Chapter IV: Part 4

This was true enough, but Lily was not wise, for she liked to practise, and she did not like to sew; and it would have been better for her to have done with the least pleasant duty first.

She placed herself at the piano, and, I must do her the justice to say, practised steadily for half an hour.

"It is ten minutes of ten," she said, looking at the clock. "Oh, there's lots of time yet; I can stay here a little longer. I'm going to practise this new piece some more."

This new piece was one Miss Ashton had given her the day before, so that she had had but one lesson on it; and it had all the charm of novelty to her, besides being, as she thought, the prettiest piece she had ever played.

"I'll astonish Miss Ashton by letting her see how well I have learned it," she said to herself; and she remained at the piano, playing over and over again the lively little waltz, until her mother's voice at the door recalled her to her neglected duty.

"Lily," it said, "you have been practising more than half an hour, dear."

"Yes, mamma," said Lily, glancing over at the clock again; "more than three quarters; but my new music is so very pretty, and I want Miss Ashton to be quite surprised with my knowing it so well."

"I am afraid Miss Ashton may have a less agreeable surprise if you do not take care, my darling," said Mrs. Norris gravely.

"Oh, you mean about the petticoat, mamma; but there's lots and lots of time. I b'lieve Pro has had hold of me this morning," said Lily, jumping down from the piano stool, "and I'll come right away; but you see I was so very sure about having time enough to-day, mamma, that it did not make so much difference. There's a good deal of time yet to-day, and I have Monday too."

"Put away your music, Lily," said her mother; and she stood waiting while Lily laid in its place the music she would have left scattered over the piano. Perhaps Mrs. Norris thought it just as well not to lose sight again of her heedless little daughter until she had her settled at her work.

"Bring your work-box to my room," said Mrs. Norris. "I have something to do there, and we will have a nice, cosey time."

Lily ran for the box, and was back with it in a moment, for as she went she said to herself,--

"I b'lieve I've let Pro steal a good many little thefts already this morning; now I'll just send him off right away. I have plenty of time yet, but now I really must make haste."

Lily's work-box was of rather formidable dimensions; indeed, some people thought it but one stage removed from a small trunk. It had been presented to her by an old lady with whom she was a great pet, and although it was extremely inconvenient in regard to size and weight, it was very handsomely fitted up with mother-of-pearl and silver, and contained every implement which could be needed by the most accomplished needle-woman. Upon the lid was a silver plate, with "For an industrious little girl" engraved upon it.

Now as we know, our Lily was by no means an industrious little girl; nevertheless she took great pride and delight in this "ark," as Tom privately called it; and, although she had two or three other work-boxes and baskets much more suitable and convenient in point of size, she made use of this one whenever she could do so.

"It held so much," she said, and indeed it did; and here the petticoat had reposed in the intervals when she was not busy with it; that is, when Lily had put it away in a proper manner.

She followed her mother with this ponderous treasure clasped in both arms; and, when she reached mamma's room, brought her little chair, and opened the box.

"Why," she said, when she had removed the upper tray which held all the dainty implements, and looked into the empty space beneath, "why, where is my petticoat? Somebody has gone and taken it out. Mamma, did you take it?"

"No, dear, I have not touched it," said Mrs. Norris. "Did you put it away yesterday?"

"Yes, mamma, you know I always put it in here. I'll ask Nora;" and away ran Lily to the nursery.

"Nora, did you take my orphan petticoat out of my work-box?" she asked.

"No, indeed, dear; and why would I touch it, unless you wanted some help with it?" answered Nora.

Back went Lily to her mamma's room, troubled and indignant.

"Mamma, some one has taken it. I never knew any thing so mean. Nora don't know any thing about it."

"Who would take it, Lily? I certainly did not, and you say Nora did not. Papa or Tom could have no reason for touching it. I will tell you what I think."

"What mamma?" asked Lily, anxiously.

"That you could not have put it away yesterday when you stopped sewing upon it. Think a moment, my daughter; can you distinctly recollect putting it away in your box?"

Lily stood considering one moment; then dismay and shame gradually overspread her face.

"No, mamma, I just believe I did not. When I was going to put away my petticoat in the box, I heard papa come in, and I wanted to know why he had come home so early; so I thought I would just wait one moment, and put it away when I had asked him, and I dropped it on the floor and ran to papa. And you know he had come to take us to see those pictures, and I never thought another thing about the petticoat. I quite forgot I had not put it away when I told you I had. I will go and look in the sitting-room where I was sewing yesterday."

But her search proved fruitless, although she certainly did look thoroughly through every part of the room. Nora was called, and took her part, but all in vain; and at last mamma came. Mrs. Norris rather felt that she should let Lily be at all the trouble of finding the petticoat for herself; but the child seemed so grieved that she could not bear to punish her in that way. But mamma was not more successful than her little daughter and the nurse had been, although in the end every servant was questioned, and every room searched.

"It is very strange. Are you quite sure you have not seen it, Hannah?" asked Mrs. Norris of her chambermaid, a rather dull girl, who had been but a short time in the house. "Have you seen nothing of the kind lying about in the sitting-room, or did you not touch Miss Lily's box?"

