THE DO SOMETHING SOCIETY.
Clatter, clatter, went a sewing-machine in an upstairs room, as the busymamma of the Newcombe children bent over it, guiding the long breadthsbeneath the clicking needle, her eyes fixed on its glancing point, buther thoughts very far away, after the fashion of mammas who work onsewing-machines. The slam of a door, and the sound of quick feet in theentry below, arrested her attention.
"That is Catherine, of course," she said to herself. "None of the otherchildren bang the door in just that particular way."
The top of a rapidly ascending red hat, with a pigtail of fair hairhanging beneath it, became visible, as Mrs. Newcombe glanced across tothe staircase. It _was_ Catherine. Another moment, and she burst intothe room.
"Mamma, mamma, where are you? Oh, mamma, we girls have invented asociety, and we are all going to belong to it."
"Who is 'all,' and what sort of a society is it?" demanded Mrs.Newcombe, by no means suspending her machine work.
"All--we six, I mean--Frances and the Vaughns, and the 'TitteringTwins,' and me. We haven't any name for the society yet, but we want todo something."
"What sort of a something?"
"Oh, I don't know. All sorts of somethings; but, first of all--you knowhow sick Minnie Banister is, don't you, mamma?"
"Yes."
"Well, the society is really gotten up for her. We want to go everySaturday, and take her presents. Surprises, you know, so that she can besort of expecting us all the week and looking forward. Don't you thinkthat is a good plan, mamma?"
"Very good; but what kind of presents were you thinking of?"
"I don't know exactly; we haven't thought about that yet. Somethingpretty. You'll give us some money to buy them with, won't you, mamma?"
"No, dear, I can't do that."
"But, mamma!"
"Listen, Catherine, and don't pucker your forehead so. It's a bad habitwhich you have taken up lately, and I want you to break yourself of it.I cannot give you money to buy presents; not that I do not love Minnie,or am not sorry for her, but I cannot afford it. Papa has his own boysand girls to feed and clothe and educate. He cannot spare money forthings that are not necessary, even when they are kind pleasant thingslike this plan of yours."
"But, mamma--little bits of things! It wouldn't take much!"
"You naturally feel that there is no bottom to papa's pocket, Catherine;that he has only to put his hand in and take out what he likes; but, mydear, that isn't true. Papa cannot do it any more than you can."
"Then we can't have our society," cried Catherine.
Her lip trembled, and her face flushed pink with the sense ofdisappointment.
"I didn't say that," said her mother, smiling. "Have the society by allmeans, and carry out your plans. That can be done without money."
"But, mamma, how can it? What do you mean?"
"The how I must leave to you. Set your wits to work, and you will findout. There are plenty of ways in which to please sick people besidesbuying them things. Notice carefully when you are there; ask Mrs.Banister; use your eyes. Things will suggest themselves. What sickpeople enjoy most are little surprises to vary their dull days, and thesense that some one is loving and thinking about them. Small unexpectedpleasures count for more than their worth with them. Now, dear, runaway. Consult with the others, and when you decide what you want to do,come to me, and I will do what I can to help you in ways that do notcost money."
Catherine looked more hopeful, though not altogether convinced.
"I'll see what they say," she remarked thoughtfully. Then, afterlingering a moment, as if in hopes of something more, she ran downstairsagain.
She found the members of the future society looking rather crestfallen.They had all rushed home to propound their plan, and each of theirmothers in turn had raised pretty much the same objections to it whichMrs. Newcombe had raised, and had not tempered their denials with anyfresh suggestions. Catherine's report had, therefore, rather the effectof raising their spirits.
"I'm--not--sure," said Frances Brooks, "but it would be more fun to doit that way than the other. Don't you know how much nicer it always isto make Christmas presents than to buy them? And I thought of somethingwhile you were talking that might do for the first Saturday surprise."
"Have you really? What?"
"It came into my head because the other day when Mary and I were there,Minnie lost her handkerchief. It had slipped under the mattress orsomewhere, and she worried about not finding it, and Mrs. Banister was agood while in getting another, and I was wondering if it wouldn't benice to make some sort of a little case, which could lie on the bedbeside her, and hold it."
"Out of birch bark," suggested Mary Vaughn.
"Splendid! We could work little blue forget-me-nots on it in crewels,"suggested Sue Hooper.
"Yes, and I have a bit of blue silk that would be just the thing for thelining," put in Ethel Hooper, the second "Tittering Twin," Sue being thefirst. "Sister had it left over from a sofa-pillow, so she gave it tome. It is quite light, and will match the forget-me-nots."
"Now, isn't that delightful!" cried Catherine. "Here's our firstsurprise all settled without any trouble at all. I know where we can getthe bark,--from one of those big birches in Mr. Swayne's woods, andmother'll give us some orris-root for a _sachet_, I know. She has somethat's particularly nice. It came from Philadelphia."
Under these promising auspices the "Do Something Society," for that wasthe name resolved upon, came into existence. Many hands made light workof the little handkerchief-case. All the members went together to getthe birch bark, which in itself was good fun. Mary Vaughn cut out thecase. Amy, who had taken a set of lessons in Kensington stitch, workedthe starry zigzag pattern, which did duty for forget-me-nots, upon it.Susy Hooper, who was the best needlewoman of them all, lined it.Catherine made the _sachet_. Ethel, as youngest, was allowed to fastenit into the case with a tiny blue bow, and they took turns in carryingit, as they walked toward Minnie's house Saturday morning.
