Another friend had a bare, cheap, new cottage. Money was not abundant. Old grandmother-woven indigo-blue woolen blankets were. She began sewing in little figures, - stars, crescents, and odd stitches in colored silks, - and the woolen blanket became a gorgeous fabric. It was hung with wooden rings on a length of gilded gas pipe midway of the bare hall, and your first impressions on entering were of Eastern richness. The double blanket was more than enough (heavy materials must hang nearly plain), and a piano cover and traveling bag came out of the pieces. The embroidery was the work of time, but it was also a work of delight.