When the
children heard the heavy tread of the porters bringing in the bales
of new calico, the tears would leave the corners of their eyes
and trickle down their poor little cheeks, at the prospect of the
additional work they would have to do. All the patchwork had to be
sewed over and over, and every crooked or too long stitch had to be
picked out; for the Patchwork Woman was very particular. They had to
make all their own clothes of patchwork, and after those were done,
patchwork bed quilts, which were given to the city poor; so the
benevolent lady killed two birds with one stone, as you might say.

[Illustration: THE PATCHWORK GIRL.]

Of course, children staid in the Patchwork School different lengths of
time, according to their different offenses. But there were very few
children in the city who had not sat in a little chair and sewed
patchwork, at one time or another, for a greater or less period.
Sooner or later, the best children were sure to think they were
ill-treated by their parents, and had to go to bed earlier than they
ought, or did not have as much candy as other children; and the police
would hear them grumbling, and drag them off to the Patchwork School.
The Mayor's son, especially, who might be supposed to fare as well
as any little boy in the city, had been in the school any number of
times.

There was one little boy in the city, however, whom the white-booted
police had not yet found any occasion to arrest, though one might have
thought he had more reason than a good many others to complain of his
lot in life. In the first place, he had a girl's name, and any one
knows that would be a great cross to a boy. His name was Julia; his
parents had called him so on account of his having a maiden aunt who
had promised to leave her money to him if he was named for her.

So there was no help for it, but it was a great trial to him, for
the other boys plagued him unmercifully, and called him "missy," and
"sissy," and said "she" instead of "he" when they were speaking of
him. Still he never complained to his parents, and told them he wished
they had called him some other name. His parents were very poor,
hard-working people, and Julia had much coarser clothes than the other
boys, and plainer food, but he was always cheerful about it, and never
seemed to think it at all hard that he could not have a velvet coat
like the Mayor's son, or carry cakes for lunch to school like the
lawyer's little boy.

But pe