The old shears, unfortunately, declined to cut; but the Captain sharpened the blade of his jack-knife, and, after Jeanne had laid the pieces, according to the printed directions, succeeded in hacking out the pink dress. The Captain insisted that Jeanne should begin on the pink one. He liked that best. Fortunately the shop girl had been wise enough to choose a very simple pattern; and Jeanne was bright enough to follow the simple rules.
"With one of them there charts," declared Old Captain, admiringly, "I could make a pair o' pants or a winter overcoat--all but the sewin'. My kind's all right in summer; but 'twouldn't do in winter--wind'd get in atween the stitches. Here, you ain't makin' that knot big enough!"
"Don't you think a smaller one would do?" asked Jeanne, wistfully. "I don't like such big, black ones. See, this little one doesn't; come through when I pull."
"Well, just add an extry hitch or two when you begin--that's right. Why, you're a natural born sewer."
It was a strange sight--the big red Captain and the slight dark girl, side by side on the old bench outside the battered freight car; Old Captain busy with his net, the eager little girl busy with her pink calico. If it seemed almost _too_ pink, she was much too polite to say so. She had decided that Annie should have the purple and that Sammy should have the blue. Little Patsy wouldn't mind the big black spots. As for the red stripes, that piece could wait.
"You see," thought Jeanne, "I'll ask Father to buy Michael some regular boys' clothes. A pair of trousers anyhow. If he doesn't get him a shirt too, I suppose I _can_ make him one out of that, but I'd _rather_ have it for Annie. And I do hope I can squeeze out a pair of knickerbockers for Sammy. There was enough pink left for one leg--but I'll do his blue clothes before I plan any _extra_ ones."
Jeanne's fingers were as busy as her thoughts; and, as the Captain had hoped, the seams certainly looked better when done with the proper tools.
"Well," confided the Captain, "I can't say as how I _do_."
Suddenly, wild shrieks rent the air. Sammy was jumping up and down in a patch of crimson clover. One grimy hand clasped a throbbing eyelid.
"Sammy smelled a bumby-bee," explained Annie, when Jeanne, dropping her pink calico, rushed to the rescue.