“I think,” observed George, “that it must be because he is idle, and cannot keep those little fingers still. Now, Eddy, would you not rather be a comfort to mamma, and help her?”
“I do help mamma!” exclaimed the little boy, with a look of injured innocence; “I helped her a great deal to pack her box; I wish mamma had a box to pack every day.”
“Perhaps mamma would not join in that wish. But if there is not a box to pack, here is a great skein of wool to wind. Will you hold it on your hands, little man, while I try to find out the knot?”
“He’ll let it slip off to a certainty!” cried Lily; “you had much better put it over a chair.”
“Will you let it slip off, Eddy,” said his brother, “and spoil all the skein for mamma?”
“I’ll hold it as tight—as tight as a drum!” cried the child, indignant at his carefulness being doubted. “I will be useful—I will help mamma!” his face quite flushed as he spoke.
“You’ll be her comfort, Eddy; I’m sure of it,” said George. “Now, softly; you need not stretch it so hard; just hold your hands a little nearer to the light; I can wind all the time that I am telling the story.”
“Oh, how nice it will be! how happy we are! What shall the story be about?” cried Eddy.
“Let me see,” said George, shaking out a knot. “Why, Lily, how famously you are getting on with your hole! We shall be puzzled to find out the place where it was. I think that, in compliment to your work, I will tell you a story of a needle and a compass.”
“Of a needle!—oh, what fun!” cried little Eddy. A jovial little fellow he was, and very merry sounded his laugh; but it was not merrier than mine, if the children could have heard it; for never had it entered my thoughts for a moment that any one would ever make a story about me; and I felt amazingly complimented by the idea.