"All things were full of horror and affright,And dreadful even the silence of the night."
"All things were full of horror and affright,And dreadful even the silence of the night."
As she lay wishing herself safe at home in her own bed, there was a sudden noise outside her window,—the sound of heavy footsteps. Who could be walking there at that time of night? If it was a man, he must want to steal. Mary did not for a moment fancy it might be a woman, or a "creetur" on a broomstick,—she was too sensible for that; but you will not wonder that, as she heard the footsteps come nearer and nearer, her heart almost stopped beating from fright. Siller had not coughed for some time, and was very likely asleep. If so, there was no time to be lost.
Mary sprang out of bed, and ran down stairs, whispering, "Fire! Murder! Thieves!"
That wakened Patty, who ran after her, clutching at her night-dress, and crying out, "A fief! A fief!"
For she had lost a front tooth the day before, and could not say "thief."
It was a wonder they both did not fall headlong, going at such speed.
Siller was in the kitchen, standing in the middle of the floor, with a red cloak on, staring straight before her, with a white, scared look.
"Hush, children, for mercy's sake!" she whispered, putting her handkerchief over Patty's mouth, "we're in a terrible fix! It's either thieves or murderers, or else it's witches. Yes, Polly Lyman, witches!"
"I don't hear the steps now," said Mary. "O, yes I do, too; yes I do, too."
By that time there was a loud knocking.
"It must be witches; thieves wouldn't knock," whispered Siller, tearing her back hair. "Hear 'em rattle that door! That was what it meant when I saw that black cat, just before sundown, worritting the doctor's dog. I thought then it was an imp."
The door continued to rattle, and the children's teeth to chatter; also Siller's, all she had left in her head.
"O, if we had a silver bullet," said she, "that would clear 'em out."
Poor little Patty! You may guess at the state of her mind when I tell you she was speechless! For almost the first time in her life she was too frightened to scream.
The knocking grew louder and louder;and Siller, seeing that something must be done, and she was the only one to do it, began to behave like a woman.
"Stop shaking so, children," said she, with a sudden show of courage. "Keep a stiff upper lip! I've got an idea! It may be flesh and blood thieves come after the doctor's chany tea-cups!"
"O, throw them out the window," gasped Mary.
"No, Polly; not while I'm a live woman," replied Siller, who really had some sense when she could forget her fear of hobgoblins. "Into the hampshire, both of you, and let me button you in."
The "hampshire" was a large cupboard, the lower part of which was half filled with boxes and buckets; but the children contrived to squeeze themselves into it.
"It isn't fair, though," said Mary, puttingher head out. "I ought to help you, Siller. Give me the shovel and tongs, and I will."
Siller only answered by buttoning the hampshire door.
Patty, feeling safer, screamed "Fief!" once more; and Mary gave her a shaking, which caused the child to bite her tongue; after which Mary hugged and kissed her with the deepest remorse.
Who knew how long either of them had to live? What if the man should break down the kitchen door and get into the house? He was knocking harder than ever, and had been calling out several times,—
"Let me in! Why don't you let me in?"
"There, I do declare, that sounds like Dr. Hilton," whispered Mary to Patty.
And sure enough, next moment the voice of Siller was heard exclaiming, in the utmost surprise,—
"Bless me, doctor, you don't mean to say that'syou!"
It was the most welcome sound that the little prisoners in the "hampshire" could possibly have heard. And the laugh, gruff and cracked, which came from the doctor's throat, as soon as he got fairly into the house, was sweeter than the song of a nightingale.
"Let us out! Let us out!" cried they, knocking to be let out as hard as the doctor had knocked to be let in, for Mary was beating the door with a bucket of sugar and Patty with a pewter porringer. But Siller was "all of a fluster," and it was the doctor himself who opened the hampshire doors after the little girls had almost pounded them down.
They were both ashamed to be caught in their night-dresses, and ran up stairs asfast as they could go, but on the way overheard the doctor reproving Siller for giving "those innocent little children such a scare." He was not a wise man, by any means, but he had good common sense.
"It is lucky my wife don't believe in witches," said he, "for I'm as likely to come home late at night as any way, and she'd be in hot water half her time."
Next morning the children were very glad to go home, and Mary, though she would hardly have said so to any one, could not help thinking she should never like Siller Noonin quite so well after this as she had done before.
They were climbing the fence to run across the fields, when some one said,—
"Patience Lyman!"
It was Deacon Turner, the tithing-man; but his voice was very mild this morning,and he did not look like the same man Patty had seen at prayer meeting. His face was almost smiling, and he had a double red rose in his hand.
"Good morning, little ladies," said he, giving the rose to Patty, who blushed as red as the rose herself, and hung her head in bashful shame.
"Thank you, sir," she stammered.
"I can't bring myself to believe you meant to disturb the meetin' last night," said the deacon, taking her unwilling little hand.
"No, O, no!" replied Patty, with dripping eyes.
"It was in the school-'us, but then the school-'us is just as sacred as the meetin'-'us, when it's used for religious purposes. I'm afeared, Patience, you forgot you went there to hold communion 'long of His saints. I'mafeared your mind warn't in a fit state to receive much benefit from the occasion."
Patty felt extremely uncomfortable. Good Deacon Turner seldom took the least notice of children—having none of his own, and no nieces or nephews;—and when he did try to talk to little folks, he always made a sad piece of work of it. He did not know how to put himself in sympathy with them, and could not remember how he used to feel when he was young.
