Part 9 (1/2)
Eunice had finished her fringe and brought out some patchwork in the afternoon--a curious pattern, called basket-work. The basket was made of green chintz, with a small yellow figure here and there. It had a handle from side to side, neatly hemmed on a white half square. The upper edge of the basket was cut in points and between each one was a bit of color to represent or suggest a possible bud of some kind. One had pink, different shades of red, and a bright yellow. She had seven blocks finished and they were in the bottom of the box. Eunice took them out for the little girl, who spread them on the floor.
No one was thinking at that day of the mills that would dot New England, where cotton cloths, calicoes, and cambrics would be turned out by the bale. These things had to be imported and were costly. One could dye plain colors that were used for frocks and gowns, and some of the hand looms wove ginghams that were dyed in the thread beforehand.
”It will take forty-two blocks,” said Miss Eunice. ”Six one way, seven the other.”
”Then what are you going to do with it?” asked the child eagerly.
”Why, quilt it. Put some cotton between this and the lining, and sew them together with fine st.i.tches.”
”And then----”
”Why”--Eunice wondered herself. There were chests of them piled away in the garret--Chilian's mother's, and those they had made to fill in the moments when housework was finished. She had a quiet sense of humor, and she smiled. What were they laying up these treasures for? Neither of them would be married, most of their relatives were well provided for.
”Well, some one may like to have them;” after a pause. ”You must learn to sew.”
”Patchwork?”
It was absurd to pile up any more.
”You see,” said the child, ”no one needed them over there;” inclining her head to the East. ”You have a little bed and a pallet, and it is warm, so you do not need quilts. And the poor people and the servants have a mat they spread down anywhere and a blanket, but you see, they sleep with their clothes on.”
Eunice looked rather horrified.
”But they change them! They would--why, there would be soil and vermin.”
”They go to the river and bathe and wash them out. They sling them on the stones in a queer way. But some of them are very dirty and ragged.
They are not like the English and us, and don't wear many clothes.
Sometimes they are wrapped up in a white sheet.”
”It is a very queer country. They are not civilized, or Christianized. I don't know what will become of them in the end.”
”It's their country and no one knows how old it is. China is the oldest country in the world.”
”But, my dear, there was the garden of Eden when G.o.d first created the world. Nothing could be older than that, you know. Two thousand years to the flood, and two thousand years to the coming of Christ, and some people think the world will end in another two thousand years.”
”I don't see any sense in burning it up, when there are so many lovely things in it;” and Cynthia's eyes took on a deep, inquiring expression.
”That was what the chaplain used to say. Father thought it would go on and on, getting wiser and greater, and the people learning to be better and making wonderful things.”
”My dear, what the Bible says _must_ be true. And it will be burned up.
You have a Bible?”
”The chaplain gave me a pretty prayer-book. It is upstairs.”
”We do not believe in prayer-books, dear.” The tone was soft, yet decided. ”We came over here, at least our forefathers did, that we might wors.h.i.+p G.o.d according to the dictates of our conscience. We tried to leave the prayer-books and the bishops behind, but we couldn't quite.
You must have a Bible and read a chapter every day. Why, I had read it through once before I was as old as you.”
Cynthia simply stared. Then, after a pause, she said:
”Did you sew patchwork, too?”