the four piles of scraps laid round at intervals and placidly ate their
meat; while Molly retired to the basket, to ponder over the
phenomena taking place in the house.
She could not imagine what had started the old lady. It was not the
example of her neighbors, who had beaten carpets and scrubbed
paint every spring for years without exciting her to any greater
exertion than cleaning a few windows and having a man to clear
away the rubbish displayed when the snow melted. Molly never
guessed that her own efforts were at the bottom of the change, or
knew that a few words not meant for her ear had shamed Miss Bat
into action. Coming home from prayer-meeting one dark night, she
trotted along behind two old ladies who were gossiping in loud
voices, as one was rather deaf, and Miss Bat was both pleased and
troubled to hear herself unduly praised.
“I always said Sister Dawes meant well; but she’s getting into
years, and the care of two children is a good deal for her, with her
cooking and her rheumatiz. I don’t deny she did neglect ’em for a
spell, but she does well by ’em now, and I wouldn’t wish to see
better-appearing children.”
“You’ve no idee how improved Molly is. She came in to see my
girls, and brought her sewing-work, shirts for the boy, and done it
as neat and capable as you’d wish to see. She always was a smart
child, but dreadful careless,” said the other old lady, evidently
much impressed by the change in harum-scarum Molly Loo.
“Being over to Mis Minot’s so much has been good for her, and up
to Mis Grant’s. Girls catch neat ways as quick as they’d o untidy
ones, and them wild little tykes often turn out smart women.”
“Sister Dawes has done well by them children, and I hope Mr.
Bemis sees it. He ought to give her something comfortable to live
on when she can’t do for him any longer. He can well afford it.”
“I haven’t a doubt he will. He’s a lavish man when he starts to do a
thing, but dreadful unobserving, else he’d have seen to matters long
ago. Them children was town-talk last fall, and I used to feel as if
it was my bounden duty to speak to Miss Dawes. But I never did,
fearing I might speak too plain, and hurt her feelings.”
“You’ve spoken plain enough now, and I’m beholden to you,
though you’ll never know it,” said Miss Bat to herself, as she
slipped into her own gate, while the gossips trudged on quite
unconscious of the listener behind them.
Miss Bat was a worthy old soul in the main, only, like so many of
us, she needed rousing up to her duty. She had got the rousing
now, and it did her good, for she could not bear to be praised when
she had not deserved it. She had watched Molly’s efforts with lazy
interest, and when the girl gave up meddling with her affairs, as
she called the housekeeping, Miss Bat ceased to oppose her, and
let her scrub Boo, mend clothes, and brush her hair as much as she
liked. So Molly had worked along without any help from her,
running in to Mrs. Pecq for advice, to Merry for comfort, or Mrs.
Minot for the higher kind of help one often needs so much. Now
Miss Bat found that she was getting the credit and the praise
belonging to other people, and it stirred her up to try and deserve a
part at least.
“Molly don’t want any help about her work or the boy: it’s too late
for that; but if this house don’t get a spring cleaning that will make
it shine, my name ain’t Bathsheba Dawes,” said the old lady, as she
put away her bonnet that night, and laid energetic plans for a grand
revolution, inspired thereto not only by shame, but by the hint that
“Mr. Bemis was a lavish man,” as no one knew better than she.
Molly’s amazement next day at seeing carpets fly out of window,
ancient cobwebs come down, and long-undisturbed closets routed