"We shall always be glad to see you at the regular Wednesday evenin' prayer meetin'," said he, "or to the prayer meetin's in the school-'us; but you must remember it ain't like a meetin' for seckler pupposes, Patience,—it's for prayer, and praise, and the singing of psalms; and you should conduct yourself in a circumspect and becoming manner, as is fittin' for the house of worship;and remember and feel that it's a privilege for you to be there."
This was about the way the deacon talked to Patty, and of course she did not understand one word of it. She tells Flyaway Clifford and Dotty Dimple that grown people in old times almost always talked "too old," and children were afraid of them.
"Yes, my child," added the deacon, "you should realize that it is a precious privilege, and feel to say with the Psalmist,—
"'I joyed when to the house of God,Go up, they said to me;Jerusalem, within thy walls,Our feet shall standing be.'"
"'I joyed when to the house of God,Go up, they said to me;Jerusalem, within thy walls,Our feet shall standing be.'"
Patty was crying by this time very loud, and there was a certain babyish sound in her wail which suddenly reminded Deacon Turner that he was talking to a little girl, and not to a young woman.
"There, there, now, don't cry," said he, patting her head, for her sun-bonnet had fallen back on her neck, "you didn't mean to make fun of religion; I'm sartin sure of that."
"No, I di-idn't, or if I did, I di-idn't mean to," almost howled Patty.
A grim smile overspread the deacon's face. The idea of an infant like that making fun of religion!
"Somehow I was thinkin' you was an older child than what you be," said he, rubbing her silky hair as roughly as a plough would go through a bed of flowers. The action almost drove Patty wild, but the good man meant it most kindly.
"Let's see, I suppose you know your letters now?" added he, going to the other extreme, and talking to her as if she were very young indeed. "And, of course, yourmother, who is a godly woman, has you say your catechism. Do you remember, my dear, who made you?"
The question caused Patty to raise her tearful eyes in astonishment. Did he think a girl six and a half years old didn't know that?
"Yes, sir," said she, meekly; "God made me."
"Right, my dear; that's well said. You're not such a bad child after all, and seem to have considerable sense. Here is a dollar for you, my little woman, and tell your mother I know she's bringing you up in the way you should go, and I hope when you are old you'll not depart from it."
Patty stared at the dollar through her tears, and it seemed to stare back again with a face almost as big as a full moon.
"O, thank you, sir," said she, with a deep courtesy.
Never in her life had she owned a whole silver dollar before. How it danced and shone! She held it tight, for it did not seem to be real, and she was afraid it would melt or fly away before she could get it home.
"Mother, O mother," cried she, "see this live dollar! Deacon Turner gave it to me for remembering who made me!"
"Why, child, what do you mean?"
"She means just what she says, mother," said Mary. "Deacon Turner spoke to her in prayer meeting last night—"
"Why, Patience!"
"And he was sorry for it, mother, just as Siller thought he'd be; and so he wanted to give her something to make up, I suppose; butshouldyou have thought he'd have given her that dollar?"
Mrs. Lyman was grieved to learn thatPatty had been so restless and so irreverent, and called her into the bedroom to talk with her about it.
"My little girl is old enough to begin to think," said she.
"Yes, mother," said Patty, laying the silver dollar against her cheek, "I do think."
"But, Patience, you knew the people had met in that school-house to talk about God; you should have listened to what they were saying."
"But, mamma, the words were too big; I can't understand such big words."
"Well, then, my daughter, you certainly could have sat still, and let other people listen."
Patty hung her head.
"Has a child any right to go where good people are worshipping God, and behave so badly as to disturb them?"
"No, mamma."
Patty was crying again, and almost thought the barnwouldbe the best place for her to live in. Even her "live dollar" could not console her when her mother spoke in such a tone as that.
"I'll never make any moredisturbment, mamma," said she, in a broken-hearted tone.
"I hope you'll remember it," said Mrs. Lyman, taking the child's two hands in hers, and pressing them earnestly.
Patty was afraid she was about to deprive her of the precious dollar; but Mrs. Lyman did not do it; she thought Patty would remember without such a hard punishment as that.
When Mrs. Lyman heard what a fright the children had had at Dr. Hilton's she was much displeased, and forbade Siller Noonin ever to talk to them again about witches. Siller confessed she had done wrong, and "hoped Mrs. Lyman wouldn't lay it up against her."
Patty said,—
"Poh, she couldn't scareme! I flied on a broomstick my own self, and I tumbled off. 'CourseMrs. Knowles can't do it; big folks like her!"
At the same time Patty did not like tosee Mrs. Knowles come to the house. It wasn't likely she had ever "flied on a broomstick;" but when Mrs. Lyman walked out with the good woman, as she sometimes did, Patty was uneasy till she got home again. Nobody suspected the little girl of such foolishness, and she never told of it till years after, when she was a tall young lady, and did not mind being laughed at for her childish ideas.
But perhaps you would like to know what became of her live dollar. She did not know what to do with so much money, and talked about it first to one and then to another.
"Moses," said she, "which would you ravver do, have me have a hundred cents, and you have ninety-nine cents, or me have ninety-nine cents, and you have a hundred?"
Moses appeared to think hard for a moment, and then said,—
"Well, I guess I'd ratheryou'dhave the hundred."
"O, would you?" cried Patty, kissing him gratefully.
"Yes," said Moses; "for if I had the most, you'd be teasing me for the odd cent."
The dollar burnt Patty's fingers. Some days she thought she would give it to the heathen, and other days she wondered if it would be wrong to spend it for candy. Sometimes she meant to buy a pair of silver shoe-buckles for her darling Moses, and then again a vandyke for her darling Mary. In short, she could not decide what to do with such a vast sum of money.
