Chapter X. Sara's Day







Chapter I
The Dimplesmithy


Grown people have such an exasperating way of saying, "Now, when I was
a little girl--"

Then, just as you prick up the little white ears of your mind for a
story, they finish, loftily, "I did--or didn't do--so-and-so."

It is certainly an underhand way of suggesting that you stop doing
something pleasant, or begin doing something unpleasant; and you would
not have thought that Sara's dear mother would have had so unworthy a
habit. But a stern regard for the truth compels me to admit that she
had.

You see, Sara's dear mother was, indeed, most dear; but very
self-willed and contrary. Her great fault was that she was always busy
at something. She would darn, and she would write, and she would read
dark-colored books without pictures. When Sara compared her with other
mothers of her acquaintance, or when this very contrary own-mother