"No, no," declared Phronsie decidedly, "I must hurry and get my cushion-pin done."
"She thinks she'll get it done faster with a great, long thread," giggled one of the girls over in the corner. Mr. Dyce turning to fix her with a stare, she subsided, ducking behind her neighbor's back.
"Phronsie, I must buy that cushion-pin at the fair," he announced. "I want such an one very much indeed."
Phronsie got off from the little cricket where he had placed her, and went straight over to him, to lay her hand with the "cushion-pin" in it on his knee. "Then I will sell it to you," she said gravely, "and the poor children can go into the country." Then she went back to her seat and took up her work once more.
Some of the girls laughed, but Alexia frowned furiously at them; and Mr. Dyce and Miss Mary apparently seeing no amusement in it, they all began to beg for the story again, till the clamor bade fair to stop the needles from doing their work.
"I guess you'll have to," Miss Mary smiled over at him from the center of the circle, while the color deepened on her cheek.
"I want a story told to me first," he said coolly, leaning back in his chair. "What is all this bee for, and this fair? I know just a hint about that, but let me have the whole story from beginning to end. Now then, some one tell me. I am very anxious to hear."
"You tell, Polly," cried Alexia, and "Let Polly Pepper tell, can't she,
Miss Mary?" begged all the girls, every one saying the same thing. So Miss
Mary said yes, and Polly laid down her violet handkerchief case in her lap,
although she hated to stop working, and began:
"You see, Miss Mary said one day in Sunday-school——"
"Oh, Polly, not that!" said Miss Taylor, in dismay.