“I’ll try,” said Tommy, lounging up with desperate resignation. “Hold my knife, Johnnie. Father’s been cross, and everything has been miserable, ever since the farm was sold. I wish I were a big man, and could make a fortune.—Will that do, Granny?”
The old lady put down her knitting and looked. “My dear, that’s too short. Bless me! I gave the lad a piece to measure by.”
“I thought it was the same length. Oh, dear! I am so tired;” and he propped himself against the old lady’s chair.
“My dear! don’t lean so! you’ll tipple me over!” she shrieked.
“I beg your pardon, Grandmother. Will that do?”
“It’s that much too long.”
“Tear that bit off. Now it’s all right.”
“But, my dear, that wastes it. Now that bit is of no use. There goes my knitting, you awkward lad!”
“Johnnie, pick it up!—Oh! Grandmother, I am so hungry.”
The boy’s eyes filled with tears, and the old lady was melted in an instant.