There was an air of dejected femininity and slipshod drudgery about every fold of one of them when it was hung up finished.

Fanny used to keep them on a row of hooks in her bedroom until a dozen were completed, when she carried them to her employer, and Ellen used to look at them with a sense of depression.

She imagined worn, patient faces of the sisters of poverty above the limp collars, and poor, veinous hands dangling from the clumsy sleeves.
Fanny would never allow Ellen to assist her in this work, though she begged hard to do so.

"Wait till you get out of school," said she.
"You've got enough to do while you are in school." When Ellen told her about the valedictory, Fanny was so overjoyed that she lost sight of her work, and sewed in the sleeves wrong.
"There, only see what you have made me do!" she cried, laughing with delight at her own folly.

"Only see, you have made me sew in both these sleeves wrong.