Part 8

Julia, who was nearly two years older than Emily, had written this letter with much more ease than her friend could read it. She, at last, however, succeeded in deciphering it; and, after having made herself fully acquainted with its contents, she took the ticket which was enclosed in it, and putting it very carefully by, as deliberately put the letter into the fire. From that moment Emily's face began gradually to brighten, her voice became less husky, and though she did not jump and skip about as she was in the habit of doing, yet she ceased to stretch and yawn, and wish the evening was over; and her countenance, though more thoughtful than usual, was expressive only of composure and satisfaction. The return of her mamma, which she had sometimes wished for and sometimes dreaded, now appeared to have become of less importance to her, so that on finding, by her usual bed-time, that she was not yet come home, she went very contentedly to bed, and was soon wrapped in a sound sleep. Her first object, on waking in the morning, was to ascertain whether her mother was yet returned, but finding that she was not, she prepared to spend some more hours alone. Emily, however, though a very little girl was able not only to read, but to understand what she read; so that she could easily find amusement from the variety of little books with which her mamma had supplied her; and this made the morning pass over very comfortably, till about twelve o'clock, when she began to feel very anxious for her mother's return. It seemed a long time since she had seen her; she did not remember, ever in her life having been so long absent from her before, and she sighed and wondered when she would come. At length she heard some one open the front door, and come along the entry; and her little heart began to beat at the idea of meeting her mother. The door opened, but instead of her mamma, Julia entered, very prettily dressed, and evidently prepared for her visit.

"Why, Emily!" she exclaimed, as she came forward, "not dressed yet! I expected to find you ready to go."

"Go where?" asked the little girl.

"Why, to Mrs. Cassy's to be sure. Where else could I mean?"

"You know I am not going to Mrs. Cassy's."

"Why not? has your mamma found out that the ticket was mine?"

"I have not seen my mamma since yesterday morning. She has never been at home yet."

"Then why are you not going? You have no need to wait for her to give you leave to go, when you know she said you should go if you could bring her a ticket for good conduct, each day; and you can show her one when she comes home."

"Yes! but not one of my own."

"Yes! it is your own, for I have given it to you."

"But it is not gained by my own good behaviour."

"But you deserved to have one, for you never behaved better in school, in your life, than you did yesterday morning. You only lost your ticket for being a very few minutes too late, and therefore, it will not be cheating at all, to tell your mamma that you behaved well." Happily, however, for Emily, there had been so much pains taken to impress upon her mind, from her earliest dawn of thought, a nice distinction between truth and falsehood, that she was not to be deceived by this false reasoning of her friend, whose mind having been less carefully guarded, had adopted the error, so common with young people, that equivocation is not falsehood. Julia imagined that she would be as unwilling to tell an untruth as Emily herself could be, but she did not consider that a habit of equivocation is as obnoxious as falsehood itself, to that nice sense of honour, which can alone preserve the mind pure and untainted. She had not been taught, with sufficient care, to know, that, though she told a part of what was true, she was yet equally guilty of the crime of falsehood, as long as what she said was dictated by a wish to deceive. Emily, though so much younger, had, therefore, arrived at much greater maturity in the art of reasoning, and had imbibed, even at that early age, an ardent love of truth, and a keen contempt for the meanness of deceit; and she replied, in a quiet but steady voice: "Though I did behave well in school, I should still be cheating, if I made my mamma believe that I got a ticket for good behaviour, and that would take away all the pleasure of the visit;" and, as she spoke, she took the ticket from the place in which she had deposited it, with the intention of giving it to its right owner; but, whilst she held it in her hand, the parlour door opened, and Mrs. Osman entered the room. The moment Emily saw her mother, the recollection of her own fault rose to her mind, and checked the pleasure with which she would otherwise have welcomed her return, and the constraint of her manner was immediately observed by her watchful parent. "What is the matter, Emily, my dear?" asked she anxiously. "I see by the ticket in your hand, that you have succeeded in gaining your promised reward, and yet you do not appear to be in your usual spirits." Emily's countenance became still more agitated, whilst the colour of her face and neck, the skin of which readily told, by its varying hue, the different fluctuations of her feelings, proved that a severe conflict was passing within. To allow her mother to remain in the error of supposing the ticket to be her own, was impossible: yet how was she to explain the fact of its being Julia's, without exposing the fault of her friend? for she knew that her mamma's first question would be, "what had she to do with Julia's ticket?"

