Marjories New Friend | Page 2

couldn't consult her as to her own surprise, so she sat and stared at the exasperating bag until Kitty came.
"Come in here, Kit," called Midget, and Kitty carefully squeezed herself inside the screen.
"What's the matter, Mopsy? Oh, is it Mother's--"
"Sh!" said Marjorie warningly, for Kitty was apt to speak out thoughtlessly, and Mrs. Maynard was easily within hearing.
"I can't make it turn right," she whispered; "see if you can."
Kitty obligingly took the bag, but the more she turned and twisted it, the more obstinately it refused to get right side out.
"You've sewed it wrong," she whispered back.
"I know that,--but what's the way to sew it right. I can't see where I made the mistake."
"No, nor I. You'd think it would turn, wouldn't you?"
Kitty kept turning the bag, now brocaded side out, now lining side out, but always the seams were outside, and the right side of the materials invisible.
"I never saw anything so queer," said Kitty; "it's bewitched! Maybe King could help us."
Kingdon had just come in, so they called him to the consultation.
"It is queer," he said, after the situation was noiselessly explained to him. "It's just like my skatebag, that Mother made, only the seams of that don't show."
"Go get it, King," said Marjorie hopefully. "Maybe I can get this right then. Don't let Mother see it."
So King went for his skatebag, and with it stuffed inside his jacket, returned to his perplexed sisters.
"No; I don't see how she did it," declared Marjorie, at last, after a close inspection of the neatly-made bag, with all its seams properly out of sight, and its material and lining both showing their right sides. "I'll have to give it to her this way"
"You can't!" said Kitty, looking at the absurd thing.
"But what can I do, Kit? It's only a week till Christmas now, and I can't begin anything else for Mother. I've lots of things to finish yet."
"Here's Father," said Kitty, as she heard his voice outside; "perhaps he can fix it."
"Men don't know about fancy work," said Marjorie, but even as she spoke hope rose in her heart, for Mr. Maynard had often proved knowing in matters supposed to be outside his ken.
"Oh, Father, come in here, please; in behind the screen. You go out, King and Kitty, so there'll be room."
Those invited to leave did so, and Mr. Maynard came in and smiled at his eldest daughter's despairing face.
"What's the trouble, Mopsy midget? Oh, millinery? You don't expect me to hemstitch, do you? What's that you're making, a young sofa-cushion?"
"Don't speak so loud, Father. It's a Christmas present I'm making for Mother, and it won't go right. If you can't help me, I don't know what I'll do. I've tried every way, but it's always wrong side out!"
"What a hateful disposition it must have! But what is it?"
Marjorie put her lips to her father's ear, and whispered; "It's a bag; I mean it's meant to be one, for Mother to carry to sewing society. I can sew it well enough, but I can't make it get right side out!"
"Now, Mopsy, dear, you know I'd do anything in the world to help you that I possibly can; but I'm afraid this is a huckleberry above my persimmons!"
"But, Father, here's King's skatebag. Mother made it, and can't you see by that how it's to go?"
"H'm,--let me see. I suppose if I must pull you out of this slough of despond, I must. Now all these seams are turned in, and all yours are outside."
"Yes; and how can we get them inside? There's no place to turn them to."
Mr. Maynard examined both bags minutely.
"Aha!" he said at last; "do you know how they put the milk in the coconut, Marjorie?"
"No, sir."
"Well, neither do I. But I see a way to get these seams inside and let your pretty silks put their best face foremost. Have you a pair of scissors?"
"Yes, here they are."
Mr. Maynard deftly ripped a few stitches, leaving an opening of a couple of inches in one of the seams of the lining. Through this opening he carefully pulled the whole of both materials, thus reversing the whole thing. When it had all come through, he pulled and patted it smooth, and, behold! the bag was all as it should be, and there remained only the tiny opening he had ripped in the lining to be sewed up again.
"That you must cat-stitch, or whatever you call it," he said, "as neatly as you can. And it will never show, on a galloping horse on a dark night."
"Blindstitch, you mean," said Marjorie; "yes, I can do that. Oh, Father, how clever you are! How did you know how to do it?"
"Well, to be honest, I saw a similar place in the lining of the skate bag. So I concluded that was