few days seemed as well as ever. I was very thankful God knew I
+was not in earnest, and had not taken me at my word, and called her
+back to heaven.</p>
+
+<p>She was never quite as cross from that time, and I had many happy
+hours with her, though, as I told Fel,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"She's cross <i>enough</i> now, and sometimes seems 's if I couldn't
+forgive her; but I always do; I don't dass not to!"</p>
+
+<p>I was not required to hold her very much, for Fel was not well, and
+wanted me with her half the time. Mother was always willing I should
+go, and never said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think you ought to be pacifying the baby?"</p>
+
+<p>I never dreamed that Fel was really sick. I only knew she grew sweeter
+every day, and clung to me more and more. I had stopped teasing her
+long ago, and tried to make her happy. I couldn't have said a cross
+word to her that winter any more than I could have crushed a white
+butterfly.</p>
+
+<p>One day I was going to see her, with some jelly in my little basket,
+when "the Polly woman" walked mournfully into the yard.</p>
+
+<p>"I've just come from Squire Allen's," said she, unfastening her shawl,
+and sighing three times,&mdash;once for every pin.</p>
+
+<p>"And how is Fel?" asked mother.</p>
+
+<p>Polly slowly shook her head,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Very low; I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Mother looked at her, and then at me; and I looked at her, and then at
+Polly.</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Foster says her brain has always been too active, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, you'd better run along," said mother. "The baby's asleep now;
+but she'll wake up and want you."</p>
+
+<p>I went with a new thought and a new fear, though I did not know what I
+thought or what I feared.</p>
+
+<p>When I reached Squire Allen's, Ann Smiley came down the path to meet
+me.</p>
+
+<p>I asked, "<i>Is</i> Fel very low? Polly said so."</p>
+
+<p>And she answered,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Why, no, indeed; she is as well as common. Polly is so queer."</p>
+
+<p>I went into the house, and Madam Allen drew me close to her, and
+said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Bless you, child, for coming here to cheer our little darling."</p>
+
+<p>When she set me down, I saw she had been crying. I had never seen her
+with red eyes before.</p>
+
+<p>"You and Fel may stay in the warm sitting-room," said she; "and Ann
+shall carry in some sponge cake and currant shrub, for Fel hardly
+tasted her dinner."</p>
+
+<p>I remember how Fel clapped her hands, and smiled to see me; and how
+Ann brought the cake into the sitting-room, and drew up a little table
+before the fire. We sat and played keep house, and sipped currant
+shrub out of some silver goblets which had crossed the ocean.</p>
+
+<p>It is a beautiful picture I am seeing now, as I shut my eyes: Fel,
+with that lovely smile on her face, as if some one were whispering
+pleasant things in her ear.</p>
+
+<p>"I love you so, and it's so nice;" said I.</p>
+
+<p>Gust came in, and she took his hand and patted it.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said she; "I love you and Gust, and it is nice; but we'll have
+nicer times when we get to heaven, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Gust gave her one little hug, and rushed out of the room. Then I
+remember throwing myself on the rug and crying; for there was an ache
+at my heart, though I could not tell why.</p>
+
+<p>Grandpa Harrington came in, and began to poke the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said he; "its hard for one to be taken and the other
+left, so it is. But Jesus blessed little children; and I wouldn't
+cry, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>That was the last time I ever played with Fel. She grew feverish that
+night, and the doctor said she must not see any one. Something was the
+matter with her head, and she did not know people. I heard she had
+"water on the brain," and wondered if they put it on to make it feel
+cool.</p>
+
+<p>There, children, I do not like to talk about it. It was all over in
+three short weeks, and then the angels called for Fel. She was "taken"
+and I was "left," and it seemed "very hard." I grieved for a long
+while, and wanted to go too; but Madam Allen said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You are all the little girl I have now to take in my arms. Don't you
+want to stay in this world to make Fel's mother happy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said I; "I do."</p>
+
+<p>And my own mamma said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The baby needs you, too. See, she has learned to hold her hands to
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>They all tried to comfort me, and by and by I felt happy again. I am
+told that the loss of my dear little friend made me a different child.
+I grew more kind and gentle in my ways, more thoughtful of other
+people. Not very good, by any means, but trying harder to be good.</p>
+
+<p>Well, I believe this is all I have to tell you of my little days, for
+very soon I began to be a large girl.</p>
+
+<p>I am leaving off at a sad place, do you say, Prudy? Why, I don't think
+so. To me it is the most beautiful part of all. Just think of my dear
+little friend growing up to womanhood in heaven! I ought to be willing
+to spare her. O, yes!</p>
+
+<p>She was always better than I, and what must she be now? It would
+frighten me to think of that, only she never knew she was good, and
+had such a way of not seeing the badness in me.</p>
+
+<p>I shall never forget my darling Fel, and I think she will remember me
+if I should live to be very old. Yes, I do believe she loves me still,
+and is waiting for me, and will be very glad to see me when I go to
+the Summer Land.</p>
+
+<p>Here is a lock of her hair, Fly. You see it is a beautiful golden
+brown, and as soft as your own. A certain poet says,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"There seems a love in hair, though it be dead."</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>And that is why I shall always keep this little tress.</p>
+
+<p>Now kiss me, dears, and we will all go to the study, and see what
+uncle Gustus is doing.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Fly, I did like your uncle Gustus, because he was Fel's brother.
+Well,&mdash;I don't know&mdash;yes, dear,&mdash;perhaps that <i>was</i> part of one little
+reason why I married him.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Aunt Madge's Story, by Sophie May
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT MADGE'S STORY ***
+
+***** This file should be named 25356-h.htm or 25356-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
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+
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+
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,3894 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aunt Madge's Story, by Sophie May
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Aunt Madge's Story
+
+Author: Sophie May
+
+Release Date: May 6, 2008 [EBook #25356]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT MADGE'S STORY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Erica Hills and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's notes: Punctuation and inconsistencies in language and
+dialect found in the original book have been retained.
+Sophie May is a pseudonym of Rebecca Sophia Clarke.
+Smilie/Smiley spelled two ways: used Smiley.]
+
+
+[Illustration: Frontispiece.]
+
+
+
+
+
+    _LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES._
+
+
+
+
+    AUNT MADGE'S STORY.
+
+    BY
+
+    SOPHIE MAY,
+
+    AUTHOR OF "LITTLE PRUDY STORIES," "DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES," ETC.
+
+
+    _ILLUSTRATED._
+
+
+    BOSTON:
+    LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
+
+
+    NEW YORK:
+    LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.
+    1874.
+
+
+    Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871,
+    BY LEE AND SHEPARD,
+    In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
+
+
+    Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,
+    No. 19 Spring Lane.
+
+
+
+    _LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES._
+
+    TO BE COMPLETED IN SIX VOLS.
+
+
+    1. LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.
+
+    2. PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE.
+
+    3. AUNT MADGE'S STORY.
+
+    (Others in preparation.)
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+    CHAPTER
+
+     I. TOTTY-WAX.                   9
+
+     II. THE LADY CHILD.            20
+
+     III. THE BLUE PARASOL.         38
+
+     IV. LIZE JANE.                 55
+
+     V. THE PARTY.                  69
+
+     VI. THE PATCHWORK SCHOOL.      87
+
+     VII. THE LITTLE LIE-GIRL.     108
+
+     VIII. THE TANSY CHEESE.       122
+
+     IX. "WAXERATION."             140
+
+     X. "THE CHILD'S ALIVE."       159
+
+     XI. THE FIRST CAR RIDE.       174
+
+     XII. BETTER THAN KITTENS.     188
+
+     XIII. GOOD BY.                199
+
+
+
+AUNT MADGE'S STORY.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+TOTTY-WAX.
+
+
+Here you sit, Horace, Prudy, Dotty, and Flyaway, all waiting for a
+story. How shall I begin? I cannot remember the events of my life in
+right order, so I shall have to tell them as they come into my mind.
+Let us see. To go back to the long, long summer, when I was a child:
+
+There once lived and moved a little try-patience, called Margaret
+Parlin; no more nor less a personage than myself, your affectionate
+auntie, and very humble servant. I was as restless a baby as ever sat
+on a papa's knee and was trotted to "Boston." When I cried, my womanly
+sister 'Ria, seven years old, thought I was very silly; and my brother
+Ned, aged four, said, "Div her a pill; _I_ would!"
+
+He thought pills would cure naughtiness. If so, I ought to have
+swallowed some. Pity they didn't "div" me a whole box full before I
+began to creep; for I crept straight into mischief. Aunt Persis, a
+very proper woman, with glittering black eyes, was more shocked by me
+than words can tell. She said your grandma "spoiled me by baby-talk;
+it was very wrong to let little ones hear baby-talk. If she had had
+the care of me she would have taught me grammar from the cradle." No
+doubt of it; but unfortunately I had to grow up with my own father and
+mother, and ever so many other folks, who were not half as wise as
+Aunt Persis.
+
+They called me Marg'et, Maggie, Marjie, Madge; and your grandpa's pet
+name was Totty-wax; only, if I joggled the floor when he shaved, it
+was full-length "Mar-ga-ret."
+
+I was a sad little minx, so everybody kindly informed me, and so I
+fully believed. My motto in my little days seems to have been, "_Speak
+twice before you think once_;" and you will see what troubles it led
+me into. I never failed to "speak twice," but often forgot the
+thinking altogether. Margaret means Daisy; but if I was like any
+flower at all, I should say it was "the lady in the bower." You know
+it, Prudy, how it peeps out from a tangle of little tendrils? Just so
+I peeped out, and was dimly seen, through a wild, flying head of hair.
+Your grandma was ashamed of me, for if she cut off my hair I was taken
+for a boy, and if she let it grow, there was danger of my getting a
+squint in my eye. Sometimes I ran into the house very much grieved,
+and said,--
+
+"O, mamma, I wasn't doin' noffin, only sitting top o' the gate, and a
+man said, 'Who's that funny little fellow?'--Please, mamma, won't you
+not cut my hair no more?"
+
+I was only a wee bit of a Totty-wax when she stopped cutting my yellow
+hair, and braided it in two little tails behind. The other girls had
+braids as well as I; but, alas! mine were not straight like theirs;
+they quirled over at the end. I hated that curly kink; if it didn't go
+off it would bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.
+
+But, children, I fear some of the stories I told were crookeder
+than even my braids. In the first place, I didn't know any better. I
+told lies, to hear how funny they would sound. My imagination was
+large, and my common sense small. I lived in a little world of my own,
+and had very queer thoughts. Perhaps all children do; what think, Fly?
+When I was lying in the cradle I found my hands one day, and I
+shouldn't wonder if I thought they were two weeny babies come
+visiting; what do you suppose? Of course I didn't know they belonged
+to me, but I stared at them, and tried to talk. And from that time
+until I was a great girl, as much as five years old, I was always
+supposing things were "diffunt" from what they really were. I thought
+our andirons were made of gold, just like the stars, only the andirons
+had enough gold in them to sprinkle the whole sky, and leave a good
+slice to make a new sun. When I saw a rainbow, I asked if it was "a
+side-yalk for angels to yalk on?"
+
+I thought the cat heard what I said when I talked to her, and if I
+picked a flower I kissed it, for "mebbe" the flower liked to be
+kissed.
+
+I had a great deal of fun "making believe," all to myself. I made
+believe my mamma had said I might go somewhere, and off I would go,
+thinking, as I crept along by the fence, bent almost double for fear
+of being seen, "_Prehaps_ she'll tie me to the bed-post for it."
+
+And she always did.
+
+I was the youngest of the family then, but I made believe I had once
+had a sister Marjie, no bigger than my doll, and a naughty woman in a
+green cloak came and carried her off in her pocket. I told my little
+friend Ruphelle so much about this other Marjie that she believed in
+her, and after a while I believed in her myself. We used to sit on
+the hay and talk about her, and wonder if the naughty woman would ever
+bring her back. We thought it would be nice to have her to play with.
+
+This was not very wicked; it was only a fairy story. But the mischief
+was, my dear mother did not know where to draw the line between fairy
+stories and lies. Once I ran away, and Mrs. Gray told her she had seen
+me playing on the meeting-house steps with Ann Smiley.
+
+"No, mamma," said I, catching my breath, "'twasn't me Mis' Gray saw; I
+know who 'twas. There's a little girl in this town looks jus' like me;
+has hair jus' the same; same kind o' dress; lives right under the
+meeting-house. Folks think it's me!"
+
+Your grandma was distressed to have me look her straight in the face
+and tell such a lie; but the more she said, "Why, Margaret!" the
+deeper I went into particulars.
+
+"Name's Jane Smif. Eats acorns; sleeps in a big hole. Didn't you never
+hear about her, mamma?"
+
+As I spoke, I could almost see Jane Smif creeping slyly out of the big
+hole with mud on her apron. She was as real to me as some of the
+little girls I met on the street; not the little girls I played with,
+but those who "came from over the river."
+
+My dear mother did not know what to do with a child that had such a
+habit of making up stories; but my father said,--
+
+"Totty-wax doesn't know any better."
+
+Mother sighed, and answered, "But _Maria_ always knew better."
+
+I knew there was "sumpin bad" about me, but thought it was like the
+black on a negro's face, that wouldn't wash off. The idea of trying
+to stop lying never entered my head. When mother took me out of the
+closet, and asked, "Would I be a better girl?" I generally said, "Yes
+um," very promptly, and cried behind my yellow hair; but that was only
+because I was touched by the trembling of her voice, and vaguely
+wished, for half a minute, that I hadn't made her so sorry; that was
+all.
+
+But when I told that amazing story about Jane Smif, in addition to
+running away, mother whipped me for the first time in my life with a
+birch switch.
+
+"Margaret," said she, "if you ever tell another wrong story, I shall
+whip you harder than this, you may depend upon it."
+
+I was frightened into awful silence for a while, but soon forgot the
+threat. I was careful to avoid the name of Jane Smif, but I very soon
+went and told Ruphelle that my mamma had silk dresses, spangled with
+stars; "kep' 'em locked into a trunk; did _her_ mamma have stars on
+_her_ dresses?" Ruphelle looked as meek as a lamb, but her brother
+Gust snapped his fingers, and said,--
+
+"O, what a whopper!"
+
+That is why I remember it, for Ruth heard him, and asked what kind of
+a whopper I had been telling now, and reported it to mother.
+
+Mother rose very sorrowfully from her chair, and bade me follow her
+into the attic. I went with fear and trembling, for she had that
+dreadful switch in her hand. Poor woman! She wished she had not
+promised to use it again, for she began to think it was all in vain.
+But she must not break her word; so she struck me across the wrists
+and ankles several times; not very hard, but hard enough to make me
+hop about and cry.
+
+When she had finished she turned to go down stairs, but I said
+something so strange that she stopped short with surprise.
+
+"I _can't_ 'pend upon it, mamma," said I, looking out through my hair,
+with the tears all dried off. "You said you'd whip me harder, but you
+whipped me _softer_. I _can't_ 'pend upon it, mamma. You've telled a
+lie yourse'f."
+
+What could mother say? I have often heard her describe the scene
+with a droll smile. She gave me a few more tingles across the neck, to
+satisfy my ideas of justice; but that was the last time she used the
+switch for many a long day. Not that I stopped telling marvellous
+stories; but she thought she would wait till she saw some faint sign
+in me that I knew the "diffunce" between truth and falsehood.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE LADY CHILD.
+
+
+They say I grew very troublesome. Ruthie thought I was always "under
+foot," and nothing went on, from parlor to kitchen, from attic to
+cellar, but I knew all about it. There was not a pie, particularly a
+mince pie, that I didn't try to have a finger in.
+
+But I could not have been in the house _all_ the time, for Abner
+declares I was always out of doors. My little shoes were generally
+thick with mud, and my little frocks ready every night for the
+wash-tub. If there was a spoon or a knife missing, Abner often found
+it in the ploughed field, where I had been using it as a kind of
+pickaxe to dig my way through to China. No matter how muddy or
+slippery the walking, I begged to go out. I had a feeling that I
+wanted to skip like a lamb, fly like a bird, and dart like a squirrel,
+and of course needed all out doors to do it in.
+
+"Don't fall down," cried mamma from the window; "look out for the
+ice."
+
+And I answered back from under my red, quilted hood,--
+
+"Well, if I do fall down and break me, mamma, you mus' pick up all my
+little bones and glue 'em togedder. God glued 'em in the firs' place,
+all but my tongue, and that's _nailed_ in."
+
+Not nailed in very tight: I could move it fast enough.
+
+And when the snow and ice were gone, I liked to wade ankle-deep in
+the mud. Father had to buy me a pair of rubber boots, and that is the
+first present I remember. They filled my soul with joy. When I said my
+prayers I had one on each side of me, and when I slept it was with
+both boots on my pillow. At first I could think of nothing else to
+wish for; but one day I said,--
+
+"I wish I was a pussy-cat, mamma, so I could have _four_ yubber
+boots!"
+
+Brother Ned and I were great friends. Partly to keep his eye on me,
+and partly because he enjoyed my conversation, he would say in the
+cool spring days, "Come, Maggie, dear, bring your cloak, and I'll wrap
+you up all so warm, so you can sit out on the woodpile while I chop my
+stint."
+
+I think he must have been a little fellow to chop wood. After I got
+there, and was having a good time, he often remarked, in tones as
+cutting as the edge of his hatchet,--
+
+"If I had a brother, Miss Maggie, I shouldn't take pains to wrap up a
+speck of a girl like you for company."
+
+"Well, if had a little sister, I wouldn't _be_ yapped up for comp'ny,"
+retorted I, rubbing my small, red nose; "I'd be a-yockin' her cradle."
+
+Ned laughed at that; for it was just what he expected me to say. We
+had one bond of sympathy; he longed for a little brother, and I longed
+for a little sister. He liked to hear me talk grandly about "my new
+baby-girlie, Rosy Posy Parlin. She wouldn't bl'ong to him any 'tall.
+She'd be mine clear through."
+
+He led me on to snap out little sharp speeches, which he always
+laughed at; and I suspect that was one thing that made me so pert. I
+looked up to him as a superior being, except when I was angry with
+him, which was about half the time. I told Ruphelle Allen he was a
+"bad, naughty boy;" but when she said, "Yes, I think so, too," I
+instantly cried out, "Well, I guess he's gooder 'n _your_ brother;
+so!"
