Printed by T. K & P. G Collins.
MISS THUSA’S SPINNING-WHEEL.
CHAPTER I.
“First Fear his hand its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewildered laid—
And back recoiled, he knew not why,
E’en at the sound himself had made.”—Collins.
Little Helen sat in her long flannel night-dress, by the side of Miss Thusa, watching the rapid turning of her wheel, and the formation of the flaxen thread, as it glided out, a more and more attenuated filament, betwixt the dexterous fingers of the spinner.
It was a blustering, windy night, and the window-panes rattled every now and then, as if the glass were about to shiver in twain, while the stars sparkled and winked coldly without, and the fire glowed warmly, and crackled within.
Helen was seated on a low stool, so near the wheel, that several times her short, curly hair mingled with the flax of the distaff, and came within a hair’s breadth of being twisted into thread.