“I am ready to sew,” was all that she could say.
She longed to get some work into her hands, hoping thus to distract her thoughts from self and her bitter disappointment.
The seamstress cut off the breadths of a skirt and gave them to her, pitying the pretty, yet despised, stranger from the bottom of her heart.
“May I use the machine?” the young girl asked, glancing at that labor-saving instrument.
“Do you know how?”
“Yes’m.”
“Very well. This is a Florence, and I will show you how to thread it.”
“I know how, thank you. Mamma had a Florence, and I have often used it.”
She arose, and going to it Miss Baker saw at once that she was fully capable of using it.
All day long she stitched and sewed, working quietly, yet rapidly, and by night one dress was nearly completed.