+
+Ruphelle was my bosom friend. We had shaken rattles together before we
+were big enough to shake hands. She had beautiful brown eyes, and
+straight, brown hair; while, as for me, my eyes were gray, and my
+kinky hair the color of tow.
+
+Sister 'Ria called Ruphelle "a nice little girl;" while, owing to the
+way my hair had of running wild, and the way my frocks had of tearing,
+she didn't mind saying I was "a real romp," and looked half the time
+like "an up-and-down fright."
+
+As I always believed exactly what people said, and couldn't
+understand jokes, I was rather unhappy about this; but concluded I had
+been made for a vexation, like flies and mosquitos, and so wasn't to
+blame.
+
+Ruphelle lived on a hill, in the handsomest house in Willowbrook, with
+a "cupalo" on top, where you could look off and see the whole town,
+with the blue river running right through the middle, and cutting it
+in two.
+
+Ruphelle had an English father and mother. I remember Madam Allen's
+turban, how it loomed up over her stately head like a great white
+peony. There was a saucy brother Augustus, whom I never could abide,
+and a grandpa, who always said and did such strange things that I did
+not understand what it meant till I grew older, and learned that he
+was afflicted with "softening of the brain."
+
+Then in the kitchen there was a broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced woman,
+named Tempy Ann Crawford, whom I always see, with my mind's eye,
+roasting coffee and stirring it with a pudding-stick, or rolling out
+doughnuts, which she called crullers, and holding up a fried image,
+said to be a little sailor boy with a tarpaulin hat on,--only his
+figure was injured so much by swelling in the lard kettle that his own
+mother wouldn't have known him; still he made very good eating.
+
+There was a little bound girl in the family, Ann Smiley, who often led
+me into mischief, but always before Madam Allen looked as demure as a
+little gray kitten.
+
+Fel and I were uncommonly forward about learning our letters, and
+wished very much to go to school and finish our education; but were
+told that the "committee men" would not let us in till we were four
+years old. My birthday came the first of May, and very proud was I
+when mother led me up to a lady visitor, and said, "My little girl is
+four years old to-day." I thought the people "up street" would ring
+bells and fire cannons, but they forgot it. I looked in the glass, and
+could not see the great change in my face which I had expected. I
+didn't look any "diffunt." How would the teacher know I was so old?
+
+"O, will they let me in?" I asked. "For always when I go to school,
+then somebody comes that's a teacher, and tells me to go home, and
+says I musn't stay."
+
+"You will have to wait till the school begins," said my mother, "and
+that is all the better, for then little Fel can go too." I was willing
+to wait, for Fel was the other half of me. In three weeks she was as
+old as I was, and in the rosy month of June we began to go to the
+district school.
+
+Your grandfather lived a little way out of town, and Squire Allen
+much farther; so every morning Ruphelle and her brother Augustus
+called for me, and we girls trudged along to school together, while
+Gust followed like a little dog with our dinner baskets. This was one
+of the greatest trials in the whole world; for, do you see, he had a
+pair of ears which heard altogether too much, and when we said
+anything which was not remarkably wise, he had a habit of crying
+"Pooh!" which was very provoking. We went hand in hand, Fel and I, and
+counted the steps we took, or hopped on one foot like lame ducklings,
+and "that great Gust" would look on and laugh. I had so much to say to
+Fel that I couldn't help talking, though I knew he was there to hear.
+
+"I'd like to be a _skurrel_ once," said I.
+
+"O, pooh!" said Gust.
+
+"I'd like to be 'em _once_, Gust Allen. I'd like to be 'em long enough
+to know how they feel. Once there was a boy, and he was turned into a
+skurrel, and his name was Bunny."
+
+"_That's_ a whopper, miss!"
+
+Such were "the tricks and the manners" of Fel's disagreeable brother.
+Do you wonder I called him a trial? But Fel didn't mind him much, for
+he was good to her, and never laughed at her as he did at me. She was
+"a lady-child," and her disposition was much sweeter than mine.
+
+Mr. Clifford, who was fitting for college then, used to pass us with
+a book under his arm and pat our sun-bonnets, and call us "Juno's
+swans." We had never seen any swans, and did not know who Juno was,
+but presumed it was some old woman who kept geese and hens.
+
+When we reached the school-house we were sure of a good time, for the
+teacher lent us an old blunt penknife, with pretty red stones on the
+back, the like of which was never seen before in this world. Nobody
+else ever asked for the knife but us two little tots, and we went up
+hand in hand; and I spoke the words, while Fel asked with her eyes.
+Miss Lee smiled blandly, and said,--
+
+"Well, now, the best one may have the knife a little while."
+
+That always happened to be Fel; but it was all the same, for we sat
+together, and she let me play with it "more than my half." We were
+really very forward children, and learned so fast that Miss Lee says
+now she was very proud of us. I think she was, for I remember how she
+showed us off before the committee men. We could soon read in the
+Second Reader, and Fel always cried about the poor blind fiddler to
+whom Billy gave his cake, and I poked her with my elbow to make her
+stop. For my part I was apt to giggle aloud when we came to the story
+of the two silly cats, and the cheese, and the monkey.
+
+Ah, that dear old school-house, where we studied the "Primary's
+Joggerphy," and saw by the map that some countries are yellow and some
+fire-red, and the rivers no bigger than crooked knitting-needles! That
+queer old school-house, with the hacked-up benches, where we learned
+"rithumtick" by laying buttered paper over the pictures in Emerson's
+First Part, and drawing blackbirds, chairs, and cherries all in a
+row! Fel had a long wooden pencil, but poor I must do with half a one,
+for 'Ria teased me by making me think people would call me selfish if
+I had a long pencil all to myself, while my grown-up and much more
+worthy sister went without any.
+
+That funny old school-house, where Miss Lee used to make a
+looking-glass of one of the window-panes, by putting her black apron
+behind it, and peeping in to see if her hair was smooth when she
+expected the committee men! How afraid we were of those committee men,
+and how hard we studied the fly-leaves of our "joggerphies" while they
+were there, feeling so proud that we knew more than "that great
+Gust!"
+
+That dear, queer, funny old school-house! No other hall of learning
+will ever seem like that to me!
+
+Didn't we go at noon to the spring under the river bank and "duck" our
+little heads, till our mothers found it out and forbade it? Didn't we
+squeeze long-legged grasshoppers, and solemnly repeat the couplet:--
+
+
+    "Grass'per, grass'per Gray,
+     Give me some m'lasses,
+     And _then_ fly away."
+
+
+Didn't we fling flat pebbles in the river to the tune of
+
+
+    "One to make ready,
+       Two to prepare,
+     Three to go slap-dash,
+       Right--in--there"?
+
+
+And how we enjoyed our dinners under the spreading oil-nut tree,
+chatting as we ate, and deciding every day anew that Tempy Ann made
+the nicest sage cheese in the world, and our Ruthie the best
+turnovers.
+
+Sometimes at night father took me on his lap, and asked,--
+
+"Do you whisper any at school?"
+
+I turned away my face and answered,
+
+"Fel whispers _orfly_."
+
+"Well, does Totty-wax whisper too?"
+
+I dropped my head, and put my fingers in my mouth.
+
+"_Some_," said I, in a low voice. For I began to have a dim idea that
+it was not proper to tell a lie.
+
+When Fel and I had any little trouble,--which was not often, for Fel
+generally gave up like a darling,--Maria was always sure to decide
+that Fel was in the right. Fel thought 'Ria a remarkable young woman;
+but I told her privately, in some of our long chats at school, that
+older sisters were not such blessings as one might suppose. So far as
+I knew anything about them, they enjoyed scrubbing your face and neck
+the wrong way with a rough towel, and making you cry. And they had
+such poor memories, older sisters had. They could never call up the
+faintest recollection of a fairy story when you asked for one. They
+were also very much opposed to your standing in a chair by the sink to
+wipe dishes.
+
+Now Tempy Ann allowed Fel to wipe dishes, and pat out little pies on
+the cake-board, and bake doll's cakes. She was such a strong, large
+woman too, she could hold Fel and me at the same time; and after we
+were undressed, and had our nighties on, she loved to rock us in the
+old kitchen chair, and chat with us.
+
+We were confidential sometimes with Tempy Ann,--or I was,--and told
+her of our plan of going to Italy to give concerts when we grew up. I
+never saw but one fault in Tempy Ann; she would laugh over our solemn
+secrets, and would repeat the hateful ditty,--
+
+
+    "Row the boat, row the boat, where shall it stand?
+     Up to Mr. Parlin's door; there's dry land.
+     Who comes here, so skip and so skan?
+     Mr. Gustus Allen, a very likely young man.
+     He steps to the door, and knocks at the ring,
+     And says, 'Mrs. Parlin, is Miss Maggie within?'"
+
+
+Fel and I were both shocked at the bare hint of such a thing as my
+marrying Gust. We didn't intend to have any great boys about. If Gust
+should want to marry me, and ride in our gilt-edged concert-coach,
+with four white horses, I guessed he'd find he wasn't wanted. I
+should say "No," just as quick!
+
+The more earnest I grew the more Tempy Ann shook with laughing; and
+I had some reason to suspect she went and told Madam Allen my
+objections to marrying her son, which I thought was most unfair of
+Tempy Ann.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE BLUE PARASOL.
+
+[Illustration: The Blue Parasol]
+
+
+As I look back upon those make-believe days, naughty recollections
+spring up as fast as dust in August.
+
+Ruphelle seems to me like a little white lily of the valley, all
+pure and sweet, but I was no more fit to be with her than a prickly
+thistle. I loved dearly to tease her. Once she had some bronze shoes,
+and I wanted some too, but there were none to be had in town, and to
+console myself, I said to dear little Fel, "I'd twice rather have
+black shoes, bronzes look so rusty; O, my! If I couldn't have black
+shoes I'd go barefoot."
+
+Fel did not wish me to see how ashamed this made her feel, but I could
+not help noticing afterwards that she never wore the bronze shoes to
+church.
+
+I pined and fretted because I could not have nice things like her.
+She had a coral necklace, and a blue silk bonnet, and a white dress,
+with flowers worked all over it with a needle. Did _my_ best dress
+have flowers worked over it with a needle? I should think not. And I
+hadn't a speck of a necklace, nor any bonnet but just straw. I did not
+know that Squire Allen was one of the wealthiest men in the state, and
+could afford beautiful things for his little daughter, while my father
+was poor, or at least not rich, and my mother had to puzzle her brains
+a good deal to contrive to keep her little romping, heedless,
+try-patience of a daughter looking respectable.
+
+Once, when I was about six years old, I did a very naughty thing. Why,
+Fly, what makes your eyes shine so? Can it be you like to hear naughty
+stories? Queer, isn't it? Ah, but this story makes me ashamed, even
+now that I am a grown-up woman. Wait a minute; I must go back a
+little; it was the parasol that began it.
+
+When Fel and I were going home from school one night, we stopped to
+take some of our make-believe slides. Not far from our house, near the
+river-bank, were two sloping mounds, between which a brook had once
+run. These little mounds were soft and green, and dotted with white
+innocence flowers; and what fun it was to start at the top of one of
+them, and roll over and over, down into the valley. Somehow, Fel,
+being a lady-child, never stained her cape bonnet, while mine was all
+streaks; and she never tore her skirts off the waist; but what if I
+did tear mine? They always grew together again, I never stopped to
+think how.
+
+This time, as we were having a jolly roll, Madam Allen rode along in
+the carryall, with Tempy Ann driving.
+
+"Stop, and let us see what those children are doing," said she; and
+Tempy Ann stopped.
+
+Fel and I danced upon our feet, and started to run to the carryall,
+but of course I tumbled down before I got there. While I was picking
+my foot out of the hole in my frock, I heard Fel exclaim, joyfully,
+"O, mamma, is it for me? What a beauty, beauty, beauty!"
+
+"Yes, dear, I bought it for you, but if you are going to be a gypsy
+child, I suppose you won't want it."
+
+I looked and saw the cunningest little sunshade, with its head
+tipped on one side, like a great blue morning glory. Never again shall
+I behold anything so beautiful. Queen Victoria's crown and Empress
+Eugenie's diamonds wouldn't compare with it for a moment. They say we
+feel most keenly those joys we never quite grasp; and I know that
+parasol, swinging round in Fel's little hand, was more bewitching to
+me than if I had held it myself. O, why wasn't it mine? I thought of
+Fel's coral necklace, and blue silk bonnet, and the white dress with
+needlework flowers, and now if she was going to have a parasol too, I
+might as well die and done with it.
+
+"O, Marjie, Marjie!" cried she, dancing up to me with her sweet little
+face in a glow, "_do_ you see what I've got?"
+
+I never answered. I just lay there and kicked dirt with my shoe. The
+carryall was in front of us, and Madam Allen could not see how I
+behaved.
+
+"Come, little daughter," called she, "jump in and ride home."
+
+But Fel thought she would rather walk with me, for I hadn't noticed
+her parasol yet. So her mother drove off.
+
+"Isn't it a teenty tonty beauty?" cried she, waving it before me.
+
+I shut my teeth together and kicked.
+
+"You haven't looked, Marjie; see what a teenty tonty beauty!"
+
+She never could quite enjoy her pretty things till I had praised
+them. I knew that, and took a wicked pleasure in holding my tongue.
+
+"Why, Marjie," said she, in a grieved tone, "why don't you look? It's
+the teenty tontiest beauty ever you saw."
+
+"There, that's the _threeth_ time you've said so, Fel Allen."
+
+"Well, it's the truly truth, Madge Parlin."
+
+"No, it isn't neither; and you're a little lie-girl," snapped I.
+
+This was an absurd speech, and I did not mean a word of it, for I
+doubt if Fel had ever told a wrong story in her life. "You're a little
+lie-girl. _Got a parasol, too!_"
+
+She only looked sorry to see me so cross. She couldn't be very
+unhappy, standing there stroking those soft silk tassels.
+
+"I hope your mamma 'll give you one, too," murmured the dear little
+soul.
+
+I sprang up at that.
+
+"O, do you s'pose she would?" I cried; and by the time I had taken
+another roll down the bank my spirits rose wonderfully, and I let her
+put the parasol in my hand, even exclaiming,--
+
+"No, I never did see anything so nice!" But I secretly hoped my own
+would be nicer still.
+
+"Come home to my house," said I, "and ask my mamma if I can have a
+parasol too."
+
+We were very near the house, and she went in with me. Mother was in
+the kitchen, stewing apple-sauce for supper. I remember what a tired
+look she had on her face, and how wearily she stirred the apple-sauce,
+which was bubbling in the porcelain kettle.
+
+"You speak now," whispered I to Fel. "You speak first."
+
+This was asking a great deal of the dear little friend I had just
+called a lie-girl. If she hadn't loved me better, much better than I
+deserved, she would have turned and run away. As it was, she called up
+all her courage, the timid little thing, and fluttering up to my
+mother, gently poked the end of the parasol into the bow of her black
+silk apron.
+
+"Please, O, please, Mrs. Parlin, do look and see how pretty it is."
+
+That was as far as she could get for some time, till mother smiled and
+kissed her, and asked once or twice, "Well, dear, what is it?"
+
+I ran into the shed and back again, too excited to stand still.
+Mother was always so tender of Fel, that I did think she couldn't
+refuse her. I was sure, at any rate, she would say as much as, "We
+will see about it, dear;" but instead of that she gave her an extra
+hug, and answered sorrowfully,--
+
+"I wish I could buy Margaret a parasol; but really it is not to be
+thought of."
+
+I dropped into the chip-basket, and cried.
+
+"If she knew how to take care of her things perhaps I might, but it is
+wicked to throw away money."
+
+"O, mamma, _did_ you s'pose I'd let it fall in the _hoss troth_?"
+screamed I, remembering the fate of my last week's hat, with the green
+vine round it. "If you'll only give me a pairsol, mamma, I won't never
+carry it out to the barn, nor down to the river, nor anywhere 'n this
+world. I'll keep it in your bandbox, right side o' your bonnet, where
+there don't any mice come, or any flies, and never touch it, nor ask
+to see it, nor--"
+
+"There, that'll do," said mother, stopping me at full tide. "I would
+be glad to please my little girl if I thought it would be right; but I
+have said No once, and after that, Margaret, you know how foolish it
+is to tease."
+
+Didn't I know, to my sorrow? As foolish as it would be to stand and
+fire popguns at the rock of Gibraltar.
+
+I rushed out to the barn, and never stopped to look behind me. Fel
+followed, crying softly; but what had I to say to that dear little
+friend, who felt my sorrows almost as if they were her own?
+
+"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, and that's why she wouldn't give me
+no pairsol."
+
+No thanks for the kind office she had performed for me; no apology for
+calling her a lie-girl. Only,--
+
+"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, Fel Allen."
+
+She choked down one little sob that ought to have broken my heart,
+and turned and went away. You wonder she should have loved me. I
+suppose I had "good fits;" they say I was honey-sweet sometimes; but
+as I recall my little days, it does seem to me as if I was always,
+always snubbing that precious child. When she was out of sight, I
+dived head first into the hay, and tried for as much as ten minutes to
+hate my mother. After a long season of sulks, such as it is to be
+hoped none of _you_ ever indulged in, I stole back to the house
+through the shed, and Ruth, who did not know what had broken my heart,
+exclaimed,--
+
+"Why, Maggie, what ails you? You've fairly cried your eyes out,
+child!"
+
+I climbed a chair, and looked in the glass, which hung between the
+kitchen windows, and sure enough I was a sight to behold. My eyes,
+always very large, were now red and swollen, and seemed bursting from
+their sockets. I had never thought before that eyes could burst; but
+now I ran to Ruthie in alarm.
+
+"I _have_ cried my eyes out! O, Ruthie, I've _started_ 'em!"
+
+She laughed at my distress, kissed me, and set me at ease about my
+eyeballs; but the parasol was denied me, and I was sure that, blind or
+not, I could never be happy without it.
