CHAPTER VIII.
PACKING THE BOX.
THE next day’s lessons passed over with the usual amount of weariness on the part of the teacher, dulness on that of little Eddy, and carelessness on that of his sister. It was with great difficulty that Mrs. Ellerslie could keep the attention of Lily to the tasks which she had to learn. The thoughts of the little girl were constantly wandering, now to her brother, now to her play, now to some project in her mind, while she tried the patience of her mother almost as much by the numerous little bad habits which seemed to spring up like weeds in neglected ground.
“Lily, do hold up your head!—My child, you must not stand upon one foot!—Little girls ought not to bite their lips!—What! you have been at your nails again!” Such were the sentences which, from the lips of the anxious parent, constantly interrupted the course of the studies. I began to wonder whether little girls could find any peculiar enjoyment in biting their finger-ends—whether they thought it becoming to look hunchbacked, or merely delighted in teasing their teachers, and defeating the efforts of those who love them to make them lady-like and agreeable. As I am a needle, and not a little girl, I cannot tell which of these three motives it was that influenced the conduct of Lily. If any of my young readers ever follow her example, I beg them to decide the question.
At length lessons were finished, and the tired teacher was free, but not to rest. Oh no! but to pack up a box for her sister in India, which must be despatched before one o’clock.
“Now, my darlings, run up and get ready for your walk.”
Lily sauntered slowly up to the window. “Oh, I’m so glad! it’s raining fast!” said she. “I have something that I particularly want to do. See, mamma, what Lizzie gave me yesterday!” And she drew, from a little pocket in her dress, a very small parcel, and opening it, displayed to view a reel of bright, glittering gold thread.
“Very pretty; and what will you make of it, my dear?” said Mrs. Ellerslie, kindly pausing in her occupation of clearing away school-books and slates, Lily never dreaming of offering her assistance.
“I’m going to ornament a pen-wiper for George,” replied the child; “don’t you think that it will please him very much? May I stay here and work it beside you?”
Mrs. Ellerslie nodded her head in assent, but looked a little grave; perhaps she would have preferred being left for an hour in quiet, and had some idea what the permission would cost her.
“And may I stay here too, mamma?” inquired Eddy. “I want to look at you packing all these things. Do let me stay, darling mamma!”
She could not resist his entreaty; so there he pretty quietly stood, watching his mother as she hastily spread the table with various parcels, brown paper, oil-skin, a tin box, and string.
“Mamma,” said Lily, standing on one foot, with the golden thread dangling from her hand, “don’t you think that this will look well upon a dark ground?”
“Yes, my love,” answered Mrs. Ellerslie, her voice half drowned in the rustling of paper.
“Mamma, do you think blue or green would look best?”
“I really cannot think about it at all just now. My box must be ready before one. Now, my Eddy, you must not open the parcels.”
“I was just peeping in a little, mamma.”
“Don’t come to the table, my sweet boy! Mamma is very busy indeed.”
Eddy trotted off without saying another word.
“Mamma,” began Lily again, “do you think that you have a bit of dark-blue cloth or velvet, whichever you please, to give me for the sides of my pen-wiper?”
“I dare say I have some upstairs in my wardrobe.”
“Could I go and get it, mamma?”
“No; you know that I never allow you to search there,” said the lady, who, having lined the bright tin box with paper, was trying every possible position in which an awkward shaped parcel could take up least room.
Lily remained silent for a few minutes, but without occupying herself with anything but the thought how she could persuade her mother to give her at once what she had set her heart upon obtaining. At length she cautiously commenced with, “I am rather in a hurry to begin.”
“I will look out the piece for you when next I go upstairs.”
Lily gave a very audible sigh.
“This would be just the time for working,” murmured she.
“I shall have no peace till I get it for the child,” exclaimed Mrs. Ellerslie, half to herself; and the too indulgent mother left her parcels and her box, to commence a search for some small remnants of cloth, which, to judge by the length of her absence, she had a good deal of trouble in finding.
“Now, do not interrupt me any more,” she said, as she placed them in the eager hand of Lily, and turned, by more active exertions, to make up for the time which she had lost.
The girl bore them off in triumph to her work-box; but here a new difficulty arose. She snipped off this corner and that corner, by the aid of Mrs. Scissors, but could not satisfy herself with the shape. Again she approached her mother at the table: “Please to make me a good round, mamma. I have tried, but I cannot do it myself.”
“You can wait a little, my dear.” Mrs. Ellerslie was pressing down the lid of the box, which seemed evidently determined not to close, and she looked certainly heated and tired.
Again I heard that naughty, impatient sigh; again the tender mother yielded to importunity; the round was cut out, and a minute’s peace secured.
“Where’s the string?” said Mrs. Ellerslie quickly, moving the box, lifting paper, glancing under the table. The lines on her forehead were plain enough now.
Lily was busily employed trying to force the bright golden thread though my little eye. I saw plainly that she could never succeed, and I felt exceedingly mortified; for what could be a higher object of ambition to a needle than to be threaded with gold? Lily saw that her mother was hunting and searching for the lost piece of string, but she never stirred to assist her.
“Where can it be? I’m sure that I brought some down! Where can I have laid the string?”
“Here it is!” cried Eddy, suddenly becoming aware that his mother wanted something which he had himself carried off. He had been quietly amusing himself in his corner, tying chairs, stool, sofa, and bell-rope together, with a liberal expenditure of string and a very large allowance of tight knots.
It was Mrs. Ellerslie’s turn to be impatient, as, hastily endeavouring to undo the child’s work, she exclaimed, “How on earth shall I unfasten all this?”
“It’s my harness, mamma, and these are my horses! Oh, are you vexed?” he added, looking up in her face, and reading, from her harassed expression, that he had again been guilty of causing her trouble. “I’m very sorry, mamma; I’ll never do so any more.”
Even in the midst of her hurry, the gentle mother stooped down to give him a kiss. She had another hurried run upstairs to bring more string, for she had not the spare time to undo all his knots; but no angry word passed her lips. She let Eddy stand beside her at the table, even trusted him to hold a match which she had lighted, and employed him to ring the bell.
“I am so glad that it is done at last!” cried the lady, sinking wearily on the sofa, as the box—it was barely packed in time—was carried by a servant from the room.
“And I helped you, mamma!” said Eddy proudly.
“I shall never manage this!” cried Lily impatiently. “Oh, the tiresome needle!—stupid thread!”
“I am at leisure now,” said her mother; “bring your work to me, my dear child.”
“One would need a bodkin to hold such great coarse cord,” exclaimed Lily.
What a name to give to the most delicate flexible thread which had ever employed the ingenuity of man to beat out from a single grain of gold!
“If you had waited a little, I should have shown you what to do. The gold thread must not be passed through the thick cloth at all, but be fastened down to it with a little fine cotton. Thread your needle, and I will show you the way.”
Oh, the patience and love of a mother! Alas, that it should often be met, if not with actual ingratitude, yet with that selfish want of consideration which receives every kindness as a matter of course, and never makes the smallest sacrifice in return!