“Not so; a dropped stitch in time loses nine! Come on, hare, catch up with this old tortoise!”
Calmly, Patty proceeded with her steadily-moving needles, and again Helen made an hysterical burst of speed and caught up as to distance. But her wool snarled somehow, and Herron, trying to help her, made it worse, and the four hands that tried to untangle it only drew it into tighter knots.
Helen burst out laughing, and awarded Patty the palm.
“It’s always so,” she acknowledged. “I fly at a thing and tumble all over myself, and accomplish just about nothing. Patty goes about it leisurely, and comes in at the last, easily winner, and with a big lot of work to her credit.”
“You flatter me, angel child,” Patty smiled. “I knit because I love to knit, and I get a lot done, because I don’t try to beat everybody else. There, how’s that for a helmet? I rather guess some one of Our Boys will be glad to wear it!”
“I shouldn’t mind myself,” suggested Herron, timidly, and Patty replied at once, “Then you shall have it! I’ll fit it to your head now.”
“You want mine, Philip?” asked Helen, as she industriously “picked back” a few stitches.
“Yes, if I may be allowed to wear out two or three others while yours is in process of construction.”
“Wot rudeness! To think I should live to hear such! Well, just for that I’ll put all the knots inside!”
“And I’ll put a note in it,—that’s often done.”
“A note of thanks. If the girls did that, it would save many a poor soldier a lot of trouble! He could just sign it and send it off.”
“How unsentimental and ungrateful you are! Why, the boys just love to get notes in their socks and sweaters and then they love to answer them. It’s no hardship, I can tell you! I’ve had the notes!”
“You can’t have had very many,—you’re too young.”
Helen gave him a laughing scowl at this fresh fling at her slow progress and then she threw down her knitting.
“Can’t do any more, now. I’ve come to the place to cast on, and I forget how many, and I left my paper of directions at home, and——”
“All right, come with me, and let’s go and hurry up our chaperon lady,” said Herron, rising.
“Yes, do,” urged Patty, who was in nervous anxiety about that matter.
“Patty’s in a pucker!” sang Helen, “like little Tommy Tucker! What shall she eat? War bread and butter! How shall she eat it, without a chaperon? Put her in a padded cell and let her eat alone!”