"Miss Lily's harnsum box, is it, ma'am? Sure, and I did see that a sittin' on the floor, where I thought you'd not be plased to see it at all at all, so I just lifted it to the table where I seen it sittin' before; but ne'er a thing I seen beside it. It wouldn't be Miss Lily's work what I found the puppy a pullin' round the ary, ma'am,--the mischavous baste that he is, my heart's most broke with him,--an' I didn't take heed what it was, but seein' it that dirty, I just put it in the basket with the siled clothes."

Away went Lily, Nora after her; and, sure enough, the latter soon fished out the unfortunate little petticoat from the soiled-clothes basket. Now, indeed, Lily was distressed, and cried bitterly, for the thing was in no state to be touched until it had been washed. It was easy to imagine how it had happened. The puppy, who was growing very mischievous, and who, like many another young thing, was fond of a forbidden plaything, had probably found the petticoat lying where Lily had heedlessly dropped it upon the floor; and, watching his opportunity, had dragged it from the room, down stairs, and out into the back area, where Hannah had rescued it, happily before it was torn and chewed to bits, but not before it was sadly blackened and soiled.

"Now don't you cry, honey Miss Lily, and I'll just wash it right out for you, and have it back as clane as a new pin," said the good-natured Hannah. "If I'd known it yesterday, sure I'd a done it then; but niver a wurd did I think of its bein' your work, and it in that state. Och, what a crathur it is, that botherin' little baste!" she added, as she went off with the melancholy looking petticoat in her hand.

"Will she have it washed and dried and ironed in time for me to finish it before the children come, mamma?" asked the sobbing Lily, burying her head in her mother's lap.

"I am afraid not, dear," answered her mother, with a tender, pitying touch upon the thoughtless little head which brought so much trouble upon itself, "so much time has been lost in hunting for your work, and it is now nearly eleven o'clock."

"If I'd only gone to my sewing at first as you advised me, then I'd have found out sooner what that horrid little old hateful puppy had done, and Hannah might have washed the petticoat for me in time," moaned Lily. "I wish Tom never had the puppy."

"I do not think we must blame the puppy, my darling," said her mamma. "He only acted according to his nature; and he found the skirt, you know, where it should not have been."

"Yes," said Lily, "poor little cunning fellow; it wasn't his fault. It was all horrid old me, with my putting off that I never shall cure myself of; no, never, never. It is too mean that I cannot finish that tiresome petticoat this morning."

"Happily, dear, the consequences of your fault are not yet without remedy, and you may still make up for lost time, unless something should happen which we do not foresee; but you have only this one more chance, Lily. Take care that you do not neglect it, or be tempted to procrastinate again."

CHAPTER X.

_SATURDAY AFTERNOON'S PLAY._

Mrs. Norris was right; for although Hannah did her best, she found it impossible to have the petticoat dry enough to iron so that Lily might have some time to sew upon it before her young friends arrived.

As soon as she had at all recovered her spirits, the little girl relieved her mind in some degree by making frequent rushes to the head of the back stairs to see if Hannah were coming with the petticoat; and once she persuaded her mother to let her go to the laundry that she might "be encouraged by seeing how much Hannah had done."

But she did not receive much encouragement from the sight of the still dripping garment, which Hannah had hung before the fire that it might dry the more quickly. Hannah took a cheerful view of the subject, saying she would have it ready very soon, and there was "lots of time afore Tuesday mornin'." But Lily was at last learning the folly of believing in "lots of time" to come; and she shook her head in a melancholy manner, and bade Hannah "take a lesson of her misfortunes, and never procrastinate."

She returned to the nursery in a very low state of mind, when Nora told her she would dress her at once if she chose, so that if she had any time to spare she might employ it on the skirt when it was dry.

Lily gratefully accepted the offer, but it proved of no use as far as the petticoat was concerned, for she had bade her little friends to "be sure and come by twelve o'clock," and her mamma having seconded the invitation, they had been allowed to do so; and soon after twelve, Maggie, Bessie, Belle, and Mabel arrived, just as Hannah brought up the petticoat, fairly smoking from her hot irons, and five minutes after, the rest of the young party made their appearance.

The clouds passed from Lily's face and mind at the sight of all these "sunbeams," and, consoling herself with the recollection that after all she still had Monday afternoon, she was presently as merry and full of spirits as usual.

Happily not one of the other children thought of asking her if the petticoat were finished, so that she was spared the mortification of confessing that it was not.

It was proposed that they should all amuse themselves downstairs until the early dinner, which had been ordered for them at one o'clock; after which they would go to the grand play-room in the attic, Maggie having provided herself with some fresh proverbs and charades, which they were to play.

"Harry and Fred are coming over this afternoon, and we want to make a ship in the lumber-room. You won't mind, will you?" asked Tom, who was taking his lunch at the little girls' dinner.

Doubtful looks were exchanged between some of them. Maggie's looks were not at all doubtful; her face was one of blank dismay at the proposal. Playing charades and proverbs was all very well when there were only those of her own age to look on; doing it before these big boys was quite another thing.

"Not if you don't like it, Maggie," said Tom, noticing her annoyance; "but we wouldn't disturb you, and anyhow I am sure you need not mind having us see you. We'll be busy at the carpenter's bench and tool-chest, and you need not heed us if we do see."

