She put the gloves aside, and turning to the stockings drew one of the silk ones over her arm, and spread out her fingers in the foot.
"Oh, dear," she whispered, "there's a thread started, and now it will simply run the whole length...."
Page's scratching paused again.
"Laura," she asked dreamily, "Laura, how do you spell 'abysmal'?"
"With a y, honey," answered Laura, careful not to smile.
"Oh, Laura," asked Page, "do you ever get very, very sad without knowing why?"
"No, indeed," answered her sister, as she peeled the stocking from her arm. "When I'm sad I know just the reason, you may be sure."
Page sighed again.
"Oh, I don't know," she murmured indefinitely. "I lie awake at night sometimes and wish I were dead."
"You mustn't get morbid, honey," answered her older sister calmly. "It isn't natural for a young healthy little body like you to have such gloomy notions."