Was she being a dear daughter to her mother? Mrs. Boyd seemed to grow more distant, more dreary and absent. Sometimes between classes she would run in and take her mother’s work, read to her evenings, but then she always fell asleep; but the girl went on. It was more company to read aloud. Just now she was deep in the making of Beautiful Florence. Oh, would she ever get to know all the famous cities of the world?
How the time sped on! There was one snow storm, not a very deep one, but enough to call out the sleighs, and what a fairyland it made of Mount Morris. Saturday all the girls chipped in and hired a big sleigh and a laughing crew of ten had what they thought the merriest time of their lives.
Just as they were getting out Louie Howe caught her skirt on something and there was a tear.
“Oh, girls! My best Sunday skirt! And we—some of us are invited to Mrs. Westlake’s to dinner, and she goes away on Monday. Oh, I wonder if Mrs. Boyd can mend it fit to be seen! I can’t take it to the tailors now.”
“She darns beautifully.”
“Well, that’s what she’s here for; mender in general.”
“But it seems dreadful to ask her to do it in the evening, and the daylight is almost gone.”
Louie hated to give up whatever her mind was set upon. She hurriedly changed her frock and put on a light evening dress. With her skirt in hand she crossed the hall. The door stood open. The house was always warm. Mrs. Boyd sat in an easy chair. Helen on one of the fancy stools under the gas burner with a book in her hand. Louie swept past her.
“Oh, Mrs. Boyd. I want you to mend my skirt. I’ve given it a dreadful tear. I can’t take it to the tailors and four of us are invited out to dinner after church, so I must have it.”
Mrs. Boyd rose and examined it. “It is a bad tear, but if you must have it—”