"You see, I promised her this," Polly was guilty of interrupting. "She's been invited to Miss Mary's this afternoon with us girls, and she wants a silk bag to carry her work in, too, the same as we big girls have, don't you, Pet?" Polly stopped long enough in the final tussle with the snarl to set a kiss on Phronsie's round cheek.
"Yes, I do, Polly," laughed Phronsie, with a wriggle of delight, "and I'm going to carry my cushion-pin in it, I am."
"So you see I can't help you on your sofa-pillow, Clem," said Polly hurriedly, feeling dreadfully ashamed to have to say no.
"Oh, I don't want any help on it," said Clem; "I finished that old thing,
Polly."
"Finished your sofa-pillow, Clem!" Polly dropped her snarl in her lap. "Why, how could you?—and you hadn't the dog worked, except one leg, and none of the filling in."
"Oh, I don't mean I finished it in that way," said Clem carelessly. "I mean
I'm done with it forever. I just hate that old dog, Polly, and so I gave
the whole thing to our second girl, and she's going to work it for
Christmas and send it to her mother."
"Dear me!" exclaimed Polly, "and now you won't give anything to the fair," and her mouth drooped sorrowfully.
"Oh, yes, I will, too," declared Clem cheerfully; "I'll give something ten times better than that old dog sitting up on a cushion. And nobody would have bought it when it was done, except my mother—I'd made her—so what's the use of finishing it? Anyway, I've given it to Bridget; and now I'm going to make the most elegant thing—you can't guess, Polly Pepper."
"What is it?" cried Polly, with sparkling eyes.
"Oh, that's telling," said Clem, in a tantalizing way. "You must guess."