Almost every one of my sisters had some distinctive aptitude with
her fingers. One worked exquisite lace-embroidery; another had a
knack at cutting and fitting her doll's clothing so perfectly
that the wooden lady was always a typical specimen of the genteel
doll-world; and another was an expert at fine stitching, so
delicately done that it was a pleasure to see or to wear anything
her needle had touched. I had none of these gifts. I looked on
and admired, and sometimes tried to imitate, but my efforts
usually ended in defeat and mortification.
I did like to knit, however, and I could shape a stocking
tolerably well. My fondness for this kind of work was chiefly
because it did not require much thought. Except when there was
"widening" or "narrowing" to be done, I did not need to keep my
eyes upon it at all. So I took a book upon my lap and read, and
read, while the needles clicked on, comforting me with the
reminder that I was not absolutely unemployed, while yet I was
having a good time reading.
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