One day there came to the house a beggar girl, a little image of dirt and rags. She told a pitiful story about a dead mother anda drunken father, and nobody could know that it was quite untrue, and her mother was alive, and waiting for her two miles away.
Patty was so much interested in the little girl's story, that she almost wanted to give her the silver dollar on the spot, but not quite. She ran into the bedroom to ask her mother what it was best to do.
"Why, I thought I fastened that door," cried John, flourishing a paint-brush in her face. "Scamper, or you'll get some paint on your gown."
Patty scampered, but not before she had stained her dress.
"Where is mother?" asked she of Dorcas.
"In the parlor; but don't go in there, child, for the doctor's wife is making a call, and Mrs. Chase, too."
Patty did not wait for Dorcas to finish the sentence, but rushed into the parlor, outof breath. I am afraid she was rather glad to let the doctor's wife know she had some money, and thought of giving it away. Patty was not a bold child, but there were times when she did like to show off.
"O, mother, mother!" cried she, without stopping to look at the ladies. "Let me have my silver dollar this minute! 'Cause there's a poor little—"
"My child," said Mrs. Lyman, in a tone which checked Patty, and made her blush to the roots of her yellow hair.
"Pray, let her finish her story," said the doctor's wife, drawing the little one to her side; "it's something worth hearing, I know."
"It's a little girl," replied Patty, casting down her eyes, "and her mother is dead and her father is drunk."
Patty supposed he lay all the while withhis hat on, for she had once seen a man curled up in a heap by the roadside, and had heard John say he was drunk.
"How very sad!" said Mrs. Potter.
Mrs. Chase looked sorry.
"Do you say the mother is dead?" said she.
"Yes'm; the man killed her to death with a jug, and then she died," replied Patty, solemnly.
"Where is the child? Something must be done about it at once," said Mrs. Potter, a very kind lady, but apt to speak without much thought. "O, Patty, dear, I am glad you have such a good heart. It is beautiful to see little children remembering the words of our Saviour, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'"
Patty's eyes shone with delight. It seemed to her that she was a little Lady Bountiful, going about the world takingcare of the poor. She crept closer to Mrs. Potter's side.
"I haven't but just one silver dollar," said she, in a low voice; "but I'd ravver give it to the little girl than keep it myself, I would!"
"Bless your dear little soul," said the doctor's wife, kissing Patty; but Mrs. Chase said nothing; and all at once it occurred to the child that perhaps Mrs. Chase had heard of her being spoken to in meeting, and that was why she did not praise her. Dreadful thought! It frightened Patty so that she covered up her face till both the ladies had gone away, for they did not stay much longer.
After the door was closed upon them, Mrs. Lyman said—,
"Here is your silver dollar, Patty, in my pocket."
Patty fancied that her mother's voice was rather cold. She had expected a few words of praise, or at least a kiss and a smile.
"But think a minute, Patience. Are you sure you want to give it away?"
Patty put her fingers in her mouth, and eyed the dollar longingly. How large, and round, and bright it looked!
"I thought I heard you speak yesterday of buying Dorcas a vandyke,—or was it Mary?—and the day before of getting some shoe-buckles for Moses," added Mrs. Lyman, in the same quiet tones. "And only this morning your mind was running on a jockey for yourself. Whatever you please, dear. Take time to think."
"O, I'd ravver have a jockey. I forgot that—a white one."
"And what will become of the poor little girl?"
"O, I guess Dorcas will give her someremmernantsto eat, and folks all around will see to her, you know."
"My child, my child, you don't think as you did when those ladies were here. Do you remember your last Sunday's verse, and what I said about it then?"
Mrs. Lyman's voice was very grave.
Patty repeated the verse,—
"Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them; otherwise, ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven."
She knew very well what it meant.
"Doing alms before women is just the same as doing 'em before men," thought Patty.
She had been making pretty speeches just for the sake of being praised, and she didn'tcare so very much about the beggar girl after all.
"I am going out to see that poor child for myself," said Mrs. Lyman, putting down the black silk pocket she was making; and Patty followed, with her money clasped close to her bosom.
But by that time the dirty-faced little creature had gone away.
"She told wrong stories," said Dorcas; "she said, in the first place, her mother was dead, and afterwards that her mother was sick."
"Naughty thing! I'm glad I didn't give her my silver dollar!" exclaimed Patty; though she dared not look up, for fear of meeting her mamma's eyes.
"Wherehaveyou been, child, to get so stained with paint?" said Rachel, who always saw things before any one elsedid. "Come here, and let me sponge your gown with spirits of turpentine."
"Strange I shouldn't have noticed that," said Mrs. Lyman. "I hope Mrs. Potter didn't spoil her crape shawl when she put her arm round you, Patience."
Patty dropped her eyes with shame, to think how pleased Mrs. Potter had been with her just for nothing at all.
"Spiritsturpletine?" said she, making believe she had never heard the word before. "Spiritsturpletine? That isn'tangels, Rachel? Then what makes you call 'em spirits?"
Rachel knew the child was talking for the sake of changing the subject, and she would not answer such a foolish question.
"Stand still, you little try-patience," said she, "or I shall never get off the paint."
Mrs. Lyman went back to finish her pocket. Ladies in those days wore them under their dresses, tied about their waists. Mrs. Lyman's was a very pretty one, of quilted black silk, and when it was done, Patty put her dollar in it, and jingled it beside a gold piece of her mother's.
