Greatly remembered, not so much by what she lovingly tried to do, but by what she wore while trying.
She was unable, you remember, “to get her poor dog a bone,” because the cupboard was bare.
But she was not.
At least, according to the crude illustrations adorning the pages of Mother Goose’s Melodies of the early nineteenth century, she was robed in a cloak-like coverall, unconfined from shoulder to hem.
And it was upon that shapeless garment her name was imposed.