“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.