+
+The little bits of girls had afternoon parties that summer; it was
+quite the fashion; and not long after this Madam Allen made one for
+Fel. Everybody said it was the nicest party we had had; for Tempy Ann
+made sailor-boy doughnuts, with sugar sprinkled on, and damson tarts,
+and lemonade, to say nothing of "sandiges," with chicken in the
+middle. I loved Fel dearly, I know I did; but by fits and starts I was
+so full of envy that I had to go off by myself and pout.
+
+"A party and a pairsol the same year! And Fel never 'spected the
+pairsol, and didn't ask real hard for the party. But that was always
+the way; her mamma wanted her to have good times, and so did Tempy
+Ann. _Some_ folks' mammas didn't care!"
+
+I was willing nice things should fall to Fel's lot; but I wanted just
+as nice ones myself.
+
+Fel showed the girls her "pairsol," and they all said they meant to
+have one too; all but me; I could only stand and look on, with my
+eyeballs just ready to pop out of my head.
+
+I remember what sick dolls we had that afternoon; and when any of
+them died, the live dolls followed them to the grave with weeping and
+wailing, and their wee handkerchiefs so full of grief that you could
+trace the procession by the tears that dripped upon the carpet. Yes;
+but the mourners all had the cunningest little "pairsols" of
+nasturtium leaves. There wasn't a "single one doll" that marched
+without a pairsol, not even my Rosy Posy; for I had a motherly heart,
+and couldn't mortify _my_ child! She _should_ have "sumpin to keep
+the sun off," if it cost the last cent her mamma had in the world!
+
+I had a dismal fit just before supper, and went into Grandpa
+Harrington's room, back of the parlor. He was always fond of little
+folks, but very queer, as I have told you. He had a fire in the
+fireplace, and was sitting before it, though it was summer. He looked
+up when I went in, and said, "How do, darling? My feet are as cold as
+a dead lamb's tongue; does your father keep sheep?"
+
+Next minute he said,--
+
+"My feet are as cold as a dog's nose; does your father keep a dog?"
+
+That was the way he rambled on from one thing to another. But when
+he saw I was low-spirited, and found by questioning me that I needed a
+parasol, and couldn't live long without one, he took me on his knee,
+and said kindly,--
+
+"Never mind it, Pet; you shall have a parasol. I will give you one."
+
+I could hardly speak for joy. I did not feel ashamed of myself till
+afterwards, for Grandpa Harrington did not seem like other people, and
+I saw no harm in whining to him about my troubles.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+LIZE JANE.
+
+
+But my happiness did not last long. Grandpa Harrington never thought
+of my parasol again from that day to the day he died; and little witch
+and try-patience though I was, I dared not remind him of his promise,
+still less tell my mother about it.
+
+It was hard to have my hopes raised so high, only to be dashed to
+the ground; harder still to have to keep it all to myself, and see Fel
+trip along under that sunshade without a care in the world. If she had
+been the least bit proud I couldn't have borne it; but even as it was,
+it wore upon me. Once I called out in severe tones, "Ho, little
+lie-girl; got a pairsol too!" but was so ashamed of it next minute
+that I ran up to her and hugged her right in the street, and said, "I
+didn't mean the leastest thing. I love you jus' the same, if you
+_have_ got a blue pairsol, and you may wear it to meetin', and I'll
+_try_ not to care."
+
+And now I come to the naughty story.
+
+I could not always have Fel for a playmate; she was too delicate to
+be racing about from morning till night as I did, and when she had to
+stay in the house, I found other girls to romp with me. Sometimes,
+especially if I felt rather wicked, I enjoyed Eliza Jane Bean, a girl
+two or three years older than myself. There was a bad fascination
+about "Lize." When she fixed her big black eyes upon you, she made you
+think of all sorts of delightful things you wanted to do, only they
+were strictly forbidden. Her father and mother were not very good
+people, and did not go to church Sundays. They lived in a low red
+house near the Gordons. You never saw it, children; it was pulled down
+ever so long ago, and used for kindlings. People called the house "the
+Bean Pod," because there were nine little beans in it beside the big
+ones. Rattlety bang! Harum scarum! There was always a great noise in
+that house, and people called it "the rattling of the beans." It was
+well it stood on a corner lot, and poor old Mr. Gordon was so deaf.
+
+Lize Jane used to come to our house for currants. My mamma did not
+like to have me see much of her, but could not refuse the currants,
+for our bushes were loaded. It seemed as if the family must have lived
+half the summer on currants and molasses; for almost every night there
+was Lize Jane with her big tin pail. It had holes in the bottom, and
+the juice used to run out sometimes upon her dress; but it didn't make
+much difference, for her dress was never clean.
+
+One night she came for currants when they were almost gone. Mother had
+been sick, and was very late about making jelly. She told Eliza Jane
+she couldn't let her come any more after that night; the rest of the
+fruit must be saved for our own use. Lize Jane said nothing, but she
+rolled her black eyes round towards me, and I felt a little ashamed,
+for I knew she thought mother was stingy, and that was why she rolled
+her eyes.
+
+I went into the kitchen, and said to Ruth,--
+
+"Don't you want me to pick you a bowl of currants?"
+
+Of course she did. She didn't know Lize Jane was there, or she
+wouldn't have been so pleased and so ready to get me my sun-bonnet.
+She had to reach it down from a hook in the ceiling. That was the
+place where Ned hung it when he wanted to "pester" me; he did it with
+an old rake handle.
+
+When I was going anywhere to meet Lize Jane, I always felt as if I
+was stealing raisins. I never exactly stole raisins; but when my
+mother said I might go to the box and get two or three, I had
+sometimes taken a whole handful. I knew by the pricking of my
+conscience that that was wrong, and in the same way I knew that this
+was wrong too. Mother was in the green chamber, covering an ottoman
+with green carpeting, so she wouldn't see me from that side of the
+house.
+
+I ran into the garden, and, going up close to Lize Jane, began to pick
+with all my might. "My bowl fills up faster 'n your pail," said I.
+"Cause its littler," said she; "and besides, I'm picking 'em off the
+stems."
+
+"What do you do that for, Lize Jane? It takes so long."
+
+"I know it; it takes foreverlastin'; but mother told me to, so'st I
+could get more into my pail."
+
+I opened my eyes.
+
+"She told me to get my pail chuck full. She didn't use to care, but
+now the currants are most gone, and she wants all she can get."
+
+I said nothing, but I remember I thought Mrs. Bean was a queer
+woman, to want our very last currants.
+
+"Sh'an't you have your party before they're all gone?" said Lize Jane.
+
+"What party?"
+
+"Why, the one you're going to have."
+
+I suppose she knew my heart was aching for one.
+
+"I want a party dreffully," said I, "but mamma won't let me."
+
+"Won't let you?" cried Lize Jane, in surprise. "Why, Fel Allen had
+hers last week."
+
+"I know it, and Tempy Ann made us some lemonade."
+
+"Did she? I wish I'd been there," said Lize, pursing her lips. "But
+Fel lives in such a monstrous nice house, and wouldn't ask me to her
+party; that's why. Mother says I hadn't oughter care, though, for when
+she dies she'll lay as low as me."
+
+I did not understand this speech of Mrs. Bean's, which Lize Jane
+repeated with such a solemn snap of her black eyes; but it came to me
+years afterwards, and I think it the worst teaching a mother could
+give her little child. No wonder Lize Jane was full of envy and spite.
+
+"But you'll ask me to _your_ party, won't you?" said she, with a
+coaxing smile.
+
+"I can't, if I don't have one, Lize Jane."
+
+"You're a-makin' believe, Mag Parlin. You will have one; how can you
+help it, with a garden full of gooseb'ries and rubub?"
+
+"And thimbleberries, too," added I, surveying the premises with a
+gloomy eye. We certainly had enough to eat, and it was a very strange
+thing that I couldn't give a party.
+
+"Has your mother got any cake in the house?" added Lize.
+
+"Yes, lots in the tin chest; but she never lets me eat a speck,
+hardly," bemoaned I. I was not in the habit of talking to Lize Jane of
+family matters; but she had shown so much good sense in saying I ought
+to have a party, that my heart was touched.
+
+"Your mother, seems to me, she never lets you do a thing," returned
+Lize Jane, in a pitying tone. "Ain't you goin' to have a silk pairsol,
+like Fel Allen's? I should think you might."
+
+She had driven the nail straight to the mark that time. I could have
+wailed; but was I going to have Lize Jane go home and tell that I was
+a baby? No! and I spoke up very pertly,--
+
+"Where's _your_ pairsol, Lize Jane Bean? You never had one any more 'n
+me."
+
+"No; but there's something I have got, though, better than that. Good
+to eat, too. And I'll tell you what; if you'll ask me to your party,
+I'll bring you some in a covered dish."
+
+"What is it, Lize? Ice cream?"
+
+For her face was wondrous sweet.
+
+"Ice cream! How'd you s'pose I kep' that froze? No!" and the
+bewitching sparkle of her eye called up luscious ideas. I could almost
+see apricot preserves, pine apples, and honey-heart cherries floating
+in the air. But why was it a covered dish? "Somethin' nuff sight
+better 'n ice cream, but I shan't tell what."
+
+"O, I wish you'd bring it to me in the covered dish, 'thout any
+party, for my mother won't let me have one, Lize, now truly."
+
+"Then you can't have the--what I was goin' to bring," said Lize Jane,
+firmly.
+
+"That's too bad," I cried; but it was of no use talking; she couldn't
+be moved any more than the gravel walk, or the asparagus bed.
+
+"Your mother ain't much sick, is she?"
+
+"Not now," replied I; "her strength is better."
+
+"Well, then, why don't you ask some girls to come, and she'll get 'em
+some supper; see if she don't."
+
+I was so shocked that I almost fell into a currant bush.
+
+"Lize Jane Bean, what you talking about?"
+
+"Why, you said your mother warn't sick."
+
+"No, her strength is better, but she don't 'low me to do things, Lize
+Jane Bean, 'thout--'thout she lets me."
+
+"Of course not; but I guess she don't know you want a party so
+dreadful bad, Maggie, or she _would_ let you. I don't believe your
+mother is ugly."
+
+"But she never said I might have a party, though."
+
+"No, for she don't think about it. She ain't a bad woman, your mother
+ain't, only she don't think. Your mother don't _mean_ to be ugly."
+
+Lize Jane spoke in a large-hearted way, at the same time stripping
+currant-stems very industriously. "She'd feel glad afterwards,
+s'posing you _did_ have a party, I'll bet."
+
+"O, Lize Jane, what a girl! 's if I'd do it 'thout my mother said I
+might."
+
+"O, I didn't mean a real big party; did you s'pose I did? I didn't
+know but you could ask me and some of the girls to supper, and not
+call it a party. We'd play ou' doors."
+
+"O, I didn't know _that's_ what you meant. But I
+can't,--'cause,--'cause."--
+
+"Well, you needn't, if you don't want to; but I didn't know but you'd
+like to see that--what I's going to bring."
+
+"But I can't be naughty, and get tied to the bed-post," said I,
+thoughtfully. "Is that what you's going to bring, something I never
+saw in all my life, Lize Jane?"
+
+"Yes, I'm certain sure you never."
+
+And she made up another delicious face, that filled the air around
+with sweet visions.
+
+"And would you bring it if I didn't ask but--but--two girls?"
+
+"No, I don't _think_ I could," replied Lize Jane, squinting her eyes
+in deep meditation. "I don't hardly think I _could_; but if you had
+four girls I'd bring it, and _risk_ it."
+
+"Four 'thout you?"
+
+"No, me 'n three more, if you're so dreadful scared."
+
+That settled the matter. With my usual rashness I cried out,--
+
+"Well, I'll ask 'em."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+THE PARTY.
+
+
+I went to bed that night in great excitement, and I dare say did not
+get to sleep for ten minutes or so. What strange thing was this I was
+about to do?
+
+"Well," said I, "it's only four girls, that's all. I know my mamma 'd
+be glad to have me have 'em, but I don't dare ask her; so I'll have
+'em _'thout_ asking. She says she wants her little daughter to be
+happy. That's what she says; but she don't give me no pairsol. How'd
+she 'spect I's goin' to be happy? But I could be some happy if I had
+four girls,--not a party, but four girls."
+
+The next day was Saturday, the day I had agreed upon with Lize
+Jane. I chewed my bonnet-strings all the way to school, and never
+invited Fel till we got into the entry. At recess I asked Abby Gray
+and Dunie Foster; that made up the four girls. But when school was
+out, I happened to think I might as well have a few more, and singled
+out Sallie Gordon, Mary Vance, and Anna Carey; but Phebe Grant was
+standing close by, and I knew she would be "mad" if I didn't ask her;
+and after that I flew about and dropped invitations right and left,
+till I entirely forgot that I was doing it without leave. "I want you
+to come to my house, to my party, to-morrow afternoon,"--began to
+sound perfectly proper.
+
+Instead of speaking _twice_ before I thought, I spoke thirty or
+forty times. I didn't slight anybody. I asked all the First and Second
+Reader classes, and the little specks of girls in A B C. They all
+looked very much pleased. Some of them had never been invited to a
+party before, and didn't know enough to find the way to "my house;"
+but I thought, while I was about it, I might as well make a clean
+sweep: it was no wickeder to have a big party than a little one. I was
+sorry enough that boys were not in fashion, for I wanted a few. There
+was Tommy Gordon in particular, who always had his pockets full of
+"lickerish" and pep'mints; it was as much as I could do to help asking
+him. As for Gust Allen, I would as soon have had a wild monkey, and
+that is the truth.
+
+I trudged home at noon, with my eyes looking strange, I know. I had
+done my _speaking_, and now I began to _think_. It came over me like a
+little whirlwind. I realized for the first time what I had done.
+
+Ruth was hurrying up the dinner.
+
+"Don't come near me, child," said she. "I've got _my_ hands full."
+
+I went into the sitting-room. There was mother on the sofa, bathing
+her head with cologne. It didn't seem much like having a party! She
+could eat no dinner, and father said she looked as if she ought to be
+in bed.
+
+"I feel almost sick enough to be in bed," said she; "but I must help
+Mrs. Duffy put down that parlor carpet. I have waited for her ever
+since the carpet was made, and this was the very first day she could
+come."
+
+"O, dear," thought I, "where'll I have my party?"
+
+"Can't Mrs. Duffy put the carpet down alone?" asked father.
+
+"No; she would skew it badly."
+
+"But, my dear, you are sick; why not have Ruth help her?"
+
+"Ruth does not understand the business as well as I do; and more than
+that, we have a large quantity of raspberries to be made into jelly.
+They would spoil if they were kept over Sunday."
+
+Worse and worse! Who was going to get supper for my party?
+
+Then I remembered that wonderful _something_ which Lize Jane had
+promised to bring in the covered dish,--that delicious mystery which
+had been the first cause of getting me into trouble. Perhaps there
+would be enough of it to go round, and we could finish off with cake.
+I began to think it wasn't much matter what we had to eat.
+
+While life lasts I shall never forget that horrible afternoon. What
+could I say? What could I do? I felt as Horace used to, as if I
+should "go a-flyin'." I ran into the parlor where mother and Mrs.
+Duffy were putting down the carpet, and hopped about till I got a tack
+in my foot; and after mother had drawn it out, and I had done crying,
+I ventured to say,--
+
+"Mamma, there's a little girl coming to see me this afternoon. Are you
+willing?"
+
+"This afternoon? Who?"
+
+She might have asked who wasn't coming, and I could have answered
+better.
+
+I thought a minute, and then said, "Fel," for I knew she liked her
+best of all the little folks.
+
+"Very well," said mother, and went on stretching the carpet.
+
+Fel came so often that it was hardly worth mentioning.
+
+"But, mamma, there's somebody else coming, too. It's--it's--Dunie
+Foster."
+
+Dunie was a lady-child, almost as well-behaved as Fel.
+
+"Ah! I'd rather have her come some other time. But run away, dear, you
+are troubling me. Take the little girls into the dining-room. I want
+the sitting-room kept nice for callers."
+
+I couldn't get my mouth open to say another word. Three o'clock was
+the usual hour for little girls to go to parties, and I flew into the
+kitchen to ask Ruth what time it was.
+
+"Two o'clock," she said.
+
+"And in an hour would it be three? How many minutes was an hour? Did
+that jelly boil fast enough? Did jelly bake all hard in the little
+glass cups so you could eat it the same day--the same night for
+supper? Was there any cooked chicken in the house, with breastings in
+(stuffing)? Any sandiges? Why didn't Ruthie make sandiges? Do it very
+easy. Why didn't Ruthie make sailor-boy doughnuts? _I_ could sprinkle
+the sugar on 'em, see 'f I couldn't."
+
+In the midst of my troublesome chatter Abner came around to the
+kitchen door with the horse and wagon, saying he was going to mill,
+and would Tot like to go, too?
+
+"Will you be back by three o'clock?" said I.
+
+"Yes; it won't take me half an hour."
+
+"I wonder what's the child's notion of watching the clock so snug,"
+remarked Ruth, as I was darting into the parlor to ask if I might go
+to mill.
+
+As I rode along with Abner, and felt the soft summer air blow on my
+face, and saw the friendly trees nodding "Good day," it seemed as if I
+had left trouble behind me. What was the use in going back to it? I
+had half a mind to run away.
+
+"I didn't want to stay and see those little girls starve to death. No
+place but the 'dine-room' and the barn to play in! Be tied to the
+bed-post for it too! Ought to be! Wicked-bad-girl! But would mamma tie
+me any _shorter_ if I staid away till the moon came up? And then the
+girls 'd be gone! Get away from Abner just 's easy! He'll be a talkin'
+to the man 'th flour on his coat, then he'll look round an' I'll be
+gone, an' he'll say, 'That child's _persest_'; he always says
+'_persest_,' and then he'll go home and forget."
+
+But stop a minute; what would the girls think?
+
+"They'll think me very _unagreeable_ to go off and leave my party.
+They'll call me a little lie-girl; they wont ask me to their house no
+more."
+
+So I didn't run away. I sat in the wagon, groaning softly to myself.
+The way of the transgressor _is_ hard. _Every_ way was hard to me
+since I had set out to do wrong. It was hard to run off and be called
+"unagreeable," and very, very hard to go home and face my troubles.
