"I don't care about my eyes being red, tho' I don't want to wake the
poor baby," sobbed the little girl, slightly softening her wrath: "but
the cat has unravelled all the stocking I have been knitting at for so
many days, and I had nearly just finished it, and now it's all
spoilt;" and she roared with vexation. "Miss Hermione, if you go on so
I shall certainly send for your Mamma, and the baby will be quite
poorly, he will! and we shall know who made him so," added Nurse
triumphantly. "I can't make the baby poorly with crying, Nurse, so
that's nonsense you know," observed Hermione; "but I didn't mean to
disturb him; only my stocking is gone, and I don't know what to do."
And here she sobbed afresh.

"Do! why ain't you going down to the ladies, and can't you be brushing
your hair and washing your face and getting ready?" "But it isn't
time." "Well, but can't you get ready _before_ the time a little? and
then, when you're dressed and look so clean and nice and pretty, you
can sit in the chair and we can look at you!" and here the good old
Nurse gave a knowing smile and nodded her head.

Hermione caught sight of the comical coaxing glance, and, in spite of
her misfortune, burst into a fit of laughter. "Hum, hum, hum! now
you'll wake the poor thing by laughing, Miss Hermione. I do wish you'd
be quiet:" and here the Nurse rocked the child on her knee more
vigorously than ever.

"Then why don't you tell me what I am to do with my stocking," cried
Hermione. "Oh well, I know what I will do--something quite as quiet as
a mouse. I will wind up my poor worsted." Hereupon the little girl
picked up the puckered remains of her luckless grey stocking which a
facetious young cat had spent at least a quarter of an hour in