Music Welcome to Snuescast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snuescast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by a semi-recombant attitude. Tonight, we'll read the second half to the short story, The Quilt of Happiness, by Kate Douglas Wigan, originally published in 1901. If you haven't listened to the first half, you will find it aired just last week. Wigan was an American educator, author, and composer. She wrote children's stories most notably the classic children's novel, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, and composed collections of children's songs. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. Old Miss Roxana Lyman lived half a mile up the river road and an eighth of a mile up a lane that led from it and stopped at her door yard. The door was open and sitting in a rocking chair in the tiny entry was, as Rebecca reported to Miss Jane later, the very most sorrowfulist old lady anyone had ever seen. Rebecca had heard of her and instantly asked, are you Miss Roxy Lyman? Yes, I'm Roxy Lyman," said the old lady in a voice that trembled with surprise and suggested the rarity of callers. Won't you set down a spell? Rebecca needed no second invitation to embark on a new experience. Rebecca said, Mother says everybody ought to know what's going on, or they get lonesome. There's such a lot of that happens down our way, awfully interesting things too, that I could reel it off by the yard this minute, only you seem tired. And I've got two books of my own to to lend you, so I'll come again soon if Aunt Morandal let me. Shall I?" Rebecca's demeanor and tone were modest and innocent, but Miss Roxy felt herself in the grip of a master hand, and feebly assented, I don't mind if you do." She said, making an effort, and bringing her eyes back to the quaint, vivid little creature standing in front of her. Maybe you'll even me up. Oh, I would! And Rebecca's tone was full of confidence. And Rebecca flew down the lane, her long, dark braids flying out behind her, while Miss This roxy, in spite of herself, rose to her feet by the rocking chair and watched the child out of sight. There were many meetings after that. Sometimes Rebecca took one of the other girls and they carried a bouquet of wild flowers to put in a tumbler on the kitchen table. or some apples or berries or nuts that they had picked on the road. But it was easy to see that one collar at a time was all that Miss Roxy fancied. Once Rebecca had knocked at Miss Roxie's door without receiving any answer and peeping into the window of the downstairs chamber where she slept, had seen her lying on her bed with the grey shawl round her shoulders and a man's military coat over her feet. Like lightning, the thought flashed through the child's mind. Why not make a quilt for Miss Roxy? Patchwork had to be sewed, day in and day out, as was the custom. There were never enough sheets to over sow, and needlework was a Christian duty, therefore, patchwork, in and out of season. It was cheap, too. Nobody would mind if she and the other girls did extra work, begged their own pieces, and gave away the result for a Thanksgiving or Christmas present. The matter had been put before mothers and aunts, accepted, and scraps already collected. It only remained to choose the design. so far so good. But that was not why Rebecca had tied pink tape on one of her pig tails, not at all. The mere notion of the quilt, a secret from all the village saved the families involved. This had enchanted the five girls from the beginning. But something else was unfolded in the pine grove meeting. You see, said Rebecca. I was up to Miss Roxie's last night and she'd been crying. She cries most every day. What for, I wonder.

She lives alone, so... last night, and she'd been crying. She cries most every day.

