Lily Norris' Enemy. Mathews Joanna Hooe

at her, and she said, 'Friend, thee' – thee is the way Quakers say you – 'Friend, thee has wasted three hours of time that did not belong to thee. Here are twelve of us, and a quarter of an hour for each makes three hours, and you – thee, I mean – had no right to do it, and thee ought to be ashamed of yourself.' And the lady was ashamed of herself, 'cause it made her feel horridly to be talked to that way before so many people; and she never did so again, which was a great blessing to every one who knew her, because she made herself a great inconvenience."

      And here Maggie closed her story, which she had one day lately found in some book or paper, and had brought it up on this occasion for Lily's benefit, adding to it sundry embellishments of her own, which, as she thought, made it more telling and serviceable.

      "But," said Lily, who took the moral to herself as it was intended she should do, "but we're not a meeting, and you're not a Quaker lady, Maggie. It's only a party."

      "Only a party!" echoed Maggie, in an aggrieved tone, which told that this was adding insult to injury; "she says, 'Only a party'! Now, Lily, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I just want to tell you something."

      And Maggie held up the bit of paper on which she had taken the pains to note down the sum Mrs. Rush had done for her, lest she should forget the number of minutes.

      "You kept us waiting more than twenty minutes, Lily. Miss Ashton invited us at four, and you did not come till twenty minutes after; and there are four of us besides yourself, so there's one whole hour, and forty minutes, – which is 'most three-quarters of an hour, – one whole hour and forty minutes of party wasted, and only twenty minutes of it was your own."

      "And I'm sure it's a great deal harder to have a party wasted than it is a meeting," said Belle.

      "I never thought about it," said Lily, by no means offended, but considerably astonished at the way in which her short-comings were brought home to her. "I never thought of that, and I'm real sorry. I'll never do it again."

      "Did the lady with the toothache ever tell the late lady she made her have it?" asked Bessie.

      "Well, I'm not very sure," said Maggie, not willing to confess to total ignorance on this subject; "but I think she did."

      "Then she wasn't very kind," said Bessie. "It would have been kinder if she hadn't spoken about it. She had lesson enough. I think that old Quaker lady was pretty cross, and I'm glad she's not my grandmamma."

      "Maggie," said Lily, as the carriage drew up at Miss Ashton's door, "couldn't you make me a proverb picture about putting off? I would like one ever so much."

      For Lily took great delight in these same "proverb pictures," and was very glad to receive one even when it held up her own failings to reproof.

      "Is there any proverb about putting off?" asked Belle.

      "Yes, to be sure," said Lily. "There's 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'"

      "Um – I don't know," said Maggie, doubtful if this adage were quite applicable to the case in question. "I don't think that will do; but if we can't find one, we'll make one, and draw you a proverb picture about it. I'll ask mamma if she knows of any that will do."

      "And make it for me very soon, will you?" said Lily, jumping from the carriage with the assistance of Mrs. Ashton's maid, who had come to take them out. "I'll try to have it do me some good."

      This was encouraging, and Maggie's imagination was at once put to work; but not to much purpose for this evening, since as yet she knew of no proverb that would answer for the object she had in view.

      Our young party was greeted with a chorus of welcome, not only from Mrs. and Miss Ashton, but also from the other little girls who had all arrived before them; for children are generally punctual to such engagements, whatever their elders may be. Indeed, they usually prefer to be before, rather than after the time.

      "How late you came!"

      "What kept you?"

      "It's more than half-past four!"

      "We've been here ever so long."

      "We've been waiting for you" – and such like exclamations met them on all sides.

      "It's my fault," said Lily. "I was not ready in time, and kept them waiting."

      "O Lily!" said Carrie Ransom. "You always do keep people waiting."

      "Well, I can't help it," said Lily.

      "Yes, you can," said Gracie Howard; "at least, you could if you would do things in time; but you never will."

      "I'll grow out of it when I'm bigger," said Lily. "People 'most always cure up their faults before they're grown up."

      "Not if they don't take pains with them when they're little," said Bessie, solemnly. "Lily, if you keep on per-cas-ter-nating now, maybe you won't be able to help it when you're grown up, and then people will be provoked with you."

      "Were you much provoked with me to-day?" asked Lily.

      "Um-m, pretty," said Bessie; "but we're quite over it now."

      "Well, I don't care much then," was Lily's thought; but she said aloud, "I don't think it can do much harm when we're little. You see we're all here now. But I will begin pretty soon to correct myself of it."

      "She had better begin to-day," thought Bessie; but no more was said on the subject, and they were all soon engaged in a merry game of play.

      The party passed off pleasantly, so pleasantly that Maggie found more and more cause for regret that she and her own particular friends had been unjustly defrauded, as she considered it, of so large a portion of it; but she was too forgiving and good-natured to reproach Lily any farther, especially as Bessie privately confided to her that she did not like "that severe old Quaker lady one bit, and am very glad that she is not one of my friends."

      Maggie thought that perhaps she had been rather severe herself, and took pains to be especially agreeable to Lily for the rest of the day.

      But perhaps this ready forgetfulness of their vexation was not the best thing for heedless, light-hearted Lily. At first she had felt a little self-reproachful, but when she saw the other children forget their momentary displeasure, she thought her own troublesome want of punctuality did not matter much after all; they were all glad and happy now, and some of these days she would try to break herself of this bad habit.

      Ah! you see, that was Lily's way; it was always "one of these days," "some other time," "by and by;" and here lay the root of the trouble which proved so vexatious to those about her, and very often to herself.

      "Mamma," said Maggie, as soon as they reached home, "do you know of any proverb that would be a good correction of the habit of putting off, and never being ready in time?"

      Mrs. Bradford laughed.

      "Yes, I think I do, Maggie. What do you want to do with it?"

      "To make a proverb picture for Lily, mamma; she wants us to. She likes our proverb pictures very much, and never is provoked when we give her one. And I think I shall write her a piece of poetry about it too. What is the proverb, mamma?"

      "I will tell you in the morning, dear."

      "Why not to-night, mamma?"

      "Because I want you to go to sleep now, Maggie. If I tell you a proverb to-night, you will lie awake, turning it over in your mind, and making verses and pictures for it; and I do not wish you to do that. Wait till morning, dear."

      Maggie submitted, like the docile and obedient little girl she was, though she was disappointed; for as mamma knew, she would have liked to spend part of her proper sleeping time in composing verses, and inventing pictures for Lily's benefit.

      "Shall you make the poetry a divine song, or a moral poem?" asked Bessie, who took the greatest possible interest and pride in Maggie's poetical attempts.

      "I think I'll mix the two," said Maggie, after a little deliberation. "It might be better, because Lily don't care much to read things that are very pious; but she needs them a little. Yes, I'll do that."

      And now, according to mamma's orders, they ceased talking; and Maggie, obeying