wing the
others. Or else she would go alone for a scamper on Mopsie, or even
perch herself up on a branch of some tree in the orchard, and pore over
the pages of her beloved "Little Women," or some other of her
favourites. Reading was the sole sitting-down occupation that Cricket
did not think was intolerably stupid, and a sheer waste of time.
Fortunately, she always had boundless resources of amusement within
herself, and she would not have been lonely on a desert island.

"Come for a row, girls," said Eunice, the next morning. "The water is
like glass."

"Suppose we row over to Bear Island," said Edna. "I'll take my
embroidery, and you can take a book and read to me, Eunice. If we take
the boat off the boys can't get to us and tease us."

"All right," assented Eunice. "We'll take the 'Light-house Girl.' I'm
dying to finish it. Cricket, you bring your knitting, won't you, and
we'll take some cookies and things to eat, and stay all the morning."

"'Not mush,' as baby says," responded Cricket, with decision. "Think I'm
going to waste this glorious day, knitting _washrags_?" with ineffable
scorn. "You two old grandmothers can knit and read all you want to. I've
too much else to do."

"Cricket is afraid she'll get her washrag done, if she works on it,"
laughed Eunice.

"Well, what if I am?" returned Cricket, defensively. "As long as I have
that on hand, nobody can ask me to do anything else. If I'm careful how
I work on it, I can make it last till I'm grown up."

They all laughed at Cricket's scheme. Her knitting was a standing joke.
Mamma had insisted on her learning how to knit, when she was quite
small, telling her that it would be a very useful accomplishment when
she was grown up, and that it was very much easier to learn to knit
quickly, if one learns very young. So Cricket had toiled her way through
a pair of reins for Kenneth, and had also accomplished a red and white
striped washrag for Helen. Her present undertaking was a blue and white
one for Zaidee. It was now a year old.

"If Zaidee was in need of that washrag, she'd be a blackamoor before she
gets it," said Eunice.

"She isn't starving for it," returned Cricket, comfortably. "And I've
dropped so many stitches, anyway, and couldn't find them, that it isn't
much but holes. The knitting only just holds the holes together. 'Liza
will have to darn it a lot, before she can use it for Zaidee."

"You're old enough to like to sew and embroider things," sa