Chapter II: Part 2

"Well," said Tom, smiling, "you see that is where it is, Lil. We are so apt to think it will do to put off what we do not care to do very much,--any little duty or task; but if it is some pleasure, we are generally ready enough to do it at once."

"Maggie thinks I put off pleasures too," said Lily. "She was real provoked with me 'cause I kept them waiting to go to the party the other day."

"Do you like other people to keep you waiting, Lily?"

"No, indeed, I don't," said Lily.

"Then ought you not to be careful how you do it to others?"

"Yes, I know, Tom, and I don't _mean_ to do it; but somehow I do. But now you see if I do not improve myself a good deal of this habit," said Lily, confidently, yet carelessly; for it was plainly to be seen that she thought this vexatious fault of but little consequence.

Lily had meant to confess to her mother how neglectful she had been of her wishes; but when she and Tom reached home, they found with Mrs. Norris a lady who had been invited to dinner. So Lily thought she would postpone her confession until by and by, and not draw upon herself her mother's grave and reproachful look in the presence of company.

I do not know that she was to blame for this. Few little girls but would have done the same, I think; and Lily had no idea that any mischief or loss had come from her procrastination.

Dinner was over, Tom gone upstairs to prepare his lessons for to-morrow, and Lily, in her favorite evening seat,--that is, perched upon the arm of her father's chair while he read his paper,--was happily playing with some paper dolls, while mamma and her friend sat opposite, talking, when a person came with a message requiring an immediate answer.

Mrs. Norris went to her secretary and wrote the note, using for the purpose an ordinary inkstand which belonged there; and then said approvingly to Lily,--

"My pet, how nicely you put away mamma's writing things; all the papers in their proper places and order. Pretty well done for such a little girl."

"Mamma," said Lily, wishing that she need not speak before Miss Hamilton, but too honest to take credit which was not her just due,--"Mamma, I did not put them away; it was Tom. I--I--forgot, mamma. I waited to look at a monkey before I put them away, and then the puppy came, and Tom took me out; and I forgot all about your things, and how I had promised, and never remembered till we were out in the street; and then Tom told me he had put them away, but he didn't know you had told me to do it."

It was all out now; and Lily, as she glanced at Miss Hamilton, felt as if she could not be thankful enough to that lady for seeming so absorbed in the photograph album she was turning over.

Mrs. Norris uttered no word of reproach; but, as she looked within the well-ordered secretary, she said,--

"Where did Tom put the silver inkstand? I do not see it."

"I don't know, mamma," answered Lily. "Is it not there? Tom said he came in here and saw your things lying on the table, and he thought you must have forgotten them, so he put them all away. Shall I go and ask him what he did with the inkstand?"

"No," said her mother, "I do not wish to disturb him at his lessons. I will look further."

But further search proved vain, though Mrs. Norris looked, not only through each nook and partition of the secretary, but also all over the room. Still she was not at all disturbed at the non-appearance of the inkstand.

"Send up and ask Tom, my dear," said Mr. Norris.

"Oh, it is not necessary," said his wife. "He may have put it in some unusual place. If he took care of it, it is quite safe. He will be down presently, and I do not care to interrupt him."

"See what it is to have a good character, Lily," said her father, passing his arm about the little figure on the arm of his chair, and smiling into the rosy mischievous face before him. "How long before mamma will be able to put such trust in you, do you think?"

"Oh, very soon, papa; you'll see," said Lily, confident in the strength of her newly formed resolution.

It was not long before Tom made good his mother's words by appearing, his lessons all ready for the next day, for it happened that he had not had much to do that evening; and Mrs. Norris immediately asked him,--

"What did you do with my silver inkstand, my boy?"

"I did not have it, mamma," was the answer.

"But you put it away this afternoon, did you not?"

"No," answered Tom, wonderingly, but positively.

"Why, yes, Tom," said Lily, "you told me you had put away all mamma's things that she left on the table."

"But there was no inkstand there," said Tom. "I remember noticing that, because I said to myself, 'Mamma has taken time to put by her ink;' and I supposed you had feared it would be spilled, mamma. There was no inkstand upon the table, I am sure."

"Did you move the inkstand at all, Lily?" asked Mrs. Norris.

"No, mamma, I never touched it. I did not put away one single thing."

Tom helped his mother in a fresh search for the missing inkstand; but all in vain.

Then the servant man was called, and questioned.

"I saw Miss Lily with her hand on the inkstand when I called her to see the little dogs this afternoon, ma'am," he said, in reply to Mrs. Norris's inquiries. "Do you remember, if you please, Miss Lily?"

"Oh, yes," said Lily. "I remember now, mamma. I did take it up to put it away, but I set it down again when I ran after Robert to see the puppies. I meant to come right back, but I never thought of it again."

"Master Tom," said Robert, "you were asking me had I seen a beggar-woman about the door this afternoon. Could she have been in here, and caught up the inkstand? If she'd just opened the library door, and peeped in, it would have been the first thing she'd see, for it stood right here, where Miss Lily left it."