+
+I had not supposed there was the least danger of any one's coming
+before three o'clock; but to my surprise, when we reached the house, I
+found the front entry full of small girls--the little specks in A B C.
+There they stood, some of them with fingers in their mouths, while
+mother held the parlor-door open, and was asking them very kindly what
+they wanted. "Margaret," said she, "these little girls have been here
+as much as ten minutes; I don't know yet what they came for; perhaps
+you can find out."
+
+[Illustration: THE PARTY. Page 78.]
+
+Poor, sick mother was holding her head with her hand as she
+spoke. I hated myself so that I wanted to scream.
+
+"Hattie," stammered I, taking one of the tiny ones by the hand, "come
+out in the garden, and I'll get you some pretty posies." Of course the
+rest followed like a flock of sheep. But we had hardly reached the
+garden before I saw three or four more girls coming. It was of no use;
+something must be done at once. I left the A B C girls staring at the
+garden gate, and ran to the house for dear life.
+
+"Mamma, mamma!" cried I, as soon as I could get my breath; and then I
+rolled myself up into a little ball of anguish on the parlor carpet.
+
+"Where's the camfire?" exclaimed Mrs. Duffy, springing up; "that
+child's really a fainting off." Mother came to me and took my hands;
+she says I was so pale that it quite startled her. "Where do you feel
+sick, dear?" she asked tenderly.
+
+That sympathetic tone broke me down entirely. My stubborn pride
+yielded at once, and so did that bitter feeling I had been cherishing
+so long in regard to the parasol.
+
+"O, mamma!" sobbed I, catching the skirt of her dress and hiding my
+head in it, and forgetting all about Mrs. Duffy; "I don't care what
+you do, mamma. You may send 'em home, and tell 'em they didn't be
+invited; you may go to the front door and say it this minute."
+
+"It's gone till her head," said Mrs. Duffy, laying down the hammer;
+"see her shuvver! She nades hot wather till her fate, poor thing."
+
+"I don't care what you do to me, mamma; you may tie me to the
+bed-post, and sew me up in a bag and throw me in the river. You would,
+if you knew what I've been a doin'. I--I--_I've got a party_!"
+
+Mother held her hand to her head and stared at me. Just then the
+door-bell rang.
+
+"That's some of the party," wailed I. "And those little bits of girls
+were some, and this is some now, and more's a comin'. I'm _so_ glad
+you didn't give me no pairsol, mamma."
+
+"It can't be; Margaret, you haven't--"
+
+"Yes, I have too. Yes, mamma, I've got a party! I'm wickeder 'n ever
+you heard of. Wont you put me in the river? I want you to. O, I'm _so_
+glad you didn't give me no pairsol."
+
+Mother pulled the carpet and looked at me, and then pulled the
+carpet again. She was considering what to do. Ruthie had gone to the
+door when the bell rang; we heard her voice in the entry.
+
+"Call Ruth in here to me," said mother, "and take your little girls
+into the garden."
+
+I knew by that, that she didn't mean to send them home; and O, how I
+loved her. It seemed to me I loved her for the first time in my life,
+for I never knew before how good she was, or how beautiful! Her head
+was tied up in a handkerchief, and she wore a faded calico dress and a
+tow apron, but I thought she looked like an angel. I lay flat at her
+feet and adored her.
+
+While I was taking my little girls into the garden and trying to play,
+mother was talking to Ruthie about this strange freak of mine. This I
+learned afterwards.
+
+"I don't like to disappoint all these little children," said she,
+"and I don't like to expose my naughty daughter either. You see,
+Ruth, if they find out what a dreadful thing she has done, they will
+not like her any more, and their mothers will not let them come to see
+her. And that may make Margaret a worse girl, for she needs a great
+deal of love."
+
+"I know it," said Ruthie; "she's got a big, warm heart of her own, and
+one can feel to forgive such children better than the cold, selfish
+ones; you know that yourself, Mrs. Parlin. Why, bless her, she never
+had an orange or a peach in her life, that she didn't give away half."
+
+It gratified my poor mother to see Ruthie so ready to take my
+part. It was more than she liked to do to ask the tired girl to go to
+work again over the hot stove and prepare a supper for an army of
+children; but Ruthie did not wait to be asked; for love of mother and
+for love of me, she set herself about it with a hearty good-will. I do
+not remember much that was said or done for the rest of the afternoon;
+only, I know every single girl came that was invited, and they all
+said it was a nicer party than even Fel's; but Fel didn't care; she
+was glad of it. Of course it was nicer, for Ruthie spread the table in
+the front yard, and 'Ria was so kind as to adorn it with flowers, and
+lay wreaths of cedar round the plates. We had cup-custards and
+cookies, and, something I didn't expect, little "sandiges," with cold
+ham in the middle. But didn't I know it was more than I deserved?
+Didn't my heart swell with shame, and guilt, and gratitude? I remember
+rushing into the house in the very midst of the supper, just to hug
+mother and Ruthie.
+
+The funny thing, the only funny thing there was to the whole party,
+was Lize Jane's present. In my agitation I had almost forgotten how
+anxious I was to see it. She came dressed very smartly in red calico,
+with a blue bow at her throat. Her hair was remarkably glossy, and she
+told us, in a loud whisper, she had "stuck it down with bear's grease
+and cologne." She brought her old tin pail, the very one she picked
+currants in, only it really had a cover on it now, and _that_ was what
+she called "a covered dish." And guess what was in it?
+
+_Pumpkin sauce!_ The drollest looking mess. Dried pumpkin stewed in
+molasses. She said I never tasted anything like it before, and I am
+sure I never did, and never should want to again.
+
+And that was the end of my party. Mother didn't sew me up in a
+bag and throw me in the river, for she was the most patient woman
+alive. She only forbade my going to anybody's house for a long time to
+come. It was a hard punishment; but I knew it was just, and I could
+not complain. My heart was really touched, and I had learned a lesson
+not easily forgotten. When I think of that party now, it is with a
+feeling of gratitude to my dear mother for her great forbearance, and
+her wise management of a wayward, naughty little girl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+THE PATCHWORK SCHOOL.
+
+
+Fel and I had begun to read before we were four years old, and by
+the time we were six we knew too much to go to the town school any
+more. I believe that was what we thought; but the fact was, Fel was
+very delicate, and her mother considered the walk to the school-house
+too long for her, and the benches too hard. She wished to have a
+governess come and live in the house, so the child could study at
+home. I thought this was too bad. I knew almost as much as Fel did.
+Why must I go to the town school if it wasn't good enough for her?
+
+"Mamma, I wish I was del'cate," whined I. "Ned snipped off my finger
+in the corn-sheller,--don't that make me del'cate?"
+
+"Delicate!" said Ned. "You're as tough as a pine knot."
+
+I thought this was a cruel speech. He ought to be ashamed to snip off
+my finger, and _then_ call me tough.
+
+In looking about for a governess, Madam Allen thought at once of
+dear Martha Rubie, who lived just across the garden from their house.
+Uncle John's wife was her sister, the aunt Persis I told you about,
+who thought I ought not to hear baby-talk. Aunt Persis wasn't willing
+her sister Martha should go away from home; she said Fel might trip
+across the garden and say her lessons at her house. Fel didn't like to
+do it, for she was afraid of aunt Persis--she wouldn't go unless I
+would go with her; and finally mother said I might; so it turned out
+just as well for me as if I was delicate. She wanted Gust to go too,
+and he wasn't willing. But if Fel set her heart on anything it
+generally came about.
+
+"Augustus," said Madam Allen, smiling with her pleasant black eyes,
+which had a firm look in them, "you will recite to Miss Rubie if I
+wish it."
+
+"Well, then, I want some of the other fellows to 'cite too," sniffed
+little Gust; "'tisn't fair for one boy to go to a patchwork school,
+long o' girls."
+
+And thus it happened that several children joined us, and Miss Rubie
+had quite a sizable school.
+
+And now I must tell you what sort of a house we went to; for the
+whole thing was very queer. In the first place, there was dear uncle
+John,--yes, _your_ uncle John; but don't ask any questions; I'll tell
+you more by and by,--and his wife, that was aunt Persis; and his
+wife's sister, dear sweet Martha Rubie; and his little boy, Zed. Aunt
+Persis was an elegant, stately woman, but there was always something
+odd about her. I think myself it was odd she shouldn't like baby-talk.
+
+She knit herself into my earliest recollections when she was Pauline
+Rubie, and after she married uncle John, she knit my stockings just
+the same, and uncle never interfered with the stripes, red and white,
+running round and round like a barber's pole. They were the pride of
+my life till Gust Allen said they made my little legs look like sticks
+of candy, good enough to eat. Then I hated them; but aunt Persis had
+got in the way of knitting stripes, and wouldn't stop it, beg as I
+might--for she always thought her way was right, and couldn't be
+improved.
+
+Among other things she thought she knew all about medicine. There was
+a system called "hot crop," or "steaming," and she believed in it, and
+wanted everybody to take fiery hot drinks, and be steamed. That was
+the chief reason why we were so afraid of her.
+
+Her house was a very pleasant, cosy one, or would have been if it
+hadn't had such a scent of herbs all through it. The first day we went
+to school aunt Persis met us at the door, and asked Fel to put out her
+tongue. Then she took us to a cupboard, and gave Fel something to
+drink, that we both thought was coffee; but it was stinging hot
+composition tea. Miss Rubie came into the kitchen just as Fel was
+catching her breath over the last mouthful, and said she,--
+
+"O, Persis, how could you?"
+
+We followed Miss Rubie into the school-room as fast as we could go.
+This school-room was right over a little cellar, just deep enough for
+a grown person to stand up in. It was called the "jelly-cellar," and
+when we were naughty Miss Rubie opened a trap-door and let us down. I
+was so restless and noisy that for a while I spent half my time in
+that cellar, surrounded by jars of jelly and jam. And I am afraid I
+could say sometimes, "How sweet is solitude!" for there was just light
+enough from the one window to give me a clear view of the jars, with
+their nice white labels, and more than once I did--I blush to confess
+it--I did put my fingers into a peach jar and help myself to
+preserves. I was old enough to know better; I resisted the temptation
+a great many days, but one unlucky morning I espied Dunie Foster
+coming up from the cellar with jelly stains on her white apron, and
+that set me to thinking.
+
+"Ah, ha; Dunie eats perserves, and looks just as innocent's a lamb!
+Folks think she's better 'n me, but she isn't, she's a
+_make-believer_. I wonder if it's dreadful wicked to take perserves?
+Prehaps auntie spects us to eat 'em. Any way, Fel Allen never gets put
+down cellar, and it's real mean; and if I have to stay down there the
+whole time I ought to have something to make me feel better; I feel
+real hungry, and they ought to _spect_ I'd eat perserves." So I did
+it; partly because Dunie did, partly because Fel wasn't punished and
+ought to be, and partly because it was most likely auntie put 'em
+there a-purpose! I think I never did it but three times; and the third
+time it was thoroughwort and molasses! Strong, I assure you, boiled
+down to a thick sirup. I had the jar at my lips, and had taken a long,
+deep draught, when I happened to look up, and there was aunt Persis
+going by the window, and looking straight down at me!
+
+I was so startled by the bitter taste in my mouth and the sight of
+aunt Persis, both coming at the same time, that I gave a little
+scream, and pranced round and round the cellar like a wild animal.
+Miss Rubie heard me, and came down to see what was the matter. She did
+not ask if I had been meddling with the jars; but she must have known,
+for a sticky stream was trickling over my dress, and I had set the
+sirup down on the floor with the cover off. She bent a keen glance on
+me, and at the same time I saw a little twinkle in her eye. I suppose
+she thought my guilt would bring its own punishment, for she probably
+knew the thoroughwort would make me sick.
+
+"Are you ready now to be a good, quiet girl?" said she. I had been
+shut down for noisiness.
+
+"Yes'm," said I, meekly, and followed her up stairs.
+
+But though my heart was heavy with shame, I could not help thinking,
+"What orful tastin' perserves!" and wondering if aunt Persis really
+was crazy, as Tempy Ann said she was.
+
+Miss Rubie had had reason to think before that some of the children
+went to those jars, but she did not say so; she merely remarked,--
+
+"It is nearly noon, children; you may lay aside your books now, and,
+if you like, I will tell you a story."
+
+Everybody was pleased but me. I wanted to go home. The story was from
+the text, "Thou, God, seest me." It was about Adaline Singleton, a
+little girl who took her mother's cake without leave, and her mother
+counted the slices, and found her out.
+
+I could not look up at Miss Rubie all the while she was talking, but I
+noticed Dunie Foster did. I was trying to rub that zigzag stream of
+sirup off my apron; and O, how sick I grew! Would she ever stop?
+
+I knew God had seen me yesterday and day before, when I ate peach
+preserves, and I had no doubt it was to punish me that I had been
+allowed to swallow this bitter stuff to-day. But, O, if I could go
+home!
+
+I never see that story of Adaline Singleton now among my books but it
+calls up a remembrance of guilt and nausea too. I would give a great
+deal, little Fly, if I hadn't so many bad things to remember. It is
+because I hope to do you good that I am willing to tell of them. May
+you have a purer childhood to look back upon!
+
+Thankful was I when school was out that noon, but I wasn't able to go
+again in the afternoon; and my mother knew why!
+
+It was the last time I was ever put in that cellar. Miss Rubie found
+another method of punishment; and I think I can say truthfully it was
+the last time I ever took sweetmeats without leave. I did other wrong
+things in plenty, but that I could never do again. When mother said I
+might go to the box and get "half a dozen raisins," I got half a
+dozen, and not a handful. Those solemn words rang in my ears,--"Thou,
+God, seest me,"--just as Miss Rubie had spoken them in her low, sweet
+tones.
+
+For days I dared not meet aunt Persis's eye, but she treated me just
+the same, often loading me down with pennyroyal and spearmint to take
+home to mother. I did not know she was near-sighted, and had not seen
+me drinking her thoroughwort. It was the first medicine of hers I had
+ever taken, and that bitter taste in my mouth decided me, upon
+reflection, that she _was_ crazy. As it proved, I was not very far
+wrong.
+
+There had been something the matter with her wits for two or three
+years, and she was growing queerer and queerer. People began to wonder
+what made her want to look at their tongues so much. She said now if
+she met people on her way to church, "Please, put out your tongue;"
+and sometimes said it on the very church steps. This was queer; but
+they did not know how much queerer she was at home. We children could
+have told how she came into the school-room and felt all our pulses,
+but we thought Miss Rubie would be sorry to have us tell.
+
+Her little boy Zed, about four years old, had to take her dreadful
+medicines, of course, for medicine was the very thing auntie was crazy
+about. He carried some of his doses into school to drink at recess,
+and we all pitied him. Sometimes he ate dry senna and raisins mixed on
+a plate, and we teased away the raisins, and he had to chew the senna
+"bare." He cried then, and said we ought to help eat that too, and we
+did. I thought it had a crazy taste, like the thoroughwort, and was
+sorry Zed had a liver inside him, and wished that his mother hadn't
+found it out.
+
+Miss Rubie was very good and patient with us, but we began to dread to
+go to school. I overheard Tempy Ann say to Polly Whiting,--
+
+"The story is, that Mrs. Adams (aunt Persis) steamed her own mother
+out of the world."
+
+"You don't say so!" said Polly. "How long since?"
+
+"About two years ago. The poor old lady sailed off very easy, with a
+jug of hot water close to her nose."
+
+That frightened us dreadfully. We knew aunt Persis steamed Zed, for
+he said so; and what if she should steam us all out of the world with
+jugs of hot water close to our noses? And she was always trying to
+make Fel swallow something bad, and always talking about her white
+face. "Tell your mother to let me have you for a month," said she,
+"and I'll put roses into your cheeks, my dear."
+
+Fel was so afraid that she trembled when we went into the house,
+expecting auntie would spring out upon her, and set her over the fire
+to steam. But she was such a patient, still little thing that she
+never complained, even to her own mother, and I was too rattle-brained
+to think much about it, though if I myself had expected to be cooked,
+the whole town would have heard of it.
+
+Zed grew paler and paler. I asked Miss Rubie, privately, "what made
+his mother boil him?" And she smiled, though not as if she was happy,
+and said,--
+
+"She doesn't boil him when I can help it, dear."
+
+About this time I heard my mother say to my father she wished uncle
+John was at home, for auntie acted so odd, and her eyes looked so
+strange.
+
+"Yes, mamma," cried I, rushing in from the nursery, "she boils her
+little boy, and she wants to boil Fel. I should think you'd tell Fel's
+mother, for Fel dassent tell, she's so scared."
+
+I think mother went right to Madam Allen with what I said, for the
+next night, when I was at Squire Allen's, and Fel was sitting in her
+mamma's lap, Madam Allen said,--
+
+"Why didn't my little girl let me know she was afraid of Mrs. Adams?
+When darling feels unhappy about anything she must always tell
+mamma."
+
+Fel was so glad somebody was going to protect her, that she threw her
+arms about her mother's neck, and sobbed for joy. "Don't let her hurt
+Zed either," said she. She was such a dear little soul, always
+thinking about others.
+
+"Now tell me if that boy has got a name?" spoke up grandpa Harrington.
+That was what he always asked when any one spoke of Zed.
+
+"Yes, sir; his name is Rosalvin Colvazart," said Madam Allen. "Zed is
+for short."
+
+"I know, I know, Rose Albert Coffeepot," laughed grandpa. He had said
+that fifty times, but he always thought it a new joke.
+
+That night, while we were all soundly asleep, we were suddenly
+roused by the sharp ringing of the door-bell. Squire Allen went to the
+door, and there, on the steps, stood our dear teacher, Martha Rubie,
+in her night dress, with a shawl over her shoulders.
+
+"O, Mr. Allen! O, madam! come quick! My sister is worse. She has
+steamed Zed, and she was trying him with a fork; but I locked him into
+the closet. Do come and take care of her. She is putting lobelia down
+the cow's throat."
+
+Fel and I screamed, and Tempy Ann had to come in and soothe us. Fel
+wasn't willing her father and mother should go; but I said, "Don't you
+be afraid; aunt Persis won't boil 'em; they're too big to get into the
+kettle."
+
+Tempy Ann laughed in her shaky way--which always made me provoked.
