Chapter III: Part 3

Nothing could outdo the intense gravity of the little one's face and demeanor as she listened to this thrilling tale, and drank in each word. It was certainly making a great impression, Aunt Annie thought.

"Now," she said, thinking to strengthen and give point to this, "who was the good little girl who always did as she was told?"

"Tootins," said the baby, with an air of supreme self-satisfaction, and conscious virtue, which set all the other children giggling.

"And who," asked Aunt Annie, trying to command her own face, as she put the second question, "was the naughty little girl who did all those bad things, and was so much hurt?"

"Na-a-an!" shouted baby, changing her air of delighted self-approbation to one of stern reproof and bitter indignation against her would-be teacher.

To describe the peals of gleeful laughter which followed this sudden turning of the tables would be impossible. Roguish Lily went capering and whirling about the room in an ecstasy of fun and enjoyment at this capital hit; and all thought it the most excellent joke they had heard this long time. It would have been impossible to help joining in their merry peals of laughter, even had not Aunt Annie herself been heartily amused at the little rogue's cuteness; and baby, finding she had said a good thing, joined her own rippling laugh to the general merriment, to which she further added by now saying, "Oh, dear! me so funny."

The laughter and merry voices brought mamma to see what the great joke could be; and Miss Baby now thought proper to deprive them of her society, slipping down from her nest on the sofa, and running to her mother with,--

"Me better do wis my mamma."

"Tootins" always considered she had "better" do whatever she wished to do.

And now perhaps you will say, What has all this long story about "Tootins" to do with Lily and procrastination?

Why, just this; that from the moment the baby had entered the room, Lily's attention had been entirely diverted from her sewing. In vain did that faithful little monitor, Bessie, endeavor by hints and signs, and softly whispered words, to persuade her to keep on with the work already so far behindhand. For to all her entreaties, Lily only answered, "There's time enough," or, "I'm going to do it in a minute," and so forth; while she watched the baby, and was rather disposed to encourage her in her mischief. And when Miss Stanton put little Annie up on the sofa, and began to tell her the story, Lily dropped her sewing upon the floor, and, leaving her seat, hung over the arm of the couch, listening and idling away her time. The other children were amused, too, at Annie's pranks, especially at this last one, but they kept on sewing industriously; even little Belle, who was unaccustomed to it, laboriously and with much painstaking, setting in stitch after stitch.

But even this good example had no effect on Lily; and seeing this, Aunt Annie was not sorry when "the little hindering thing" declared she had "better do wis" her mother. Mrs. Bradford thought so too; and carried away the cunning but provoking monkey.

"O Lily!" said Maggie, reproachfully, "I thought you were not going to bring Pro with you."

"Well, I didn't," said Lily. "I'm sure I've been sewing; at least, I've sewed some; and I was just looking at Annie for a moment."

"For a good many moments, Lily," said Miss Stanton; "and even when you had your work in your hand, you put in the stitches very slowly and carelessly. See there, Lily," taking up the end of the seam on which Lily was now working in great haste, in order to make up for lost time, "what long, uneven stitches, my dear child."

"Oh, they'll do, Miss Annie," said Lily. "I'll do the rest better; but I must have this seam done to-day."

Miss Stanton looked grave, and shook her head, and it was not a usual thing for gay, merry Annie Stanton to look serious; and Lily saw that she, like other people, did not think so lightly of this habit which she considered of so little consequence.

For, as you will have perceived, Lily had already forgotten the sad lesson she had received in the matter of the silver inkstand; and Maggie, Bessie, and Belle afterwards acknowledged to one another that their proverb picture had quite failed to produce the good effect they had hoped for.

"Let's keep the sewing meeting in a little longer," she said, when the hour was over, and the other children were preparing to put by their work, which had made good progress during that time.

"No," said Miss Annie, "an hour's steady work is enough for any little girl, and the others are tired. They have done enough for to-day."

"I think I'll do a little more," said Lily, who felt ashamed as she compared her own work with that of her young companions, and saw how much more they had accomplished.

"As you please," said Miss Stanton; "but I cannot attend to you longer, Lily. I am going out to dinner, and must dress now. I hope you will do better before next Thursday."

Lily went away with the others, intending to sew while they played, at least, for a while; but, as you may believe, when she saw them all engaged with their dolls, Procrastination came and put her virtuous resolution to flight, whispering that she could make up for lost time to-morrow; and, as usual, he had his way, and the petticoat was soon altogether forgotten.

VII.

_WHAT CAME OF THAT._

"Lily, darling," said Mrs. Norris, on Saturday morning, "let me see how the little orphan's petticoat is coming on."

Lily went, rather sheepishly it must be confessed, and brought the skirt to her mother.

"Is this all you have done?--this little piece of a seam?" said Mrs. Norris. "And so badly too. Why, my child! what have you been thinking of? You can sew far better than this."

Lily fidgeted, and hung her head.

"Did you not all sew yesterday, when you were at Mrs. Bradford's?" asked her mamma, examining the work still more closely.