"What is the matter, my dear?" again asked the anxious mother, "is there any objection, which I am ignorant of, to your going to Mrs. Cassy's to-day?"

"Mamma, I have no right at all to go," replied Emily, almost trembling with agitation as she spoke.

"Why not? You got your ticket yesterday I see."

"No, mamma, I did not! This is not my ticket."

"What ticket is it then? for I have all your others." Emily was silent, and her agitation increased to a degree that was very painful to observe; but Julia, who possessed a mind, which, though some noxious weeds had been permitted to spring up in it, was yet adorned with the rich and beautiful flowers of generosity and affection, saw and understood her distress, and determined to relieve her even at the pain of exposing herself; and therefore said, "I will tell you, ma'am, all about it; for, although it was not very good in me, it was so very good in Emily, that I know you will reward her for it." She then related the circumstance of the ticket very simply, without attempting either to excuse or extenuate her own conduct, though she did full justice to the integrity and honourable behaviour of her friend. Whilst Julia was speaking, Emily watched her mother's countenance with an expression of great anxiety, and the moment she had ceased, she turned to her and said, in a timid and supplicating voice, "Mamma, do not be angry with Julia!"

"As Julia is now to be so short a time among us, Emily, I will take no further notice of her conduct, but will leave it to the animadversions of her own breast," replied Mrs. Osman, gravely.

"But you will let Emily go to Mrs. Cassy's," said Julia eagerly. "You will surely, Mrs. Osman, reward her for behaving so well."

"I hope, Julia, that though Emily is so young a child, she yet knows too well that it is her duty to be honest, to expect any other reward for being so, than that which she has already secured to herself."

"But it is so trifling a fault that she lost her ticket for," remonstrated Julia.

"It was indeed a trifle, and her having so very nearly succeeded this time, gives me hopes that she will be wholly successful the next time."

"O! yes, I am sure, ma'am, if you will let her go to-day she will be more careful the next time."

"I am of a different opinion, Julia," replied Mrs. Osman, smiling; "and believe that this lesson, which I now hope will be of service to Emily as long as she lives, would be lost entirely, were she not to suffer the punishment for her fault that she knows it deserves."

"But ought she not to be rewarded for being good too? and if she is not allowed to go she will have no reward at all."

"Oh! yes, I shall," interrupted Emily, who read, in her mother's countenance, the approbation which she felt of her conscientious conduct, "I shall have reward enough."

"Yes, Emily," replied her mother, "you will have the best of all rewards, a self-approving mind; and I should be sorry to weaken its effects by seeming to think that any further reward is necessary for your having done your duty." But Emily showed that she did not consider any thing more necessary to reward her for the part which she had acted, and she saw her friend go to pay her visit to Mrs. Cassy without a sigh; for though exceedingly sorry not to accompany her, she felt an inward consciousness of having acted properly, that made every thing appear cheerful and pleasant around her. The day passed delightfully, therefore, though no particular pains were taken to amuse her; for her mother was afraid, if she indulged in any extraordinary expressions of approbation, she might lead her little girl to imagine that she had performed some wonderful act of virtue, instead of having merely done her duty. What Emily had done, however, had been done purely because she knew it to be right, and not for the sake of admiration or reward. The approbation of her own conscience was all that she required; and, with such a companion, she felt no difficulty in spending a delightful Christmas day. Her voice, when she sung, had never, to her own ear at least, sounded so well; nor had her feet ever before fallen so lightly on the floor, as they did when she skipped about; and as to her little kitten, though it had brought her into trouble, it was now forgiven, and they ran about the room together, as if trying to show, by their light and sportive movements, how graceful and beautiful a thing is the union of childhood and innocence.

