d Rachel and Dorcas each did her
share, and so did even little Mary; but they could not do everything.
The dear mother of all had to spin and weave, and bake and brew, and
pray every hour in the day for strength and patience to do her whole
duty by such a large family.

They were pretty good children, but she did not have so much time to
attend to them as mothers have in these days, and they did not always
look as tidy or talk as correctly as you do, my dears. You must not
expect too much of little folks who lived before the time of railroads,
in a little country town where there were no Sabbath schools, and hardly
any news-papers.

It is of Patience Lyman, the one who afterwards became Grandma Parlin,
that I shall have most to say. She was usually called Patty, for short
(though Patty is really the pet name for Martha instead of Patience),
and she was, as nearly as I can find out, very much such a child as
Flyaway Clifford--with blue eyes, soft light hair, and little feet that
went dancing everywhere.

And now, if you think you know her well enough, perhaps you would like
to go to school with her a day or two, about three quarters of a mile
away from home.

CHAPTER II.

THE SAMPLER.

How do you think she was dressed? In a "petticoat and loose gown." The
loose gown was a calico jacket that hung about the waist in gathers, and
the petticoat was a moreen skirt that came down almost to the ankles.
Then her feet--I must confess they were bare. Nearly all the little
children in Perseverance went barefooted in summer.

Patty had been longing for an education ever since she was two years
old, and at three and a half she was allowed to go to school. All the
other children had been taught the alphabet at home, for Mrs. Lyman was
a very considerate woman, and did not think it fair to trouble a teacher
with baby-work like that; but this summer she had so much to do, with
little Benny in her arms and Solly under her feet, that she was only too
glad to have talkative Patty out of the way.

So, just as the stage-horn was blowing, at half past eight one bright
June morning, Mary put into the dinner basket an extra saucer pie,
sweetened with molasses, and walked the little one off to school. What
school was Patty had no idea. She had heard a great deal about the new
"mistress," and wondered what sort of a creature she could be. She soon
found out. Miss Judkins was merely a fine-looking young lady, with a
tortoise-she