an, but she had decided notions about the way girls
should be brought up, and she thought my mother was too easy. So when
she had the whole care of me, she set herself to give me some good,
wholesome training."

"Poor little mamma!" said Kristy. "What did she do? It seems so funny
to think of you as a little girl being trained!"

"Well, it was not at all funny, I assure you. I thought I was terribly
abused, and I used to make plans to run away some night and go home.
But every night I was so sleepy that I put it off till another night;
and indeed I had a bit of common sense left, and realized that I had
no money and did not know the way home, and couldn't walk so far
anyway; though I did run away once"--

"Oh, tell me about that"--cried Kristy, laughing; "you run away! how
funny! tell me!"

"I'll tell you the story of my naughty runaway, but first I must tell
you about my grandmother and why I wanted to run away."

CHAPTER VI

HOW MAMMA RAN AWAY

My mother was not a very strong woman, while I was a healthy strong
girl, so when she tried to teach me to knit and sew, I always managed
to get out of it, and she was too weak to insist. So when I went to my
grandmother's to spend the winter, and her first question was, "What
sewing have you on hand now?" I was struck with horror.

"Why none"--I stammered, and seeing the look of surprise in her face,
I hastened to add, "I never have any on hand."

"Do you never sew?" she asked, in her sternest tone.

"Why--not very often," I faltered. "I don't like to sew."

"Hm!" said my grandmother, "I shall have to teach you then; I am
surprised! ten years old and not know how to sew! At your age, your
Aunt Emily was almost an expert needlewoman; she could do overhand,
hemming, felling, backstitching, hemstitching, running, catstitching,
buttonholes, and a little embroidery."

I was aghast. Had I got to learn all these mysteries of the needle! My
grandmother went on.

"We'll begin at the beginning then; I'll prepare some patchwork for
you."

My heart sank; patchwork was the thing my mother had tried to have me
do, and I hated it. I remember now some mussed up, dirty-looking
blocks, stuffed behind a bureau at home--to have them lost.

True to her word, my grandmother brought out her "piece-bag" and
selected a great pile of bits of colored calico and new white cotton
cloth, which she cut into neat blocks about four inches square, and
piled up on the table, the whit