"No, she can't," said Janey, while Polly threw her head back and laughed, showing her strong white teeth. "And she could no more make a shirt than she could fly. You're real smart, Hanny. I'm two years older, and I've never made a whole one. I'm going to try though, and father's promised me a dollar when I do it all by myself."
Polly had found the thimble. It wasn't any prettier than Hanny's, though Polly begged her "to be real careful and not lose it."
"Now you can just sew hit or miss; and then you can put in a long strip of black, 'cause there's more black than anything else. Oh, dear, I do hate to sew rags!"
"What kind of sewing do you like?" asked Janey, in a tone that would have been sarcastic in an older person.
"I just don't like any kind. Hanny, do you know that some one has invented a sewing-machine?" and Polly looked up with the triumph of superior wisdom.
"Oh, yes, I saw it at the Institute Fair. And there's a place on Broadway where a woman sits in the window and sews. It's very queer; but we think it doesn't sew real nice."
Polly was for the moment nonplussed. Hanny did seem to know almost everything. Then curiosity overcame her.
"Does it do really and truly sewing?"
"Why, yes. When you come down, I'll ask Joe to take us over to see it."
"Carpet-rags?"