It
wasn't the baby's hair you thought of cutting, I hope?" "Oh, no,
indeed! I wouldn't cut his dear little curls for anything! I was trying
to--to cut out some pants for Morton."
"You poor child! What a genius you must be to attempt it! Do you think
you can?"
The tone of perfect _camaraderie_ seemed to drive away the last
vestige of Sara's shyness.
"I have once or twice at home, but it's different here: the boys dress
better, you see, and Morton's getting very particular. I've a good
pattern, but I do feel a bit frightened to put my scissors into the
goods."
"Of course you do," rising, and going over to the table to look at the
pattern pinned carefully over the old garment. "But, my dear, couldn't
you cut to better advantage by turning this a little? Here, let me show
you."
With a rapid movement she unfastened and cast aside the jetted lace wrap
she wore, and filling her mouth with pins, after the manner of
womankind, began mumbling her explanations, as she turned and twisted
the paper about, Sara, meanwhile, looking on with the earnestness of a
priestess of Athene, listening to her oracle.
Months of meeting in fashionable parlors could not have made them so
intimate as those ten minutes over that pattern, while their heads
bobbed together, and their tongues ran on in unison.
Pages:
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184