“La!” said John, “what’s the use of saving two pair for me? I can do with one pair, as well as father.”
“Sure enough,” said his mother; “besides, I can knit you another pair in a day.”
“And I can do with one pair,” said Dickey.
“Yours will be too small, young master, I guess,” said one of the commissioners.
“No,” said Dicky; “I’ve got a pretty good foot of my own, and Aunt Hitty will always knit my stockings an inch too long, ’cause she says I grow so. See here,—these will do;” and the boy shook his, triumphantly.
“And mine, too,” said Gracie, nothing doubting, having been busy all the time in pulling off her little stockings.
“Here,” she said to the man who was packing the things into a wide-mouthed sack; “here’s mine,” and her large blue eyes looked earnestly through her tears.
Aunt Hitty flew at her.—“Good land! the child’s crazy. Don’t think the men could wear your stockings,—take ’em away!”
Gracie looked around with an air of utter desolation, and began to cry, “I wanted to give them something,” said she. “I’d rather go barefoot on the snow all day, than not send ’em anything.”
“Give me the stocking’s, my child,” said the old soldier tenderly. “There, I’ll take ’em, and show ’em to the soldiers, and tell them what the little girl said that sent them. And it will do them as much good as if they could wear them. They’ve got little girls at home, too.” Gracie fell on her mother’s bosom, completely happy, and Aunt Hitty only muttered, “Everybody does spile that child; and no wonder, neither!”