"Which is worth the most, mamma?" said she, "your dollar or my dollar?"
"Mine is worth just twenty times as much as yours."
"Well, I'm glad that naughty girl hasn't got either of 'em," thought Patty. "I'm sorry I made believegood; but I want my dollar, and here 'tis, all safe."
Safe! Before night Patty's dollar was gone, and her mother's gold piece with it,—pocket, and all. It went that very afternoon; but nobody knew it till Mrs. Lyman was getting ready to go to the store twodays afterwards, and wanted her pocket to put on.
When she came into the kitchen and said it was not in her bureau drawer, and when Rachel, who always did the hunting, had looked everywhere and could not find it, then there was crying in that house, you may be sure. Patty said at once the beggar girl had taken the pocket.
"But how could she?" said Dorcas. "She was out of sight and hearing before mother began to quilt it."
"Well, then she came back in the night," sobbed Patty.
"I dare say Snippet has put it out of place," said big brother James.
"Yes, Patty is a great hand to lose things," said Rachel.
"No, no, no; thatniggeramusgirl cameand took it; came in the night," persisted Patty.
"Patience!" said her mother, reprovingly; and then Patty had to stop.
She mourned only for the silver dollar. She would have mourned for the gold piece too, if she had known that her mother intended to buy fall clothes with it for the little girls. It was as well Patty did not know this, for she had as much already as she could bear.
Priscilla Noonin came over that afternoon with her knitting. "It was midsummer, and the hay was down," and there were two men helping get it into the barn. One of the men was tall and well formed, but the other, Israel Crossman, was so short as to be almost a dwarf. He had yellow and white hair, was a little lame, and his hands were covered with warts. After supper hesat a few minutes on the top of the fence whittling a stick. As Siller Noonin stood knitting at the window she saw him, and shook her head.
"Somehow or 'nother," said she, "I don't like the looks of that man, and never did. It's my private opinion, Mrs. Lyman, that either he stole your pocket or I did."
"Be careful," whispered Mrs. Lyman, "he will hear you."
He might have heard, or might not; but he soon got off the fence and limped away.
"Israel bears a good character," said Mrs. Lyman; "I will not suspect him, unless I see better reason than I have ever seen yet."
The loss of the silk pocket continued to be a great mystery. Everybody hunted for it from garret to cellar; but summer passed, and it did not come.
Patty's grief wore away by degrees; stillshe never heard the word "pocket" or the word "dollar" without a pang. And every time she saw Mrs. Chase or Mrs. Potter, she could not help wondering if her money didn't fly away just to punish her for trying to "show off" before them? At any rate, she would never, never "show off" again.
But we must give up hunting for a little while: Sunday has come. Let us forget that "live dollar" (perhapsit's a dead dollar now), and go to church with Patty.
When she was "dressed for meeting," she went into the nicely sanded parlor and stood alone before the looking-glass a minute or two to admire herself. Look at her! She had on a blue cambric frock, and a blue cambric jockey, or hat, turned up a little at the sides, and tied under the chin with a blue ribbon; and on her little brown hands were a pair of white cotton gloves. Don't laugh,little city folks! This was all very fine, sixty years ago, in a backwoods town. But look at her feet, and youmustlaugh! Her shoes were of the finest red broadcloth, and Mrs. Lyman had made them herself out of pieces of her own cloak and some soft leather left in the house by Mr. Piper, the shoemaker. He went from family to family, making shoes; but he could not make all that were needed in town, so this was not the first time Mrs. Lyman had tried her hand at the business. She used a pretty last and real shoemaker's thread, and Mr. Piper said she was "a dabster at it; no wonder her husband was well off when he had such a smart wife."
For, strange as it may seem to you, Squire Lymanwas"well off,"—that is, he had one of the best farms in the county, and more money than any one else in Perseverance,except Mr. Chase and Dr. Potter; those two men were much wealthier than he was.
All the Lymans walked to church except the squire and his wife and the two little boys; they went in the chaise. Dr. Potter rode horseback, with a great show of silk stockings. His wife was propped up behind him on a pillion. She was a graceful rider, but of course she had to put one arm around the doctor to keep from falling off. This would be an odd sight now to you or me, but Patty was so used to seeing ladies riding on pillions that she thought nothing about it. She looked down at her red shoes twinkling in and out of the green grass, and might have been perfectly happy, only the soles wouldn't squeak.
"Patty! Patty!" called sister Mary, "come back here and walk with me."
Patty did not know till then that she washopping. She went and took Mary's hand, and walked soberly along, thinking.
"I hope Deacon Turner didn't see me. I guess he's 'way ahead of us. I want to run and swing my arms; but I won't, because it is God's holy day."
On the way they overtook Sally Potter, whose jockey was dented and faded; and Patty said, "Good morning, Sally," with quite an air. But when Linda Chase came along, and her new red bosom-pin shone out in the sun, Patty's heart died within her.
"S'pose Linda don't know some folks don't like to see little girls wear bosom-pins," thought she.
When they reached the meeting-house Mrs. Potter was just alighting upon a horse-block. "Good morning, Linda," said she; "and how doyoudo, Patty, my dear?"
"H'm! She didn't say 'Linda, my dear.' Guess she don't like bosom-pins," thought Patty; and her silly heart danced up again.
"O, but I know why Mrs. Chase says 'Patty, my dear;' it's because I—well, she s'poses I gave that dollar to the girl that her father was drunk."
And I am glad to say Patty blushed.