+
+"Tempy Ann," cried I, jumping over the foot-board, "I guess _you_
+wouldn't laugh if _you_ should be doubled up, and put over the stove!
+You needn't think Fel and I are babies, and don' know what you said
+about her boiling her mother up the chimney, with a jug on her nose;
+but we do know, and it's so, and sober true, for we've seen the
+kettle."
+
+But it wasn't of the least use to reason with Tempy Ann when she had
+one of those shaky spells. So silly as she was at such times, I almost
+wished she could be boiled half a minute, to see if it wouldn't sober
+her down.
+
+It seems aunt Persis had really become very crazy indeed; and that
+dear, sweet, patient, good Martha had been trying to keep it a secret;
+but it couldn't be done any longer. She acted so badly that Martha
+couldn't manage her. When Squire Allen went into the house, she was
+stirring "Number Six" into some corn-meal for the hens, and was very
+angry with him because he made her leave off and go to bed.
+
+Father and mother had to take care of her till uncle John came; but
+she was as sick as she was crazy, and did not live till October.
+
+I remember looking at her beautiful, white face, the first I ever saw
+in death, and thinking,--
+
+"How glad auntie is to be so still."
+
+No one told me she was tired, but somehow I knew it, for she was
+always flying about in such a hurry, and I was sure it must rest her
+very much to go to sleep. I received then a pleasant, peaceful
+impression of death, which I never forgot.
+
+Miss Rubie staid at Squire Allen's for some time, and taught Fel. Now
+she is a person whom you all know very well; but I shall not tell who
+she is till by and by.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+THE LITTLE LIE-GIRL.
+
+
+And now I will skip along to the next summer, and come to the dreadful
+lie I told about the hatchet. You remember it, Horace and Prudy, how I
+saw your uncle Ned's hatchet on the meat block, and heedlessly took it
+up to break open some clams, and then was so frightened that I dared
+not tell how I cut my foot. "O, mamma," said I, "my foot slipped, and
+I fell and hit me on something; I don't know whether 'twas a hatchet
+or a stick of wood; but I never touched the hatchet."
+
+It was very absurd. I think I did not know clearly what I was
+saying; but after I had once said it, I supposed it would not do to
+take it back, but kept repeating it, "No, mamma, I never touched the
+hatchet."
+
+Mother was grieved to hear me tell such a wrong story, but it was no
+time to reason with me then, for before my boot could be drawn off I
+had fainted away. When I came to myself, and saw Dr. Foster was there,
+it was as much as they could do to keep me on the bed. I was
+dreadfully afraid of that man. I thought I had deceived mother, but I
+knew I couldn't deceive him.
+
+"So, so, little girl, you thought you'd make me a good job while you
+were about it. There's no half-way work about you," said he. And then
+he laughed in a way that rasped across my feelings like the noise of
+sharpening a slate pencil, and said I mustn't be allowed to move my
+foot for days and days.
+
+Every morning when he came, he asked, with that dreadful smile,--
+
+"Let us see: how is it we cut our foot?"
+
+And I answered, blushing with all my might, "Just the same as I did in
+the first place, you know, sir."
+
+Upon which he would show all his white teeth, and say,--
+
+"Well, stick to it, my dear; you remember the old saying, 'A lie well
+stuck to is better than the truth wavering.'"
+
+I did not understand that, but I knew he was making fun of me. I
+understood what Ned meant; for he said flatly, "You've told a bouncer,
+miss."
+
+I was so glad Gust Allen wasn't in town; he was a worse tease than
+Ned. When Abner came in to bring me apples or cherries, he always
+asked,--
+
+"Any news from the hatchet, Maggie?" And then chucked me under the
+chin, adding, "You're a steam-tug for telling wrong stories. Didn't
+know how smart you were before."
+
+Miss Rubie said nothing; she came in with Fel every day; but I
+presumed she was thinking over that solemn text, "Thou, God, seest
+me."
+
+'Ria did not say anything either; but I always felt as if she was just
+going to say something, and dreaded to have her bring in my dinner.
+
+I knew that father "looked straight through my face down to the
+lie;" but I still thought that mother believed in me. One day I found
+out my mistake. Ned had been saying some pretty cutting things, and I
+appealed to her, as she came into the room:--
+
+"Mayn't Ned stop plaguing me, mamma?"
+
+"No more of that, Edward," said mother, looking displeased. "It is too
+serious a subject for jokes. If Margaret has told us a wrong story,
+she is, of course, very unhappy. Do not add to her distress, my son.
+We keep hoping every day to hear her confess the truth; she may be
+sure there is nothing that would make us all so glad."
+
+So mother knew! She must have known all along! She turned to bring me
+my dolly from the table, and I saw her eyes were red. I wanted to
+throw myself on her neck and confess; but there was Ned, and somehow I
+never saw mother alone after that when I could make it convenient.
+
+She was right in thinking me unhappy, but she little dreamed how
+wretched I was. Horace and Prudy, you have heard something of this
+before; but I must tell it now to Dotty and Fly; for that hatchet
+affair was a sort of crisis in my life.
+
+You know I had not always told the truth. My imagination was active,
+and I liked to relate wonderful stories, to make people open their
+eyes. It was not wrong in the first place, for I was a mere baby. The
+whole world was new and wonderful to me, and one thing seemed about as
+strange to me as another. I could not see much difference between the
+real and the unreal, between the "truly true" and the make believe.
+When I said my mamma had silk dresses, spangled with stars, I was
+thinking,--
+
+"Perhaps she has. There's _sumpin_ in a trunk locked up, and I _guess_
+it's silk dresses."
+
+But as I grew older I learned better than to talk so. I found I
+must keep such wild fancies to myself, and only tell of what I knew to
+be true. Every time I wanted to utter a falsehood, a little voice in
+my soul warned me to stop.
+
+Fly, you are old enough to know what I mean. Your eyes say so. You
+didn't hear that voice when you were patting round grandma's kitchen,
+making Ruthie's coffee-mill buzz. You were too little to hear it then.
+It had nothing to say to you when you stole your mamma's "skipt," and
+soaked it in the wash-bowl; or when you stuffed your little cheeks
+with 'serves without leave, or told lies, lies, lies, as often as you
+opened your sweet little lips.
+
+"You don't 'member actin' so?"
+
+O, no; it was "so _many_ years ago!" But I was going to say you did
+all those dreadful things, and still you were not naughty. Nobody
+thinks any the worse of you to-day for all your baby-mischief. We
+only laugh about it, for you did not know any better. But if you were
+to do such things now, what _should_ we say? Your soul-voice would
+tell you it was wrong, and it would be wrong.
+
+My soul-voice talked to me, and I was learning to listen to it. I was
+not in the habit of telling lies; I had been hurried and frightened
+into this one, and now it seemed as if I could not stop saying it any
+more than a ball can stop rolling down hill.
+
+It was dreadful. I had to lie there on mother's bed and think about
+it. I could not go out of doors, or even walk about the room. Fel had
+lain in her pretty blue chamber day after day, too sick to eat
+anything but broths and gruel; but then her conscience was easy. I
+wasn't sick, and could have as many nice things to eat as the rest of
+the family; still I was wretched.
+
+My little friends came to see me, and were very sorry for me. I was
+glad to be remembered; but every time I heard the door open, I
+trembled for fear some one was going to say "hatchet."
+
+And when I was alone again I would turn my face so I could watch the
+little clock on the mantel. It ticked with a far-away, dreamy sound,
+like a child talking in its sleep, and somehow it had always one story
+to tell, and never any other;--"You've told--a lie;--you've told--a
+lie."
+
+"Well," thought I, "I know it; but stop plaguing me."
+
+There was a pretty picture on the clock door of a little girl, with
+her apron full of flowers. It was to this little girl that I
+whispered, "Well, I know it; but you stop plaguing me." She went right
+on just the same,--"You've told--a lie; you've told--a lie." I turned
+my face to the wall to get rid of her, but always turned it back
+again, for there was a strange charm about that dreadful little girl.
+I could tell you now just how she was dressed, and which way she bent
+her head with the wreath of flowers on it. You have noticed the old
+clock in Ruth's room at grandpa's? That's the one. I never see it now
+but its slow tick-tock calls to mind my sad experience with the
+hatchet.
+
+Days passed. I was doing my first real thinking. Up to that time I had
+never kept still long enough to think. It was some comfort to draw the
+sheet over my head, and make up faces at myself.
+
+"You've told a lie, Mag Parlin. Just 'cause your afraid of getting
+scolded at for taking the hatchet. You're a little lie-girl. They
+don't believe anything what you say. God don't believe anything what
+you say. He saw you plain as could be when you cut your foot, and
+heard you plain as could be when you said you never touched the
+hatchet. And there he is up in heaven thinking about you, and not
+loving you at all! How can he? He don't have many such naughty girls
+in his whole world. If he did, there'd come a rain and rain all day,
+and all night, for as much as six weeks, and drown 'em all up 'cept
+eight good ones, and one of 'em's Fel Allen. But 'twouldn't be you,
+for you're a little lie-girl, and you know it yourself."
+
+It is idle to say that children do not suffer. I believe I never
+felt keener anguish than that which thrilled my young heart as I lay
+on mother's bed, and quailed at the gaze of the little girl on the
+clock door.
+
+Still no one seemed to remark my unhappiness, and I have never heard
+it alluded to since. Children keep their feelings to themselves much
+more than is commonly supposed, especially proud children. And of
+course I was not wretched all the time; I often forgot my trouble for
+hours together.
+
+But it was not till long after I had left that room that I could bring
+my mind to confess my sin. I took it for granted I was ruined for
+life, and it was of no use to try to be good. I am afraid of tiring
+you, little Fly; but I want you to hear the little verse that grandpa
+taught me one evening about this time, as I sat on his knee:
+
+"If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our
+sins."
+
+I see you remember it, Dotty. Is it not sweet? "God is faithful and
+just." I had always before repeated my verses like a parrot, I think;
+but this came home to me. I wondered if my dreadful sin couldn't be
+washed out, so I might begin over again. I knew what confess meant; it
+meant to tell God you were sorry. I went right off and told him; and
+then I went and told father, and I found he'd been waiting all this
+time to forgive me. It was just wonderful! My heart danced right up. I
+could look people in the face again, and wasn't afraid of the girl on
+the clock door, and felt as peaceful and easy as if I'd never told a
+lie in my life--only I hated a lie so. I can't tell you how I did hate
+it.
+
+"I'll never, never, never tell another as long as I breathe,"
+whispered I to the blue hills, and the sky, and the fields, and the
+river. And I knew God heard.
+
+I suppose it is a little remarkable, Fly; but I believe this really
+was my last deliberate lie. Children's resolves are not always the
+firmest things in the world, and my parents did not know how much mine
+was good for. They did not dream it had been burnt into my soul with
+red-hot anguish.
+
+I have always been glad, very glad, I was allowed to suffer so much,
+and learn something of the preciousness of truth. It is a diamond with
+a white light, children. There is no other gem so clear, so pure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+THE TANSY CHEESE.
+
+
+You are not to suppose from this that I became a good girl the very
+next day. No, nor the day after. I ceased from the wickedness of
+telling lies, just as I had stopped pilfering sweetmeats. This was
+all; but it was certainly better than nothing.
+
+I was soon able to play once more, only I could not run as fast as
+usual. How pleasant it was out of doors, after my long stay in the
+house! The flowers and trees seemed glad to see me, and I knew the
+hens and cows were, and old Deacon Pettibone, the horse. I resumed my
+old business of hunting hens' nests, though it was some weeks before
+I dared jump off the scaffold, and it seemed odd enough to come down
+on the ladder.
+
+"I'd twice rather have it be you that had cut your foot, Fel Allen,"
+said I, "for you don't want to run and jump; and folks that don't want
+to, might just as well have a lame foot as not."
+
+Fel couldn't quite understand that, though it was as clear to _me_ as
+A B C. And after all my suffering, she wouldn't own I was as
+"delicate" as she. I didn't like that.
+
+"You don't remember how many bad things have happened to me," said I,
+waving my thimble-finger, which had lost its tip-end in the
+corn-sheller.
+
+"Well, Ned's going to give you a gold thimble to pay for that, and I
+suppose you're glad it's cut off," said Fel, who had never met with
+an accident in her life, and was naturally ashamed of not having a
+single scar or bruise on her little white body, not so much as a wart
+or pimple to show me. I could not help feeling my superiority
+sometimes, for I had been cut and burnt, and smashed and scalded, and
+bore the marks of it, too.
+
+"Well, but you don't have so bad headaches as me," said Fel,
+recovering her self-esteem. "Your mamma never has to put mustard
+_pace_ on your feet, and squeeze up burdock leaves and tie 'em on your
+head, now, does she?"
+
+"I don' know but she did when I was a baby; I never heard her say,"
+returned I, coolly. "Folks don't think much of headaches. Polly
+Whiting has 'em so she can't but just see out of her eyes. But that
+isn't like hurting a place on you so bad your mother doesn't dass do
+it up! I guess you'd think it _was_ something if you cut your foot
+most in two, and the doctor had to come and stick it together!"
+
+[Illustration: Squeezing Herdsgrass. Page 125.]
+
+That silenced Fel, and I had the last word, as usual.
+
+It was already quite late in the summer. One day Fel and I were
+snuggled in the three-cornered seat in the trees, trying to squeeze
+herdsgrass, to see which would be married first, when Ruthie came out
+at the side door to sweep off the steps.
+
+"Maggie 'll be pleased," said she; "but how we shall miss her little
+mill-clapper of a tongue."
+
+She was talking to 'Ria, who was going back and forth, doing something
+in the kitchen.
+
+"Yes, we shall miss her," said 'Ria; "but I shan't have her dresses
+to mend. I pity poor cousin Lydia; she'll think--"
+
+Then 'Ria's voice sounded farther off, and I did not hear what cousin
+Lydia would think.
+
+"Put your head down here, Fel Allen. I've found out something,"
+whispered I, starting suddenly, and tearing my "tyer" on a nail.
+
+"I'm going to cousin Lydia Tenney's."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Why, didn't you hear 'Ria say she shouldn't have to mend my dresses?
+That means I shan't be here, of course."
+
+"Perhaps it means you'll be a better girl, and not tear 'em."
+
+"O, no, it don't. 'Ria knows better 'n that. Didn't you hear her say
+she pitied poor cousin Lydia? Well, it's because she'll have _me_ in
+her house; and that's why 'Ria pities her."
+
+"Then I wouldn't go to her house, if 'twill make her feel bad," said
+Fel.
+
+"O, I know what makes you say that; its because you don't want me to
+go."
+
+"Of course I don't. Who'd I have to play with?"
+
+"Lize Jane Bean."
+
+"H'm."
+
+"Well, then, there's Dunie Foster; you think she's a great deal nicer
+'n me."
+
+"Now, Madge Parlin, I only said she kept her hair smoother; that's all
+I said."
+
+"Well, there's Abby Gray and Sallie Gordon," added I, well pleased
+to watch the drooping of my little friend's mouth. "You can play with
+them while I'm gone. And there's your own brother Gust, that _you_
+think 's so much politer 'n Ned."
+
+"You know there's nobody I like to play with so well as I do you,"
+said Fel, laying her cheek against mine, and we sat a while, thinking
+how dearly we did love each other. Then we saw Abner wheeling the
+chaise out of the barn. I ran down the steps from the tree, and
+asked,--
+
+"Is anybody going anywhere, Abner?"
+
+"Well, yes; I believe your pa's going over yonder," said he, pointing
+off to the hills.
+
+"Anybody--anybody going with him?"
+
+"He talks of taking the Deacon," said Abner, dryly, as he began to
+wrench off the wheels, and grease them.
+
+"Madge, Madge, where are you?" called 'Ria, from the side door.
+"Come into the house; I have something to tell you."
+
+It was just as I expected. I was going to Bloomingdale to-morrow. The
+news had been kept from me till the last possible moment, for when I
+was excited about anything, I was noisier than ever, and as Ruthie
+said, "stirred up the house dreadfully."
+
+Next morning father tucked me into the chaise, behind old Deacon. I
+didn't know why it was, but I couldn't help thinking about the
+hatchet, and wondering mother should have taken so much pains to get
+such a naughty girl ready. I had been told I might stay till after
+apple-gathering, and I was glad, for I wanted to make Fel as lonesome
+as she had made me those two weeks she spent in Boston. I had never
+been away from home but twice to stay over night, and my playmates
+couldn't any of them know my true value, of course.
+
+But as I looked at the dear friends on the piazza, growing dearer
+every minute, especially mother, I had my doubts whether I cared much
+about cousin Lydia's apples.
+
+"She'll be back with father," remarked Ned, "as homesick as a kitten."
+
+"Just you see if I do!"
+
+It was well we were driving away just then, for my brave laugh came
+very near ending in a sob.
+
+"I'm on business," said father, whipping up the Deacon, "and shall
+come back to-morrow; but you can do as you please, Totty-wax--you can
+come with me, or wait a month or six weeks, and come with cousin
+Lydia."
+
+I was disposing, privately, of a stray tear, and could not answer.
+
+"Your cousin will take the cars," said he.
+
+"Take the cars!" I slipped off the seat, and stood upright in my
+surprise. The railroad had only just been laid to one corner of
+Willowbrook, and I had never taken a car in my life; had never seen
+one; didn't even know how it looked. This had been a great
+mortification to me ever since Fel went to Boston.
+
+"O, father," cried I, whirling round and getting caught in the reins,
+"did you say the cars? I s'posed cousin Lydia would come in a wagon,
+and I didn't know 's I cared about staying. _Did_ you say the cars?"
+
+"There, there; don't fall out over the Deacon's back. Did you ever
+hear what the water-wagtail said?"
+
+Then I knew father was laughing at me. When I was so happy I
+couldn't keep still, he often asked me if I ever heard what a small
+bird, called the water-wagtail, said, who thought the world was made
+for him:--
+
+
+    "Twas for my accommodation
+       Nature rose when I was born;
+     Should I die, the whole creation
+       Back to nothing would return."
+
+
+That was what the little bird said. But father was mistaken this time.
+I felt remarkably humble for me. I had been thinking so much about the
+hatchet that I couldn't have a very high opinion of myself, to save my
+life.
