If small coins might be supposed to talk as well as great ones (and moralists saw no reason against it), a silver Threepence,[121] the equivalent of a guinea in juvenile commerce, could relate transactions at the Village Shop or at the corner of St. Paul’s Churchyard which, if less thrilling than the Guinea’s, were more creditable to those concerned.
Other subjects of these stories had a greater fascination for unworldly youth. These were things that a child would play with or carry about: a Doll, a Pegtop or a Pincushion, which, from their intimate association with the family, were in a position to discuss its affairs.
“S. S.” designed her Adventures of a Pincushion[122] “chiefly for the use of young ladies,” little thinking that old ones would turn back with delight to these records of domestic life in their great-grandmothers’ time.
It seems that the proper place for a pincushion (that essentially feminine possession) was the pocket; but there were occasions, making for adventure, when it was put into a workbag by mistake, or “lent to Miss Meekly to fasten her Bib”, and then it was sure to be carried off in another pocket to another house.
One effect of the book, unforeseen by its gentle author, was doubtless to increase the number of lost pincushions; for never, until it was published, had little Misses suspected what secret critics and inveterate gossips they carried about with them, disguised in harmless taffetas.
Rarely indeed is this watchful companion at a loss for information, but once (when S. S. decides to skip a scene) it remarks:
“The ladies now retired to dinner, but I am ignorant of what passed there, as I was left upon a piece of embroidery.”
As for the woodcuts, they may well be John Bewick’s; they follow each turn of the author’s quiet humour. Any little Miss could tell at a glance that Martha was personating the Music Master and Charlotte teaching the rest to dance. These pictures show everything but the colours, and for that matter, nobody shrank from painting the Green Parlour, when the pincushion declared that “the furniture was all of that colour”. Bewick Collectors have never understood the fatal attraction of “plain” cuts.
“S. S.”, justifying her simple narrative in a preface (and thinking, perhaps, of Chrysal), admits that “the pointed satire of ridicule might have added zest to her story”, but thinks it unfit for children.
“To exhibit their superiors in a ridiculous view is not the proper method to engage the youthful mind to respect. To represent their equals as objects of contemptuous mirth is by no means favourable to the interest of good nature. And to treat the characters of their inferiors with levity, the author thought, was inconsistent with the sacred rights of humanity.”