"Yes, ma'am, and she's never cried but once," said Johnny proudly. "Well done! Ah! there comes Mrs. Tyson. Now, Olly, sit up on that chair, and we'll see to you." Off came the dirty stockings, and Mrs. Tyson slipped on a pair of woolen socks that tickled Olly very much. They were very thick, and not a bit like his own stockings; and when he got up again he kept turning round and round to look at his legs, as if he couldn't make them out. "Do they feel funny to you?" said Mrs. Tyson, patting his shoulder. "Never you mind, little master; I know they're nice and warm, for I knitted them myself." "Mother buys our stockings in the shop," said Olly, when they got outside again; "why doesn't Mrs. Tyson?" "Perhaps we haven't so many shops, or such nice ones here, Olly, as you have at Willingham; and the people here have always been used to do a great many things for themselves. Some of them live in such lonely places among the mountains that it is very difficult for them to get to any shops. Not very long ago the mothers used to make all the stuffs for their own dresses and their children's. What would you say, Milly, if mother had to weave the stuff for it every time you had a new dress?" "Mother wouldn't give me a great many new dresses," said Milly, gravely, shaking her head. "I like shops best, Aunt Emma." "Well, I suppose it's best to like what we've got," said Aunt Emma, laughing. Indoors, Olly's muddy stockings were given to Aunt Emma's maid, who promised to have them washed and dried by the time they had to go home, and then, when Mrs. Norton had covered up the black spots on his frock with a clean pinafore she had brought with her, Olly looked quite respectable again.