Spinning-Wheel Story by Louisa M. Alcott
Little Things
"That's the sort I like," said Geoff, as the story ended; "Onawandah wasa trump, and I'd give a good deal to know such a fellow, and go huntingwith him. Got any more like it, aunty?"
"Perhaps; but it is the girls' turn now, and here is a quiet littlestory that teaches the same lesson in a different way. It contains ahint which some of you would better take;" and Aunt Elinor glancedaround the circle with a smile that set her hearers on the alert to seewho was to be hit.
"Hope it isn't _very_ moral," said Geoff, with a boyish dislike of beingpreached at.
"It won't harm you to listen, and take the moral to heart, my lad. Wildhorses, gold mines, and sea scrapes, are not the only things worthreading about. If you ever do half so much good in the world as thepeople in this story did, I shall be proud of you," answered AuntElinor, so soberly that Geoff folded his hands, and tried to look meeklyimpressed.
"Is it true?" asked Min.
"Yes. I heard 'Abby' tell it herself, and saw the silk stocking, and thescar."
"That sounds _very_ interesting. I do like to hear about good clothesand awful accidents," cried the girl, forgetting to spin, in hereagerness to listen.
They all laughed at her odd mixture of tastes, and then heard the story of
LITTLE THINGS.
Abigail sat reading "Rasselas" aloud to her father while he shaved,pausing now and then to explain a word or correct the girl'spronunciation; for this was a lesson, as well as a pleasure. Thehandsome man, in his nankin dressing-gown, ruffled shirt, blacksmall-clothes, and silk stockings, stood before the tall, old-fashionedbureau, looking often from the reflection of his own ruddy face to thepale one beside him, with an expression of tender pride, which plainlyshowed how dear his young daughter was to him.
Abby was a slender girl of fifteen, in a short-waisted gingham gown,with a muslin tucker, dimity apron, and morocco shoes on a pair of smallfeet demurely crossed before her. A blue-eyed, brown-haired littlecreature, with a broad brow, and a sweet mouth, evidently bothintelligent and affectionate; for she heartily enjoyed the story, andanswered her father's approving glances with a face full of the lovingreverence so beautiful to see.
Schools were not abundant in 1815; and, after learning to read, spell,sew, and cipher a little at some dame school, girls were left to pickup knowledge as they could; while the brothers went to college, or wereapprenticed to some trade. But the few things they did study were welllearned; so that Abby's reading was a pleasure to hear. She wrote afine, clear hand, seldom misspelled a word, kept her own littleaccount-book in good order, and already made her father's shirts,hemstitching the linen cambric ruffles with the daintiest skill, andturning out button-holes any one might be proud of. Theseaccomplishments did not satisfy her, however, and she longed to knowmuch more,--to do and be something great and good,--with the sincerelonging of an earnest, thoughtful girl.
These morning talks with her father were precious half-hours to her; forthey not only read and discussed well-chosen books, but Abby opened herheart freely, and received his wise counsels with a grateful docilitywhich helped to make her after-life as benevolent and blessed as his.
"I don't wonder that Rasselas wanted to get out of the Happy Valley andsee the world for himself. I often feel so, and long to go and haveadventures, like the people I read about; to do something very splendid,and be brave and great and loved and honored," said Abby, as she closedthe book, and looked out of the open window with wistful eyes; for thechestnut trees were rustling in the May sunshine, and spring wasstirring in the girl's heart, as well as in the budding boughs and earlyflowers on the green bank below.
"Do not be in a hurry to leave your Happy Valley, my dear; but help tokeep it so by doing your part well. The happiness of life depends verymuch on little things; and one can be brave and great and good whilemaking small sacrifices and doing small duties faithfully andcheerfully," answered Mr. Lyon, with the look of one who practised whathe preached.
