e, and the patch Patty sewed that day was
beautiful to behold; for she was in a delightfully moral state of mind,
and felt quite sure that she was going to become a model for all
children to follow, if they could. The next day her ardour had cooled a
little, and being in a hurry to go out to play, she slighted her work,
thinking no one would know. But the third day she got so angry with her
patch that she tore it in two, and declared it was all nonsense to fuss
about being good and thorough and all the rest of it.

Aunt Pen did not say much, but made her mend and finish her patch and
add it to the pile. After she went to bed that night Patty thought of
it, and wished she could do it over, it looked so badly. But as it could
not be, she had a penitent fit, and resolved to keep her temper while
she sewed, at any rate, for mamma was to see the little quilt when it
was done, and would want to know all about it.

Of course she did not devote herself to being good _all_ the time, but
spent her days in lessons, play, mischief, and fun, like any other
lively, ten-year-older. But somehow, whenever the sewing-hour came, she
remembered that talk; and as she worked she fell into the way of
wondering whether Aunt Pen could guess from the patches what sort of
days she had passed. She wanted to try and see, but Aunt Pen refused to
read any more calico till the quilt was done: then, she said in a
queer, solemn way, she should make the good and bad days appear in a
remarkable manner.

This puzzled Patty very much, and she quite ached to know what the joke
would be; meantime the pile grew steadily, and every day, good or bad,
added to that other work called Patty's life. She did not think much
about that part of it, but unconsciously the quiet sewing-time had its
influence on her, and that little 'conscience hour,' as she sometimes
called it, helped her very much.

One day she said to herself as she took up her work, 'Now I'll puzzle
Aunt Pen. She thinks my naughty tricks get into the patches; but I'll
make this very nicely and have it gay, and then I don't see how she will
ever guess what I did this morning.'

Now you must know that Tweedle-dee, the canary, was let out every day
to fly about the room and enjoy himself. Mother Bunch never tried to
catch him, though he often hopped temptingly near her. He was a droll
little bird, and Patty liked to watch his promenades, for he did funny
things. That day he made her laugh by trying to