The meeting-house was an unpainted building with two doors. As they walked in at the left door, their feet made a loud sound on the floor, which was without a carpet. There were galleries on each side of the house, and indeed the pulpit was in a gallery, up, up, ever so high, with a sounding-board over the preacher's head. Right in the middle of the church was a box stove, but you could see that it was not half large enough to heat the house. Of course there was no fire in it now, for it was midsummer;but in the winter ladies had to carry foot-stoves full of live coals to keep their feet warm in their pews.
Squire Lyman's pew was very near the pulpit, and was always pretty well filled. Like the rest of the great square boxes,—for that was what they looked like,—the seat was so high that Patty's scarlet shoes dangled in the air ever so far from the floor.
At precisely ten o'clock, Elder Lovejoy walked feebly up the aisle, and climbed the pulpit stairs. Patty watched him, as if he had been one of Jacob's angels ascending the ladder. He was a tall, thin man, with a fair complexion and long features. He wore a large turned-down collar and a white neckerchief, stuffed round the throat with what was called a pudding, and the ends of the neckerchief were so very long that theyhung half way down his vest. Everybody loved Elder Lovejoy, for he was very good; but Patty thought him more than human. He seemed to her very far off, and sacred, like King Solomon or King David; and if he had worn a crown, she would have considered it very appropriate.
After a long prayer, during which all the people stood up, Elder Lovejoy read a long, long psalm, and the people rose again to hear it sung. They turned their backs to the pulpit, and faced the singers.
But there was a great surprise to-day. A strange sound mingled with the voices singing; it was the sound of a bass-viol. The people looked at one another in surprise, and some with frowns on their faces. Never had an instrument of music of any sort been brought into that little church before; and now it was Deacon Turner's brother, theblacksmith, who had ventured to come there with a fiddle!
Good Elder Lovejoy opened his eyes, and wiped his spectacles, and thought something must be done about it; they could not have "dance music" in that holy place. Deacon Turner and a great many others thought just so too; and at noon they talked to the wicked blacksmith, and put a stop to his fiddle.
But nothing of this was done in church time. Elder Lovejoy preached a very long sermon, in a painfully sing-song tone; but Patty thought it was exactly right; and when she heard a minister preach without the sing-song, she knew it must be wrong. She could not understand the sermon, but she stretched up her little neck towards the pulpit till it ached, thinking,—
"Well, mamma says I must sit still, andlet other people listen. I won't make anydisturbment."
Mrs. Lyman looked at her little daughter with an approving smile, and Deacon Turner, that dreadful tithing-man up in the gallery, thought his lecture had done that "flighty little creetur" a great deal of good—or else it was his dollar, he did not know which.
Patty sat still for a whole hour and more, counting the brass nails in the pews, and the panes of glass in the windows, and keeping her eyes away from Daddy Wiggins, who always made her want to laugh. At last the sermon was over, and the people had just time enough to go to their homes for a cold dinner before afternoon service, which began at one o'clock.
Sunday did seem like a long day to little folks; and do you wonder? They had no Sabbath school or Sabbath school books;and the only part of the day which seemed to be made for them was the evening. At that time they had to say their catechisms,—those who had not said them the night before.
Did you ever see a Westminster Catechism, with its queer little pictures? Then you can have no idea how it looks. After supper Mrs. Lyman called the children into her bedroom, shut the door, and had them repeat their lessons, beginning with the question, "Who was the first man?"
Patty supposed the Catechism was as holy as the Bible, and thought the rhyme,—
"Zaccheus heDid climb a tree,His Lord to see,"
"Zaccheus heDid climb a tree,His Lord to see,"
was fine poetry, of course, and she never dreamed of laughing at the picture of dried-uplittle Zaccheus standing on the top of a currant-bush.
Little Solly could answer almost all the questions, and sometimes baby Benny, who sat in his mamma's lap, would try to do it too. They all enjoyed these Sunday evenings in "mother's bedroom," for Mrs. Lyman had a very pleasant way of talking with her children, and telling interesting Bible stories.
The lesson this evening was on the commandment, "Thou shalt not covet." When Patty understood what it meant, she said promptly, "Well, mamma,Idon't do it."
For she was thinking,—
"What you s'pose I want of Linda Chase's bosom-pin? I wouldn't be seen wearing it!"
You see Patty knew as much about her own little heart as she did about Choctaw.
One Wednesday morning, early in September, Mrs. Lyman stood before the kneading trough, with both arms in dough as far as the elbows. In the farthest corner of the kitchen sat little Patty, pounding mustard-seed in a mortar.
"Mamma," said she, "Linda Chase has got a calico gown that'll stand alone."
"I've heard you tell of that before," said Mrs. Lyman, taking out a quantity of dough with both hands, putting it on a cabbage-leaf,and patting it into shape like a large ball of butter. A cabbage-leaf was as good as "a skillet," she thought, for a loaf of brown bread.
"Did you ever see a gown stand all alone, mother? Linda sayshersdoes."
"Poh, it don't!" said Moses. "I know better."
"Then hers told a lie!" exclaimed little Solly. "George Wash'ton never told a lie."
"Linda tells the truth," said Patty; "now, mamma, why don'tmygowns stand alone?"
"I want to be like George Wash'ton," put in Solly again, pounding with the rolling-pin, "and papa's got a hatchet; but we don't have no cherry trees. Ican'tbe like George Wash'ton."
"O, what a noise! Stop it!" said Moses, tickling little Solly under the arms.
"Mamma, I wish I was as rich as Linda," said Patty, raising her voice above the din.
