You will readily believe that Lily's "by and by" was long in coming, as it had often been before; and this although her mamma and nurse both invited her more than once to come and begin her petticoat.

The evening brought a note from Maggie Bradford, which was as follows: —

"Dear Lily, – Mamma says we may have the sewing meeting, and Aunt Annie says she will take care of it up in her room, which is very kind of her; do you not think so? When Baby Annie heard us talking about it, she said, "Me too;" and we told her she should come if she would be good. Mamma says she is afraid she will be a disturbance, but she is so cunning that Bessie and I could not bear to tell her no; and we will be very industrious, even if baby is funny. We make you a life-member of our society for two weeks, till we have the clothes all finished; and we will have a meeting every Thursday afternoon. Come at three o'clock; and Aunt Annie will tell us stories or read to us till four, while we sew, and then we will put away our work and play.

"Yours respectfully and affectionately,
"Maggie Stanton Bradford.

"P. S. Bessie says of course you'd never think of such a thing as bringing 'Pro' to the meeting. We wouldn't believe it of you; but if you did, we should 'speed the parting guest,' which means to turn him out as quick as you can."

"Maggie knows so many proverbs and wise speeches, and always knows how to make a good use of them," said Lily, when Tom finished reading this epistle to her, she having been in too much haste to try to spell it out for herself. "Now, Tom, what are you laughing at?"

"Why, I'm sure that is a good joke of Maggie's, and well worth being amused at," said Tom.

"Oh, yes," said Lily, "she is very smart, and very funny too. I'm so glad we are going to have the sewing meeting; and, indeed, I don't take 'Pro' with me."

"I am afraid he has paid us a visit this afternoon, Lily," said Mrs. Norris.

"Why, no, dear mamma; at least, I only thought I would wait till I heard what we were going to do at the meeting, and not begin before them. It is nicer to begin all together."

"And I think you will find that all the other children have commenced their work to-day," said Mrs. Norris. "But we shall see."

Lily's mamma was nearly as well pleased as her little daughter at the arrangement she had made with the Bradford children, for she hoped that their example, and the wish to keep pace with them, might help Lily to conquer her besetting fault in this instance at least; and that shame might keep her from falling behindhand with her work from week to week.

The sewing meeting being a novelty, and Lily very anxious to "see what it would be like," she was willing to be made ready in good time the next day; and actually arrived at the Bradfords' house eight minutes before three o'clock, which she, as well as the other children, took to be a decided sign of improvement in the punctuality line.

Belle was there, but not Mabel, for the latter had taken a very bad cold, and could not come out.

The little girls were soon all settled in Aunt Annie's room, each with her work; but Lily was rather dismayed, and quite ashamed, to find her mother's words proved true, and that each one of the other three children had not only commenced her work, but had completed quite a good piece upon it. Why, there was a whole seam and part of another done upon Maggie's petticoat; and she had not yet set the first stitch in hers!

"Why! haven't you done any on yours yet?" asked Bessie, in amazement. "Why didn't you begin it, Lily?"

"I thought to-day would be time enough," said Lily, rather sheepishly. "I'm sorry now I didn't begin it."

"But it's too late to be sorry now," said Bessie, gravely shaking her head. "Procrastination has been robbing Time again, Lily."

"Never mind, I'll sew very fast to-day," was Lily's answer.

As soon as she had the little girls all busy at their work, Aunt Annie took up a book, and prepared to read a story to them.

But scarcely had she commenced when the door, which stood ajar, was pushed open; and "Tootins" walked in, with an air which seemed to say she was quite sure of her welcome.

And who was "Tootins"? you will say. A kitten?

Well, I believe she was a kind of two-footed kitten; at least, she was as full of play and frolic and merry ways as any four-footed little puss that ever called old cat mother. As fond of being cuddled and petted now and then, too.

"Tootins" was the dearest, cunningest, most fascinating little two-year-old bit of mischief that ever found out she had ten fingers, and the number of uses they could be put to.

A mischief! I should think she was! Such restless, busy little fingers! "Mademoiselle Touche-à-tout" Uncle Ruthven named her. Such an inquisitive little mind! Such never-tiring, pattering little feet! Such a sweet voice, and such a crooked, cunning tongue!

When you saw her, you wanted to catch her up, and pet and hug her, she was so fair and round and dimpled; but that did not always suit Miss "Tootins." She thought her two small feet were made to be used, and she did not choose that they should be deprived of any of their privileges, except by her own free will. So she generally struggled to be put down again; and, dear me! how sorry you were to let her go!