Tom looked dismayed, and Lily still more so; for, if the inkstand were indeed stolen, was it not all her fault? Owing to her procrastination, to the putting off of the small service her mother had asked of her? And so it proved; for nothing could be found of the inkstand, and it was never heard of again. Its loss could be accounted for in no other way than by supposing that the woman, finding the door left open, and learning from Lily's imprudent words that there was no one about to interfere with her, had walked in, opened the library door, and seeing the inkstand, had snatched it up, and made off with it.

Lily's shame and grief were very great, all the more so because she knew that this inkstand was dearly loved and valued by her mamma, because it had been the gift of a dead sister. And seeing this, her mother could not bear to reproach her, for it was very unusual for Lily to take her own wrong-doing much to heart. But this was, as she said herself, "the worst consequence I ever did in all my long life;" and she probably felt it all the more deeply for her kind mother's forbearance.

That she was sufficiently punished by her own remorse was plainly to be seen; and long after she was in bed and fast asleep, her mother heard long sobs heaving her little breast, and found her pillow all wet with tears.

"My poor little one! I hope it may be a lasting lesson to her," said the mother, as she pushed back the hair from the flushed and tear-stained face. "If it should be, I shall think it cheaply purchased even by the loss of my much valued inkstand."

IV.

_LILY'S PROVERB PICTURE._

Lily was still in a very subdued and melancholy frame of mind when she reached the Bradfords' house on the following day; and when her little playmates inquired the cause, she made answer,--

"If mamma had given me my deservings, she would have shut me up in a room by myself, and never let me come out in all my life, nor come to spend the day with you any more. It's a great deal too good for such a sinner as me, and something ought to be done to me. I don't mean to have a nice time to-day."

This virtuous resolution was forgotten, however, before the day was over; but at the time it much astonished her young friends, as did also the low state of Lily's spirits.

Fresh questions followed; and Lily told her story, mingling her own bitter self-accusations with reproaches against the supposed thief.

"For I told her she was not to come in, 'cause there was no one about to 'tend to her," she said, as if this were an added aggravation of her sorrows; "and I only left the door open for fear her feelings would be hurt; but now I don't b'lieve she had any to hurt. I don't s'pose thieves have many feelings, do you, Maggie?"

"No, I don't believe they have," answered Maggie. "I just expect their feelings are 'lost to sight, and not to memory dear.'"

This fine sentiment, having been properly appreciated, called up the recollection of the promised proverb picture.

"Did you find a proverb that would be a lesson for me, or did you have to make one?" asked mournful Lily.

"Mamma told us one," said Maggie. "It is 'Procrastination is the thief of Time.'"

"You'd better say the thief of inkstands," said Lily, ruefully. "Maggie and Bessie and Belle, I feel 'most as if it was me who had stolen mamma's inkstand."

The other little girls all set about consoling her; and Bessie took an opportunity to whisper to Maggie that she thought they had better not give Lily the proverb picture that day because it might make her feel worse.

But this was not by any means Lily's view of the matter; and she presently asked to be shown this joint production of her three little friends, Maggie and Bessie and Belle.

Accordingly, the picture, or rather pictures, were brought forth, and with them the poem which Maggie had composed to accompany them.

When the red ribbon which tied the first was taken off, and the pictures unrolled, they proved quite a panorama; and Lily's mournful face lighted up at the sight.

"How good of you!" she said. "It must have taken you ever so long to draw all those pictures."

"There are four of them," said Bessie. "Belle made two, 'cause she can draw the best, and Maggie made one, and I one; but Maggie made 'most all the ideas. I think they're so very plain you can make them out for yourself, Lily, but we'll 'splain them to you if you like."

"I'll see how much I can find out, and you can tell me the rest," said Lily, setting herself at once to the study of the drawings.

"What's the reading on this one?" she asked. "P-r-o-pro-c-r-a-s-cras--Oh! I s'pose this is 'Procrastination is the thief of Time.'"

"Yes," said Maggie.

"And this is a skeleton," said Lily, "a skeleton with a goblet in one hand, and a--and a"--Lily hesitated, wishing to be sure to hit the right nail on the head--"and a--I'm not quite sure if it's a feather dust-brush, or a coachman's whip."

"Oh!" exclaimed Belle, indignant.

"Why, Lily!" said Bessie, "that's Time with his hour-glass and scythe, and Belle drew that picture, and we think it's the very best one of all."

"I'm sorry," said Lily, rather ashamed of not having at once recognized the articles in question.

"You know in the pictures Time is always a very thin old man," said Bessie, "so we had to make him so to have it real; and Maggie told Belle she'd better make him as thin as she could, 'cause that horrid thief Procrastination bothers him so he hardly has any flesh on his bones. This is a kind of allegory picture, you see, Lily."

"Yes, I understand. And this rather beggar-looking child--" Lily hesitated again, unwilling to run the risk of making any more such uncomplimentary mistakes. "I think you'd better tell me about it. I'm 'fraid I'm rather stupid this morning. I think I went crazy last night about that inkstand, and I'm hardly recovered yet. I b'lieve that's the reason I didn't know Time's hour-glass and scythe at first."

Never before had her little friends known Lily to speak and look with such solemnity, and they all felt very much for her.

Maggie, however, thought it well to improve the occasion.

