“Now, my dear, will you get up and let me dress you? Or would you rather lie here a little longer?” “Oh! thank you, ma’am, I would like to get up. But you needn’t trouble about dressing me. I always dress myself.” “Oh, you do? That is quite right. Now, then, here is your suit of clothes from head to foot,” said Annie, placing the pile on a chair beside the bed. While the child was dressing, the woman made up the bed. Both processes were finished about the same time. The imp looked very clean and nice in her bright pink frock, white apron, and stockings, and shining black shoes, and she was regarding herself with great satisfaction. “Your clothes are not as good as the ragpicker stole from you, I reckon,” said Annie, almost apologetically. “Oh, but I like them better. They are so bright and pretty! And, then, I shan’t be afraid to soil them. They can go in the washtub and be washed, you know. I always like to wear frocks that can go in the washtub and be washed, you know. Don’t you? One can keep so clean then.” “Yes,” Annie answered, half laughing, half wondering at the strange child before her. It was the poor needlewoman’s dinner hour, so she said: “Now, my dear, amuse yourself any way you please—looking out of the window, or taking up and looking at anything you like in the room, while I get dinner for us two, won’t you?” “Look here,” said the little girl, “I don’t want to do that. I want to do something to help you. I do like to do something real useful, only people won’t let me half the time.” “Why, what can you do, you solemn, responsible midget?” inquired the needlewoman. “You are making fun; but I am in earnest, and I can do many things. I can piece crazy quilts, as they call them; but, oh, I tell you they are not crazy at all, but just the most sensible things in the whole world; for they use up every bit of the scraps without wasting a thread of any. Scraps that you couldn’t use for anything else. Oh, I tell you what! the woman that first thought of that sort of a quilt was possessed of common sense.” “I quite agree with you, my dear, but I am not making a quilt, and have no quilt pieces,” said Annie. “Well, then, if you have got any buttons to sew on anything, or any strings to run in anything else, I can do that.” “Very well,” said Annie, who was too wise a woman to discourage any child’s desire to do useful work, however futile the attempt might prove to be—“Very well, you are an industrious little girl, I think, and I will give you something to do.” “All right,” said the small sage. “Wait a minute,” added Annie, as she caught up her hat and left the room. She passed downstairs and out of the house to that convenient corner shop, where she invested one cent in the tiniest nickel-plated thimble she could find. “You must have a little girl staying with you, Mrs. Moss,” said the saleswoman of whom Annie had bought the clothing that morning, and who, by the way, was a tenant in the same house with the seamstress.