"Polly," said Phronsie, with a gentle little twitch on her arm, "can you find any pink ribbon?"
"Yes, yes; I mean no, not yet," said Polly, in a preoccupied way, her eyes on Clem's face. "Oh, I can't guess; it might be anything, you know, Clem."
"But it isn't; I mean it's something," declared Clem, in great triumph.
"Oh, do hurry, you're so slow, Polly; it's too elegant for anything!"
Polly leaned her face in her hands, and her elbows on her knees. "Mm, mm—oh, I know!" She brought up suddenly, nearly overthrowing Phronsie, who had bent anxiously over her. "Take care, Pet, I came near bumping your nose. It's a workbag."
"A workbag!" exclaimed Clem, in great scorn. "Well, I guess not, Polly
Pepper. What I'm going to make is ever so much better than an old workbag.
Guess again."
At the mention of the workbag, Phronsie had gently pulled Polly's arm. But Polly was too deep in thought to notice, and she wrinkled her brows, and bent her head again in her hands. What could it possibly be that Clem was to make?
"Well, I think it is a sachet bag, then," she said at last.
"An old sachet bag, when all the girls are making oceans of 'em! I should think you'd be perfectly ashamed, Polly Pepper, to sit there and guess such things. I'm going to make a most beautiful, embroidered handkerchief case, with little violets all——"
"Why, you can't, Clem Forsythe!" Polly flew to her feet, sending the ribbon box flying, and nearly oversetting Phronsie. "You ought not to do any such thing," she ran on passionately, a little red spot coming on either cheek, "when you know it'll be just like mine. It would be too mean for anything."
"It won't be just like it," said Clem, twisting uncomfortably, and not looking up into Polly's face, "for mine is to be a wreath, and yours is a bunch."