"I'm--I'm afraid you'll--you'll laugh at us," hesitated Maggie, coloring.

"If we laugh, it will be with you, not at you," said Tom. "But never mind; if you don't like it, we'll keep out of your way."

Then Maggie felt self-reproached, and, like the generous little girl she was, determined that her bashfulness should not get the upper hand of her readiness to oblige.

"I don't mind it so very much," she said; "at least I'll try not to, and you can come if the others say so. I suppose you won't take notice of us if you are building a ship, would you, Tom?" she added wistfully.

"No one shall disturb or trouble you in any way, you may believe that," said Tom; and Maggie knew that he would keep his word, and so declared her willingness that the boys should share the privileges of the lumber-room.

Away to the attic scampered the seven pairs of little feet the moment dinner was over; and Nora, following, opened the trunks for them, then left them to their own devices. That is to say, she brought her sewing, and went to sit in one of the rooms which opened out of the great gallery, where she might be within call if the children needed her, and at hand to keep them from mischief. That she provided for her own amusement by leaving the door so that she could see and hear, none of them, not even shy Maggie, noticed or cared.

Maggie of course was always chief spirit and prime manager of these entertainments; and she now divided the party, taking Belle and Nellie with herself as performers in the first charade, and assigning the part of spectators to Bessie, Lily, Carrie, and Mabel.

The audience speedily accommodated themselves and their children--that is their dolls--with seats upon the top of the bins, scrambling thereto by the help of chairs, and amusing themselves with lively conversation while waiting.

Maggie and Nellie brought forth from the store-room a small table and three chairs, which were suitably placed; Sir Percy was brought from his place of repose and laid upon the floor beside them; after which the young ladies retired again into privacy.

"The charade has begun, and Sir Percy is a great big dog this time," said Maggie, suddenly popping out her head once more, and then withdrawing it.

After some moments she reappeared, this time gorgeously arrayed in a flowing train, formed of an old red table-cloth, bordered with gold, a wreath of artificial flowers on her head, ribbons of all colors pinned and tied about her, and an enormous fan in her hand, with which she fanned herself affectedly, mincing and prinking as she walked to a chair, where she seated herself, taking good care to keep her face turned from Sir Percy, whom she pretended not to observe. The audience were spell-bound with interest and the wish to guess the word.

"Tell your mistress--er--that er--Madam Jones--er--is here--er," drawled the lady, addressing an imaginary servant, closing her eyes as if quite exhausted, and putting on all the airs and graces conceivable.

Presently entered the hostess, attired with similar magnificence, but with rather a bluff and off-hand manner, which contrasted very strikingly with that of her visitor. Meanwhile, from behind the door of the store-room came a piteous mewing, which soon attracted the attention of the second lady, who peered about her in great surprise, and exclaimed,--

"That must be a cat mewing, and I never allow a cat in my house, never!"

"Oh--er," drawled Mrs. Jones, "it is only my sweet pussy, my lovely _pet_, my only donly _pet_; such a dear _pet_, oh, such! Wouldn't you like to see her, Mrs. Smith?"

"No, oh, no!" cries Mrs. Smith, lifting up her hands in horror; "I hate cats, and so does my lovely _pet_, Bombastes Furioso. Here, Bomby, Bomby, Bomby, come and speak to Mrs. Jones, my darling pet."

Upon which Mrs. Jones affected to see for the first time the great dog Bombastes Furioso, and to be filled with alarm at the sight.

"Don't call him, pr-r-r-ay, don't!" she cried. "Is it possible that you like canine dogs, Mrs. Smith? How can you have such a pet? Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!"

Hereupon entered Belle on all fours, covered with a white flossy mat which had been brought up from the hall for the purpose, and ran mewing about her mistress.

"I'd rather like canine dogs than canine cats," wrathfully cries Mrs. Smith; "and, ma'am, I tell you I won't have cats in my house! S'cat, s'cat, s'cat!"

"Ma'am," cries Mrs. Jones, indignantly, "if you turn out my _pet_, you turn out me, and I'll never visit you again, ma'am, nor be acquainted with you any more. I cut you, ma'am, I cut you!"

"And I cut you, ma'am. Bringing cats in my house, indeed! Here, Bombastes Furioso, s-s-s-s!" and the indignant and inhospitable Mrs. Smith tried to urge her dog to seize Mrs. Jones' kitty. Bombastes, however, being a dog of a lazy turn of mind, contented himself with deep, hoarse growls whenever Mrs. Jones was speaking. He was silent when it was necessary for his mistress to speak; and Mrs. Smith found herself obliged to drag her lumbering pet onwards by his two remaining hoofs--I beg his pardon, I should have said paws.

This was the sole objection to the accommodating Sir Percy, that he was so unwieldy and cumbersome to move when circumstances required that he should do so. This being the case, Mrs. Jones, whose airs and graces were all put to flight by this attack upon her, had time to scuttle off with her pet before Bombastes Furioso had advanced more than a step or two.

This was greeted with shouts of laughter, in which the performers themselves joined as they disappeared; and after the applause had subsided, the four heads on the top of the bins set themselves to guess the word.

"I think it's affected lady," said Carrie.

