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Updated: June 25, 2025
It and the spoons travelled about in a little basket which hung on her arm, and was never allowed to be out of her sight, even when the family she was sewing for were the honestest people in the world. Then, beside the plate-basket, Miss Petingill never stirred without Tom, her tortoiseshell cat.
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 forth that it was "A testimonial of gratitude, for saving the life of Ithuriel Jobson, aged seven, on the occasion of his being attacked with quinsy sore throat." Miss Petingill was very proud of her knife.
Miss Petingill could not have slept without having them beside her, for, as she said, how did she know that she might not be "took sudden" with something, and die for want of a little ginger-balsam or pennyroyal? The Carr children always made so much noise, that it required something unusual to make Miss Petingill drop her work, as she did now, and fly to the window.
Don't you think you ought to go and warm them?" "How?" "Well in your hands, very gently. And then I would let them run round in the sun." "I will!" said Philly, getting down from her lap. "Only kiss me first, because I didn't mean to, you know!" Philly was very fond of Katy. Miss Petingill said it was wonderful to see how that child let himself be managed.
So, with a dissatisfied cluck, Miss Petingill drew back her head, perched the spectacles on her nose, and went to work again on Katy's plaid alpaca, which had two immense zigzag rents across the middle of the front breadth. Katy's frocks, strange to say, always tore exactly in that place!
But she would sooner have had her head took right off than to own up that she had been doin' housework why, they say that once when she wuz doin' her work herself, and was ketched lookin' awful, by a strange minister, that she passed herself off' for a hired girl and said, "Miss Petingill wasn't to home, and when pressed hard she said she hadn't "the least idee where Miss Petingill wuz."
I don't care if they did hear me, I wuz on the step mostly when I thought it, pretty loud. Wall, from Miss Bombus'es I went to Miss Petingill's. Miss Petingill is a awful high-headed creeter. She come to the door herself and she said, I must excuse her for answerin' the door herself. She never mistrusted that I knew her hired girl had left, and she wuz doin' her work herself.
Petingill and Peter Petingill, who was drowned at sea; and photographs of Mrs. Porter, who used to be Marcia Petingill, and Mrs. Porter's husband, and all the Porter children. Many little boxes and jars came also, and a long row of phials and bottles, filled with homemade physic and herb teas.
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.
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