XII
LILY'S NEW RESOLVE
There was a good deal of bustle and excitement, as you may imagine, on Tuesday morning, when Miss Ashton's little scholars came, each with her respective parcel.
Poor Lily of course was not there; it would be many a day yet before she was able to come to school, but all the others were in their places, and very anxious for the lessons to be over. Nor were Maggie and Bessie there during school-hours; but they were to come afterwards, and bring the little garments they had made.
"Let's see who finished her work first," said Gracie. "Dora, when did you finish yours?"
"Saturday morning," answered Dora.
"Pooh!" said Gracie, "how long you were. Nellie, when was yours done?"
"Last night," answered Nellie; "and I was very glad I had not taken a petticoat, for I could not have finished it."
Gracie only looked her contempt, but she did that so plainly that it might have placed her in the ranks of the anti-politers quite as readily as rude and scornful words could have done. Nellie felt it, colored, and looked hurt.
"Belle, when did you finish yours?"
"I perfer not to tell you," answered Belle, with magnificence.
"Why?" asked Gracie.
"If your guilty conscience don't tell you, it's no use for me to speak about it," replied Belle, with well-deserved severity, supposed to be kept within the bounds of courteousness.
Gracie gave her head a little toss, as much as to say that Belle's opinion was quite beneath her notice; but that her "guilty conscience" did accuse her was to be seen from the fact that she questioned no more of her classmates, but said conceitedly, —
"I finished my petticoat the very Saturday after I took it;" and then looked about her for the applause which no one had the mind to offer.
It was strange that the frequency of the disappointments of this nature which she received did not teach Gracie that those who sought the most eagerly for food for their own vanity were not the most apt to receive it; but her insatiable self-conceit needed some severe teaching before it would lose its hold of her, and such slight blows as these were without much effect on the still increasing evil.
"I am sure I could easily have made two if I had chosen," continued Gracie. "It is nothing so very great to make a petticoat in a week."
"I don't know," said Nellie, who seldom bore malice, "I think it is pretty well for little girls to make one in two weeks. I am slow, I know, but as Lily said, – poor dear Lily, – I am a steady tortoise after all, and have done my task in time."
"Is Lily's petticoat finished?" asked Mabel. "Does any one know?"
No, no one knew; but more than one thought it quite likely that Lily would be behindhand. They knew her ways well. But, before they had time for much more conversation on the subject, Miss Ashton came in, and the business of the day began.
Twelve o'clock came, bringing with it Maggie and Bessie, who also brought each the little garment she had completed; and, school being at an end, the children gathered about Miss Ashton to have her verdict on their work.
Belle's bag was the first to be examined, and Miss Ashton pronounced it very well done for a little girl who was but just learning to sew. There were some long and crooked stitches, it is true; but they were tight and close, and showed that she had taken great pains. So did Bessie's; and Mabel's also was considered a success. Carrie Ransom's did not show quite as much care, but it would pass. So much for the bags made by the four lesser children; and now Miss Ashton turned to the petticoats.
"I have here a note from Lily," she said, "which I shall read first. She sent it to me this morning, with her work, and a request that I would tell you what it contained."
"Oh," said Gracie, "I suppose she has not finished her petticoat. She never does things when she ought to, and she is always behindhand. I finished my petticoat on the first Saturday, Miss Ashton."
Now, would you not have thought that Gracie disliked Lily, and was glad to have the chance of showing up her faults? But it was not really so; for if you had asked Gracie, she would have told you that she was fond of Lily, and thought her on the whole a very good little girl. But Gracie's habit of comparing herself with others to their disadvantage gave her, not only the appearance of great conceit, but also of constant fault-finding with her companions.
Miss Ashton took no notice of her speech, but opened the envelope, and took out the note, which Mrs. Norris had written at Lily's dictation.
"Miss Ashton," repeated Gracie, "I finished my petticoat Saturday before last, every stitch of it."
"Very well," said Miss Ashton, coolly, and without farther attention, read aloud: —
"Dear Miss Ashton, – I think I ought to tell you that I did not do all my petticoat myself, and it was not all because of my hurting myself, but because I did not do it in good time, but put off until I had left a good task for the last day, when my eye was so hurt I could not sew. But dear Maggie had her's all done, and so she had time for a kindness, and she finished mine; but I thought I ought to do myself the mortification of telling you about it, for fear you and the other children should give me praise I did not deserve.
"And now I am very sorry I was so sure of myself to be so certain I would not fall into my bad habit again, which I find is not cured, as I said it was; but I have to try very hard yet. And I know the other children will think I thought myself very great, and I am ashamed of it, and of my procrastination too, dear Miss Ashton, which you told me would give me great trouble, and mamma too, and I see it. So please excuse me, and my eye and my head are better, thank you; but the doctor says I cannot use my eye for a good many days, and my head aches some yet.
"Please give my love to all the children, and tell them to come and see me.
"From your affectionate little scholar,
"Lily Norris."
If Lily's schoolmates did imagine that she thought herself "great," not one of them said so; and the reading of her letter was followed by many expressions of affection and sympathy, mingled with admiration for her straightforward honesty, which would not let her receive credit which was not her due.
