Lily Norris' Enemy

Joanna Mathews

Lily Norris' Enemy

I

THE "QUAKER LADY."

"If Lily Norris isn't just the most provoking child that ever lived!" said Maggie Bradford, indignantly.

"Yes, I b'lieve she just is," assented Bessie.

"Why," said Mrs. Rush, who was that day making a visit to Maggie's and Bessie's mamma, "how is this? Lily the most provoking child that ever lived! I thought Lily was one of your best friends, and that you were so fond of her."

"Yes, Aunt May, so we are," said Maggie. "We're very fond of Lily indeed; she's one of our dearly beloveds, and we like to have her with us; but for all that, she's very trying to our patience."

"Yes," sighed Bessie, "I think she's tryinger than any child we know; and yet she's hardly ever naughty, – really naughty, I mean."

"How does she try you?" asked Mrs. Rush, though she believed she could herself have answered as to the cause of complaint.

"She puts off so," said Bessie. "Aunt May, I think she's the greatest put-offer we ever saw; and sometimes it makes things so hard to bear. We try not to be provoked 'cause we love her so; but sometimes we can't help being a little. I b'lieve it troubles people as much as if she was real naughty in some way."

"Yes, procrastination is a very troublesome fault," said Mrs. Rush.

"Not a fault, is it, Aunt May?" asked Maggie. "I thought it was only a habit of Lily's."

"And Lily is a pretty good child," said Belle Powers. "She is mischievous, and makes us laugh in school sometimes; but I b'lieve that is about all the naughty things she does, and I think that is a pretty good account for one child."

"Putting off is not being naughty, is it, Aunt May?" pleaded Bessie, unwilling, even amid her vexation, to have one of her favorite playmates thus blamed.

"Well, darling," answered Mrs. Rush, "I fear that procrastination and a want of punctuality must be considered as rather serious faults. I see you are vexed and troubled now; why, I cannot tell, more than that Lily has caused it in some way; and I think that any habit which needlessly tries and irritates other people can be called nothing less than a fault, and a bad one, too. What is the matter now?"

"Why," said Bessie, "you see we are all going to the party at Miss Ashton's this afternoon, and Lily was to be here at four o'clock to go with us; and when grandmamma was going home just now, she said she would take us all around in her carriage; but Lily was not here, and we did not like to go without her, and grandmamma could not wait. But grandmamma said the carriage should come back for us, and it has; and mamma says it is twenty minutes past four, and there Lily has not come yet, and we don't know what to do, and we can't help being provoked."

"It is just good enough for her to go, and leave her to come after by herself," said Belle, with a pout.

"But you see that would not be so very polite," said Bessie; "and we have to be that even if we are pretty provoked."

"I should think people might be punctual when they're going to a party, anyway," said Maggie, impatiently. "The idea of being so wasteful of a party! I never heard of such foolishness! I should think that people who couldn't be punctual at parties, and go just as soon as they are invited, didn't deserve to go at all."

"I should think her mother would send her in time," said Mabel Walton, Belle's cousin.

"Well, I suppose she would," said Maggie; "but you know she has gone away just now, and there's no one at home to make Lily think about the time. Mrs. Norris doesn't have such a bad habit herself, and she don't like Lily to have it either. She is always talking to her about it."

"What are you going to do, Maggie?" asked Bessie, as she saw her sister take up a pencil and a bit of paper, and carry them to Mrs. Rush.

"I am going to ask Aunt May to do a sum for me," said Maggie. "Aunt May, will you please do the sum of four times twenty minutes, and tell me how much it is?"

"I do not want the paper, Maggie," said Mrs. Rush, smiling as she saw what Maggie would be at. "Four times twenty minutes are eighty minutes, or one hour and twenty minutes."

"Why do you want to know that?" asked Belle.

"I'm going to tell Lily a story when she comes, and let her take lesson by it for herself," said Maggie, rather severely; the severity being intended, however, for the delinquent Lily, and not for Belle.

"Children," said Mrs. Bradford, coming into the room just at this moment, "I do not want you to keep the carriage waiting. Since Lily is not here you must go without her. It is long after the time fixed."

"Oh yes, mamma, we know that; I should think we might," said Maggie, with a sigh of despair.