What for, I wonder. She lives alone, so there's nobody to be crossed to her," said Alice Robinson, who had troubles of her own. I guess it's the things that have happened in bygone days. Becca had an incurably literary style in conducting meetings, and indulged unconsciously in nights of sentiment and rhetoric. Her mother and father died, and her brother embezzled, and Aunt Jane thinks that a gentleman played with her feelings, and she's never been the same since. Played with her feelings, what's that? Inquired the unsentimental Emma Jane Perkins. Gave her hopes and then married another without saying so much as boo. Explained Rebecca. And there was a sister that did something dreadful. I didn't exactly know what hinted Candice darkly, but she lives out west and Miss Roxy writes and writes to her, but she never answers. And she was the one Miss Roxy loved best of all. Added Rebecca, with a tear in her voice. I asked her yesterday why she didn't sit in the kitchen with a window open and not in the little front entry that'll hardly hold her rocking chair. She said if anybody should come any time, suddenly she could get down the steps quicker to meet them. She never comes down to any of us, and I know it's the sister she means. Oh dear! Mother's awful sorry for her. Was Persist Comment. But everybody's kind of lost sympathy for her because she lives so out of creation and it's so much work to get there. Well, and Rebecca leaned toward the group confidentially. I was thinking about it night before last as I was leaning over the gate. Now look the other way girls and don't don't laugh while I explain. All of a sudden, I thought the pieces of our quilt will be scraps of dresses. Why not take those that we, and all the other people, have had the loveliest times in? We could put them everywhere but round the edges, everywhere they touch Miss Roxy, I mean, on her neck and shoulders and arms and waist and knees. It'd be the quilt of happiness then. That's my idea. And Rebecca waited with flushing cheeks and downcast eyes for the verdict. There was a breathless pause of half a minute. Emma Jane silted and moved her mind in the presence of Rebecca, feeling that competition was impossible. Still, she was the first to break the silence with her customary ejaculation. I think it would be perfectly elegant. Alice Robinson nodded her curly head responsively and said, Quilt of happiness, it sounds lovely if we don't have to tell anybody grown up who would say it silly. But can happiness strike into anybody? Inquired Candace, who, as the daughter of an orthodox deacon, went to the foundation of things. Rebecca was inclined to evade the direct question in as much as she cherished the idea, but had no real basis, save one of pure sentiment. I can't help feeling that if we just collect scraps of happiness, she said shyly, and cut and stitch and tack happiness into the quilt, all in secret, that Miss Roxy'd feel warmer in it, though, of course, she'd never guess why. Well, answer Candace. A little unconvinced, but generously approving. I think it couldn't do any harm to try. And there's just one person we might tell, for she'd understand and help us get the right pieces without telling our secret, and that's teacher. This suggestion from Persist Watson? Rebecca clapped her hands delightedly. Now here comes the greatest piece of news, and I've been saving it up till the end. I did tell Mr. Born last evening. I couldn't help it, because I couldn't be sure my idea wasn't foolish, till one other person had heard it. And what do you think she told me? She's engaged to be married. Mr. Born's engaged to be married. This was chanted joyously while Rebecca skipped over the pine needle carpet in circles and waved her arms triumphantly. a chorus of O and A and who too woke the echoes. Rebecca sat down again cross-legged and proceeded to the telling of a tale, which from the beginning of the world has evoked the keenest joy in the narrator and the most wrapped

attention from the audience. How did she happen to tell you first? As persists with a spice of envy in her tone, just because I was there almost at the very identical minute when he went away. Who, Her bow? Inquired Alice, blushing to the roots of her hair. Yes, and she never tell Mrs. Bang's a thing like that. Mrs. Bang's was a lady of difficult temper, with whom Miss Dearborn boarded as painlessly as possible. Don't you know how you feel when you're fooled bursting with splendid news? That's how Miss Dearborn was. Do you remember the tall gentlemen that came from Hartford two Saturday nights and went to meeting with her next day? Yes, in chorus. Was that him? Miss Dearborn spoke and taught good English, but there are some things that human beings are powerless to teach or learn. Yes, his name is Robert Hunt, and teacher says he's an absolutely glorious man. I didn't know there was any glorious men," said Perseus. I wished I'd looked at him harder in Meaden when they'd gonna be married. Not till next summer, though he's pleaded for an early date. That's what she said. She

wants to teach here till the spring-terms over so as to buy her wedding clothes. And are you glad we'll have her one more winter? Now, why doesn't somebody ask me what my news is. Cray-chis is there more? They cried. Of course! Or what has all this to do with our quilt? Miss Dearborn just loved the idea of it being a quilt of happiness. She kissed me lots of times, and then she got up, and looked in the glass, and twirled herself round, and held up her skirt and danced, and she had on the dress we liked best. The pinked Elaine with the moss rose buds on it. And she said, thinking it out as she went along, Rebecca, I've had so much happiness today, I must give part of it away.