"But _my_ little things are so stupid and easy. Sewing, and learning topickle and preserve, and going out to tea when I don't want to, andhelping mother, are none of them romantic or exciting duties andsacrifices. If I could take care of poor people, or be a colonel in asplendid uniform, and march with drums and trumpets,--or even afire-warden, and run to save lives and property, and be loved andthanked and trusted, as you are, I should be contented," continued Abby,kindling at the thought; for she considered her father the noblest ofmen, and glowed with pride when she saw him in his regimentals on greatoccasions, or when she helped him into the leathern cap and coat, andgave him the lantern, staff, and canvas bags he used, as fire-warden,long before steam-engines, hook and ladder companies, and electricalarms were dreamed of.
Mr. Lyon laughed as he washed his face at the queer, three-corneredstand, and then sat down to have his hair tied in a queue by hisdaughter, who prided herself on doing this as well as a barber.
"Ah, my girl, it's not the things that make the most noise and show thatare the bravest and the best; but the everlasting patience, charity, andcourage needed to bear our daily trials like good Christians." And thesmile changed to a sigh, for the excellent man knew the value of thesevirtues, and their rarity.
"Yes, I know, sir; but it is so splendid to be a hero, and have theworld ring with one's glory, like Washington and Lafayette, or Perry,Hull, and Lawrence," said Abby, winding the black ribbon soenergetically that it nearly broke; for her head was full of the bravedeeds performed in the wars of 1775 and 1812, the latter of which shewell remembered.
"Easy, my dear, easy!--remember that it was the faithful doing of smallthings which fitted these men to do the grand deeds well, when the timecame. Heroes are not made in a minute, and we never know what we may becalled upon to live through. Train yourself now to be skilful, prompt,courageous, and kind; then when the duty or the danger comes, you willbe prepared for it. 'Keep your spindle ready, and the Lord will send theflax,' as the old proverb says."
"I will, father, and remember the other saying that you like and live upto, 'Do right and leave the consequences to God,'" answered Abby, withher arm about his neck, and a soft cheek against his, feeling that withsuch an example before her she ought not to fail.
"That's my good girl! Come, now, begin at once. Here's a little thing todo, a very homely one, but useful, and some honor may be gained by doingit nicely; for, if you'll darn this bad rent in my new stocking, I'llgive you five dollars."
As he spoke, Mr. Lyon handed her a heavy silk stocking with a great"barn-door" tear in the calf. He was rather proud of his handsome legs,and dressed them with care, importing hose of unusual fineness for stateoccasions; being one of the old-time gentlemen whose stately eleganceadded dignity to any scene.
Abby groaned as she examined the hole torn by a nail, for it was a verybad one, and she knew that if not well done, the costly stocking wouldbe ruined. She hated to darn, infinitely preferring to read, or studyLatin with her brother, instead of repairing old damask, muslin gowns,and the family hose. But she did it well, excelling her elder sister inthis branch of needle-work; so she could not refuse, though thesacrifice of time and taste would have been almost impossible for anyone but father.
"I'll try, sir, and you shall pay me with a kiss; five dollars is toomuch for such a little thing," she said, smiling at him as she put thestocking into the capacious pocket where girls kept housewife, scissors,thimble, pin-ball, and a bit of lovage or flag-root in those days.
"I'm not so sure that you'll find it an easy job; but remember Bruce andhis spider, and don't be conquered by the 'little thing.' Now I must beoff. Good-by, my darling," and Mr. Lyon's dark eyes twinkled as hethought of the task he had set her; for it seemed as if nothing short ofa miracle could restore his damaged stocking.
Abby forgot her heroics and ran to get his hat and cane, to receive hismorning kiss, and answer the salute he always paused at the streetcorner to give her before he went away to the many cares and labors ofhis own busy day. But while she put her little room in order, dusted theparlor, and clapped laces for her mother, who, like most ladies longago, did up her own caps and turbans, Abby was thinking over the lateconversation, and wondering if strict attention to small affairs wouldreally lead to something good or glorious in the end.
When her other duties were done, she resolutely sat down to the detesteddarn, although it would have been much pleasanter to help her sister cutout green satin leaves and quill up pink ribbon into roses for a garlandto festoon the skirt of a new white dress.