"Yes, mamma," murmured Lily.

"And did you not say Miss Annie showed you how it was to be done?"

"Yes, mamma."

"How is it, then, that you have done so very little, and that little so badly?"

"Why, you see, mamma," said Lily, hesitatingly, "I did not have much sewed, only a few stitches, and I wanted to catch up with the others; and so--and so--so the stitches wouldn't come very nice."

"And why did you not have as much accomplished as the other children? This is a very poor hour's work, dear."

"Yes, mamma; but Baby Annie was so funny, and I couldn't help looking at her, and I thought I would have time enough. It was such a horridly short hour; it was gone before I had time to do much."

"Ah, Lily," said Mrs. Norris, "it is the same old story, I fear. Procrastination, and want of attention to the duty of the time, and perhaps a little idleness and heedlessness added to them. These last two are great helpers to procrastination, Lily; or perhaps I should say, procrastination is a great helper to the sad fault of idleness. It is so very easy, when we do not feel industrious, to believe that another time will answer as well for the duty or work we should do now. So the duty is put off; and then, when shame or need calls us to the neglected task, it is hurried through heedlessly, and it may be so badly that it is quite useless, or must be done over again, as this must, my child."

"Mamma!" exclaimed Lily, in a tone in which there was displeasure as well as distress.

"Yes, indeed, my daughter. I cannot allow this to be returned to Miss Ashton with such work upon it. You are but a little girl, and no one would expect to see such neat sewing come from your hands as from those of an older person; but I should be ashamed to have it thought that my Lily cannot do better than this."

"Then I'll never have the petticoat done at all," said Lily, her eyes filling with tears. "It is 'most a week now since Miss Ashton gave them to us, and if I have to take that out it will be all to do from the beginning, and Maggie and Bessie and Belle have ever so much done on theirs, and I shan't have one stitch done on mine."

Mrs. Norris looked grieved at the rebellious tone.

"Whose fault is it, Lily?" she asked sorrowfully.

Lily hesitated for a moment; then, for the first time in her life, temper had the better of her love and reverence for her mother, and she answered passionately,--

"_Yours_, if you make me pull that out!"

For a moment, surprise held Mrs. Norris silent and motionless. Never before had Lily spoken so to her; never before had she been other than her loving, docile little child, not always strictly obedient it might be, but that was not so much from wilfulness as from that sad habit of putting off,--of not obeying at once.

Then the surprise died out, and left only pain and grief; and while Lily was wondering what mamma would do, could do, after such a dreadful thing as that (for the very utterance of the words had sobered her, and calmed down her temper), Mrs. Norris rose, and laying down the skirt, without one word, without one look at her naughty little child, slowly and sorrowfully left the room.

Lily stood still one moment, herself almost breathless with surprise and dismay at what she had done. Had she really said such dreadful words to mamma? and could mamma ever, ever forgive them? Her own dear, loving, indulgent mamma to hear such words from the lips of her own, only little daughter. What would papa say, what would Tom say, when they should know it? what would Maggie and Bessie say? For when mamma treated her as she deserved to be treated from this time forth, they would surely know that something was wrong, and must learn what she had done. And, oh! how angry God must be with her!

Some little boys and girls, who are in the habit of saying unkind and disrespectful things to their mothers,--and, alas! there are too many such,--may wonder at our Lily's distress and remorse; but Lily was not accustomed to behave in this way to her mother; as you have heard, it was the first time in her life that she had done so, and now she was fairly frightened when she remembered how she had let passion master her.

And what had brought this about?

Lily did not think of it just then, in all the tumult of feeling which swelled her little heart; but had it not all arisen from the sad habit of procrastination, of which she thought so lightly?

She felt as if she dared not run after her mother, and ask her forgiveness. True, mamma always was ready to forgive her when she was penitent after any naughtiness; but then--oh! she had never, never done any thing like this before--and Lily threw herself down upon the rug in a paroxysm of tears and sobs.

By and by the door was opened, and Tom came in. He stood still for a moment in surprise at the state in which he found his little sister, then came forward.

"My pet, what is it? What is the matter?" he said, stooping over her, and trying to raise her. But Lily resisted; and so Tom sat down on the floor beside her. A fresh burst of sobs came from Lily.

"What is it, dear?" asked Tom again. "Shall I call mamma?"

"Oh, no, no!" sobbed Lily. "She wouldn't c-c-come if you did. She'll never want to come near m-me a-a-gain."

"Why? What is wrong?" asked Tom, whose fears that Lily was ill or had hurt herself were now removed; for he saw that it was not bodily but mental trouble which ailed her.

"Oh! I've done the most horrid, the most dreadful thing, Tom," confessed Lily, still hardly able to speak for the fast-coming tears and sobs. "Oh! I spoke so wickedly to mamma; to my own dear, precious, darling mamma. It was 'most worse than the inkstand, oh, it was, it was! I'm so bad, oh, such a bad child!"

