The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1899-04-28
Our Dressmaker.

|
Miss Peckitt used to come to our house
10 sew She sewed frocks and she sewed
my pinafores, and sat among her tapes
ana pms and yard measures telling me old
| stories that no one else cared about, for
| MISS Pechtt had no relatives, and Bad
always, as she said, kept herself to her
self.
And Of all Of her stories the one I liked
pest was the one about the pincushion.
II was large, heavy cushion and I Won
dered why Miss Peckftt always brought
1t with her when she came for the day.
II has brick inside it to keep it
| steady when I pin my work to IT," she
said, and I carry it with me because it
was the last thing my young man made
| for me-
''Oh, did you ever have a young han?
Do tell me about him.
At 10 years old one is not discreet. /
suppose Miss Peckitt was not inclined to
be hard on youthful indiscretion. She
| threaded her needle and began:
1T was When 1 was a young girl"
she could not have been more than 80 at
this time but to me she seemed immeas-
uraly old, as 1 said:
1T is a long time ago. then" as smy-
pathetically as 1 could.
Yes she said, "a long time. He was
tne son IA farmer, and we were court
ing ever since we were quite little things
ana went to Sunday school. But it was
not to be-
What happened?"
Why, his father died, my dear and
when 1t came to looking into things it was
found he'd borrowed money on the land
and the interest hadn't been paid So
then, my Willie said he'd pay the inter
est and all, if they'd only wait Btu they
wouldn't-and the old place was sold up
mouse and buildings and beasts, and the
land with the standing crops. They may
say it's law, btu it amt Justice
She Dit off her thread sharply and I
said il was a shame
so it was-a black shame. MY Willie
would ha' paid them every penny if they'd
only ha' waited. But no; they sold the old
place, and it fetched more than they
looked for, and there was near $1OO0 over,
and that they gave to Willie, as was only
fair. An dafter the sale l saw nothing
Of him for two days, and then he came to
me looking Ikea dog that the boys were
after with stones.
I'm off, says he; with this bit Of
money I'll make fortune over in Ameri-
ca, which is a free country, and I'll come
home for you. my girl, or I'll write and
youth come to me-
IF it was to the worlds end. says L
Then he gave me the pincushion; it
seemed funny present, eing quite plain,
as you see, and 1t had big stitches, but
sewn strong. and I almost laughed as I
took it. / was glad after that 1 hadn't
laughed, for Willie he says:
Blossom, my dear, do you know what
makes it so heavy?
so l said no, I don't.
It's a brick of the old south wall at
home says he, where the yellow rose
is, and where the apricots fruit so free,
and it's covered with a bit Of silk gown
my mother was married in-its faded,
but you can see the rose springs on it yet.
You'll keep it for my sake?"
''WeM?' I asked, for Miss Peckitt had
stopped abruptly.
well, that's ALL" she said shortly; che
never came back but 1 know it was true
and he would ha' come back if he'd been
living and the Lords will be DONE she
added.
Did you keep the piece Of the old
dress?" 1 asked, when it wore out and
you ripped it off? should like to see it,
II never ripped it Off" she said; II
covered it with bit of damask, meaning
to show it to him fresh and bright when
he come, but dare say it's worn out now,
underneath, with all the needles and pins
I've stuck in it-worn out"
Time did not stand still in our village.
A bicycle factory reared its quaint ugli-
ness by the church, and the mosss-grown
well was replaced by a galvanized iron
pump. The old families moved away ana
new people came; smarter people, in their
gimcrack way, who got their dresses made
in the country, town, and despised Miss
Peckitt's old-fashioned patterns. 1 was
finishing my education in France and
Germany. When l came home 1 hardly
g ia u
to the little white house with the green
ratings.
1T viii do the poor thing good to see
you" said my mother. az fear she is
horribly poor. She gets hardly any work
now. And she won't accept anything she
does not earn"
She did not know me at first. and was
busting a chair that was already of a
SpOtlessness to shame our chairs at home
when suddenly she recognized me-the
shock shattered for moment she reserve
of years-she threw her thin arms around
my neck and kissed me-faItered an apol-
ogy for the liberty" and then sat down
Oh the doUbly busted chair and cried pite-
ously.
1 listened to sue ha tale of poverty and
self-denial as young ears had never heard
before. Work scare and growing scarcer.
hardly enough to live on, and, to crown
all the urgent necessity OF saving, for
boarding every possible penny.
''But why?"
For my funeral, my DEAR she said
eve kept myself respectable all these
years and if the parish was to touch me
I should turn in my coffn-I know I
should
Your needles crooked" said, fighting
with a choking feeling in my throat Let
me thread you another"
Dear miss she said, "this is the only
needle I've got. It's not 50 crooked-and
a cents a cent-and needles in penny
packages isn't what they used to be. No,
and 1 won't let you buy me even needles.
miss It's the principle 1 think Of. I
won't be beholden.'
You've got the old pincushion there
STILL 1 said; there must be lots Of nee
dies in that; let me enpt out the sawdust
and see I'll put it back carefully"
I thing Miss Peckitt's will must have
been weakened by long fasting and
trouble. for she let me rip up one side Of
that sacred cushion and pour out the ran
into that little lack tea tray with the gold
border. I found in that bran sixty-seven
good needles, to say nothing of broken
ones.
Then began to put the bran back. and
as 1 pushed It in 10 make Il hard and
tight I felt in it. I pulled ii out.
ooh. Miss Peckitt," I cried, look what
have found in your pincushion:
4 little canvass bag-and II in several
bills and little letter;
NJ Dear Blossom This IS Two hun
dred and fifty dollars II nv money, 50 as
YOU will have something II am not lucky
with the rest. You viii find this when
YOU rip o ffthe cover. II al goes wei, as
please God It will. II VIII pay for things
fer our home. Your true friend and az /