A look of pain came into Mrs. Lyman's eyes. It was not alone the children's racket that disturbed her. She sighed, and turned round to open the door of the brick oven. The oven had been heated long ago, and Dorcas had taken out the coals. It was just the time to put in the brown bread, and Mrs. Lyman set the cabbage-leaf loaves on the wooden bread-shovel, and pushed them in as far as they would go.
After this was done she began to mix pie-crust; but not a word had she to say about the gown that would stand alone.
"Now, Patience, you may clean the mortar nicely, and pound me some cinnamon."
Patty thought her mother could not know how her little arm ached. Linda Chase didn't have to pound things; her motherthought she was too small. Linda's father had a gold watch with a chain to it, and Linda's big brother drove two horses, and looked very fine, not at all like George and Silas. Patty would not have thought of the difference, only she had heard Betsy Gould say that Fred Chase would "turn up his nose at the twins' striped shirts."
"Mamma," said she, beginning again in that teasing tone so trying to mothers, "Ihave to eat bread and milk and bean porridge, and Linda don't. She has nice things all the time."
"Patience," said Mrs. Lyman, wearily, "I cannot listen to idle complaints. Solomon, put down that porringer and go ask Betsey to wash your face."
"But, mamma," said Patty, "why can't I have things like Linda Chase?"
"My little girl must try to be happy inthe state in which God has placed her," said Mrs. Lyman, trimming a pie round the edges.
"But I don't live in a state," said Patty, dropping a tear into the cinnamon; "I live in theDistrictof Maine; and I want a gown that'll stand alo-ne!"
"It's half past eight,And I can't afford to wait,"
"It's half past eight,And I can't afford to wait,"
sang Moses from the south entry.
This was a piece of poetry which always aroused Patty. Up she sprang, and put on her cape-bonnet to start for school at Mrs. Merrill's, just round the corner.
"Daughter," said Mrs. Lyman, in a low voice, as she was going out, "you have a happier home than poor Linda Chase. Don't cry for things that little girl has, because, my dear, it is wicked."
"A happier home than poor Linda Chase!"
Patty was amazed, and did not know what her mother meant; but when she got to school there was Linda in a dimity loose-gown, and Linda said,—
"Mymother wants you to come and stay all night with me, ifyourmother's willing."
So Patty went home at noon to ask. Mrs. Lyman never liked to have Patty gone over night; but the child pleaded so hard that she gave her consent, only Patty must take her knitting-work, and musn't ask to wear her Sunday clothes.
When she went home with Linda she found Mrs. Chase sitting by the parlor window very grandly dressed. She kissed Patty, without once looking at Patty's gingham loose-gown; but her eyes were quite red, as if she had been crying.
"I like to have you come to see Linda,"said she, "for Linda has no little sister, and she feels rather lonesome."
Then the children went up stairs to see the wonderful calico gown which cost "four and sixpence" a yard, andalmoststood alone (that was all Linda had ever said it could do).
Mr. Chase and Fred were both away from home; and Patty was glad, for Mr. Chase was so very polite and stiff, and Fred always talked to her as if she was a baby. She did not like to go to see Linda when either of them was there.
Mrs. Chase took both the little girls in her lap, and seemed to enjoy hearing their childish prattle. Patty glanced at the gay rings on the lady's fingers, and at the pictures on the walls, and wondered why it wasn't a happy home, and what made Mrs. Chase's eyes so red. Then all at once sheremembered what Siller Noonin had said: "O, yes, Mrs. Chase has everything heart can wish, except a bottle to put her tears in."
Patty did not see why a handkerchief wasn't just as good; but she could not help looking at Linda's mother with some curiosity. If she really had a strong preference for crying into a bottle, why didn't her rich husband buy her a bottle, a glass one, beautifully shaped, with gold flowers on it, and let her cry into it just as much as she pleased? He was rich, and he ought to.
When they went to bed in the beautiful chamber that had such pretty furniture, Mrs. Chase kissed them good night, but not in a happy way, like Patty's mother.
"What makes your ma look so?" said Patty; "has she got the side-ache?"
"No, I guess not," replied little Linda;"but she says she feels bad round the heart."
"My ma don't," returned Patty, thoughtfully. "I never heard her say so."
That was the last Patty knew, till ever so long afterwards, right in the middle of a dream, she heard a great noise. It was a sound of scuffling, and something being dragged up stairs. She saw the glimmer of lights, and heard somebody's voice—she thought it was Mr. Chase's—say, "Look out for his head, George."
"What is it?" whispered Patty. "O,whatis it?"
Linda covered her face with the sheet, and whispered, trembling all over,—
"IguessFreddy's sick."
"No, no, no," cried Patty; "hear how loud he talks!"
"O, but he's very sick," repeated Linda.
They heard him in the next chamber, kicking against the wall, and saying dreadful words, such as Patty had never heard before—words which made her shiver all over as if she was cold.
"Is it 'cause he is sick?" said she to Linda.
Linda thought it was.
Next morning, bright and early, Patty had to run home to help Moses turn out the cows; there were nine of them, and it took two, besides the dog Towler, to get them to pasture. She told her mother what she had heard in the night, and her mother looked very sober; but Rachel spoke up quickly,—
"I'll tell you, Patty, what makes Fred Chase have such sick turns; he drinks too much brandy."
"Yes," said big brother John; "that fellowkeeps a bottle in his room the whole time."
"Is it his mamma's bottle?" asked Patty; for it flashed over her all at once that perhaps that was the reason Mrs. Chase didn't have a bottle to cry into, because Fred kept it up in his room—full of brandy.