"Are you willing to tell me about it?" asked Tom, soothingly.

Lily raised her head, and threw it upon her brother's knee, allowing him to wipe away her tears; although, as she told her story, they flowed as fast as he dried them.

"Lily," said Tom, hoping that this might prove a good lesson to her,--ah! how often had Lily's friends vainly hoped that the trouble she brought upon herself might prove of service to her,--"Lily, how was it that your work was so very badly done?"

And Lily made a fresh confession, Tom gently leading her back to what he truly suspected to be the first cause of all this difficulty.

"Lily, dear," he said, "I am sure I do not want to seem to find fault with you, or to reproach you when you are feeling so badly; but I would like you to see how all this has come about. You think it such a small fault, such a very little thing, to put off your duties, and even your pleasures, if it happens to suit the convenience of the moment. As to pleasures, I suppose that does not matter much, so long as we do not let our want of punctuality interfere with the pleasure of others; but although it may not be what we call a great sin in itself, just see into what sin and sorrow procrastination may lead us. One little duty neglected or put off may interfere with another; or, as you have done, we may have to hurry through with it in such a manner as to leave it worse than if we had not tried to do it at all. And so we are disappointed and vexed, and perhaps we grow cross and ill-tempered, or fly into a passion, and do some very wrong or unkind thing."

"Yes; or behave worse than any child that ever lived, to our darling, lovely, precious mammas, just like me," broke forth poor, penitent Lily.

"Yes," said Tom, gravely, but kindly, "you see to what it has led you,--disrespect and impertinence to dear mamma. Is not this enough, Lil darling, to show you how much pain and trouble may come from this habit, and why you ought to try to break yourself of it? It is not only the inconvenience which _must_ come from it, but the wrong which _may_ grow from it, which should teach us to try and keep it from gaining a hold upon us. Do you see, Lil?"

"I should think I did," said Lily, dolefully, though she now sat upright, but with a most rueful and despairing countenance. "I should think it had made me bad enough to see what it can do. But, Tom,"--with an admiring look at her brother from the midst of her gloom and distress,--"but, Tom, what a wise boy you are! You talk as if you were grown up; quite as if you were a minister; only I understand all you say, and I don't understand all ministers say."

"No, I suppose not," said Tom, speaking more gayly; "but we will not have any more preaching just now, only--I would like to tell you a story, Lily. Shall I?"

"Yes, indeed, please do," answered Lily, brightening a little at the prospect.

"It is a very sad story, but I thought it would just fit here," said her brother.

"I'm not in a state of mind for a pleasant story," said Lily, who had lately fallen into the way of using long words, and "grown-up" phrases, after the example of her little friends, Maggie and Bessie.

"No, I suppose not," said Tom, suppressing all inclination to smile. "Well, you know Will Sturges, Lily?"

"Oh, yes, that very sorry-looking boy, whose father is dead, you told me," said Lily. "Tom, it always makes _me_ feel sorry to see him. He hardly ever smiles, or looks happy. You know mamma told you to ask him here often, and see if you could not brighten him up; but he don't seem to brighten up at all. Bessie said he looked 'as if he had a weight on his mind' all the time."

"Ah! that is just it," said Tom. "He has a terrible weight on his mind; a grief that is there night and day. He thinks it is through his fault that his father was killed; and I suppose that it is so. At least it was brought about by a small neglect of his,--procrastination, or putting off, Lily."

"Did he ever put off?" asked the little girl, opening great eyes of wonder. "Why, he always seems so very punctual, so very ready just when he ought to be."

"Yes," said Tom, "but he was not always so, dear. Never was a more unpunctual, a more dilatory boy than Will Sturges used to be. Poor dear fellow! he has learned better by such a sad lesson. I hope my little sister may never have the like."

"I'm sure," said Lily, "I don't know who has had a sad lesson, if I have not."

"Ah! but, Lily," said her brother, "you have yet the time and chance to show you are sorry, and want to try to do better--if you really do repent--and to gain forgiveness from the one you have injured,--dear mamma; but poor Will, he never had the chance to make up for his neglect of his duty."

"Tell me," begged Lily, all curiosity and interest.

"Well," said Tom, "Will Sturges used to be, as he is now, about the brightest and quickest boy in our class."

Lily shook her head doubtfully at this; it was all Tom's modesty, she thought, and more than she could conveniently believe. Tom understood her, but continued his story without interruption.

