At last a fair was suggested, and then the little girls’ fingers worked faster and their faces grew brighter as they talked together of what they could make or do for the fair. It was the one absorbing topic of conversation, and the society increased, and all were busy with something which they intended for the fair. I cannot enumerate all the articles, for it would make the story too long; and then I do not remember them. But I have in mind the beautiful bead mats, which little Susie made; and the elephant, as natural as the real ones which sometimes come into town, with their fanciful blankets on, and their big feet, which leave so large prints in the sand. There was a little air-castle made of straw, and designed for the flies to light on; and every time I lift my eyes I can see it hanging over my head, and I think of the bright-eyed Carrie who made it, and who was so much interested in the fair, even though she did not belong to St. Luke’s Sunday school. There were handsome hair-receivers, made by a young girl, from New York, who was spending the summer in Carrollton, and who contributed both labor and material. Boys tried their skill in making mats on corks, and harnesses for dogs; and all through the parish the enthusiasm increased until the fair promised to be a great success.
CHAPTER IV.
WHAT WAS DONE IN THE INFANT CLASS FOR THE FAIR.
There were two teachers in the infant school,—one the mother of little Berkie and the other Mrs. Hoyt, who wrote to a friend in New York, telling him of the fair, and asking if his little daughter would like to send a few toys for the tables. Three days passed, and then the answer came, not in the shape of toys, but a crisp five-dollar bill from little “Susie Street,” another five from “little Joe,” and two from “little Mamie.” This was the answer; and the ladies, who had sometimes felt discouraged, and feared they might fail, believed that God was blessing them in their efforts, and with earnest prayers they gave the fair into his charge, and the result proved how faithful he was to the trust. Not satisfied with what his children had done, the kind gentleman from New York, who was an editor, interested his workmen in the matter, and the treasurer was one day surprised with twelve dollars and a half, contributed by the printers and workmen in the press-room,—strangers, the most of them, to the ladies of St. Luke’s—and the gift was all the more acceptable for that, while many thanks and blessings were showered upon the generous donors. In Massachusetts, too, where the treasurer’s childhood was passed, a few kind friends interested themselves in the Children’s Fair, and eleven dollars more was the result. And so the fund kept growing, as one friendly hand after another was stretched out to help, and the Font seemed almost a certainty without the fair.
It was a plan of the teachers that the smaller children should assist, and, either by saving or earning, contribute their mites. And so each Sunday the pennies were brought, while during the week the little ones were busy as bees in devising ways and means to save or earn for the fair. I wish you could have seen the boys who lived in the brick house just across the street from St. Luke’s. They were as fond of play as boys usually are; but they gave it up for a while, and the croquet mallets rested quietly in the grass, and the old house-dog had a worried, anxious look in his eyes, as if he wondered what had come over his young masters, and why, instead of running up and down the walk with him, they stayed so long out in the back yard, or climbed the trees where he could not reach them. They were picking plums, and piling up wood, and selling grapes; and, as the result of their work, they brought to the Sunday school over a dollar and a half. And while they were thus busy, two little girls, Susie and Maria, were picking apples, their chubby faces getting very red and their white aprons somewhat stained with the juicy fruit. Down on Main street there was a soda-fountain, and the delicious, creamy liquid was very tempting, on a hot day, to the children who had the pennies to spare, and in many cases the temptation was too strong to be resisted; but a few denied themselves, and brought the fruits of their self-denial to their teacher, just as Willie Sutherland brought the pennies which he had saved by going without the chewing-gum which boys usually like so much. To us these self-denials may look very small, but God knew just how hard the struggle was in each little heart, and he surely commended the offerings as he did the widow’s mite, and blessed the children, too, who made them. Fourteen dollars and thirty-three cents was the sum total which the children saved in seven weeks; and never were pennies more acceptable than these, which had cost the children quite as hard a struggle as many a greater self-denial costs those of maturer years.
CHAPTER V.
THE DAY OF THE FAIR.
Oh, how it rained and rained for days and days before the one appointed for the fair, and how many anxious eyes were turned up towards the clouds which looked so heavy and gray and pitiless, as if they never intended to stop raining again! It was hard to believe that behind the dark mass the sun was still shining, and the children watched in vain for the “silver lining” which is said to invest every cloud. But it appeared at last on the very day of the fair, and patches of blue sky showed here and there in the heavens, and before noon the October sun was drying the walks and the wet grass, and brightening up the little faces which for days had been overcast with gloom. The fair was to be held at a private house, and I wish you could have seen the multitude of pretty things which came pouring in, until the Brown Cottage looked like one great bazaar of toys and fancy articles. There were cushions of pink and cushions of blue, and penwipers and book-racks, and a beautiful whirling butterfly which Lulu bought on Broadway, and needle-books and spool-cases, and tidies of various devices and colors, with mittens and gloves, and fanciful lines with tinkling bells attached, and I know a little boy, among the Massachusetts hills, who to-day drives his miniature horses, of which he has forty or more, with a pair of those very lines. Then there were toys of every description sent from New York by Susie Ganson’s mother, and spread out upon the tables in the upper room, whose glass door looked into the garden. There were jumping-jacks, which turned the boys wild, and churns, which made the little girls scream with delight. There were washbowls and tubs, tin-kitchens and rolling-pins, and bars to dry the dolly’s clothes on, and chairs, and tables, and dishes, with balls and canes, and old Santa Claus himself bearing his Christmas-tree with the gifts to put upon it. There was a negro, too, with his woolly head and calico frock, looking so life-like and real that some of the smaller children drew back from him in terror, fancying he was alive.
Downstairs, in the bay window, and on a table where it could be distinctly seen, was the “Beauty of the Fair,”—a little stained bedstead, which an ingenious gentleman had whittled out with his penknife. It was a most perfect thing, with castors and mattress tufted with pink, with ruffled sheets and pillow-cases, the ruffles all nicely fluted and showing well against the covering of white Marseilles. Upon it lay a handsome doll, in her muslin dress and scarlet cloak, ready for the opera. The two were to go together, and many a little girl hoped she might be made the happy possessor of so beautiful a gift. In a corner of the parlor, the books which a kind New York publisher had given, were arranged, together with the Fate Eggs, which looked so pretty, suspended from the branch of evergreen made to resemble a tree. The books and the eggs were to be Jennie’s charge,—dear little Jennie, with the pale, sweet face, whom everybody loves and pities so much,—for Jennie is lame; and when the other children of her age are at their merry play, she can only lean upon her crutches and watch the sport in which she can take no part. Near Jennie’s corner the candy and flower tables stood, and Annie and Carrie were to preside there, and send out little peddlers with baskets of candy and bouquets to sell.
I must not forget to tell you of the famous fish pond, as it was something new in Carrollton, and proved a great success. A corner of the room was divided off with a heavy curtain, on which the printed words,