In her hand she held a piece of knitting.

She was making a quilt for Beatrice's bed.

This quilt was composed of little squares of an elaborate pattern, with much honey-combing, and many other fancy and delicate stitches ornamenting it.

Mrs.Meadowsweet liked to feel her fingers employed over Beatrice's quilt.
"With each stitch I give her a thought," she said to herself.

"Beatrice will sleep soft and warm under this covering when it is finished," the old mother used to say, "for every bit of it is put together with love." She was knitting Beatrice's quilt now, her chair drawn up as usual to face the sunny garden, and on the footstool at her feet her favorite tabby cat was curled.
"It is too hot for me to go out this morning," replied Beatrice.