"But, for all that, he never was at the head of his class, nor even took a very high standing in it; for never was such a boy for being behindhand as Will Sturges. Every thing that could be put off was put off, and he never seemed to like to attend to any duty or task at the proper moment. It was not laziness either, for he would leave some small task which should have been done at once, perhaps to take up one that was far harder, but which might well have waited till he had finished the first. He never could be persuaded to attend to his regular lessons _first_, but would let himself be led away from them, not always by play or pleasure, but often to take up some book which there was no need for him to study, always believing and saying that there was 'time enough'--'no hurry'--'by and by he would do it,' and so forth; until, as you may suppose, his lessons were left until the last moment, when they would be scrambled through, and Will just contrived to keep himself from disgrace. It was so with every thing; he never was ready in time for either work or pleasure. If he were going on a journey, or any excursion, ten to one but he was left behind by being too late for the boat or train; all his own fault too, for his father and mother used to take pains enough to have him ready in time. When Mr. Peters took the school on a picnic or frolic, it was always a part of the entertainment to see Will come tearing down the dock, or by the side of the cars just at the last moment, often _after_ the last moment, and when it was too late. No boy in school had so many tardy marks; none lost so many books, papers, and pencils, because he always thought it was time enough to put them in their places by and by. No lesson did him any good, no disappointment or inconvenience he brought upon himself seemed to cure him; until at last the sad thing happened of which I am going to tell you.

"One afternoon his father said to him, 'Will, if you are going out, I wish these papers posted at the station. Take them with you, and attend to them at once, my son, before you go upon your own errand. They must go to grandfather by to-night's train. Can I depend upon you for once?' 'Yes, indeed, you may, sir,' promised Will, meaning what he said too; and when he left the house, he intended to go directly to the post-office station. But he had not gone far when he met a friend; and this boy begged him to go home with him, and see a fine new dog he had just bought. Will hesitated, looked at his watch, and found that there were still nearly two hours before the next mail would leave the station, that mail by which the papers must go if they were to reach the evening train. 'There'll be plenty of time, and all papa cared for was that they should reach the station before the mail left it,' he said to himself; and he went with his friend. He stayed with him more than an hour; then he said good-by, having, as he promised himself, more than time enough to reach the post, and mail his papers. But, just as he was about leaving the house, a little brother of his friend fell downstairs, hurting himself very badly; and, in the hurry and distress of the moment, he was begged to run for the doctor. He forgot his papers--indeed, how could one refuse such an errand at such a time?--and ran for the doctor, who lived far off, and in quite a different direction from the station. This last was not his fault, and if he had obeyed his father at once all would have been right; but, what with one thing and another, he was too late, and the mail had left. He tried all he could to send the papers by that evening train, but it was useless, for he could find no one to take charge of them, and he knew it would not do to trust them to chance hands. So he could do nothing but take them home again, which he did, and confessed his fault. His father looked very grave; but, as poor Will has often told me, did not scold him, only saying, 'Then I shall probably have to leave town myself to-morrow, and it will be a great inconvenience to me. I fear, my boy, that you will never learn the value of punctuality and the evil of procrastination until they are taught you by some severe lesson.' Poor, dear old Will! what a lesson that was to be! Well, his father was telegraphed the next day to come himself, since the papers had not arrived; and he left his home, Lily, never to come back. The train by which he went met with a fearful accident, and Mr. Sturges was killed in an instant. And from that day Will has been the sad, melancholy fellow you see him; for he blames himself for his father's death, and says but for him he would have remained at home, and so been safe. And, Lily, we must see that it is so, and that, if Will had not put off the duty he should have attended to, all this would probably never have taken place. If you could hear him talk about it!"

Lily drew a long sigh, partly from pity for Will Sturges, partly from dread of what sorrows might come to herself if she were not cured of this sad fault, then said,--

"But, after all, Tom, he was not so bad to his father as I was to mamma, for he did not mean to be naughty, and I'm afraid I did. Do you know, I was in a real passion, a _passionate_ passion, with mamma. O, Tom! what shall I do?"

"What ought you to do first?" asked Tom.

"Go and ask mamma to forgive me; but how can she, Tom?" asked Lily, sobbing again.

"Mamma would forgive any thing, if she thought you were truly sorry," said her brother.

"I'm sure I am," answered the little girl. "If she could see in my heart, she would know it very well."

"You can show her what is in your heart, dear, by letting her see that you are really trying to break yourself of the troublesome fault which has led you to behave so to her."

Lily threw her arms around her brother's neck, and kissed him; the next moment she was gone in search of her mamma. When she reached her, she could find no words, none but a piteous "O mamma!" But her voice and her face spoke for her; and in another moment she was clinging fast around her mother's neck, her dear, kind arms about her, her kiss of forgiveness on the little head which buried itself in shame and contrition upon her shoulder.

But, though Lily was forgiven, she could not recover her spirits all that day, a thing very unusual with her; but then, as she said, she had "never been so wickedly naughty before," and she felt as if she could not do enough to make up to her mother for her offence.

She was rather droll, too, as she was apt to be, when by any means she fell into low spirits.

When her papa came home, she did not go to meet him with her usual light and dancing step; and he missed that, and the joyous face with which she was accustomed to greet him.

"Why," he said, "what ails my little sunbeam to-day?" for Mr. Norris had heard of Belle's idea about the sunbeams in the family, and he delighted to call his Lily so.

"I'm not a sunbeam to-day, papa," said Lily.

"You're not a little cloud, I hope," said papa.