"There's the door-bell now," said Bessie, who was more patient under her afflictions than the other children. "Maybe that is Lily."

So it proved; and a moment later Lily was shown into the room, followed by her nurse. A chorus of exclamations and reproaches greeted the little new-comer; but she took them all with her usual careless good-nature, though she did look half ashamed, too. Maggie, alone, mindful of the arrow she held in reserve, had nothing to say beyond a word or two of welcome.

"Yes, just what I was saying to Miss Lily, that the young ladies would be disappointed to be kept waiting, ma'am," said the nurse, speaking to Mrs. Bradford; "and I came in to beg you'd not think it was my fault. I was at Miss Lily a half-hour before I could coax her to come and be dressed; and I knew she'd be late and vex them."

"Oh, never mind. You can go now," said Lily, carelessly. "We'll be time enough."

"Come, let us go now," said Maggie, with an expression which showed that she by no means agreed with Lily that it was "time enough;" and good-by being said to mamma and Mrs. Rush, she led the way from the room, followed by the rest of the young party, who were soon seated snugly in the carriage.

"Lily," said Maggie, as soon as they had fairly started, "I have a story to tell you about punctuality."

"Pooh! I don't want to hear about your old punctuality," said Lily. "Everybody just bothers me 'most to death about being punctual. Tom has been making a fuss about it just now."

"But it is a story, – one of Maggie's stories," said Belle, who thought it quite incredible that any one should decline an opportunity of hearing one of those interesting and valuable narratives.

"Let's hear it then," said Lily.

"It is not a story of my own making up," said Maggie, with the solemnity which befitted a teacher of moral lessons; "but it is very interesting, and may do some good, if people choose to let it. But as there are 'none so deaf as those who won't hear,' so I suppose there are none so hard to teach as those who won't be taught."

"But what is the story?" asked Belle.

"The story is this," answered Maggie. "Once thirteen ladies went to a meeting, or ought to go to a meeting. Well, twelve of them came at the right time to the house of a very wise old Quaker lady, where the meeting was; but the thirteenth lady did not come for a quarter of an hour after she ought to. So the other ladies were as tired as they could be, 'cause they couldn't begin to do what they had to do without her – but I would have if I'd been there – and some of them yawned – which wasn't polite for them to do, but they could hardly help it – and some went to sleep, and some had headaches, and one who was sitting in a breeze from the window, where she didn't like to sit, took cold, and had a sore throat and a toothache, and she had to go and have her tooth out; which was all the fault of the unpunctual lady, and I should think she'd be very much ashamed of herself."

"So should I," said Mabel, as Maggie paused to take breath.

"What's the rest of the story?" asked Bessie, impatient of delay in such a thrilling tale.

"Well, when she came in," continued Maggie, giving point to her story by the look she fixed upon Lily, – "when she came in, after doing such a lot of mischief, she didn't seem to think it was any great harm after all; but she just said, 'Ladies, I am sorry I kept you waiting, but it is only a quarter of an hour.' Then the wise old Quaker lady stood up and looked very severe at her, and she said, 'Friend, thee' – thee is the way Quakers say you – 'Friend, thee has wasted three hours of time that did not belong to thee. Here are twelve of us, and a quarter of an hour for each makes three hours, and you – thee, I mean – had no right to do it, and thee ought to be ashamed of yourself.' And the lady was ashamed of herself, 'cause it made her feel horridly to be talked to that way before so many people; and she never did so again, which was a great blessing to every one who knew her, because she made herself a great inconvenience."

And here Maggie closed her story, which she had one day lately found in some book or paper, and had brought it up on this occasion for Lily's benefit, adding to it sundry embellishments of her own, which, as she thought, made it more telling and serviceable.

"But," said Lily, who took the moral to herself as it was intended she should do, "but we're not a meeting, and you're not a Quaker lady, Maggie. It's only a party."

"Only a party!" echoed Maggie, in an aggrieved tone, which told that this was adding insult to injury; "she says, 'Only a party'! Now, Lily, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I just want to tell you something."

And Maggie held up the bit of paper on which she had taken the pains to note down the sum Mrs. Rush had done for her, lest she should forget the number of minutes.

