IN THE LOFT


"I declare," said Miss Petingill, laying down her work, "if them
children don't beat all! What on airth _are_ the going to do now?"

Miss Petingill was sitting in the little room in the back building,
which she always had when she came to the Carr's for a week's mending
and making over. She was the dearest, funniest old woman who ever went
out sewing by the day. Her face was round, and somehow made you think of
a very nice baked apple, it was so criss-crossed, and lined by a
thousand good-natured puckers. She was small and wiry, and wore caps and
a false front, which was just the color of a dusty Newfoundland dog's
back. Her eyes were dim, and she used spectacles; but for all that, she
was an excellent worker. Every one liked Miss Petingill though Aunt
Izzie _did_ once say that her tongue "was hung in the middle." Aunt
Izzie made this remark when she was in a temper, and was by no means
prepared to have Phil walk up at once and request Miss Petingill to
"stick it out," which she obligingly did; while the rest of the children
crowded to look. They couldn't see that it was different from other
tongues, but Philly persisted in finding something curious about it;
there must be, you know--since it was hung in that queer way!

Wherever Miss Petingill went, all sorts of treasures went with her. The
children liked to have her come, for it was as good as a fairy story, or
the circus, to see her things unpacked. Miss Petingill was very much
afraid of burglars; she lay awake half the night listening for them and
nothing on earth would have persuaded her to go anywhere, leaving behind
what she called her "Plate." This stately word meant six old teaspoons,
very thin and bright and sharp, and a butter-knife, whose handle set