"O," said the lady, recollecting herself, "I can't blame you, for there is no mat."
"No, ma'am," said the gardener, "nor I don't know when, if ever, the man will bring home those mats you bespoke, ma'am."
"I am very sorry to hear that," said the lady; "I wish we could find somebody who would do them, if he can't—I should not care what sort of mats they were, so that one could wipe one's feet on them."
Jem, as he was sweeping away the litter, when he heard these last words, said to himself, "Perhaps I could make a mat."
And all the way home, as he trudged along whistling, he was thinking over a scheme for making mats, which, however bold it may appear, he did not despair of executing with patience and industry. Many were the difficulties which his "prophetic eye" foresaw; but he felt within himself that spirit which spurs men on to great enterprises, and makes them "trample on impossibilities."
He recollected in the first place, that he had seen Lazy Lawrence, whilst he lounged upon the gate, twist a bit of heath into different shapes, and he thought, that if he could find some way of plaiting heath firmly together, it would make a very pretty green, soft mat, which would do very well for one to wipe one's shoes on. About a mile from his mother's house, on the common winch Jem rode over when he went to farmer Truck's for the giant strawberries, he remembered to have seen a great quantity of this heath; and, as it was now only six o'clock in the evening, he knew that he should have time to feed Lightfoot, stroke him, go to the common, return, and make one trial of his skill before he went to bed.
Lightfoot carried him swiftly to the common, and there Jem gathered as much of the heath as he thought he should want. But what toil! What time! What pains did it cost him, before he could make any thing like a mat! Twenty times he was ready to throw aside the heath, and give up his project, from impatience of repeated disappointments. But still he persevered. Nothing truly great can be accomplished without toil and time. Two hours he worked before he went to bed.
All his play hours the next day he spent at his mat; which in all, made five hours of fruitless attempts. The sixth, however, repaid him for the labours of the other five; he conquered his grand difficulty of fastening the heath substantially together; and at length completely finished a mat, which far surpassed his most sanguine expectations. He was extremely happy—sung—danced round it—whistled—looked at it again and again, and could hardly leave off looking at it when it was time to go to bed. He laid it by his bed-side, that he might see it the moment he awoke in the morning.
And now came the grand pleasure of carrying it to his mistress. She looked full as much surprised as he expected, when she saw it, and when she heard who made it. After having duly admired it, she asked him how much he expected for his mat.
"Expect!—Nothing, ma'am," said Jem. "I meant to give it you if you'd have it; I did not mean to sell it. I made it at my play hours, and I was very happy making it; and I'm very glad too that you like it; and if you please to keep it, Ma'am—that's all."