But sometimes, as I have said, she wanted to be cuddled and petted; and then she would nestle to you, so dear and sweet, with her sunny head upon your arm, her great starry eyes fastened upon your face, while you talked baby-talk to her, or told her simple verses and stories. Understand you, do you ask? Indeed, she understood every thing you said; more than you could have believed possible.

Pure pink and white skin; eyes blue as heaven; golden hair; yes, real golden hair, for when the sunlight fell upon her curls, they looked like threads of burning gold; shoulders and hands and arms that looked as if they were only made to be kissed; a gurgling, rippling laugh; and oh, such cunning, wheedling ways! That is our "Tootins;" otherwise, Baby Annie. Our "Tootins," did I say? Well, I suppose I must call her Mrs. Bradford's "Tootins;" but then, you see, I have drawn her picture from life, and, having before my eyes just such a pet and darling of my own, it came very natural to say "our Tootins."

But how did she come by such a funny name? you will ask again.

Well, that was a name her little brother Frankie had given her when she was a tiny baby; no one knew why he did it, but he did, and he always called her by it; and of late, if any one called her by any other name, he always pretended he did not know of whom they spoke. And so "Tootins" had come to be a sort of twin pet name with "Baby," and little Annie was called as much by one as by the other.

As I have said, she came in as if quite assured of her welcome, for Baby Annie was accustomed to have her society courted, and rather imagined she was conferring a favor when she bestowed it upon her friends. Moreover, she had been promised that she should join the others on this occasion, why or with what purpose she did not understand; but she knew that her sisters had talked of Belle and Lily coming. She was fond of Belle and Lily, and had demanded a share in their company, and here they were now. This she knew very well, and so she came in, followed by old nurse, who had her own doubts as to whether baby would be considered a serviceable member of the sewing circle.

But "Tootins'" expectations proved well-founded, for she was greeted with exclamations of pleasure; and after submitting to the necessary amount of hugging and kissing, she was accommodated with a bench at Aunt Annie's feet, and mammy told that she might leave her.

But was it really possible that any one thought baby was going to sit still on that footstool? If so, she soon undeceived them; and the busy little fingers were, as usual, searching about for what mischief they could find to do.

First, she overturned Maggie's workbox, and having contrived, during the picking up of the contents, secretly to possess herself of the eyelet-piercer, was presently discovered boring holes in her own tiny shoe. The next thing which took her fancy was a small vase of flowers, which being within her reach was dragged over, the water spilled upon the floor and the flowers scattered, before Aunt Annie could prevent it. Happily, the vase was not broken, for which Miss Baby took great credit to herself, declaring over and over again that she was "dood," – little Pharisee that she was.

By the time that this disturbance was over, order restored, and the members of the sewing society settled once more in their places, baby had retired into privacy behind the window curtain; and, being suspiciously quiet, Aunt Annie thought proper to inquire into her occupation, when she was discovered industriously taking pins from a pin-cushion, and sticking them into the carpet.

"Oh, what a mischievous, naughty little girl!" said Aunt Annie. "Shall I call mammy to take you away?"

"No, 'deed, Nan," was the answer; "Nan" being baby's name for Aunt Annie.

"Will you be good and quiet then?"

"'Es 'deed," said baby, resigning the pin-cushion into Aunt Annie's hands, and trotting off in search of fresh pastures.

A large trunk was in the room, the lid standing open; and Miss Stanton had already called baby three or four times from its dangerous neighborhood. But the straps which kept the lid from falling back seemed to have a peculiar attraction for the little one; and once more she went over to the corner where it was placed, and, taking hold of one of these straps, would in another moment have crushed both tiny hands by pulling the whole weight of the lid upon them, had not Maggie sprung up and caught it just in time.

"You had better call nurse to take her away, Maggie; she is too troublesome, and we shall accomplish nothing while she is here," said her aunt, now really vexed. But when she heard this, Baby Annie put up such a grieved lip and looked so piteous that the other children all pleaded for her; and Miss Stanton said she would try her once more.

"Shall Aunt Annie tell you a pretty story?" she asked, seating the little mischief in the corner of the sofa, where she would be out of harm's way so long as she could be persuaded to remain there.

Baby assented eagerly, for she always liked a story; and Aunt Annie began, the little one listening intently, with hands quietly folded in her lap, and her great blue eyes fixed on her aunt's face.