When Mr. Hunt asked me to marry him this afternoon, I had on this dress. The waist is nearly worn out, but the skirt is as good as new. It's got six brats in it, and it'll make a beautiful lining for Miss Roxie's quilt. Then I said, Oh, that'll be lovely if you can spare it, but darling Miss Dearborn. Excuse me for speaking of it. They say that long ago a gentleman from Boston played with Miss Roxie's feelings, and that's partly the reason she's so unhappy, and audit you to be perfectly sure that Mr. Hunt isn't playing with yours before you give away any clothes? That was very thoughtful of you, Rebecca, commented purses approvingly, and what did she say? Oh, she fell into her rocking chair and laughed and laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks. Then she stood up and took the dress right off her back and kissed the waist of it and Emma Jane's China blue eyes were popping out of her head. Her mind was hurrying to keep up with Rebecca's tail, but it seemed half a leak behind as she ejaculated, kissed her waist, what for? Rebecca looked embarrassed, both at the interruption at the high water mark of her story and at the lack of comprehension. Also, it was a difficult action to explain in words.

One whose name... and at the lack of comprehension. Also, it was a difficult action to explain in words, one whose meaning was to be filled with a blush and a heartbeat, but not dragged into the open and enlarged upon in bold speech. Just think it over, Emma Jane, for I can't talk about it," she said. If you'd only read Ivan Ho as I wanted you to, or even Korah the doctor's wife or the pearl of Orr's island, you'd know lots more about things. I know, cried Candace triumphantly. She'd had on the dress when he asked her to marry him, and she loved it. I can see how she'd kiss him, but I'd never a thought of her kiss in a waste." murmured Emma Jane, obstinately. Well, she did. Rebecca went on with Heidens' color. She kissed it more in twenty times as quick as lightning, and hung it up in the closet. And then she laughed and cried some more and said, Oh Rebecca, if you only knew how sure I am that Mr. Hunt isn't playing with my feelings. But I must tell him about your warning. Here dear, she said, rolling the skirt into a bundle. You'll have to piece the breaths in to make it long enough, but feather stitching will cover the seams, and, oh, I want to give it away right now when it's just warm with cladness and let it go to poor Miss Roxy, who hasn't got a splendid man to love her and take care of her like my robber. That's what she called him. Rebecca's voice broke. Her eyes glistened. Her cheeks glowed. Indeed, the little group of budding women all felt vague thumpings and stirrings of something on the left side that it here too forbid silent. Well, I declare how perfectly elegant is in its suite of her, and now we've got our lining that's worried us the most. And it's just fallen from heaven like the man I in the Bible. And how wonderful to have a happiness lining already to put in our happiness quilt, the first happiness quilt that ever was. It simply must make a little difference in Miss Roxie's feelings. to think that we're the only ones in Riverboro to know that teachers engage to be married. It'll be all over the village tomorrow and we knew it first. Over Becca, it's been the most wonderful meeting we've ever had and when we see a pink tape on your pig tail again, we'll run harder than ever. These and a dozen other excited comments fell from the girl's lips as they made their way home from the Pine Grove meeting. the collecting of the happiness pieces did not turn out to be a task of insuperable difficulty. The children themselves furnished a goodly number. There were some scraps of Rebecca's pink gingham, her first dress of the color she adored, but had never hid there too possessed, having worn out her sister Hannah's clothes ever since she was born. Emma Jane gave bits of her scotch-plad poplin, called the handsomeist dress ever worn in River Burrow's younger set.

There were squares from rocks in which purses and cantas had received school prizes, and Alice Robinson had worn and tablo. Alice was always in tablo on account of her pink and white skin and golden hair, and was always cast for the angel,

although she had a most uncertain disposition. The minister's wife, confidentially consulted, had contributed the full sleeves and shoulder cape of the dress she appeared bride in the Sunday after her wedding. I had to walk up the aisle and sit in my pew all alone that summer, Rebecca, and I was only seventeen," she said. Sometimes I thought it would be nice to be married to just a man that belonged to me only, and have him sit beside me in meeting, but then I remembered how grateful I ought to be that my husband belonged to God. Aunt Jane gave two squares of the cherry-colored glass-ay silk that she wore when she danced with with a governor of Maine at an inauguration ball at Augusta. Aunt Miranda never knew that the quilt had any sentimental notions worked into it, or she would have thrown cold water on the entire proposition. in her ignorance, she looked over her peace bag one rainy afternoon with Rebecca. Suddenly, she chanced upon a bit of done-colored stuff that resembled hair cloth and texture. There, she exclaimed. That was the best dress I ever had.

