Her heart ached with a sense of utter desolation as she sat there, vainly trying to imitate Miss Walton’s example of wiring a hat.
She felt more utterly alone among these hundred girls than she had done the night before in her quiet room at the hotel.
The wire hurt her delicate fingers, the needle, instead of going to its appointed place, often slipped and pierced their rosy tips, and the crimson drops would ooze forth, causing her to lay aside the work and wrap the wounded members in her handkerchief until they ceased to bleed, lest they should stain the hat.
One sad-looking girl on her left, had, without appearing to do so, been watching her ineffectual efforts with a great deal of sympathy.
When at length, after running her needle half its length under her finger-nail, Brownie laid down her work in despair, she turned kindly toward her and said, with a smile:
“The work is new to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Brownie replied, looking up at the sweet tones, and much comforted by them; “and I am afraid I shall never learn. I am so awkward.”
“Oh, yes, you will. We were all so at the beginning.”
“Were you? Then I’ll try again,” she said, brightening instantly.
It was a real comfort to her to know that she was not quite such a goose as she had thought herself, after all.