image003Percy's Holidays.
Percy's Holidays.
Percy's Holidays.
"Well, I needn't have been so foolish," answered Percy, wiping her eyes. "Jenny said it was silly, and it was; and I am sorry. The girls say I am always borrowing trouble, and I am."
At that moment, Sylvester brought in a letter, which Margaret opened.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, as she glanced over it. "Mamma, Cousin Sarah is coming to-morrow, to stay a week!"
Mrs. Ackerman sighed gently. "Well, my dear, you know she must be somewhere; and if we only have her a week, we shouldn't complain."
"There is one comfort: she can't be afraid of sunstroke in winter," said Margaret, laughing.
"I dare say she will make it up by being afraid of fires," said Mrs. Ackerman. "However, we must be kind to the poor thing, and we won't let to-morrow spoil to-day, if we can help it. Come, Percy dear, gather up your pretty things and put them away. It is time we were getting ready for church."
Percy had dreaded Christmas, because she thought she should feel so sadly, but the day passed very pleasantly, after all. She went to church with her aunt and cousin, and after church they drove round to the Orphans' Home, and saw all the children at their dinner of turkeys and plum puddings. Percy passed a pleasant two hours in her cousin's dressing-room, by the light of the fire, telling Margaret about her father and mother, and learning from her anecdotes of her mother's school life.
"And you knew papa, too, when he was young," asked Percy.
"Oh, yes; I knew him very well," answered Margaret. She spoke quite cheerfully; but yet something, she did not quite know what, made Percy think that Cousin Margaret would rather not talk about her father, and she asked no more questions.
They had company at dinner and to spend the evening: two or three young ladies who were very plainly dressed, and who were brought and sent home again in Mrs. Ackerman's own carriage. Percy found out afterwards that they were teachers in the public school and the Sunday-school.
"Mamma is apt to make her holiday parties on Scripture principles," said Margaret to Percy, when they were alone together. "She does not invite her rich neighbors, but looks out for those who have no friends or home to go to."
The next morning Percy went to the station with Margaret to meet Cousin Sarah.
"There she is," said Margaret, as a thin, tall, anxious-looking woman came out of the car. "Take care! She will be run over."
Percy could hardly keep back a scream, as the tall lady, having hesitated at least two minutes while the track was clear, ran across directly in front of an advancing engine, and only just cleared herself.
"Well, I know I shall be run over by an engine sometime," said she, as Margaret uttered an exclamation of thankfulness. "I don't expect anything else. I don't know why I come to New York, for I never expect to get out alive. But this is not your carriage, Margaret. This is a public hack."
"I know it, Cousin Sarah," answered Margaret. "Our horses had to go to the blacksmith's this morning. Just get in, and give the coachman your check, and he will bring your trunk."
"But do you think it will be safe to give my checks to a hackman?" asked Cousin Sarah, in a loud whisper. "Don't you think he may run away with the things?"
"And leave us in possession of his carriage and horses? Hardly, I think," answered Margaret, smiling. "I don't think there is any danger, Sarah."
"Oh, but I assure you, I have heard of such things being done." Then, after she had seen the trunk safely placed on the carriage: "Oh, I was so frightened in the car. There was a man on the opposite seat, who looked exactly as if he was drunk; and he spoke to me."
"Indeed! What did he say?"
"He said, 'Would you like to see the morning paper, ma'am?'"
"There was no great harm in that. What made you think he was drunk?"
"Oh, his face was red; and he kept laughing while he was reading the paper."
"Perhaps there was something funny in it," Percy ventured to remark.
"I don't know about that, child. I wasn't going to have any words with him, so I just said, 'No, I thank you, sir,' and looked out of the window. Why, Margaret, there is the very man. Depend upon it, he is following us. What shall I do?"
"Why, Cousin Sarah, that is Mr. Walden, a most respectable merchant, and a neighbour of ours," said Margaret, laughing, as she returned the gentleman's bow.
"Dear me! Well, I am sure! But, Margaret, does this man know the way to your house? It seems to me this is not the way I have come before."
"No. Percy and I want to stop down town a moment to do an errand. You will not mind waiting five minutes, will you?"