M. H.

THE LITTLE GIRL AND HER KITTEN.

Indeed ye are a happy pair, Thyself and darling treasure-- With little heads unvexed by care, And hearts brim full of pleasure.

Which spirit knows the least of grief, 'Tis very hard to say,-- The kitten jumping at a leaf, Or she who joins the play.

Ye both are frisking, giddy things-- A play-ground earth before ye, Where hours pass by with silken wings, And fling no shadows o'er ye.

I wish it thus might always be, My guileless little one:-- It makes me sad to look on thee, And think what change may come.

Then freely pour thy young heart out, And take thy fill of joy-- I love to hear thy merry shout, And see thy blest employ.

THE QUILTING.

"Only think, Charlotte," said Marianne Glanvil, on entering the chamber where her sister was endeavouring to get through a warm afternoon in August, by lolling on the bed in a loose gown,--"Susan Davison has just been here with an invitation for us."

_Charlotte._--And pray, who is Susan Davison?

_Marianne._--The daughter of farmer Davison up the creek. We met her at Trenchard's the day we were obliged to drink tea there.

_Charlotte._--I wonder how you can remember their names, or theirselves either: I am sure I do not know one of these people from another, and I never wish to know.

_Marianne._--But this Susan Davison is really not so bad. She is diffident enough, to be sure, but is rather less awkward and uncouth than the generality of country girls.

_Charlotte._--To me they are all alike; I do not profess to understand the varieties of the species.

_Marianne._--Well, I was going to tell you, that after a sitting of half an hour, Susan Davison, as she rose to depart, uttered an invitation to her quilting to-morrow.

_Charlotte._--And what is a quilting?

_Marianne._--Now, I am sure you must have heard of quiltings. It is an assemblage of all the females in the neighbourhood, for the purpose of quilting, in one afternoon, a whole patch-work bed-cover.

_Charlotte._--I shall certainly not go. I never quilted any thing in my life, and I hate the sight of a patch-work bed-cover.

_Marianne._--But my father and mother were in the parlour, and promised at once that we should both go.

_Charlotte._--How vexatious! Was it not enough, after being educated at the most genteel boarding school in the city, and accustomed only to polished society, to be brought to live at this remote place, where my father has thought proper to purchase an iron-foundry, but we are required also to be civil to the country people, and interchange visits with them? I almost think my father intends being a candidate for the assembly next election, or he never would take the trouble to make himself agreeable to the farmers and their families.

_Marianne._--You know, he thinks it is always desirable to be popular with our neighbours.

_Charlotte._--That is what I shall never be, unless my neighbours are popular with me.

_Marianne._--Now, for my part, I like very well to astonish them by the elegance of my dress, and by my various accomplishments. I am going to put my lace sleeves in my new palmyrene frock, purposely to wear at this quilting.

_Charlotte._--It is well worth your while to take that trouble, when the worst dress you have is too good for such company. I shall do quite the contrary, to let them see how little I care for them.

_Marianne._--Then you will displease my father.

_Charlotte._--Is it necessary that he should know it? I am sure my mother will never tell him, and for her own part, she never opposes us in any thing. However, if I must be at this quilting, I shall take care to make the time as short as possible, for I will go late and come away early.

_Marianne._--Susan Davison said, she hoped we would be there by two o'clock, which I suppose will be the usual hour of assembling.

_Charlotte._--Two o'clock! Go to a party at two o'clock! Why the wild Indians could not be more uncouth on such an occasion!

_Marianne._--I doubt whether the wild Indians have any quiltings. But go we must, as my father and mother at once accepted the invitation for us.

