Hermione stayed in the room till her task was over, and then rushed up stairs to the nursery, and stopping at the door, half opened it and rolled the great grey worsted ball so cleverly in, that it hit the old Nurse’s foot as she sat (once more rocking the baby) over the fire.  “Goodness, bless me! what ever is that?” Then, spying a laughing face at the door, “Oh dear heart, it’s you I declare, Miss Hermione! will you never leave off waking the baby?  I thought a great black dog was laying hold of my foot.”

“Nurse,” said Hermione, “your baby is always and always going to sleep; why doesn’t he go, and then I could have a bit of fun?  You don’t know where I finished winding the worsted ball!”

“Why goodness me, Miss Hermione, where?”

“Down in the drawing-room among all the fine ladies; so good night!” and off she ran to avoid further explanation.  A few words with her Governess; a sober time of evening prayer; and the happy child laid her head on her pillow, and needed no Fairy wand to lull her to sleep.  She had been some time with her Governess in the morning before her Mamma coming to her there, heard a loud discussion going on within.  The voices, however, were those of good-humour.  “Hermione,” said her Mother, “I am come to say that your Governess told me yesterday you had been so very good for a long time over all that you have had to do, that I have arranged for your having a holiday and a treat to-day, and several of your young friends are coming to see you.  Among them is Aurora, the granddaughter of the old lady in spectacles, who, just before she was going away at night, recollected you, and began to look for you behind her chair.”

“Oh what a goose, Mamma!” “No, not a goose, my dear—­only an oddity, but a very kind one too—­for she desired me to find out whether you really did roll up the whole of the ravelled worsted last night; and if you really persevered till it was finished, I have something to give you from her, but not otherwise.  How was it?” “Oh, it’s finished, Mamma; ask Nurse; for when I rolled it against her foot last night, she took it for a great black dog.”  “Well then, I suppose this is yours, Hermione; but, I must say, I never knew a gold thimble earned so easily.”  Yes, dear little readers, it was a pretty gold thimble, and round the bottom of it there was a rim of white enamel, and on the enamel were gold letters.

  “L’industrie ajoute a la beaute.”

“Mamma,” said Hermione, looking at it in delight, as she found it exactly fitted her finger, “it’s lovely; but, do you know, I think the old lady ought to have given it to her granddaughter, Aurora, with such a motto.”  “My dear, she has had it, she told me, some months in her pocket secretly, for the purpose you mention, but she cannot ever satisfy herself that Aurora has got the spirit of real industry in her, and to bribe her to earn the thimble is not her object, so you see it has accidentally fallen to your share.”