It wore me like iron. I put two braids on the bottom of it the fourth year, and knew underarm pieces the next spring. And I believe it lasted me nine seasons. I never had so much comfort out of anything as that dress. It's a pleasure to look back upon. Did you look nice in it, Aunt Miranda? Rebecca inquired with interest. I don't know, as I ever noticed. Her aunt replied absent-mindedly. I know it covered me up and and that's what dresses her for, I guess. Can I have a piece of it and one of your great Kashmir too? Astrabeca. And as she put it in her sewing bag, she thought, I wonder if Aunt Miranda never came any closer to happiness than that. I am afraid that from an artistic standpoint, the quilt of happiness was not a very handsome one. The idea having been the most important thing in the working out of the design, Every conceivable kind of stuff had been employed.

Cali... important thing in the working out of the design, every conceivable kind of stuff had been employed. Calico, gingum, silk, poplin, alpaca, Henrietta cloth, velveteen, and cashmere. But the squares had been combined with such loving care that the effect was gay and attractive if a little bizarre. At any rate, the very angels themselves might have been pleased to look down on the five bright heads. Yellow, chestnut, Auburn and Brown, that bent every day over their self-imposed task. There were five lame middle fingers aching from the pressure of brass thimbles, and five four fingers pricked with needle marks, but there were no complaints. Rebecca's energy flagged now and then, for long and monotonous tasks were not her strong point. And if it had not been a quilt of happiness, her share in it might never have been accomplished. It was just a little girl's dream. rainbow tinted, fanciful, baseless, but it danced in and out of the patchwork squares like a vagrant summer breeze. And somehow it danced through the heart too, ripening and sweetening it. And last November, there came a day of days when, in an empty chamber at Emma Jane's house, Miranda Sawyer had refused to have the girls bringing in dirt and carrying it up and down the stairs of the brick house. Mrs. Perkins and Aunt Jane stretched the quilt into its frame, suspended on the backs of four wooden chairs. Mr. Dearorn, who grew prettier every day, and came from the post office in the afternoons, all smiles and beams and dimples, had made the happiness lining herself and feather stitched the seams. Mrs. Perkins, whose father had been a storekeeper, leaving her enormous riches in the shape of new goods brought from her attic her contribution of rolls of sheet-wadding. Now the outside, the wadding, and the lining were held carefully in place by hands that were moist with excitement and responsibility, and the tacking of the three smoothly together with bright colored warstits proved to be the most difficult task that the girls had yet confronted. There was a week's work in all this, and two or three afternoons, when the binding of the four long sides was done. But by dint of perseverance, the last stitch was put into the quilt on the day before Christmas. When Aunt Jane had prophesied new years as the nearest possible date of completion, The girls gazed at their work with uncontrollable admiration and reverence.

I'm sick to death of it, exclaimed Rebecca. I love it to distraction, and I never want to see another as long as I live. How can anybody make them for fun? I could hug it, I'm so fond of it, and slap it, I'm so tired of it. And the girls echoed her sentiments, though in less picturesque and vigorous language. If we give it to her today, she'll have something to be thankful for on Christmas Day. Okay, decided. We'll have to lug it up together and let Rebecca go in with it while we stay out in the road and wait. Don't say lug and let's go after dark. Rebecca suggested. I believe I can open the door and put it down softly inside, the entry with our letter. Then I won't get thanked all by myself, which wouldn't be fair, and we can take turns going up tomorrow to hear what she says." Mother's going to send her a big plate of dinner," said Alice. Oh, joy! And Rebecca took out the pink tape from her apron pocket and tied it on a pigtail. What is it? The girl's asked breathlessly in chorus. Why? Once there was a very important paper that had to be sent to a certain king by one of his generals, and he stationed messengers ten miles apart all along the road from his camp to the King's Palace. One man galloped for ten miles, got off his hot, steaming charger, and handed the message to another man, who was already and waiting on a fresh horse. He galloped on to the next man, and so on. We'll do the same with Miss

