CHAPTER X
LITTLE SUSY'S LITTLE SERVANTS.
CHAPTER X.
'¢ But Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do."
"Susy, dear, don't you feel well?" asked her mamma, seeing Susy sitting idly on the carpet.
"Yes, mamma, I feel well, but I don't know what to do.
I wish you would tell me what to do."
"Well, you may go down and shell peas," said her mamma.
"T don't want to shell peas," said Susy.
"I shelled a bushel yesterday."
"Oh! no, nota bushel.
Not much more than a cupful," said nurse.
"Then you may hold a skein of silk for me to wind."
"TY don't want to work, I want to play," said Susy.
Her mamma was called down to see visitors,
LITTLE SUSY'S LITTLE SERVANTS.
and Susy remained sitting on the floor, in not very good humor.
"Oh, dear!
I wish I had something to do!" said she. "I wonder how Robbie would do fora doll?
I guess I'll try and see."
So she crept over softly to the corner where Robbie sat playing with his blocks, and where she was out of nurse's sight, and began to unbutton his frock.
By and by, judging by the silence that something wrong was going on, nurse got up and went to look.
There lay Robbie with his clothes all off, while Susy was trying to squeeze one of his arms into her doll's nightgown.
The patient little fellow held a block fast in one hand as his comforter under his sorrows, for he really thought he had done something naughty and had to be put to bed, " Pretty works, I do think !" said nurse.
"Just let me call your mamma to see you, that's all."
Susy jumped up and caught nurse by her dress.
"You shan't call mamma!" said she.
"Robbie is my doll, and I'm putting him to bed.
Aren't you, Robbie ?"
LITTLE SUSY'S LITTLE SERVANTS.
Nurse only answered by snatching him up and kissing him.
"T do believe he would let you cut his head off if you wanted to," said she.
"Susy is a naughty girl, and her mamma will whip her."
" Naughty dirl, mamma s'ap!" repeated Robbie, showing with his little hands how mamma would do.
"Tf you had gone down like a good girl and shelled peas," said nurse, "you wouldn't have got into mischief. Where is the other stocking?
On your doll'sarm?
Bring it to me this minute.
And what have you done with Robbie's shirt ?
He will catch his death sitting here with nothing on.
Well! we'll see what his mamma will say !"
By this time Susy was convinced she had done something really dreadful.
So she went softly downstairs and began to shell peas as fast as she could.
Her little thoughts were very busy.
"JT guess mamma won't care.
I was only playing. And I will shell a lot of peas. I wish I knowed where I put Robbie's shirt.
I guess I put it under the bed.
But if he doesn't have
LITTLE SUSY'S LITTLE SERVANTS.
4) it on he'll catch cold." The busy fingers stopped, she slipped down from her chair,and away went the peas, rolling this way and that about the kitchen floor.
"T wish you'd stay upstairs, where you belong," said Sarah.
"See how you've wasted the peas!
If I were your mamma, I would not give you any for your dinner."
"Tl pick them up," said Susy. "And mamma said I might shell them."
She seemed so sorry that Sarah said it was no matter, she guessed six peas wouldn't be much loss.
So Susy went back to the nursery to see about the missing shirt.
"Tf there isn't Robbie's shirt hanging out of your pocket !" said nurse.
"I declare! I never saw such a child.
Well! you wait till your mamma hears of this!"
As she spoke in an angry voice Susy saw a faint smile on the cor: ner of her mouth that quite cheered her disconsolate little heart.
"J didn't mean to be naughty," said she.
"1 did not know what else to do.
And I never will do so any more for athousand years. Won't you forgive me 2"
LITTLE SUSY'S LITTLE SERVANTS.
"Oh! yes, Pll forgive you.
And I'll teach you a hymn beside about idle hands."
How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour; And gather honey all the day, From every opening flower!
How skillfally she builds her cell, How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labor or of skill, I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still, For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be passed; That I may give for every day Some good account at last.