"Oh, no!" answered Lily, mournfully, "not even so good as a cloud. I've been so very, very naughty that I believe I'm a--a"--Lily was racking her imagination for a comparison that should seem severe enough enough--"I've been quite a January thaw, papa."

Mr. Norris opened the door of the coat closet, and hastily put his head therein, taking a remarkably long time to hang up his hat, Lily thought.

Now you must know that a January thaw was Lily's idea of all that was most disagreeable in the weather. For, the last winter, she had had a severe attack of diphtheria; and just as she was well enough to go out, a long spell of damp, foggy days set in, keeping her a prisoner for some weeks longer, and depriving her of many little pleasures on which she had set her heart.

"She must not go outside of the door until this January thaw is over," the doctor said several times; and Lily had come to look upon this as the very worst specimen of weather.

"Don't you scorn me, papa?" she asked, when she had made her confession to him.

"No, I do not scorn you by any means, Lily," he answered; "and I am glad to see that you do really feel your fault, for it gives me hope that you may try to correct it with more earnestness than you have yet done."

And then he talked to her for some time longer, setting before her very plainly all the trouble and inconvenience, yes, and sin too, which might come from indulgence in this habit of procrastination.

Certainly our Lily did not want for teachers, both wise and kind; for her friends, young and old, seemed all to have set themselves to give her help in the right way, if she would but heed them.

VIII.

_A LITTLE TALK._

It did really seem now that Lily was taking herself to task in earnest, and it was surprising to see how much she improved during the next few days. There was no more dilly-dallying with any little duty or task she had to perform; if her mother or any other person asked some small service from her, she ran promptly and at once; when Nora called her to make ready for school or her walk, there was no more stopping "only to do this," or "just to look at that." She was not once tardy at school; not once late at meals, a thing which her father disliked extremely, but to which Lily had until now paid but little heed. Play and nonsense were given up at school, save at the proper times, and she came to her classes with her lessons correctly prepared; for, when Lily failed here, it was not from stupidity, or want of quickness, but simply from idleness, or her habit of saying "there's time enough still."

The little petticoat, too, was progressing nicely, with a prospect of being finished in time after all; for Lily had begged her mamma to divide it off into certain portions, so much to be done on each day, that she might know her appointed task, and so be sure to have it completed. And she persevered, though the little unaccustomed fingers did grow rather tired every day before they were through with the allotted portion of seam or hem; for, having been so idle, or rather procrastinating, she found it hard to make up for lost time. Now she regretted that she had not taken the advice of her mother and teacher, and chosen one of the little aprons, instead of the petticoat.

Nora could not bear to see her plodding away over it, and more than once begged Mrs. Norris to let her help Lily, or "give her a lift," as she called it.

But Mrs. Norris refused, for she had told Lily that she would not allow this; and much as she would have liked to relieve her little girl, she did not think it best, and hoped that the burden she had brought upon herself might be of service to her.

However, when the next Thursday came, and Lily was to go to the second "sewing meeting," she was very glad that she had so much done on her petticoat.

"For I would be too ashamed to go to-day if I had not done better than I did last week, mamma," she said. "And two or three of the children in our class have finished their work already; and here is old me with mine not quite half done."

Lily was very "scornful," as she would have called it, of herself in these days, and rather delighted in heaping uncomplimentary names and reproaches upon her own head.

When she reached Mrs. Bradford's house at the appointed time, she was rather dismayed to find that, in spite of her industry of the last few days, the other children had accomplished much more than she had done. Maggie's skirt was so near completion that she had but a little piece of the hem to do; and she had only left this, in order that she might, as she said keep company with the rest in the sewing meeting. And Maggie had made a button-hole! Yes, actually made a button-hole! It was her first attempt, but still it was tolerably well done. It had cost her a good deal of trouble too, and even some few tears; but she had persevered, and now was glad that she had done so.

"Patience and Perseverance conquer all things, you know," she said to Lily, when Bessie, with some pardonable pride in her sister's success, displayed this triumph of art; "but I really thought that button-hole must conquer me, only I wouldn't let it, if I did cry a little about it."

Bessie, too, had nearly finished her bag; and though Belle was rather behind the others, she had a fair prospect of being quite through with her task in time.

They all encouraged Lily, and told her she might still finish her petticoat by the appointed day, if she would but continue to do as well as she was now doing.

The sewing meeting passed off this day without hindrance; for Baby Annie was not admitted; and there was nothing else especially to take off Lily's attention from the task in hand. Aunt Annie read an interesting story, it was true, but all the little girls sewed industriously as they listened; and at the end of the hour Maggie's petticoat and Bessie's bag were completed, while those of Belle and Lily had made fair progress.

"I have only three more days," said the latter, "for you know we have to give in the things on Tuesday, and this is Thursday."

Lily's tone was rather hopeless.

"I think you might finish your skirt in two days, Lily," said Miss Stanton. "Two hours' steady work such as you have given to it to-day would be quite time enough. If I were you I should sew one hour to-morrow, and one on Saturday, so that you may have little or nothing for your last day, Monday."