"I did not want to seem severe with her," she said afterward to Bessie and Belle, "but I thought the picture might make a deeper impression if I let her see to what a dreadful condition procrastinating people might come."

"Yes," she said to Lily, "yes, that is Procrastination, all ragged and dirty and starved. He never has a nice time, and he hardly ever has any thing to eat, 'cause when people say to him, 'Procrastination, dinner is ready,' he says, 'I think I'll eat by and by;' and then when he comes, the dinner is all gone, and he has to go hungry: and when they say, 'Go and get washed, and have on clean clothes,' he says, 'Another day I will;' so he becomes all ragged, and his friends are so ashamed of him that they just let him take care of himself. That's the way he looks so horridly. And poor old Time hardly knows what to do with himself for the way that troublesome fellow worries him. He doesn't leave Time alone to do his duty one minute. Do you see these things in Procrastination's hand?"

"Yes; what are they?" asked Lily, deeply interested.

"They are Time's purse and pocket handkerchief that Procrastination--I think we'd better call him Pro, because it takes so long to say Procrastination--that Pro has stolen out of his pocket; and here at his feet are some broken hour-glasses; and now he is running after Time, and trying to steal his last hour-glass, so that the poor old fellow will have none left. That means, when you're not talking allegory, that Pro steals the hours and makes you lose all your time; but he can not catch him up, which means that when you have lost your time, you never can catch up with it."

"Yes," said Lily, dolefully; "but I think it would be better if you made Pro stealing inkstands. It's just what I deserve. Is that all about that picture?"

"Yes," answered Maggie; "now we come to real life. Bessie, this is your picture; tell Lily about it."

It is to be observed that the ragged figure which represented Procrastination, or "Pro," was to be seen in each successive picture. This was considered a judicious mingling of the allegorical with reality.

"This," said Bessie, "is a little girl whose mamma said to her, 'My dear, there is a match upon the carpet; pick it up right away.' But Procrastination"--Bessie would not on any account have shortened her words, especially on such a grave occasion--"came and whispered to her, 'By and by will do; it's time enough;' and presently her little sister came in and picked up the match, and set herself on fire, and she was quite burnt up before she could be put out, and she was the only sister the put-offing child had, and she stayed unhappy all the rest of the days of her life."

"Like me," said Lily.

"Oh, no," said Maggie, cheerfully, "you'll get over that inkstand. I find people generally do get over things; at least, I do. Take courage by me, Lily. I thought I never should recover having papa's coat stolen, but you see I have; and I think I'm about as happy as any child could be."

"Ah! but you wasn't disobedient, and didn't put off," said Lily. "Tell me some more."

"Perhaps we'd better not, 'cause you feel so badly," said Bessie.

"They do me good," answered Lily. "I don't think I can care for any thing else to-day. Who made this picture?"

"I did," said Maggie, "and this is the story of it. This is fable or allegory too;" and, unrolling another sheet of paper, Maggie read aloud her famous poem, which had been pronounced a great success by both Bessie and Belle. Her picture consisted of a series of small drawings, which explained themselves as she read the verses.

"There's a bad little fellow,
His name it is Pro-
Cras-tin-a-_ti_-_on_;
And to you I will show
How he robs and he steals
And he plagues Father Time.
I'll tell you all this,
And I'll tell you in rhyme.

When to school he is sent,
He most slowly doth go,
For he stops first to play,
Then to look at some show;
By the hour he is there,
Why! the school is 'most out.
That's one way he robs Time,
This sad putting-off lout.

When his mother doth say,
'Go this errand for me,'
He will say, 'By and by;'
'Pretty soon;' 'I will see;'
Till at last 'tis too late,
Or his mother must go.
'Tis a base, heartless crime,
For a child to do so.

But there's worse yet to tell,
For to church he goes late;
And he reaches God's house
In a sad, dirty state;
For he never is dressed,
And he never is clean.
That 'tis all putting off,
Is quite plain to be seen.

He ne'er has a book,
Or a toy, or a pet,
For to put them away
He doth always forget;
So they're broken or lost,
Or most shamefully torn;
And he's nothing to do,
Which is very forlorn.

Take heed now, ye children,
And list to my tale;
What e'er you've to do,
Do at once, without fail;
For if you'd be happy,
And useful, and gay,
Don't put off till to-morrow
The work of to-day.

Remember, 'tis minutes
That make up the hours;
As the small, tiny seeds
Bring the beautiful flowers.
Don't procrastinate then,
O ye daughters of earth!
For woman's but grass
From the day of her birth."

In the ears of the little listeners this was a perfect gem of poetry, far beyond any thing Maggie had ever written before, whether it were "divine song," or "moral poem." The concluding lines were considered particularly fine, and, indeed, had been added on account of their striking effect.

Bessie and Belle had heard it before, but they listened with rapt attention, and Lily was very much impressed. The third verse she felt particularly adapted to her case, though Maggie had intended no home thrust when she wrote it. But, to Lily's mind, it just suited the affair of the inkstand; and when Maggie finished reading, she exclaimed,--

"I should think I _was_ a base, heartless crime!"

The children all hastened to console her, and to assure her that they thought she would not fail to improve, now that she saw her fault so plainly.

