VII.
_WHAT CAME OF THAT._
"Lily, darling," said Mrs. Norris, on Saturday morning, "let me see howthe little orphan's petticoat is coming on."
Lily went, rather sheepishly it must be confessed, and brought theskirt to her mother.
"Is this all you have done?--this little piece of a seam?" said Mrs.Norris. "And so badly too. Why, my child! what have you been thinkingof? You can sew far better than this."
Lily fidgeted, and hung her head.
"Did you not all sew yesterday, when you were at Mrs. Bradford's?"asked her mamma, examining the work still more closely.
"Yes, mamma," murmured Lily.
"And did you not say Miss Annie showed you how it was to be done?"
"Yes, mamma."
"How is it, then, that you have done so very little, and that little sobadly?"
"Why, you see, mamma," said Lily, hesitatingly, "I did not have muchsewed, only a few stitches, and I wanted to catch up with the others;and so--and so--so the stitches wouldn't come very nice."
"And why did you not have as much accomplished as the other children?This is a very poor hour's work, dear."
"Yes, mamma; but Baby Annie was so funny, and I couldn't help lookingat her, and I thought I would have time enough. It was such a horridlyshort hour; it was gone before I had time to do much."
"Ah, Lily," said Mrs. Norris, "it is the same old story, I fear.Procrastination, and want of attention to the duty of the time, andperhaps a little idleness and heedlessness added to them. These lasttwo are great helpers to procrastination, Lily; or perhaps I shouldsay, procrastination is a great helper to the sad fault of idleness.It is so very easy, when we do not feel industrious, to believe thatanother time will answer as well for the duty or work we should donow. So the duty is put off; and then, when shame or need calls us tothe neglected task, it is hurried through heedlessly, and it may be sobadly that it is quite useless, or must be done over again, as thismust, my child."
"Mamma!" exclaimed Lily, in a tone in which there was displeasure aswell as distress.
"Yes, indeed, my daughter. I cannot allow this to be returned to MissAshton with such work upon it. You are but a little girl, and no onewould expect to see such neat sewing come from your hands as from thoseof an older person; but I should be ashamed to have it thought that myLily cannot do better than this."
"Then I'll never have the petticoat done at all," said Lily, her eyesfilling with tears. "It is 'most a week now since Miss Ashton gave themto us, and if I have to take that out it will be all to do from thebeginning, and Maggie and Bessie and Belle have ever so much done ontheirs, and I shan't have one stitch done on mine."
Mrs. Norris looked grieved at the rebellious tone.
"Whose fault is it, Lily?" she asked sorrowfully.
Lily hesitated for a moment; then, for the first time in her life,temper had the better of her love and reverence for her mother, and sheanswered passionately,--
"_Yours_, if you make me pull that out!"
For a moment, surprise held Mrs. Norris silent and motionless. Neverbefore had Lily spoken so to her; never before had she been other thanher loving, docile little child, not always strictly obedient it mightbe, but that was not so much from wilfulness as from that sad habit ofputting off,--of not obeying at once.
Then the surprise died out, and left only pain and grief; and whileLily was wondering what mamma would do, could do, after such a dreadfulthing as that (for the very utterance of the words had sobered her, andcalmed down her temper), Mrs. Norris rose, and laying down the skirt,without one word, without one look at her naughty little child, slowlyand sorrowfully left the room.
Lily stood still one moment, herself almost breathless with surpriseand dismay at what she had done. Had she really said such dreadfulwords to mamma? and could mamma ever, ever forgive them? Her own dear,loving, indulgent mamma to hear such words from the lips of her own,only little daughter. What would papa say, what would Tom say, whenthey should know it? what would Maggie and Bessie say? For when mammatreated her as she deserved to be treated from this time forth, theywould surely know that something was wrong, and must learn what shehad done. And, oh! how angry God must be with her!
Some little boys and girls, who are in the habit of saying unkind anddisrespectful things to their mothers,--and, alas! there are too manysuch,--may wonder at our Lily's distress and remorse; but Lily was notaccustomed to behave in this way to her mother; as you have heard, itwas the first time in her life that she had done so, and now she wasfairly frightened when she remembered how she had let passion masterher.
And what had brought this about?
Lily did not think of it just then, in all the tumult of feeling whichswelled her little heart; but had it not all arisen from the sad habitof procrastination, of which she thought so lightly?
