She kept her word,and the very stormy afternoon when Jill got into trouble,Merry was working busily at her little bower.In the blue chest she found a variety of treasures,and ignoring the moth holes,used them to the best advantage,trying to imitate the ****** comfort with a touch of elegance which prevailed in Mrs.Minot's back bedroom.
Three faded red-moreen curtains went up at the windows over the chilly paper shades,giving a pleasant glow to the bare walls.A red quilt with white stars,rather the worse for many washings,covered the bed,and a gay cloth the table,where a judicious arrangement of books and baskets concealed the spots.The little air-tight stove was banished,and a pair of ancient andirons shone in the fire-light.
Grandma's last and largest braided rug lay on the hearth,and her brass candlesticks adorned the bureau,over the mirror of which was festooned a white muslin skirt,tied up with Merry's red sash.
This piece of elegance gave the last touch to her room,she thought,and she was very proud of it,setting forth all her small store of trinkets in a large shell,with an empty scent bottle,and a clean tidy over the pincushion.On the walls she hung three old-fashioned pictures,which she ventured to borrow from the garret till better could be found.One a mourning piece,with a very tall lady weeping on an urn in a grove of willows,and two small boys in knee breeches and funny little square tails to their coats,looking like cherubs in large frills.The other was as good as a bonfire,being an eruption of Vesuvius,and very lurid indeed,for the Bay of Naples was boiling like a pot,the red sky raining rocks,and a few distracted people lying flat upon the shore.The third was a really pretty scene of children dancing round a May-pole,for though nearly a hundred years old,the little maids smiled and the boys pranced as gayly as if the flowers they carried were still alive and sweet.
"Now I'll call them all to see,and say that it is pretty.Then I'll enjoy it,and come here when things look dismal and bare everywhere else,"said Merry,when at last it was done.She had worked all the afternoon,and only finished at supper time,so the candles had to be lighted that the toilette might look its best,and impress the beholders with an idea of true elegance.Unfortunately,the fire smoked a little,and a window was set ajar to clear the room;an evil disposed gust blew in,wafting the thin drapery within reach of the light,and when Merry threw open the door proudly thinking to display her success,she was horrified to find the room in a blaze,and half her labor all in vain.
The conflagration was over in a minute,however,for the boys tore down the muslin and stamped out the fire with much laughter,while Mrs.Grant bewailed the damage to her carpet,and poor Merry took refuge in her father's arms,refusing to be comforted in spite of his kind commendation of "Grandma's fixins."The third little missionary had the hardest time of all,and her first efforts were not much more satisfactory nor successful than the others.Her father was away from morning till night,and then had his paper to read,books to keep,or "a man to see down town,"so that,after a hasty word at tea,he saw no more of the children till another evening,as they were seldom up at his early breakfast.He thought they were well taken care of,for Miss Bathsheba Dawes was an energetic,middle-aged spinster when she came into the family,and had been there fifteen years,so he did not observe,what a woman would have seen at once,that Miss Bat was getting old and careless,and everything about the house was at sixes and sevens.She took good care of him,and thought she had done her duty if she got three comfortable meals,nursed the children when they were ill,and saw that the house did not burn up.So Maria Louisa and Napoleon Bonaparte got on as they could,without the tender cares of a mother.Molly had been a happy-go-lucky child,contented with her pets,her *******,and little Boo to love;but now she was just beginning to see that they were not like other children,and to feel ashamed of it.
"Papa is busy,but Miss Bat ought to see to us;she is paid for it,and goodness knows she has an easy time now,for if I ask her to do anything,she groans over her bones,and tells me young folks should wait on themselves.I take all the care of Boo off her hands,but I can't wash my own things,and he hasn't a decent trouser to his blessed little legs.I'd tell papa,but it wouldn't do any good;he'd only say,'Yes,child,yes,I'll attend to it,'and never do a thing."This used to be Molly's lament,when some especially trying event occurred,and if the girls were not there to condole with her,she would retire to the shed-chamber,call her nine cats about her,and,sitting in the old bushel basket,pull her hair about her ears,and scold all alone.The cats learned to understand this habit,and nobly did their best to dispel the gloom which now and then obscured the sunshine of their little mistress.Some of them would creep into her lap and purr till the comfortable sound soothed her irritation;the sedate elders sat at her feet blinking with such wise and sympathetic faces,that she felt as if half a dozen Solomons were giving her the sagest advice;while the kittens frisked about,cutting up their drollest capers till she laughed in spite of herself.
When the laugh came,the worst of the fit was over,and she soon cheered up,dismissing the consolers with a pat all round,a feast of good things from Miss Bat's larder,and the usual speech:
"Well,dears,it's of no use to worry.I guess we shall get along somehow,if we don't fret."With which wise resolution,Molly would leave her retreat and freshen up her spirits by a row on the river or a romp with Boo,which always finished the case.Now,however,she was bound to try the new plan and do something toward reforming not only the boy's condition,but the disorder and discomfort of home.