_Charlotte._--How unlucky that they happened to be present!

* * * * *

The next day, between one and two o'clock, the Miss Glanvils saw numerous young girls ride by on horseback, on their way to Andrew Davison's which was about two miles from the iron works. "Now," remarked Marianne, "these poor girls must have hurried to get their dinners over before twelve, that they might have time to be drest and mounted by one o'clock."

"But why," asked Charlotte, "do they all wear striped linen skirts with silk bodies and sleeves?"

"Oh!" replied Marianne, "you surely know that those are their riding-skirts; a sort of petticoat made of thick homespun linen, which they tie on over the skirts of their silk frocks to keep them clean while riding."

"You seem to be well versed in all their ways," said Charlotte, contemptuously.

It was five o'clock, however, before the Miss Glanvils were ready to set out for the quilting, as Charlotte took her usual afternoon's nap, and Marianne occupied two hours in dressing; arraying herself in her straw-coloured palmyrene with lace sleeves, and ornamenting her hair (which was a mass of curls) with a profusion of yellow flowers and gauze ribbon. She put on all her jewels, and sewed her white kid gloves to her lace sleeves, which were confined at the wrists with three bracelets each. She had embroidered silk stockings, and white satin shoes, and threw over her shoulders a splendid scarf of various colours. This dress she had worn at a boarding school ball, shortly before the family removed into the country. Nothing could be a greater contrast than the appearance of the two sisters as they got into the carriage; for Charlotte persevered in going to the quilting in a pink gingham, her hair merely tucked behind her ears with two side combs.

Their mother slightly disapproved of both their dresses, but as soon as they were gone thought of something else.

In a short time the Miss Glanvils arrived at Andrew Davison's, and found the quilting going on in the vast stone barn, which had been put in order for the purpose. They were conducted to the barn by young Davison, the farmer's eldest son, who had assisted them out of the carriage, and were met at the entrance by Susan, who received them with much respect, as being the two greatest strangers of the party. The guests were all sitting round the quilting frame busily at work. They looked with some surprise at the two sisters so very differently habited, but no remark was made, even in a whisper.

Charlotte declined taking a chair at the frame, saying, she knew nothing about quilting, and seated herself in a most inconvenient place at the head of the quilt, very much in the way of a young girl that could not draw out her arm in consequence of the vicinity of Miss Glanvil, who saw that she incommoded her, but made no offer to move. Marianne, however, advanced to the frame, and dislodging three or four girls, who rose to make room for her and her immense frock, which was flounced far above her knees, she took out of her reticule an elegant little ivory work box, and laying down beside it a perfumed and embroidered cambric handkerchief, and a tortoise-shell fan, she most pompously set to work with her gloves on. She found this way of quilting very inconvenient, and as her gloves could only be taken off by ripping them from her sleeves, she begged, with an air of the most condescending affability, to be excused from the quilting; and then removed to a seat beside her sister. Charlotte threw herself back in her chair, and putting her feet on the bars of another, sat drumming with her fingers on the quilt and humming a French song.

The other guests, though they all had too much civility to stare as steadily as the Miss Glanvils expected, stole occasional glances of surprise and curiosity at the sisters; one so overdrest and affecting so much condescension, the other insulting them by coming in dishabille, and setting at defiance even the most common rules of politeness.

There sat at the quilt a very pretty young girl, with her dark hair curling on her temples in natural ringlets. She wore a white muslin frock, with a worked cape, and a broad pink ribbon on her neck, which was beautifully white. Her figure was very good, though rather plump than otherwise, and her cheeks had the bloom of roses. She seemed to be acquainted with all the company, and talked pleasantly and sensibly to every one, without any air of superiority, or any affectation of graciousness. She quilted assiduously and neatly, and assisted with great skill in the various operations of rolling, stretching, and pinning the quilt. The sisters did not distinguish and did not ask her surname, but they heard every one call her Fanny.