"Once there was a little girl, and she was a very good little girl, and always did as she was told. When her auntie said, 'You must be still,' she was as quiet as a little mouse, and made no noise. When her mamma said, 'Come here,' she always came; and when her nursey said, 'Do not touch that thing,' she never touched it. She did not take the pins, because she knew it was naughty, and that mamma would say, 'No, no;' and she did not pull at the flowers, because she knew her auntie would say, 'Let them alone;' and she did not touch Maggie's workbox, because she knew she was not to have it. And oh, dear me! why, she never would do such a naughty thing as to touch the trunk, because she knew it would hurt her little fingers, oh, so badly! and then she would have to cry. So every one loved this baby, and said, 'What a good little girl! Come here, good little girl;' and gave her pretty flowers of her own, and let her stay in the room, and did not send her away to the nursery."

Here Aunt Annie paused, to see what effect her moral tale was making on the small listener for whose benefit it was intended. Baby was intensely interested, and when Aunt Annie ceased speaking, gravely ejaculated the one syllable, "More."

The other children, who thought this extremely funny, were trying to hide their smiles that they might not spoil the lesson the story was intended to convey.

"Then there was another little girl," continued Aunt Annie, "such a naughty little girl, who would not mind what was said to her. When her mamma said, 'Don't go to the head of the stairs when the gate is open,' she would not mind, but she did go; and she fell down stairs, and bumped her poor little head. And she took the piercer, and made holes in her new shoes; and mamma said, 'Oh, the naughty baby! She must sit on the bed with no shoes on because she did such a bad thing.' And she took the scissors and cut her little fingers, and they hurt her so badly, and bled. And the pins too, and she put them in the carpet where they pricked grandmamma's feet; and grandmamma said, 'That naughty, naughty baby!' And what do you think happened to her one day? She would touch the trunk when her auntie said, 'Come away;' and the lid fell down, and cut off all the poor little fingers, and the little girl had no more fingers to play with, or to love mamma with, or to look at the pretty picture-books with. Oh, poor little girl! that was because she would not be good."

Nothing could outdo the intense gravity of the little one's face and demeanor as she listened to this thrilling tale, and drank in each word. It was certainly making a great impression, Aunt Annie thought.

"Now," she said, thinking to strengthen and give point to this, "who was the good little girl who always did as she was told?"

"Tootins," said the baby, with an air of supreme self-satisfaction, and conscious virtue, which set all the other children giggling.

"And who," asked Aunt Annie, trying to command her own face, as she put the second question, "was the naughty little girl who did all those bad things, and was so much hurt?"

"Na-a-an!" shouted baby, changing her air of delighted self-approbation to one of stern reproof and bitter indignation against her would-be teacher.

To describe the peals of gleeful laughter which followed this sudden turning of the tables would be impossible. Roguish Lily went capering and whirling about the room in an ecstasy of fun and enjoyment at this capital hit; and all thought it the most excellent joke they had heard this long time. It would have been impossible to help joining in their merry peals of laughter, even had not Aunt Annie herself been heartily amused at the little rogue's cuteness; and baby, finding she had said a good thing, joined her own rippling laugh to the general merriment, to which she further added by now saying, "Oh, dear! me so funny."

The laughter and merry voices brought mamma to see what the great joke could be; and Miss Baby now thought proper to deprive them of her society, slipping down from her nest on the sofa, and running to her mother with, —

"Me better do wis my mamma."

"Tootins" always considered she had "better" do whatever she wished to do.

And now perhaps you will say, What has all this long story about "Tootins" to do with Lily and procrastination?

Why, just this; that from the moment the baby had entered the room, Lily's attention had been entirely diverted from her sewing. In vain did that faithful little monitor, Bessie, endeavor by hints and signs, and softly whispered words, to persuade her to keep on with the work already so far behindhand. For to all her entreaties, Lily only answered, "There's time enough," or, "I'm going to do it in a minute," and so forth; while she watched the baby, and was rather disposed to encourage her in her mischief. And when Miss Stanton put little Annie up on the sofa, and began to tell her the story, Lily dropped her sewing upon the floor, and, leaving her seat, hung over the arm of the couch, listening and idling away her time. The other children were amused, too, at Annie's pranks, especially at this last one, but they kept on sewing industriously; even little Belle, who was unaccustomed to it, laboriously and with much painstaking, setting in stitch after stitch.

