THE PLANTS.

THE next morning Ida was all eagerness to begin her work. Directly after breakfast she hunted out a large business-looking work-basket, and was busily looking for her thimble, scissors, and other sewing-materials when her mother entered the room.

"What are you doing up here, Ida?" she asked. "You ought to be practising."

"Oh, mother, can't I let the practising go this morning, for a little while at least? I feel just like sitting down to sew now."

"And when would you feel like your lesson, my dear? Or what will Miss Amsden feel like when she comes to-morrow and finds that you have not learned it?"

"Well, I hate to do things when I don't feel like them," said Ida rather fretfully; "don't you, mother?"

"Every one does, I suppose, Ida, and all your remark means is that you don't like to do what you don't like."

"But sometimes I like to do one thing, and sometimes another."

"That is the case with all of us. I, for instance, do not want to go out this morning at all. I should very much prefer to stay at home and read the new books of travels your uncle has sent up. But in that case, papa's dinner would be sadly wanting when he came home, and I don't think he would feel like eating his bread without butter or his beef without mustard, or drink his coffee without sugar. The truth is, my daughter, that where duties are concerned, we must learn to put likings out of the question."

"But isn't it a duty to help make this little girl's clothes, mamma?" said Ida coaxingly.

"Certainly it is, since you have promised to do so; and I am very glad to have you interested in such work. But I fear your interest cannot be very deep, since there seems danger of its expiring before afternoon."

"Well, mother, I will come down and practise just the minute I have found my thimble and my large scissors. I can't think where they have gone."

"I don't believe they have gone anywhere of their own accord, Ida; but never mind them now; I want to hear those minor scales going."

"I don't think they are very sweet music," said Ida, giving up with a good grace, as usual.

"Nor I, but they sound much better when they are played correctly. So go to work, like a good girl. You know I like to have you sew at something an hour every day, and you have neglected your needle sadly since Mary has been here. If you work faithfully an hour or two every day, your bundle will soon be finished. I want to look through your drawers a little, and perhaps I shall find your missing scissors in the process."

Ida practised her minor scales, taking more pains than usual with them, and then played her other lessons. Then she went out to refresh herself with a little run in the open air, and after that she set herself resolutely to hunt for the missing scissors. They were found at last, along with the lace-frame, shut up in a magazine in the library—that very "Ladies' Journal" which had tempted Ida away from her work before. She was sorely tempted now to study out the directions for a certain crochet mat which looked very interesting, but she refrained, and sat determinedly down to her overhand seams.

Mrs. Van Zandt had no sewing-machine. "If the girls begin with the machine, they will never learn to use their hands," she had said to her husband. "When Emma and Ida can sew as well as their mother, they shall have all the machines they want."

That afternoon and the next Ida's work went on famously. The third day she did not accomplish so much. The hems were very long, and she did not like hemming. The weather was lovely after the rain, and she did not feel like staying in the house.

Suddenly she remembered that her mother, who had gone to the city, had asked her to carry some papers down to Mrs. Riker's, and she reflected that it would be better for her to do her errand now than later, when it might probably rain again. So the work was hastily thrown into the basket, the thimble tossed after it, and Ida was soon on her way to Mrs. Riker's. She found Eunice with her hat on, ready to go out.

"Oh, don't take off your hat, for I can't stay a minute," said Ida. "Where were you going? Perhaps I can go with you. It is so pleasant, I can't bear to stay in the house."

"I was going up to Mrs. Ackerman's," replied Eunice; "Miss Denham promised to lend me a knitting-book when she got it home again. Do go with me. It will make the walk seem so much shorter."

"The ladies are in the garden," said Sylvanus in answer to Ida's inquiry; "maybe you'd like to go out there? Miss Margaret is busy giving directions to the gardener about sending some flowers to the Flower Mission. Go right down that broad walk and round by the big chestnut tree, and you'll find her."

"How many servants Mrs. Ackerman keeps!" said Ida as they walked down the path Sylvanus had indicated. "I shouldn't think she would need so many. Just see! There are Symantha and Drusilla and Sylvanus and Dorinda—all in the house—besides the coachman and the gardener."

"It is a large house, you know, and they have a great deal of company, I suppose."

"But it must cost no end of money. Just think how much good she might do with it!"

"Well, she is doing good with it," returned Eunice. "Symantha and Sylvanus are old people. You wouldn't have her turn them out of a home where they have lived so long for the sake of giving away their wages, would you? There wouldn't be much charity in that."

"Of course not; I didn't think of it in that way."

"But I do think people waste a great deal of money," continued Eunice. "Just think of giving sixteen dollars for a doll and her trunk!"

"Anne Jennings gave twenty-five for hers, but then it had ever so many dresses," said Ida. "And I suppose the doll helped to make a living for somebody too."

