rner.

Blue Bonnet noted the stitches of gossamer fineness with absorbed
interest. Then she folded the sheet carefully and handed it back with a
sigh.

"I never could do it, Aunt Lucinda. Never, in a thousand years. I know I
couldn't. I hate sewing."

"Then I fear you could never have a linen closet like this, Blue Bonnet.
Mending represents but a small part of the detail and system necessary
to good housekeeping."

"But, maybe, perhaps I could hire some one. Couldn't I, don't you
think?"

"You certainly could not instruct servants if you did not know how to
work, yourself. That would be quite impossible. Could your teachers have
imparted their knowledge to you if they, themselves, had not been
students?"

The argument seemed plausible. Blue Bonnet's sigh deepened.

"I shall employ a trained housekeeper," she said, as if that settled the
question.

"Then you will miss the joy that comes through laboring with your own
hands--the joy of accomplishment, Blue Bonnet. I hope you will change
your mind."

Miss Clyde took a careful survey of a shelf where sheets were piled, and
from it she filled her mending basket.

"Delia has overlooked these in my absence," she said, almost
apologetically. "Linen should always be mended carefully before it is
put away."

She straightened the window blinds to a correct line, closed all drawers
carefully, and ushering Blue Bonnet into the hall, locked the door
behind them.

In the sitting-room the rain beat furiously at the window-panes, a cold
east wind rattled the casements, but a glowing fire in the grate offset
the gloom.

Miss Clyde drew a chair up to the fire and took a piece from the basket.

"Bring up a small chair, Blue Bonnet. One without arms will be best."
Blue Bonnet drew the chair up slowly.

Miss Clyde found her thimble and selected a proper needle.

"Go up and get your work-basket, Blue Bonnet."

When Blue Bonnet came down with her basket her aunt was holding a sheet
up to the light.

"It is growing thin in places," she said, laying it on Blue Bonnet's
knee, "but a few stitches will preserve it for some time yet."

The next hour was one not soon to be forgotten by Blue Bonnet. Threads
knotted at the most impossible places; stitches were too long, sometimes
too short. Her hands grew hot and sticky. At the end of an hour her
cheeks were flushed and her head ached.

Miss Clyde took the work from the tired and clumsy fingers and smoothed
the hair back f