Читать книгу Bessie in the City - Mathews Joanna Hooe - Страница 2

MAGGIE thought of her "plan" again as soon as she reached home, and she and Bessie scampered away to their mamma's room to see if she were ready to attend to them. She was dressing for dinner, and so they knew they might go in and talk to her, for she said this was "Maggie's and Bessie's hour," and as she dressed, used to tell them stories, or teach them some pretty verses, or listen to them if they had anything to tell her.

"Mamma," said Maggie, "have you thought of any way that I can earn money?"

"You must tell me what it is wanted for, Maggie."

"We want to buy a library, mamma."

"What library, dear?"

"A mission library, mamma. You know my Sunday-school teacher, Miss Winslow, is going to marry a missionary; but he is not a heathen missionary."

"I hope not," said Mrs. Bradford, smiling. "You mean, I suppose, that he is not going to India to teach the heathen, but is what is called a home missionary."

"Yes, ma'am, that is it. Mrs. Rush says that he is going far out West, where the people have very few churches or Sunday-schools and scarcely any books, and they are very ignorant, and don't know much about God or how Jesus came to die for them, and I am afraid Miss Winslow wont be very comfortable out there, mamma, 'cause they don't have nice houses like ours, but just rough ones made of logs, which they call log cabins. You know Miss Winslow is a lady, and I am afraid she wont like to live in a place like that."

"Miss Winslow has thought of all that, my darling; but she is willing to put up with these hardships for the sake of carrying the glad message of salvation to those poor people."

"Yes, mamma, and Mrs. Rush says that most of them are very glad to hear it, and so glad to have the books the missionaries bring, and Mr. Long, the gentleman Miss Winslow is to marry, is going to try and have some Sunday-schools for the children who live in log cabins; and the other day, when Mrs. Rush was talking to us about having the little class in her room on Sunday, she asked us if we would not like to buy a Sunday-school library to send to those poor little children, when Miss Winslow and her missionary go out there. You can buy a nice little library for ten dollars, mamma; just think, ten dollars!"

"Yes, I know, Maggie; but ten dollars is a great deal of money for two such little girls as you and Bessie to raise in less than four months. Miss Winslow is to leave soon after the first of January, and this is now the tenth of September."

"But Bessie and I are not to do it by ourselves, mamma. Gracie Howard and Lily Norris are to help; it is to come from the class, and Mrs. Rush says if we cannot do it alone, she will help us; but she thinks the little log-cabin children will like it better if they hear it was all sent by other little children here, and we would like it better ourselves."

"And Gracie and Lily are going to try and earn money too?" asked Mrs. Bradford.

"They have their share, mamma. Gracie's grandmamma, who lives in England, always sends her some money on her birthday, – a – a – I forget what she calls it, but she says it is as much as five dollars."

"A pound?" said Mrs. Bradford.

"Yes'm, that is it. Gracie says she will give half of the money her grandmamma sent the other day, and Lily has a hundred dollars in her father's bank, and he pays her money 'cause she has it there."

"That is called paying interest," said Mrs. Bradford.

"And she has some of that saved up," said Maggie, "and she will have more before Christmas; so her share will be ready too; but Bessie and I have no money except our six cents a week, and that, you know, we promised to spend another way. And we don't want to be helped, mamma, but to try and earn the money by ourselves, if we only knew how. Do you not think it is a very nice plan, and that the log-cabin children will be very glad when they see the books?"

"I think it a very good plan, dear, and I will try to help you. You know, Maggie, we were saying this morning that you were still not quite as careful as you might be. Now I do not much like to pay you for trying to break yourself of a bad habit, but as this is for a good purpose, I will tell you what I will do. Every month between now and January, I will put by a dollar for your gloves and boot-laces. This is much more than enough to keep you well supplied, if you take proper care of them, but if you keep on losing your gloves, breaking your boot-laces, and so forth, as you do now, you will have none left for any other purpose. And remember, I cannot let you do without such little things as you may need, for the sake of the library. I cannot have you going without gloves, or with such as are torn or out at the fingers, or with broken or knotted shoe-strings. I must still keep you neat, and shall buy for you whatever I may think necessary. But if you care enough, as I hope you do, for the little Western children to be thoughtful and saving, you may still keep as much of this money as will go a good way toward your share of the ten dollars."

"And am I to have money put by for me, too, mamma?" asked Bessie.

"Yes, dear, if you wish it, I will do the same for you."

Maggie did not look as pleased as her mother had thought she would.

"What is it, Maggie?" she asked. "Does not this please you? Are you not willing to try both to help those little children, and to cure your own fault at the same time?"

