“Let me see.” “Let me see.” “And me,” chimed in all the little Babcocks, trying to get possession of what Alfy was holding.
“Be quiet,” said ma, sternly. “Give it to me, Alfy.” Alfy handed her the sampler and Ma Babcock exclaimed: “Poor Hannah! Poor Hannah!”
“What Hannah? And was she very poor—poorer than we?” lisped little Luke, the youngest of the Babcocks.
“Ma, who did you say?” demanded Alfaretta.
“Why, Alfy, this is a sampler made by one of my little playmates years and years ago. A delicate little girl was Hannah Woodrow. She came up here summering, and then ’cause she was broken in health stayed all one year with me. She could sew so very well. She made that sampler and left it with me when the folks did take her back to Baltimore with them. She married—deary me—maybe she married some one named—Haley, I think. That’s what it was; and I ain’t heard from her since.”
“Ma, can I have the sampler?” asked Alfy. “I would like to take it to Baltimore to show Dorothy.”
“Well, I s’pose I must say yes, if you want to show it to Dorothy Calvert, and ’pears to me Mrs. Calvert might like to see it, too,” remarked ma. “But come now, dinner is getting cold and you must get to bed early, Alfaretta, if you want to catch that early train for Baltimore, and like as not you’ve fooled your time away and haven’t packed a single thing.”
But Alfy showed her mother she had been very busy and had all her things ready to start. So she went off gladly to bed, dreaming that all was ready and that she had departed for Dorothy, which, indeed, the next morning was a reality.