“Dear me, Kristy,” said her mother, with a sigh, “you are certainly incorrigible; don’t you ever get tired of stories?”
“Never!” said Kristy emphatically; “I could listen to stories all day and all night too, I guess.”
Mrs. Crawford hesitated; Kristy went on.
“Won’t you tell me stories as long as it rains?”
“Well, yes,” began Mrs. Crawford, who had noted signs of clearing. But Kristy interrupted, shouting, “It’s a bargain! it’s a bargain! you said yes! Now let’s go to lunch; I’m in a hurry to begin the next story.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Crawford, when they returned to the sitting-room after lunch, “if I’m to tell stories all day, you certainly should do something, too; it isn’t fair for me to do all the work.”
“I will,” said Kristy laughing; “I’ll listen.”
“Do you call that work?” asked her mother.
“N—o!” said Kristy, thinking a moment. “Well, I’ll tell you! I’ll get my knitting;” and she ran out of the room and in a minute or two came back with some wool and needles with a very little strip of knitting, all done up in a clean towel. She had set out to knit a carriage-blanket for a baby she was fond of, but she found it slow work, for as soon as she became interested in anything else the knitting was forgotten. Now she took her seat in a low chair and began to knit. “Now begin,” she said, as her mother took up her sewing.
“Did I ever tell you, Kristy, how I learned to knit?”