Lily Norris' Enemy
Mrs. Norris uttered no word of reproach; but, as she looked within the well-ordered secretary, she said, —
"Where did Tom put the silver inkstand? I do not see it."
"I don't know, mamma," answered Lily. "Is it not there? Tom said he came in here and saw your things lying on the table, and he thought you must have forgotten them, so he put them all away. Shall I go and ask him what he did with the inkstand?"
"No," said her mother, "I do not wish to disturb him at his lessons. I will look further."
But further search proved vain, though Mrs. Norris looked, not only through each nook and partition of the secretary, but also all over the room. Still she was not at all disturbed at the non-appearance of the inkstand.
"Send up and ask Tom, my dear," said Mr. Norris.
"Oh, it is not necessary," said his wife. "He may have put it in some unusual place. If he took care of it, it is quite safe. He will be down presently, and I do not care to interrupt him."
"See what it is to have a good character, Lily," said her father, passing his arm about the little figure on the arm of his chair, and smiling into the rosy mischievous face before him. "How long before mamma will be able to put such trust in you, do you think?"
"Oh, very soon, papa; you'll see," said Lily, confident in the strength of her newly formed resolution.
It was not long before Tom made good his mother's words by appearing, his lessons all ready for the next day, for it happened that he had not had much to do that evening; and Mrs. Norris immediately asked him, —
"What did you do with my silver inkstand, my boy?"
"I did not have it, mamma," was the answer.
"But you put it away this afternoon, did you not?"
"No," answered Tom, wonderingly, but positively.
"Why, yes, Tom," said Lily, "you told me you had put away all mamma's things that she left on the table."
"But there was no inkstand there," said Tom. "I remember noticing that, because I said to myself, 'Mamma has taken time to put by her ink;' and I supposed you had feared it would be spilled, mamma. There was no inkstand upon the table, I am sure."
"Did you move the inkstand at all, Lily?" asked Mrs. Norris.
"No, mamma, I never touched it. I did not put away one single thing."
Tom helped his mother in a fresh search for the missing inkstand; but all in vain.
Then the servant man was called, and questioned.
"I saw Miss Lily with her hand on the inkstand when I called her to see the little dogs this afternoon, ma'am," he said, in reply to Mrs. Norris's inquiries. "Do you remember, if you please, Miss Lily?"
"Oh, yes," said Lily. "I remember now, mamma. I did take it up to put it away, but I set it down again when I ran after Robert to see the puppies. I meant to come right back, but I never thought of it again."
"Master Tom," said Robert, "you were asking me had I seen a beggar-woman about the door this afternoon. Could she have been in here, and caught up the inkstand? If she'd just opened the library door, and peeped in, it would have been the first thing she'd see, for it stood right here, where Miss Lily left it."
Tom looked dismayed, and Lily still more so; for, if the inkstand were indeed stolen, was it not all her fault? Owing to her procrastination, to the putting off of the small service her mother had asked of her? And so it proved; for nothing could be found of the inkstand, and it was never heard of again. Its loss could be accounted for in no other way than by supposing that the woman, finding the door left open, and learning from Lily's imprudent words that there was no one about to interfere with her, had walked in, opened the library door, and seeing the inkstand, had snatched it up, and made off with it.
Lily's shame and grief were very great, all the more so because she knew that this inkstand was dearly loved and valued by her mamma, because it had been the gift of a dead sister. And seeing this, her mother could not bear to reproach her, for it was very unusual for Lily to take her own wrong-doing much to heart. But this was, as she said herself, "the worst consequence I ever did in all my long life;" and she probably felt it all the more deeply for her kind mother's forbearance.
That she was sufficiently punished by her own remorse was plainly to be seen; and long after she was in bed and fast asleep, her mother heard long sobs heaving her little breast, and found her pillow all wet with tears.
"My poor little one! I hope it may be a lasting lesson to her," said the mother, as she pushed back the hair from the flushed and tear-stained face. "If it should be, I shall think it cheaply purchased even by the loss of my much valued inkstand."