"I don't. I think it is cat or dog," said Lily. "You know this is only the first syllable, Carrie, so it couldn't be affected lady."

"Oh, to be sure," said Carrie. "Bessie, what do you think it is?"

"I think it is pet," said Bessie. "Did you not hear how often they said 'pet'? 'Pet' dog and 'pet' cat?"

"Yes, so they did," said Lily. "Bessie, you are right. Oh, isn't it fun?"

The performers were not long in making their preparations for the next syllable; and the only change in the outward arrangements was that various bottles, a saw, some chisels, awls, and other tools were brought out, and placed upon the table.

"These are doctors' instruments," Maggie explained before retiring.

Presently she reappeared, buttoned up in an overcoat which reached to her feet, a man's hat coming down over her eyes, a cane in her hand, and bustled round among the bottles. From this occupation the doctor was roused by a knock at the door, and there entered two other overcoated figures, limping and groaning in a distressful manner.

"We've been in a railroad accident, and all our bones are broken, doctor," piped one of the sufferers.

The unfeeling surgeon hustled them each into a chair, and with great roughness proceeded to wrap and bandage, tying a great many knots with much unnecessary vigor, accompanied with shrieks and groans from his patients.

"Ow--ow--ow, doctor," cried one of them, as the doctor pulled hard upon a knot in the handkerchief he was tying on a broken arm, "you do hurt more than any doctor I ever knew. You _tie_ so hard."

"Well," growled the doctor, "when you come to me with two broken arms, and two broken legs, and a broken back, and your eyes put out, and your head smashed up, do you expect to be mended without being hurt? Here, let me _tie_ your head."

The patients, being well _tied_ up, at last departed, followed by the doctor; and the audience unanimously agreed that _tie_ was the second syllable.

"Pet--tie," said Bessie. "I just b'lieve it's petticoat."

"So it is," said Carrie; while Lily, recalled to the recollection of her unfortunate petticoat, was struck dumb by what she considered a remarkable coincidence.

The performance of the third syllable was not quite as interesting as the other two had been, the _coats_ which had been worn by the doctor and his patients being brought out and beaten with sticks with a great bustle and fuss, but without a single spoken word. After this it scarcely needed the performance of the whole word to establish the fact that it was petticoat; but, the chairs and table being removed, it was gone through with by three young ladies, very much dressed, taking a walk on a muddy day, and greatly disturbed for the fate of their petticoats, as they splashed and waded through imaginary pools and puddles.

"Petticoat! Petticoat! Petticoat!" resounded from the top of the bins, accompanied by violent clapping and stamping, and other tokens of the pleasure which had been afforded by the representation.

And now the audience came down from their perch, and resigned it to the late performers, with whom they were to change parts; at least, Belle and Nellie were to do so, for Maggie was, as I have said, the moving spirit, and all the others played under her orders. She was the most ingenious in choosing and arranging the words, and it was believed that no charade went off well unless she took part in it.

This arrangement only left two spectators, it is true; but Maggie said she needed all the others, and no objection was made.

The chairs and table were now brought back to their old places. After the necessary dressing up had been done, Bessie appeared with a handkerchief tied over her sunny curls, a white apron coming down to her feet, and followed by Carrie as a servant, bearing dishes. These--a doll's dinner set--were arranged upon the table with much noise and rattle, the little landlady bustling about, and calling upon her maid to make haste.

"For I keep a very good _inn_, servant," she said; "but when some people come to _inns_, they make a great fuss, and give a great deal of trouble; and I heard of a gentleman who is coming to my _inn_, and he is very cross, and a great scolder, so I don't want to give him any reason to complain, and we must have every thing very nice in my _inn_."

"Yes, ma'am, we'll have the _inn_ very fine for him," answered the maid.

The fears of the landlady were not unfounded, as it proved; for presently appeared Sir Percy in the character of a cross old gentleman, supported and dragged along with much difficulty by his wife and daughters. He was attired in a man's hat and great-coat, the sleeves of the latter coming down some distance below his--h'm--hands; but this was a convenience, as they could be flapped about in wild gesticulation, as he stormed and scolded at the _in_conveniences of the _inn_. A more ill-tempered old gentleman was never seen; and a hard time did his attendants have of it. He laid about him in the most ferocious manner, and was not to be pacified by all the attentions that were lavished upon him; until the little landlady declared that "if that old gentleman was going to stay a great while in her _inn_, she would not keep an _inn_ any longer."

"Inn, inn," was called, not only from the bins, but also from the other side of the room, as the old man was at last carried away, still growling, and wildly slapping the air with his coat-cuffs.

The children turned, and Sir Percy tumbled heavily to the floor, as Maggie loosened her hold of him, struck dumb by the sight of three pairs of eyes peering above the side of the staircase.

"Now, that's too bad," cried Lily. "You boys can just go 'way. You'll laugh at us."

"Indeed, we won't," said Tom. "We came up just a few moments ago, and we thought we wouldn't interrupt you by passing through, but wait until you had finished, and that was capitally done. But I'm afraid you'll hurt yourselves with Sir Percy. He is too heavy for you to lug about, and Maggie's toes barely escaped just now."

"O Tom!" said Lily; "why, half the fun would be spoiled if we didn't have Sir Percy."

