"Wall, I've been at it now this goin' on two year; kep' it fur ketch-up work, ye know."

"Wall, we'd better set to," sniffed Mrs. Upd.y.k.e, fitting on a huge steel thimble open at the top; "they ain't much arternoons to these short days, anyhow. I'll take this star, an' you, Sairay, may work on the next, so't I kin kinder watch ye. 'Twon't do to hev any botch-work on this quilt."

Sara obeyed, but not with alacrity. It only needed the added discomfort of Mrs. Upd.y.k.e's supervision to make her quite wretched; but Miss Prue, at the other end, happened to look up just in time to see the disconsolate air with which the girl drew her chair forward, and called out sharply,--

"Why, what are you doing over there, Sara? I thought, of course, I could depend upon you to thread my needles for me;" and Sara, not daring to show her pleasure at this release, made a gentle word of excuse to Mrs.

Upd.y.k.e, and crossed the room to her friend.

"Oh, thank you!" she murmured, dropping beside the older maiden, who was chuckling slyly; "I couldn't have sewed well at all there, she frightens me so."

"Humph! Well, she needn't, for there isn't a poorer needlewoman in Killamet. There's the queer thing about that woman--she can't really do one thing well, yet her satisfaction is complete." All this in an undertone, entirely covered by the sc.r.a.ping of chairs, rustling of dresses, and wagging of tongues, as the company drew up to their positions around the masterpiece; and still thus protected, Sara whispered on,--

"But, dear Miss Prue, tell me, isn't such a piece of work an awful waste of time? Calico is only a few cents a yard now, and it does not take such a great deal."

"But think, my child," interrupted Miss Prue with a solemn look, "these remembrances!" And, as if by chance, her finger dropped upon an ugly chocolate colored bit both remembered as having been worn by a poor crazed creature called "Silly Jane," who belonged in the county house, but spent a good deal of time wandering about the sh.o.r.e.

Sara burst into one of her rare laughs, and Betty called out,--

"What's the fun, Sairay? Pa.s.s it 'round, can't you? We've been a- wonderin' what you 'n' Miss Prue was a-gigglin' over!"

The idea of Miss Prue's "giggling" rather shocked Sara; but that lady answered at once,--

"And _we_'ve been wondering if anybody else would ever take the time to do such a piece of work as this."

"Oh!" cried Betty, quite complimented, "I guess there's plenty would; I enjoyed it! It's such fun, when you're j'inin' the pieces together, to call up where you seen 'em last, an' what the folks that wore 'em was doin'."

"Well, there's something in that I'll admit; but do you need a piece of my dress to recall my personality to your memory always, Betty? If I've got to cut my clothes into bits"--

"Oh, no'm," laughing; "but it's different with you. We'd all remember you, of course, but there's some, now"--

"Silly Jane, for instance? I see you've a piece of her usual gown."

Betty hardly knew how to take this, but Miss Prue looked so pleasant and kind, she laughed again.

"Wall, in course, there ain't much to remember her for; but she was about the only one in town 't I hadn't been to, so I thort I wouldn't leave her aout, ye see."

"Yes, I see," stooping to bite her thread; at which Mrs. Upd.y.k.e sniffed out,--

"Wall, fer my part, I think it's a purty nice thing when a gal spends her time in sich work; she cain't be doin' anythin' wuss" (sniff), "that's sartain!"

Miss Prue laughed.

"Makes me think of Grannie Green. When her rot of a husband used to be sleeping off his sprees, she'd say, 'I'm allers so thankful when he gits real far gone, fur then I'm sure he cain't be doin' anythin' wuss.'"

"Dear me!" bridled Betty, "I hope you don't mean to compare me to thet wretched old Jed Green!"

"No, my dear; but I used to wonder, then, if he couldn't have been doing something better,--but there! It wasn't to discuss poor old Jed Green that I came here; but, first, to work on this wonderful quilt, and, second, to ask you girls why you don't get Sara to form you into a society of King's Daughters here?"

"'King's daughters?' We look like king's daughters, don't we?" t.i.ttered Dolly Lee.

