easily, give it up and try
something else."

"It goes easily enough; it isn't that. But you know yourself, you can't
do really good embroidery if you do it too rapidly."

"'Deed you can't! But you do such wonderfully perfect work, that I should
think you could afford to slight it a little, and still have it better
than other people's."

"Nan, you're such a comfort!" cried Patty, jumping up to embrace her
stepmother. "You always say just the very right thing. Now, I'm going
back to work. I feel all rested now, and I'm sure I can finish a lot
to-day. Why, Nan Fairfield! for goodness' sake! Is it really four
o'clock?"

Patty had just noticed the time, and was aghast! Two solid hours she had
worked, and only a small portion of one piece was done! She hadn't
dreamed the time had flown so, and thought it about three o'clock.

Slightly disheartened at this discovery, she went back to work. At first,
the silks went smoothly enough, then hurry and close application brought
on the fidgets again.

Before five o'clock, she had to turn on the electric lights, and then, to
her dismay, the tints of the silks changed, and she couldn't tell yellow
from pink; or green from gray.

"Well," she thought, "I'll work the bow-knots. They're of one solid
colour, and it's straight sailing."

Straight sailing it was,--but very tedious. An untrue stitch spoiled the
smooth continuance of the embroidery that was to represent tied ribbon
bows. An untrue stitch--and she made several--had to be picked out and
done over, and this often meant frayed silk, or an unsightly needle hole
in the linen.

Long before Patty thought it was time, the dressing-gong for dinner
sounded.

She jumped, greatly surprised at the flight of time, but also relieved,
that now she _must_ lay aside her work. She longed to throw herself down
on her couch and rest, but there was no time for that.

However, after she bathed and dressed, she felt refreshed, and it was a
bright, merry-faced Patty who danced downstairs to greet her father.

If he thought her cheeks unusually pink, or her eyes nervously bright, he
made no allusion to it.

"Well, Puss, how goes the 'occupation'?" he said, patting her shoulder.

"It's progressing, father," she replied, "but if you'd just as leave, we
won't talk about it to-night. I'll tell you all about it, after I finish
it."

"All right, Pattykins; we business people never like to 'talk shop.'"

And then Mr. Fairfield, who had been