The minister’s wife came home from a meeting of the sewing society one afternoon quite discouraged.

“Only nine ladies present!” she said, “and very little accomplished; and the barrel promised to that poor missionary out West, before cold weather I really don’t see how it is to be done.”

“What work have you on hand?” Miss Ruth inquired.

“We have just made a beginning,” Mrs. Elliot answered with a sigh. “There’s half a dozen fine shirts to make, and a pile of sheets and pillowcases, dresses and aprons for four little girls, table-cloths and towels to hem, and I know not what else. We always have sent a bed-quilt, but this barrel must go without it. It’s a pity, too, for they need bedding.”

“Why, so it is,” said Miss Ruth. “Susie,” to a little girl sitting close beside her, “why can’t some of you girls get together one afternoon in the week and make a patchwork quilt to send in the barrel?”

Susie put her head on one side and considered.

“Where could we meet, Aunt Ruth?”

“Here in my room, Susie, if mamma has no objection.”

“Certainly not,” Mrs. Elliot said; “but are you well enough to undertake it, Ruth?”

“Yes, indeed, Mary; I shall really enjoy it.”

“And would you cut out the blocks for us, and show us how to keep them from getting all skewonical, like the cradle-quilt I made for Amelia Adeline?”

Amelia Adeline was Susie’s doll.

“Yes; and I could tell you stories while you were working. How would that do?”

“Why, it would be splendid!” said the little girl. “There comes Mollie, I guess, by the noise. Won’t she be glad? Say, Mollie! why, what a looking object!”

This exclamation was called forth by the appearance of the little girl, who had been heard running at full speed the length of the piazza, and now presented herself at the door of Miss Ruth’s room, her face flushed, her hair in the wildest confusion, and the skirt of her calico frock quite detached from the waist, hanging over her arm.

“Wasn’t it lucky that the gathers ripped?” she cried, holding up the unlucky fragment. “If they hadn’t, mamma, I should be hanging, head down, from the five-barred gate in the lower pasture, and no body to help me but the cows. You see, I set out to jump, and my skirt got caught in a nail on the post.”

“O Mollie!” said her mother, “what made you climb the five-barred gate?”

“’Cause she’s a big tom-boy,” said Lovina Tibbs, who had come from the kitchen to call the family to supper. “Ain’t yer ’shamed of yerself, Mary Elliot? a great girl like you, most ten years old, walkin’ top o’ rail fences and climbin’ apple-trees in the low pastur’!”

“No, I’m not!” said Mollie, promptly.

“Hush, Mollie,” said Mrs. Elliot. “Lovina, that will do. Wash your face and hands, Mollie, and make yourself decent to come to supper.”

An hour later, seated in the hammock, the girls discussed their aunt’s plan.

“We’ll have the Jones girls,” said Susie, “and Grace Tyler, and Nellie Dimock, she’s such a dear little thing; and I suppose we must ask Fan Eldridge, because she lives next door, though I dread to have her come, she gets mad so easy; but mamma wouldn’t like to have us leave her out; and then, let’s see oh! we’ll ask Florence Austin, the new girl, you know.”

“Would you?” said Mollie, doubtfully. “We don’t know her very well, and she dresses so fine and is kind of citified, you know. Ar’n’t you afraid she’ll spoil the fun?”

“No,” said Susie, decidedly. “Mamma said we were to be good to her because she’s a stranger; and I think she’s nice, too not a bit proud, though her father is so rich.”

“Well,” Mollie assented, who, though thirteen months older than her sister, generally yielded to Susie’s better judgment; “let her come, then. That makes six besides us, and Aunt Ruth said half a dozen would be plenty. Sue, I think it’s going to be real jolly, don’t you?”