When they came to the shop, Cousin Sarah was so long in deciding whether she would sit in the carriage, and risk being run away with, or go into the shop and leave the hackman to run away with the trunks, that there seemed some danger of the errands not being done. However, she finally decided to wait while Margaret and Percy went into the candy-shop and bought some matters with which to finish the decoration of the orphans' Christmas-tree, which was to be lighted up that evening.
"Now, Percy," said Margaret, when they arrived at home, "do you suppose you can run round to The Home with these things, and find your way back again?"
"Oh, yes!" replied Percy, cheerfully.
"You know you turn to your left, when you come out of the Asylum, and go to the next corner, and then straight down the street. If you are puzzled, ask a policeman."
"I think I can find the way," answered Percy; and she actually enjoyed the idea of going out in the street alone, and on her own feet. She did her errand at the Asylum and came home quite safely, to report that the tree was going to be beautiful; and that the two dolls she had dressed hung right at the top. When evening came, there arose a new difficulty. Mrs. and Miss Ackerman, being managers of The Home and knowing every child in it, naturally wished to be present at the Christmas festival. But Cousin Sarah would not go, because she was afraid to be out in the evening; and she could not stay at home alone, because she should never dare to be left with only the servants.
"But our coachman and horses are perfectly safe, Sarah," said Mrs. Ackerman.
"Everybody thinks their own horses safe," answered Cousin Sarah.
"And with reason, I suppose, since most horses are safe," remarked Margaret.
"I will stay at home with Cousin Sarah, Aunt Ackerman," said Percy, following her aunt to the hall, whither she went to speak to a servant. "Mrs. Stewart told me to tell you and Margaret to be sure and come early; especially Cousin Margaret, because they want her to help."
"My dear child; but I thought you wanted to see the tree and the children very much?"
"I did," answered Percy, with a little sigh; "but then I saw it this afternoon, you know; and the ladies seemed to want you so much. Only, please, I should like to know who gets my dolls. I hope that little round-faced infant will have one—the little girl I told you, was like my little sister."
"I will see that she does. My dear little girl, I am ever so much obliged to you. I am afraid you will have a dull evening."
"Oh, no. And please, aunt, may I have those big books of birds to look at?"
Percy was not destined to have much comfort with the big books of birds. Cousin Sarah was by no means pleased to be left alone in the house, as she said, though she had an able-bodied man and three women within call, whenever she chose to ring the bell.
"But I ought to know what to expect," she concluded, plaintively. "Poor relations are of no account here. They just measure everything by money, money. Such worldliness! My dear, didn't you hear something moving up-stairs?"
"I don't hear anything," answered Percy, listening.
"Well, perhaps not; but I am so afraid of burglars. I know perfectly well that some night I shall wake up and see a man in my room looking into my bureau. But, as I said, poor relations don't count. I dare say you have found that out."
"I don't know what you mean," said Percy, colouring. "I am sure Aunt Ackerman and Margaret are just as kind as they can be."
"Oh, well! I dare say they are kind to you, child. You have a social position, you see. And Cousin Julia Ackerman does mean to be kind, I dare say; but she is no hand to do shopping at all. I sent her sixty dollars to buy me a Paisley shawl; and when I came to look it over, there were three threads of cotton in it. Now, a shawl that is part cotton will fade in streaks, you know; and it seems hard to give so much money for a faded shawl."
"Has your shawl faded?" asked Percy.
"Why, no, not yet; but of course it will. Now, such a shawl ought to last one a lifetime; but I can't wear it after it is all faded out. My dear, I certainly do hear somebody up-stairs."
"I dare say it is only the cat; but I will go and see," said Percy, rising.
"But suppose it should be a robber?" whispered Cousin Sarah; "or suppose one of the servants should be looking over Margaret's bureau?"
"I don't suppose it is one or the other!" answered Percy, rather impatiently. "I suppose it is pussy. She lies on aunt's sofa half the time. There, don't you hear her mew to be let out? I must go, or she may do some mischief." Cousin Sarah would not be left alone, and Percy rang the bell for somebody to let out the cat. Then came another fear.
"My dear, I have left my trunk unlocked. You don't think any of the servants will meddle with my things, do you?"
"I should think not," replied Percy. "You know they have all lived here a long time, and aunt thinks they are quite honest. But I will go up and lock it, and bring you the key, if you like."
