“And I helped you, mamma!” said Eddy proudly.
“I shall never manage this!” cried Lily impatiently. “Oh, the tiresome needle!—stupid thread!”
“I am at leisure now,” said her mother; “bring your work to me, my dear child.”
“One would need a bodkin to hold such great coarse cord,” exclaimed Lily.
What a name to give to the most delicate flexible thread which had ever employed the ingenuity of man to beat out from a single grain of gold!
“If you had waited a little, I should have shown you what to do. The gold thread must not be passed through the thick cloth at all, but be fastened down to it with a little fine cotton. Thread your needle, and I will show you the way.”
Oh, the patience and love of a mother! Alas, that it should often be met, if not with actual ingratitude, yet with that selfish want of consideration which receives every kindness as a matter of course, and never makes the smallest sacrifice in return!
CHAPTER IX.
GOLD ON A DARK GROUND.
