Grannie's little white face became clouded.
"I am going to Oxford Street, to a registry office," said Alison. "I know lots about counter work, and I don't doubt that I may get a very good place; anyhow, I'm going to try."
"Well, that's sperit, there's no denying that," said the old lady; "it's in the breed, and it can't be crushed."
"David, what are you hiding under the table?" said Alison, in a fretful tone. She felt too unhappy to be civil to anyone.
"I have got spirit, too, and I'm not ashamed," said David suddenly. "It's a bit o' stuff I'm feather-stitching; there—I am learning the stitch."
"Well!" said Alison; "you, a boy?"
"Yes, I—a boy," he replied, looking her full between the eyes.
There was something in the fearless glance of his gray eyes that caused her to lower her own—ashamed.
"Dave's the blessing of my life," said Mrs. Reed; "he has learned the stitch, and though he do it slow, he do it true and beautiful. It shan't never now die out of the fam'ly."