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I kept her little cottage brightened with the old-fashioned blossoms that she loved best. "They mind me so of when I was a child, and the whole world seemed in summer time like a great garden. We lived deep in the country, just a little strip of ground brought in from the woods, and all round our little log house was the green trees," she said one day, the pleasant reflective look that I liked to see coming into her kind, strong face. I used to sit and listen to her homely, uncultivated speech, and wonder why I liked her so much better than my natural associates. She was so real, I could not imagine her trying to appear other than she was. Some way she seemed to take me back to elementary things, like the memories of childhood or the reading of the Book of Genesis. Then she had so changed Daniel's cottage—newly papered, whitewashed and thoroughly cleansed with soap and water, it seemed one of the cosiest, homeliest places I ever saw. I only went in the afternoons, and her housework then was always done; but she was never idle. I used to watch her knitting stockings of all sizes with silent curiosity; but one day I asked who a tiny pair of scarlet ones was for. "Mrs. Larkum's baby. The poor things are in desperate trouble," she replied.

      "But do you knit for other folks?"

      "Yes, fur some. Them I jest finished is fur one of the Chisties' down the lane. Any size from one to ten fits there."

      "Are they able to pay you?" I ventured to inquire.

      "I don't ginerally knit for folks as can pay. It's a pity for little feet to go bare because the mother was thriftless or overworked."

      I watched the busy fingers a little sadly, comparing them with my own daintily gloved hands, that had never done anything more useful than to hold a text book, or sketch, or practice on the ivory keys, while those other hands often tired, calloused with hard usage, had been working unselfishly through the years for others.

      "I wish you would teach me to knit," I said one day, seized with a sudden inspiration.

      "'Twould be a waste of your time. Folks like you don't wear home-knit stockings."

      "Oh, yes they do. Pretty silken hose is quite the fashion; but I hire mine knitted."

      "Then what makes you want to learn?"

      "Do you not think it is my duty to work for the poor, and helpless as well as yours?"

      "I won't allow but what it is; but laws! rich folk can't pity the poor, no more'n a person that's never been sick, or had the tooth-ache, can pity one who has."

      "The stockings would be just as warm, though, as if I knew all about their sorrows."

      "I reckon they'd feel better on some feet if they know'd your white hands knit 'em."

      "If there would be any added pleasure to the warmth of the socks then you will surely teach me."

      "I'll be proud to do it; but child, I'm afeard you are making me think too much of you. Byem-bye when you get interested in other things, you won't care to set in my kitchen, and listen to an old-fashioned body like me, droning away like a bee in a bottle."

      "Do you think it is necessary to trouble about something that may never come to pass? I think I shall always enjoy hearing you talk. Listening to you seems like watching the old-fashioned flowers nodding their heads in the drowsy summer air. I like the rare flowers, too, with long names and aristocratic faces; but I don't think I shall ever like them so well as to forget the happy fancies their humble relations bring."

      "Thank you, dearie. I guess you'll allays keep a warm place in your heart for the old-fashioned folks as well as the posies."

      "Now that we have that matter settled, suppose I begin the knitting," I said, without any further attempt at convincing Mrs. Blake of my unalterable regard.

      She got me the yarn and needles and I straightway proceeded to master another of the domestic sciences. I was soon able to turn the seam, and knit plain; but was forced to stop very often to admire my own handicraft. However, I got on so readily that she allowed I could undertake a child's sock. I wanted it to look pretty as well as to be comfortable, and not fancying Mrs. Blake's homespun yarn, I started out to the store to get some better suited to my liking.

      When I returned, Mrs. Blake exclaimed at the size of my bundle, assuring me that it would supply me with work for months.

      "I'm surprised you wan't ashamed to carry such a big parcel," she said admiringly.

      "It did not occur to me to be ashamed."

      "One never knows who they may meet though."

      "It was nothing to be ashamed of."

      "I s'pose not; but quality has such queer notions."

      "I do not wish to be quality if that is the case; I want to be a sensible woman, and a useful one," I said, as I proceeded to wind my yarn from Mrs. Blake's outstretched arms. In a short time I had the pleasure of seeing a pretty little sock evolving itself out of the long strand of yarn. Mrs. Blake finding me anxious to be helpful to her poor neighbors, began unfolding histories from time to time, as I sat in her tidy kitchen, that to me seemed to rise to the dignity of tragedies. Sometimes I begged to accompany her to these sorrowful homes. The patience under overwhelming sorrow that I saw at times, gave me new glimpses into the possibilities of human endurance, and my sympathies were so wrought upon, I set about trying to earn money myself to help alleviate their wants, while a new field of work stretched out before me in bewildering perspective; and sometimes I wished I too had a hundred hands, like a second Briareus, that I might manufacture garments for half-clad women and children.

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