"But you will be afraid to go up there in the dark. No, I think perhaps you had better let it be. However, I assure you that the last time I was here I lost fifteen cents in the strangest way. I never could account for it."
"Perhaps you spent it, and then forgot about it," suggested Percy. "One does sometimes. I know I paid twenty-five cents yesterday for something, and I can't remember what it was."
Cousin Sarah here began to put Percy through a series of questions relating to her aunt Devine, her father and mother, her school, and other things which diverted her from her fears, till Mrs. Ackerman and Margaret came home. Then came another trouble. She was sure she never should dare to sleep alone, and in the third story, too. What if there should be a fire, and she should not wake till it was too late to save herself. What if a robber should come in? He would be sure to go up-stairs first of all. The matter was finally settled by Margaret's giving up her own room to her cousin, and sleeping with her mother.
"Dear me, what a fuss she does make," thought Percy, as, after she was in bed, she heard Cousin Sarah fretting about the gas and the fire, and the window fastenings, &c. "I wonder if I am as silly as that? I declare I'll never borrow any more trouble; not if I never have any," thought the little girl, sleepily.
The next day at breakfast, Cousin Sarah announced that she had a great deal of shopping to do; and she must have Margaret to go with her, as she never could trust herself in those dreadful New York shops alone. Margaret looked at her mother with a glance which said plainly, "What shall I do?"
"I believe Margaret will be wanted at the Asylum this morning, cousin," said Mrs. Ackerman. "Will not Percy and myself do as well?"
"But I wanted Margaret's judgment," answered Cousin Sarah. "I always expect to be cheated. I want to buy a poplin and an American silk; and as likely as not they will make me take one that is half cotton; and I don't think you are a judge of cotton in things, Cousin Julia: I really don't, because there was that shawl, you know. I never put it on or take it off without expecting to see it all faded in streaks."
"I think you will have to rely upon me, or else put off your shopping till to-morrow, cousin," replied Mrs. Ackerman, without a trace of ill-temper or annoyance; "because, really, Margaret cannot be spared. I don't think you need be afraid of being cheated at any of the respectable stores. I have bought dry goods at Stewart's ever since I was married, and I have never been imposed upon in a single instance. Percy, my dear, will you ring the bell?"
All that morning, Percy wondered at the patience of her aunt. She herself was very well entertained, looking at the pretty things in the shops, or sitting in the carriage with her book; but Aunt Ackerman must look at and pronounce upon every piece of goods half a dozen times over. Cousin Sarah at last made up her mind to buy a silk and a poplin, after having looked at, at least a hundred pieces of each; but no sooner were they cut off and paid for, than she regretted her choice, and wished all the way home that she had bought the black silk instead of the blue, because blue was apt to fade, and the green poplin instead of the black, because black poplin was no dress at all. After they had finished their shopping, they went to Bigot's to lunch; and here Cousin Sarah would not take any chocolate, because she had heard that chocolate was shockingly adulterated, nor any stewed oysters, because she had been told that they always used the stale oysters to make the stews; and having finally disposed of a large glass of calves-foot jelly, she remembered having read that such jelly was always made of gelatine, which was manufactured out of horses' hoofs and the parings of sheepskins. After lunch, Mrs. Ackerman asked Cousin Sarah, whether she would like to go home, or whether she had any more to do.
"I want to make a call in Brooklyn; and it is such a pleasant day, I think Percy will enjoy the ride and crossing the ferry: won't you, my dear?"
Now Percy had had a great dread of crossing ferries all her life; but with the example of Cousin Sarah before her eyes, she resolved at once not to be afraid, and answered promptly:
"Oh, yes, Aunt Ackerman! I shall like it very much."
"But won't it be very disagreeable getting out of the carriage down there?" asked Cousin Sarah, doubtfully. "And what shall we do when we come to the other side?"
"We shall not get out," answered Aunt Ackerman. "We shall drive on the boat at this side and off at the other. Of course you can get out, if you please; but I never do, because it is some trouble, and our horses are perfectly steady."
"Now, Julia," said Cousin Sarah, solemnly, "do you really think I am going to do such a thing as that? Suppose the boat should sink? How dreadful, to be drowned in a carriage and horses!"
Percy laughed in spite of herself.
