Ella, a little schoolgirl of the sixties

by Eva March Tappan

“Some people would say it was right, and some would say it was wrong,” she replied. “Suppose you decide for yourself, and do what you think is right.”

The little girl decided not to begin the work until Monday. Surely, she deserved a better reward than she received, for when the cross was done, the lady handed her a little flat package done up in white paper and tied with blue ribbon.

“My sister told me,” she said with a pleasant smile, “that a linen collar was not at all the thing for a little girl of eight, and that she was sure you would like something else better, so I got you this instead.”

Ella took the package with forebodings, which were justified, for in it was a little white handkerchief. Now handkerchiefs were things to lose and to have more of; but a linen collar was a vision, an aspiration, a heart’s desire. Her face must have shown disappointment, for the lady hastened to say, “There is a blue flower worked in one corner.” The lady had taken away her beautiful dream of being grown up and had given her instead a handkerchief—with a blue flower in one corner! These were the three tragedies of Ella’s first experience in the trials and disappointments of life.

WITH MUCH DIFFICULTY SHE DUG A HOLE

There was, however, a little comforting postscript to this third tragedy. Among Ella’s accomplishments was the ability to embroider fairly well those lines of crescent moons known as scallops. She marked out a collar on a strip of Marseilles, and by means of two spools she drew a line of scallops on its edge. After a season of diligent sewing, she was the proud owner of a stiff white collar. The mother objected to her wearing it in public, but she was free to put it on and stand before her looking-glass and admire it; and even this was bliss.

Then, too, Christmas was not far away, and its coming would make up for many troubles. To be sure, it was not the custom for children to be loaded down with gifts as they are now, but every one was to have something, the principal had said so; and Ella could hardly wait for the day. Nevertheless, in spite of her impatience, she thoroughly enjoyed herself. She had never before been in the country in the winter, and now she coasted on her “Thomas Jefferson”; she made snow men; she slipped under the branches of the pines and firs and hemlocks and shook them until when she came out her little blue hood was all powdered with snow; she brought in great armfuls of creeping Jenny and scarlet alder berries; she broke the thin ice that formed over the little brooks and delighted in the fairy palaces of frostwork that it had concealed. Best of all, however, was the time when the ice over a shallow pool broke into cakes, and she could float about on them. What the busy mother would have said if she had known of all these adventures is a question; but Ella was well and happy, and before long Christmas Day came, and in the evening the big Christmas tree.

Santa Claus, all a-jingle with sleighbells, climbed in at the window. Ella knew that he was not exactly a real Santa Claus, but still she felt highly honored when in his walk about the room he patted her on the head and asked “How old are you?”

“I’ll be nine to-morrow,” she replied; and it almost made up for the loss of the collar to have him exclaim, “Nine years old! Why, I thought you were a small child. I shall have to go pretty deep into my pack to find anything for a young lady of nine.”