“Hasten and dress yourself,” said Goodwife Hopkins. “Here are some of Letitia's garments I have laid out for you. Those which you wore here I have put away in the chest. They are too gay, and do not befit a sober, God-fearing damsel.”
With that, Goodwife Hopkins descended to the room below, and Letitia dressed herself. It did not take her long. There was not much to put on beside a coarse wool petticoat and a straight little wool gown, rough yarn stockings, and such shoes as she had never seen.
“I couldn't run from Injuns in these,” thought Letitia miserably. When she got downstairs she discovered what the buzzing noise was. Her great-great-grandmother was spinning. Her great-great-aunt Candace was knitting, and little Phyllis was scouring the hearth. Goodwife Hopkins was preparing breakfast.
“Go to the other wheel,” said she to Letitia, “and spin until the porridge is done. We can have no idle hands here.”
Letitia looked helplessly at a great spinning-wheel in the corner, then at her great-great-great-grandmother.
“I don't know how,” she faltered.
Then all the great-grandmothers and the aunts cried out with astonishment.
“She doesn't know how to spin!” they said to one another.
Letitia felt dreadfully ashamed.
“You must have been strangely brought up,” said Goodwife Hopkins. “Well, take this stocking and round out the toe. There will be just about time enough for that before breakfast.”