However, when Miss Ashton unfolded the petticoat sent by Lily, and examined the sewing, it was found that, wanting though she might have been in punctuality and industry, Lily certainly deserved praise for the manner in which her work was done. It was extremely neat and even for such a little girl; and both her own share, and that completed by Maggie Bradford received much approbation from Miss Ashton.
Maggie's petticoat merited a like meed of compliment, and Nellie Ransom's apron, which came next, was pronounced remarkably well done.
"Why, Nellie, my dear," said Miss Ashton, looking with surprise at the neatly laid gathers, even hems, and regular stitches, "is it possible that you did this all yourself?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered steady, painstaking Nellie, who, although she was perhaps less quick than any of her schoolmates, was seldom or never behind the rest, for the reason that she was so industrious and earnest, – "yes, ma'am. An apron was not very much for me to do, but I wanted to be sure and have it nicely done."
"And, indeed, you have," said Miss Ashton, still examining the apron with pleasure. "I must give you the credit, Nellie, of saying that I never saw a piece of work better done by any child of your age. I do not know that I I would have done it as well myself."
"Mamma takes great pains to teach me to sew nicely," said Nellie, dimpling and flushing with pleasure at her teacher's praise.
"And you must have taken great pains to learn, my dear," said Miss Ashton, laying her hand on that of the modest little girl.
Two or three others received their share of praise, some more, some less, according to their merits, though all were fairly done; and then Miss Ashton came to Gracie's petticoat.
That it gave her far less satisfaction than the rest of the little garments had done, was plainly to be seen by her countenance, as she examined it.
"Why, Gracie, my dear," she said, "is it possible that you can sew no better than this? No, it is not; for I have seen your work before, and know that you can do better if you choose. Why, Gracie, the stitches are not half as neat as those of the very little girls, and this band will not hold at all. It is impossible for me to give in such work as this. See here;" and as she drew the stitches slightly apart, with not half the strain that would come upon them in the wearing, they parted and ripped, showing with what extreme carelessness the work had been done.
I do not think Miss Ashton would have said as much to any other one of her little scholars; but she thought that this mortification and blow to her self-conceit would do Gracie no harm.
"My dear," she continued, "you have not taken time enough to do your work properly. Another time, better less haste and more care, Gracie. I shall have to take out almost the whole of this, and do it over myself, for I should be ashamed that our little orphans should have the example of such work. Your mother was away, I know, so that you could not go to her for help; but could you not ask some other person to show you how it should be done?"
"I should think I might know how to make a petticoat," said Gracie, rather saucily.
"It seems you do not," replied Miss Ashton, gravely. "As I must do this over, you cannot expect that it should be given in as your work, Gracie."
Gracie tossed her head, and looked very angry, muttering, she "did not care," then burst into tears, saying it was "too bad," and "real mean," and she knew "it was just as good as the rest, only Miss Ashton never would think she did any thing fit to be seen," and altogether allowed her temper and wounded vanity so far to get the better of her that Miss Ashton bade her leave the room.
I am glad to say, however, that a few moments' solitude and reflection in the cloak-room brought her to her right senses; and before she went home, she returned to her teacher, and begged her pardon for the temper and disrespect she had shown.
"But my work was finished long before any of the other children's, Miss Ashton," she said once more, after the lady had assured her she was forgiven, giving her at the same time a gentle, and, alas! too oft-repeated warning against the hold her besetting sin was gaining on her temper and character.
Miss Ashton shook her head.
"But it is all thrown away, and worse than thrown away, Gracie," she said, "for it will need more time for me to take it to pieces and do it over again than it would have taken to make it myself at once. I can give you no credit, my child, for striving to outstrip your schoolmates, merely that you might have the pleasure of saying that you had done so. You are severe with Lily for her want of punctuality and promptness; but too great haste, especially when it springs from a bad motive, is perhaps as bad. And, Gracie, Lily sees and acknowledges her fault, while you will not."
Gracie hung her head, but she was none the more convinced; and, in spite of her confession, went home, thinking herself hardly used, and Miss Ashton very unjust.
With the exception of Gracie, there was not one of the little work-women whose sewing was not at least passable, and her garment tolerably well made; and they were dismissed, well satisfied with the praise they received, and the knowledge that their own self-denial and effort had helped those who were in need.
Mrs. Norris had begged that Maggie and Bessie would come and see Lily that afternoon, as she was now well enough to receive them, and tell her all that had taken place in the morning; and accordingly they presented themselves in Lily's room, bringing with them their dolls.
"My dollies haven't had their dresses changed since Saturday, before I was hurt," said Lily, at the sight of the last-mentioned young ladies. "Will you dress them for me while you tell me about this morning?"
Dolls and dolls' clothes were brought forth, Lily possessing a multitude of both; and the two little sisters fell to dressing the neglected children of an invalid mamma.
"It wasn't putting off this time," said Lily, apologetically, "for I really did seem to be so tired every time I tried to do any thing, even play, that mamma told me I had better lie still."