"That's true, but, somehow, it does not seem right to give so much for a plaything. And then the man who made the doll might make something else. Ten dollars would pay for printing a great many Testaments, and that would make more work than one doll."

"You might say the same about Sylvanus and his wages," observed Ida.

"No, I think that is different. Mrs. Ackerman has always known Sylvanus; he is like a friend. Then he only knows how to do just his own work, and he is an old man. If Mrs. Ackerman were to turn him off now, he might not be able to get another such place, and what would become of him?"

"How you do think about things!" said Ida, struck with admiration at her companion's wisdom. "You are so old of your age!"

"I don't feel very old just now," said Eunice, laughing and giving a little skip. "Everything seems so lovely I feel like dancing or running races."

"Well, run then. Let's race to the green house."

"Mrs. Ackerman might not think we were very polite to be racing on her grounds," said Eunice. "Besides, here we are at the greenhouse already. Don't Miss Ackerman look lovely in her broad hat?"

Miss Ackerman was very busy directing and assisting the gardener, who was packing a great number of little flower-pots and baskets. These pots contained small but flourishing plants of ivy, ferns, and other hardy plants.

"What a quantity of little plants!" said Ida. "What are you going to do with them?"

"I am going to send them to the city to the ladies of the Flower Mission," answered Miss Ackerman. "They will distribute them to different poor and sick people who live in rooms in tenement-houses and such places, where they seldom see anything green or pretty from one year's end to another."

"How nice!" said Ida.—"Isn't it, Eunice?"

"Yes indeed," replied Eunice in her grave way, while her eyes sparkled. "Plants are such a comfort! I have just one geranium, and I wouldn't give it up for anything."

"Then you, are fond of flowers?" said Miss Ackerman.

"Yes, ma'am, very. And I almost always have good luck with them, too."

"I love plants dearly, but mine all die, somehow. I am sure I don't know why," observed Ida.

"Well, see here," said Miss Ackerman. "I am going to give you and Eunice each three plants—a silver-leaved geranium, an ivy, and a pot of ferns. You shall take all the care of them yourselves, and at Christmas-time, when we trim the Sunday-school room, the finest plant shall have the post of honor in front of the desk."

"Oh, thank you, Miss Ackerman," said Eunice gratefully. "How pleased mother will be!"

Ida looked a little doubtful. "Must we take all the care of them ourselves?" she asked—"Every bit, watering and all?"

"Every bit—watering and all. Eunice will no doubt take all the care of hers, and it is only fair you should do the same."

"Oh, I am willing," said Ida, always ready for a new undertaking. Then with a sudden change of tone she added, "Oh dear! Here comes Julia. Now she will be sure to say something disagreeable about my never finishing things."

"Shall I tell you what will prevent that evil?" asked Miss Ackerman.

"Yes, ma'am, if you can."

"Always finish things," said Miss Ackerman.

"I am not sure that would do any good," remarked Ida, shaking her head. "She would only say the disagreeable things about something else. But I won't talk about her behind her back; I don't think that is nice a bit."

"I think you are a high-minded little lady," said Percy.—"How do you do, Julia?"

Now, Julia had come out in a very good humor. Unluckily, she overheard Percy's words to Ida, and she was one of those people who think every word of praise given to another is so much taken from themselves. She returned the elder ladies' greeting politely, Ida's rather shortly, and Eunice's not at all.

Till Percy said, rather sharply,—"Don't you see Eunice, Julia?"

When she made such a haughty bend of her head as she had seen her elder sister make when introduced to some one she did not care to know. The imitation was so close that all Miss Ackerman's good-breeding could not suppress a smile.

"Are not Miss Ackerman's plants beautiful?" said Ida. "See what a quantity of nice little pots! She is going to send them to the city for the Flower Mission to give away."

"Mother says the Flower Mission is great nonsense," returned Julia; "and I think so too. What is the use of giving flowers and plants to such kind of people? I think pork and beans would be more sensible, for my part," she concluded, laughing at her own wit.

"I don't agree with you there, Julia," said Miss Ackerman; "and I think a few visits made with the kind young ladies who distribute the flowers would alter your ideas on that subject. Think what it must be to a poor woman whose only window looks out on is narrow court, and who perhaps never gets a chance to go as far as the Park, to have a green and blossoming plant, or even a handful of violets, to light up her dingy rooms!"

"Yes, indeed," said Ida. "I know when I was shut up with my bad ankle, and could not even get to the window for ever so long, what a comfort it was to have a dish of flowers where I could see it. And of course it must be a great deal worse for poor people living in such places as Miss Ackerman speaks of."

