After he went away, Sallie sat long at her sewing, making all alone, by a dim light, one of the most heroic little sacrifices that was ever offered “in His name.” To fully understand it, you must know that Mark Calkins had recovered sufficiently to take his place in the office where Dr. Everett had secured him an opening, and an employment that would enable him to sit, most of the time, thereby giving his injured limb a chance to rest. Also, Mark had been admitted to the Monday evening gatherings, and was distinguishing himself there by his skill in reading and writing. Of course, he had received two tickets, and equally of course, being the boy he was, he had planned to take Sallie with him to the lecture. Great was Sallie's prospective pleasure! The event of her lifetime it was to be. To walk with Mark through the crowded streets, both neatly dressed; to walk boldly forward with the throng, and present their tickets of admittance to the great hall; hitherto seen only from the outside; to move down the long aisles as those who had a right, and select their seats unquestioned by police; in short, to be like other people—part of the great well-to-do world,—this was Sallie's joy!
She had washed and mended her best calico dress; she had sewed buttons on the pretty cape, according to Mrs. Roberts' directions; she had tried on the neat bonnet which had been manufactured for her by Mrs. Roberts' own fingers, and, altogether, Sallie had probably gotten, during these two days, more enjoyment out of Gough's lecture than many others, who had heard him a dozen times, ever secured. I do not think it any wonder that, as she rocked and sewed, and thought out her great thought, there fell tears on the work she was doing.
CHAPTER XXIV. — “FOR YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT MAY COME.”
This was the thought: Suppose Dirk Colson should want to take his sister. Sallie did not believe it in the least probable; she had not that amount of faith in Dirk Colson; but suppose he should, Mart could not go, for the reason that she would have nothing to wear.
And here was Sallie's pretty cape, which would cover the worst of her dress, and her pretty bonnet, which she knew would make a picture of Mart; but if she lent them it meant staying at home to Sallie. Could she do it? Could she bear to think of such a thing? What would Mark say? What would he do with his other ticket?
Would she be likely ever to have another chance to go to that wonderful hall, and be like other folks?
But Mart had never been anywhere in her life.
“And I,” said poor Sallie, catching her breath with a sob, “have been often for a walk on the brightest streets, and looked in at the shop windows, and everything. I 'most know I will help her to go if I can.”