Roxie's dinner. Each of us making believe it's horseback and running like mad to give the basket to the next one. Then it'll get there piping hot. Christmas Eve fell cold and ble, with a north wind and an uncertain moon. The girls put on mittens and hoods and starting at 6 o'clock, when it became quite dark. They carried the quilt as they walked, Indian file, along the frozen road.

They met no one just as they had planned, for as the affair had begun in secrecy, so it was hoped to end it. That was half the fun. The Simpson Cottage, with its yard completely filled with ram shackle vehicles and cast-off implements of every sort, was lighted by the efflugence of the tall banquet lamp that Rebecca and Emma Jane had earned as a premium for selling soap. It was the joy and pride of the Simpsons. Although as drawing room furniture, it was accompanied only by a battered pine table and three rickety wooden chairs. The girls admired its glow in passing, but kept on the dark side of the road, and went stealthily by to avoid being hailed by Clara Bel Simsen. Midway up the lane, four of them stayed behind a clump of young pines, while Rebecca went on alone, staggering under the weight of the precious quilt. It was cold, and the teeth of the waiters shattered, but by dint of walking round and round the trees, they succeeded in keeping fairly comfortable as their blood was circulating with incredible rapidity, and they were palpitating with excitement. Soon Rebecca came running lightly down the lane. Wait till we get into the road, she whispered, and I'll tell you all, though everything went just right. Now come close and keep walking. I looked through the kitchen window and saw lamp burning on the table, but nobody there. Then I opened the front door softly and went in on tiptoe, thinking Miss Roxy was upstairs or down-seller, and that I'd put the quilt on the chair with our letter. But the door was open into the kitchen chamber, and I could see her there asleep.

She hadn't gone to bed for good, I guess, because she wasn't undressed. She was lying there with her gray shawl and black jacket over her shoulders, and her father's soldier coat over her feet. Then I had an idea. Yeah, of course they laughed in chorus.

So I crept in like a mouse,

lifted off the coat and jacket very softly and spread the quilt over her. Here, Rebecca's emotion quite overcame her. She stopped still in the road and clasped her hands dramatically, while the girls listened with devouring eagerness. Oh, she said under her breath, if only you had all been there. The quilt was beautiful beyond compare. Miss Roxy looked like queen in it, spread all over everything, so big, so thick, so rich and so bright. Her face was as white as her hair, and her eyes were shut tight. I tiptoed out, so afraid she'd wake up and have to thank me. But I seemed to me, I must go back once to see if she had moved and take one last look. So I crept round to the back and peeped in the window. Just then she put out her hand and I thought she'd feel something strange and open her eyes but she didn't. She just pulled it up around her neck. Then she snuggled down into it the way you do when you know you're going to sleep that instant minute and have a lovely dream. And then the moon came out and shown on her face so I can't be perfectly certain, though I was looking hard, but I think I really do think that she smiled. Here, Rebecca stopped suddenly, turned her head away and swallowed a lump that appeared unexpectedly in her throat. Emma Jane, who adored her, pressed her arm fondly but uncomprehendingly. You are the queerest, she exclaimed.

I never saw anybody before who cried when she was pleased. Rebecca, all smiles again, dashed away the coming tear. I've told you before Emma Jane, she said, that you'd know lots of things if only you'd read books. Korra, the doctor's wife, and the Pearl of Orz Island always cried when they were happy. I feel as if laughs and cries came out of the same spot inside of me.

Rebecca was right, and the moon told the truth.

Miss Roxy had smiled, and she had dreamed a very good dream. Yn yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n y