"Do you see that leg, ma'am? Can you knit a stocking leg that shape and length?" The woman did not know what to make of him. "Why, sir," said she, "you'd never want a stocking-leg that long?" "I didn't ask you what I wanted, ma'am," growled the old gentleman, "I asked you what you could do. Can you knit a stocking-leg that length and shape?" "Why, yes, sir, I suppose I can," she replied, much cowed by his fierce manner. "Well, then, knit me six pairs, three gray and three white. There's the pattern for the foot," and he threw down an old sock of his on the table, and was striding away. The woman followed him. "But, sir," she said timidly, "I couldn't knit these for the price of ordinary stockings. I'm afraid you wouldn't be willing to pay what they would cost. It would be like knitting a pair of pantaloons, sir,--indeed it would." Old Mr. March always carried a big gold-headed cane; and, when he was angry, he lifted it from the ground and shook the gold knob as fast as he could right in people's faces. He lifted it now, and shook the gold knob so close in the woman's face, that she retreated rapidly toward the door. "I didn't say any thing about money: did I, ma'am? Knit those stockings: I don't care what they cost," he cried. "But I thought," she interrupted. "I didn't ask you to think, did I?" said Mr. March, speaking louder and louder. "You'll never earn any money thinking. Knit those stockings, ma'am, and the sooner the better," and the old gentleman walked out of the house muttering.