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‘Oh, dear me! there’s the pretty quilt I was going to make for baby, and now it isn’t any use, and I can’t bear to finish it;’ and Patty broke out afresh at the thought of so much love’s labour lost.

‘Mamma will love to see it, so I wouldn’t give it up. Work is the best cure for sorrow; and I think you never will be sorry you tried it. Let us put a bright bit of submission with this dark trouble, and work both into your little life as patiently as we can, deary.’

Patty put up her trembling lips, and kissed Aunt Pen, grateful for the tender sympathy and the helpful words. ‘I’ll try,’ was all she said; and then they sat talking quietly together about the dear, dead baby, who only stayed long enough to make a place in every one’s heart, and leave them aching when she went.

Patty did try to bear her first trouble bravely, and got on very well after the first day or two, except when the sewing-hour came. Then the sight of the pretty patchwork recalled the memory of the cradle it was meant to cover, and reminded her that it was empty now. Many quiet tears dropped on Patty’s work; and sometimes she had to put it down and sob, for she had longed so for a little sister, it was very hard to give her up, and put away all the loving plans she had made for the happy time when baby came. A great many tender little thoughts and feelings got sewed into the gay squares; and if a small stain showed here and there, I think they only added to its beauty in the eyes of those who knew what made them. Aunt Pen never suggested picking out certain puckered bits and grimy stitches, for she knew that just there the little fingers trembled, and the blue eyes got dim as they touched and saw the delicate, flowery bits left from baby’s gowns.

Lizzie was full of sympathy, and came hopping over on her crutches with her only treasure, a black rabbit, to console her friend. But of all the comfort given, Mother Bunch’s share was the greatest and best; for that very first sad day, as Patty wandered about the house disconsolately, puss came hurrying to meet her, and in her dumb way begged her mistress to follow and see the fine surprise prepared for her–four plump kits as white as snow, with four gray tails all wagging in a row, as they laid on their proud mamma’s downy breast, while she purred over them, with her yellow eyes full of supreme content.

It was in the barn, and Patty lay for an hour with her head close to Mother Bunch, and her hands softly touching the charming little Bunches, who squeaked and tumbled and sprawled about with their dim eyes blinking, their tiny pink paws fumbling, and their dear gray tails waggling in the sweetest way. Such a comfort as they were to Patty no words could tell, and nothing will ever convince me that Mrs. Bunch did not know all about baby, and so lay herself out to cheer up her little mistress like a motherly loving old puss, as she was.

As Patty lay on the rug that evening while Aunt Pen sung softly in the twilight, a small, white figure came pattering over the straw carpet, and dropped a soft, warm ball down by Patty’s cheek, saying, as plainly as a loud, confiding purr could say it–

‘There, my dear, this is a lonely time for you, I know, so I’ve brought my best and prettiest darling to comfort you;’ and with that Mother Bunch sat down and washed her face, while Patty cuddled little Snowdrop, and forgot to cry about baby.

Soon after this came a great happiness to Patty in the shape of a letter from mamma, saying she must have her little girl back a week earlier than they had planned.