The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1886-05-26
THE QUILTING BEE.

I am so tired" sighed Patience Meade.
Too tired even to walk down Buttercup
Hill and hear the nightingales sing!"
Harry Lynde looked disappointed.
''lt's only step, Patience, said he.
"Only step! Yes, but every step tells
when one has fairly reached the limit of
ones endurancew
"Then, I suppose" said Harry, with
an air of resignation, 81 shall have to sit
down here beside you, and the nightin-
gales must sing to an audience of no
body"
"You and the nightingales must do as
you please about that" said Patience,
laughing.
The old Osmund house looked weirder
than its natural wont-which was not at
all necessary-in the pallid moonshine;
the Lombardy poplars stirred in the even
ing wind, and the stars were coming out
in the sky so fast that one could scarcely
count them.
Patience and Harry were sitting on the
back porch-the front door was scarcely
ever opened except on high festival days
and Sundays odd Mrs. Osmund was nod
ding over her knitting-work by the light
of shaded lamp in the mouldy back
parlor.
What have you found to occupy your
time so severely2' said Lynde.
Patience smiled.
'Don't you know" said she. ''We
are to have quilting bee here tomorrow.
At least, Mrs. Osmund is. And have
boiled dozen spring chickens for salad,
baked six loaves of cake, made raspberry
tarts after Francioli's recipe, and pre-
pared tongue, a ham, and four quarts
Of jelly. And the best silver has been
cleaned, and the decorated China washed
the parlor curtains irolel, and every
floor in the house swept"
Lynde whistled an insufficient ex-
preston of his thoughts.
II don't wonder that you're tired,
said he. "What is the old lady think
ing-that you are made of cast-iron5"
"Mrs. Osmund is determined to have
the finest quilting bee of the season." J."
said Patience, land l think she will sue
ceed."
"With your assistance?"
"With my assistance. But when one
looks at the lovely branching coral under
the ocean, one never thinks of the pa
tient little insect that has toiled to form
its beauties. So, don't you see, Mrs. Os-
mund will get all the credit, rs she ought
to do: I am only her humble instru-
NO."
I should like to come to this quiltin g
bee, gravely observed MIR. Lyndc.
You cannotw returned Patience.
with nod of her pretty jet-haired head.
'.No gentlemen allowed"
"A ell, at all events, shall be think
ing OF you the whole time"
Patience Meade was very happy that
evening. She had come to Mrs. Os-
mond's on the recommendation of a
mutual friend as sort of ''genteel help"
And she had done, what had never been
done before in the knowledge of man or
woman either, suited the fastidous, ILL
tenn Dered old woman. Nobody could
quarrel with Patience Meade-she was so
quiet, so gentle, so anxious to please
and at the months end, when Mrs. Os-
mond had given her her harl-earned
wages-six dollars in silver-and she
had ventured to hope that she had given
satisfaction, the old lady rubbed her
nose with the end of her spectacle-case,
and said, unwillingly:
II s'pose you've done as we'll as you
could. don't know why you won't suit
me-"
Which, from her, was extravagent
praise, had poor, discouraged Patience
only known it.
The grand occasion of the quilting bee
arrived at last, and, to Mrs. Osmund's in
finite satisfaction, it did not rain. The
salad was made, in great shallow platters
OF the orthodox Glowing blue pattern,
the jelly was turned into glistening
molds, the coffee was brewed clear and
strong and fragrant, the blackberry
short-cake was baked, the waffles were
all ready to turn into the pans at FIVE
minutes notice. The neighbors arrived
in best caps and gowns, each with a
working of different pattern, and the
Osmnnd parlors were full of humming
voices as the quit was tackled on the
frame, and each old lady began on her
own particular portion, while Patience
few lightly to and fro finding the scis-
sors for one, threading ref fIactory needle
for another, hunting the thimble of a
third from some unheard of hiding place
under the sofa, and keeping the while a
general oversight on the supper table in
the back room.
Like your gal. Mrs. Osmund?" asked
old Miss Farrar, during one of Patience's
temporary absences. =, -, ;,
''She amt so bad, was the old lady's
non-committal answer.
'she has got pleasant face" said
Mrs. Johnes.
'Looks amt everything" observed
Miss Pellets, whom the village lads had
mischievously christened "Medusa."
I'VE all know as beauty is only skin