Hour after hour she worked, slowly and carefully weaving the torn edgestogether, stitch by stitch, till her eyes ached and the delicate needlegrew rusty in her warm hand. Her mother begged her to stop and rest,sister Catharine called her to come and see how well the garland looked,and a friend came to take her to drive. But she refused to stir, andkept at her weaving, as patiently as King Robert's spider, picking out abit that puckered, turning the corner with breathless care, and rappingit with her thimble on the wooden egg till it lay flat. Then she waitedtill an iron was heated, and pressed it nicely, finishing in time to putit on her father's bureau, where he would see it when he dressed for dinner.
"Nearly four hours over that dreadful darn! But it's done now, andhardly shows, so I do think I've earned my money. I shall buy thatwork-box I have wanted so long. The inlaid one, with nice velvet bedsfor the thimble, scissors, and bodkin, and a glass in the cover, and alittle drawer for my silk-reels. Father will like that, and I shall beproud to show it."
These agreeable thoughts were passing through Abby's mind as she wentinto the front yard for a breath of air, after her long task was over.Tulips and hyacinths were blooming there, and, peeping through the barsof the gate, stood a little girl wistfully watching the gay blossoms andenjoying their perfume. Now, Abby was fond of her garden, and had beenhurrying the early flowers, that they might be ready for her father'sbirthday nosegay; so her first impulse was to feign that she did not seethe child, for she did not want to give away a single tulip. But themorning talk was fresh in her memory, and presently she thought:--
"Here is a little thing I can do;" and ashamed of the selfish impulse,she gathered several of her finest flowers and offered them, sayingcordially:--
"I think you would like these. Please take them, and by and by whenthere are more, you shall have prettier ones."
"Oh, thank you! I did want some for mamma. She is ill, and will be sopleased," was the grateful answer, given with a little courtesy, and asmile that made the wistful face a very happy one.
"Do you live near by?" asked Abby, seeing at once from the child'sspeech and manner that she was both well-bred and grateful.
"Just around the corner. We are English, and papa is dead. Mamma keptschool in another place till she was too ill, and now I take care of herand the children as well as I can."
The little girl of twelve, in her black frock, with a face far too oldand anxious for her years, was so innocently pathetic as she told thesad story, that Abby's tender heart was touched, and an impetuous desireto do something at once made her exclaim:--
"Wait a minute, and I'll send something better than flowers. Wouldn'tyour mother like some wine jelly? I helped make it, and have a glassfulall my own."
"Indeed she would!" began the child, blushing with pleasure; for thepoor lady needed just such delicacies, but thought only of thechildren's wants.
Waiting to hear no more, Abby ran in to get her offering, and came backbeaming with benevolent good-will.
"As it is not far and you have that big basket, I'll go with you andhelp carry the things, if I may? My mother will let me, and my fatherwill come and see you, I'm sure, if you'd like to have him. He takescare of everybody, and is the best and wisest man in all the world."
Lucy Mayhew accepted these kind offers with childish confidence,thinking the young lady a sort of angel in a coal-scuttle bonnet, andthe two went chatting along, good friends at once; for Abby had mostengaging manners, and her cheerful face won its way everywhere.
She found the English family a very interesting one, for the mother wasa gentlewoman, and in sore straits now,--being unable to use heraccomplishments any longer, and failing fast, with no friends to protectthe four little children she must soon leave alone in a strange land.
"If _they_ were only cared for, I could go in peace; but it breaks myheart to think of them in an asylum, when they need a home," said thepoor lady, telling her greatest anxiety to this sympathetic youngvisitor; while Lucy regaled the noses of the eager little ones withdelicious sniffs of the pink and blue hyacinths.
"Tell father all about it, and he'll know just what to do. He alwaysdoes, and every one goes to him. May he come and see you, ma'am?" said Abby, longing to take them all home at once.