Minnie had been looking forward to Saturday all the week. It was theonly day when these special friends had time to come for a good longstay with her. On other days they "ran in;" but what with schools andmusic-lessons, and daily walks and short winter afternoons, they alwayshad to run out again long before she was ready to have them go. She hadbeen watching the clock ever since she woke, in hopes that they wouldcome early; nor was she disappointed, for by half-past ten the bellrang, and steps and voices were heard coming upstairs. Minnie raisedherself, and held out her hands.
"O girls, how lovely! You've all come together," she said. "I've beenwondering all the week if you would."
"You darling, how nice it is to see you! Are you any better to-day?"asked Catherine.
Then, after they had all kissed her, Amy laid on the counterpane thehandkerchief-case pinned up in thin white paper.
"There's something for you," cried the society, as with one voice.
It took a good while for Minnie to open the parcel, for her fingers wereweak, but she would not let any one help her. When the pretty birch-barkcase was revealed, she was even more pleased than her friends had hopedshe would be.
"How dear you were to make it for me!" she kept repeating. "I shallnever lose my handkerchiefs now. And I shall look at it when you are nothere, and it will give me the feeling that you are making me a visit."
Then they explained the new society to her and asked her to join, withthe understanding that she was not to be an "active member" till she wasquite well again, and Minnie agreed, and became on the spot number sevenof the Do Somethings. What they did not explain was their plan for theSaturdays, because Mrs. Newcombe had dropped this word of wisdom intotheir counsels, that sick people enjoy a little pleasure which comesunexpectedly, much more than a larger one which they lie and think abouttill they are tired of the idea of it. Catherine had to bite her nimbletongue more than once to hold the secret in, but the eyes of the othersheld her in check, and she remembered in time. And while they chatteredand
laughed, Mary Vaughn kept her eyes open as Mrs. Newcombe hadadvised, and with such good effect that, as the society trooped out onto the sidewalk, she was ready to say, "Girls, I have thought ofsomething for next time."
"And so have I," added Frances.
"Not really! What fun! Tell us what yours is."
"A wall-basket full of dried leaves and things to fill up that barespace of wall opposite Minnie's bed. It needn't cost anything, for Ihave got one of those big Japanese cuffs made of straw which will do forthe basket, and there are thousands of leaves to be had for thepicking."
"What a good idea that is!" said Amy Vaughn. "We will make it lovely,and it will be something bright for Minnie to look at. We'll do it. Butwhat was your idea, Mary?"
"Mine was a sand-bag. Didn't you hear Minnie say, 'Mamma, the sheet isquite wet just where my foot comes;' and Mrs. Banister came in a hurryand took away the hot-water bag, and said there was something wrong withthe screw, and it was always leaking? My aunt, who is an invalid, usesa bag of sand instead. It is made very hot in the oven and slipped intoa little cover, and it keeps warm longer than hot water does, she says.Don't you think we might make one for Minnie?"
"It's the best idea yet," said Catherine. "And we will have it for nextSaturday because it's something useful that she really wants, and thatwill give us plenty of time to dry the leaves for the Saturday after."
The sand-bag, with its little slip cover of red canton flannel, proved aremarkable success. It was the comfort of her life, Minnie declared; butthe joy of her life was the wall-basket which followed on the nextSaturday, and which made a beautiful spot of brightness on the barewall. Ethel Hooper, who had a natural instinct for color and effect,arranged it. It held branches of deep red and vivid yellow leaves, withsprays of orange and green sumach, deep russet oak and trails of flamingblackberry-vine, amid which rose a few velvet-brown cat-tails and fluffymilk-weed pods, supporting in their midst a tiny bird's nest poised in aleafless twig. Minnie was never tired of looking at it. She said it wasas good as taking a walk in the woods to see it. The gay colorrefreshed her eyes, and cheered many a dull moment when she was aloneand did not feel like reading; and, altogether, the wall-basket provedone of the most successful of the achievements of the Do SomethingSociety that winter.
I have not time to tell you of all the many other things they did. OneSaturday the gift was a home-made sponge-cake. Another time it was someparticularly nice molasses candy, pulled very white, and braided andtwirled into M's and B's. A pillow stuffed with balsam-fir was anotherof the presents. On Christmas Eve they carried her the tiniest littlefir-tree ever seen, a mere baby of a fir, planted in a flower-pot, hungwith six mandarin oranges, and lighted with wax matches which burnedjust long enough to be admired and no longer. Later there was a comicalvalentine, and on Minnie's birthday a pretty card, designed byCatherine, who had a taste for drawing.
One melancholy Saturday, when Minnie was too ill to see them, themembers all left their cards in a little basket. Another time it was thecards of all their pet cats. And while they thus labored to make thehard months less hard for their friend, their own souls were growing,keeping pace with their growing bodies, as souls do which are properlyexercised in deeds of kindliness and unselfish love. So that when springcame, bringing roses back to Minnie's pale cheeks, and strength to herfeeble limbs, and she was able to take her place among the rest and be a"Do Something" too, all of them were eager to keep on, and to continuethe work begun for one, by service for the many who needed cheering asmuch as Minnie had done.
And the best part of the lesson which all of them had learned was, soMrs. Newcombe thought, the great lesson that money, though a useful, isnot an essential, part of true helpfulness, and that time given, andthought, and observation, and ingenuity, and loving hearts, canaccomplish without it all the best and sweetest part of giving.
Just Sixteen. Page 3