+
+It was twenty miles to cousin Lydia's. When we got there she was
+looking for us. I knew her very well, but had never been at her house
+before. It was a pretty white cottage, with woodbines creeping over
+it, and Boston pinks growing by the front door-stone. There was a red
+barn and barnyard on one side of the house, and a woodshed on the
+other; and in front of the porch door, facing the street, was a well,
+with an old oaken bucket, hanging on a pole. I had never seen a
+well-sweep before, and supposed it must be far nicer than a pump.
+
+Cousin Lydia had a farmer husband in a striped frock, and a beautiful
+old mother in a black dress and double-frilled cap. Then there were
+her husband's two sisters, who lived with her, and a cat and a dog;
+but not a child to be seen.
+
+I didn't feel quite clear in my mind about staying; but cousin Lydia
+seemed to expect I would, and showed me a little cheese-hoop, about as
+big round as a dinner-plate, saying she would press a cheese in it on
+purpose for me, and I might pick pigweed to "green" it, and tansy to
+give it a fine taste. So I should almost make the cheese myself; what
+would my mother say to that? Then there were the beehives, which were
+filling with honey, and some late chickens, which were going to chip
+out of the shell in a week. Remarkable events, every one; but it was
+the tansy cheese which decided me at last, and I told father he might
+go without me; I wanted to stay and make a visit.
+
+It was not till he was fairly out of sight that I remembered what a
+long visit it would be. Why, I shouldn't see mother for as much as a
+month! A new and dreadful feeling swept over me, as if I was left all
+alone in the great empty world, with nothing to comfort me as long as
+I lived.
+
+Samantha, one of Mr. Tenney's sisters, found me an hour afterwards
+sitting beside a chicken-coop, crying into my apron. She asked me if I
+was homesick. I thought not; I only wanted to see my mother, and I
+felt bad "right here," laying my hand on the pit of my stomach. The
+feeling was not to be described, but I did not know homesickness was
+the name for it.
+
+Samantha consoled me as well as she could with colored beads to
+string, and a barrel of kittens out in the barn. I felt a little
+better at dinner time, for the dinner was very nice; but my spirits
+were still low.
+
+Julia, the other young lady, was not very fond of little girls, and
+had no box of trinkets as Samantha had, or, at any rate, did not show
+any to me. She seemed to be always talking privacy with her sister, or
+with cousin Lydia, and always sending me out of the room. Not that she
+ever told me, in so many words, to go away--but just as if I didn't
+know what she meant!
+
+"Don't you want to go out in the barn and hunt for eggs?" said she.
+
+No, I certainly didn't. If I had wanted to I should have found it out
+without her speaking of it. But I was only a little girl; so I had to
+go, and couldn't answer back. The neighbors' children were few and far
+between; and though I strolled about for hours behind cousin Joseph
+Tenney and the hired man, there were times when I liked to see what
+was going on in the kitchen, and it was vexing to hear Julia say,--
+
+"If I was a little girl about your age, I never should get tired of
+looking at that speckled bossy out in the barn."
+
+Indeed! I almost wished she had to be fastened into the stall a while,
+just to _see_ if she wouldn't get tired of that speckled bossy.
+
+But when the time came to make my cheese, I had a right to stay in
+the house. Cousin Lydia let me look on, and see it all done. First, I
+picked the pigweed and tansy, or how could she have made the cheese?
+Then she strained some milk into a pan, and squeezed the green juices
+through a thin cloth. After that she put in a little rennet with a
+spoon.
+
+"There," said she, "isn't that a pretty color? Watch it a few minutes,
+and you will see it grow thick, like blanc-mange, and that will be
+curd."
+
+Then she made some white curd in another pan, without any green
+juice. After the curd "came," it was very interesting to cross it off
+with a pudding-stick, and this she let me do myself. Next morning she
+drained the curd in a cloth over a cheese-basket, and put on a stone
+to press out the whey. When it was drained dry enough, she let me cut
+it up in the chopping-tray, and she mixed the two curds together, the
+green and the white, salted them, and put them in that cunning hoop,
+and then set the hoop in the cheese-press, turned a crank, and weighed
+it down with a flatiron. There, that is the way to make a cheese. When
+it came out of the press it was a perfect little beauty, white, with
+irregular spots of green, like the streaks in marble cake. I knew then
+how that greedy Harry felt, in the story, when his mother sent him a
+plum cake, and he couldn't wait for a knife, but "gnawed it like a
+little dog."
+
+Of course I did not gnaw the cheese, but I did want to have it cut
+open, to see if it tasted like any other I ever ate. But cousin Lydia
+covered it with tissue paper, and oiled it, and set it in a safe, and
+every day she oiled it again, and turned it. I would have spent half
+my time looking at it, only she said I must not open the dairy-room
+door to let the flies in.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+"WAXERATION."
+
+
+Still, in spite of cheeses, beehives, bossies, and kittens, I had many
+lonesome hours, and sometimes cried after I went to bed. Samantha must
+have known it, for I slept with her; I was afraid to sleep alone.
+
+There were times when I thought I would start off secretly, and go
+home on foot. I asked the hired man how long he supposed it would take
+a little girl to walk to Willowbrook, and what were the chances of her
+getting lost if she should try it? I thought I spoke in such a guarded
+way that Seth would not have the least idea what I meant; but he must
+have been very quick-witted, for he understood in a minute. He did
+not let me know it, though, and only answered coolly,--
+
+"Wal, I should think now it would take her about a week's steady
+travel, and no knowing but she'd starve to death on the road. Why,
+_you_ hain't heerd of a little gal that thinks of such a thing, I
+hope?"
+
+"No; I don't see many little girls," said I, with a dismal sigh; "they
+don't have anything here but bossies and horses."
+
+I did not know, till Seth nipped it in the bud, what a sweet hope I
+had been cherishing. Should I truly starve to death if I took my
+little cheese in a basket on my arm, and some doughnuts and
+turn-overs? But no, it would be stealing to take things out of cousin
+Lydia's cupboard, and run off with them. I would rather stay at
+Bloomingdale and suffer, than be a thief.
+
+I know now that Seth told cousin Lydia what I said to him, and her
+kind heart was touched. I am sure she must have had a hard time with
+me, for she knew nothing about children, and was as busy as she could
+be with her dairy and her "fall work." I ought not to have been so
+unhappy. Some children at that age, with so much done for their
+amusement, would have felt perfectly contented; but I had naturally a
+restless disposition, and wanted, as Ned said, "sumpin diffunt."
+
+Ah, Horace! very gallant in you to say I have "got bravely over it."
+Thank you, dear; I hope I have, to some degree; still I might have got
+over it much younger if I had only tried a little harder. A child of
+seven is old enough to be grateful to its friends, when they do all
+they can for its comfort and pleasure.
+
+Cousin Lydia wrote mother about my state of mind; and it troubled her.
+She talked with Madam Allen, who was always full of plans. Madam
+thought a minute, and then said,--
+
+"Poor Marjie, we can't have her homesick. Do you suppose she would
+like to have Ruphelle go there and stay with her?"
+
+Of course mother knew I would be happy with Ruphelle.
+
+Then Madam Allen wished mother would please write cousin Lydia, and
+ask if Fel might go to Bloomingdale a few weeks. She hoped the
+mountain air would be strengthening to the dear little girl, who
+seemed rather drooping.
+
+Cousin Lydia was willing; and Madam Allen sent Ruphelle by cars,
+with a gentleman and lady who were going to Boston. Not a word was
+said to me; and when Seth harnessed the horse and went to the station
+to meet her, I supposed he was only "going to see his mother;" for
+that was what he always said when I asked any questions. It was about
+three miles to the flag station, and I believe his mother lived
+somewhere on the way.
+
+I was not watching for him to come back, or thinking anything about
+him, when I happened to look out of the window and see him helping a
+little girl out of the wagon. The red and white plaid looked exactly
+like Fel's dress; and as the little girl turned around, there were the
+soft, brown eyes, and the dark, wavy hair, and the lovely pale face of
+Fel Allen herself!
+
+I never expect to be much happier till I get to heaven than I was
+for the next hour or two. I danced and screamed, and laughed and
+cried, and wondered how Fel could keep so calm, when we hadn't seen
+each other for as much as three weeks.
+
+"I don't see what's the matter with me," sobbed I; "I never was so
+glad in my life; but I can't help a-crying!"
+
+Fel was not one of the kind to go wild. She usually knew what she was
+about. Supper was ready, and she sat at the table, and ate honey on
+her bread and butter, as if she really enjoyed it; also answered every
+one of cousin Lydia's many questions like a little lady.
+
+I had no appetite, and could hardly have told what my name was if any
+one had asked me.
+
+But from that time my homesickness was gone. I took my little friend
+all about the farm, which was a very nice place, only I had never
+thought of it before, and showed her the speckled bossy, which seemed
+to have grown handsomer all in one night.
+
+"Here are some black currants, Fel; do you like 'em?"
+
+"O, yes."
+
+"Why, I don't; I just despise 'em."
+
+"Well, I don't like 'em _very_ well," said Fel; for after our long
+separation she could not bear to disagree with me in anything.
+
+"Cousin Lydia," said I, very soon after Fel came, "may we tell scare
+stories after we go to bed? She wants us to."
+
+Cousin Lydia did not know what I meant by "scare stories."
+
+"It's all the awful things we can think of," said I, eagerly. "And we
+like to, for we want to see 'f our hair 'll stand out straight."
+
+Cousin Lydia laughed, and said "children were perfect curiosities."
+
+"It makes us shiver all over. It's splendid," said I.
+
+"Well, you may try it this once," said cousin Lydia, "if you'll stop
+talking the moment I tap on the wall."
+
+So, as soon as we got into bed we began. "You tell first," said
+Ruphelle; "you can tell the orfulest, and then I'll tell."
+
+"Mine'll be about the Big Giant," said I, clearing my throat.
+
+
+_The Big Giant._
+
+"Once upon a time he had three heads, and he roared so you could hear
+him a mile."
+
+"That isn't anything," said Fel; "my hair don't stand out a bit."
+
+"Why, I hadn't but just begun. You wait and see what comes next. Did
+I say the Big Giant had three heads? He had sixteen. And every one of
+'em had three mouths, and some had ten; and they made a noise when he
+chewed grass like----like thunder."
+
+"It don't scare me a bit," said Fel, stoutly.
+
+"Did I say the Big Giant ate grass? He ate _fire_; he ate live coals,
+the _liver_ the better."
+
+"I should have thought 'twould have burnt him all up," said Fel.
+
+"There, miss, you needn't pretend not to be scared! I'm so scared
+myself I can't but just tell!--No, it didn't burn him up; it came out
+at his great big nose. And when the Big Giant walked along the streets
+folks ran away, for he blazed so. And there wasn't enough water in
+Willowbrook to put him out!"
+
+"He didn't live at Willowbrook?"
+
+"O, yes, right between your house and my house; _and lives there
+now_!"
+
+By that time Fel began to tremble and creep closer to me.
+
+"Tell some more," said she, laughing. "It don't scare me a bit."
+
+And I told, and I told. There was no end to the horrible things that
+Big Giant had done, was doing, or was going to do.
+
+"Does your hair stand up, Fel?"
+
+"No; feel and see if it does. But there's a creepy feeling goes over
+me; don't it over you?"
+
+"Yes," said I, highly excited. "Got your eyes shut, Fel?"
+
+"Yes, shut up tight."
+
+"Open 'em," said I, solemnly; "for how do you know but that Big
+Giant's got into this room? Can't you _see_ the fire coming out of his
+nose?"
+
+Fell couldn't, exactly.
+
+"Get out," said I, "and get the wash-bowl and pitcher, and let's throw
+it at him kersplash."
+
+"I dassent," said Fel, faintly.
+
+"Nor I dassent neither."
+
+By that time I was out of bed, much more frightened than Fel was, and
+calling "Cousin Lydia," as loud as I could shout. She came in in great
+surprise, and it was some time before she could succeed in calming us.
+I remember how heartily she laughed, and how my teeth chattered. I
+actually had to be wrapped in a blanket and dosed with ginger tea. I
+wonder how many times cousin Lydia said,--
+
+"Well, children ARE perfect curiosities."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We could not think of such a thing as spending the night alone after
+all this, and Samantha was obliged to get into our bed and sleep in
+the middle. Cousin Lydia said we made too much hard work for the
+family by telling "scare stories," and we must not do it again while
+we staid at her house.
+
+"I have just found out, Marjie, why it is that you are afraid to sleep
+alone," said she; "it is because you allow yourself to think about
+such frightful things. Is it not so?"
+
+"Yes'm," said I, quivering in the blanket.
+
+"Well, child, you must stop it at once; it is a very foolish habit,
+and may grow upon you. Never think of dreadful things. Say your little
+prayer, asking God to take care of you, and then lie down in peace,
+for he will certainly do it. Ruphelle, are you ever afraid?"
+
+"No'm, only when I'm with Marjie; but I like to hear her tell
+things; I ask her to."
+
+Fel often said she had beautiful thoughts about angels after she went
+to bed, and dreamed that they came and stood by her pillow.
+
+Ah, that was no common child; she lived very near the gates of heaven.
+Strange I could have associated with her so much, and still have been
+so full of wrong desires and naughty actions!
+
+Julia Tenney, who was not very fond of children, certainly not of
+me, took a decided fancy to Fel the moment she saw her. I soon found
+this out, for she did not try to conceal it, and said more than once
+that "that child was too good for this world." I thought everybody
+liked her better than me, from Miss Julia down to the cat. I did not
+consider this at all strange; only I longed to do something to show
+myself worthy of praise, as well as she.
+
+There was a panic at that time about small-pox, and the doctor came
+one day to vaccinate everybody in the house. We children looked on
+with great interest to see the lancet make a scratch in cousin Lydia's
+arm, and then in Miss Samantha's, and Miss Julia's.
+
+"Now for the little folks," said the doctor, and drew Fel along to
+him; but she broke away in great alarm, and began to cry. "Well,
+well," said the doctor, turning to me, "here's a little lady that will
+come right up, I know she will; _she_ won't mind such a thing as a
+prick of a needle."
+
+No, I really didn't mind it; why should I, when I had been gashed
+and slashed all my life? So I walked up very quickly to show my
+courage. I guessed they wouldn't laugh about my Big Giant now! I
+rolled back my sleeve with an air of triumph, and looked down on Fel,
+who shrank into a corner. Everybody was surprised, and said, "Well
+done!" and hoped I wasn't _all_ the brave child there was in the
+house.
+
+I walked on thrones, I assure you; for there was Fel crying, and
+begging to wait till after dinner. Why, she hadn't any more courage
+than a chicken. I was ashamed of her. The doctor said he would wait
+till after dinner if she would surely have it done then.
+
+"O, you little scare-girl!" said I, as he walked out to talk with
+cousin Joseph, and we two children were left alone in the room.
+
+The doctor had laid his lancet and the little quill of vaccine
+matter on the table, having no thought, I suppose, that such small
+children as we would dare touch them.
+
+"I can waxerate as well as he can," said I, taking up the lancet, "for
+I watched him. Push up your sleeve, Fel, and I'll waxerate you, and
+then when the doctor does it, you'll get used to it, you know."
+
+"Don't you, _don't_ you touch that sharp thing, Madge Parlin."
+
+"Poh! do you think I'm a little scare-girl like you?" returned I,
+proudly, for my little head was quite turned with flattery. "He didn't
+say folks musn't touch it, did he, Miss Fel? It's just like a needle;
+and who's afraid of a needle but you? I'll waxerate _me_, if _you_
+don't dast. Just you look! When I've done it three times to me, will
+you let me do it to you?"
+
+Fel wouldn't promise, but I went boldly to work. Let me count the
+scars--yes, twenty scratches I made above my elbow, never forgetting
+the vaccine, saying, as I stopped to take breath,--
+
+"Ready now, Fel?"
+
+She never was ready, but she stood looking on with such meekness and
+awe, that I was just as well satisfied. After the doctor was gone, and
+she was in cousin Lydia's lap, quite overcome by the fright of
+"waxeration," I told what I had done, expecting to be praised.
+
+"Why, Maggie!" said cousin Lydia, really shocked, "what will you do
+next? It was very, very wrong for you to meddle with the doctor's
+lancet."
+
+"Ah, well," said Miss Julia, "I guess she'll be a sick enough child
+when it 'takes.'"
+
+I did not understand that, but I saw I had sunk again in
+everybody's esteem. And that very afternoon Miss Julia allowed Fel,
+who had been such a coward, to dress up in her bracelets, rings, pin,
+and even her gold watch, only "she must be sure and not let Maggie
+touch them."
+
+Of course I see now what a heedless child I was, and don't wonder
+Miss Julia wished to preserve her ornaments from my fingers; still she
+ought not to have given them to Fel before my very eyes. I thought it
+was hard, after scratching myself so unmercifully, not to have either
+glory or kisses, or even a bosom-pin to wear half an hour. My arm
+smarted, and I felt cross. As Miss Julia went out of the room she
+patted Fel's head, but took no notice of me, and cousin Lydia did the
+very same thing two minutes afterwards. It was more than I could
+bear.
+
+"Ho, little _borrow-girl_," said I to Fel, "got a gold watch, too!
+'Fore I'd wear other folks's things! I don't wear a single one thing
+on me but b'longs to me; you may count 'em and see!"
+
+It seemed as if I could not let her alone; but such was the sweetness
+of nature in that dear little girl that she loved me through
+everything.
+
+"I thought you wanted to go out doors and play with me," said I; "and
+if you do, you'd better take off your borrowed watch!"
+
+Fel did not answer, but tucked the watch into her bosom; and we went
+out in no very pleasant mood.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+"THE CHILD'S ALIVE."[*]
+
+(* The following is a true incident.)
+
+
+
+Samantha and Julia were gone to a neighbor's that afternoon, and
+cousin Lydia was filling a husk-bed in the barn. There was no one at
+home but lame and half-blind grandma Tenney.
+
+"I don't care if they are gone, for they all think I'm a naughty, bad
+girl," thought I. "O, why don't they love me? My mamma loves me, and
+hugs me every day when I'm home."
