Young Lucretia | Page 3

"Oh, I don't believe it would do
a mite of good," said she, fervently. "But I tell you what 'tis, Alma, you
might come home with me while I ask."
"I will," said Alma, eagerly. "Just wait a minute till I ask mother if I
can."
But it was all useless. Alma's pretty, pleading little face as a
supplement to Lucretia's, and her timorous, "Please let Lucretia go,"
had no effect whatever.
"I don't approve of children being out nights," said Aunt Lucretia, and
Aunt Maria supported her. "There's no use talking," said she; "you can't
go, Lucretia. Not another word. Take your things off, and sit down and
sew your square of patchwork before supper. Almy, you'd better run
right home; I guess your mother'll be wanting you to help her." And

Alma went.
"What made you bring that Ford girl in here to ask me?" Aunt Lucretia,
who had seen straight through her namesake's artifice, asked of young
Lucretia.
"I don't know," stammered Lucretia, over her patchwork.
"You'll never go anywhere any quicker for taking such means as that,"
said Aunt Lucretia.
"It would serve you right if we didn't let you go to the Christmas-tree,"
declared Aunt Maria, severely, and young Lucretia quaked. She had
had the promise of going to the Christmas-tree for a long time. It would
be awful if she should lose that. She sewed very diligently on her
patchwork. A square a day was her stent, and she had held up before
her the rapture and glory of a whole quilt made all by herself before she
was ten years old.
Half an hour after tea she had the square all done. "I've got it done,"
said she, and she carried it over to her aunt Lucretia that it might be
inspected.
Aunt Lucretia put on her spectacles and looked closely at it. "You've
sewed it very well," she said, finally, in a tone of severe commendation.
"You can sew well enough if you put your mind to it."
"That's what I've always told her," chimed in Aunt Maria. "There's no
sense in her slighting her work so, and taking the kind of stitches she
does sometimes. Now, Lucretia, it's time for you to go to bed."
Lucretia went lingeringly across the wide old sitting-room, then across
the old wide dining-room, into the kitchen. It was quite a time before
she got her candle lighted and came back, and then she stood about
hesitatingly.
"What are you waiting for?" Aunt Lucretia asked, sharply. "Take care;

you're tipping your candle over; you'll get the grease on the carpet."
"Why don't you mind what you're doing?" said Aunt Maria.
Young Lucretia had scant encouragement to open upon the subject in
her mind, but she did. "They're going to have lots of presents on the
Christmas-tree," she remarked, tipping her candle again.
"Are you going to hold that candle straight or not?" cried Aunt Lucretia.
"Who is going to have lots of presents?"
"All the other girls."
When the aunts got very much in earnest about anything they spoke
with such vehement unison that it had the effect of a duet; it was
difficult to tell which was uppermost. "Well, the other girls can have
lots of presents; if their folks want to get presents for 'em they can,"
said they. "There's one thing about it, you won't get anything, and you
needn't expect anything. I never approved of this giving presents
Christmas, anyway. It's an awful tax an' a foolish piece of business."
Young Lucretia's lips quivered so she could hardly speak. "They'll
think it's--so--funny if--I don't have--anything," she said.
"Let 'em think it's funny if they want to. You take your candle an' go to
bed, an' don't say any more about it. Mind you hold that candle
straight."
Young Lucretia tried to hold the candle straight as she went up-stairs,
but it was hard work, her eyes were so misty with tears. Her little face
was all puckered up with her silent crying as she trudged wearily up the
stairs. It was a long time before she got to sleep that night. She cried
first, then she meditated. Young Lucretia was too small and innocent to
be artful, but she had a keen imagination, and was fertile of resources in
emergencies. In the midst of her grief and disappointment she devolved
a plan for keeping up the family honor, hers and her aunts', before the
eyes of the school.

The next day everything favored the plan. School did not keep; in the
afternoon both the aunts went to the sewing society. They had been
gone about an hour when young Lucretia trudged down the road with
her arms full of parcels. She stole so quietly and softly into the
school-house, where they were arranging the tree,