She felt as if she dared not run after her mother, and ask herforgiveness. True, mamma always was ready to forgive her when she waspenitent after any naughtiness; but then--oh! she had never, neverdone any thing like this before--and Lily threw herself down upon therug in a paroxysm of tears and sobs.
By and by the door was opened, and Tom came in. He stood still for amoment in surprise at the state in which he found his little sister,then came forward.
"My pet, what is it? What is the matter?" he said, stooping over her,and trying to raise her. But Lily resisted; and so Tom sat down on thefloor beside her. A fresh burst of sobs came from Lily.
"What is it, dear?" asked Tom again. "Shall I call mamma?"
"Oh, no, no!" sobbed Lily. "She wouldn't c-c-come if you did. She'llnever want to come near m-me a-a-gain."
"Why? What is wrong?" asked Tom, whose fears that Lily was ill or hadhurt herself were now removed; for he saw that it was not bodily butmental trouble which ailed her.
"Oh! I've done the most horrid, the most dreadful thing, Tom,"confessed Lily, still hardly able to speak for the fast-coming tearsand sobs. "Oh! I spoke so wickedly to mamma; to my own dear, precious,darling mamma. It was 'most worse than the inkstand, oh, it was, itwas! I'm so bad, oh, such a bad child!"
"Are you willing to tell me about it?" asked Tom, soothingly.
Lily raised her head, and threw it upon her brother's knee, allowinghim to wipe away her tears; although, as she told her story, theyflowed as fast as he dried them.
"Lily," said Tom, hoping that this might prove a good lesson toher,--ah! how often had Lily's friends vainly hoped that the troubleshe brought upon herself might prove of service to her,--"Lily, how wasit that your work was so very badly done?"
And Lily made a fresh confession, Tom gently leading her back to whathe truly suspected to be the first cause of all this difficulty.
"Lily, dear," he said, "I am sure I do not want to seem to find faultwith you, or to reproach you when you are feeling so badly; but I wouldlike you to see how all this has come about. You think it such a smallfault, such a very little thing, to put off your duties, and even yourpleasures, if it happens to suit the convenience of the moment. As topleasures, I suppose that does not matter much, so long as we do notlet our want of punctuality interfere with the pleasure of others;but although it may not be what we call a great sin in itself, justsee into what sin and sorrow procrastination may lead us. One littleduty neglected or put off may interfere with another; or, as you havedone, we may have to hurry through with it in such a manner as toleave it worse than if we had not tried to do it at all. And so we aredisappointed and vexed, and perhaps we grow cross and ill-tempered, orfly into a passion, and do some very wrong or unkind thing."
"Yes; or behave worse than any child that ever lived, to our darling,lovely, precious mammas, just like me," broke forth poor, penitentLily.
"Yes," said Tom, gravely, but kindly, "you see to what it has ledyou,--disrespect and impertinence to dear mamma. Is not this enough,Lil darling, to show you how much pain and trouble may come from thishabit, and why you ought to try to break yourself of it? It is not onlythe inconvenience which _must_
come from it, but the wrong which _may_grow from it, which should teach us to try and keep it from gaining ahold upon us. Do you see, Lil?"
"I should think I did," said Lily, dolefully, though she now satupright, but with a most rueful and despairing countenance. "I shouldthink it had made me bad enough to see what it can do. But, Tom,"--withan admiring look at her brother from the midst of her gloom anddistress,--"but, Tom, what a wise boy you are! You talk as if you weregrown up; quite as if you were a minister; only I understand all yousay, and I don't understand all ministers say."
"No, I suppose not," said Tom, speaking more gayly; "but we will nothave any more preaching just now, only--I would like to tell you astory, Lily. Shall I?"
"Yes, indeed, please do," answered Lily, brightening a little at theprospect.
"It is a very sad story, but I thought it would just fit here," saidher brother.
"I'm not in a state of mind for a pleasant story," said Lily, who hadlately fallen into the way of using long words, and "grown-up" phrases,after the example of her little friends, Maggie and Bessie.
"No, I suppose not," said Tom, suppressing all inclination to smile."Well, you know Will Sturges, Lily?"
