She would not have been nearly as well pleased had Rose been handy about the house.

One evening Henry caught Sylvia wiping over all the dishes which Rose had wiped, and which were still damp, the while she was fairly doubled up with suppressed mirth.
"What in creation ails you, Sylvia ?" asked Henry.
She extended towards him a plate on which the water stood in drops.
"Just see this plate that dear child thinks she has wiped," she chuckled.
"You women do beat the Dutch," said Henry.
However, Rose did prove herself an adept in one respect.

She had never sewed much, but she had an inventive genius in dress, and, when she once took up her needle, used it deftly.
When Sylvia confided to her her aspiration concerning the pink silk which she had found among Abrahama's possessions, Rose did not laugh at all, but she looked at her thoughtfully.
"Don't you think it would be suitable if I had it made with some black lace ?" asked Sylvia, wistfully.

"Henry thinks it is too young for me, but--" "Not black," Rose said, decisively.

The two were up in the attic beside the old chest of finery.