"You kept us waiting more than twenty minutes, Lily. Miss Ashton invited us at four, and you did not come till twenty minutes after; and there are four of us besides yourself, so there's one whole hour, and forty minutes, – which is 'most three-quarters of an hour, – one whole hour and forty minutes of party wasted, and only twenty minutes of it was your own."

"And I'm sure it's a great deal harder to have a party wasted than it is a meeting," said Belle.

"I never thought about it," said Lily, by no means offended, but considerably astonished at the way in which her short-comings were brought home to her. "I never thought of that, and I'm real sorry. I'll never do it again."

"Did the lady with the toothache ever tell the late lady she made her have it?" asked Bessie.

"Well, I'm not very sure," said Maggie, not willing to confess to total ignorance on this subject; "but I think she did."

"Then she wasn't very kind," said Bessie. "It would have been kinder if she hadn't spoken about it. She had lesson enough. I think that old Quaker lady was pretty cross, and I'm glad she's not my grandmamma."

"Maggie," said Lily, as the carriage drew up at Miss Ashton's door, "couldn't you make me a proverb picture about putting off? I would like one ever so much."

For Lily took great delight in these same "proverb pictures," and was very glad to receive one even when it held up her own failings to reproof.

"Is there any proverb about putting off?" asked Belle.

"Yes, to be sure," said Lily. "There's 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'"

"Um – I don't know," said Maggie, doubtful if this adage were quite applicable to the case in question. "I don't think that will do; but if we can't find one, we'll make one, and draw you a proverb picture about it. I'll ask mamma if she knows of any that will do."

"And make it for me very soon, will you?" said Lily, jumping from the carriage with the assistance of Mrs. Ashton's maid, who had come to take them out. "I'll try to have it do me some good."

This was encouraging, and Maggie's imagination was at once put to work; but not to much purpose for this evening, since as yet she knew of no proverb that would answer for the object she had in view.

Our young party was greeted with a chorus of welcome, not only from Mrs. and Miss Ashton, but also from the other little girls who had all arrived before them; for children are generally punctual to such engagements, whatever their elders may be. Indeed, they usually prefer to be before, rather than after the time.

"How late you came!"

"What kept you?"

"It's more than half-past four!"

"We've been here ever so long."

"We've been waiting for you" – and such like exclamations met them on all sides.

"It's my fault," said Lily. "I was not ready in time, and kept them waiting."

"O Lily!" said Carrie Ransom. "You always do keep people waiting."

"Well, I can't help it," said Lily.

"Yes, you can," said Gracie Howard; "at least, you could if you would do things in time; but you never will."

"I'll grow out of it when I'm bigger," said Lily. "People 'most always cure up their faults before they're grown up."

"Not if they don't take pains with them when they're little," said Bessie, solemnly. "Lily, if you keep on per-cas-ter-nating now, maybe you won't be able to help it when you're grown up, and then people will be provoked with you."

"Were you much provoked with me to-day?" asked Lily.

"Um-m, pretty," said Bessie; "but we're quite over it now."

"Well, I don't care much then," was Lily's thought; but she said aloud, "I don't think it can do much harm when we're little. You see we're all here now. But I will begin pretty soon to correct myself of it."

"She had better begin to-day," thought Bessie; but no more was said on the subject, and they were all soon engaged in a merry game of play.

The party passed off pleasantly, so pleasantly that Maggie found more and more cause for regret that she and her own particular friends had been unjustly defrauded, as she considered it, of so large a portion of it; but she was too forgiving and good-natured to reproach Lily any farther, especially as Bessie privately confided to her that she did not like "that severe old Quaker lady one bit, and am very glad that she is not one of my friends."

Maggie thought that perhaps she had been rather severe herself, and took pains to be especially agreeable to Lily for the rest of the day.

But perhaps this ready forgetfulness of their vexation was not the best thing for heedless, light-hearted Lily. At first she had felt a little self-reproachful, but when she saw the other children forget their momentary displeasure, she thought her own troublesome want of punctuality did not matter much after all; they were all glad and happy now, and some of these days she would try to break herself of this bad habit.

