Part 9 (1/2)

”Do they know any thing about sewing?” asked Mrs. Forcythe.

”Not a thing. They made dreadful st.i.tches. Kathleen cried because the needle p.r.i.c.ked her, and Rachel wanted to wear the thimble on the wrong finger. Amy did the best. When they went away they all wanted to kiss me, and Norah said she guessed I was the best teacher in the school.

Wasn't that cunning? Mrs. Wallis is real kind. She brought ever so much gingerbread, and gave each of the children a piece.”

”I'm glad it begins so well--”

”Yes. There's just one thing, though. The children's faces! You can't think how dirty they are. I should like to give them a good scrub all round.”

”Well, why don't you?”

”How can I? There isn't any wash-bowl down at the school-room.”

”If you liked you might have them all come here at ten o'clock, and walk down with you. Then you could take them up to your room, wash their faces and hands, and brush their hair smooth before you start. I really think you would enjoy your teaching more if the scholars were clean.”

”May I really do that?”

”Yes. I'll buy you a fresh cake of soap and a brush, and you can take two clean towels from the drawer every Sat.u.r.day morning. Make it a rule, but be very gentle and pleasant about it or the children may refuse.”

”O mother, what a good plan! Thank you so much,” said Mary with sparkling eyes. ”Now I shall have real comfort with them.”

There was great excitement in the sewing-cla.s.s when they were told that in future they were to go to ”Teacher's” house every Sat.u.r.day, and walk down to school with her. They were a droll little procession enough when they appeared the next week at the appointed time. Norah's toes were out of her shoes. Her tangled curls were as rough as a bird's-nest, and the hat on top of them looked as if it had sailed across every mud-puddle in town. Little Kathleen's scanty garments were rather rags than clothes.

And Gretchen, tidiest of all, had smears of sausage on her rosy face, and did not seem to have been brought into contact with soap and water for weeks.

Mary led them up into her own room, which, plain as it was, looked like a palace to the little ones after the dirt and discomfort of their crowded homes. There were the nice clean towels, the new hair-brush, and the big cake of honey-soap, mother's contributions to the undertaking.

The was.h.i.+ng was quite a frolic. Norah cried a little at having her hair pulled, but Mary was gentle and pleasant, and made the affair so amusing that the children thought it pleasant to be clean, instead of disliking it. She rewarded their patience by a kiss all round. Kathleen threw her arms about Mary's neck and gave her a great hug. ”You're iver so nice,”

she said, and Mary kissed her again.

So every Sat.u.r.day from that time forward, Mary went to school followed by a crowd of clean little faces, which looked all the brighter and happier for their cleanliness. She was proud of her cla.s.s, but their ragged clothes distressed her greatly.

”It is such a pity,” she told her mother. ”They are so pretty, and they look like beggars.”

Mrs. Forcythe had only been waiting for this. She was not a woman to give much advice, even to her own child. ”Drop in a seed and let it grow,” was her motto.

”There's that old gingham of yours,” she suggested. ”You could spare that for one of them, if there were anybody to make it over.”

”_I'll_ make it!” cried Mary, ”only--” her, face falling, ”I don't know how to cut dresses.”

”I'll cut it for you if you like,” said Mrs. Forcythe quietly.

”Will you, mother dear? How splendid. I'll make it for Norah. She's the raggedest of all.”

The gingham was measured, and proved enough to make frocks for Norah and Kathleen too. Mary had double work to undertake, but her heart was in her fingers, and they flew fast. It took every spare moment for a fortnight to make the frocks, but when they were done and tried on to the delighted children, they looked so nicely that Mary was rewarded for her trouble and for the many needle-p.r.i.c.ks in her forefinger.

”Only it's such a pity about the others,” she told her mother. ”They'll think I'm partial, and I'm not, though I _do_ love Norah a little bit the best, she's so affectionate. I wish we were rich. Then I could buy frocks for them all.”

”If you were rich, perhaps you wouldn't care about it,” said her mother.

”A little here and a little there, a st.i.tch, a kind word, a small self-denial, these are in the power of all of us, and in course of time they mount up and make a great deal. And, Mary dear, I've always found if you once start in a path and are determined to keep on, somebody's sure to come along and lend a helping hand, when you think you have got to the end of every thing, and must stop or turn back.”

”Well, I've got to the end of every thing now,” said Mary. ”There aren't any more old frocks to make over, and we can't afford to buy new ones.”