IV
LILY'S PROVERB PICTURE
Lily was still in a very subdued and melancholy frame of mind when she reached the Bradfords' house on the following day; and when her little playmates inquired the cause, she made answer, —
"If mamma had given me my deservings, she would have shut me up in a room by myself, and never let me come out in all my life, nor come to spend the day with you any more. It's a great deal too good for such a sinner as me, and something ought to be done to me. I don't mean to have a nice time to-day."
This virtuous resolution was forgotten, however, before the day was over; but at the time it much astonished her young friends, as did also the low state of Lily's spirits.
Fresh questions followed; and Lily told her story, mingling her own bitter self-accusations with reproaches against the supposed thief.
"For I told her she was not to come in, 'cause there was no one about to 'tend to her," she said, as if this were an added aggravation of her sorrows; "and I only left the door open for fear her feelings would be hurt; but now I don't b'lieve she had any to hurt. I don't s'pose thieves have many feelings, do you, Maggie?"
"No, I don't believe they have," answered Maggie. "I just expect their feelings are 'lost to sight, and not to memory dear.'"
This fine sentiment, having been properly appreciated, called up the recollection of the promised proverb picture.
"Did you find a proverb that would be a lesson for me, or did you have to make one?" asked mournful Lily.
"Mamma told us one," said Maggie. "It is 'Procrastination is the thief of Time.'"
"You'd better say the thief of inkstands," said Lily, ruefully. "Maggie and Bessie and Belle, I feel 'most as if it was me who had stolen mamma's inkstand."
The other little girls all set about consoling her; and Bessie took an opportunity to whisper to Maggie that she thought they had better not give Lily the proverb picture that day because it might make her feel worse.
But this was not by any means Lily's view of the matter; and she presently asked to be shown this joint production of her three little friends, Maggie and Bessie and Belle.
Accordingly, the picture, or rather pictures, were brought forth, and with them the poem which Maggie had composed to accompany them.
When the red ribbon which tied the first was taken off, and the pictures unrolled, they proved quite a panorama; and Lily's mournful face lighted up at the sight.
"How good of you!" she said. "It must have taken you ever so long to draw all those pictures."
"There are four of them," said Bessie. "Belle made two, 'cause she can draw the best, and Maggie made one, and I one; but Maggie made 'most all the ideas. I think they're so very plain you can make them out for yourself, Lily, but we'll 'splain them to you if you like."
"I'll see how much I can find out, and you can tell me the rest," said Lily, setting herself at once to the study of the drawings.
"What's the reading on this one?" she asked. "P-r-o-pro-c-r-a-s-cras – Oh! I s'pose this is 'Procrastination is the thief of Time.'"
"Yes," said Maggie.
"And this is a skeleton," said Lily, "a skeleton with a goblet in one hand, and a – and a" – Lily hesitated, wishing to be sure to hit the right nail on the head – "and a – I'm not quite sure if it's a feather dust-brush, or a coachman's whip."
"Oh!" exclaimed Belle, indignant.
"Why, Lily!" said Bessie, "that's Time with his hour-glass and scythe, and Belle drew that picture, and we think it's the very best one of all."
"I'm sorry," said Lily, rather ashamed of not having at once recognized the articles in question.
"You know in the pictures Time is always a very thin old man," said Bessie, "so we had to make him so to have it real; and Maggie told Belle she'd better make him as thin as she could, 'cause that horrid thief Procrastination bothers him so he hardly has any flesh on his bones. This is a kind of allegory picture, you see, Lily."
"Yes, I understand. And this rather beggar-looking child – " Lily hesitated again, unwilling to run the risk of making any more such uncomplimentary mistakes. "I think you'd better tell me about it. I'm 'fraid I'm rather stupid this morning. I think I went crazy last night about that inkstand, and I'm hardly recovered yet. I b'lieve that's the reason I didn't know Time's hour-glass and scythe at first."
Never before had her little friends known Lily to speak and look with such solemnity, and they all felt very much for her.
Maggie, however, thought it well to improve the occasion.
"I did not want to seem severe with her," she said afterward to Bessie and Belle, "but I thought the picture might make a deeper impression if I let her see to what a dreadful condition procrastinating people might come."
