'Because she couldn't. She would rub her eyes, and go away and say
she felt queer, and forget half of it and more, and then say it had
been all a dream.'

'Just like me,' said Irene, feeling very much ashamed of herself.

'Yes, a good deal like you, but not just like you; for you've come
again; and Lootie wouldn't have come again. She would have said,
No, no - she had had enough of such nonsense.'

'Is it naughty of Lootie, then?'

'It would be naughty of you. I've never done anything for Lootie.'

'And you did wash my face and hands for me,' said Irene, beginning
to cry.

The old lady smiled a sweet smile and said:

'I'm not vexed with you, my child - nor with Lootie either. But I
don't want you to say anything more to Lootie about me. If she
should ask you, you must just be silent. But I do not think she
will ask you.'

All the time they talked the old lady kept on spinning.

'You haven't told me yet what I am spinning,' she said.

'Because I don't know. It's very pretty stuff.'