"I didn't mean that the child in the poem was really you," said Maggie. "That's the reason I made Pro a boy instead of a girl. I only wanted to show you what people might come to who procrastinated all the time, and never were punctual."

Maggie's drawing, as you have heard, was divided up into a number of smaller pictures, each one suited to a particular verse of the poem; and they explained themselves to one who had read or heard the latter.

The fourth and last picture had been drawn by Belle, the chief artist among the little party.

This also represented Father Time, who had now grown fat and flourishing, which was somewhat singular under the circumstances. He was accompanied by another burly figure, and both were armed with many lashes and whips with which they chased "Pro," now himself reduced to a skeleton state, and vainly endeavoring to escape from his tormentors.

"This," said Belle, "is my drawing, but it is Maggie's idea, and Bessie and I think it is pretty grand. Here is that naughty Pro, and he has lost every thing and every one he had in the world, all through his own putting off; and here," pointing to little dots and round _o_'s with which the page was covered, "here are the hours and minutes flying away from him too. The largest ones are the hours; the little ones, the minutes. And here are Father Time and Remorse coming after him with their--their--What kind of whips do they have, Maggie?"

"_Scorpion_ whips," answered Maggie. "It was a very convenient thing that I happened to read the other day about the 'scorpion whip of Remorse,' and it just gave me the idea for this picture. It means that when we feel very badly about something we know we deserve, it is just as bad as the stings of scorpions and bugs and other horrid things. And I thought we'd make believe Remorse had two scorpion whips, and lent one to Time to chase Procrastination with."

"Here's the ocean," said Belle, directing Lily's attention to where high, curling waves were supposed to be leaping and dashing upward, "and Pro was running away so fast from those dreadful scorpion whips that he never saw it, but ran right into the water, and was drowned; and that was the end of _him_."

Belle's tone was very triumphant when she uttered the last word, as though she were glad to have thus disposed of a troublesome customer.

"I'm sure," said Lily, with an air of melancholy satisfaction, "I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you all for taking so much trouble to improve me; and I don't see how I can help being better now."

"Then that's all we ask," said Maggie, "and we shan't regret any trouble we took. Now let's go and play."

If the other children had had any fears that Lily's remorse and the "lesson" they had given her would interfere with her enjoyment of the day, such fears were soon put to flight; for in ten minutes she was as merry and roguish as ever, and quite disposed to join in all the entertainment provided for her.

V.

_PROMISING._

"How many of my little girls would like to help in a good work?" asked Miss Ashton, some two or three days after this.

Ten little hands went up. Ten? Nay, I think there were thirteen or fourteen; for some of the children were not content with holding up one, but raised both in their zeal to show Miss Ashton they were ready to do what she asked.

Miss Ashton went on to explain.

"I think you will all remember," she said, "the lame soldier who was run over and killed on the corner of this street?"

There was a murmur of assenting voices, and little Belle added,--

"Papa said it was a very generous thing for you and Mrs. Ashton to take care of his three children, Miss Ashton; and I think so too."

Miss Ashton smiled at her, and continued,--

"But we could not take care of them always, dear Belle, and through the kindness of some friends we have found a pleasant home in the country for them. It is necessary that they should be comfortably fitted out before we send them there, however, and my uncle says that he will provide all the materials that the school will make up. The young ladies in my mother's room say they will make all the dresses and more difficult garments, and leave the simple and easier ones for you, if you choose to help. But before you make any promises, I wish you to ask your parents' permission, and also to make up your minds to have the garment you take finished by the end of two weeks, when the children are to leave for their new home. You nearly all sew well enough to do the easy work upon these little skirts and aprons, and I think your friends at home will give you what help you may need."

"But, Miss Ashton," said little Belle, with woe-begone voice and look, "I can hardly sew at all. Aunt Margaret has just begun to teach me, and she says I _do_ take pains, but I b'lieve I do it pretty badly yet."

"And I don't know how to sew," said her cousin, Mabel Walton, who now was sorry that she had always obstinately refused to learn how to use a needle.

"I think we can find some easy thing for you both to do," said Miss Ashton, kindly. "But remember, dear children, what you promise, you must perform. If you undertake this work, you must have it finished at the end of the time I have named,--two weeks. I do not _ask_ you to do it, for the older girls are willing to do all the work; but I thought it might be a pleasure to you to help."

"Oh, yes! indeed it will, Miss Ashton," said Lily, "and I'd like to have two clothes to make. Mamma says I can sew pretty well fur such a little girl, and Nora will show me how."

"One garment will be enough for you, Lily," said Miss Ashton; "if you finish that in time, it is all we shall need."

"You need not be afraid I won't have it done in time, Miss Ashton," said Lily. "I don't put off any more, nor be unpunctual either. I've been early at school every morning this week,"--this was Tuesday,--"and mamma said I was beginning to improve. I couldn't help it very well, I had such a horrid lesson about an old beggar-woman who was nothing but a thief; and then Maggie and Bessie and Belle made me lovely proverb pictures about the consequences of procrastination, and Maggie wrote a splendid poem, so I ought to learn better with all that."