"Yes," she said to Lily, "yes, that is Procrastination, all ragged and dirty and starved. He never has a nice time, and he hardly ever has any thing to eat, 'cause when people say to him, 'Procrastination, dinner is ready,' he says, 'I think I'll eat by and by;' and then when he comes, the dinner is all gone, and he has to go hungry: and when they say, 'Go and get washed, and have on clean clothes,' he says, 'Another day I will;' so he becomes all ragged, and his friends are so ashamed of him that they just let him take care of himself. That's the way he looks so horridly. And poor old Time hardly knows what to do with himself for the way that troublesome fellow worries him. He doesn't leave Time alone to do his duty one minute. Do you see these things in Procrastination's hand?"
"Yes; what are they?" asked Lily, deeply interested.
"They are Time's purse and pocket handkerchief that Procrastination – I think we'd better call him Pro, because it takes so long to say Procrastination – that Pro has stolen out of his pocket; and here at his feet are some broken hour-glasses; and now he is running after Time, and trying to steal his last hour-glass, so that the poor old fellow will have none left. That means, when you're not talking allegory, that Pro steals the hours and makes you lose all your time; but he can not catch him up, which means that when you have lost your time, you never can catch up with it."
"Yes," said Lily, dolefully; "but I think it would be better if you made Pro stealing inkstands. It's just what I deserve. Is that all about that picture?"
"Yes," answered Maggie; "now we come to real life. Bessie, this is your picture; tell Lily about it."
It is to be observed that the ragged figure which represented Procrastination, or "Pro," was to be seen in each successive picture. This was considered a judicious mingling of the allegorical with reality.
"This," said Bessie, "is a little girl whose mamma said to her, 'My dear, there is a match upon the carpet; pick it up right away.' But Procrastination" – Bessie would not on any account have shortened her words, especially on such a grave occasion – "came and whispered to her, 'By and by will do; it's time enough;' and presently her little sister came in and picked up the match, and set herself on fire, and she was quite burnt up before she could be put out, and she was the only sister the put-offing child had, and she stayed unhappy all the rest of the days of her life."
"Like me," said Lily.
"Oh, no," said Maggie, cheerfully, "you'll get over that inkstand. I find people generally do get over things; at least, I do. Take courage by me, Lily. I thought I never should recover having papa's coat stolen, but you see I have; and I think I'm about as happy as any child could be."
"Ah! but you wasn't disobedient, and didn't put off," said Lily. "Tell me some more."
"Perhaps we'd better not, 'cause you feel so badly," said Bessie.
"They do me good," answered Lily. "I don't think I can care for any thing else to-day. Who made this picture?"
"I did," said Maggie, "and this is the story of it. This is fable or allegory too;" and, unrolling another sheet of paper, Maggie read aloud her famous poem, which had been pronounced a great success by both Bessie and Belle. Her picture consisted of a series of small drawings, which explained themselves as she read the verses.
"There's a bad little fellow,His name it is Pro-Cras-tin-a-ti-on;And to you I will showHow he robs and he stealsAnd he plagues Father Time.I'll tell you all this,And I'll tell you in rhyme.When to school he is sent,He most slowly doth go,For he stops first to play,Then to look at some show;By the hour he is there,Why! the school is 'most out.That's one way he robs Time,This sad putting-off lout.When his mother doth say,'Go this errand for me,'He will say, 'By and by;''Pretty soon;' 'I will see;'Till at last 'tis too late,Or his mother must go.'Tis a base, heartless crime,For a child to do so.But there's worse yet to tell,For to church he goes late;And he reaches God's houseIn a sad, dirty state;For he never is dressed,And he never is clean.That 'tis all putting off,Is quite plain to be seen.He ne'er has a book,Or a toy, or a pet,For to put them awayHe doth always forget;So they're broken or lost,Or most shamefully torn;And he's nothing to do,Which is very forlorn.Take heed now, ye children,And list to my tale;What e'er you've to do,Do at once, without fail;For if you'd be happy,And useful, and gay,Don't put off till to-morrowThe work of to-day.Remember, 'tis minutesThat make up the hours;As the small, tiny seedsBring the beautiful flowers.Don't procrastinate then,O ye daughters of earth!For woman's but grassFrom the day of her birth."In the ears of the little listeners this was a perfect gem of poetry, far beyond any thing Maggie had ever written before, whether it were "divine song," or "moral poem." The concluding lines were considered particularly fine, and, indeed, had been added on account of their striking effect.