But even this good example had no effect on Lily; and seeing this, Aunt Annie was not sorry when "the little hindering thing" declared she had "better do wis" her mother. Mrs. Bradford thought so too; and carried away the cunning but provoking monkey.

"O Lily!" said Maggie, reproachfully, "I thought you were not going to bring Pro with you."

"Well, I didn't," said Lily. "I'm sure I've been sewing; at least, I've sewed some; and I was just looking at Annie for a moment."

"For a good many moments, Lily," said Miss Stanton; "and even when you had your work in your hand, you put in the stitches very slowly and carelessly. See there, Lily," taking up the end of the seam on which Lily was now working in great haste, in order to make up for lost time, "what long, uneven stitches, my dear child."

"Oh, they'll do, Miss Annie," said Lily. "I'll do the rest better; but I must have this seam done to-day."

Miss Stanton looked grave, and shook her head, and it was not a usual thing for gay, merry Annie Stanton to look serious; and Lily saw that she, like other people, did not think so lightly of this habit which she considered of so little consequence.

For, as you will have perceived, Lily had already forgotten the sad lesson she had received in the matter of the silver inkstand; and Maggie, Bessie, and Belle afterwards acknowledged to one another that their proverb picture had quite failed to produce the good effect they had hoped for.

"Let's keep the sewing meeting in a little longer," she said, when the hour was over, and the other children were preparing to put by their work, which had made good progress during that time.

"No," said Miss Annie, "an hour's steady work is enough for any little girl, and the others are tired. They have done enough for to-day."

"I think I'll do a little more," said Lily, who felt ashamed as she compared her own work with that of her young companions, and saw how much more they had accomplished.

"As you please," said Miss Stanton; "but I cannot attend to you longer, Lily. I am going out to dinner, and must dress now. I hope you will do better before next Thursday."

Lily went away with the others, intending to sew while they played, at least, for a while; but, as you may believe, when she saw them all engaged with their dolls, Procrastination came and put her virtuous resolution to flight, whispering that she could make up for lost time to-morrow; and, as usual, he had his way, and the petticoat was soon altogether forgotten.

VII
WHAT CAME OF THAT

"Lily, darling," said Mrs. Norris, on Saturday morning, "let me see how the little orphan's petticoat is coming on."

Lily went, rather sheepishly it must be confessed, and brought the skirt to her mother.

"Is this all you have done? – this little piece of a seam?" said Mrs. Norris. "And so badly too. Why, my child! what have you been thinking of? You can sew far better than this."

Lily fidgeted, and hung her head.

"Did you not all sew yesterday, when you were at Mrs. Bradford's?" asked her mamma, examining the work still more closely.

"Yes, mamma," murmured Lily.

"And did you not say Miss Annie showed you how it was to be done?"

"Yes, mamma."

"How is it, then, that you have done so very little, and that little so badly?"

"Why, you see, mamma," said Lily, hesitatingly, "I did not have much sewed, only a few stitches, and I wanted to catch up with the others; and so – and so – so the stitches wouldn't come very nice."

"And why did you not have as much accomplished as the other children? This is a very poor hour's work, dear."

"Yes, mamma; but Baby Annie was so funny, and I couldn't help looking at her, and I thought I would have time enough. It was such a horridly short hour; it was gone before I had time to do much."

"Ah, Lily," said Mrs. Norris, "it is the same old story, I fear. Procrastination, and want of attention to the duty of the time, and perhaps a little idleness and heedlessness added to them. These last two are great helpers to procrastination, Lily; or perhaps I should say, procrastination is a great helper to the sad fault of idleness. It is so very easy, when we do not feel industrious, to believe that another time will answer as well for the duty or work we should do now. So the duty is put off; and then, when shame or need calls us to the neglected task, it is hurried through heedlessly, and it may be so badly that it is quite useless, or must be done over again, as this must, my child."

"Mamma!" exclaimed Lily, in a tone in which there was displeasure as well as distress.

"Yes, indeed, my daughter. I cannot allow this to be returned to Miss Ashton with such work upon it. You are but a little girl, and no one would expect to see such neat sewing come from your hands as from those of an older person; but I should be ashamed to have it thought that my Lily cannot do better than this."

"Then I'll never have the petticoat done at all," said Lily, her eyes filling with tears. "It is 'most a week now since Miss Ashton gave them to us, and if I have to take that out it will be all to do from the beginning, and Maggie and Bessie and Belle have ever so much done on theirs, and I shan't have one stitch done on mine."

