"Oh, yes, and suppose when the surgeon comes to set my limb, you refuse to let him approach me lest he should discover my holey habits. There, I defy any of you to mend a hole as quickly as I have just mended this."
The grey stocking was passed from hand to hand and received due disgust from every feminine soul. Mr. Heath had gathered the hole into a hard bunch and tied it with a bit of twine.
"Well, now, I maintain that my way is the only true and proper one," he declared; "it saves time, saves eye-sight, saves yarn, and has the merit of originality."
"Oh, you men!" said Belle. "Mamma, you ought to have seen his clothes when he got home from his last European trip. They were a series of just such bunches, and all his white garments were tied up with black thread, and all the buttons sewed on his coats and pantaloons had been sewed on with white."
While this skirmish was going on, Margaret had finished her work and slipped off to the children. It was Saturday's work, but she had neglected it, and everything else in her absorption in her new delight.
"Where's Mag?" asked Laura, suddenly missing her.
"In the nursery, I'll venture to say," said Mrs. Grey.
"She's a perfect enthusiast about those buntlings," said Mr. Heath.
"So she is about everything," said Mrs. Grey.
"But the last idea, whatever it may be, fills her full, and she can only, by a great struggle with herself, find interest in anything else."