"The gay belles of fashion may boast of excelling In waltz or cotillon,at whist or quadrille;And seek admiration by vauntingly telling Of drawing and painting,and musical skill;But give me the fair one,in country or city,Whose home and its duties are dear to her heart,Who cheerfully warbles some rustical ditty,While plying the needle with exquisite art:
The bright little needle,the swift-flying needle,The needle directed by beauty and art."The next morning Miss Amelia finished the chapter--that made two for our family.Father always read one before breakfast--no wonder I knew the Bible quite well--then we sang a song,and she made a stiff,little prayer.I had my doubts about her prayers;she was on no such terms with the Lord as my father.He got right at Him and talked like a doctor,and you felt he had some influence,and there was at least a possibility that he might get what he asked for;but Miss Amelia prayed as if the Lord were ten million miles away,and she would be surprised to pieces if she got anything she wanted.When she asked the Almighty to make us good,obedient children,there was not a word she said that showed she trusted either the Lord or us,or thought there was anything between us and heaven that might make us good because we wanted to be.You couldn't keep your eyes from the big gad and ruler on her desk;she often fingered them as she prayed,and you knew from her stiff,little,sawed-out petition that her faith was in implements,and she'd hit you a crack the minute she was the least angry,same as she had me the day before.I didn't feel any too good toward her,but when the blood of the Crusaders was in the veins,right must be done even if it took a struggle.
I had to live up to those little gold shells on the trinket.
Father said they knew I was coming down the line,so they put on a bird for me;but I told him I would be worthy of the shells too.This took about as hard a fight for me as any Crusade would for a big,trained soldier.I had been wrong,Laddie had made me see that.So I held up my hand,and Miss Amelia saw me as she picked up Ray's arithmetic.
"What is it?"
I held to the desk to brace myself,and tried twice before I could raise my voice so that she heard.
"Please,Miss Amelia,"I said,"I was wrong about the birds yesterday.Not that they don't fight--they do!But I was wrong to contradict you before every one,and on your first day,and if you'll only excuse me,the next time you make a mistake,I'll tell you after school or at recess."The room was so still you could hear the others breathing.Miss Amelia picked up the ruler and started toward me.Possibly I raised my hands.That would be no Crusader way,but you might do it before you had time to think,when the ruler was big and your head was the only place that would be hit.The last glimpse I had of her in the midst of all my trouble made me think of Sabethany Perkins.
Sabethany died,and they buried her at the foot of the hill in our graveyard before I could remember.But her people thought heaps of her,and spent much money on the biggest tombstone in the cemetery,and planted pinies and purple phlox on her,and went every Sunday to visit her.When they moved away,they missed her so,they decided to come back and take her along.The men were at work,and Leon and I went to see what was going on.
They told us,and said we had better go away,because possibly things might happen that children would sleep better not to see.
Strange how a thing like that makes you bound you will see.We went and sat on the fence and waited.Soon they reached Sabethany,but they could not seem to get her out.They tried,and tried,and at last they sent for more men.It took nine of them to bring her to the surface.What little wood was left,they laid back to see what made her so fearfully heavy,and there she was turned to solid stone.They couldn't chip a piece off her with the shovel.Mother always said,"For goodness sake,don't let your mouth hang open,"and as a rule we kept ours shut;but you should have seen Leon's when he saw Sabethany wouldn't chip off,and no doubt mine was as bad.
"When Gabriel blows his trumpet,and the dead arise and come forth,what on earth will they do with Sabethany?"I gasped.
"Why,she couldn't fly to Heaven with wings a mile wide,and what use could they make of her if she got there?""I can't see a thing she'd be good for except a hitching post,"said Leon,"and I guess they don't let horses in.Let's go home."He acted sick and I felt that way;so we went,but the last glimpse of Sabethany remained with me.
As my head went down that day,I saw that Miss Amelia looked exactly like her.You would have needed a pick-ax or a crowbar to flake off even a tiny speck of her.When I had waited for my head to be cracked,until I had time to remember that a Crusader didn't dodge and hide,I looked up,and there she stood with the ruler lifted;but now she had turned just the shade of the wattles on our fightingest turkey gobbler.
"Won't you please forgive me?"
I never knew I had said it until I heard it,and then the only way to be sure was because no one else would have been likely to speak at that time.
Miss Amelia's arm dropped and she glared at me.I wondered whether I ever would understand grown people;I doubted if they understood themselves,for after turning to stone in a second--father said it had taken Sabethany seven years--and changing to gobbler red,Miss Amelia suddenly began to laugh.To laugh,of all things!And then,of course,every one else just yelled.I was so mortified I dropped my head again and began to cry as Inever would if she'd hit me.