"Very much," said Miss Prue, with that air of hers which made her so great a favorite, an air of _bonhomie_, almost impossible to describe. "We've been told on good authority that we are made in the King's image, so it must be true."

"Oh!--_that_?" cried Betty.

"Certainly; you didn't think we free-born Yankees--descendants of the Puritan Fathers--were going to claim relationship with any of those effete European aristocracies, did you?" with a droll look at Sara.

"N--no."

Betty, not half understanding, but fully aware of Miss Prue's drolleries, was determined not to be caught in any trap now, so kept to monosyllables; and the latter, having created sufficient interest to insure a hearing, proceeded to make her explanations in regard to such a circle.

In a small, isolated village anything which links one, even distantly, with the great throbbing world outside, is eagerly welcomed by the young. These all have their dreams, hopes, and fancies connected with this sphere on which we move, and they are usually far too wide to be contained within one square mile of territory; unless, perchance, that mile teems so thickly with humanity as to offer every possible form of comedy and tragedy. For it is not trees and hills and skies, or even the sea, which can satisfy youth; but living, breathing, suffering human nature. By and by they tire, perhaps, of the latter, and go back to nature,--in love, as they have never been with man,--but that is after disappointment has made the heart sore.

To-day the thought of allying themselves with thousands of other girls and women in the effort to do good, set every pulse to new beating, that had ever throbbed with one spark of love for the Master; and there succeeded one memorable quilting where Dame Gossip was almost entirely excluded. As they scattered for home, after Betty's nice supper, Sara found herself, as usual, at Miss Prue's side; and, looking up into her friend's face, said, with a mischievous smile,--

"So that's why you wanted me to go to the quilting, is it? If you had told me"--

"You wouldn't have gone!" interrupted her friend promptly. "I know you so well, Sara! There's a--a--well, an aloofness about you that I feel it my duty to struggle with," giving the girl a merry glance; "_some_ people might call it pride,--I don't."

Sara looked troubled.

"I know you think so, Miss Prue, but I'm sure I don't feel so. What, indeed, have I to be proud of?" sadly. "Only," with more spirit, "I can't tell all I know to every one, and it bores me dreadfully to have them tell me all they know!"

Miss Plunkett laughed with enjoyment. She liked to rouse Sara occasionally; and listened with dancing eyes as the latter continued,--

"Now, yesterday, Zeba and Dolly came to call (by the way, I was reading your Ruskin's 'Stones of Venice' so think what it was to be interrupted!), and what do you suppose they talked about every minute?

Why, it seems Mrs. Felcher has a brother living in Boston, who has invited her to visit him, and sent her a box of pretty things; they named over every one, even to a 'frame-bunnit covered with sating, and with a bunch of blows on top!'"

Miss Prue had grown grave.

"Yet poor Zeba could teach us both a grand lesson in cheerful patience,"

she said gently.

Sara crimsoned, but did not answer for a moment. They had reached Miss Prue's gate now, and the latter turned into it. "Wait!" the girl then said, almost pa.s.sionately. "I am not worthy to be a King's daughter!

Leave me out of your ten; tell them I can't live up to the simple requirements; I"--

"Hush! Sara," laying a hand on her young friend who was quivering with feeling, "I understand it all; you think the Lord has put you into a niche where you do not belong, for which you have no fitness. Are you sure you know more than your Maker? Perhaps He sees that, by clipping a bit here, or adding a trait there, you will be exactly the one for this niche. Why don't you try and help this beautiful plan, instead of hindering it?" Then, with a quick change of tone, "Well, good-night, daughter; remember the first meeting of our circle next Thursday: I shall depend upon you!" and she hurried in, not giving time for another word.

CHAPTER XII.

NEW FORTUNES.

Sara went home with slow steps, and a questioning heart.

"Am I cold and proud?" she thought. "Is it wrong to be indifferent to these petty things about me, and to love books better than people? Do I look for defects rather than virtues, I wonder? Oh, dear; how much harder it is to _be_ right than to _do right in this hard world!"