Little Grandmother Part 13

"O, but, mamma, that was when they didn't grow, you know."

"Well, dear, I'll let you dip in a rod by and by; I can't stop now."

Patty waited, but the "by and by" did not come. Mrs. Lyman seemed to have forgotten her promise; and about eight o'clock had to leave the candles a few minutes to give Dorcas some advice about the fitting of a dress. Dorcas was to take her mother's place; but just as she started for the kitchen, there was an outcry from Mary, who had cut her finger, and wanted it bound up.

"It's my by-and-by _now_," thought little Patty.

There was not a soul in the kitchen to attend to those candles. Deary me, and the tallow growing so cold! Wasn't it Patty's duty to help?

Of course it was; and seating her little self with much dignity in the chair from which her mother had just risen, and propping her feet on the round, she took up the business where it was left off. It seemed the easiest thing in the world to flash those round white candles into the kettle and out again; but they were a great deal heavier than she had supposed. After she had dipped two or three rods her arm felt very tired. How could mamma do it so fast, without stopping one bit?

A bright thought seized Patty, as bright as all those dozen-dozen candles burning in a row.

"Guess I'll dip 'em slow; then there'll be more tallow stick on."

Strange mamma hadn't thought of that herself; but mammas can't think of everything, they have so much to do. Patty swayed a rod full of candles from side to side in the kettle, not perceiving that they were melting to their heart's cores. When she took them out they dripped great tears, and as she held them up, wondering why they hadn't grown any, the kitchen door opened, and some one walked in.

Who it was Patty could not see, for her face was turned away; but what if it should be brother James, and he should call out,

"Well, Snippet, up to mischief, hey?"

The very thought of such a speech frightened her so that she set her row of candles across the chairs in great haste, hitting them against another row, where they stuck fast.

"Good evening, miss," said a strange voice.

Patty turned her head, and there, instead of James, stood a handsome young gentleman she had never seen before. She knew at once it must be the new teacher.

The first thing she did was to seize a row of candles, hit or miss, and dashed them into the kettle.

"Beg pardon. I'm afraid I've come to the wrong door," said the stranger, bowing very low, and trying his best not to smile.

"O, no, sir; yes, sir; thank you," replied bewildered Patty, almost plunging head first into the kettle. But instead of that she suddenly straightened up, and popped in another row of candles.

Mr. Starbird was so amused by the little creature's quick and kitten-like motions that he stood still and watched her. He thought he had never seen so funny a sight before.

"He smiles just as _cheerfully_," mused Miss Patty, with an airy toss of the head. "Guess he thinks I'm smart! Guess he thinks he'll put me in the C'lumby Norter [Columbian Orator] first thing _he_ does! Big girl like this, sitting up so straight, working like a woman!"

With that she rocked forward, and nearly lost her balance; but no harm was done; she only pushed the kettle half way off the board.

The gentleman thought it was about time to interfere, and let some of the family know what the child was doing.

"Will you please point the way to the parlor, little miss?" said he, with a bewitching smile.

Patty slid from her seat, and, in her confusion, was aiming straight for the cellar door, when, alas! alas! one of her feet got caught in the rounds of the chair, and she tumbled out headlong. In trying to save herself, she put forth both hands, and struck against the kettle, which was already tipsy, and of course turned over.

It was a critical moment. Mr. Starbird saw the kettle coming, and had the presence of mind to spring the other way. A flood of hot water and tallow was pouring over the floor, and little Patty screaming l.u.s.tily.

Mr. Starbird thought she was scalding to death, and instead of taking care of himself, turned about to save her. But before he could reach her, she had darted through the bar-room door and disappeared--without so much as a blotch of tallow on her shoes.

Gallant Mr. Starbird did not get off so well. His foot slipped on the oily floor, and down he fell. Before he could get up the whole household had come to the rescue, Rachel and John bringing tin dippers, and Mrs.

Lyman a mop; but Dorcas a roll of linen, for she knew the stranger must be scalded.

He tried to make the best of it, poor man; and while Dorcas was doing up both his blistered hands, he smiled on her almost as "cheerfully" as he had smiled on the little candle-dipper. He found it very pleasant to look at Dorcas. Everybody liked to look at her. She had a rare, sweet face, as delicate as a white snowdrop just touched with pink, and she did know how to do up sore fingers beautifully; she had practised it on every one of the children.

Patty was so sorry and ashamed that she crept to bed in the dark, and cried herself to sleep.

The next morning that unpainted kitchen floor was a sight to behold, and Rachel said she did not think it would ever come clean again.

"See what I found in the kettle," said she.

Two rows of little withered candles, all worn out, and crooked besides.

"Did I do that too?" said Patty.

"I should think you did. What mischief will you be up to next?" said Rachel, sharply.

"But, but, mamma _said_ I might dip."

"Why, yes, so I did," said the much-enduring mother, suddenly remembering her own words. "Well, well, Rachel, we won't be too hard on Patience. I'll warrant she'll never try this caper again."

CHAPTER XIII.

MR. STARBIRD'S DREAM.

Mr. Starbird began the school with his hands in mittens; but for all that he governed the big boys without the least effort. His blisters were so troublesome that he had to go to Squire Lyman's every day to have them done up, and in that way Patty grew very well acquainted with him. Before spring the whole family felt as if they had always known him, and Mrs. Lyman called him Frank, because she and his mother had been "girls together." Dorcas did not call him Frank, but they were remarkably good friends.

After the winter school was done, Mr. Starbird still staid at Perseverance, studying law with Mr. Chase, and boarding at Squire Lyman's. He was a very funny man, always saying and doing strange things; and that brings me round at last to Patty's dollar.

One evening Patty was so tired with picking up chips that she went and threw herself into her mother's arms, saying, "Why don't the boys stick the axe clear through the wood, mamma; then there wouldn't be chips to bother folks."

For a wonder Mrs. Lyman was sitting down without any work in her hands, and could stop to stroke Patty's hair and kiss her "lips like snips of scarlet," which made the little girl happier than anything else in the world. Mr. Starbird sat in a large armchair, holding a skein of yarn for Dorcas, who sat in a small rocking-chair, winding it.

"Mrs. Lyman," said Mr. Starbird, "do you believe in dreams?"

"Indeed, I do not," replied Mrs. Lyman. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I don't believe in them myself any more than you do, Mrs. Lyman.

But I did have such a very singular dream last night!"

"Do tell us what it was," said Dorcas.

"Certainly, if you like," said Mr. Starbird; "but I--but I don't know about it; is it best to speak of such things before Patty?"

"Yes, you must, Mr. Starbird," cried Patty, springing up eagerly. "_I_ won't tell anybody, long's I live."