"Yes, we know," said Bessie, "and even if it was procrastination, dolls don't really suffer, so I s'pose it's not much harm to put off doing things for them. It don't hurt," she added thoughtfully, as she drew a comb about three inches long through the flowing locks of the waxen Georgianna upon her lap, – "it don't hurt to put off play and pleasure, I believe, but only duties, and things that will do good to others."
"Yes," said Lily, rather ruefully, as if she wished that pleasures and duties might alike fall under the same head, "so I find most people think. The trouble of it, and what makes it so hard is, that when a duty and a pleasure both come at once, it 'most always seems right to take the duty first; and I like pleasure so much better than duty that I expect that's the reason I procrastinate so often."
"I believe that's the case with most people," said Maggie, putting on her wisdom cap to suit the solemnity of the conversation. "I find the human race generally like pleasure better than duty, 'specially if the duty is very disagreeable, and the pleasure is very nice."
"That's the way with me, anyhow," said Lily, with a sigh, as she lay back upon her sofa pillows once more. "And sometimes, even when the duty is not very disagreeable, I feel like putting it off, just because I know I ought to do it, I believe. That petticoat was not so very horrid to do, and yet I let every thing put me away from doing it, till at last you know the consequence."
"Miss Ashton praised your petticoat very much, anyhow," said Maggie. "She said you had done the most of it, and it was all well done."
"She praised Maggie's part too," said Bessie, unwilling that her sister should not receive her full share of credit, "and she said the button-hole was even better than that on Maggie's own petticoat."
"Practice makes perfect, you know," said Maggie. "Miss Ashton said not one piece of work was better made than that petticoat, except Nellie's apron, and that was the best of all. Miss Ashton seemed quite surprised at it, it was so very nice. And I don't mean to tell tales about Gracie, but you would hear about it, I suppose, when you go back to school, so we may as well tell you, 'cause you want to know about every thing."
And between them, first one taking up the tale, and then the other, Lily had soon heard a full and particular account of all the occurrences of the morning.
"And did not any one say hateful things about me when Miss Ashton read my letter, and they knew I had not done what I was so sure I would do?" asked Lily.
"No indeed," said Bessie. "We wouldn't have listened to them if they had wanted to; but then no one would say an unkind thing about you when you were so honest and true, Lily. They were only sorry for you, and didn't seem to think you were naughty one bit."
"But I was," said Lily, "and I'm never going to boast myself again, for I do feel too ashamed when I think how sure I was that I would do so much. I don't believe I ever will cure myself of procrastination, do you?"
"Why, yes," answered Bessie, "if you try enough."
"I'm sure I did try," said Lily, "but it was no use. If I did not forget so easily, I think I would not have so much trouble from procrastination; but, you see, sometimes I leave a thing just for one moment, at least I mean to come back in a moment, and then I never think any thing more about it. That was the way the puppy found my petticoat lying on the floor, and dragged it about till it had to be washed before I could sew on it, and then it was too late."
"I used to be just as careless as that," said Maggie; "and though mamma says I have improved a great deal, and am pretty neat and careful now, yet I find it hard work still, and I have to make a rule for myself not to leave a thing one moment after I know I ought to do it, or else I am almost sure to forget. I don't always keep that rule yet," she added, rather remorsefully, "but it helps me, and makes me better than I used to be."
"Is that what cured you of carelessness? for I don't think you are much careless now," said Lily.
"Yes," said Maggie, slowly, "that – and – and" – here she fell into a sudden fit of bashfulness at her own confession, and Bessie had to help her out of it.
"Partly that, and partly because she asked Jesus to help her," said the little sister. "And He did, 'cause He always does if we really and truly ask Him. Did you ever ask Him to help you, Lily?"
"What, about putting off?" said Lily. "Why, no, I never thought much about it – and – besides – it seems such a queer thing to pray about, and to ask Jesus to help you in. It is not a sin, you know. It does make me sin sometimes," she added, thoughtfully, as she recalled various naughtinesses into which her sad habit had led her. "Oh, if you knew something it had made me do, you would think I was too horrid!" She was thinking of the way in which she had spoken to her mother but a few days since.
"Well, then," said Bessie, tenderly, "isn't that a reason for asking Him? I don't b'lieve Jesus thinks any thing is no matter if it makes us do something that is wrong, and I don't b'lieve He thinks even a bad habit is a little thing, and I'm sure He'll help you if you only ask Him."
"Sometimes when I was praying, I have thought maybe I had better ask Jesus not to let me put off," said Lily, "but I did not think much about it, and it hardly seemed worth while, and I generally thought I could do it some other time."
Lily said these last words in rather a shamefaced manner, as if she were mortified to recollect and confess that she had allowed her failing to come even between her and the Great Helper.
"But you will ask Him now, won't you?" asked Bessie anxiously.
"Yes, I will," said Lily earnestly, and as if she really meant it; and I am glad to say that she kept her resolution, and "put off" no longer asking the help which could not, and would not fail her. And receiving what she sought, as all shall do who seek it in truth, and in the right spirit, and continuing also to strive with the temptation of the moment which bids her postpone the duty before her, our Lily is gaining the victory over the enemy which brought her into so much trouble, and had more than once led her so far astray.