Undoing the paper, she displayed what looked like a round bolster
case made of pink and blue striped flannelette. As she held it up for
inspection, it “flared” at the top (to use a dressmaker’s term) with
merely a small round opening at the bottom.
I glanced it over as intelligently as I knew how, and then inquired
what it was.
“It’s a pyjama for a soldier,” she murmured modestly, in a very low
voice. “I’ve cut it exactly by the paper pattern, yet Miss Judson, who
saw it yesterday, says she doesn’t believe it’s right. We’ve neither of
us ever made one before, so I thought I would run up to you with it;
you would be _sure_ to know.”
“Er—h’m—ah—yes,” I said, as light dawned. “It’s all right so far as it
goes; but where’s the other leg?”
“The other leg?” she echoed, “there was only one in the pattern.”
“Of course; but you should have cut it out in double material; the
garment requires two legs, you know.”
“Does it!” she exclaimed in genuine surprise. “Why, I thought it must
be intended for a soldier who had had his other leg amputated!”
* * * * *
Before Virginia put away her “Anthology,” preparatory to having lunch,
she added another quotation to her list—
“For never anything can be amiss
When simpleness and duty tender it,”
and against this she scribbled, “one-legged pyjamas”—doubtless for
elucidation and amplification at a later date. I hope I haven’t
forestalled her.