Bessie and Belle had heard it before, but they listened with rapt attention, and Lily was very much impressed. The third verse she felt particularly adapted to her case, though Maggie had intended no home thrust when she wrote it. But, to Lily's mind, it just suited the affair of the inkstand; and when Maggie finished reading, she exclaimed, —
"I should think I was a base, heartless crime!"
The children all hastened to console her, and to assure her that they thought she would not fail to improve, now that she saw her fault so plainly.
"I didn't mean that the child in the poem was really you," said Maggie. "That's the reason I made Pro a boy instead of a girl. I only wanted to show you what people might come to who procrastinated all the time, and never were punctual."
Maggie's drawing, as you have heard, was divided up into a number of smaller pictures, each one suited to a particular verse of the poem; and they explained themselves to one who had read or heard the latter.
The fourth and last picture had been drawn by Belle, the chief artist among the little party.
This also represented Father Time, who had now grown fat and flourishing, which was somewhat singular under the circumstances. He was accompanied by another burly figure, and both were armed with many lashes and whips with which they chased "Pro," now himself reduced to a skeleton state, and vainly endeavoring to escape from his tormentors.
"This," said Belle, "is my drawing, but it is Maggie's idea, and Bessie and I think it is pretty grand. Here is that naughty Pro, and he has lost every thing and every one he had in the world, all through his own putting off; and here," pointing to little dots and round o's with which the page was covered, "here are the hours and minutes flying away from him too. The largest ones are the hours; the little ones, the minutes. And here are Father Time and Remorse coming after him with their – their – What kind of whips do they have, Maggie?"
"Scorpion whips," answered Maggie. "It was a very convenient thing that I happened to read the other day about the 'scorpion whip of Remorse,' and it just gave me the idea for this picture. It means that when we feel very badly about something we know we deserve, it is just as bad as the stings of scorpions and bugs and other horrid things. And I thought we'd make believe Remorse had two scorpion whips, and lent one to Time to chase Procrastination with."
"Here's the ocean," said Belle, directing Lily's attention to where high, curling waves were supposed to be leaping and dashing upward, "and Pro was running away so fast from those dreadful scorpion whips that he never saw it, but ran right into the water, and was drowned; and that was the end of him."
Belle's tone was very triumphant when she uttered the last word, as though she were glad to have thus disposed of a troublesome customer.
"I'm sure," said Lily, with an air of melancholy satisfaction, "I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you all for taking so much trouble to improve me; and I don't see how I can help being better now."
"Then that's all we ask," said Maggie, "and we shan't regret any trouble we took. Now let's go and play."
If the other children had had any fears that Lily's remorse and the "lesson" they had given her would interfere with her enjoyment of the day, such fears were soon put to flight; for in ten minutes she was as merry and roguish as ever, and quite disposed to join in all the entertainment provided for her.
V
PROMISING
"How many of my little girls would like to help in a good work?" asked Miss Ashton, some two or three days after this.
Ten little hands went up. Ten? Nay, I think there were thirteen or fourteen; for some of the children were not content with holding up one, but raised both in their zeal to show Miss Ashton they were ready to do what she asked.
Miss Ashton went on to explain.
"I think you will all remember," she said, "the lame soldier who was run over and killed on the corner of this street?"
There was a murmur of assenting voices, and little Belle added, —
"Papa said it was a very generous thing for you and Mrs. Ashton to take care of his three children, Miss Ashton; and I think so too."
Miss Ashton smiled at her, and continued, —
"But we could not take care of them always, dear Belle, and through the kindness of some friends we have found a pleasant home in the country for them. It is necessary that they should be comfortably fitted out before we send them there, however, and my uncle says that he will provide all the materials that the school will make up. The young ladies in my mother's room say they will make all the dresses and more difficult garments, and leave the simple and easier ones for you, if you choose to help. But before you make any promises, I wish you to ask your parents' permission, and also to make up your minds to have the garment you take finished by the end of two weeks, when the children are to leave for their new home. You nearly all sew well enough to do the easy work upon these little skirts and aprons, and I think your friends at home will give you what help you may need."
"But, Miss Ashton," said little Belle, with woe-begone voice and look, "I can hardly sew at all. Aunt Margaret has just begun to teach me, and she says I do take pains, but I b'lieve I do it pretty badly yet."
