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He cut his coats without waste, according to his embroidered cloth; they were very small ends and snippets that lay about upon the table – “Too narrow breadths for nought – except waistcoats for mice,” said the tailor.

One bitter cold day near Christmas-time the tailor began to make a coat – a coat of cherry-coloured corded silk embroidered with pansies and roses, and a cream-coloured satin waistcoat – trimmed with gauze and green worsted chenille – for the Mayor of Gloucester.

The tailor worked and worked, and he talked to himself. He measured the silk, and turned it round and round, and trimmed it into shape with his shears; the table was all littered with cherry-coloured snippets.