Nobody knew what she meant by asking "if it was his mamma's bottle;" so no one answered; but Mrs. Lyman said,—
"You see, Patty, it can't be very pleasant at Linda's house, even if she does have calico dresses that stand alone."
"It don'tquitestand alone, mamma."
"And I hope you won't cry again, my daughter, for pretty things like hers."
"No, I won't mamma.—Is that why Linda's mother 'feels bad round her heart,' 'cause Freddy drinks out of the bottle?"
"Yes, dear, it makes Mrs. Chase very unhappy."
"Then I'm sorry, and I won't ever cry to have things like Linda any more."
"That is right, my child; that's right!—Now, darling, run and help Moses turn out the cows."
I think it was the next winter after this that Patty had that dreadful time in school. If she had known what was coming, she would not have been in such a hurry for her shoes. Mr. Piper came in the fall, after he had got his farm work done, to "shoe-make" for the Lymans, beginning with the oldest and going down to the youngest; and he was so long getting to Patty that she couldn't wait, and started for school the first day in a pair of Moses's boots.
O, dear; but such a school as it was. Timothy Purple was the worst teacher thatever came to Perseverance. He was very cruel, but he was cowardly too; for he punished the helpless little children and let the large ones go free. I have no patience with him when I think of it!
The first day of school he marched about the room, pretending to look for a nail in the wall to hang the naughtiest scholar on, whether it was a boy or a girl. Patty was so frightened that her milk-teeth chattered. You little folks who go to pleasant, orderly schools, and receive no heavier punishment than black marks in a book, can't have much idea how she suffered.
She expected every day after this to see a rope come out of Mr. Purple's pocket, and was sure if he hung anybody it would be Patty Lyman. Mr. Purple soon found she was afraid of him, and it gratified him,because he was just the sort of man to like to see little ones tremble before him.
"I tell you what," said Moses, indignantly, "he's all the time picking upon Patty."
And so he was. He often shook her shoulders, twitched her flying hair, or boxed her pretty little ears. Not that he disliked Patty, by any means. I suppose a cat does not dislike a mouse, but only torments it for the sake of seeing it quiver.
Moses was picked upon too; but he did not make much complaint, for the "other fellows" of his age were served in the same way.
As for poor little browbeaten Patty, she went home crying almost every night, and her tender mother was sometimes on the point of saying to her,—
"Dear child, you shall not go another day."
But she did not say it, for good Mrs. Lyman could not bear to make a disturbance. She knew if she should take Patty out of school, other parents would take their children out too; for nobody was at all satisfied with Mr. Purple, and a great many people said they wished the committee had force enough to turn him away.
But there was a storm in the air which nobody dreamed of.
The sun rose one morning just as usual, and Patty started for school at half past eight with the rest of the children. You would have pitied her if you had been there. The tears were dripping from her seven years old eyes like a hail shower. It was very cold, but she didn't mind that much, for she had a yellow blanket round her head and shoulders, and over those boots of Moses's were drawn a pair of biggray stockings, which turned up and flopped at the toes. And it wasn't that ridiculous goosequill in her hair which made her cry either, though I am sure it must have hurt. No; it was the thought of the master, that dreadful man with the ferule and the birch sticks.
Her mother stood at the door with a saucer pie in her hand. She knew there was nothing Patty liked better.
"Here, Patience," said she, in a tone of motherly pity, "here's a pie for you. Don't you think now you can go without crying?"
Patience brightened at that, and put the bunch of comfort into Moses's dinner pail, along with some doughnuts as big as her arm, and some brown bread and sausages.
It was a long way to the school-house, and by the time the children got there their feet were numb. There was a great roaring firein the enormous fireplace; but it did Patty no good, for this was one of the master's "whipping days," and he strode the brick hearth like a savage warrior. Where was thelittleboy or girl brave enough to say, "Master, may I go to the fire?"
Poor Patty took out her Ladies' Accidence, and turned over the leaves. It was a little book, and the title sounds as if it was full of stories; but you must not think Patty would have carried a story book to school!
No; this was a Grammar. In our times little girls scarcely seven years old are not made to study such hard things, for their teachers are wise enough to know it is of no use. Patty was as good a scholar as any in school for her age. Her letters had been boxed into her ears very young by Miss Judkins, and now she could read inWebster's Third Part as fast as a squirrel can run up a tree; but as for grammar, you could put all she knew into a doll's thimble. She could not tell a noun from a verb, nor could Linda Chase or Sally Potter, if you stood right over them, all three, with three birch switches. They all knew long strings of words, though, like this:—
"A noun is the name of anything that exists, or that we have any notion of."
She liked to rattle that off—Patty did—or her little nimble tongue, her head keeping time to the words.
I wish you had heard her, and seen her too, or that I could give you any idea of Mr. Purple's school.
Stop a minute. Shut your eyes, and think you are in Perseverance.—There, do you see that man in a blue swallow-tail coat? This is the master. His head runs up to apeak, like an old-fashioned sugar loaf, and blazes like a maple tree in the fall of the year. He stands by his desk making a quill pen, and looking about him with sharp glances, that seem to cut right and left. Patty almost thinks his head is made of eyes, like the head of a fly; and she is sure he has a pair in the pockets of his swallow-tail coat.
But it is a great mistake. He does not see a twentieth part of the mischief that is going on; and what he does see he dares not take much notice of, for he is mortally afraid of the large boys.
There is a great noise in the room of shuffling feet and buzzing lips, but he pretends not to hear it.
