be little ladies."

Mrs. Morton pursed her lips in the prim little expression that was
Jane's despair.

The child's eyes flashed rebelliously.

"I don't want to be a little lady!" she said sullenly. "Mrs. Halford
likes to have Katy and Gertie play with the boys 'cause they haven't
got any brothers and she thinks it's good for them--so there!"

"Why Jane!"

"I don't care--I don't see why boys should have all the fun! You let
Ernest do most everything he wants to--and you won't let me do hardly
anything--and I don't think it's a bit fair--and I just hate this old
patchwork!" Chicken Little flung herself down on the floor in a tempest
of wrath.

Mrs. Morton's usually placid face became severe.

"Get up this minute and come here!"

Chicken Little reluctantly obeyed.

"Child, do you want to be a perfect little know-nothing? I am grieved
and pained that my only little daughter has such ideas. I can't see
where you get them. Katy and Gertie both sew very nicely for their ages
and----"

"Yes," interrupted the child between sobs, "but their mother lets them
learn on rainy days and in the summer when it's too hot to play out
doors. She doesn't keep them in all morning on Saturday!"

"You have all afternoon to play."

"But we can't roast apples--the boys are going to the ball game--and
they're building the furnace right now and I want to see them. Katy and
Gertie are up on the alley fence calling me. Oh! Mother, can't I go?
Please, please, Mother!"

Mrs. Morton looked perplexed for a moment, then straightened herself
resolutely.

"No, daughter, you have been a very rebellious little girl. I can't
encourage such conduct. But if you will practice your hour faithfully,
I'll let you put off the sewing till two o'clock this afternoon--on
condition that you promise to sit down without making any fuss and
finish that square today. Bring it here and let me see if you are doing
it right."

Jane fidgeted and looked at her mother uneasily.

"I don't know 'zackly where it is," she objected.

"Go hunt it."

Chicken Little went slowly, evidently oppressed by thought.

She returned in about three minutes with three much mussed pieces of
silk sewn together, from which dangled a needle by a remarkably long and
dirty silk thread.

Her mother examined it with disfavor.

"Where are your other pieces?" she inquired sternly.

Chicken Little answered in a most ladylike small voice.

"I--I used them."

"Used them?--what