Little Grandmother Part 7

"Yes'm; the man killed her to death with a jug, and then she died,"

replied Patty, solemnly.

"Where is the child? Something must be done about it at once," said Mrs.

Potter, a very kind lady, but apt to speak without much thought. "O, Patty, dear, I am glad you have such a good heart. It is beautiful to see little children remembering the words of our Saviour, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'"

Patty's eyes shone with delight. It seemed to her that she was a little Lady Bountiful, going about the world taking care of the poor. She crept closer to Mrs. Potter's side.

"I haven't but just one silver dollar," said she, in a low voice; "but I'd ravver give it to the little girl than keep it myself, I would!"

"Bless your dear little soul," said the doctor's wife, kissing Patty; but Mrs. Chase said nothing; and all at once it occurred to the child that perhaps Mrs. Chase had heard of her being spoken to in meeting, and that was why she did not praise her. Dreadful thought! It frightened Patty so that she covered up her face till both the ladies had gone away, for they did not stay much longer.

After the door was closed upon them, Mrs. Lyman said--,

"Here is your silver dollar, Patty, in my pocket."

Patty fancied that her mother's voice was rather cold. She had expected a few words of praise, or at least a kiss and a smile.

"But think a minute, Patience. Are you sure you want to give it away?"

Patty put her fingers in her mouth, and eyed the dollar longingly. How large, and round, and bright it looked!

"I thought I heard you speak yesterday of buying Dorcas a vand.y.k.e,--or was it Mary?--and the day before of getting some shoe-buckles for Moses," added Mrs. Lyman, in the same quiet tones. "And only this morning your mind was running on a jockey for yourself. Whatever you please, dear. Take time to think."

"O, I'd ravver have a jockey. I forgot that--a white one."

"And what will become of the poor little girl?"

"O, I guess Dorcas will give her some _remmernants_ to eat, and folks all around will see to her, you know."

"My child, my child, you don't think as you did when those ladies were here. Do you remember your last Sunday's verse, and what I said about it then?"

Mrs. Lyman's voice was very grave.

Patty repeated the verse,--

"Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them; otherwise, ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven."

She knew very well what it meant.

"Doing alms before women is just the same as doing 'em before men,"

thought Patty.

She had been making pretty speeches just for the sake of being praised, and she didn't care so very much about the beggar girl after all.

"I am going out to see that poor child for myself," said Mrs. Lyman, putting down the black silk pocket she was making; and Patty followed, with her money clasped close to her bosom.

But by that time the dirty-faced little creature had gone away.

"She told wrong stories," said Dorcas; "she said, in the first place, her mother was dead, and afterwards that her mother was sick."

"Naughty thing! I'm glad I didn't give her my silver dollar!" exclaimed Patty; though she dared not look up, for fear of meeting her mamma's eyes.

"Where _have_ you been, child, to get so stained with paint?" said Rachel, who always saw things before any one else did. "Come here, and let me sponge your gown with spirits of turpentine."

"Strange I shouldn't have noticed that," said Mrs. Lyman. "I hope Mrs.

Potter didn't spoil her c.r.a.pe shawl when she put her arm round you, Patience."

Patty dropped her eyes with shame, to think how pleased Mrs. Potter had been with her just for nothing at all.

"Spirits _turpletine_?" said she, making believe she had never heard the word before. "_Spirits_ turpletine? That isn't _angels_, Rachel? Then what makes you call 'em spirits?"

Rachel knew the child was talking for the sake of changing the subject, and she would not answer such a foolish question.

"Stand still, you little try-patience," said she, "or I shall never get off the paint."

Mrs. Lyman went back to finish her pocket. Ladies in those days wore them under their dresses, tied about their waists. Mrs. Lyman's was a very pretty one, of quilted black silk, and when it was done, Patty put her dollar in it, and jingled it beside a gold piece of her mother's.

"Which is worth the most, mamma?" said she, "your dollar or my dollar?"

"Mine is worth just twenty times as much as yours."

"Well, I'm glad that naughty girl hasn't got either of 'em," thought Patty. "I'm sorry I made believe _good_; but I want my dollar, and here 'tis, all safe."

Safe! Before night Patty's dollar was gone, and her mother's gold piece with it,--pocket, and all. It went that very afternoon; but n.o.body knew it till Mrs. Lyman was getting ready to go to the store two days afterwards, and wanted her pocket to put on.

When she came into the kitchen and said it was not in her bureau drawer, and when Rachel, who always did the hunting, had looked everywhere and could not find it, then there was crying in that house, you may be sure.

Patty said at once the beggar girl had taken the pocket.

"But how could she?" said Dorcas. "She was out of sight and hearing before mother began to quilt it."

"Well, then she came back in the night," sobbed Patty.

"I dare say Snippet has put it out of place," said big brother James.

"Yes, Patty is a great hand to lose things," said Rachel.

"No, no, no; that _n.i.g.g.e.ramus_ girl came and took it; came in the night," persisted Patty.

"Patience!" said her mother, reprovingly; and then Patty had to stop.

She mourned only for the silver dollar. She would have mourned for the gold piece too, if she had known that her mother intended to buy fall clothes with it for the little girls. It was as well Patty did not know this, for she had as much already as she could bear.

Priscilla Noonin came over that afternoon with her knitting. "It was midsummer, and the hay was down," and there were two men helping get it into the barn. One of the men was tall and well formed, but the other, Israel Crossman, was so short as to be almost a dwarf. He had yellow and white hair, was a little lame, and his hands were covered with warts.

After supper he sat a few minutes on the top of the fence whittling a stick. As Siller Noonin stood knitting at the window she saw him, and shook her head.

"Somehow or 'nother," said she, "I don't like the looks of that man, and never did. It's my private opinion, Mrs. Lyman, that either he stole your pocket or I did."

"Be careful," whispered Mrs. Lyman, "he will hear you."