The conflagration was over in a minute, however, for the boys tore
down the muslin and stamped out the fire with much laughter,
while Mrs. Grant bewailed the damage to her carpet, and poor
Merry took refuge in her father’s arms, refusing to be comforted in
spite of his kind commendation of “Grandma’s fixins.”
The third little missionary had the hardest time of all, and her first
efforts were not much more satisfactory nor successful than the
others. Her father was away from morning till night, and then had
his paper to read, books to keep, or “a man to see down town,” so
that, after a hasty word at tea, he saw no more of the children till
another evening, as they were seldom up at his early breakfast. He
thought they were well taken care of, for Miss Bathsheba Dawes
was an energetic, middle-aged spinster when she came into the
family, and had been there fifteen years, so he did not observe,
what a woman would have seen at once, that Miss Bat was getting
old and careless, and everything about the house was at sixes and
sevens. She took good care of him, and thought she had done her
duty if she got three comfortable meals, nursed the children when
they were ill, and saw that the house did not burn up. So Maria
Louisa and Napoleon Bonaparte got on as they could, without the
tender cares of a mother. Molly had been a happy-go-lucky child,
contented with her pets, her freedom, and little Boo to love; but
now she was just beginning to see that they were not like other
children, and to feel ashamed of it.
“Papa is busy, but Miss Bat ought to see to us; she is paid for it,
and goodness knows she has an easy time now, for if I ask her to
do anything, she groans over her bones, and tells me young folks
should wait on themselves. I take all the care of Boo off her hands,
but I can’t wash my own things, and he hasn’t a decent trouser to
his blessed little legs. I’d tell papa, but it wouldn’t do any good;
he’d only say, ‘Yes, child, yes, I’ll attend to it,’ and never do a
thing.”
This used to be Molly’s lament, when some especially trying event
occurred, and if the girls were not there to condole with her, she
would retire to the shed-chamber, call her nine cats about her, and,
sitting in the old bushel basket, pull her hair about her ears, and
scold all alone. The cats learned to understand this habit, and
nobly did their best to dispel the gloom which now and then
obscured the sunshine of their little mistress. Some of them would
creep into her lap and purr till the comfortable sound soothed her
irritation; the sedate elders sat at her feet blinking with such wise
and sympathetic faces, that she felt as if half a dozen Solomons
were giving her the sagest advice; while the kittens frisked about,
cutting up their drollest capers till she laughed in spite of herself.
When the laugh came, the worst of the fit was over, and she soon
cheered up, dismissing the consolers with a pat all round, a feast of
good things from Miss Bat’s larder, and the usual speech:
“Well, dears, it’s of no use to worry. I guess we shall get along
somehow, if we don’t fret.”
With which wise resolution, Molly would leave her retreat and
freshen up her spirits by a row on the river or a romp with Boo,
which always finished the case. Now, however, she was bound to
try the new plan and do something toward reforming not only the
boy’s condition, but the disorder and discomfort of home.
“I’ll play it is Siam, and this the house of a native, and I’m come to
show the folks how to live nicely. Miss Bat won’t know what to
make of it, and I can’t tell her, so I shall get some fun out of it,
anyway,” thought Molly, as she surveyed the dining-room the day
her mission began.
The prospect was not cheering; and, if the natives of Siam live in