"And a great many people would be very thankful for the flowers who would not like to take presents of pork and beans and such things," said Eunice. "I am sure that is the way with mother. She is able to support herself, and me too, but she is always so pleased when any one brings her flowers!"

"Then you think she will like the plants?" said Miss Ackerman. "You see, Ralph has selected very nice ones for you," she added as the gardener returned with his barrowful of plants. "Yes, they are all in fine condition, and will do well in any good situation," said Ralph; "but I would advise you to keep them out of doors for a time, if you have any place to set them."

"There is the roof of our veranda," said Eunice. "It is flat, and gets the sun all the morning. I can't set any plants out in the yard, on account of Mr. Bell's chickens. He won't keep them shut up, all we can say, so we have given up trying. The plants will do nicely in winter, because we have east and south windows."

"I didn't know you had any parlor," said Julia; "I thought you lived in the kitchen."

"We do," answered Eunice; "as you say, we have only a kitchen, and so we make a parlor of that."

"Well, I shouldn't think geraniums and ferns would do very well among the steam of soapsuds and boiled cabbage."

"I don't think the soapsuds will hurt them, and we never boil cabbage," replied Eunice, determined not to be vexed.

"Plants often do remarkably well in a kitchen, and Mrs. Riker's kitchen is an uncommonly pleasant one, because it is always lighted up with sunshine and smiles," said Miss Ackerman. "I have seen many fine drawing-rooms not half so agreeable.—I will send Harry round with the plants, girls; and remember, the best one will have the post of honor."

"What is that?" asked Julia.

Miss Ackerman explained the matter, and asked if Julia would take some on the same terms.

"No, thank you," answered Julia; "We have a greenhouse, and I don't care shout fussing with plants myself.—I have brought home my work, Percy, and will take some more, if you like."

"How quick you have been!" said Ida. "Did you do it all yourself?"

"Of course I did. It is no great matter to make one night-gown."

"We have no more ready at present, for the reason that we have no more funds," said Percy. "How does yours get on, Ida?"

"Pretty well," answered Ida. "I am doing it all by hand, and I have nearly finished all the long seams.—Oh, Percy, what are you doing? How very pretty!"

Percy was twisting some thread round a hair-pin and poking it in and out with a fine crochet-needle in quite a wonderful manner, producing some very pretty trimming.

"I have been watching her," said Eunice. "Is it very hard work to do?"

"Not hard at all; I can show you the whole in ten minutes if you wish to learn."

The girls sat down, one on each side of Percy, and soon mastered the secret of the trimming.

"I mean to make some as soon as I get home," said Ida.

"To add to your drawer of curiosities, I suppose," remarked Julia.

"Come into the house with me and I will give you each a hair-pin fit for the work," said Percy; "it isn't every one that will do.—Do you want to learn, Julia?"

"No, thank you," answered Julia; "I don't care for such cheap work that every one can do. Mother says she likes this new lace-work, because the materials are so expensive it can never become common. Mother found our chambermaid working a piece of point lace one day, and she said she never wanted to touch hers afterward."

"Give the girls some of the peaches that came this morning," said Miss Ackerman. "Mamma had a present of two baskets of superb peaches from a man who used to drive our horses some years ago, and who has a peach-orchard in New Jersey.—You remember Solomon, Percy?" "Yes indeed, the good old man!" said Percy. "I should like to see him again."

"Perhaps Julia won't like to eat peaches which come from a servant?" said Ida with a mischievous smile.

"That's different," returned Julia; "but I do think people ought to be made to keep their places. I should like to live in England, where the classes are separated." "Let each try to keep his own place, and do his duty in it, and there will be no trouble."

"I don't quite understand about that matter of places," said Eunice, thoughtful as usual. "What is my place, for instance?"

"Your place is that of a member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven," answered Miss Ackerman. "That is the true place, that which God has designed for every immortal soul which he has made; and if you keep that in view, you are not likely to go very far wrong."

"But suppose one is puzzled what to do—how to speak to any one, for instance?" asked Ida, very much interested.

"Do just as you would like to be done by. A good way is to think what our Lord would have done in the same circumstances. As to speaking to people, you should be polite to everybody alike, and then you are sure not to make a mistake. There is no greater mark of low breeding than the having two sets of manners." "Don't you think condescension is bad manners?" asked Percy.

"Yes indeed, the very worst. But let us leave the discussion of manners and betake ourselves to the discussion of peaches."

Ida had fully determined to sit down to her work the very first thing after tea. But there was the trimming: "I declare they will not be fit to be seen without something of that sort. I will work at the trimming this evening, and to-morrow I will sew two hours instead of one."
But when to-morrow came, somebody called for Ida to drive. The next day she went to a lawn-party, and the next to the city; and so it came to pass that at the end of the week, the work was very little farther advanced than it was at the beginning.