Jack and Jill by Louisa May Alcott

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

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