“Oh, I’m willing,” said John, hopefully.
“John!”
Two tears started down her face. John dried them and stroked the soft, withered hands.
“Dear old John—to be my ’prentice!”
IX
GOOD BASKETS MUST KEEP THEIR BOTTOMS
It was true that his wits were dull and his hands clumsy, but there was such pleasure in the learning that John did it very rapidly. And whatever had gone before, and whatever was to come after, they were certain that no part of their lives had been happier than this of John’s apprenticeship at eighty to the trade of basket-making.
But his baskets were certainly clumsy as such hands were likely to make them, and had, besides, a way of losing their handles and bottoms at critical moments, which was, at least, unfortunate.
John discovered, after a while, that every purchase was simply so much charity. And, thus far, they had lived proudly—with the wage-earner’s terror of dependence. One day one of his customers told him, brutally, about the insecurity of the baskets—and John decided at once that he must do something else.
“No, John,” said Betsy, “make baskets. But make them for play—not for use. For the school children. Their baskets do not need strong bottoms.”
John wanted to shout.