Ah! you see, that was Lily's way; it was always "one of these days," "some other time," "by and by;" and here lay the root of the trouble which proved so vexatious to those about her, and very often to herself.

"Mamma," said Maggie, as soon as they reached home, "do you know of any proverb that would be a good correction of the habit of putting off, and never being ready in time?"

Mrs. Bradford laughed.

"Yes, I think I do, Maggie. What do you want to do with it?"

"To make a proverb picture for Lily, mamma; she wants us to. She likes our proverb pictures very much, and never is provoked when we give her one. And I think I shall write her a piece of poetry about it too. What is the proverb, mamma?"

"I will tell you in the morning, dear."

"Why not to-night, mamma?"

"Because I want you to go to sleep now, Maggie. If I tell you a proverb to-night, you will lie awake, turning it over in your mind, and making verses and pictures for it; and I do not wish you to do that. Wait till morning, dear."

Maggie submitted, like the docile and obedient little girl she was, though she was disappointed; for as mamma knew, she would have liked to spend part of her proper sleeping time in composing verses, and inventing pictures for Lily's benefit.

"Shall you make the poetry a divine song, or a moral poem?" asked Bessie, who took the greatest possible interest and pride in Maggie's poetical attempts.

"I think I'll mix the two," said Maggie, after a little deliberation. "It might be better, because Lily don't care much to read things that are very pious; but she needs them a little. Yes, I'll do that."

And now, according to mamma's orders, they ceased talking; and Maggie, obeying not only the letter, but the spirit of her mother's command, tried to put from her all thought of the lesson she was to teach Lily, and both she and Bessie were soon fast asleep.

II

A MONKEY, A PUPPY, AND A BEGGAR

"Lily!"

"Yes, mamma!"

"Can I trust you to do something for me?"

"Yes, indeed, mamma! you know I like to help you."

"I want it done immediately, dear."

"Oh, yes, mamma, I'm ready. I'll do it right away."

Mrs. Norris sat at the library table, writing. As she said the last words she hastily folded the note she had just finished, and slipped it into its envelope; then, as she put the address upon it, she said, —

"I have an appointment to keep, Lily; and there is Mrs. Bradford now, I believe. I am going with her, and I would like you to lay these papers smoothly in my writing-case, those others in this box, – you know where they belong, – and to put my silver inkstand carefully in the secretary. There, I have closed it, so you cannot spill the ink. Will you be a helpful little girl, and see to that for me, my daughter?"

"Yes, indeed, mamma," said Lily again. "I'm glad you let me do it for you. I'll be very careful with the inkstand."

"And at once, remember, dear," said Mrs. Norris, rising from her chair. "I do not wish the inkstand left here on the table, or the paper to lie scattered about. It will be a great help to mamma if you do it nicely. Ah! good afternoon, Mrs. Bradford," as that lady was shown into the room. "I am all ready, and will not detain you. I had just received a note which needed an immediate answer, before I left home; but it is finished, and I shall trust Lily to put by my writing materials for me."

Lily looked up at Mrs. Bradford, rather proud of being trusted by her mother; and the lady smiled as she stooped to kiss her.

"Lily likes to help mamma as well as Maggie and Bessie do, I see," she said.

"Yes: and she can often be of great assistance when she is prompt and punctual," said Mrs. Norris, drawing on her gloves.

"Are Maggie and Bessie well, Mrs. Bradford?" asked Lily.

"Yes, dear; and they wished me to ask you to come and see them very soon. I do not know when they want you to come, for they have some plans to arrange with their Aunt Annie, but they will let you know. They are drawing some pictures for you, I believe, and want to explain it to you."

"Oh, yes," said Lily; "they promised me a proverb picture, and their proverb pictures are so interesting. I should think any one might be glad to have them."

"They certainly seem to give great satisfaction, both to themselves, and to those whom they are intended to benefit," said Mrs. Bradford, laughing. "Good-by, Lily. The children will see you soon. I gave them leave to ask you when they pleased; and you must come early, whenever that may be."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Lily. "I'll come just as soon as mamma will let me."

She followed her mother and Mrs. Bradford to the front door, where the former turned, and said a little uneasily, —

"Lily, attend to the inkstand at once, my darling."

