“Eight.”

“Next girl.”

“Sixteen.”

“Next.”

“Twenty.”

“Next. How many yards of long-cloth would be required for a full-sized shirt?”

The next was Feelier Potts, whose eyes were twinkling as she answered—

“Mother always makes father’s of calico.”

“Very good, my girl; then tell me how many yards it would take.”

“Night shirt or day shirt?” cried Feelier sharply.