"It got so tangled, and I couldn't comb it out straight," said Nelly.
"Well, but Nelly, do you really think you could learn to make tatting?" asked Miss Powell.
"I could try," answered Nelly. "It looks kind of easy!"
"It is easy after you once know how," said Miss Powell; "but it is not easy to learn."
"Do try to teach her," said Mrs. Kirkland. "Some people take it up very quickly."
Nelly looked on with great interest as Miss Powell took a shuttle, wound some thread on it, and began the work. Now, tatting, though very easy to do, is one of the hardest things in the world to teach and to learn. Nelly tried faithfully and watched closely; but after more than an hour she seemed no nearer than at first, and she began to be utterly discouraged.
"I can't do it!" said she, throwing the shuttle at last into Miss Powell's lap, while the tears rose to her eyes. "I can't see into it anyhow. I might have known I couldn't," she added. "What's the use of my ever trying to do any thing or to be anybody?"
"Oh, you must not be discouraged," said Miss Powell, touched by the tone of utter despondent hopelessness in which these last words were spoken. "You have not been nearly as long at it as I was when I first tried to learn. I was older than you are, too,—a great girl of fifteen,—but I tried the whole afternoon, and finally gave up in despair, and had a hearty cry after it."
"But you did learn?" said Nelly, much interested.
"Yes; and I will tell you how. After I went to bed, I began to reflect upon the matter, and made up my mind that I could do what other people could, and that I would not be beaten by a piece of thread. So I lighted my candle, found my shuttle, and worked at it till three o'clock in the morning. I made a quarter of a yard before I stopped. So you see I had a much harder time than you have had yet. Come; take it up and try once more."