+
+I walked along to the well, my eyes half-blinded by tears. That
+well-sweep had always fascinated me, and I had been allowed to play
+with it freely; but lately cousin Joseph had observed that the curb,
+or framework round the mouth of the well, was out of order; the boards
+were old, and the nails were loosened; he should put on new boards as
+soon as he could stop; but until he did so, I must let it alone. Would
+I remember?
+
+"Yes, sir," said I, at the same time thinking in this wise: "Why, I
+drawed water day before yes'day, and he didn't say the boards were
+old. How could they grow old in one day?"
+
+Still I fully intended to obey. I forgot myself when I said,--
+
+"Fel, le's do a washing, and wash our dollies' clo'es. I'll go get a
+little tinpail to draw water with."
+
+For I could not lift the bucket.
+
+"Well," said she; "and I'll go get a cake o' soap."
+
+She had heard nothing about the well-curb, and did not know we were
+doing wrong to draw water. She enjoyed swinging the pole just as much
+as I did, and we soon forgot our slight disagreement as we watched the
+little pail drop slowly into the well.
+
+"There are stars down there," said I, "for I saw 'em once; they say
+it's stars, but I shouldn't wonder if 'twas pieces of gold--should
+you?"
+
+I was letting the pail down as I spoke, and Fel was leaning against
+the curb, peeping into the well.
+
+"O, I forgot," cried I; "cousin Joseph said--"
+
+But even before I had finished the sentence, the rotten boards gave
+way, and Fel pitched suddenly forward into the well!
+
+My brain reeled; but next moment my reason--all I ever had and more
+too--came to my aid. I can't account for it, but I felt as strong and
+brave as a little woman, and called out,--
+
+"Take hold of the pole, Fel! take hold of the pole!"
+
+I don't know whether she heard me or not, for her screams were coming
+up hoarse and hollow from the watery depths. All I know is, she did
+put out both her little hands, and clutch that short pole. The
+ten-quart pail was dangling from the end of the pole, within two feet
+of the water.
+
+What was I to do? I could draw up the little tin pail, but not such a
+heavy weight as Fel. My hope was that I might keep her above water a
+while, and as long as I could, of course she would not drown. It was a
+wise thought, and showed great presence of mind in a child of my age.
+I am glad I have this one redeeming fact to tell of myself--I, who ran
+wild at the silly story of a make-believe Big Giant!
+
+Yes, I held up that long pole with all the might of my little arms,
+crying all the while to Seth in the barn,--
+
+"Come quick! come quick!"
+
+It was just as much as I could do. I am sure strength must have been
+granted me for the task. For a long while, or what seemed to me a long
+while, nobody heard. Seth was making a great noise with his flail, and
+if my shout reached his ears he only thought it child's play; but when
+it kept on and on, so shrill and so full of distress, he dropped his
+flail at last and ran.
+
+Not a moment too soon; my little strength was giving out.
+
+"Jethro! what's this?" cried he, and caught the pole from my hand.
+"Well, you're a good one! Don't be scared, little dear." That was to
+Fel. "Hold on tight, and I'll fetch you up in a jiffy."
+
+She did hold on; stupefied as she was, she still had sense enough to
+cling to the pole.
+
+"There, there, that's a lady! Both arms round my neck! Up she comes!"
+
+By that time cousin Lydia was on the spot, looking ashy white, and
+Seth, with Fel in his arms, was rocking her back and forth like a
+baby, and saying, "There, there, little girlie, don't cry."
+
+"The Lord be praised!" exclaimed cousin Lydia; "the child's alive! the
+child's alive!"
+
+"Yes, and this Marjie here is a good one," said Seth, pointing to me;
+"she's got the right stuff in her. I never saw a young one of that age
+do anything so complete in my life."
+
+I cried then; it was the first time I could stop to cry. Cousin Lydia
+put her arms round me, and kissed me; and that kiss was sweet to my
+soul.
+
+Seth carried Fel into the house. She was trembling and sobbing
+violently, and did not seem at first to understand much that was said
+to her. Cousin Lydia rubbed her, and gave her some cordial to drink,
+and I looked on, half proud and half ashamed. Seth kept saying there
+were five feet of water in the well, and if I hadn't held Fel up, she
+must have drowned before anybody could get to her. I knew I had been
+very brave, and had saved Fel's life. I knew it before Seth said so.
+But who drowned her in the first place? I expected every minute cousin
+Lydia would ask that question; but she didn't; she never seemed to
+think of it.
+
+When the young ladies came home, Miss Julia took me in her lap, and
+said,--
+
+"Well, Marjery, you're a smart child; there's no doubt about it--a
+very smart child."
+
+Just think of that from Miss Julia! It wouldn't have been much from
+Miss Samantha, for she had a soft way with her; but Miss Julia! Why,
+it puffed me out, and puffed me out, till there was about as much
+substance to me as there is to a great hollow soap-bubble.
+
+"Yes," said cousin Joseph, in his slow way, "Marjery is smart enough,
+but she ought to be very smart to make up for her heedlessness."
+
+There, he had pricked the bubble that time! I twinkled right out.
+
+And it was the last time Julia admired me; for she happened to think
+just then of her gold watch. It was not on Fel's neck; it had gone
+into the well where the stars were. Seth got it out, but it was
+battered and bruised, and something had happened to the inside of it,
+so it wouldn't tick.
+
+Miss Julia never took me in her lap again; but she liked Fel as well
+as ever. She said Fel was not at all to blame. I knew she wasn't, and
+somehow, after that dreadful affair, I was willing people should love
+Fel better than me. I had been fairly frightened out of my crossness
+to her. O, what if I _had_ drowned her? Every time I wanted to snub
+her I thought of that, and stopped. I suppose I put my arms round her
+neck fifty times, and asked, "Do you love me _jus_ the same as if I
+hadn't drowned you?"
+
+And she said "Yes," every time, the precious darling!
+
+I had a very lame arm not long after this; it almost threw me into a
+fever. I was ashamed to have that doctor come, for they had told me
+what was the matter. It has always been my luck, children, if I ever
+tried to show off, to get nicely paid for it!
+
+Now I think of it, Dotty, how easily Fel could have turned upon me at
+this time, and said, "Ho, little meddle-girl! Got a sore arm, too!"
+
+But you may be sure she never thought of such a thing. It grieved her
+to see me lie in bed, and toss about with pain. She sat beside me, and
+patted my cheeks with her little, soft hands, and sometimes read to
+me, from a Sabbath school book, about a good girl, named Mary
+Lothrop,--she could read as well as most grown people, for she really
+was a remarkable child,--but I didn't like to hear about Mary Lothrop,
+and begged her to stop.
+
+"She's too tremendous good," said I. "It killed her to be so good, and
+I'm afraid--"
+
+I believe I never told Fel what I was afraid of; but it was, that she
+was "too tremendous good" herself, and would "die little," as Mary
+Lothrop did. I thought she seemed like Mary; and hadn't Miss Julia
+said she was too good for this world? O, what if God should want her
+up in heaven? I had thought of this before; but if I had really
+believed it, I should all along have treated her very differently. We
+should none of us speak unkindly if we believed our friends were soon
+going away from us, out of this world. What would I give now if I had
+never called the tears into that child's gentle eyes!
+
+My arm got well, and the next thing that happened was a letter from
+home--to us two little chickens, Fel and me both. Seth brought it
+from the "post-ovviz," directed to Miss Ruphelle Allen and Miss
+Margaret Parlin, care of Joseph Tenney, Esq. Here it lies in my
+writing-desk, almost as yellow as gold, and quite as precious. How
+many times do you suppose we little girls read it and kissed it? How
+many times do you suppose we went to sleep with it under our pillows?
+We took turns doing that, and thought it brought us pleasant dreams.
+
+Her mother wrote one page of the letter, and my mother another; 'Ria a
+few lines, and Ned these words, in a round hand:--
+
+
+     "DEAR SISTER: I suppose you want to hear all about our house and
+     barn. I went to Gus Allen's party. We trained, and a pretty set
+     of fellows we were."
+
+
+That was all he told about our house and barn, and he did not sign
+his name. Perhaps he would have said more after resting a while; but
+Miss Rubie saved him the trouble, and ended the letter, by inviting
+"you darlings,"--Fel and me,--to her wedding, which was to take place
+in a few weeks.
+
+We had a little waltzing to do then! A wedding! We danced right and
+left, with that letter under our feet.
+
+"I should think you'd better read on, and see what the man's name is,
+you little Flutterbudgets," said cousin Joseph, laughing at us.
+
+We hadn't thought of that. We looked, and found it was uncle John!
+Another surprise. It was a new idea to both of us, that a man who had
+had one wife should ever have another. We remembered aunt Persis, who
+wanted to steam Fel.
+
+"And she died years, and years, and _years_ ago."
+
+"About eleven months," said cousin Lydia. Your uncle John is obliged
+to go to England this fall, and wants to take Zed; and I am very glad
+Miss Rubie is willing to be Zed's mother, and will go with them."
+
+"How can she be his mother?" said I. "She's his auntie."
+
+But we didn't care about the relationship, Fel and I; all we cared
+about was the wedding. And I did hope I should have a string of wax
+beads to wear on my neck.
+
+Here is our reply to the letter. (The words in Italics are Fel's.)
+
+
+     "DEAR LITTLE MOTHERS: We thought we would write to you. _We are
+     glad we shall go to the wedding._ Do you think you can buy me
+     some wax beeds? _We want to see you very much._ But I want the
+     wax beeds, too. Fel said a prayer for my sickness. I think she
+     is a very pias girl. The cow is dead, &c., & ect. So good by."
+
+
+        "From MAJ and RUPHELLE."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+THE FIRST CAR RIDE.
+
+
+It seemed as if cousin Lydia never would get ready to start. Ever
+since the letter from our mammas, Fel and I had been sure we were
+wanted at home; but there was no end to the things cousin Lydia had to
+do, and so far as we could see, Miss Samantha and Miss Julia didn't
+help her much. We dared not say this, however; we laid it away in our
+minds, with twenty other things we meant to tell our mothers when we
+got home.
+
+My great consolation while waiting was a Maltese kitten with white
+toes, and eyes the color of blue clay; and when, at last, the joyful
+time came for going to Willowbrook, I begged to take that kitty with
+us. Miss Julia said, "Nonsense!" But cousin Lydia was really a
+sensible woman; for what did she do but butter Silvertoe's paws, and
+tie her into an egg-basket.
+
+"But you must take care of her yourself, Maggie; I shall have my hands
+full with you, and Ruphelle, and the baggage."
+
+Kitty behaved beautifully at first; but presently the rough mountain
+roads began to jar upon her nerves, I think; for by the time the stage
+reached the station, she was scratching and mewing at such a rate that
+I was ashamed of her. I lagged behind, so cousin shouldn't hear.
+
+And was this the depot? A jail, I should say. Such a wicked man
+staring through the hole in the wall! Wonder what he was put in for?
+
+"The ticket-master, that is," said cousin Lydia, smiling at me, though
+I hoped she couldn't see what I had been thinking.
+
+Then she bought the tickets; but she wouldn't let Fel or me keep ours.
+She said the kitty was all I could manage. So I should think!
+
+We heard a shriek like my Big Giant. It frightened me dreadfully; I
+began to think there _was_ such a man. No wonder kitty jumped. Next
+moment some yellow things came tearing along. Then I knew it was the
+cars.
+
+"Come," said cousin Lydia, climbing the steps.
+
+Well, I intended to come. My foot was just a little stiff, but I was
+hurrying as fast as I could, when up sprang the cover of the basket,
+and out popped the kitty. Of course, I wasn't going without
+Silvertoes. She scampered round the end of the depot, and I ran after
+her. It was of no use; she dropped into a hole. I couldn't have been
+gone half a minute; but those yellow things took that time to whisk
+off. I ran the whole length of the platform, calling, "Whoa!" but they
+never stopped.
+
+The black-whiskered man had come out of his cell, and was locking the
+depot door.
+
+"O, won't you stop that railroad? Please, for pity's sake!"
+
+The man made no reply; only shut one eye and whistled. I danced and
+screamed. There were those things puffing out of breath, and
+determined not to stop.
+
+"'Tain't no use to make a rumpus. The cars won't take back tracks for
+nobody."
+
+I thought he didn't understand.
+
+"Why, my cousin Lydia bought me a ticket, sir, right out of that hole.
+Don't you _know_ she did? And that railroad went off and left me. I
+was getting in in a minute, as soon as I found my kitty!"
+
+"O, that's it, hey? Well, you see this ere's only a flag-station, and
+they don't stop for cats."
+
+I began to cry. The man patted me on the back, just as if I had a
+fish-bone in my throat, and called me "Poor sissy." It made me very
+angry--seven _whole_ years old--to be called sissy! I wiped my eyes at
+once, and told him decidedly that I thought my cousin would make the
+"driver" come back for me.
+
+The man whistled harder. This caused me to feel a little like a dog
+that has lost his master; and I felt so all the more when the man
+pointed his finger at me and told me to follow him, and he would try
+to get me "put up" for the night. But not knowing anything better to
+do, I trudged after him with my empty basket, forgetting all about the
+kitten.
+
+We crossed the road, and went through a long yard where clothes were
+drying, till we came to a little brown house. Near the open door of
+the porch sat a woman beating eggs in a yellow pudding-dish. She had a
+skin somewhat the color of leather, and wore a leather-colored dress,
+gold beads, a brass-topped comb, and gold ear-drops, like upside down
+exclamation points. I thought she looked a little like a sheepskin
+book father had in a gilt binding.
+
+"This little creeter got left by the train, Harr'et; I don't see but
+we shall have to eat and sleep her. What say?"
+
+"Eat and sleep me!" I took a step backward. Of course they did not
+mean what they said; but I thought joking on this occasion was in
+very poor taste.
+
+"Got left over? Poor little dear!"
+
+The woman stopped her work to pity me, and drops of egg dripped from
+the fork-tines like yellow tears. I fell to crying then.
+
+"It seems she's some related to Captain Tenney's folks," said the
+whistling man, ending with another love-pat, and "Poor Sissy!"
+
+But even those insulting words could not stop my crying this time.
+
+"Leave her to me, Peter," said the woman. "Most likely she's afraid of
+men folks."
+
+The man went away, to my great relief, and she took my bonnet and
+cloak, and then made me tell her all about my trials, while she beat
+time with her fork. My mouth once open, I talked steadily, giving the
+complete history of my life between my sobs,--only leaving out my lie
+about the hatchet.
+
+"Something cut my foot and I go a little lame, or I could have catched
+that kitty,--she has white _pors_. But _does_ the railroad have any
+right to run off and leave folks that's bought tickets?"
+
+"Never mind, dear, you're welcome to stay over with us. Brother Peter
+and I never calculate to turn folks away while we have a crust to eat,
+or a roof to cover us."
+
+"O, dear, what poor people!" I ought not to stay. But it seemed they
+were to have something to-night better than crusts. Harr'et was frying
+pancakes,--how could she afford it?--and shaking them out of the
+kettle with a long-handled skimmer into a pan in a chair. She brought
+me one, which she called her "try-cake;" but it didn't look like
+Ruth's, and I was too homesick to eat; so I managed to slip it into my
+pocket.
+
+Harr'et wore heavy calfskin shoes, and shook the house fearfully when
+she walked. I couldn't help thinking of what she had said about the
+roof, and it seemed as if it might fall any minute and "cover us,"
+sure enough.
+
+While I sat on the door-step watching her, all forlorn, she drew out a
+red armchair, gave it a little twitch, as you would to a sunshade, and
+lo! it turned into a table, with a round top. Then she covered it with
+a cloth, from a drawer in the chair part of the table, and put on some
+green and white dishes.
+
+When tea was ready, the whistling man seemed to know it, and came in.
+It didn't look very inviting to me. The biscuits were specked with
+brown spots as if the oven had freckled them; and I didn't like
+molasses for sauce.
+
+I thought of home, and the nice supper cousin Lydia was eating there,
+and could almost see her sitting next to mother, with my purse in her
+pocket, and my ticket too. And I could almost see Fel, and hear her
+queer grandpa asking her questions, while Miss Rubie looked on, all
+smiling, and dressed in her wedding-gown, of course.
+
+They all thought I was lost, and they should never see me again.
+Perhaps they never would. How could I go home without a ticket? Once
+there was a man put off the car because he couldn't show a ticket. Fel
+saw the "driver" do it.
+
+That thought choked me, together with the sudden recollection that I
+hadn't told Harr'et my purse was gone. She and Peter might be
+expecting to make quite a little sum out of my board, enough to keep
+the roof on a while longer.
+
+"Do eat, child," said the man.
+
+"I didn't tell you, sir," I sobbed, "that the railroad ran off with my
+purse,--cousin Lydia, I mean,--and I haven't the leastest thing to pay
+you with!"
+
+I drew out my handkerchief in a great hurry, and out flew the pancake.
+Peter and Harriet looked at it and smiled, and I hid my face in shame.
+
+"Never you worry your little head about money," said Peter, kindly. "I
+know young ladies about your size ain't in the habit of travelling
+with their pockets full of rocks----let alone doughnuts."
+
+O, what a kind man! And how I had mistaken him! I forgave him at once
+for calling me poor sissy.
+
+"If you've done your supper, Peter, I motion you take her out and show
+her the sheep and lambs."
+
+Peter did so, besides beguiling me with pleasant talk; but pleasantest
+of all was the remark,--
+
+"Don't be a bit concerned about your ticket; I'll make that all right
+to-morrow."
+
+And this was the man I had been so afraid of, only because he was
+rough-looking, and liked to make jokes.
+
+He told me his name was Peter Noble, and Harr'et was his sister, and
+kept house for him; and I actually told him in confidence that I meant
+to go to Italy when I grew to be a lady; for we became close friends
+in a few minutes, and I felt that he could be trusted.
+
+It was almost dark when we went back to the kitchen; but there was
+Harriet, laughing.
+
+"Whose kitty?" said she.
+
+And it was Silvertoes, lapping milk out of a saucer by the stove. She
+was very hungry, and I suppose came to that house because it was so
+near the depot. I felt as happy as Robinson Crusoe when he found
+Friday. My trials were now nearly over.