"Well, be careful then," said Tom, as he passed on with Harry into the store-room.

But Fred lingered.

"I say, Midge," he said, "let a fellow stay and see the rest of your charade, will you? It's jolly."

Maggie looked blank, but all she said was, "O Fred!"

"No, you can't," said Lily, unmindful of the duties of hospitality in her own attic; "you just can't, 'cause you'll laugh, and make fun of us."

"Now come on, Fred, and let them alone," called Tom from within the room. "I promised them they should not be teased if we came up here."

"I'm not going to tease them," said Fred. "I want to see the charade, really and truly. The little chaps do it first-rate, and I like it. Let me stay, girls."

Maggie and Bessie, especially the latter, had strong objections to being called "chaps," but Fred never could remember that. However, they passed it by; and Fred won a rather reluctant consent to his remaining as a spectator. He was put upon his good behavior, and with a run and a jump speedily landed himself beside Belle and Carrie, where he kept his word, and conducted himself as a well-behaved spectator should do.

The next syllable presented a lady writing, her maid sewing. In rushes a gardener, tree in hand, represented by a large feather dust-brush; and with much Irish brogue and great excitement, accuses the lady's son of cutting down a young peach-tree. Son denies, and is believed by his mother, who sternly tells the gardener that her son has never told a lie, and whatever he says is "_true_, _true_, _true_."

Gardener declares that "indade, an' he is thrue; an' if the missis will but make Master George Washington hould up the hand that's behint him, she'll see the hatchet he did it with."

Mother demands the hatchet, son rebels, still keeping his hand behind him, but mother, chasing round and round, presently discovers it; whereupon she clasps her hands frantically, cries she thought he was _true_, falls fainting to the ground, and is carried off by son, gardener, and maid.

This new version of an old and familiar story was received with tremendous applause, to which Fred's boots added not a little.

Next appeared Sir Percy once more, this time without any outward adornments. He was laid upon the floor, and in his mouth was thrust a pointed stick, bearing a paper, on which was written in Maggie's largest, roundest hand, these words:--

"This is a disagreeable smelling dead cat."

About and around the dead cat walked five young ladies, uttering exclamations of disgust, wondering where the smell could come from, but strangely blind to the offensive animal which lay before them.

"Ow! how horrid!" cried one.

"Ugh! disgusting!" exclaimed another.

"What an awful smell!" said the third.

"Ugh! it's that dead cat!" said the fourth. "Let's _shun_ it, let's _shun_ it!"

And with loud cries of "_Shun_ it, _shun_ it," the five young ladies scamper into the store-room, from which the sound of smothered laughter had now and then mingled with the public applause without.

It was not difficult now to guess the word; nevertheless the whole charade must be played out before it was even hinted at to the performers.

"In-tru-sion," was carried out by two of the aforesaid young ladies, who rang violently at a front-door bell, and were denied admittance by a dainty, little sunny-haired maid, who declared that her mistress was very much engaged.

The visitors persisted in their desire to see her, and forced their way in, to be fiercely attacked by the indignant lady of the mansion, who was engaged with her lover, Sir Percy, and who sternly demanded, "Whence this _intrusion_?"

"No intrusion at all, ma'am," says one of the visitors.

"Yes, _intrusion_, ma'am," replies the hostess; and contradiction followed free and fast, until stopped by the shouts of "Intrusion! Intrusion!" from the reserved seats.

XI.

_A SAD ACCIDENT._

"That's capital!" exclaimed Fred. "Give us another, Midge, will you?"

Fred had conducted himself with such becoming propriety, and his applause had been so hearty, that Maggie felt not only quite reconciled to his presence, but also ready to indulge him; and she answered,--

"Yes, I have one more, and it is to be instructive as well as amusing, Fred, because it is an historical charade."

"Go ahead!" said Fred, scrambling back into his seat, which he had left to help carry Sir Percy into retirement.

The preparations for the first syllable of the historical charade were very imposing. Two chairs were placed face to face; upon these was mounted the table, turned upside down, with its legs in the air; to one of the legs was tied a large feather dust-brush,--the whole arrangement supposed to represent an oak-tree, as Maggie explained.

Maggie, Nellie, Lily, and Belle were the performers on this occasion; and in due time they all entered, escorting Sir Percy, now in the character of King Charles, in full kingly costume, the red table-cloth doing duty for his robes, and a crown, a "real crown" of tinsel paper adorning his majesty's brows. He was held with some difficulty upon his horse,--another chair turned down for the purpose,--and again Tom's warning voice came from the store-room.

"You'd better look out with that old hobby. You'll hurt yourselves some time, lugging him about that fashion."

But the suggestion was treated with disdain.

An old hobby indeed! King Charles an "old hobby"!

The horse--that is, the chair horse--paused beneath the tree, and then, relieved of his burden, galloped off, led by Belle; while the other three prepared to hoist his cumbersome majesty into the tree, he not being agile enough to perform that office for himself.