"Oh, yes, that very sorry-looking boy, whose father is dead, you toldme," said Lily. "Tom, it always makes _me_ feel sorry to see him. Hehardly ever smiles, or looks happy. You know mamma told you to ask himhere often, and see if you could not brighten him up; but he don't seemto brighten up at all. Bessie said he looked 'as if he had a weight onhis mind' all the time."
"Ah! that is just it," said Tom. "He has a terrible weight on his mind;a grief that is there night and day. He thinks it is through his faultthat his father was killed; and I suppose that it is so. At least itwas brought about by a small neglect of his,--procrastination, orputting off, Lily."
"Did he ever put off?" asked the little girl, opening great eyes ofwonder. "Why, he always seems so very punctual, so very ready just whenhe ought to be."
"Yes," said Tom, "but he was not always so, dear. Never was a moreunpunctual, a more dilatory boy than Will Sturges used to be. Poor dearfellow! he has learned better by such a sad lesson. I hope my littlesister may never have the like."
"I'm sure," said Lily, "I don't know who has had a sad lesson, if Ihave not."
"Ah! but, Lily," said her brother, "you have yet the time and chanceto show you are sorry, and want to try to do better--if you really dorepent--and to gain forgiveness from the one you have injured,--dearmamma; but poor Will, he never had the chance to make up for hisneglect of his duty."
"Tell me," begged Lily, all curiosity and interest.
"Well," said Tom, "Will Sturges used to be, as he is now, about thebrightest and quickest boy in our class."
Lily shook her head doubtfully at this; it was all Tom's modesty, shethought, and more than she could conveniently believe. Tom understoodher, but continued his story without interruption.
"But, for all that, he never was at the head of his class, nor eventook a very high standing in it; for never was such a boy for beingbehindhand as Will Sturges. Every thing that could be put off wasput off, and he never seemed to like to attend to any duty or taskat the proper moment. It was not laziness either, for he would leavesome small task which should have been done at once, perhaps to takeup one that was far harder, but which might well have waited till hehad finished the first. He never could be persuaded to attend to hisregular lessons _first_, but would let himself be led away from them,not always by play or pleasure, but often to take up some book whichthere was no need for him to study, always believing and saying thatthere was 'time enough'--'no hurry'--'by and by he would do it,' and soforth; until, as you may suppose, his lessons were left until the lastmoment, when they would be scrambled through, and Will just contrivedto keep himself from disgrace. It was so with every thing; he neverwas ready in time for either work or pleasure. If he were going on ajourney, or any excursion, ten to one but he was left behind by beingtoo late for the boat or train; all his own fault too, for his fatherand mother used to take pains enough to have him ready in time. WhenMr. Peters took the school on a picnic or frolic, it was always a partof the entertainment to see Will come tearing down the dock, or bythe side of the cars just at the last moment, often _after_ the lastmoment, and when it was too late. No boy in school had so many tardymarks; none lost so many books, papers, and pencils, because he alwaysthought it was time enough to put them in their places by and by. Nolesson did him any good, no disappointment or inconvenience he broughtupon himself seemed to cure him; until at last the sad thing happenedof which I am going to tell you.
"One afternoon his father said to him, 'Will, if you are going out,I wish these papers posted at the station. Take them with you, andattend to them at once, my son, before you go upon your own errand.They must go to grandfather by to-night's train. Can I depend upon youfor once?' 'Yes, indeed, you may, sir,' promised Will, meaning whathe said too; and when he left the house, he intended to go directlyto the post-office station. But he had not gone far when he met afriend; and this boy begged him to go home with him, and see a finenew dog he had just bought. Will hesitated, looked at his watch, andfound that there were still nearly two hours before the next mail wouldleave the station, that mail by which the papers must go if they wereto reach the evening train. 'There'll be plenty of time, and all papacared for was that they should reach the station before the mail leftit,' he said to himself; and he went with his friend. He stayed withhim more than an hour; then he said good-by, having, as he promisedhimself, more than time enough to reach the post, and mail his papers.But, just as he was about leaving the house, a little brother of hisfriend fell downstairs, hurting himself very badly; and, in the hurryand distress of the moment, he was begged to run for the doctor. Heforgot his papers--indeed, how could one refuse such an errand at sucha time?--and ran for the doctor, who lived far off, and in quite adifferent direction from the station. This last was not his fault, andif he had obeyed his father at once all would have been right; but,what with one thing and another, he was too late, and the mail hadleft. He tried all he could to send the papers by that evening train,but it was useless, for he could find no one to take charge of them,and he knew it would not do to trust them to chance hands. So he coulddo nothing but take them home again, which he did, and confessed hisfault. His father looked very grave; but, as poor Will has often toldme, did not scold him, only saying, 'Then I shall probably have toleave town myself to-morrow, and it will be a great inconvenience tome. I fear, my boy, that you will never learn the value of punctualityand the evil of procrastination until they are taught you by somesevere lesson.' Poor, dear old Will! what a lesson that was to be!Well, his father was telegraphed the next day to come himself, sincethe papers had not arrived; and he left his home, Lily, never to comeback. The train by which he went met with a fearful accident, andMr. Sturges was killed in an instant. And from that day Will has beenthe sad, melancholy fellow you see him; for he blames himself for hisfather's death, and says but for him he would have remained at home,and so been safe. And, Lily, we must see that it is so, and that, ifWill had not put off the duty he should have attended to, all thiswould probably never have taken place. If you could hear him talk aboutit!"