"I think so," said Miss Ashton; "but, by the way, I wonder if Maggie and Bessie would not like to join us in this work. They always take such an interest in all that goes on among us here that perhaps they would be pleased if we offered to let them help."

"Yes, I know they would," cried Belle, always ready to speak in praise of her beloved little playmates. "I know they would. Maggie and Bessie are very full of good works; and they always like to do what we do, if they can, too."

"Very well," said Miss Ashton. "You can ask them when you see them, Belle; and if they would like to help us, tell them to come in to-morrow, at the close of school. You can all bring me word then if your parents are willing for you to undertake this work, and I will give each one a piece to take home."

The next morning each little girl brought word that she had received permission to take home and make such a garment as Miss Ashton should see fit to give her; and they had all been promised help and teaching by their mammas or other friends.

The curiosity and interest of the class having been much excited by Lily's glowing account of the "proverb picture" and poem furnished her by Maggie, Bessie, and Belle, she had been persuaded to bring them with her; and being punctual for the third morning, she exhibited them before school was opened, to the great satisfaction and delight of the other children. They were also displayed to Miss Ashton.

"Maggie is quite a Murphy, isn't she, Miss Ashton?" said Lily.

"A what, dear?" asked the young lady, much puzzled.

"A Murphy--a M-m-ur-phy," said Lily, putting severe and long emphasis on the word, as she saw that her teacher did not yet understand. "Don't you know what a Murphy is, Miss Ashton? It means some one very wise and good, who teaches right things."

"Oh!" said Miss Ashton, smiling, as light broke in upon her; "you mean a Mentor, do you not, Lily?"

"Oh, yes, that's it," said Lily; "but I thought it was Murphy. But I think Murphy is just as pretty a name as Mentor."

"But people would understand your meaning better if you put the right name, Lily," said Miss Ashton, as she rang the bell for silence.

Maggie and Bessie had told Belle that they would be very glad to join in the work of making clothes for the poor little orphans; and accordingly, when school was over and word was brought that they were below, she was sent to bring them up to the school-room. Places were soon found for them among their former school-mates, who were all delighted to see them; and, as Bessie said, "it seemed quite as if they were all young again."

Then Miss Ashton had a large basket of work brought in, and took from it a number of little garments cut out, but not made, which she laid upon the table before her.

"I have six skirts and six aprons here," she said, "and three calico bags, which our little orphans must have to hold their lesson-books. I think we had better give the bags to those who are the youngest, or the least accustomed to sewing,--Bessie, Belle, and Mabel. Then the rest may choose, so far as you can, whether you will take a petticoat or an apron; but as there is more work upon the petticoats than upon the aprons, I shall think it wiser for those who are not very industrious and persevering to take the latter, so that they may be sure to finish their work. Or perhaps the older ones, Nellie, Maggie, Grace, and Dora, might take the skirts, and let the other five take aprons. As I said yesterday, the young ladies in the other room will finish whatever you leave."

All were satisfied with this arrangement but two.

"Miss Ashton," said Nellie Ransom, in rather a hesitating voice, as though she thought she might be drawing upon herself the disapproval of her classmates,--"Miss Ashton, I think perhaps I had better only take an apron. I do not sew very fast, and I might not have a skirt done in time; and I would rather take the apron, so that I may be sure to finish it."

"Pooh!" said Lily, "I should think any one might have a petticoat done in two weeks! No, not pooh, either, Nellie, I forgot that was not courteous; but then I should think you'd have plenty of time to make the skirt, and I'm going to take one 'stead of the apron, if Miss Ashton will let me."

"I will let you," said her teacher. "I told you you should take what you pleased; but, Lily, I think Nellie is a wise little girl not to undertake more than she feels _sure_ she can do, and you would do well to follow her example. You do not like steady work, you know, Lily, and I should not wish the petticoat to be brought back to me half finished."

"Oh, I'd never do that!" exclaimed Lily. "I see, Miss Ashton, you think it _probalal_ that Nellie and I will be the hare and the tortoise,--Nellie the tortoise and I the hare; but we'll be two tortoises, won't we, Nellie? And please let me have the petticoat, Miss Ashton. I'll be sure, oh, _sure_ to have it finished!"

Miss Ashton did as she was asked, and handed Lily the skirt; but she looked as if she were not quite so sure that Lily would perform all she promised; and though she smiled as she gave the parcel to the little girl, she shook her head doubtfully, and said,--

"Be careful, Lily, and do not put off till to morrow the task you should do to-day."

"No, ma'am," answered Lily, confidently, "I am quite cured of that. I wish you'd let me have two just to see how soon I will have them finished."

"If you finish the petticoat at the end of ten days, you shall have some other thing to make," said Miss Ashton, rather gravely. "Nellie, my dear, here is your apron."

The work was very neatly cut out and basted; prepared so that the little girls might not find it difficult to do, or give more trouble than was actually necessary to their friends at home; and each one opened her parcel and examined it with great satisfaction after they were dismissed.

"I expect Nellie's will be sewed the best, 'cause she takes so much pains with every thing she does," said Bessie. "Hers and Dora's will be, for Dora is industrious too, and has a great deal of perseverance."