"What would you do, if you had to cross on a raft, Cousin Sarah?" she asked. "Or in a little bark canoe, where you had to sit flat down in the bottom, and not move for fear of being upset?"
Cousin Sarah thought that under those circumstances she should immediately die.
"But dying would be as dangerous as crossing the ferry," argued Percy, gravely. Solomon, the coachman, giggled, and striving to turn the giggle into a polite cough, he choked himself; whereat Cousin Sarah remarked, in a terrified whisper, that she thought that he must be drunk or crazy, and would certainly upset the carriage or make the horses run away. She finally decided to be left at home, because she wanted to see her bundles when they came, for she couldn't help thinking, after all, that her merino must be part cotton.
"Aunt Ackerman," said Percy, very soberly, after they had gone on some little way in silence, "I never will borrow any trouble again as long as I live."
"That is a very good resolution, my dear," answered Aunt Ackerman. "Borrowing trouble is very foolish, and it is also wrong."
"I know it is foolish," said Percy, blushing; "though I never knew how silly it made people till—till lately. It makes one very unhappy for nothing. I felt so badly because Aunt Zoe sent me to school; and after all, I liked it ever so much; and, oh, aunt! You don't know how silly I was about coming down here. Jenny said I was a goose, and I was!"
"And yet you have had rather a nice time, haven't you?"
"Yes, indeed!" answered Percy. "I am so glad I came. It seems as if I had been unfeeling and heartless sometimes, to enjoy myself so much without dear papa and mamma."
"My love, papa and mamma would wish you to enjoy yourself," answered Aunt Ackerman, gently. "They do not want their little girl to be unhappy all her life, because her heavenly Father has taken away her earthly parents for a little while."
"But, aunt, why is it wrong to borrow trouble?" asked Percy, after a little silence. "I know it is foolish, but why is it wrong?"
"It is wrong to be foolish, if one can help it: isn't it, dear?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I never thought of that, though."
"Then the habit of borrowing trouble is wrong because it interferes very much with the comfort and convenience of other people," continued Mrs. Ackerman. "Nothing is more disagreeable than to be in the company of a person who is always foreboding evil."
"And it makes people fretful, don't it, aunt?" asked Percy. "Blandina says sometimes, 'Don't fret, Percy!' when I am in a worry for fear of being late or losing my place."
"Yes, it is very apt to make people fretful and impatient; and, besides that, my dear, the habit of borrowing trouble shows a want of faith in our heavenly Father, and is a disobeying of an express command: 'Take therefore no thought for to-morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' You know who said that, Percy."
"Our Lord," answered Percy, reverently.
"We know that our heavenly Father is perfectly wise and good and all-powerful," continued Aunt Ackerman. "And we know that he loves us, and has promised to give us all things that we need, if we seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness. We know of course that he does, and permits many things which seem to us very mysterious; but we must be content to leave all such things to him."
"We don't always know how things will turn out when we do our very best," observed Percy.
"No, we never know exactly; and all we can do is to 'do our very best,' as you say, and leave the result with him. Our Lord says we are not to be anxious even about such necessary things as food and clothes, you know. You see how unhappy poor Cousin Sarah makes herself: and her mother is just so. They are always sure that something dreadful is going to happen. They have a nice house; but they take no comfort in it, because they are afraid it will burn down, or that somebody will break into it. The last time I was there; Mrs. McArthur and Sarah went all around the house with a candle, to see that there were no robbers concealed in any of the rooms or closets. Then they went around again without a light, to be sure that they had not dropped any sparks; and, finally, Mrs. McArthur made another round, to be sure that all the doors were fastened. They have a beautiful garden; but they are always certain that the buds will be killed, or the fruit stolen, or that the grapes won't ripen. They are afraid of keeping a man-servant, for fear of being robbed, or of doing without one, because they feel so unprotected. I don't tell you these things to make you laugh at your cousins, my dear,—though I allow that one cannot always help doing so; but I want you to see what such a disposition is likely to grow to, unless it is taken in time."
Percy had plenty of chances to see this during the week that she spent with Cousin Sarah, and the lesson did her a great deal of good. All the girls noticed the change in her when she came back to school. She did not reform her fault all at once, of course, but her eyes were opened to see that it was a fault; and that, as Blandina said, was half the battle.
THE END.