Lily drew a long sigh, partly from pity for Will Sturges, partly fromdread of what sorrows might come to herself if she were not cured ofthis sad fault, then said,--
"But, after all, Tom, he was not so bad to his father as I was tomamma, for he did not mean to be naughty, and I'm afraid I did. Do youknow, I was in a real passion, a _passionate_ passion, with mamma. O,Tom! what shall I do?"
"What ought you to do first?" asked Tom.
"Go and ask mamma to forgive me; but how can she, Tom?" asked Lily,sobbing again.
"Mamma would forgive any thing, if she thought you were truly sorry,"said her brother.
"I'm sure I am," answered the little girl. "If she could see in myheart, she would know it very well."
"You can show her what is in your heart, d
ear, by letting her see thatyou are really trying to break yourself of the troublesome fault whichhas led you to behave so to her."
Lily threw her arms around her brother's neck, and kissed him; thenext moment she was gone in search of her mamma. When she reached her,she could find no words, none but a piteous "O mamma!" But her voiceand her face spoke for her; and in another moment she was clingingfast around her mother's neck, her dear, kind arms about her, her kissof forgiveness on the little head which buried itself in shame andcontrition upon her shoulder.
But, though Lily was forgiven, she could not recover her spirits allthat day, a thing very unusual with her; but then, as she said, she had"never been so wickedly naughty before," and she felt as if she couldnot do enough to make up to her mother for her offence.
She was rather droll, too, as she was apt to be, when by any means shefell into low spirits.
When her papa came home, she did not go to meet him with her usuallight and dancing step; and he missed that, and the joyous face withwhich she was accustomed to greet him.
"Why," he said, "what ails my little sunbeam to-day?" for Mr. Norrishad heard of Belle's idea about the sunbeams in the family, and hedelighted to call his Lily so.
"I'm not a sunbeam to-day, papa," said Lily.
"You're not a little cloud, I hope," said papa.
"Oh, no!" answered Lily, mournfully, "not even so good as a cloud.I've been so very, very naughty that I believe I'm a--a"--Lily wasracking her imagination for a comparison that should seem severe enoughenough--"I've been quite a January thaw, papa."
Mr. Norris opened the door of the coat closet, and hastily put his headtherein, taking a remarkably long time to hang up his hat, Lily thought.
Now you must know that a January thaw was Lily's idea of all that wasmost disagreeable in the weather. For, the last winter, she had had asevere attack of diphtheria; and just as she was well enough to go out,a long spell of damp, foggy days set in, keeping her a prisoner forsome weeks longer, and depriving her of many little pleasures on whichshe had set her heart.
"She must not go outside of the door until this January thaw is over,"the doctor said several times; and Lily had come to look upon this asthe very worst specimen of weather.
"Don't you scorn me, papa?" she asked, when she had made her confessionto him.
"No, I do not scorn you by any means, Lily," he answered; "and I amglad to see that you do really feel your fault, for it gives me hopethat you may try to correct it with more earnestness than you have yetdone."
And then he talked to her for some time longer, setting before her veryplainly all the trouble and inconvenience, yes, and sin too, whichmight come from indulgence in this habit of procrastination.
Certainly our Lily did not want for teachers, both wise and kind; forher friends, young and old, seemed all to have set themselves to giveher help in the right way, if she would but heed them.