"Miss Muffet," we all exclaimed.
"And then," said Jeanie, "our money will enable her to buy the winter
cloak she is so much in need of, and she will not feel as if she were
accepting charity, because she will earn the money if she teaches us."
"Indeed, she will," exclaimed Veva. "I know beforehand that she will
have one fearfully stupid pupil, and that is Veva Fay."
Breakfast was no sooner over next morning, and grandmamma dressed and
settled in comfort, than away we flew to our friend. "We," means Linda
and myself. She is my nearest neighbor, and we often act for the club.
Miss Muffet lived by herself in a bit of a house, her only companions
being a very deaf sister and a very noisy parrot.
"Passel o' girls! Passel o' girls!" screamed the parrot, as we lifted
the latch and walked up the little bricked pathway, bordered with
lady-slippers and prince's feather, to the porch, which was half hidden
by clematis.
Miss Muffet was known to every man, woman and child in Bloomdale. She
was sent for on every extra occasion, and at weddings, christenings and
funerals, when there was more work than usual to be done, the little
brisk woman, so quiet and so capable, was always on hand. She could do a
little of everything, from seating Tommy's trousers to setting patches
in Ellen's sleeves; from making lambrequins and table scarfs to
laundrying lace curtains and upholstering furniture. As for cooking,
preserving and canning, she was celebrated for miles around and beyond
our township.
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