Never in her life had she owned a whole silver dollar before. How it danced and shone! She held it tight, for it did not seem to be real, and she was afraid it would melt or fly away before she could get it home.

"Mother, O mother," cried she, "see this live dollar! Deacon Turner gave it to me for remembering who made me!"

"Why, child, what do you mean?"

"She means just what she says, mother," said Mary. "Deacon Turner spoke to her in prayer meeting last night--"

"Why, Patience!"

"And he was sorry for it, mother, just as Siller thought he'd be; and so he wanted to give her something to make up, I suppose; but _should_ you have thought he'd have given her that dollar?"

Mrs. Lyman was grieved to learn that Patty had been so restless and so irreverent, and called her into the bedroom to talk with her about it.

"My little girl is old enough to begin to think," said she.

"Yes, mother," said Patty, laying the silver dollar against her cheek, "I do think."

"But, Patience, you knew the people had met in that school-house to talk about G.o.d; you should have listened to what they were saying."

"But, mamma, the words were too big; I can't understand such big words."

"Well, then, my daughter, you certainly could have sat still, and let other people listen."

Patty hung her head.

"Has a child any right to go where good people are worshipping G.o.d, and behave so badly as to disturb them?"

"No, mamma."

Patty was crying again, and almost thought the barn _would_ be the best place for her to live in. Even her "live dollar" could not console her when her mother spoke in such a tone as that.

"I'll never make any more _disturbment_, mamma," said she, in a broken-hearted tone.

"I hope you'll remember it," said Mrs. Lyman, taking the child's two hands in hers, and pressing them earnestly.

Patty was afraid she was about to deprive her of the precious dollar; but Mrs. Lyman did not do it; she thought Patty would remember without such a hard punishment as that.

CHAPTER VII.

THE SILK POCKET.

When Mrs. Lyman heard what a fright the children had had at Dr. Hilton's she was much displeased, and forbade Siller Noonin ever to talk to them again about witches. Siller confessed she had done wrong, and "hoped Mrs. Lyman wouldn't lay it up against her."

Patty said,--

"Poh, she couldn't scare ME! I flied on a broomstick my own self, and I tumbled off. '_Course_ Mrs. Knowles can't do it; big folks like her!"

At the same time Patty did not like to see Mrs. Knowles come to the house. It wasn't likely she had ever "flied on a broomstick;" but when Mrs. Lyman walked out with the good woman, as she sometimes did, Patty was uneasy till she got home again. n.o.body suspected the little girl of such foolishness, and she never told of it till years after, when she was a tall young lady, and did not mind being laughed at for her childish ideas.

But perhaps you would like to know what became of her live dollar. She did not know what to do with so much money, and talked about it first to one and then to another.

"Moses," said she, "which would you ravver do, have me have a hundred cents, and you have ninety-nine cents, or me have ninety-nine cents, and you have a hundred?"

Moses appeared to think hard for a moment, and then said,--

"Well, I guess I'd rather _you'd_ have the hundred."

"O, would you?" cried Patty, kissing him gratefully.

"Yes," said Moses; "for if I had the most, you'd be teasing me for the odd cent."

The dollar burnt Patty's fingers. Some days she thought she would give it to the heathen, and other days she wondered if it would be wrong to spend it for candy. Sometimes she meant to buy a pair of silver shoe-buckles for her darling Moses, and then again a vand.y.k.e for her darling Mary. In short, she could not decide what to do with such a vast sum of money.

One day there came to the house a beggar girl, a little image of dirt and rags. She told a pitiful story about a dead mother and a drunken father, and n.o.body could know that it was quite untrue, and her mother was alive, and waiting for her two miles away.

Patty was so much interested in the little girl's story, that she almost wanted to give her the silver dollar on the spot, but not quite. She ran into the bedroom to ask her mother what it was best to do.

"Why, I thought I fastened that door," cried John, flourishing a paint-brush in her face. "Scamper, or you'll get some paint on your gown."

Patty scampered, but not before she had stained her dress.

"Where is mother?" asked she of Dorcas.

"In the parlor; but don't go in there, child, for the doctor's wife is making a call, and Mrs. Chase, too."

Patty did not wait for Dorcas to finish the sentence, but rushed into the parlor, out of breath. I am afraid she was rather glad to let the doctor's wife know she had some money, and thought of giving it away.

Patty was not a bold child, but there were times when she did like to show off.

"O, mother, mother!" cried she, without stopping to look at the ladies.

"Let me have my silver dollar this minute! 'Cause there's a poor little--"

"My child," said Mrs. Lyman, in a tone which checked Patty, and made her blush to the roots of her yellow hair.

"Pray, let her finish her story," said the doctor's wife, drawing the little one to her side; "it's something worth hearing, I know."

"It's a little girl," replied Patty, casting down her eyes, "and her mother is dead and her father is drunk."

Patty supposed he lay all the while with his hat on, for she had once seen a man curled up in a heap by the roadside, and had heard John say he was drunk.

"How very sad!" said Mrs. Potter.

Mrs. Chase looked sorry.

"Do you say the mother is dead?" said she.