Part 6 (1/2)
”But I haven't anything decent to wear to it, miss,” replied Nelly, looking dolefully down on the tattered frock, which her mother never took the trouble to mend, and which she, poor child, could not, except in the most bungling fas.h.i.+on.
Lucy walked home thoughtfully, and, as the fruit of her meditation, a print dress of her own was next morning produced, and a consultation was held with her aunt as to the practicability of altering it to fit Nelly. ”I only wonder I didn't think of it before,” she said, ”for she is always so miserably dressed. Will you help me to make it up, Stella?”
”My dear, I wouldn't know how! The most I ever sewed in my life was to hem a pocket-handkerchief.”
Mrs. Steele looked shocked at such deficiency in what she rightly considered a most important part of female education. She had always taken care that Lucy should spare enough time from her more congenial studies, to learn at least to sew neatly.
”Why, Stella!” Lucy exclaimed, ”you're almost as bad as poor Nelly, who said she had never learned to sew because 'n.o.body had teached her.'”
”I've never had time to learn. I like embroidery better; and mamma said we should never need to do plain sewing, so she didn't see the use of our taking up our time with it.”
”No one knows what she may have to do,” remarked Mrs. Steele gently.
”It is always best to know how, at any rate.”
”Well, I hope I shall never have to, for I should hate it!”
However, when Lucy was fairly at work on the little frock, Stella good-naturedly offered to help her a little, though, never having been trained to perseverance in anything, her a.s.sistance was not very efficient.
Bessie Ford had gone home from Sunday school with her head turned by hearing some foolish talk about her dress. Alas! how often it is that Sunday scholars, on leaving the school, instead of giving one thought to the divine truths they have been hearing, allow their attention to be absorbed with the petty frivolities in which their thoughts run wild!
”Mother,” said Bessie, after she had duly announced the intended picnic, ”can't I have a new pink sash for my white frock? Nancy Parker is going to have ever so many new things.”
”No, child,” said her mother, ”you don't need a new sash. Your frock looks quite well enough without one. But I've been thinking you'd be the better of a new hat, for the one you have looks a little brown.
And as you've been a pretty good girl, and a deal less forgetful of late, I wouldn't mind getting you a new hat, if you'll hurry and finish up that plain sewing you've had in hand so long. It's time it was done and put away.”
Bessie looked a little disappointed. The new hat was not so attractive as the sash would have been. Suddenly her mother's remark on the brownness of her hat suggested the image of Nelly's tattered, dingy one, which she had noticed that afternoon.
”What would you do with my old hat, mother,” she said, ”if I get a new one?”
”I don't know. You've your sun-bonnet for wearing about the farm. Put it by for Jenny, perhaps,” suggested the thrifty Mrs. Ford.
”Might I give it to Nelly Connor, mother? Hers will hardly stay together.”
Mrs. Ford had never seen Nelly, but she knew something of her forlorn situation. ”I'm sure,” she said, ”I shouldn't mind if you did. I dare say it would be charity to her, poor thing.” And it occurred to her to think whether she, a well-to-do farmer's wife, had been as abundant in deeds of charity as she might have been.
Bessie considered the matter settled, and next day set to work with renewed zeal on the ”plain sewing,” which had been getting on very languidly; for Bessie was not fond of long, straight seams, or of sitting still for any length of time. She set herself a task as she took her seat under the spreading b.u.t.ternut-tree; and Jenny and Jack came to beg for ”a story.” Bessie's story-telling powers had been largely developed of late, to make the Sunday lessons she had begun to give the restless little things more palatable to them. Only the promise of ”a story” could fix their attention long enough to commit to memory a simple verse. And her powers once found out, she soon had demands upon her for stories to a greater extent than her patience was always equal to satisfying.
Bessie had become, as her mother had noticed, much more thoughtful of late. Her card, hung up in her room, kept always before her mind her resolution to ”look to Jesus” for help to live to please Him. And though she still often forgot and yielded to temptation, yet, on the whole, she was steadily advancing in that course in which all must be either going forward or backward. Her mother noticed that this decided improvement dated from the day when she had brought home the card,--a day which had not been without influence on herself,--although, when worldly principles have been long suffered to hold undisputed sway, it is difficult at once to overcome old habits; and lost ground is not less hard to retrieve in spiritual than in earthly things.
Bessie was still diligently working at her ”task,” when she saw Nancy Parker running up across the fields.
”Oh, Bessie,” she said breathlessly, ”get ready and come right away.
My cousins have come to spend the day, and we're going boating up the river, and then home to supper. The rest are all waiting in the boat down there, and I ran up to get you. So be quick!”
Bessie hesitated. If she went with Nancy, a considerable portion of the work she had set herself to do would be left undone. Besides, her mother had gone to Ashleigh, leaving her in charge; and Bessie was not at all sure that, had she been at home, she would approve of her joining the party.
To be sure, she could not be absolutely certain of her mother's disapproval, and she could easily run down for Sam to come and stay with the children. At the worst, she did not think her mother would be much displeased; and the thought of the pleasant row, and the merry party, and all the ”fun” they would have, offered no small temptation.
”Quick, Bessie!” Nancy urged, impatient of her delay.
”I don't think I can go, Nancy. Mother's out, and I've a lot of sewing to do.”