It took a stronger needle and thimbles, and Azalea only managed a mediocre job of repairing the dainty things. Even the twins, who had clever hands, took several hours before they had stitched the slippers properly. Everyone became frustrated at the task, and Hollyhock, brash and unthinking at eight years old, threw her thimble across the table. Azalea understood their impatience, though it disheartened her. They couldn’t request the services of their shoemaker, even in secret. Mr. Pudding was in charge of the accounts while the King was gone, and they couldn’t stir up any suspicion. Azalea tried to be cheerful. “I think we may be able to make them last two or three weeks,” she said, bundling the last pair of slippers into the basket. “If we back them with a sturdier fabric, and are careful. That’s plenty of dancing.” “Oh, only two weeks?” said Flora. “What if we danced barefoot?” said Hollyhock. “Why, Hollyhock,” said Azalea raising her eyebrows and turning to the red-headed, freckled girl.
