“Oh, you haven’t known even me—that way! For I like the frocks well enough, but not the fixing of them. I stand up, ‘being fitted,’ till my feet ache like anything; and Miss Sessions’ knuckles have punched me all over black and blue. She doesn’t mean it, of course; but when she puts in a pin she jams against me like I was her lap-board. And I wish needles hadn’t eyes! ’Cause I ’most put mine out threading ’em.”
“Why, Steenie! I thought you were a contented child! I have never heard you complain of anything before.”
“Haven’t you? Am I complaining? But—it’s—it’s—awfully, awfully lonesome! I wish Papa would come back! I can’t sleep nights for wondering about his poor eyes; and how long it will take the man to fix ’em.”
“There, there! That will do. Don’t allow yourself to give way to habits of despondency. Your father expected to be gone for two weeks, and he has been for but for ten days. Maybe, if you go down into the kitchen, you can see Mary Jane get supper.”
“Yes’m,” said Steenie, choking back her emotion, and turning toward the stairs, whence, seeing her grandmother stoop to pick up a thread from the carpet, she ran to save her the trouble, and ended by throwing her arms about the silk-clad shoulders and giving them a hearty squeeze. “Oh! I do love you so, Grandmother!”
“Why, Steenie? Because of the new frocks and pretty jackets?”
“Grandmother! How funny! ’Cause of nothing at all only—’cause!”
At which senseless reason the giver of it smiled merrily, and the recipient smiled almost indulgently.
“Well, run now! To-morrow you will be at school, and a new life will begin for you.”
“How? Am I not living now?”