“Knit! If that’s the scarf you were on at Christmas, and it looks like it, because there’s the crooked place you wouldn’t fix, let me tell you that since then I have made three socks, heals and all, and they are probably now on the feet of the Allies.”
“Three!” she said. “Why three?”
“I had no more wool, and there are plenty of one-leged men anyhow.”
I would fane have returned to my book, dreaming between lines, as it were, of the Romanse which had come into my life the day before. It is, I have learned, much more interesting to read a book when one has, or is, experiencing the Tender Passion at the time. For during the love seens one can then fancy that the impasioned speaches are being made to oneself, by the object of one’s afection. In short, one becomes, even if but a time, the Heroine.
But I was to have no privacy.
“Bab,” Sis said, in a more mild and fraternal tone, “I want you to do somthing for me.”
“Why don’t you go and get it yourself?” I said. “Or ring for George?”
“I don’t want you to get anything. I want you to go to father and mother for somthing.”
“I’d stand a fine chance to get it!” I said. “Unless it’s Calomel or advice.”
Although not suspicous by nature, I now looked at her and saw why I had recieved the pink hoze. It was not kindness. It was bribery!