“I suppose it is time you did learn, for you are getting to be a great girl, and all women should know how to make and mend. You must take a stitch for me now and then: Miss Bat's eyes are not what they were, I find;” and Mr. Bemis looked at his frayed wristband, as if he particularly felt the need of a stitch just then.
“I'd love to, and I guess I could. I can mend gloves; Merry taught me, so I'd better begin on them, if you have any,” said Molly, much pleased at being able to do anything for her father, and still more so at being asked.
“There's something to start with;” and he threw her a pair, with nearly every finger ripped.
Molly shook her head over them, but got out her gray silk and fell to work, glad to show how well she could sew.
“What are you smiling about?” asked her father, after a little pause, for his head felt better, and it amused him to question Molly.
“I was thinking about my summer clothes. I must get them before long, and I'd like to go with Mrs. Grant and learn how to shop, if you are willing.”
“I thought Miss Bat did that for you.”
“She always has, but she gets ugly, cheap things that I don't like. I think I am old enough to choose myself, if there is someone to tell me about prices and the goodness of the stuff. Merry does; and she is only a few months older than I am.”
“How old are you, child?” asked her father, feeling as if he had lost his reckoning.
“Fifteen in August;” and Molly looked very proud of the fact.