out to the great dismay of moths and mice, has been already
confided to the cats, and as she sat there watching them lap and
gnaw, she said to herself,
“I don’t understand it, but as she never says much to me about my
affairs, I won’t take any notice till she gets through, then I’ll admire
everything all I can. It is so pleasant to be praised after you’ve been
trying hard.”
She might well say that, for she got very little herself, and her
trials had been many, her efforts not always successful, and her
reward seemed a long way off. Poor Boo could have sympathized
with her, for he had suffered much persecution from his small
schoolmates when he appeared with large gray patches on the little
brown trousers, where he had worn them out coasting down those
too fascinating steps. As he could not see the patches himself, he
fancied them invisible, and came home much afflicted by the jeers
of his friends. Then Molly tried to make him a new pair out of a
sack of her own; but she cut both sides for the same leg, so one
was wrong side out. Fondly hoping no one would observe it, she
sewed bright buttons wherever they could be put, and sent
confiding Boo away in a pair of blue trousers, which were absurdly
hunchy behind and buttony before. He came home heart-broken
and muddy, having been accidentally tipped into a mud-puddle by
two bad boys who felt that such tailoring was an insult to mankind.
That roused Molly’s spirit, and she begged her father to take the
boy and have him properly fitted out, as he was old enough now to
be well-dressed, and she wouldn’t have him tormented. His
attention being called to the trousers, Mr. Bemis had a good laugh
over them, and then got Boo a suit which caused him to be the
admired of all observers, and to feel as proud as a little peacock.
Cheered by this success, Molly undertook a set of small shirts, and
stitched away bravely, though her own summer clothes were in a
sad state, and for the first time in her life she cared about what she
should wear.
“I must ask Merry, and maybe father will let me go with her and
her mother when they do their shopping, instead of leaving it to
Miss Bat, who dresses me like an old woman. Merry knows what
is pretty and becoming: I don’t,” thought Molly, meditating in the
bushel basket, with her eyes on her snuff-colored gown and the
dark purple bow at the end of the long braid Muffet had been
playing with.
Molly was beginning to see that even so small a matter as the
choice of colors made a difference in one’s appearance, and to
wonder why Merry always took such pains to have a blue tie for
the gray dress, a rosy one for the brown, and gloves that matched
her bonnet ribbons. Merry never wore a locket outside her sack, a
gay bow in her hair and soiled cuffs, a smart hat and the braid
worn off her skirts. She was exquisitely neat and simple, yet
always looked well-dressed and pretty; for her love of beauty
taught her what all girls should learn as soon as they begin to care
for appearances–that neatness and simplicity are their best
ornaments, that good habits are better than fine clothes, and the
most elegant manners are the kindest.
All these thoughts were dancing through Molly’s head, and when
she left her cats, after a general romp in which even decorous
Granny allowed her family to play leap-frog over her respectable
back, she had made up her mind not to have yellow ribbons on her
summer hat if she got a pink muslin as she had planned, but to
finish off Boo’s last shirt before she went shopping with Merry.
It rained that evening, and Mr. Bemis had a headache, so he threw
himself down upon the lounge after tea for a nap, with his silk
handkerchief spread over his face. He did get a nap, and when he
waked he lay for a time drowsily listening to the patter of the rain,