"Why wouldn't it do just as well to keep some for Monday?" asked Lily, folding up her work.

"Only that if you could finish it in the next two days it would be better," answered Miss Annie, "because something might happen to prevent you from doing so at the last moment."

"Don't have any more putting-off fits, Lily," said Maggie. "Don't you find 'distance lends enchantment to the view' of Pro? What are you laughing at, Aunt Annie? There is such a proverb, for I read it this very morning, only I didn't think I should have a good chance to use it so soon. I'll show it to you, so you need not think I made it up."

"Yes, I know," said Annie, catching the rosy, eager face between her two hands, and lovingly kissing either dimpled cheek. "It is an old, old proverb, and one very well known, dear Maggie; and let us hope that Procrastination may indeed look so much better at a distance than near at hand that Lily may keep it there, and not let it come near her."

"Aunt Annie," said Bessie, "you must be a very laughable person, for so often you laugh at things that we don't think funny at all."

"That is true," answered Aunt Annie, whose eyes were brimming with mischief, while she laughed more merrily than ever.

"Well," said Lily, "I did not quite understand what Maggie meant till Miss Annie said that, but I do know now; and, indeed, I do think Pro is better far off than close by. I'm sure I am a great deal better anyway, and I shall never let him come near me again."

Bessie stood looking gravely at her as she spoke.

"I see you don't quite trust me, Bessie," said Lily, "but you'll see. If you only knew all that I know, you'd learn what good reason I have for believing I shall never procrastinate again; but I'd rather not tell you what it is."

For Lily did really shrink from letting her little playmates know of her sad behavior to her dear mother, although she could not refrain from alluding to it in this mysterious manner.

"You know you're all coming to my house to spend the day with me on Saturday," she continued; "and before you come, I shall have the petticoat all finished, and will show it to you."

Lily kept faithfully to her resolution upon the next day, sewing industriously for a full hour, and then putting by her work with the consciousness that she had accomplished all that could be expected of her for that day. Perhaps she had been further encouraged to do so by hearing most of her young schoolmates say that morning that their little garments were quite finished, and ready to be handed in to Miss Ashton on Tuesday. Even Mabel Walton, although she had been quite ill with a bad cold, had completed her bag; and little Belle hoped and expected to put the last stitches in her's on that afternoon.

"Is your apron done, Nellie?" asked Lily of Nellie Ransom.

"Not quite," answered Nellie, "and I shall not finish it before to-morrow, for my two little cousins are in town to-day, and I must give up this afternoon to them. I am glad that I took the apron instead of the petticoat, for I am sure I should not have had time to make the last."

"You could have tried," said Gracie. "I'm sure a petticoat is not so much to make. Mine was all done on Saturday evening, and I did not have any help or showing either. Mamma is away, and I wouldn't let my nurse help me, but did it every bit myself. But then every one says I'm uncommonly handy with my needle;" and Gracie gave her head the toss which always excited the displeasure of her schoolmates.

"Well," said Nellie, coloring and hesitating a little, "I felt pretty sure that I could not make the petticoat in time, and I thought it was better to take that which I knew I could do; and now you see I should feel badly if I could not bring in my work when the rest do."

"Yes, and you were very right," said Belle. "I told Aunt Margaret about you, and she said you were a wise, prudent little girl."

"I wouldn't be such a slow poke as Nellie, would you?" whispered Gracie to Lily, when Nellie had moved away a little.

"I s'pose I'd be as I was made, and I s'pose you'd be as you were made," said Lily, loftily, for her "scorn," as she would have called it, was always excited by Gracie's attempts to exalt herself above her companions and schoolmates, and it rather delighted her to put Gracie down.

This was difficult, however. Gracie's self-sufficiency was so great that only a very hard blow could overthrow it, even for a moment; and Lily was too much afraid of being considered an anti-politer to speak her mind as plainly as she might otherwise have done.

So Gracie was not at all rebuffed by the answer she received; and, so far from taking it as the reproof Lily intended it to be, only replied,--

"Yes, of course; but I'm very glad I was made smarter than Nellie. Why, sometimes I can learn three lessons while she is learning one, she is so slow and stupid!"

"She is _not_ stupid," retorted Lily, forgetting her determination to "be courteous" in her indignation; and, indeed, Gracie often made it difficult for those about her to keep to this resolution. "She is _not_ stupid, and if she is a little bit slow about learning, she always knows her lessons perfectly, and never misses; no, never. You know she's been head of the spelling class for most a year; you know it, Gracie, and Miss Ashton says she is one of her very best scholars. And the whole world knows"--Lily was waxing energetic in her defence, and more earnest to be emphatic than strictly according to facts--"the whole world knows that she writes the best compositions in our class since Maggie Bradford left."

"Pooh! I never thought Maggie's compositions were so very great," said Gracie.

