"I thought you said she was the trial of your life," said Susy.
"Well! the child's memory!" said nurse, lifting up her hands. "You should not notice every thing I say, my dear. Now I'll tell you something. You learn to sew and you shall make a little bag to give to your mamma. Just such a bag as Mary Jones made for her mamma. Only yours shall be blue, and hers was pink. Come! that's a good girl! Your mamma will be so pleased!"
So Susy sat down again, and took a few more stitches.
"The needle hurts me!" said she.
"That's because you've no thimble. I'll lend you my silver thimble—the one your aunt gave me."
So nurse wound a large piece of paper round and round Susy's finger, and crowded the thimble over the whole. It looked like a helmet on a dwarf.
Susy took one more stitch, and sighed.
"I'm tired," said she. "And the thimble is so heavy!"
"Well, put your work away then," said nurse, "and when we go out I'll buy you a dear little brass thimble. But not unless you'll promise to be patient, and to try to learn."
Susy promised, but her promise cost her many tears. For her needle unthreaded, her thread broke, or got into knots, her hands were awkward and did not know how to behave, and then when she cried on her work, it made it hard to sew.