"Strange I shouldn't have noticed that," said Mrs. Lyman. "I hope Mrs. Potter didn't spoil her crape shawl when she put her arm round you, Patience."
Patty dropped her eyes with shame, to think how pleased Mrs. Potter had been with her just for nothing at all.
"Spirits turpletine?" said she, making believe she had never heard the word before. "Spirits turpletine? That isn't angels, Rachel? Then what makes you call 'em spirits?"
Rachel knew the child was talking for the sake of changing the subject, and she would not answer such a foolish question.
"Stand still, you little try-patience," said she, "or I shall never get off the paint."
Mrs. Lyman went back to finish her pocket. Ladies in those days wore them under their dresses, tied about their waists. Mrs. Lyman's was a very pretty one, of quilted black silk, and when it was done, Patty put her dollar in it, and jingled it beside a gold piece of her mother's.
"Which is worth the most, mamma?" said she, "your dollar or my dollar?"
"Mine is worth just twenty times as much as yours."
"Well, I'm glad that naughty girl hasn't got either of 'em," thought Patty. "I'm sorry I made believe good; but I want my dollar, and here 'tis, all safe."
Safe! Before night Patty's dollar was gone, and her mother's gold piece with it,—pocket, and all. It went that very afternoon; but nobody knew it till Mrs. Lyman was getting ready to go to the store two days afterwards, and wanted her pocket to put on.