Next morning, I heard mother stepping across the kitchen, and when I came out, she said Lurindy’d just gone to sleep; they’d had a shocking night.  So I went out and watered the creatures and milked Brindle, and got mother a nice little breakfast, and made Stephen some gruel.  And then I was going to ask mother if I’d done so very wrong in letting Lurindy nurse Stephen, instead of me; and then I saw she wasn’t thinking about that; and besides, there didn’t really seem to be any reason why she shouldn’t;—­she was a great deal older than I, and so it was more proper; and then Stephen hadn’t ever said anything to me that should give me a peculiar right to nurse him more than other folks.  So I just cleared away the things, made everything shine like a pin, and took my knitting.  I’d no sooner got the seam set than I was called to send something up on a contrivance mother’d rigged in the back-entry over a pulley.  And then I had to make a red flag, and find a stick, and hang it out of the window by which there were the most passers.  Well, I did it; but I didn’t hurry,—­I didn’t get the flag out till afternoon; somehow I hated to, it always seemed such a low-lived disease, and I was mortified to acknowledge it, and I knew nobody’d come near us for so long,—­though goodness knows I didn’t want to see anybody.  Well, when that was done, Lurindy came down, and I had to get her something to eat, and then she went up-stairs, and mother took her turn for some sleep; and there were the creatures to feed again, and what with putting on, and taking off, and tending fires, and doing errands, and the night’s milking, and clearing the paths, I didn’t knit another stitch that day, and was glad enough, when night came, to go to bed myself.

Well, so we went on for two or three days.  I’d got my second sock pretty well along in that time,—­just think! half a week knitting half a sock!—­and was setting the heel, when in came Aunt Mimy.

“I a’n’t afeard on it,” says she; “don’t you be skeert.  I jest stepped in ter see ef the young man wuz approachin’ his eend.”

“No,” said I, “he isn’t, any more than you are, Aunt Mimy.”

“Any more ’n I be?” she answered.  “Don’t you lose yer temper, Emerline.  We’re all approachin’ it, but some gits a leetle ahead; it a’n’t no disgrace, ez I knows on.  What yer doin’ of?  Knittin’ sale-socks yet? and, my gracious! still ter work on the same pair!  You’ll make yer fortin’, Emerline!”

I didn’t say anything, I was so provoked.

“I don’ b’lieve you know heow ter take the turns w’en yer mother a’n’t by to help,” she continued.  “Can’t ye take up the heel?  Widden ev’ry fourth.  Here, let me!  You won’t?  Wal, I alluz knowed you wuz mighty techy, Emerline Ruggles, but ye no need ter fling away in thet style.  Neow I’ll advise ye ter let socks alone; they’re tew intricate fur sech ez you.  Mitt’ns is jest abeout ’ithin the compass uv your mind,—­mitt’ns, men’s single mitt’ns, put up on needles larger ’n them o’ yourn be, an’ by this rule.  Seventeen reounds in the wrist,—­tew an’ one’s the best seam”——­