Mrs. Norris looked grieved at the rebellious tone.

"Whose fault is it, Lily?" she asked sorrowfully.

Lily hesitated for a moment; then, for the first time in her life, temper had the better of her love and reverence for her mother, and she answered passionately, —

"Yours, if you make me pull that out!"

For a moment, surprise held Mrs. Norris silent and motionless. Never before had Lily spoken so to her; never before had she been other than her loving, docile little child, not always strictly obedient it might be, but that was not so much from wilfulness as from that sad habit of putting off, – of not obeying at once.

Then the surprise died out, and left only pain and grief; and while Lily was wondering what mamma would do, could do, after such a dreadful thing as that (for the very utterance of the words had sobered her, and calmed down her temper), Mrs. Norris rose, and laying down the skirt, without one word, without one look at her naughty little child, slowly and sorrowfully left the room.

Lily stood still one moment, herself almost breathless with surprise and dismay at what she had done. Had she really said such dreadful words to mamma? and could mamma ever, ever forgive them? Her own dear, loving, indulgent mamma to hear such words from the lips of her own, only little daughter. What would papa say, what would Tom say, when they should know it? what would Maggie and Bessie say? For when mamma treated her as she deserved to be treated from this time forth, they would surely know that something was wrong, and must learn what she had done. And, oh! how angry God must be with her!

Some little boys and girls, who are in the habit of saying unkind and disrespectful things to their mothers, – and, alas! there are too many such, – may wonder at our Lily's distress and remorse; but Lily was not accustomed to behave in this way to her mother; as you have heard, it was the first time in her life that she had done so, and now she was fairly frightened when she remembered how she had let passion master her.

And what had brought this about?

Lily did not think of it just then, in all the tumult of feeling which swelled her little heart; but had it not all arisen from the sad habit of procrastination, of which she thought so lightly?

She felt as if she dared not run after her mother, and ask her forgiveness. True, mamma always was ready to forgive her when she was penitent after any naughtiness; but then – oh! she had never, never done any thing like this before – and Lily threw herself down upon the rug in a paroxysm of tears and sobs.

By and by the door was opened, and Tom came in. He stood still for a moment in surprise at the state in which he found his little sister, then came forward.

"My pet, what is it? What is the matter?" he said, stooping over her, and trying to raise her. But Lily resisted; and so Tom sat down on the floor beside her. A fresh burst of sobs came from Lily.

"What is it, dear?" asked Tom again. "Shall I call mamma?"

"Oh, no, no!" sobbed Lily. "She wouldn't c-c-come if you did. She'll never want to come near m-me a-a-gain."

"Why? What is wrong?" asked Tom, whose fears that Lily was ill or had hurt herself were now removed; for he saw that it was not bodily but mental trouble which ailed her.

"Oh! I've done the most horrid, the most dreadful thing, Tom," confessed Lily, still hardly able to speak for the fast-coming tears and sobs. "Oh! I spoke so wickedly to mamma; to my own dear, precious, darling mamma. It was 'most worse than the inkstand, oh, it was, it was! I'm so bad, oh, such a bad child!"

"Are you willing to tell me about it?" asked Tom, soothingly.

Lily raised her head, and threw it upon her brother's knee, allowing him to wipe away her tears; although, as she told her story, they flowed as fast as he dried them.

"Lily," said Tom, hoping that this might prove a good lesson to her, – ah! how often had Lily's friends vainly hoped that the trouble she brought upon herself might prove of service to her, – "Lily, how was it that your work was so very badly done?"

And Lily made a fresh confession, Tom gently leading her back to what he truly suspected to be the first cause of all this difficulty.

"Lily, dear," he said, "I am sure I do not want to seem to find fault with you, or to reproach you when you are feeling so badly; but I would like you to see how all this has come about. You think it such a small fault, such a very little thing, to put off your duties, and even your pleasures, if it happens to suit the convenience of the moment. As to pleasures, I suppose that does not matter much, so long as we do not let our want of punctuality interfere with the pleasure of others; but although it may not be what we call a great sin in itself, just see into what sin and sorrow procrastination may lead us. One little duty neglected or put off may interfere with another; or, as you have done, we may have to hurry through with it in such a manner as to leave it worse than if we had not tried to do it at all. And so we are disappointed and vexed, and perhaps we grow cross and ill-tempered, or fly into a passion, and do some very wrong or unkind thing."

