"I sh'd think it was," laughed Polly; "every button is in the wrong button-hole, Phronsie."
Phronsie looked at the little shoe very gravely, then her lip quivered.
"Deary me, that's no matter," exclaimed Polly. "We'll have that all right in a twinkling." So she sat down on the floor, and took Phronsie's foot in her lap, and unbuttoned and buttoned up the shoe. "There now, that's done as spick-span as can be."
"What is 'spick-span,' Polly?" said Phronsie.
"Oh, nice--just right. Dear me, it means ever so many things," said Polly, with a little laugh. "Now then, let's have the other shoe on," and she held out her hand for it.
"Let me put it on," cried Phronsie, and drawing it back in alarm; "let me, Polly, oh, I want to put it on my very own self, I do!"
"Well, so you shall," promised Polly, "if you'll hurry, for you know I've got to bake my bread when I get back."
"Isn't there any bread?" asked Phronsie, drawing on the little shoe, and pausing, lost in thought, when it was half on.
"Yes, just enough to last till I get the new loaves baked," said Polly, longing to give the shoe a twitch and expedite matters; "that is, I think so. I never know how much Joel will eat."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Phronsie, much troubled.