Maggie had proposed that two of the children should be his enemies in pursuit; but no one was willing to take that character. Staunch little royalists they were, every one, and not to be reckoned among the persecutors of the unfortunate king. So this little diversion from the true historical facts had been permitted to suit the occasion, all the more readily as it was feared that it would take the united strength of the whole four to raise him to the necessary height. Still Maggie had not been quite satisfied with such a very great departure from reality; and, hearing the difficulty as they worked at the carpenter's bench, Tom and Harry had good-naturedly offered to take upon themselves the obnoxious part of the king's enemies, and as soon as he was safely hidden in the tree to rush forth in search of him, and feign total unconsciousness as they passed beneath his place of shelter.

This being settled, and Belle, having disposed of her horse, and returned to give a hand to the lifting process, the royal fugitive was, by the united exertions of his four devoted adherents, raised to his hiding-place. But he proved too heavy for the slight construction; and feather duster, chair, and table toppled over together, carrying King Charles with them.

Maggie and Lily held fast, one on either side, but the other two had left their hold. Fred, seeing the danger, sprang like a shot from his seat, and his hand but just touched the old hobby-horse as it rolled over, not soon enough to prevent its fall, but in time to turn the heavy thing a little aside. It fell, carrying Lily back with it; and the two came together to the floor, jarring the whole house. Tom and Harry rushed out, not, alas! in the play in which they had offered to join, but in sad and alarmed earnest; and Nora flew from her work.

Tom had Lily in his arms in an instant, but the poor little girl was a sorry sight. Sir Percy's head had struck against hers as they fell together, and blood was already streaming from an ugly wound just above her temple. But for Fred's timely touch, which turned the weight of the hobby-horse a little to one side, the child's head must have been crushed, and she killed.

Oh, was not Maggie thankful that she had allowed her good-nature to triumph over her fear of being laughed at, and had consented to let Fred join in their fun!

Ah! the fun and frolic were changed now,--changed to distress and alarm. Lily lay half stunned, gasping and death-like, while the cries and shrieks of the other children rang through the house, and speedily brought her mother to the spot.

It was indeed a sad ending to the merry afternoon, and for a few moments the children could scarcely believe that Lily was not killed, or at least dying, so white and quiet did she lie. Never did piteous cry carry more relief to a mother's heart than that which at last broke from the pale, trembling lips; for Mrs. Norris too had feared that her darling was dangerously, if not fatally injured. It must have been so indeed but for the care of the kind Father who had watched over her, and sent Fred's timely help to turn aside a portion of the threatening danger.

"Go for the doctor," said Mrs. Norris.

But Fred, with a thoughtfulness which he sometimes showed, had already asked Tom if he should not do this, and had started off with his direction.

The grass never grew beneath Fred's nimble feet at any time; and now, when he believed there was need for speed, he almost flew over the ground, and, happily finding the doctor at home, brought him back with him at once.

Lily had been carried downstairs and laid upon her little bed, where her mother was doing for her all that she could, though that was not much, until the doctor came.

A group of frightened and distressed little faces met the good old physician's eye as he passed through the hall. He spoke a few cheering words as he went by, but as he did not yet know how much Lily was hurt, he did not put much heart into his young hearers. Still it was a comfort to know that he had come, and it always did one good to see Dr. Banks' kind, helpful face.

Before the doctor arrived, Lily had opened her eyes, and smiled at her mother with a bewildered look; but when she saw the blood which was streaming from the wound in her head, she was frightened, and began to cry again.

But the dear old doctor soon quieted her fears, and those of her anxious mother; and the good news presently spread through the house that he did not think her dangerously hurt. There was a deep, ugly cut on her head just above the temple, it was true, and her eye was already swelling and blackening; but he had no fears that her injuries were serious, and with some care and quiet she would soon be well again.

But Lily had had a very merciful escape, and Maggie could not be sufficiently glad and thankful that she had been kind and obliging, and allowed Fred "to come to the charades," when she heard every one saying that but for the thrust from his hand which had turned aside the weight of the old hobby-horse, the heavy thing must have crushed the dear little head of her young playmate.

"It was quite a mountain of mercy out of a mole-hill of kindness," quaintly said dear Maggie, as she wiped from her eyes the tears of joy and gratitude.

Hearing that Lily must be kept quiet, the thoughtful Harry carried away his sisters, and all the other little visitors, as soon as they were assured that there was no cause for alarm, and saw them all safely to their separate homes.

Lily lay patient and gentle under the doctor's handling, as he felt the poor little bruised head, and tenderly cut away the hair from the wound, and bound it up; but every now and then she put up her hand, with a piteous, anxious expression, to the eye which was swelling and closing so fast.

"Does it pain you so, darling?" her mother would ask.

"Not so very much, mamma," she would answer, "but"--and here her words always came to an end.

But when the doctor was through, and the aching head laid carefully on a soft pillow, the trouble that was weighing on her mind broke forth.

"Doctor," she asked wistfully, "is my eye going out?"

"Going out? No, indeed," answered the doctor, cheerily. "I rather think it is going in, my Lily-bud. It is shutting up pretty tight now, it is true; but we'll take the swelling down in a day or two, and it will soon be as useful and bright as ever."

"By Monday, Doctor?" questioned Lily, anxiously.

"Ho, no, indeed, my little woman! You will not have much use of this peeper for a week or ten days to come. Even if you could see out of it, you must keep quite quiet, lie here on the bed or on the sofa, and be petted and nursed for a few days, or this little head may give you some trouble."