"I think mine will be the best," said Gracie, "for I sew very nicely. Mrs. Bradish told mamma she never saw a child of my age sew so neatly."

"Proudy!" said Lily, "you always think you do every thing better than anybody else; and you always go and tell when any one makes you a compliment. Gracie, you do grow conceiteder and conceiteder every day. Pretty soon, we won't be able to stand you at all."

"Why, Lily!" said Belle, "you're a dreadful anti-politer this morning."

"I don't care," said Lily; "Gracie does make me so mad. Yes, I do care about being called an anti-politer too," she added on second thoughts; "but, Gracie, I don't believe your work will be the best. I think like Bessie, that Nellie's will be, 'cause she sews so nicely; and so does Maggie."

"Anyhow mine will be done, and yours won't, I know," retorted Gracie, who always resented very strongly the idea that any other child could do as well or better than herself. "You always put off and procrastinate, so that you never have any thing ready at the right time."

"Well, I'm not going to do so any more," said Lily; "and, anyhow, I'd rather be Pro than Proudy. It's very, very naughty to be proud, and it's only a--a--well, an inconvenient habit to procrastinate. And I'm pretty well cured of it now. Don't you be afraid my petticoat won't be done; and don't let's be cross about it any more, Gracie."

Peace was restored by her last words; but here were Lily's snares and stumbling-blocks. Firstly, that she had too much confidence in her own strength, and was too sure that she could cure herself of this troublesome habit if she only chose to do so; secondly, that she hardly looked upon it as a fault at all, and did not think it of much consequence, except just at the moment when it had brought some great annoyance upon herself or others.

Lily was gay, light-hearted, and sweet-tempered, and trouble or disappointment seldom oppressed her spirits long,--all good things and great blessings in their proper times and places; but she sometimes let this run into carelessness, and was often disposed to make too light of her faults and their consequences. She certainly had warning and help enough in this case, if that were all she needed.

She, Maggie and Bessie, Belle and Mabel all took the same way homeward; and just before they parted, Maggie said,--

"I have an idea! Would it not be a good plan for us five to have a little sewing meeting at our house for these clothes, if mamma has no objections? And it will seem to help us along, and not let it be so stupid; for I do hate to sew."

The other children agreed that it would be a capital arrangement; and Maggie, turning to Bessie, asked if she thought mamma would be willing.

"For we better not make too many plans about it till we know what mamma would say," said Maggie, "or we might 'live in hope only to die in despair.'"

Bessie thought mamma would be quite willing, but agreed with Maggie that it would be better not to build up too many arrangements on this till they knew what she had to say.

"I would like to have asked all the class," said Maggie, "but I do not think mamma wants a great many children about now; because grandmamma's house is being painted, and she and Aunt Annie and Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie are all staying with us, and it makes a pretty large family,--a lovely large one," she added, with a nod of satisfaction in the present size of the household.

"We'll ask mamma if we can have a meeting once a week till our things are all finished," said Bessie; "and we can sew on them between times, and show each other how much we have done. And it may be a little help to you in not putting off, Lily," she said, rather anxiously. "I would be so sorry if your petticoat was not finished."

"Oh, never fear," said Lily; "you are all so afraid about me; and I tell you, I'm not going to put off any more."

"I am sorry, my daughter, that you took the petticoat instead of the apron," said Mrs. Norris, when Lily reached home and told her story of the morning's business. "There would have been more hope of your finishing the apron, with your unsteady ways about work and duties."

"It is not a duty for me to make this, is it, mamma?" asked Lily, unrolling the parcel and holding up the skirt.

"Yes, it is a duty for you to do that which you have promised to do, is it not?"

"Yes, mamma; but I need not have promised if I did not choose."

"No, you need not; but now that you have undertaken it of your own free will, that makes it all the more a duty for you to finish it in time. Will you sew on it a little while this afternoon, after you have had your lunch?"

"No, mamma, I think not," said Lily. "Maggie and Bessie are going to ask their mamma if they can have us for a sewing meeting at their house, and I'll wait and see what they say. It will be fun."

Mrs. Norris sighed as Lily gleefully rolled up her work and tossed it upon the table. This was not a very good beginning.

"Put it away in the large work-box, dear," she said.

"Presently, mamma; I'm just going to tell Nora about it."

"No, Lily, put it away at once. And remember, my darling, that I shall not allow Nora to finish it for you if you fall behindhand through your own fault."

"Oh, no, mamma," said Lily, as she obeyed her mother's order; "but I would have put it away in a minute or two."

VI.

_BUT NOT PERFORMING._

You will readily believe that Lily's "by and by" was long in coming, as it had often been before; and this although her mamma and nurse both invited her more than once to come and begin her petticoat.

The evening brought a note from Maggie Bradford, which was as follows:--

"DEAR LILY,--Mamma says we may have the sewing meeting, and Aunt Annie
says she will take care of it up in her room, which is very kind of
her; do you not think so? When Baby Annie heard us talking about it,
she said, "Me too;" and we told her she should come if she would be
good. Mamma says she is afraid she will be a disturbance, but she
is so cunning that Bessie and I could not bear to tell her no; and
we will be very industrious, even if baby is funny. We make you a
life-member of our society for two weeks, till we have the clothes all
finished; and we will have a meeting every Thursday afternoon. Come at
three o'clock; and Aunt Annie will tell us stories or read to us till
four, while we sew, and then we will put away our work and play.

