"No."
She was not interested in the thin white stuff and the lace--Mamma's
needle-work.
"Well, then, look in the basket."
The basket was full of tiny garments made of the white stuff, petticoats,
drawers and nightgown, sewn with minute tucks and edged with lace. Mamma
unfolded them.
"New clothes," she said, "for your new dolly."
"Oh--oh--oh--I love you so much that I can't bear it; you little holy
Mamma!"
Mamma said, "I'm not holy, and I won't be called holy. I want deeds, not
words. If you love me you'll learn your lessons properly the night
before, not just gabble them over hot from the pan."
"I will, Mamma, I will. Won't you say it?"
"No," Mamma said, "I won't."
She sat there with a sort of triumph on her beautiful face, as if she
were pleased with herself because she hadn't said it. And Mary would
bring the long sheet that dragged on her wrist, and the needle that
pricked her fingers, and sit at Mamma's knee and sew, making a thin trail
of blood all along the hem.
"Why do you look at me so kindly when I'm sewing?"
"Because I like to see you behaving like a little girl, instead of
tearing about and trying to do what boys do."
And Mamma would tell her a story, always the same story, going on and on,
about the family of ten children who lived in the farm by the forest.
There were seven boys and three girls. The six youngest boys worked on
the farm with their father--yes, he was a _very_ nice father--and the
eldest boy worked in the garden with his mother, and the three girls
worked in the house. They could cook and make butter and cheese, and bake
bread; and even the youngest little girl could knit and sew.
"Had they any children?"
"No, they were too busy to think about having children. They were all
very, very happy together, just as they were."
The story was like the hem, there was never any end to it, for Mamma was
always finding something else for the three girls to do. She smiled as
she told it, as if she saw something that pleased her.
Mary felt that she could go on sewing at the hem and pricking her finger
for ever if Mamma would only keep that look on her face.