Lily looked as if something was giving her a good deal of trouble now; for as the doctor spoke, her face grew longer and longer, and now she burst into tears again, as she sobbed out,--

"My petticoat! O mamma, my orphan petticoat!"

"Hallo!" said the doctor, "what is that, I should like to know? I have heard of a good many kinds of petticoats, but I never heard of an orphan petticoat before. But this will not do, my child. You _must_ lie down and keep quiet."

"Do not trouble yourself about the petticoat now, darling," said her mother, gently laying her back upon the pillow, from which she had started up in her distress, "I will arrange that."

"But, mamma," said Lily, piteously, "you know you said--you said that you could not let Nora finish it for me, and--and--oh, dear!--you couldn't break your word, you know, and my orphan child won't have any petticoat, and it was all my old Pro, and so what can I do? Oh, if I only didn't have Pro! I b'lieve he's my worst enemy."

"What is all this about petticoats and pro's, Mrs. Norris?" said the doctor. "Put her mind at rest if you can, or we shall be having headache and fever."

"Lily, darling," said her mother, "you must set your mind at rest about the petticoat. You certainly cannot finish it now; but I shall not let the little orphan suffer. By and by I will see what is best to do, but now you must talk and think no more about it. Mamma will arrange it all for you, and you will make yourself worse if you fret."

"Dear mamma," said Lily, "I should think you would want to arrange not to have such a bothering little thing as me for your own little girl; only I don't s'pose you do. I b'lieve mammas generally don't."

"Hush, hush, my darling," said her mother, whose own heart was swelling with gratitude that a Higher Hand had "arranged" that her dear "little bothering thing," as Lily called herself, was not to be taken from her, but that she was still spared to be the joy of all who loved her, the "sunbeam" of the home that would have seemed so dark without her.

Lily obeyed the soothing touch of her mother's hand, and, confident that she would find some way to help her out of her trouble, said no more of the unfinished task. But it was upon her mind for all that, as was proved when the evening wore away, and the fever and light-headedness the doctor had feared came on. A very slight illness was enough to make Lily light-headed, and the blow she had received was by no means a slight one. So it was not strange that it should have that effect. And she talked pretty wildly about petticoats and puppies, work-boxes and rocking-horses, and had many bitter words for her enemy Pro; and all her mother could say would not soothe her.

But at last she grew more quiet, and the poor little bruised head ceased to wander, and she fell asleep; and when she awoke in the morning, her mind was as bright and clear as ever.

But her face was sadly disfigured, and one eye was quite closed up, so that it was plainly to be seen that Lily would not have much use of it for some days to come. All this would pass away in time, however; swelling and discoloration would disappear by and by; and, happily, the cut upon her head came where the scar would be hidden by her hair.

Somewhat to Mrs. Norris' surprise, Lily said no word of the petticoat all the next day; but she was very glad that it was so, and took pains to avoid any thing that might turn her thoughts that way. Lily did think of it, however, although she said nothing; and she could not but wonder now and then how her mother would contrive to help her without breaking her word. But she felt languid and ill, and it was a trouble to talk, so she let it go for the present, believing as usual that it would come right somehow.

But on Monday morning, when Nora was dressing her, the nurse said,--

"Miss Lily, darling, I am just going to ask your mamma to let me finish your petticoat for you. I think she'll excuse you this once, since you cannot do it for yourself."

"No," said Lily earnestly, "you must not ask mamma, Nora, 'cause it would only give her the uncomfortableness of saying no. She told me she would not let the little orphan suffer for my fault, and she will find a way to make it right, though I don't know what it is, and I am too ashamed to ask her. But you know she said very surely and pos-i-tive-ly, Nora, that she would not let you finish it, if it was not done through my putting off; and that was the reason it was not done on Saturday morning, as it ought to have been. I know I cannot do it now myself, but I could have done it before; and mamma can not break her word."

Lily concluded with a sigh, for she really did not know what plan her mother could have for helping her, and she was very anxious, though, as she said, too much ashamed to ask any more.

But it so happened that Mrs. Norris overheard this conversation, and she was thankful to find how strong in her Lily was that sense of truth which would not allow her to believe for one moment that mamma could go back from her word under any circumstances. It was rather remarkable that with all her heedlessness and volatile spirits, Lily was so strictly truthful and upright, for they never betrayed her into an equivocation, as carelessness and want of thought are too apt to do.

The morning was not far gone before Lily's mind was set at rest on the subject of her petticoat, for her mamma came to sit beside her, and brought her work with her.

And what was her work?

Lily noticed it in a moment; a petticoat for a child,--not of such muslin as her own skirts, but coarser and stronger, just such as her "orphan petticoat" was made of.

"Mamma?" she said, with her eyes fixed upon the strips of muslin in her mother's hand.

"Yes, dear," said her mother, "you know I said the little orphan must not suffer through you, and I told you Nora could not finish your petticoat, and send it as your work, if you did not do it yourself; so I shall make this one, and send it to Miss Ashton in the place of the other."

"And tell Miss Ashton, mamma?"

"Well, yes, dear, I must. Do you not think so?"

