"Yes; and that other is General Washington, whom, of course, you know."
"Oh, yes, of course; and I know that little girl, the black head over there; it is my great-great-grandmother."
"The silhouette, you mean? Yes, that is she, and she is the same one who did that sampler you see hanging between the windows. She was not so old as you when she did it."
Edna crossed the room and knelt on a chair in front of the sampler. It was dim with age, but she could discern a border of pink flowers with green leaves and letters worked in blue silk. She followed the letters with the tip of her finger, tracing them on the glass and at last spelling out the name of "Annabel Lisle, wrought in her seventh year."
"Poor little Annabel, how hard she must have worked," sighed Edna. "I am glad I don't have to do samplers."
"You might be worse employed," said her grandmother, smiling.
"Did you ever do a sampler?" asked Edna.
"Not a sampler like this one, but I learned to work in cross stitch. Do you remember the little stool in the living-room by the fireplace?"
"The one with roses on it that I was sitting on?"
"Yes; that I did when I was about your age, and the sofa pillow with the two doves on it I did when I was about Celia's age. I was very proud of it, I remember."