"Yours respectfully and affectionately,

"MAGGIE STANTON BRADFORD.

"P. S. Bessie says of course you'd never think of such a thing as bringing 'Pro' to the meeting. We wouldn't believe it of you; but if you did, we should 'speed the parting guest,' which means to turn him out as quick as you can."

"Maggie knows so many proverbs and wise speeches, and always knows how to make a good use of them," said Lily, when Tom finished reading this epistle to her, she having been in too much haste to try to spell it out for herself. "Now, Tom, what are you laughing at?"

"Why, I'm sure that is a good joke of Maggie's, and well worth being amused at," said Tom.

"Oh, yes," said Lily, "she is very smart, and very funny too. I'm so glad we are going to have the sewing meeting; and, indeed, I don't take 'Pro' with me."

"I am afraid he has paid us a visit this afternoon, Lily," said Mrs. Norris.

"Why, no, dear mamma; at least, I only thought I would wait till I heard what we were going to do at the meeting, and not begin before them. It is nicer to begin all together."

"And I think you will find that all the other children have commenced their work to-day," said Mrs. Norris. "But we shall see."

Lily's mamma was nearly as well pleased as her little daughter at the arrangement she had made with the Bradford children, for she hoped that their example, and the wish to keep pace with them, might help Lily to conquer her besetting fault in this instance at least; and that shame might keep her from falling behindhand with her work from week to week.

The sewing meeting being a novelty, and Lily very anxious to "see what it would be like," she was willing to be made ready in good time the next day; and actually arrived at the Bradfords' house eight minutes before three o'clock, which she, as well as the other children, took to be a decided sign of improvement in the punctuality line.

Belle was there, but not Mabel, for the latter had taken a very bad cold, and could not come out.

The little girls were soon all settled in Aunt Annie's room, each with her work; but Lily was rather dismayed, and quite ashamed, to find her mother's words proved true, and that each one of the other three children had not only commenced her work, but had completed quite a good piece upon it. Why, there was a whole seam and part of another done upon Maggie's petticoat; and she had not yet set the first stitch in hers!

"Why! haven't you done any on yours yet?" asked Bessie, in amazement. "Why didn't you begin it, Lily?"

"I thought to-day would be time enough," said Lily, rather sheepishly. "I'm sorry now I didn't begin it."

"But it's too late to be sorry now," said Bessie, gravely shaking her head. "Procrastination has been robbing Time again, Lily."

"Never mind, I'll sew very fast to-day," was Lily's answer.

As soon as she had the little girls all busy at their work, Aunt Annie took up a book, and prepared to read a story to them.

But scarcely had she commenced when the door, which stood ajar, was pushed open; and "Tootins" walked in, with an air which seemed to say she was quite sure of her welcome.

And who was "Tootins"? you will say. A kitten?

Well, I believe she was a kind of two-footed kitten; at least, she was as full of play and frolic and merry ways as any four-footed little puss that ever called old cat mother. As fond of being cuddled and petted now and then, too.

"Tootins" was the dearest, cunningest, most fascinating little two-year-old bit of mischief that ever found out she had ten fingers, and the number of uses they could be put to.

A mischief! I should think she was! Such restless, busy little fingers! "Mademoiselle Touche-à-tout" Uncle Ruthven named her. Such an inquisitive little mind! Such never-tiring, pattering little feet! Such a sweet voice, and such a crooked, cunning tongue!

When you saw her, you wanted to catch her up, and pet and hug her, she was so fair and round and dimpled; but that did not always suit Miss "Tootins." She thought her two small feet were made to be used, and she did not choose that they should be deprived of any of their privileges, except by her own free will. So she generally struggled to be put down again; and, dear me! how sorry you were to let her go!

But sometimes, as I have said, she wanted to be cuddled and petted; and then she would nestle to you, so dear and sweet, with her sunny head upon your arm, her great starry eyes fastened upon your face, while you talked baby-talk to her, or told her simple verses and stories. Understand you, do you ask? Indeed, she understood every thing you said; more than you could have believed possible.

Pure pink and white skin; eyes blue as heaven; golden hair; yes, real golden hair, for when the sunlight fell upon her curls, they looked like threads of burning gold; shoulders and hands and arms that looked as if they were only made to be kissed; a gurgling, rippling laugh; and oh, such cunning, wheedling ways! That is our "Tootins;" otherwise, Baby Annie. _Our_ "Tootins," did I say? Well, I suppose I must call her Mrs. Bradford's "Tootins;" but then, you see, I have drawn her picture from life, and, having before my eyes just such a pet and darling of my own, it came very natural to say "our Tootins."

But how did she come by such a funny name? you will ask again.

Well, that was a name her little brother Frankie had given her when she was a tiny baby; no one knew why he did it, but he did, and he always called her by it; and of late, if any one called her by any other name, he always pretended he did not know of whom they spoke. And so "Tootins" had come to be a sort of twin pet name with "Baby," and little Annie was called as much by one as by the other.

