Octagon Magic by Andre Norton Page A

never too busy to look over Lorrie's strip of linen on which were shaping rows of different kinds of stitches. That “sampler” would serve Lorrie later, Miss Ashemeade said, as a pattern for all the stitches one must know.
    Sometimes as they worked together Miss Ashemeade told stories. And sometimes Lorrie talked about Grandmother Mallard and Miss Logan's, and once even about Mother and Father. And sometimes about school.
    “I'm to be a Puritan,” she announced on her third visit. “It's for the Thanksgiving play. I don't have anything to say. I just bring in a big dish of pretend corn for the table. We're supposed to be giving a feast with the Indians as guests.”
    Miss Ashemeade was working on the lace, using the finest of thread and needles. Even Lorrie's bright eyes had had trouble in finding the holes in those.
    “Indians and Puritans. So you are beginning to learn your American history now, Lorrie? Perhaps with less trouble?”
    “Some. I still get mixed up once in a while though. And then that Jimmy Purvis always laughs.”
    “Jimmy Purvis.” Miss Ashemeade took another almost invisible stitch. “Ah, yes, he is the boy who chased Sabina.”
    “He's mean, just plain mean and hateful!” Lorrie burst out. Since she walked now and then with Kathy, Jimmy and his gang were not quite so much on her heels, but she still was a little afraid of him. “I don't like boys anyway, they're always doing mean things.”
    “How many boys do you know, Lorrie?”
    “Well, there's Rob Lockner, he's always tagging along with Jimmy, doing what Jimmy tells him to. Then there'sStan Wormiski. He's another. There're all the boys at school. But I don't bother with them—they're all mean.”
    “All mean,” repeated Miss Ashemeade thoughtfully. “That is quite a severe judgment, isn't it, Lorrie? But perhaps you have reason to make it. Now—” She looked around. “Sabina seems to have vanished. I wonder if you would find her for me, Lorrie?”
    Since Sabina came and went at will and apparently Miss Ashemeade did not care, Lorrie wondered a little at such an errand. But she obediently put aside her sampler and went to hunt the kitten.
    Through the room with the shrouded furniture she called, “Sabina, Sabina!” with no mew of answer. Then the half-ajar door brought her on to the green bedroom and finally to the strangely shaped room of the doll house and the rocking horse.
    Sabina was there, all right. She was standing on three legs, while with her right forepaw she patted at one of the drawers in the base. From the keyhole there something dangled, swinging back and forth. Lorrie got down to look. And Sabina jumped to one side, as if Lorrie's coming had caught her in some mischief that she must now pretend she knew nothing about.
    What swung from the keyhole was a chain, a gold chain, and it was fastened to a key set in the drawer lock. On impulse Lorrie turned the key, and the drawer pulled out easily.
    Two dolls lay within upon their backs, staring up at her. One was about five inches high, the other four, and their heads were modeled with very lifelike expressions. But theywere not made of china, Lorrie noticed, though they were quaint enough to seem as if they were as old, if not older than, Miranda.
    The taller doll was a boy with black hair. And his clothes were odd. He wore long trousers of gray material and a short jacket fastened with a single button under his chin. The little girl had her brown hair parted in the middle and pulled back of her ears where her braids were turned up and under, pinned in a coil. She had a dress that was wide across the shoulders and veed in a point from the yoke to the high waist, and there were small frills of lace showing at neck and wrist. The skirt was full but not floor length, and under it showed pantalets much ruffled.
    With great care Lorrie picked up the boy doll. The clothing was so carefully made that, having become so conscious of stitchery, she marveled at the patience