"He will be as welcome as an angel from Heaven, my child. I am failingvery fast, and help and comfort are sorely needed," answered thegrateful woman, with wet eyes and a heart too full for many thanks.
Abby's eyes were full also, and promising to "send father soon," shewent away, little dreaming that the handful of flowers and a few kindwords were the first links in a chain of events that brought a blessinginto her own home.
She waited anxiously for her father's return, and blushed with pleasureas he said, after examining her morning's work:--
"Wonderfully well done, my dear! Your mother says she couldn't have doneit better herself."
"I'm sorry that it shows at all; but it was impossible to hide thatcorner, and if you wear it on the inside of the leg, it won't be seenmuch," explained Abby, anxiously.
"It shows just enough for me to know where to point when I boast of mygirl's patience and skill. People say I'm making a blue-stocking of you,because we read Johnson; but my black stocking will prove that I haven'tspoiled you yet," said Mr. Lyon, pinching her cheek, as they went downto dinner arm in arm.
Literary ladies were looked upon with awe, and by many with disapproval,in those days; so Abby's studious tastes were criticised by the goodcousins and aunts, who feared she might do something peculiar; though,years later, they were very proud of the fine letters she wrote, and theintellectual society which she had unconsciously fitted herself to enjoyand adorn.
Abby laughed at her father's joke, but said no more just then; for youngpeople sat silent at table while their elders talked. She longed to tellabout Lucy; and when dessert came, she drew her chair near to herfather's, that she might pick the kernels from his walnuts and drop theminto his wine, waiting till he said, as usual: "Now, little girl, let'stake comfort." For both enjoyed the hour of rest he allowed himself inthe middle of the day.
On this occasion he varied the remark by adding, as he took a bill fromhis pocket-book and gave it to her with a kiss: "Well-earned money, mydear, and most cheerfully paid."
"Thank you, sir! It seems a great deal for such a small job. But I _do_want it very much. May I tell you how I'd like to spend it, father?"cried Abby, beaming with the sweet delight of helping others.
"Yes, child; come and tell me. Something for sister, I suspect; or a newbook, perhaps." And, drawing her to his knee, Mr. Lyon waited with aface full of benignant interest in her little confidences.
She told her story eagerly and well, exclaiming as she ended: "And now,I'm so glad, so very glad, I have this money, all my own, to spend forthose dear little things! I know you'll help them; but it's so nice tobe able to do my part, and giving away is such a pleasure."
"You are your father's own daughter in that, child. I must go and get mycontribution ready, or I shall be left out," said Mrs. Lyon, hasteningaway to add one more charity to the many which made her quiet life so beautiful.
"I will go and see our neighbor this evening, and you shall come withme. You see, my girl, that the homely 'little job' is likely to be alarge and pleasant one, and you have earned your part in it. Do the dutythat comes first, and one never knows what beautiful experience it mayblossom into. Use your earnings as you like, and God bless you, my dear."
So Abby had her part in the happy days that came to the Mayhews, andenjoyed it more than a dozen work-boxes; while her father was nevertired of showing the handsome darn and telling the story of it.
Help and comfort were much needed around the corner; for very soon thepoor lady died. But her confidence in the new friends raised up to herwas not misplaced; and when all was over, and people asked, "What willbecome of the children?" Mr. Lyon answered the sad question by leadingthe four little orphans to his own house, and keeping them till goodhomes were found for the three youngest.
Lucy was heart-broken, and clung to Abby in her sorrow, as if nothingelse could console her for all she had lost. No one had the heart tospeak of sending her away at present; and, before long, the gratefullittle creature had won a place for herself which she never forfeited.
It was good for Abby to have a care of this sort, and her generousnature enjoyed it thoroughly, as she played elder sister in the sweetestway. It was her first real lesson in the charity that made herafter-life so rich and beautiful; but then she little dreamed how wellshe was to be repaid for her small share in the good work which provedto be a blessing to them all.