As I have said, she came in as if quite assured of her welcome, for Baby Annie was accustomed to have her society courted, and rather imagined she was conferring a favor when she bestowed it upon her friends. Moreover, she had been promised that she should join the others on this occasion, why or with what purpose she did not understand; but she knew that her sisters had talked of Belle and Lily coming. She was fond of Belle and Lily, and had demanded a share in their company, and here they were now. This she knew very well, and so she came in, followed by old nurse, who had her own doubts as to whether baby would be considered a serviceable member of the sewing circle.

But "Tootins'" expectations proved well-founded, for she was greeted with exclamations of pleasure; and after submitting to the necessary amount of hugging and kissing, she was accommodated with a bench at Aunt Annie's feet, and mammy told that she might leave her.

But was it really possible that any one thought baby was going to sit still on that footstool? If so, she soon undeceived them; and the busy little fingers were, as usual, searching about for what mischief they could find to do.

First, she overturned Maggie's workbox, and having contrived, during the picking up of the contents, secretly to possess herself of the eyelet-piercer, was presently discovered boring holes in her own tiny shoe. The next thing which took her fancy was a small vase of flowers, which being within her reach was dragged over, the water spilled upon the floor and the flowers scattered, before Aunt Annie could prevent it. Happily, the vase was not broken, for which Miss Baby took great credit to herself, declaring over and over again that she was "dood,"--little Pharisee that she was.

By the time that this disturbance was over, order restored, and the members of the sewing society settled once more in their places, baby had retired into privacy behind the window curtain; and, being suspiciously quiet, Aunt Annie thought proper to inquire into her occupation, when she was discovered industriously taking pins from a pin-cushion, and sticking them into the carpet.

"Oh, what a mischievous, naughty little girl!" said Aunt Annie. "Shall I call mammy to take you away?"

"No, 'deed, Nan," was the answer; "Nan" being baby's name for Aunt Annie.

"Will you be good and quiet then?"

"'Es 'deed," said baby, resigning the pin-cushion into Aunt Annie's hands, and trotting off in search of fresh pastures.

A large trunk was in the room, the lid standing open; and Miss Stanton had already called baby three or four times from its dangerous neighborhood. But the straps which kept the lid from falling back seemed to have a peculiar attraction for the little one; and once more she went over to the corner where it was placed, and, taking hold of one of these straps, would in another moment have crushed both tiny hands by pulling the whole weight of the lid upon them, had not Maggie sprung up and caught it just in time.

"You had better call nurse to take her away, Maggie; she is too troublesome, and we shall accomplish nothing while she is here," said her aunt, now really vexed. But when she heard this, Baby Annie put up such a grieved lip and looked so piteous that the other children all pleaded for her; and Miss Stanton said she would try her once more.

"Shall Aunt Annie tell you a pretty story?" she asked, seating the little mischief in the corner of the sofa, where she would be out of harm's way so long as she could be persuaded to remain there.

Baby assented eagerly, for she always liked a story; and Aunt Annie began, the little one listening intently, with hands quietly folded in her lap, and her great blue eyes fixed on her aunt's face.

"Once there was a little girl, and she was a very good little girl, and always did as she was told. When her auntie said, 'You must be still,' she was as quiet as a little mouse, and made no noise. When her mamma said, 'Come here,' she always came; and when her nursey said, 'Do not touch that thing,' she never touched it. She did not take the pins, because she knew it was naughty, and that mamma would say, 'No, no;' and she did not pull at the flowers, because she knew her auntie would say, 'Let them alone;' and she did not touch Maggie's workbox, because she knew she was not to have it. And oh, dear me! why, she never would do such a naughty thing as to touch the trunk, because she knew it would hurt her little fingers, oh, so badly! and then she would have to cry. So every one loved this baby, and said, 'What a good little girl! Come here, good little girl;' and gave her pretty flowers of her own, and let her stay in the room, and did not send her away to the nursery."

Here Aunt Annie paused, to see what effect her moral tale was making on the small listener for whose benefit it was intended. Baby was intensely interested, and when Aunt Annie ceased speaking, gravely ejaculated the one syllable, "More."

The other children, who thought this extremely funny, were trying to hide their smiles that they might not spoil the lesson the story was intended to convey.

"Then there was another little girl," continued Aunt Annie, "such a naughty little girl, who would not mind what was said to her. When her mamma said, 'Don't go to the head of the stairs when the gate is open,' she would not mind, but she did go; and she fell down stairs, and bumped her poor little head. And she took the piercer, and made holes in her new shoes; and mamma said, 'Oh, the naughty baby! She must sit on the bed with no shoes on because she did such a bad thing.' And she took the scissors and cut her little fingers, and they hurt her so badly, and bled. And the pins too, and she put them in the carpet where they pricked grandmamma's feet; and grandmamma said, 'That naughty, naughty baby!' And what do you think happened to her one day? She would touch the trunk when her auntie said, 'Come away;' and the lid fell down, and cut off all the poor little fingers, and the little girl had no more fingers to play with, or to love mamma with, or to look at the pretty picture-books with. Oh, poor little girl! that was because she would not be good."