"That shows you're no judge, and have very little common sense," said Lily severely. "I'm sure no one could write better poetry than that poem she wrote for me, and you might be proud if you could make such lovely verses. But I don't want to quarrel with you, Gracie, so we'd better not talk any more about it, 'cause I do feel like saying something not courteous to you."

Gracie in her turn would have liked to say something that was not very pleasant, but she felt that she could not well do so when Lily declared her intention of not quarrelling, and retired in such a graceful manner from the threatened dispute. Still she did feel that somehow Lily had had the best of it, and had rather taken her down, as she was apt to do when Gracie displayed her vanity and self-conceit.

Moreover, clever and bright though she might be at her lessons, Gracie was not very quick at words; and she often felt that Lily had the advantage of her in their too frequent little disputes. And now while she was hesitating as to whether she should make a sharp answer, and what that answer should be, Miss Ashton came in and rang the bell; so that the opportunity, or I should say temptation, for further contention was at an end.

"I hope," said Miss Ashton, when the time came for dismissing school, "I hope that not one of my little girls will fail me on Tuesday. I should be very much disappointed, and mortified too, if I did not receive each garment quite finished and ready for use. Some of you I know are already through with the work which you have undertaken; and after what I have said, I believe and hope there is no one who will be willing to bring hers unfinished."

Her eye rested on Lily as she spoke. Perhaps she was hardly conscious that it was so, but she almost involuntarily turned to her as the one who was most likely to fail; and, however that might be, the little girl felt herself called upon to answer, not only for herself, but for the whole class.

"We'll be very sure to be ready, Miss Ashton," she said; "and I will too. I see you are afraid of me, but you need not be, for I b'lieve I'm quite cured now of putting off."

Miss Ashton smiled, but it was rather a doubtful smile, for she feared that Lily was too confident of herself, and the strength of her own resolutions.

So, as I have said, all this made Lily feel very industrious and prompt that day; and as soon as she was at liberty for the work, she set to her task at once, and accomplished it without delay.

But notwithstanding this, the day did not pass by without a fall into the old bad habit, as you shall learn.

IX.

_SATURDAY MORNING'S WORK._

Saturday came, a bright and beautiful day, as Lily rejoiced to see when she ran to the window and peeped out as soon as she was out of her little bed.

For she was to have quite a party of children to spend the day with her, and she had been very anxious that the weather should be pleasant.

Maggie and Bessie, Belle and Mabel, and Nellie and Carrie Ransom were all coming, and they expected to have a great frolic. All Lily's playmates were fond of visiting her, not only because they loved her, and her home was a pleasant one, but also because there was such a grand play-room in Mr. Norris' house.

This was a great open attic hall or gallery. The house was a large one, and this open space ran across the whole width of it, the attic rooms being at either end, and a staircase coming up at the side. But this was shut in by a door at the foot of the flight, so that it was quite secluded, and considered rather an advantage, as it afforded a kind of retiring room. There were large bins ranged on the opposite side from the stairs, which had once been used to hold coal and wood; but they were empty now, and the top of the lids afforded capital seats for the spectators who witnessed certain performances which frequently took place in the open arena. Never was there such a famous garret, or one which had seen greater sport and fun.

Here the children could make as much noise as they pleased without fear of disturbing older people; here there was plenty of space for playing "tag," "hunt the slipper," "chairs," or any other frolicsome game; here they acted proverbs, charades, and so forth. These last were now their favorite amusements, and Mr. Norris' attic was considered the best place for their performance.

For, added to these other advantages, there was also a room devoted to the storing of all manner of odds and ends which were not in general use, and were stored there to be out of the way; and with certain of these articles the children were allowed to do as they pleased, and to make them serviceable in their games and plays. Among them were two or three old trunks full of old party dresses and ribbons; and any little girl can imagine what delightful means these afforded for "dressing up." There were flags, too, of various sizes and conditions, old-fashioned curtain fixtures, and even a tent of striped red and white canvas. All these Lily and her playmates were allowed to convert to their own uses, so long as they destroyed nothing; and many an hour did patient Nora, ever devoted to the pleasure of her nursling, spend in putting them to rights after they had been thoroughly rummaged and scattered abroad.

Chief among the treasures in the attic was an old rocking-horse which had belonged to Tom; at least he had once been a rocking-horse, but he had now not only lost his rockers, but also his hind legs. Strange to say, however, this did not at all interfere with his usefulness; perhaps it rather added to it, for when he was supposed to fill his original character, namely, that of a horse, he was accommodated with two imaginary limbs in the place of the missing members, and he never complained that they did not answer the purpose quite as well.

The number of uses to which he was put, and the characters he was supposed to represent, would be impossible to tell. Sometimes he was a prince, and sometimes a beggar or a robber; sometimes a servant, and sometimes a lover or husband; sometimes a little boy, at others a cross old man; again he was converted into an elephant by having the end of a curved iron pipe thrust into his mouth, or into a camel by a pillow upon his back; at times, a fierce wild beast, growling and raging; at others, the meekest of sheep or cows, mild and gentle in all respects. At one time he spoke in a squeaking but plaintive voice; at another in what was supposed to be a deep, roaring bass.

