“You never can tell how strong teeth are if they are used to bite threads,” said her mother; “so be sure you never do it, Polly.”
“I won’t,” promised Polly, stitching merrily away again; “only it’s so hard to remember. I bite off threads before I think, Mamsie.”
“That’s about the poorest excuse a body can give,—‘don’t think,’” remarked Mrs. Pepper. “Well, child, you sew better every day.”
“Do I, Mamsie?” cried Polly, a warm little thrill running up and down her whole body, and the color crept into her cheek; “do I, really?”
“You do indeed,” declared Mrs. Pepper, “and such a help as you are to me!”
“Some day,” said Polly, sitting very straight and sewing away for dear life, “I’m going to do every single bit of all the coats, Mamsie.”
“And what should I do then?” asked Mrs. Pepper with a laugh.
“You would sit right there in your chair,” said Polly, “but you shouldn’t take a single stitch—not even the smallest, teentiest stitch.”
“O dear me!” exclaimed Mother Pepper, as her needle flew in and out.
“Because I’m going to do ’em all, every bit of every coat,” declared Polly positively, and bobbing her brown head.