[Illustration]
This pretty purse will make a nice gift for some of our young people. It
is worked with red saddler's silk in open-work double crochet, and
consists of an oblong bag pointed toward the bottom, and furnished with
small slits at the top on both sides. The purse is closed with two metal
bars, finished with knobs, and joined with a chain and ring. An ordinary
steel slide may be substituted. A metal acorn finishes the bottom. Make
a foundation of 96 st. (stitch), close these in a ring with 1 sl. (slip
stitch), and crochet the 1st round.--4 ch. (chain stitch), the first 3
of which count as first dc. (double crochet), then always alternately 1
dc. on the second following st., 1 ch.; finally, 1 sl. on the third of
the first 3 ch. in this round. 2d round.--1 sl. on the next st., 4 ch.,
the first 3 of which count as first dc., then always alternately 1 dc.
on the next ch. in the preceding round, 1 ch.; finally, 1 sl. on the
third of the first 3 ch. in this round. Next work 24 rounds like the
preceding round, but in the last 10 rounds narrow at intervals, and
instead of 1 dc. pass over 2 dc., so that in the last round only 8 dc.
are worked. Run the working thread through the st. of the last round,
draw it tight, and set on the acorn. Then finish the purse in two parts,
working on the upper side of the foundation st. 3 rounds in the
preceding design, going back and forth, and in the last round fasten in
the bars as follows: * 7 ch., pass over 2 dc., lay on the bar from the
wrong side, carry the ch. across the bar to the wrong side, 1 sc. on the
next ch., 7 ch., carry these over the bar to the front, pass over 2 dc.,
1 sc. on the next ch., and repeat from *.
"ONT DAYKUMBOA."
In the parlor of a dear old-fashioned country house two elderly ladies
are seated, one knitting, the other reading the report of yesterday's
sermons, giving bits aloud now and then; on the carpet a little boy
about three years of age is sprawling, apparently trying to swim on dry
land.
The lady knitting is Miss Helena Oakstead, the lady reading is Miss
Judith Oakstead, and the small boy is Master Ralph Oakstead, the eldest
son of the youngest brother. If you go to the other side of the hall you
will find the eldest brother (Master Ralph's uncle) in his study,
writing an essay full of great big words. He is Professor Oakstead.
Master Ralph is spending the day with his relatives, and has gotten on
with them very well so far, as his sister Daisy, two years his senior,
whom he rules right royally, has acted as court interpreter; but she has
just departed for a drive with a neighboring friend, and the aunts are
left in sole charge of his Highness.
He is very gracious at first, looks over a picture-book with Miss
Helena, and makes eager but unintelligible remarks respecting the
"bow-wows" and "moos," to which Miss Helena answers, "Um, dear," as
being the safest thing to say. But now he is silent, and has been so for
at least ten minutes.
"How good Ralph is!" half whispers Miss Helena.
His Highness pricks up his ears.
"Yes, dear little fellow; and he has no one to play with, either."
His Highness sits up--he speaks.
[Illustration: "ONT DAYKUMBOA."]
"Ont daykumboa."
"What is it, dear?" says Miss Judith.
"Ont daykumboa," repeats Master Ralph.
"What does the child mean?" asks Miss Helena.
"I don't know. What do you want, Ralphie?"
Ralph, with a look of mingled contempt and pity at his stupid relatives,
says, slowly but emphatically, "Ont daykumboa."
"Perhaps he is hungry. I'll go and get him a piece of cake," says Miss
Helena.
The cake is brought, and promptly accepted; but it is evidently not the
thing for which his soul longs, for after devouring half the slice he
plaintively murmurs, "Ont daykumboa."
"Well, isn't that daykumboa?" says Miss Judith.
Ralph gives her a scornful look as sole answer, and finishes his cake in
awful silence. As the last crumb disappears he sighs, "Ont daykumboa."
"What on earth and under the sun does the child want!" is the combined
exclamation of the aunts.
"Perhaps Elijah can help us."
"Oh yes, he knows everything pretty nearly; but he may not like being
disturbed now--he's writing, you know."
"Well, perhaps Victoria might be able to tell; she used to take care of
children."
So Victoria is summoned from the kitchen. She is a tall majestic
negress, who looks as if she had just stepped out of history. Her speech
does not quite come up to her stately mien.
"Why, what's de matter wi' de chile?" she queries.