"Yes, mamma, and I s'pose the girls must know. Even if she don't tell them, I think I ought to when I go back to school. They ought not to think I was industrious and good like the rest when I just put off and put off until this sad accident came, and then I really couldn't do it;" and here a great tear rolled down Lily's cheek.

"My darling," said her mother, dropping her work, and bending over to kiss the sorrowful little face, "mamma cannot bear to see you mortified and grieved, but she does want this to be a lesson to you, and to save you from future trouble and loss."

"Yes, mamma, I know," answered Lily, "and it serves me quite right; but it does make me feel very badly to know that all the other children can feel that the little orphans are having some good of their kindness, and they do not have one bit of mine."

Mrs. Norris hesitated before she spoke again. She felt as if she could not bear to have her poor child so hardly punished now when she was suffering, and had just escaped such a great danger. She could not let Nora finish the petticoat, but why not finish it herself, she thought, as well as make another, and send it to Miss Ashton with a message from Lily that she had not done the whole of it herself?

Just then came a knock at the door, and, being bidden to enter, Robert brought a note for Miss Lily, saying the messenger waited for an answer.

"It is Maggie's writing, I think," said Mrs. Norris.

Lily raised herself, and held out her hand.

"You cannot read it for yourself, dear. Shall I do it?" asked her mother.

Lily assented, and, opening the note, Mrs. Norris read as follows:--

"DEAR LILY,--We are so sorry for you, all of us, but we are so very
happy you were not killed by Sir Percy Hotspur, who is very nice to
play with, but not nice to fall underneath, and we are glad you are
not such a victim as that. But, Lily, dear, we do not know, Bessie
and I, if you have finished your petticoat for the orphan child. We
did not ask you on Saturday because we thought if it was not done you
wouldn't like to say so, but we thought perhaps the reason you did
not speak about it was because a 'burnt child dreads the fire,' which
means people don't like things that bring them into trouble, or to
speak about them. So we thought it was quite probable that it was not
done, and we know you cannot finish it now, for yesterday we met Dr.
Banks when we were coming from church, and he said you could not go to
school, or use your poor hurt eye for a good many days. So, dear, if
you would let me finish it for you, I would be very glad, and Bessie
will too, and you can send it to me by Patrick. And you need not think
I will have to do it all in my play-time, for mamma says I can do it
in my sewing-lesson to-day, which is half an hour, and if there is
any more, I'd just as lieve do it afterwards, and the heart which
would not do that is not worthy of a friend, but ought to be like a
man we read about the other day who lived in a tub and was cross to
everybody. And do you believe, people called him a wise man!!! Which
shows they must have been very stupid people in those days to call
such an old cross-patch wise, and I'm glad I was never acquainted with
him for I would not consider him fit to know.

"So ask your mamma to send me the petticoat if it is not done, that
my true friendship may have the pleasure of finishing it. From your
esteemed friend,

"MAGGIE STANTON BRADFORD.

"P.S. If a pretty bad button-hole would be any relief to your feelings
instead of strings, I would just as lieve make one, but it don't look
very nice."

To have seen Lily's eyes--or rather her eye, for you know there was only one to be seen--as her mother finished reading this letter to her! to have seen the pleading of her poor little face!

"Well, dear," said her mother, smiling back in answer to the unspoken question that was written in every line of her Lily's countenance. "Well, dear, shall we accept Maggie's offer?"

"Oh, mamma! if you think I might," cried Lily.

"Yes," said her mother, "since dear Maggie is so good as to offer, and give up her time to you, perhaps I will let you accept. But, my darling, I do not want you to forget that here again the consequences of your habit of procrastinating are falling on another. Maggie is doing the work which should have been done by you, and although, I am sure she does it willingly, and with all her heart, dear little friend that she is, still you must own that it is hard she should have her own share, and part of yours too."

"Yes, mamma," answered Lily, penitently, "and I know I don't deserve to have any of the work I have done go to the orphan that has no father or mother, and I am very thankful to darling Maggie. And, mamma, I think I ought to ask you to write a note to Miss Ashton, and let her tell the other children that I did not do the whole of the petticoat, or it would not be quite fair. 'Specially, mamma, 'cause some of them said I wouldn't have my petticoat done, and I _scorned_ what they said, and was very sure of myself. So it would be more true, I think, to tell them how it was."

"Yes, darling," said her mother, glad that her little girl was so truthful, and unwilling to take any credit that was not rightly her own; and then she kissed her, and, bringing the unfortunate petticoat, rolled it up, and sent it away to the dear little sunbeam who was so ready to shed light and comfort wherever she had the power to do so.

XII.

_LILY'S NEW RESOLVE._

There was a good deal of bustle and excitement, as you may imagine, on Tuesday morning, when Miss Ashton's little scholars came, each with her respective parcel.

Poor Lily of course was not there; it would be many a day yet before she was able to come to school, but all the others were in their places, and very anxious for the lessons to be over. Nor were Maggie and Bessie there during school-hours; but they were to come afterwards, and bring the little garments they had made.

"Let's see who finished her work first," said Gracie. "Dora, when did you finish yours?"

"Saturday morning," answered Dora.

"Pooh!" said Gracie, "how long you were. Nellie, when was yours done?"

"Last night," answered Nellie; "and I was very glad I had not taken a petticoat, for I could not have finished it."