Shortly after the arrival of the Miss Glanvils, the two younger daughters of farmer Davison, on a signal from their sister Susan, went to a table which stood in a corner of the barn, and removing a cloth which had been lightly thrown over it, disclosed several large custards and three sorts of fruit pies, peach, plum, and apple. The pastry being already cut up, was very soon transferred to as many plates as there were guests, every plate containing a piece of custard and three slices of pie, one of each sort.

These plates were handed to the company on small waiters, by Jane and Mary Davison, while Susan remained near the quilt and invited her guests to eat; every one being expected to taste all the varieties on their plate. The Glanvils exchanged significant looks.

"Is it puff-paste?" said Charlotte, speaking for the first time, and touching a piece of pie with the point of her knife.

"I believe not," replied Susan, colouring, "none of our family understand making puff-paste; but I know mother did her best to have this as short and crisp as possible. Please to try some of it."

"I thank you," answered Charlotte, coldly, "I am very careful of my teeth, and I am afraid to risk their coming in contact with hard substances."

She commenced on a piece of the plum pie, but pointedly avoided the paste, eating out all the fruit, and conspicuously laying aside the crust. Marianne, however, found the pastry so palatable, that she could scarcely refrain from eating the whole that was on her plate, and she was not surprised to overhear the young girl they called Fanny, praising it to another who sat next to her.

The presence of the Miss Glanvils evidently threw a restraint on the whole company, except Fanny, who, to the great surprise of the sisters, appeared perfectly at her ease all the time, and not in the least awed by their superiority.

"Who can that girl be?" whispered Marianne to Charlotte.

"Some vulgar thing like the rest," answered Charlotte.

"I do not think her vulgar," said Marianne.

"I know no reason for supposing her otherwise," rejoined Charlotte. "You know the proverb, 'Birds of a feather flock together.' See how familiar she is with all of them. She knows every one of their names. She must have been born and brought up with them. By their talk she has been here since two o'clock."

About sunset the quilt was completed. The chalk-marks, and the clippings of thread, were then carefully brushed off; a dozen scissors were employed in ripping it from the frame, and two dozen hands afterwards spread it to the full size, and shook it till the lofty roof of the barn echoed the sound; which sound brought in near twenty young men who had been lingering about the barn-door for the last half hour, none of them having courage to venture within, except Susan Davison's two brothers. They were all clean shaved, and in their best clothes; some even had their hair curled, and the Miss Glanvils now found occasion to whisper and titter at the costume of the country beaux, particularly at their very fine waistcoats.

Soon after, one of the little girls came to announce that supper was ready, which intelligence was repeated by Susan to the Miss Glanvils; and her two brothers now came forward, each with a low bow, and offered their arms to conduct the young ladies to the house, as they had been previously tutored by their sister. The Miss Glanvils, however, took no notice of the offered arms, and the young men, much abashed, walked silently beside them. Fanny, escorted by the old farmer, who had accosted her at the barn-door with great cordiality, joined about midway in the procession, and they all walked to the house, where supper was set out in the largest room.

The table was of immense size, with at each end a waiter, containing an equipage for tea and coffee; Mrs. Davison presiding at one and Susan at the other. The centre ornament was a roast pig, flanked by dishes of stewed fowls, and the rest of the table was covered with plates of pound cake, gingerbread, short cakes, doughnuts, rusk, preserves, apple-sauce, fried ham, cream-cheese, and sage-cheese; there being always four plates of each particular article, that a share of all the various good things might be within the reach of every one at table. William and Thomas Davison, assisted by several others of the least bashful and most alert of the young men, stood behind the chairs with waiters in their hands, and helped the females; their father being the only man that took a seat at the table.

The Miss Glanvils sat together in solemn state; Marianne carefully employed in defending her finery from the expected inroads of the various things that were handed about in her neighbourhood; but very much inclined to eat heartily of many of the tempting viands that were before her, had she not been checked by the disapproving looks of her sister.