"Thank you. Miss Florence embroiders, I believe."
"Yes, she works baby-petticoats, and does 'em splendid."
And then Granny wondered if she, the fine lady, had any work for Florence.
"How glad Flo'll be, and vacation coming so soon," she thought in the depth of her tender old soul.
"And she's a genius at crochetin'! The laces and shawls and hoods she's knit are a real wonder. They didn't do any thing of the kind in my young days."
"You must find it pretty hard to get along," condescended Mrs. Osgood.
"Yes; but the Lord allers provides some way. Joe's gone in a store,—Mr. Terry's. He's next to Florence," went on Granny in sublime disregard of her pronoun.
Mrs. Osgood took an inventory of the little room, and waited rather impatiently. Then she asked for a glass of water.
O Granny! how could you have been so forgetful! To take that old, thick, greenish glass tumbler when Flossy's choice goblet stood on the shelf above! And then to fill it in the pail, and let the water dribble!