“It is neither good for you nor profitable to others,” said Miss Unity seriously. “You may dislike your needle, but you cannot deny that it is more useful than your pen.”
So Pennie submitted, and argued no more. With a view to making the work more attractive, her godmother gave her a new work-box with a shiny picture of the Cathedral on the lid. Every afternoon, with this beside her, Pennie, seated stiffly in a straight chair with her shoulders well pressed up against the back, passed an hour of great torture, which Miss Unity felt sure was of immense benefit to her.
The room in which they sat looked out into the Close. It increased Pennie’s misery this afternoon to see how bright and pleasant everything was outside, how the sunlight played about the carved figures on the west front of the Cathedral, how the birds darted hither and thither, and how the fallen leaves danced and whirled in the breeze. Everything was gay and active, while she must sit fastened to that dreadful chair, and push her needle in and out of the unyielding stuff.
First the back of her neck ached, so that she felt she must poke her head out, and Miss Unity looking up, said, “Draw in your chin, my dear.” Then she felt that she must at any cost kick out her legs one after the other, and Miss Unity said, “Don’t fidget, my dear. A lady always controls her limbs.” It was wonderful to see how long her godmother could sit quite still, and to hear her thimble go “click, click,” so steadily with never a break. It was as constant as the tick of the clock on the mantel-piece. Would that small hand never reach the hour of three?
Nurse’s proverb of a “watched kettle never boils” came into Pennie’s mind, and she resolved not to look at the clock again until the hour struck. The word “kettle” made her think of Kettles and of Nancy’s last letter, and she wondered whether Miss Unity would go to the College that afternoon, as she had half promised. Those thoughts carried her a good way down the seam, and meanwhile the hands of the clock crept steadily on until the first stroke of three sounded deeply from the Cathedral. Pennie jumped up, threw her work on the table, and stretched out her arms.
“Oh how glad I am!” she cried, spreading out her cramped fingers one by one. “And now, may we go and see old Nurse?”
Miss Unity looked up from her work, hesitating a little. Pennie was always making her do things at odd hours, upsetting the usual course of events, and introducing all sorts of disturbing ideas.
“Well, dear,” she said, “the morning is our time for walking, isn’t it?”
“But this morning it rained,” said Pennie; “and now look, only look, dear Miss Unity, how beautiful it is—do let us go.”
She went close to her godmother and put her arm coaxingly round her neck. Miss Unity gave in at once.