I forgot to say that he had lost his tail as well as his legs; and his beauty was farther increased by the fact that Maggie and Lily, finding his ears inconvenient for the proper fitting of crowns, caps, wreaths, and other decorations, had cropped them close to his head. He had also been shorn of his hair in various places, which gave him a mangy and distressed appearance; so that, save in the eyes of his most intimate and attached friends, he was not a horse of very fine personal appearance.

This gallant and accommodating steed rejoiced in the name of Sir Percy Hotspur; but this was laid aside when convenience demanded it, and he obligingly answered to the name of the moment.

Dear to the hearts of Lily and her young friends was Sir Percy Hotspur; and he was always tenderly cared for after he was through with his performances, being left to repose in the intervals in a corner of the attic, with his head upon an old sofa pillow, and carefully covered with a disused carriage robe.

What a long history of an old rocking-horse, you may say, and so it is; but, you see, Sir Percy Hotspur played a very important part in Lily's life, and she was deeply attached to him, and as this is her story, whatever concerned her deserves our attention.

With so many attractions, you may believe that an invitation to Lily's house was always considered desirable, and eagerly accepted.

Never, I think, were four little girls who found more enjoyment in their small lives and in one another, than our Maggie and Bessie, Belle and Lily. They were so much together that whatever interested one interested all the others, and any pleasure was increased if they could all share it together.

But we must go to the history of this Saturday.

"Lily," said Mrs. Norris, as the family left the breakfast table, "it is nine o'clock now; and if I were you, I would finish that little petticoat at once. I think you can do it in an hour, and then it will be off your mind and conscience; and after you have practised for half an hour, you can enjoy yourself for the rest of the day as you please."

"I don't believe the children will come before twelve o'clock, do you, mamma?" asked Lily.

"No, probably not."

"Then I have three hours," said Lily. "That is lots of time, and I shall be sure to have it done, even if I don't begin right away."

"Take care, Lily," said her mother, lifting a warning finger, and shaking her head with a smile which told the little girl what that warning meant.

"Don't be afraid, mamma," she answered "I'll be sure to do it this morning; and even if I did not quite finish it, I have Monday too."

Again Mrs. Norris shook her head, and this time without the smile; for she plainly saw that Lily was in one of her careless, putting off moods, and she feared the work would suffer.

"I am going right away, mamma," said Lily, as she saw how grave her mother looked; and away she danced, singing as she went.

But as she ran through the hall, she met her brother Tom with his puppy, which he was going to take for a walk. Lily never saw the little dog without stopping to have a romp with him, and the playful little fellow was growing fond of her already, and was always eager for the frolic with which she indulged him.

He sprang upon her now, whining and crying with pleasure at seeing her, and Lily stopped, of course, to pet him, and then began racing up and down through the hall; while Tom good-naturedly waited, and stood by, laughing at the antics of the two frolicsome young things. Gay and careless as the puppy himself, Lily had no more thought for the task awaiting her.

I do not know that she should be very much blamed for this; but few little girls who would not have done the same, and Lily knew that there was much more than time enough for the completion of the petticoat. But I want to show you how the moments, yes, and the hours too, slipped away; how little bits of idling and procrastination stole away the time before she was aware, and in the end brought her into sad trouble.

A quarter of an hour went by in Lily's frolic with the puppy, until at last Tom said he must go.

"I would take you with me, Lil," he said, "only that I know mamma wishes you to do your work."

"Yes," said Lily reluctantly; and but for very shame she would have begged to put off her work and accompany him.

Tom and his dog were gone, and Lily sauntered towards the sitting-room.

"I don't feel a bit like sewing now," she said to herself. "I could have gone with Tom, and been back time enough to finish my petticoat. Every one is so particular about my putting-off, and they never want me to do any thing _I_ want to. But I s'pose I'll have to finish the old thing now."

Lily, you see, was allowing temptation to creep in. She did not still its first whisperings, but suffered them to make her feel discontented and fretful.

She had stopped at the foot of the staircase, and with both hands clasped about the newel-post, was swaying herself back and forth, when Nora spoke to her from the head of the stairs.

"Miss Lily," she said, by way of a gentle reminder, "do you need any help with your work?"

"No, I b'lieve not," answered the little girl. "If I do, I'll come to you. I was just thinking where I'd go to sew."

"Will you come to the nursery? It is all put in order," asked Nora, anxious to carry her point, and seeing from Lily's manner that her old enemy was busy with her.

"I'll see presently," said Lily. "I'm just going to the little parlor to look for my petticoat. I forget what I did with it yesterday when I had done sewing."

And, leaving her hold of the banisters, she crossed the hall. But as she passed the open door of the drawing-room, the piano caught her eye, and turned her thoughts into another channel.

"I think I'll go and practise first," she said. "It's all the same thing, and I can do the petticoat afterwards. I have just the same time."