THERE was once a darning-needle who thought herself so fine that she fancied she must be fit for embroidery. “Hold me tight,” she would say to the fingers, when they took her up, “don’t let me fall; if you do I shall never be found again, I am so very fine.”
“That is your opinion, is it?” said the fingers, as they seized her round the body.
“See, I am coming with a train,” said the darning-needle, drawing a long thread after her; but there was no knot in the thread.
The fingers then placed the point of the needle against the cook’s slipper. There was a crack in the upper leather, which had to be sewn together.
“What coarse work!” said the darning-needle, “I shall never get through. I shall break!—I am breaking!” and sure enough she broke. “Did I not say so?” said the darning-needle, “I know I am too fine for such work as that.”
“This needle is quite useless for sewing now,” said the fingers; but they still held it fast, and the cook dropped some sealing-wax on the needle, and fastened her handkerchief with it in front.