Aunt Kate took the two little hands in her own delicate ones. They lay palms up, showing a row of callous spots at the base of the fingers.
For a moment dear Aunt Kate looked; then she softly stooped and kissed them. The child stood wide-eyed, wondering.
“What’d you do that for? They aren’t pretty.”
“Because every one of those spots means that a little girl has helped her mother, and I love them. I almost wish that I could have some myself for so fine a reason.”
She turned the hands over.
“But these—these—oh, my little Betsy! To trim such good hands in such a sorry way. Nails are intended to be the ornaments of a hand, quite as much, and more, than rings are. Every nail should have a crescent moon at its base, and another little pearl moon-rise at the tip. There should be no ragged edges or hang-nails. I’ve told you so many times. Now I shall have to do something to make you remember.
“Remember, too, dear, that I do this because I love you, and I want you to be sweet in every way.”
Mrs. Johns went to her desk, and returned with a bottle of India ink and a small brush.
“Now, Betsy, as long as the edges of your nails are rough and black, the middle might as well be black, too.”
Quickly Aunt Kate put a drop of ink in the center of each nail. Betsy held her breath with the surprise of it.