“I wish you hadn’t, Aunt Lucinda,” Blue Bonnet answered soberly; “then perhaps you’d give up trying.”
“Elizabeth!” Miss Clyde said reprovingly.
“I mean it, Aunt Lucinda—truly.”
“You may go to your mending now, Elizabeth.”
Mrs. Clyde had charge of the weekly mending hour; which, in some measure reconciled Blue Bonnet to it.
“Grandmother,” she asked, bringing her work-basket into Mrs. Clyde’s room, “did Mamma like to sew?”
“I am afraid not, dear. She had, as you have, her father’s love of outdoor life.”
Blue Bonnet slipped her darning-egg into the toe of a stocking. “I wish I had known Grandfather. I suppose,” she added, “that Mamma had to learn?”
“Yes, dear; every gentlewoman should know how to use her needle.”
“Was it here she used to learn—in this room?”