In the meantime, I was making my first essay in sewing; and though, I assure you, it was from no fault of mine, a lamentably bungling essay it was. The hem laid down by my little mistress was in some parts twice as broad as in others, while in one place the edge was scarcely turned in at all. I was quite hurt at the crooked stitches which Lily forced me to make, and I wondered to myself whether she worked thus from stupidity or a wilful temper.
While the lady read and answered the note in haste, Eddy sat demurely on his stool, leaning his elbows on his knees, and his chin on the palm of his hands, as if buried in profound study. As soon as the servant had left the room, he came again to his mother with,—
“Mamma, I know my lesson now.”
“What do p-i-n make?” said the lady.
“Pin,” replied Eddy; for which correct answer he received a smile and a quiet “That’s right.”
“And what do p-i-n-e make?” continued his mother.
“Needle!” shouted out the child with decision. Mrs. Ellerslie laid the book down on her knee. “I’m afraid that I must turn you again, Eddy.”
Eddy pouted as he took back his lesson, and before Mrs. Ellerslie resumed her accounts, she said to Lily, “Let me see how you are getting on with your work.”
Lily brought it reluctantly to her mother.
“Oh fie! this will never do! Are you not ashamed of such hemming?”