What was my surprise when, after examining the spot, she said, in a tone which sounded like music in my ears:  “Well child, you couldn’t help it, and it is well you were not hurt.  After all, white dresses are poor things for children to play in, and this is only fit for the wash-tub now.  But this is not quite so bad as the pig-pen—­eh, Amy?”

The color mounted quickly into my face at these last words, and gladly obeying her injunction to “go, play now,” I bounded from the room; while Aunt Henshaw, I suppose, enlightened the company as to the meaning of her question, and my evident confusion.  Oh, if people did but know the effect of kind words, especially when harshness is expected!  I never enjoyed romping so much in all my life as on that afternoon; Aunt Henshaw had pronounced my dress “fit only for the wash-tub,” and I thought that before it proceeded thither, it might just as well be a little more soiled as not.  So we rolled about on the grass, climbed over fences, and rambled through the woods without fear or restraint.  With a light and happy heart I set out on the journey home, congratulating myself that I was not then to encounter the eagle eyes of Mammy.

Aunt Henshaw, though perfectly willing that I should enjoy myself at play, did not approve of my spending my whole time in idleness; and under her superintendence, I felt more disposed to work than I ever had before.  With her assistance I completed several articles of dress for a sister of Sylvia’s, who was very poor, and lived in a sort of hovel near by; and the indefatigable Holly having again discovered the kittens in some equally out-of-the-way place, I at last, with a great deal of difficulty, succeeded in manufacturing a warm suit of clothes for the winter wear of the prettiest one.  Having equipped the kitten in its new habiliments, I carried it to Aunt Henshaw, as quite a triumph of art; but when I made my appearance, with the two little ears poking out of the bonnet, and the tail quite visible through a hole in the skirt which I had cut for it, Cousin Statia actually indulged in a hearty fit of laughter, while Aunt Henshaw appeared even more amused.  She told me that nature had furnished it with a covering quite sufficient to protect it from the cold; but I thought that it must then be a great deal too warm in summer, and had just commenced fanning it, when she explained to me that the fur was a great deal thinner in summer than in winter.  This satisfied me; and releasing the astonished kitten from its numerous wrappers, I presented them to Holly, and gave up all idea of furnishing it with a wardrobe.

CHAPTER XIII.