“Did she say that? I'll give her the dress, and not take a penny for it,” cried Fan, flushing up with mingled anger toward Trix and gratitude to Belle.
“That won't suit her; you let me manage it, and don't feel any shame or anxiety about it. You did many a kind and generous thing for Belle when you had the power, and you liked to do it; now let her pay her debts, and have the same pleasure.”
“If she looks at it in that way, it makes a difference. Perhaps I'd better the money would be an immense help only I don't quite like to take it.”
“Kings and queens sell their jewels when times are hard or they get turned off their thrones, and no one thinks it anything amiss, so why need you? It's just a little transaction between two friends who exchange things they don't want for things which they do, and I'd do it if I were you.”
“We'll see about it,” said Fan, privately resolving to take Polly's advice.
“If I had lots of things like Fan, I'd have an auction and get all I could for them. Why don't you?” asked Maud, beginning on her third bonnet.
“We will,” said Polly, and mounting a chair, she put up, bid in, and knocked down Fan's entire wardrobe to an imaginary group of friends, with such droll imitations of each one that the room rang with laughter.
“That's enough nonsense; now we'll return to business,” said Polly, descending breathless but satisfied with the effect of her fun.
“These white muslins and pretty silks will keep for years, so I should lay them by till they are needed. It will save buying, and you can go to your stock any time and make over what you want. That's the way Mother does; we've always had things sent us from richer friends, and whatever was n't proper for us to wear at the time, Mother put away to be used when we needed it. Such funny bundles as we used to have sometimes, odd shoes, bonnets without crowns, stockings without heels or toes, and old finery of all sorts. We used to rush when a bundle came, and sit round while Mother opened it. The boys always made fun of the things, though they were as grateful, really, as any of us. Will made a verse one day which we thought pretty well for a little chap: 'To poor country folks Who have n't any clothes, Rich folks, to relieve them, Send old lace gowns and satin bows.'”
“I think that Will is going to be as nice a poet as Mr. Shakespeare,” remarked Maud in a tone of serious conviction.