"Yes; or behave worse than any child that ever lived, to our darling, lovely, precious mammas, just like me," broke forth poor, penitent Lily.

"Yes," said Tom, gravely, but kindly, "you see to what it has led you, – disrespect and impertinence to dear mamma. Is not this enough, Lil darling, to show you how much pain and trouble may come from this habit, and why you ought to try to break yourself of it? It is not only the inconvenience which must come from it, but the wrong which may grow from it, which should teach us to try and keep it from gaining a hold upon us. Do you see, Lil?"

"I should think I did," said Lily, dolefully, though she now sat upright, but with a most rueful and despairing countenance. "I should think it had made me bad enough to see what it can do. But, Tom," – with an admiring look at her brother from the midst of her gloom and distress, – "but, Tom, what a wise boy you are! You talk as if you were grown up; quite as if you were a minister; only I understand all you say, and I don't understand all ministers say."

"No, I suppose not," said Tom, speaking more gayly; "but we will not have any more preaching just now, only – I would like to tell you a story, Lily. Shall I?"

"Yes, indeed, please do," answered Lily, brightening a little at the prospect.

"It is a very sad story, but I thought it would just fit here," said her brother.

"I'm not in a state of mind for a pleasant story," said Lily, who had lately fallen into the way of using long words, and "grown-up" phrases, after the example of her little friends, Maggie and Bessie.

"No, I suppose not," said Tom, suppressing all inclination to smile. "Well, you know Will Sturges, Lily?"

"Oh, yes, that very sorry-looking boy, whose father is dead, you told me," said Lily. "Tom, it always makes me feel sorry to see him. He hardly ever smiles, or looks happy. You know mamma told you to ask him here often, and see if you could not brighten him up; but he don't seem to brighten up at all. Bessie said he looked 'as if he had a weight on his mind' all the time."

"Ah! that is just it," said Tom. "He has a terrible weight on his mind; a grief that is there night and day. He thinks it is through his fault that his father was killed; and I suppose that it is so. At least it was brought about by a small neglect of his, – procrastination, or putting off, Lily."

"Did he ever put off?" asked the little girl, opening great eyes of wonder. "Why, he always seems so very punctual, so very ready just when he ought to be."

"Yes," said Tom, "but he was not always so, dear. Never was a more unpunctual, a more dilatory boy than Will Sturges used to be. Poor dear fellow! he has learned better by such a sad lesson. I hope my little sister may never have the like."

"I'm sure," said Lily, "I don't know who has had a sad lesson, if I have not."

"Ah! but, Lily," said her brother, "you have yet the time and chance to show you are sorry, and want to try to do better – if you really do repent – and to gain forgiveness from the one you have injured, – dear mamma; but poor Will, he never had the chance to make up for his neglect of his duty."

"Tell me," begged Lily, all curiosity and interest.

"Well," said Tom, "Will Sturges used to be, as he is now, about the brightest and quickest boy in our class."

Lily shook her head doubtfully at this; it was all Tom's modesty, she thought, and more than she could conveniently believe. Tom understood her, but continued his story without interruption.

"But, for all that, he never was at the head of his class, nor even took a very high standing in it; for never was such a boy for being behindhand as Will Sturges. Every thing that could be put off was put off, and he never seemed to like to attend to any duty or task at the proper moment. It was not laziness either, for he would leave some small task which should have been done at once, perhaps to take up one that was far harder, but which might well have waited till he had finished the first. He never could be persuaded to attend to his regular lessons first, but would let himself be led away from them, not always by play or pleasure, but often to take up some book which there was no need for him to study, always believing and saying that there was 'time enough' – 'no hurry' – 'by and by he would do it,' and so forth; until, as you may suppose, his lessons were left until the last moment, when they would be scrambled through, and Will just contrived to keep himself from disgrace. It was so with every thing; he never was ready in time for either work or pleasure. If he were going on a journey, or any excursion, ten to one but he was left behind by being too late for the boat or train; all his own fault too, for his father and mother used to take pains enough to have him ready in time. When Mr. Peters took the school on a picnic or frolic, it was always a part of the entertainment to see Will come tearing down the dock, or by the side of the cars just at the last moment, often after the last moment, and when it was too late. No boy in school had so many tardy marks; none lost so many books, papers, and pencils, because he always thought it was time enough to put them in their places by and by. No lesson did him any good, no disappointment or inconvenience he brought upon himself seemed to cure him; until at last the sad thing happened of which I am going to tell you.