"This is very nicely done, Jack," she went on.

"Tell me how you first came to make these pretty things with your straw." He looked up at her with a sudden accession of confidence; her interest in the hat had flattered him.
"Once," he said, "there was a time when my hands were the maddest things about me.

They used to turn against me and tear my hair and my flesh.

An angel in a dream told me how to keep them quiet.

An angel said, "Let them work at your straw." All day long I plaited my straw.