+
+I remember little more, except Peter's taking me into a car next day
+in his arms, and Harriet's giving me my kitty through the window. I
+hope I thanked them, but am not sure. That was the last I saw of them;
+but I carried the marks of Harriet's "try-cake" while my frock lasted,
+for soap took out the color.
+
+The "driver" treated me with marked politeness, and when we reached
+Willowbrook Corner, put me into the yellow stage, with as much care as
+if I had been a china tea-set.
+
+There was a shout when I got home, for all the family were at the
+gate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+BETTER THAN KITTENS.
+
+
+Yes, they seemed just as glad to see me as if I was the Queen of
+England, and had been gone all the days of my life. Father,
+especially, looked really overjoyed.
+
+"How they must have missed me!" thought I, springing out of the coach
+and falling headlong over old Towser. "O, please catch that kitten."
+
+Ned seized the empty basket and whirled it over his head.
+
+"Who cares for such trash? We've got something in the house that's
+better than sixteen kittens."
+
+"Rabbits?"
+
+"Come and see," said 'Ria, giving me one hand, while she stroked
+Silvertoes with the other.
+
+"O, I don't believe it's anything. Is it wax beads? You haven't asked
+where I came from, nor whose house I staid to. There was a woman with
+gold beads, and he called her Harret, and--"
+
+"Yes, I knew they'd take good care of you," said cousin Lydia.
+
+"And where d'you s'pose I found my kitty?" But no one seemed to hear.
+I had expected to be pelted with questions as to my eating, drinking,
+and sleeping, and to be pitied for the late distress of my mind. But
+no one showed the slightest curiosity; they all seemed in a great
+hurry to get into the house.
+
+I stopped talking, and walked along with all the dignity of an
+offended pea-chicken. There might or might not be something worth
+going to see; but I was resolved to keep perfectly cool. Up stairs?
+Well, up stairs then, or up in the attic, or out on the roof,--it made
+no difference to me. I could keep from asking questions as long as
+they could, if not longer.
+
+O, mother's room, was it? Well, I'd been wondering all the while where
+mother was, only I wouldn't ask. Dear me, was she sick? "So glad to
+see little Madge," she said, kissing me over and over again. "And what
+a hard time I had had."
+
+There, _she_ knew how I'd been suffering, and was just going to ask me
+some questions, when that troublesome Ned whisked me right up in his
+arms, and whirled me round towards the fireplace.
+
+"If you've got any eyes, Maggie, look there."
+
+My eyes were good enough, if that was all; but what was that woman
+sitting there for? I thought she had a heap of woollen clothes in her
+lap.
+
+Father took it.
+
+"Come here, Totty-wax."
+
+I put out my hands, and felt something as soft as kittens.
+
+"Presto, change!" cried Ned, and pulled down the top of the blanket.
+There lay a little, wrinkled, rosy face, a baby's face, and over it
+was moving a little wrinkled hand.
+
+I jumped, and then I screamed; and then I ran out of the room and back
+again.
+
+"O, O, O! Stop her! Hold her!" said Ned.
+
+But they couldn't do it. I rushed up to the baby, who cried in my
+face.
+
+"What IS that?" said I; and then I burst into tears.
+
+"Your little sister," said father.
+
+"It isn't," sobbed I, and broke out laughing.
+
+Everybody else laughed, too.
+
+"Say that again," said I.
+
+"Your little sister," repeated father.
+
+"Does Fel know it? And it _isn't_ Ned's brother?" seizing father by
+the whiskers. "And he can't set her on the wood-pile! Came down from
+heaven. What'm I crying for? Came down particular purpose for me."
+
+"Yes, Totty-wax," said father, smiling, with a tear in the corner of
+his eye,--
+
+
+    "'Twas for my accommodation
+       Nature rose when I was born."
+
+
+"Has this child had any supper?" asked mother, in a faint voice from
+the bed.
+
+"No, _she_ can't eat," laughed I; "her face looks like a roast apple."
+
+"Your mother means you, Maggie. You are tired and excited," said
+cousin Lydia. "Ruth made cream-cakes to-night."
+
+"But I shan't go, 'thout I can carry the baby. Ned's holding her. She
+isn't _his_ brother. I haven't had her in my arms once. How good God
+was! O, dear, what teenty hands! She can't swallow 'em, on 'count of
+her arms. Sent particular purpose for me--father said so. 'Ria Parlin,
+she's nowhere near your age. You have everything, but you can't have
+this. She gapes. She knows how to; she's found her mouth; she's found
+her mouth!"
+
+And so I ran on and on, like a brook in a freshet, and might never
+have stopped, if they had not taken me out of the room, and tied me in
+a high chair before a table full of nice things. And Ruthie stood
+there with a smile in her eyes, and said if I spoke another word, I
+shouldn't see baby again that night.
+
+I couldn't help pitying Ned. I wasn't sure I had treated him just
+right. I had prayed, off and on, as much as two or three weeks in all,
+that God would send me a sister, and of course that was why she had
+come. I didn't wish Ned to know this; he would be so sorry he hadn't
+thought of it himself, and prayed for a brother. I told Fel about it,
+and she didn't know whether it was quite fair or not. "Yes, it was,
+too," said I; for I never would allow Fel the last word. "It was fair;
+Ned's older 'n me, and ought to say his prayers a great deal more
+_reggurly_."
+
+O, that wonderful new sister! For days I never tired of admiring her.
+
+"Look, mamma! 'Ria, did you ever, ever see such blue eyes?"
+
+And then I sat and talked to the new sister, and asked her
+
+
+    "Where did she get her eyes of blue?"
+
+
+But she did not answer, as the baby does in the song,--
+
+
+        "Out of the sky, as I came through."
+
+    "What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
+     Some of the starry spikes left in."
+
+    "Where did you get that pearly ear?
+     God spake, and it came out to hear."
+
+
+Ah! If she could only have talked, wouldn't she have told some sweet
+stories about angels?
+
+I couldn't have left her for anything else but that wedding; but
+Ruthie promised to take good care of her--and I could trust Ruthie!
+Ned wasn't going; there were to be no children but Fel and me. Well,
+yes, Gust was there; but that was because he happened to be in the
+house. The wedding was in Madam Allen's parlors. _I_ stood up before
+the minister, with wax beads on my neck, and white slippers on my
+feet. Somebody else stood there, too; for one wouldn't have been
+enough. Fel dressed just like me--in white, with the same kind of
+beads; only she was pale, and I wasn't, and she looked like a white
+rosebud, and I didn't.
+
+We stood between the "shovin' doors,"--that was what Gust called
+them,--and there was a bride and bridegroom, too. I nearly forgot
+that. I remember lights, and flowers, and wedding cake; and by and by
+Madam Allen came along, looking so grand in her white turban, and gave
+the bride a bridal rose, but not Fel or me a single bud. Then, when
+people kissed the bride, I kissed her, too, and she whispered,--
+
+"Call me aunt Martha, dear."
+
+"O, yes, Miss Rubie," said I; "you are my cousin, aunt Martha."
+
+For I could not understand exactly.
+
+Uncle John hugged me, and said they were all going away in the
+morning, he and aunt Martha, and Zed; and then I felt sorry, even with
+my wax beads on, and said to father,--
+
+"I tell you what, I love my uncle John _that was_."
+
+No, Fly, he didn't have any horse then called "Lighting Dodger;" but
+it was the same uncle John, and aunt Martha is the very woman who pets
+you so much, and has that pretty clock, with a pendulum in the shape
+of a little boy in a swing.
+
+After that wedding there was a long winter. I went to school, but Fel
+didn't. She looked so white that I supposed her mother was afraid she
+would freeze. Miss Rubie was gone, and there were no lessons to learn;
+but Madam Allen didn't care for that; she said Fel was too sick to
+study. Whenever I didn't have to take care of the baby, I went to see
+her; but that baby needed a great deal of care! For the first month of
+her life I wanted to sit by her cradle, night and day, and not let any
+one else come near her. The next month I was willing Ned should have
+her half the time; and by the third month I cried because I had to
+take care of her at all.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+GOOD BY.
+
+
+It happened that she was a cross baby. It did not take her long to
+forget all about heaven. She liked to pull hair, and she liked to
+scratch faces; and no matter how much you trotted her up and down, she
+just opened her toothless mouth and cried.
+
+"She's a wicked, awful baby!" exclaimed I, scowling at her till my
+eyes ached.
+
+"Div her a pill, _I_ would," said Ned, laughing. He could laugh, for
+he didn't have to sit and hold her, as I did.
+
+"Poor little thing isn't well," said mother.
+
+"I don't 'spect she knows whether's she's well or not," returned I, in
+disgust. "She just hates everybody, and that's what she's crying
+about."
+
+"You grieve me, Madge. I thought you loved this dear sister."
+
+"Well, I did; but I don't love her any more, and I don't ever want to
+rock a baby that hates me so hard she can't keep her mouth shut."
+
+"You don't mean you are not glad God sent her? O, Madge!"
+
+"Yes'm, that's what I mean. I'm real sorry he sent her, and I wish
+he'd take her back again."
+
+Hasty, bitter speech! Even a child knows better than to talk so
+recklessly. Next day, and for many days, those words came back to my
+heart like sharp knives. Little sister was very ill, and I knew by the
+looks of people's faces that they thought she would cross the dark
+river, on the other side of which stand the pearly gates. Mother saw
+me roving about the house, crying in corners, and sent me away to the
+Allens to stay all night. When I got there, Madam Allen took me right
+up in her motherly arms, and tried to soothe me; but I refused to be
+comforted.
+
+"I thought baby looked a little better this morning," said she.
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"Has baby grown any worse?"
+
+"No'm."
+
+"Then why do you shake your head?"
+
+"'Cause," sobbed I, "'cause--"
+
+And then, hiding behind her turban, I whispered,--
+
+"O, if you tell God you want anything, is that a prayer?"
+
+"Yes, dear, if you tell him you want little sister to get well, that
+is a prayer."
+
+I moaned still more bitterly at these words, and slid out of her lap.
+
+"Why, what is it, darling?"
+
+"I can't tell you," said I; "I can't, I can't. There isn't anybody in
+this world I can tell but just Fel."
+
+Then Madam Allen went out of the room, and left us two little girls
+alone.
+
+"O, Fel," said I, as soon as my sobs would let me speak, "I said I
+wished God would take my little sister back again."
+
+Fel looked very much shocked.
+
+"And O, I'm afraid it was a truly prayer, and God 'll do it."
+
+"No, I guess it wasn't a truly prayer, Madge."
+
+"What makes you think it wasn't?" cried I, eagerly, for I supposed she
+must know.
+
+"Wasn't you mad when you said it?"
+
+"Yes, very. She made that long scratch on my nose, and I was very
+mad."
+
+"She did dig awful deep; I don't wonder you felt bad," said Fel,
+soothingly. "But you didn't want her to die, any more'n anything; now
+did you?"
+
+"No, O, no!"
+
+"Well, then, if you didn't want her to die, God knows you didn't; for
+he knows everything, don't he?"
+
+"Yes, yes."
+
+"And so it wasn't a truly prayer," added Fel, positively.
+
+"And won't he answer it?"
+
+"Why, what you 'spose? Of course not, Madge."
+
+She seemed to feel so clear upon the subject, that I began to breathe
+more freely. O, it was everything to have such a wise little friend!
+
+"But I oughtn't to said it, Fel! O, dear! What s'pose made me? _You_
+never say bad things, never!"
+
+Fel thought a moment, and then answered, as she looked at me with her
+clear, happy eyes,--
+
+"Well, you have lots of things to plague you, Madge; but I don't.
+Everybody's real good to me, because I'm sick."
+
+I looked at her, and began to cry again. My little heart had been
+stirred to its very depths, and I could not bear to have her speak of
+being sick.
+
+"Now, Fel Allen," said I, "you don't s'pose you're going to die 'fore
+I do? I can't live 'thout you! If you die, I'll die too."
+
+"Why, I never said a thing about dying," returned Fel, in surprise.
+
+"Well, you won't never leave me, will you? Say you won't never! Just
+think of you up in heaven and me down here. I can't bear it!"
+
+"Why, Madge."
+
+"Well, if you should go up to heaven first, Fel, you'd sit there on
+those steps, with a harp in your hand, and think about me; how I said
+cross things to you."
+
+"Why, what cross things did ever you say to me, Madge Parlin?"
+
+"There, there," cried I, smiling through my tears, and beginning to
+dance; "_have_ you forgot? O, that's nice! Why, Fel, I called you a
+lie-girl."
+
+"O, well, I don't care if you did. I wasn't, _was_ I?"
+
+"And I called you a borrow-girl, too. And I drowned you, and I--I--"
+
+"I wish you'd stop talking about that," said Fel, "or you'll make me
+cry; for you're just the nicest girl. And who cares if you do scold
+sometimes? Why, it's just in fun, and I like to hear you."
+
+Now, Dotty Dimple, I declare to you that this conversation is sweeter
+to my memory than "a nest of nightingales." Naughty as I was, Fel
+didn't know I was naughty!
+
+When I went home next morning, the little Louise was much better, and
+in a few days seemed as well as ever. I was very thankful God knew I
+was not in earnest, and had not taken me at my word, and called her
+back to heaven.
+
+She was never quite as cross from that time, and I had many happy
+hours with her, though, as I told Fel,--
+
+"She's cross _enough_ now, and sometimes seems 's if I couldn't
+forgive her; but I always do; I don't dass not to!"
+
+I was not required to hold her very much, for Fel was not well, and
+wanted me with her half the time. Mother was always willing I should
+go, and never said,--
+
+"Don't you think you ought to be pacifying the baby?"
+
+I never dreamed that Fel was really sick. I only knew she grew sweeter
+every day, and clung to me more and more. I had stopped teasing her
+long ago, and tried to make her happy. I couldn't have said a cross
+word to her that winter any more than I could have crushed a white
+butterfly.
+
+One day I was going to see her, with some jelly in my little basket,
+when "the Polly woman" walked mournfully into the yard.
+
+"I've just come from Squire Allen's," said she, unfastening her
+shawl, and sighing three times,--once for every pin.
+
+"And how is Fel?" asked mother.
+
+Polly slowly shook her head,--
+
+"Very low; I--"
+
+Mother looked at her, and then at me; and I looked at her, and then at
+Polly.
+
+"Dr. Foster says her brain has always been too active, and--"
+
+"Madge, you'd better run along," said mother. "The baby's asleep now;
+but she'll wake up and want you."
+
+I went with a new thought and a new fear, though I did not know what I
+thought or what I feared.
+
+When I reached Squire Allen's, Ann Smiley came down the path to meet
+me.
+
+I asked, "_Is_ Fel very low? Polly said so."
+
+And she answered,--
+
+"Why, no, indeed; she is as well as common. Polly is so queer."
+
+I went into the house, and Madam Allen drew me close to her, and
+said,--
+
+"Bless you, child, for coming here to cheer our little darling."
+
+When she set me down, I saw she had been crying. I had never seen her
+with red eyes before.
+
+"You and Fel may stay in the warm sitting-room," said she; "and Ann
+shall carry in some sponge cake and currant shrub, for Fel hardly
+tasted her dinner."
+
+I remember how Fel clapped her hands, and smiled to see me; and how
+Ann brought the cake into the sitting-room, and drew up a little table
+before the fire. We sat and played keep house, and sipped currant
+shrub out of some silver goblets which had crossed the ocean.
+
+It is a beautiful picture I am seeing now, as I shut my eyes: Fel,
+with that lovely smile on her face, as if some one were whispering
+pleasant things in her ear.
+
+"I love you so, and it's so nice;" said I.
+
+Gust came in, and she took his hand and patted it.
+
+"Yes," said she; "I love you and Gust, and it is nice; but we'll have
+nicer times when we get to heaven, you know."
+
+Gust gave her one little hug, and rushed out of the room. Then I
+remember throwing myself on the rug and crying; for there was an ache
+at my heart, though I could not tell why.
+
+Grandpa Harrington came in, and began to poke the fire.
+
+"Well, well," said he; "its hard for one to be taken and the other
+left, so it is. But Jesus blessed little children; and I wouldn't cry,
+my dear."
+
+That was the last time I ever played with Fel. She grew feverish that
+night, and the doctor said she must not see any one. Something was the
+matter with her head, and she did not know people. I heard she had
+"water on the brain," and wondered if they put it on to make it feel
+cool.
+
+There, children, I do not like to talk about it. It was all over in
+three short weeks, and then the angels called for Fel. She was "taken"
+and I was "left," and it seemed "very hard." I grieved for a long
+while, and wanted to go too; but Madam Allen said,--
+
+"You are all the little girl I have now to take in my arms. Don't you
+want to stay in this world to make Fel's mother happy?"
+
+"Yes," said I; "I do."
+
+And my own mamma said,--
+
+"The baby needs you, too. See, she has learned to hold her hands to
+you!"
+
+They all tried to comfort me, and by and by I felt happy again. I am
+told that the loss of my dear little friend made me a different child.
+I grew more kind and gentle in my ways, more thoughtful of other
+people. Not very good, by any means, but trying harder to be good.
+
+Well, I believe this is all I have to tell you of my little days, for
+very soon I began to be a large girl.
+
+I am leaving off at a sad place, do you say, Prudy? Why, I don't think
+so. To me it is the most beautiful part of all. Just think of my dear
+little friend growing up to womanhood in heaven! I ought to be willing
+to spare her. O, yes!
+
+She was always better than I, and what must she be now? It would
+frighten me to think of that, only she never knew she was good, and
+had such a way of not seeing the badness in me.
+
+I shall never forget my darling Fel, and I think she will remember me
+if I should live to be very old. Yes, I do believe she loves me still,
+and is waiting for me, and will be very glad to see me when I go to
+the Summer Land.
+
+Here is a lock of her hair, Fly. You see it is a beautiful golden
+brown, and as soft as your own. A certain poet says,--
+
+
+    "There seems a love in hair, though it be dead."
+
+
+And that is why I shall always keep this little tress.
+
+Now kiss me, dears, and we will all go to the study, and see what
+uncle Gustus is doing.
+
+Yes, Fly, I did like your uncle Gustus, because he was Fel's brother.
+Well,--I don't know--yes, dear,--perhaps that _was_ part of one little
+reason why I married him.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Aunt Madge's Story, by Sophie May
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