“You saw it hanging on the line and assumed I owned it? No, I merely am washing the quilt for another lady. She lives a long distance from here too.”
“Oh!” Veve’s face, which had been very bright, now became as dreary as a rainy day. “Then of course you couldn’t let me have it. Oh, dear! I’ll always be a tail-ender, I guess. You—you don’t own a single quilt of your own?”
“No, I’ve always used blankets.”
The lady very much wanted to help Veve. However, she did not know how to do it.
“Mrs. Gwinn on Seventeenth St. owns the ‘Duck’s Foot in the Mud’ quilt,” she said. “I could telephone her, but I am afraid she would not want anyone to borrow her quilt. Of all the folks for whom I wash, she is my fussiest customer.”
“I guess I will just have to go without a quilt,” Veve said, deeply discouraged. “Well, thank you just the same.”
The little girl started away.
“Wait!” the lady called her back. “Come to think of it, I do have a quilt!”
“Oh, grand!” exclaimed Veve, scarcely believing her good fortune.