The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1889-08-14
stockings, and her admiration was I'm.
Io,od<,1 Nva,. tha;r b,a

stockings, anu ner autn!iutlOn was uus
bounded over their hue.
Red stockies, and a red hood. and
red mitties! My. it pears Sunday
won't ever come!"
Crimson" corrected grandma; mot
red" But 1t mattered little to Dot
what the color was named when she
drew the bright stockings upon her
chubby legs and over them again a pair
Of shining new shoes.
"You will be proud OF these stock
ings." said grandma, on Saturday night,
as she rounded the toe with bit Of
white wool, because you helped me to
wind the wool, you know, Dot"
Yes" assented the little one, with
proud air, wasn't / dood, grand
MAJ"
"And you so tired, TOO" went on
grandma, ignoring her question.
And so nervous responded Dot
"Yes, and you called me a 'zasperatin'
old poke" gravely responded grand
ma, land snapped the thread on pur-
pose to make me give over the wind
ing" If. s
Dot opened wide her eyes.
"How did you know that9' she
queried. "Now don't say a little bird
told you Grandma, cause Use tired to
deaf hearin' that story"
Never mind how knew. Dot. Tho
fact remains that there were knots in
my fair ball of wool, and knots. you
know, can never be Strengthened out,
neverr'
Dot looked at her grandma reaec-
lively.
didn't you ever make knots in your
drandma's woolp' she asked, soberly.#
"None but what had to pay for" re-
piled the old lady, suppressing smile.
Knots are troublesome things. Dot, as
you may find out before you are many
days older"
OF to Sunday-school hied Dot the
next morning, Respondent in new at
tire. Grandma smiled grimly when she
returned with a perceptible limp in her
gait E.
"Somefin is hurtin' my heel" she In
formed us at dinner. reluctantly.
your new shoes, suppose" sug,
gested her mother, you had best take
them of and put on your old ones"
But Dot demurred, and like her
elders, sometimes, for vanitys sake,
endured the torture the remainder oil
the day.
Grandma said never word. Bed
time came, and with sigh of relic
Dot drew off her shoes. ts
"lts in my stockie." said she, after
due examination; "there's two dreat biz
knots in the heel"
"Knots?n echoed grandma.
There was no stupidity about oul
bright Dot and she understood all thu
meaning conveyed in grandma's toni
and look at once.
"Knots of Impotence, Dot" coult
not refrain from saying, "for which
you have suffered all day long"
"And undutifulness," added grand
ma, land covert untruthfulness.
Dot turned the color of her stock
ings.
you might have smooved EN- out,
she said. carefully examining her bills
tered heel.
'Out of the wool, perhaps" answer
ed grandma earnestly, "but not SO cas-
lily the knots when formed in the skei
OF character, Dot"
Several days after grandma beckone
me to approach an open door. Within
could be heard the voices of Dot, Will
and Rose. An alteration was evident
ly in progress concerning the destruc
ton of doll. In rocking-chair So
Dot with pair OF grandma's specta
cles upon her nose. Gravely she peere
over them ut the flushed face of Willie
"Who broke Dolly's headP" sh
questioned.
"Rose!' answered he, promptly.
Dear, DEAR" exclaimed Dot, bend
ing forward, ''such snarl as you ar
dettin' the skein into, Willie!"
What skein?" asked he, sulkily.
'Did you or didn't you break Dolly
headp" she continued, without answer
ing his question.
mo, didn't!' This very emphatic
ally.
"'Nother knot in the skein,' sal
Dot, initiating grandma's tone an
manner to perfection, mother dres
big knot, my child, 'cause-'cause
saw you do it."
, An impressive silence, broken onl
by Willies snilfles. .n5f
Keep on tellin stories, Willie,
grayely went on the little monitor
land you'll Diet all tangled up like
like skein of wool when you let you
!. hands drop. Then comes knots, an
knots never can be smooved out. neve
They'll get knitted into your hide, m
child. and and div you heap of to
ment. l know!" and pushing the spe
| tacles back upon her head. Dot san
] into gentle reverie, so much like h,
grandmas that the smile died from o,
lips, and the dear old lady, as we ii
! toed back to our room, said in trer
: bling tones: Heaven bless the child
Mrs. Nora Marble, in N. Y. 0
server.
0 "A once superstitious Albanian, wi
L II. 81 l.