CHAPTER VIIA PRESENT FOR AUNT BEE

CHAPTER VIIA PRESENT FOR AUNT BEE

Sallywas planning a present for Aunt Bee.

‘I want to give Aunt Bee a present because she is so good,’ said Sally, ‘but I haven’t anything to give. I could give her my blue handkerchief, I suppose, only it has washed almost white. Or perhaps I might give her the little thimble in my workbox, because I don’t like to sew very well. Do you think she would like my thimble for a present, Mother? Tell me what you think.’

‘I don’t believe your thimble would fit Aunt Bee’s finger,’ was Mother’s answer.

‘I wish I could sell papers like little boys in the city,’ said Sally next. ‘Then I would have pennies, more than I could count. But I can’t do anything at all, and I do want to give a present to my Aunt Bee.’

‘Why, yes, you can do something, Sally,’ said Mother, with a smile. ‘You can sweep. You know how you like to sweep with your little broom. Now every day that you sweep the doorstep clean, I will give you a penny for it. Don’t you think you could do that?’

‘Will you really give me a penny?’ asked Sally, hopping about for joy. ‘Will you, Mother? I will sweep the doorstep as clean as a pin. I will sweep it this very minute, too. Only, will it be a new penny?’ asked Sally, who liked shining gold ones far better than dingy brown.

‘If I can find a new one in my purse every day,’ was Mother’s answer.

So Sally ran for her little broom, and never before had the old doorstep known such a sweeping as Sally gave it that day.

Fortunately, Mother had a new penny with which to pay Sally, and the shining little coin was carefully put away in a small silver box that stood on Father’s desk.

Evening came and Sally went down to the corner to watch for Father.

‘It is for a present for Aunt Bee,’ said Sally, as, walking up the street, she told him all about earning the penny. ‘But will I grow rich very fast, do you think, on a penny a day?’

‘Not very fast,’ answered Father, ‘but couldn’t you do some work for me, besides?’

‘Oh, I could,’ said Sally, squeezing Father’s hand very tight. ‘What can I do, Father? What can I do for you?’

‘Well,’ said Father thoughtfully, standing now in the doorway and looking down the flagged path to the street, ‘it seems to me that Tony always forgets the weeds among the flowers along either side of this walk. If you think you could pull them out, I will give you ten cents toward Aunt Bee’s present.’

‘Oh, Father, Father!’ cried Sally, swinging joyfully on Father’s hand, ‘shall I begin now? Shall I get down before dinner and begin to pull the weeds?’

‘Wait until to-morrow morning,’ suggested Father.

And as Mother thought so, too, Sally was forced to wait.

But she was up in the morning early, and after a brisk sweeping of the doorstep, down went Sally on her hands and knees to pull out weeds with all her might and main.

Off and on Sally weeded nearly all morning. Then she swept the doorstep again and proudly dropped her third bright penny into the silver box.

‘I am growing rich fast,’ said Sally.

And so it seemed when she shook the silver box and the three gold pennies rattled gayly about inside.

The next day Sally was so busy about other matters—Alice came to play and Mother had company in the afternoon—that she was able to sweep the doorstep only once. But she finished her weeding, and that night Father gave her a new ten-cent piece, the brightestever sent out from the Mint, or so, at least, Father said.

In the evening, Sally placed her money in a row and counted her riches over and over again.

‘Ten cents and four cents make fourteen cents.’

It grew to be almost a chant, Sally said it so many times.

‘To-morrow morning I will sweep the doorstep again and earn another penny,’ said she. ‘That will make fifteen cents, and fifteen cents is enough to buy anybody a present, I think.’

The next morning a final sweeping of the doorway brought the sum up to fifteen cents. So Mother and Sally, as happy as could be, started off for a shopping trip in town.

Going to town was different from going to the city. A trip to the city meant a ride on the train, rather a long ride, and a home-coming so late that after supper you must go straight to bed. But going to town was only stepping on abus and whirling over a country road into town, all in the space of ten minutes or so.

Mother had a few errands to do, and Sally liked shopping so well that she did not grow at all tired of watching Mother select blue-and-white wool to knit ‘perhaps a scarf or a sweater,’ she was told. Mother bought buttons, too, and thread, and a new pair of shears, sharp and shiny.

Then her errands were done, and it was time for Sally to select her present for Aunt Bee.

‘Hadn’t I better go to the Five and Ten Cent Store?’ whispered Sally, who well knew how many delightful articles might be purchased for very little money in a scarlet-and-gold Five and Ten Cent Store.

Indeed, once inside the store, there were so many objects that Sally was sure Aunt Bee would like, that it was really a difficult matter for her to make her choice.

Mother was patient and allowed Sally to wander about as long as she wished, and at last her choice was made.

‘Will Aunt Bee like these, do you think?’ asked Sally, smiling upon her purchases with pride.

And Mother, carefully looking them over, answered, ‘Yes, I think she will.’

‘You see,’ explained Sally, ‘I bought this little duck for five cents because I thought he would look pretty floating in Aunt Bee’s white glass flower bowl. He can sail under the flowers, you know, and in and out of the stems.

‘And this little pink baby is made of soap. Would you ever think it, Mother? It looks just like a real baby to me. I thought Uncle Paul would like to see it smiling at him when he comes home at night and washes his hands. He so often wishes that he had a little girl like me, and a baby is much nicer than a little girl, I think.’

Yes, Mother agreed with Sally that Uncle Paul could not fail to like this present.

‘The soap baby cost five cents, and that left me another five cents,’ went on Sally. ‘So Ibought this big, thick stick of pink-and-white peppermint candy, all wrapped up in shiny paper, too. Aunt Bee likes peppermints. She almost always can find one for me when I go over to see her.

‘Are we going straight home now, Mother? I want to give my presents to Aunt Bee as soon as ever I can.’

So the moment Sally reached home, she ran over to Aunt Bee’s with her hands full of presents. And never was any one more surprised than Aunt Bee when the parcels were tumbled into her lap and she was told that they were all for her.

‘Open them, open them,’ cried Sally, ‘and tell me which you like the best. I think they are all pretty, the prettiest presents I ever saw.’

When Aunt Bee untied the string—bright green string, Sally was glad of that—and took off the paper, she thought just as Sally did, that they were the prettiest presents she had ever seen.

‘You must put the duck in the water, Sally,’ said she, leading the way into the house.

So Sally did. And away floated Master Duck under the pink roses, looking as much at home as if he had spent all his days in Aunt Bee’s white glass bowl.

‘Let us go upstairs and stand the soap baby where Uncle Paul will see him the first thing to-night,’ said Aunt Bee next. ‘Do you mean him to wash his hands with the baby, or is he only to stand and smile at Uncle Paul?’

Sally placed the pink baby on the edge of the wash-basin where Uncle Paul would be sure to see him.

‘I think,’ said Sally thoughtfully, ‘that to-morrow he may wash his hands with the baby, but that the baby ought only to smile at him to-night.’

‘I think so, too,’ agreed Aunt Bee. ‘Now suppose we go down on the porch and break the peppermint stick and eat it.’

‘Oh,’ said Sally, ‘wouldn’t that be nice?’

So Sally and Aunt Bee sat down to a little feast which was very refreshing to a person who had spent the morning shopping in town.

‘Isn’t it good candy?’ said Aunt Bee, passing it to Sally again.

‘Yes, it is good,’ answered Sally, carefully choosing a piece not too small. ‘Which one of your presents do you think you like best, Aunt Bee?’

‘All of them,’ said Aunt Bee promptly. ‘I like all three of them best.’

‘I don’t,’ said Sally, ‘I think the peppermint candy is the best present of all.’


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