Soon, preparations for sister Catharine's wedding produced a pleasantbustle in the house, and both the younger girls were as busy as bees,helping everywhere. Dressmakers ripped and stitched upstairs, visitorsgossiped in the parlor, and cooks simmered and scolded in the kitchen;while notable Madam Lyon presided over the household, keeping the peaceand gently bringing order out of chaos.
Abby had a new sprigged muslin frock, with a white sash, and her firstpair of silk stockings, a present from her father. A bunch of pinkroses gave the finishing touch, and she turned up her hair with atortoise-shell comb in honor of the occasion.
All the relations--and there were many of them--came to the wedding, andthe hospitable mansion was crowded with old and young. A fine breakfastwas prepared, a line of carriages filled the quiet street, and troops ofstately ladies and gentlemen came marching in; for the Lyons were amuch-honored family.
The interesting moment arrived at last, the minister opened his book,the lovely bride entered with her groom, and a solemn silence fell uponthe rustling crowd. Abby was much excited, and felt that she was aboutto disgrace herself by crying. Fortunately she stood near the door, andfinding that a sob _would_ come at thought of her dear sister going awayforever, she slipped out and ran upstairs to hide her tears in the backbedroom, where she was put to accommodate guests.
As she opened the door, a puff of smoke made her catch her breath, thenrun to throw open the window before she turned to look for the fallenbrand. A fire had been kindled in this room a short time before, and, toAbby's dismay, the sudden draught fanned the smouldering sparks whichhad crept from a fallen log to the mop-board and thence around thewooden mantel-piece. A suspicious crackling was heard, little tongues offlame darted from the cracks, and the air was full of smoke.
Abby's first impulse was to fly downstairs, screaming "Fire!" at the topof her voice; her second was to stand still and think what to do,--foran instant's recollection showed her what terror and confusion such acry would produce in the crowded house, and how unseemly a panic wouldbe at such a time.
"If I could only get at father! But I can't without scaring every one.What would he do? I've heard him tell about fires, and how to put themout; I know,--stop the draught first," and Abby shut the window. "Nowwater and wet blankets," and away she ran to the bath-room, and fillinga pail, dashed the water over the burning wood. Then, pulling theblankets from off the bed, she wet them as well as she could, and hungthem up before the fire-place, going to and fro for more water till thesmoke ceased to pour out and the crackling stopped.
These energetic measures were taken just in time to prevent a seriousfire, and when Abby dared to rest a moment, with her eyes on thechimney, fearing the treacherous blaze might burst out in a new place,she discovered that her clothes were wet, her face blackened, her handsblistered, and her breath gone.
"No matter," she thought, still too much elated with her success to feelthe pain. "Father will be pleased, I know; for this is what he wouldcall an emergency, and I've had my wits about me. I wish mother wouldcome. Oh, dear! how queerly I feel--" and in the midst of herself-congratulation, poor little Abby fainted away,--slipping to thefloor and lying there, like a new sort of Casabianca, faithful at herpost.
Lucy found her very soon, having missed her and come to look for her theminute the service was over. Much frightened, she ran down again andtried to tell Mr. and Mrs. Lyon quietly. But her pale face alarmed everyone, and when Abby came to herself, she was in her father's arms, beingcarried from the scene of devastation to her mother's room, where acrowd of anxious relatives received her like a conquering hero.
"Well done, my brave little fire-warden! I'm proud of you!" were thefirst words she heard; and they were more reviving than the burntfeathers under her nose, or the lavender-water plentifully sprinkledover her by her mother and sister.
With that hearty commendation, her father left her, to see that all wassafe, and Abby found that another sort of courage was needed to supporther through the next half-hour of trial; for her hands were badlyburned, and each of the excellent relatives suggested a differentremedy.
"Flour them!" cried Aunt Sally, fanning her violently.
"Goose-oil and cotton-batting," suggested Aunt Patty.
"Nothing so good as lard," pronounced Aunt Nabby.
"I always use dry starch or a piece of salt pork," added cousin Lucretia.
