such confusion, it is high time they were attended to. The
breakfast-table still stood as it was left, with slops of coffee on the
cloth; bits of bread, egg-shells, and potato-skins lay about, and one
lonely sausage was cast away in the middle of a large platter. The
furniture was dusty, stove untidy, and the carpet looked as if
crumbs had been scattered to chickens who declined their
breakfast. Boo was sitting on the sofa, with his arm through a hole
in the cover, hunting for some lost treasure put away there for safe
keeping, like a little magpie as he was. Molly fancied she washed
and dressed him well enough; but to-day she seemed to see more
dearly, and sighed as she thought of the hard job in store for her if
she gave him the thorough washing he needed, and combed out
that curly mop of hair.
“I’ll clear up first and do that by and by. I ought to have a nice little
tub and good towels, like Mrs. Minot, and I will, too, if I buy them
myself,” she said, piling up cups with an energy that threatened
destruction to handles.
Miss Bat, who was trailing about the kitchen, with her head pinned
up in a little plaid shawl, was so surprised by the demand for a pan
of hot water and four clean towels, that she nearly dropped her
snuff-box, chief comfort of her lazy soul.
“What new whimsey now? Generally, the dishes stand round till I
have time to pick ’em up, and you are off coasting or careering
somewhere. Well, this tidy fit won’t last long, so I may as well
make the most of it,” said Miss Bat, as she handed out the required
articles, and then pushed her spectacles from the tip of her sharp
nose to her sharper black eyes for a good look at the girl who stood
primly before her, with a clean apron on and her hair braided up
instead of flying wildly about her shoulders.
“Umph!” was all the comment that Miss Bat made on this unusual
neatness, and she went on scraping her saucepans, while Molly
returned to her work, very well pleased with the effect of her first
step, for she felt that the bewilderment of Miss Bat would be a
constant inspiration to fresh efforts.
An hour of hard work produced an agreeable change in the abode
of the native, for the table was cleared, room swept and dusted,
fire brightened, and the holes in the sofa-covering were pinned up
till time could be found to mend them. To be sure, rolls of lint lay
in corners, smears of ashes were on the stove hearth, and dust still
lurked on chair rounds and table legs. But too much must not be
expected of a new convert, so the young missionary sat down to
rest, well pleased and ready for another attempt as soon as she
could decide in what direction it should be made. She quailed
before Boo as she looked at the unconscious innocent peacefully
playing with the spotted dog, now bereft of his tail, and the lone
sausage with which he was attempting to feed the hungry animal,
whose red mouth always gaped for more.
“It will be an awful job, and he is so happy I won’t plague him yet.
Guess I’ll go and put my room to rights first, and pick up some
clean clothes to put on him, if he is alive after I get through with
him,” thought Molly, foreseeing a stormy passage for the boy, who
hated a bath as much as some people hate a trip across the
Atlantic.
Up she went, and finding the fire out felt discouraged, thought she
would rest a little more, so retired under the blankets to read one
of the Christmas books. The dinner-bell rang while she was still
wandering happily in “Nelly’s Silver Mine,” and she ran down to
find that Boo had laid out a railroad all across her neat room, using
bits of coal for sleepers and books for rails, over which he was
dragging the yellow sled laden with a dismayed kitten, the tailless
dog, and the remains of the sausage, evidently on its way to the