"And I don't know how to sew," said her cousin, Mabel Walton, who now was sorry that she had always obstinately refused to learn how to use a needle.
"I think we can find some easy thing for you both to do," said Miss Ashton, kindly. "But remember, dear children, what you promise, you must perform. If you undertake this work, you must have it finished at the end of the time I have named, – two weeks. I do not ask you to do it, for the older girls are willing to do all the work; but I thought it might be a pleasure to you to help."
"Oh, yes! indeed it will, Miss Ashton," said Lily, "and I'd like to have two clothes to make. Mamma says I can sew pretty well fur such a little girl, and Nora will show me how."
"One garment will be enough for you, Lily," said Miss Ashton; "if you finish that in time, it is all we shall need."
"You need not be afraid I won't have it done in time, Miss Ashton," said Lily. "I don't put off any more, nor be unpunctual either. I've been early at school every morning this week," – this was Tuesday, – "and mamma said I was beginning to improve. I couldn't help it very well, I had such a horrid lesson about an old beggar-woman who was nothing but a thief; and then Maggie and Bessie and Belle made me lovely proverb pictures about the consequences of procrastination, and Maggie wrote a splendid poem, so I ought to learn better with all that."
"I think so," said Miss Ashton; "but, by the way, I wonder if Maggie and Bessie would not like to join us in this work. They always take such an interest in all that goes on among us here that perhaps they would be pleased if we offered to let them help."
"Yes, I know they would," cried Belle, always ready to speak in praise of her beloved little playmates. "I know they would. Maggie and Bessie are very full of good works; and they always like to do what we do, if they can, too."
"Very well," said Miss Ashton. "You can ask them when you see them, Belle; and if they would like to help us, tell them to come in to-morrow, at the close of school. You can all bring me word then if your parents are willing for you to undertake this work, and I will give each one a piece to take home."
The next morning each little girl brought word that she had received permission to take home and make such a garment as Miss Ashton should see fit to give her; and they had all been promised help and teaching by their mammas or other friends.
The curiosity and interest of the class having been much excited by Lily's glowing account of the "proverb picture" and poem furnished her by Maggie, Bessie, and Belle, she had been persuaded to bring them with her; and being punctual for the third morning, she exhibited them before school was opened, to the great satisfaction and delight of the other children. They were also displayed to Miss Ashton.
"Maggie is quite a Murphy, isn't she, Miss Ashton?" said Lily.
"A what, dear?" asked the young lady, much puzzled.
"A Murphy – a M-m-ur-phy," said Lily, putting severe and long emphasis on the word, as she saw that her teacher did not yet understand. "Don't you know what a Murphy is, Miss Ashton? It means some one very wise and good, who teaches right things."
"Oh!" said Miss Ashton, smiling, as light broke in upon her; "you mean a Mentor, do you not, Lily?"
"Oh, yes, that's it," said Lily; "but I thought it was Murphy. But I think Murphy is just as pretty a name as Mentor."
"But people would understand your meaning better if you put the right name, Lily," said Miss Ashton, as she rang the bell for silence.
Maggie and Bessie had told Belle that they would be very glad to join in the work of making clothes for the poor little orphans; and accordingly, when school was over and word was brought that they were below, she was sent to bring them up to the school-room. Places were soon found for them among their former school-mates, who were all delighted to see them; and, as Bessie said, "it seemed quite as if they were all young again."
Then Miss Ashton had a large basket of work brought in, and took from it a number of little garments cut out, but not made, which she laid upon the table before her.
"I have six skirts and six aprons here," she said, "and three calico bags, which our little orphans must have to hold their lesson-books. I think we had better give the bags to those who are the youngest, or the least accustomed to sewing, – Bessie, Belle, and Mabel. Then the rest may choose, so far as you can, whether you will take a petticoat or an apron; but as there is more work upon the petticoats than upon the aprons, I shall think it wiser for those who are not very industrious and persevering to take the latter, so that they may be sure to finish their work. Or perhaps the older ones, Nellie, Maggie, Grace, and Dora, might take the skirts, and let the other five take aprons. As I said yesterday, the young ladies in the other room will finish whatever you leave."