"Butter them!" commanded grandma. "That's what I did when my Joseph fellinto the boiler and came out with his blessed little legs the color oflobsters. Butter them, Dolly."
That settled the vexed question, and Abby's hands were well buttered,while a hearty laugh composed the spirits of the agitated party; for thecontrast between grandma's words and her splendid appearance, as she saterect in the big arm-chair issuing commands like a general, insilver-gray satin and an imposing turban, was very funny.
Then Abby was left to repose, with Lucy and old Nurse beside her, whilethe rest went down to eat the wedding feast and see the happy pair offin a chaise, with the portmanteau slung underneath, on their quiethoney-moon trip to Pomfret.
When the bustle was all over, Abby found herself a heroine in her smallcircle of admiring friends and neighbors, who praised and petted her asif she had saved the city from destruction. She needed comfort verymuch; for one hand was so seriously injured that it never entirelyrecovered from the deep burn, which contracted two of her finger-tips.This was a great sorrow to the poor girl; for she could no longer playon her piano, and was forced to content herself with singing like a larkwhen all joined in the sweet old ballads forgotten now.
It was a misfortune, but it had its happy side; for, during the longmonths when she was partially helpless, books were her solace, and shestudied many things which other duties or pleasures would have crowdedout, if "Abby's poor hand" had not been an excuse for such liberty andindulgence. It did not make her selfish, however, for while regrettingher uselessness, she unexpectedly found work to do that made her ownlife happy by cheering that of another.
Lucy proved to be a most intelligent child; and when Abby asked whatreturn she could make for all the little girl's loving service duringher trouble, she discovered that help about lessons would be the favormost desired. Lucy's too early cares had kept her from learning much,and now that she had leisure, weak eyes forbade study, and she longedvainly to get on as her new friend did; for Abby was her model in allthings,--looked up to with admiration, love, and wonder.
"Father, I've been thinking that I might read Lucy's lessons to her andhear her recite. Then she wouldn't grieve about being backward, and Ican be eyes to her as she is hands to me. I can't sew or work now, but Ican teach the little I know. May I, sir?" asked Abby, one morning, afterreading a paper in the _Spectator_, and having a pleasant talk about itduring the happy half-hour.
"A capital plan, daughter, if you are sure you can keep on.
To begin andthen fail would leave the child worse off for the hope anddisappointment. It will be tiresome to go on day after day, so thinkwell before you propose it," answered her father, much pleased with theidea.
"I _can_ do it, and I _will_! If I get tired, I'll look at you andmother,--always so faithful to what you undertake,--and remember mymotto," cried Abby, anxious to follow the example set her in the dailylife of these good parents.
A hearty hand-shake rewarded her, and she set about the new task with aresolute purpose to succeed. It was hard at first to go back to herearly lessons and read them over and over again to eager Lucy, who didher best to understand, remember, and recite. But good-will andgratitude worked wonders; and day after day, week after week, monthafter month, the teaching went on, to the great surprise andsatisfaction of those who watched this labor of love. Both learned much,and a very strong, sweet friendship grew up, which lasted till the younggirls became old women.
For nearly two years the daily lessons were continued; then Lucy wasready and able to go to school, and Abby free from the duty that hadgrown a pleasure. Sister Catherine being gone, she was the young lady ofthe house now, and began to go to a few parties, where she distinguishedherself by her graceful dancing, and sprightly though modest manners.She had grown strong and rosy with the exercise her sensible motherprescribed and her energetic father encouraged, taking long walks withher to Roxbury and Dorchester on holidays, over bridges and around thecommon before breakfast each morning, till the pale little girl was atall and blooming creature, full of life and spirit,--not exactlybeautiful, but with a sweet, intelligent face, and the frank, cordialways that are so charming. Her brother Sam was very proud of her, andliked to see her surrounded by his friends at the merry-makings to whichhe escorted her; for she talked as well as she danced, and the oldergentlemen enjoyed a good chat with Miss Abby as much as the youngerones did the elaborate pigeon-wings and pirouettes then in vogue.