Up very near the back seat sits Mary Lyman, or Polly, as almost everybody calls her, with a blue woolen cape over hershoulders, called a vandyke, and her hair pulled and tied, and doubled and twisted, and then a goosequill shot through it like a skewer.
Behind her, in the very back seat of all, sits Dorcas, the prettiest girl in town, with a pale, sweet face, and a wide double frill in the neck of her dress.
Patty's future husband, William Parlin, is just across the aisle. He is fourteen years old, and you may be sure has never thought yet of marrying Patty.
The twins, Silas and George, sit together, pretending to do sums on a slate; but, I am sorry to say, they are really making pictures of the master. George says "his forehead sneaks away from his face," and on the slate he is made to look like an idiot. But the color of his hair cannot be painted with a white slate pencil.
"I expect every day I shall scream out 'Fire!'" whispered Silas! "Mr. Purple's a-fire!"
In the floor stands brother Moses, with a split shingle astride his nose, after the fashion of a modern clothes-pin. So much for eating beechnuts in school, and peeling them for the little girls; but he and Ozem Wiggins nod at each other wisely behind Mr. Purple's back, as much as to say, they know what the reason istheyhave to be punished; it is because they are only nine years old; if they were in their teens the master wouldn't dare! Ozem has not peeled beechnuts, but he has "called names," and has to hold out a hard-wood poker at arm's length. If he should curve his elbow in the least, it would get a rap from the master's ferule.
"Class in Columbian Orator," says Mr.Purple, "take your places out in the floor."
A dozen of the large boys and girls march forth, their shoes all squeaking as if some of the goosequills had got into the soles.
"Observe!"
You would not understand that, but they know it means, "Make your manners;" and the girls obey by quick little courtesies, and the boys by stiff little bows.
Most of them say "natur" and "creetur," though duly corrected, and Charley Noonin, Siller's nephew, says "wooled" for "would."
Next comes a class in the Art of Reading. The twins are in that.
Then Webster's Third Part, and unhappy little Patty steps out, almost crying with chilblains, and has to be shaken because she doesn't stand still.
After that some poor little souls try tospell out the story of "Thrifty and Unthrifty" in Webster's shingle-covered spelling-book.
"Class in Morse's Geography.—Little lady in that front seat, be car-ful! Come out here, Patty Lyman, and stand up by the fireplace. No crying."
It is almost a daily habit with Master Purple to call Patty into the floor while the geography class recites, and afterwards to give her a small whipping, for no other reason in the world than that she cannot stand still. William Parlin, who is a manly, large-hearted boy, pities the poor little thing, and sometimes darkly hints that he is not going to look on much longer and see her abused.
But let us hear the geography class.
The pupils stay in their seats to recite, while the master walks the floor and switches his boots. There is such a fearful uproar to-day that he has to raise his voice as if he were speaking a ship in a storm.
"What two rivers unite to form the Ohio?"
"A pint of clover seed and a bushel ofTimothy," replies William Parlin, in a low voice.
"Right," returns Mr. Purple, who has not heard a word, but never contradicts Williambecause his father is on the committee.—"Next: Soil of Kentucky?"
"Flat-boats and flat-irons," replies one of the twins, just loud enough to set the boys laughing three seats before and behind him.
"Very well,ver-y well.—Less laughing.—What is the capital? Speak up distinctly."
"Capital punishment," responds the other twin, cracking an acorn.
"Correct.—Next may answer, alittlelouder: Where is Frankfort?"
And that was the way the lesson went. There had been a great deal more noise than usual, and Mr. Purple was almost distracted, for he saw the large boys were "in league," and he dared not call them to account.
Meanwhile active little Patty, who thoughtshe was standing perfectly still, studying that dreadful Ladies' Accidence, had really been spinning about on one foot; and just then she darted forward to tear a bit of shining bark from a white birch stick in the "ears" of the fireplace.
"Master," cried out a mean-spirited boy on the front bench, "Patty's pickin' gum off that ar log; I seed her."
Master Purple strode quickly across the room. He had been longing for a whole hour to givesomebodya terrible whipping; and here was a good opportunity.
Of course it was the unmanly little tell-tale he was going to punish?
No, indeed; it was Patty. He seized upon the bewildered little creature with the greatest fury.
"Patty Lyman, what do you mean, young woman? Haven't I laid down a rule, andhow dare you disobey? It was only yesterday I feruled Ozen Wiggins for chewing gum."
"I didn't," wailed Patty.
"What? Do you contradict me? We'll see about that! Hold out your hand, you naughty, wicked child!"
The tone was so fierce, and the clutch on her shoulder hurt her so much, that poor Patty screamed fearfully.
"Hold out your hand!" repeated the master.
Patty gave him her slender baby-palm, poor little creature! while Dorcas and Mary, up in the back seats, both drew in their breaths with a shudder.
Down came the hard-wood ferule, whizzing through the air like a thing of life. No time then to tell Mr. Purple shecouldn'thave picked gum off a hard-wood stick ifshe had tried; he wouldn't have believed her, and wouldn't have listened, no matter what she said.
One! two! three! Patty had never been struck like this before. The twins looked at each other, and almost rose from their seats. Indignation flashed from thirty pairs of eyes, but the master was too excited to see it.
Four! five! six! Patty's little figure bent like a broken reed, when there was a shuffling of boots in the aisle, and a voice shouted,
"Stop that, sir!"
It was William Parlin's voice. He had sent it on ahead of him, and was following after it as fast as he could.
"Let that child alone, Master Purple."