Rob made up a verse about it, which he sang so often to tease Johnny
that the first note was enough to make the child bristle up for a
fight:

"This is the patchwork all forlorn,
Made by the boys in Marshall's barn.
The dog and the cat and even the rat
Had a hand in that--
A hand in the Quilt that Jack built!"

"You needn't make fun of it," said Rhoda one day. "It has held me to
my word more than once. Yesterday, for instance. I would have broken
my promise to poor little Miss Sara Grimes, to help her entertain her
old ladies, and would have accepted Harry Dilling's invitation, which
came later, to go sleighing. But that quilt would not let me. It
showed me mother as she stood there with her precious little gold
piece, saying. '_We must keep our word at any cost!_' After that I
couldn't disappoint poor old Miss Sara."

"I know," answered Rob, softly, looking up from his algebra. "It's
served me the same way. It lies there like the exponent of a higher
power,--the exponent of mother's standards and ideals that she expects
us to raise ourselves up to."

Mr. Marshall made a similar confession one day, and it seemed that
Johnny alone was the only member of the family who had no sentiment in
regard to the quilt, except, perhaps, a feeling of gratitude. It had
brought him the rifle. He snuggled down under it on cold winter
nights, tumbled out from under it on cold winter mornings, and went