Among the older men was one whom Abby much admired; for he had fought,travelled, and studied more than most men of his age, and earned thehonors he wore so modestly. She was never tired of asking him questionswhen they met, and he never seemed tired of giving long, interestingreplies; so they often sat and talked while others danced, and Abbynever guessed that he was studying her bright face and innocent heart aseagerly as she listened to his agreeable conversation and stirring adventures.
Presently he came to the house with brother Sam, who shared Abby'sregard for him; and there, while the young men amused themselves, orpaid their respects to the elders, one of them was still watching thetall girl with the crown of brown hair, as she sat by her father, pouredthe tea for Madam, laughed with her brother, or made bashful Lucy sharetheir pleasures; always so busy, dutiful, and winning, that the visitorpronounced Mr. Lyon's the most delightful house in Boston. He heard allthe little tales of Abby's youth from Sam, and Lucy added her tributewith the eloquence of a grateful heart; he saw how loved and trusted shewas, and he soon longed to know how she would answer the question hedesired to ask her. Having received permission from Papa, in thedecorous old style, he only waited for an opportunity to discover ifcharming Abigail would consent to change her name from Lyon to Lamb;and, as if her lesson was to be quite complete, a little thing decidedher fate and made a very happy woman of the good girl.
On Abby's seventeenth birthday, there was to be a party in her honor, atthe hospitable family mansion, to which all her friends were invited;and, when she came down early to see that all was in order, she foundone impatient guest had already arrived.
It was not alone the consciousness that the new pink taffeta gown andthe wreath of white roses were very becoming which made her blush soprettily as she thanked her friend for the fine nosegay he brought her,but something in his face, though he only wished her many happy returnsin a hearty way, and then added, laughing, as the last button flew offthe glove he was awkwardly trying to fasten,--
"It is evident that you didn't sew on these buttons, Miss Abby. I'veobserved that Sam's never come off, and he says you always keep them inorder."
"Let me put one on for you. It will take but a moment, and you'll be souncomfortable without it," said Abby, glad to find employment for hereyes.
A minute afterward she was sorry she had offered; for he accepted thelittle service with thanks, and stood watching while she sat down at herwork-table and began to sew. She was very sensitive about her hand, yetashamed of being so; for the scar was inside and the drawn fingersshowed very little, as it is natural to half close them. She hoped hehad never seen it, and tried to hide it as she worked. But this, orsome new consciousness, made her usually nimble fingers lose theirskill, and she knotted the silk, split the button, and dropped herthimble, growing angry with herself for being so silly and getting sored and flurried.
"I'm afraid I'm giving you a deal of trouble," said the gentleman, whowas watching the white hand with great interest.
"No; it is I who am foolish about my burnt hands," answered Abby, in herfrank, impetuous way. "See how ugly it is!" And she held it out, as ifto punish herself for the girlish feeling she despised.
The answer to this little outburst made her forget everything but thesweetest pleasure and surprise; for, kissing the scarred palm withtender respect, her lover said:--
"To me it is the finest and the dearest hand in the world. I know thebrave story, and I've seen the good this generous hand is never tired ofdoing. I want it for my own. Will you give it to me, dear?"
Abby must have answered, "Yes;" for she wore a new ring under her glovethat night, and danced as if there were wings on the heels of her pinkshoes.
Whether the button ever got sewed on or not, no one knows; but that bitof needlework was even more successful than the other small job; for indue time there was a second wedding, without a fire, and Abby went awayto a happy home of her own, leaving sister Lucy to fill her place and bethe most loving and faithful of daughters to her benefactors while theylived.
Long years afterward, when she had children and grandchildren about her,listening to the true old stories that are the best, Abby used to say,with her own cheerful laugh:--
"My father and mother taught me many useful lessons, but none morevaluable than those I learned that year; and I may honestly say thatpatience, perseverance, courage, friendship, and love, came out of thatsilk stocking. So let me give you this bit of advice: Don't despiselittle things, my dears!"