"I am going to, mamma," answered the little girl, meaning what she said at the moment, though she afterwards came so far short of it, as you shall see.

As the door closed after the two ladies, Lily caught the notes of a hand-organ in the street; and running back to the library, she went to the window to look out for the strolling musician who carried it.

She had not forgotten her mother's orders, or the help she had promised to be to her; and as she passed by the table on her way to the window, the scattered papers and the silver inkstand caught her eye, and reminded her of her promise.

But she did not pause.

"Just a moment; I'll put them away in one moment," she said to herself. "I'll just look and see if that organ man is coming here; 'cause I have some pennies in my pocket, and I'll give him some. Oh, yes! there he is, and he has a monkey. I like monkey organ men the best, 'cause the monkeys are so funny. What a funny fellow! Why, he's 'most the cunningest monkey I ever saw;" and Lily had quite forgotten her promise.

She was in great glee over the monkey, who certainly was a droll, though a very ugly little beast, as monkeys generally are; and she amused herself with him for some time, as he climbed the balcony railings, stoop, and blinds, hopped up and down the broad stone steps, and every now and then came close to the window where she stood, and mouthed and jabbered away at her. Amused though she was, she was glad that the glass was between her and the grinning creature; and she always took the opportunity of his little excursions to open the window and quickly thrust out the pennies, for which he immediately sprang down, and taking them up in his paw hurried with them to his master. Lily treated him also to a cake, which he greedily nibbled; and then, seeing that the poor creature lapped his tongue upon a damp spot on the stone pavement, where a little water had been spilled, as though he were thirsty, she called a servant to bring a cup of water, and gave him a drink.

Finding that she thus provided entertainment for man and beast, and that he was reaping quite a harvest, the organ-grinder stayed for some time; and all the while, the inkstand remained unheeded on the table. Not quite forgotten, either; for every now and then the recollection of it would come to her; but Lily kept saying to herself, "In one minute; I'm going in just one minute."

But the one minute multiplied itself into twenty before the man moved off with his organ and his monkey, and Lily felt at leisure to attend to her mother's wishes.

But it seemed after all that the time had not yet come.

"Miss Lily," said a servant man, putting his head in at the library door, "is Master Tom at home?"

"No, I b'lieve not; I think he didn't come from school yet," answered Lily, with her hand on the inkstand.

"I'd like to know what time he'll be in," said the man, lingering, "for my brother is below with the puppies Master Tom wanted to see. There's a gentleman wants to buy both; but seeing Master Tom had spoken about one if it suited, he thought it was only fair to bring them here first, and let him make up his mind. But the gentleman must know this afternoon. Wouldn't you like to see 'em, Miss Lily? They're such pretty little dogs."

"Yes, indeed I would," answered the child; and she followed the man to the basement hall, where his brother waited with the puppies, – not without another thought of her still unperformed duty; but again she contented herself with the excuse, "I shan't be half a minute, and the inkstand is shut up. It can't spill the ink."

Alas, alas! it was long before the recollection of it again crossed Lily's mind.

If she had found the monkey bewitching, what did she find the little dogs, – playful, pretty creatures, which seemed delighted with a playmate frolicsome and mischievous as themselves?

Then her brother Tom came in; and, hearing that the dogs were there for his approval, came down to look at them and decide which he would have.

Of course Lily must stay and help him to make his choice; and now that vexatious little feeling that there was something wrong, some duty unfulfilled, had altogether passed away. Lily was quite at her ease by this time.

The matter was at last settled; the dog chosen, the man paid and sent away, leaving the selected puppy in a very low and melancholy state of mind at the parting. He whined and cried piteously, first scratching and barking at the door where his former owner and his puppy brother had passed out; and at last, after refusing to be comforted by all the petting that was lavished upon him, retiring into private life behind the kitchen coal-scuttle, and resolutely declining to be coaxed out.

"Never mind," said Tom, "he'll be all right by and by, Lily. Wait till he's hungry, and he'll come out and be glad enough to make friends. Now I am going to buy a house for him. I saw some pretty little dog-houses down at Bruner's this morning, and I'll go look at them, and see if they'll answer."

"Oh, Tom! could I go with you?" asked Lily.