"Oh, yes'm, I am willing, and I think you are very kind. But Bessie will keep a great deal more money than I shall. You know you said the other day that I had three pairs of gloves where Bessie had one."

"Never mind, Maggie," said Bessie, "I think I'll lose a few gloves."

"No, no," said Mrs. Bradford, laughing and shaking her head, – "no, no, that will not do. I cannot have one little sister trying to destroy or lose her things in order that she may be no better off than the other. And I am quite sure my Maggie would not be envious if Bessie saved more than she did."

"But I may say I will not give more money than Maggie does for the library; may I not, mamma? You know it is more hers than mine, 'cause she was Miss Winslow's scholar."

"You may do just as you please about that, dear. Each one may give as much or as little as she likes, if it is fairly earned or saved. And I can put Maggie in the way of earning money by work if she wishes for it."

"How, mamma?" asked Maggie, eagerly.

"I have several dozens of towels to be hemmed, and I intended that Jane should do them all; but I will keep out one dozen for you, and will pay you five cents apiece. And they must be done, not at your regular sewing lesson, but at other times."

Now if there was one thing more than another which Maggie disliked, it was sewing. She always called the half-hour during which her mother taught her to sew "the worst time of the day." It was strange, too, for she had quick and skilful fingers, and sewed remarkably well for a little girl of seven, and people generally like to do that which they do well. But it was not so with Maggie, and her face grew very sober when her mother said she might hem her towels.

"But, mamma," she said.

"Well, dear?"

"Mamma, you know I cannot bear to sew. I do so hate it! And a dozen towels, – that means twelve, don't it? – why, I should never, never have them done."

"It shall be just as you choose, dear. I do not say you must do them, only that you may. But, Maggie, we can seldom do much good to others without taking some trouble or using some self-denial ourselves."

"I do not know what self-denial is, mamma."

"Self-denial is to give up something we would like to have, or perhaps to do something that is disagreeable or troublesome to ourselves, for the sake of another. This morning I gave you two plums, – one for yourself, one for Bessie. One was much larger than the other, and I saw that you gave it to Bessie, keeping the smaller one for yourself. That was self-denial."

"But, mamma," said Maggie, "that was not anything much. I could not do such a greedy thing as to give my own Bessie the little plum and eat the big one myself. I would be too ashamed."

"I am glad to say that neither of my little girls is greedy or selfish," said mamma. "Do you remember the day at Quam Beach when your head was hurt, and Tom Norris came up to read a new book to you?"

"Oh, yes'm, it was so kind of him; and he read 'most all the afternoon."

"When he was on his way to our house, Mr. Howard met him and asked him to go with him to see the wreck, but although Tom had been wishing very much to go, he refused because he thought you would like him to come and read to you. That was self-denial. Mr. Long and Miss Winslow do not like to leave all their friends and their comfortable homes to go out West, but they are willing to do it, that they may teach those poor people who have no one to tell them of Jesus. That is self-denial. And if my Maggie were to take her time to hem towels for the sake of the little Western children who have no books, that would be self-denial. And there was one great self-denial, greater than any other the world can ever see. Do you know what that was, my darling?"

"When Abraham killed – I mean when he was going to kill Isaac," said Maggie.

"Well, there was some self-denial in that," said Mrs. Bradford, "but that was not what I meant. It was Abraham's great faith in God which made him willing to obey his word and sacrifice his only son; but there was a greater than he, Maggie, who offered a more wonderful sacrifice."

"Mamma," said Bessie, "do you mean when Jesus left his heaven and came to die for us?"

"Yes, dear; and when we find it hard to give up our own wishes for the sake of others, let us remember all the dear Saviour has done for us, and that will make the task easier and pleasanter. And the Bible says, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me.' That means that when we are working for Jesus' people, or for his little lambs, we are working for him."

"And two little lambs can help some other little lambs," said Bessie, as if this thought pleased her very much.

"Mamma," said Maggie, drawing a long sigh, "I think I'll have a self-denial and hem those towels. How much money will twelve towels make?"

"Twelve towels at five cents apiece will make sixty cents," said Mrs. Bradford; "and perhaps by and by you will find some other way to gain money."

"May I earn money any way I can, mamma?" asked Maggie.

"I cannot promise that," said mamma, smiling. "You might wish to earn money in some way I might not think proper, even for a good purpose."

"And what can I do, mamma?" asked Bessie. "I want to work too, and I don't know how to sew."

"What shall we find for those little hands to do, Maggie?" said mamma, catching the two tiny hands Bessie held up and patting them softly against her own cheeks.

"Work for those little hands to do?" said papa, who just then came in and heard the last words. "I should think they were at their proper work now, – petting mamma. Papa would not mind coming in for a share too."

"And so he shall," said Bessie; "but petting you and mamma is nice play, not work; and these little hands want to be useful, papa."

"I think they do pretty well for five-year-old hands," said Mr. Bradford, as he sat down and took Bessie on his knee. "They bring papa's slippers and rock baby's cradle, and sometimes I see them trying to help mamma when she is busy. I think we may call them rather useful for hands of their size."

"But they want to make money, papa."

"Ho, ho! that is it; is it? Well, I do not know that they can do much at that business, or that they could hold any great sum if they made it. Let us see what they can do in that way;" and putting his hand into his pocket, Mr. Bradford pulled out a number of bright new pennies. "Put out both hands."

Bessie put her hands together and held them out, while her father counted the pennies into them.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. There, I think that is as much as they can hold at once," said Mr. Bradford. "Is there another pair of little hands that would like to try if they can do as well?"

Maggie was standing at her father's knee with a very eager face, for she knew her turn would come next.

"One, two, three," began Mr. Bradford, and counted out fifteen pennies into Maggie's hands. "And now what is to be done with all that money?" he asked, looking from one to another of the bright faces. "It is not to be wasted, I suppose, since mamma seems to be in the secret."

"We want to buy a library," said Bessie.

"A library?" said Mr. Bradford. "Well, I'll promise to read every book in any library you may buy for the next ten years."

"But it is not a big library with stupid books in, like yours, papa," said Maggie; "but a nice little one with pretty Sunday-school books; and it is not for ourselves we want it."

Then papa was told about Mr. Long and Miss Winslow, all of which he knew before, though he listened as though it was quite new to him, and of the plan for the library, which he thought a very good one, and of which he had as yet heard nothing.

"Mamma," said Maggie, "will you take care of our money for us? I know I shall lose some of mine if I keep it myself."

Mrs. Bradford opened a drawer, and took from it a curious little box. It was made of blocks of red and black wood, and had no cover; but if a certain block were pressed, out flew a drawer which moved on a spring. This box had been Mrs. Bradford's when she was a child, and Maggie and Bessie thought it a great curiosity.

"There," said mamma, "put the pennies in this, – fifteen of Maggie's and twelve of Bessie's make twenty-seven. Pretty well for a beginning. All the money you earn may go in this."

"And the glove money too, mamma?" asked Maggie.

"No, not the glove money. I shall keep that, and at the end of each month will give you what remains to put in the box."

"And you will keep it, mamma?"

"Yes, there it is in the corner of this drawer. You may come and take it when you want to put anything in it."

"Papa," said Bessie at dessert that day, "will you please take the fretful off my peach. I can't eat it so."

Bessie could never bear to eat or even touch a peach unless all the furze or down which grew upon it had been rubbed off, and the restless, uncomfortable feeling it gave her made her call it "the fretful."

Mr. Bradford took a peach from his little girl's plate, and as he rubbed it smooth, said to his wife, "Margaret, my dear, peaches are very plenty and very fine, and I, you know, am very fond of peach preserves."

"Very well," said Mrs. Bradford, "I will put up as many as you choose to send home."

Bessie heard, and a new thought came into her little head.

"Mamma," she said a while after, when she could speak to her mother alone, – "mamma, you told Papa you would make a great many peach preserves for him."

"Yes, dear."

"And, mamma, you know he likes the inside of peach-stones in the preserves."

"The kernel, you mean."

"Yes'm, and last summer Harry kept all the peach-stones and cracked them for you, and you paid him for them. Could you let me do it this time?"

"My darling, you would crack those little fingers; it is too hard work for you."

Bessie looked very much disappointed, and her mother could not bear to see it, for she knew how anxious she was to earn money for the library.

"You may gather up the peach-stones, dear, and dry them, and Patrick shall crack them for you, and I will pay you five cents for every hundred."

"Oh! thank you, mamma; that is very nice, and I will put away every one I can find."

And from this day it was quite amusing to their papa and mamma to see how carefully Maggie and Bessie guarded every peach-stone they could find; and to hear them constantly talking over plans to gain a few pennies to add to their store.

"Margaret," said Mr. Bradford to his wife that evening, "would it not be better for you to lock up that money-box of the children?"

"I think not," said Mrs. Bradford. "They will want it half a dozen times a day. You know how such little things are, and they will always be counting their money. I believe every one we have in the house is quite honest, and the box cannot well be opened by one who does not know the secret of the spring."

So the box was not locked up; but the time came when Mrs. Bradford was very sorry she had not taken her husband's advice.