"'Is that all you're crying about, Polly?' said mother. 'I'm afraid something happened wrong at your party.'
"'O mamma, I'm ashamed to tell,' said I, covering my head with the sheet. 'I guess I ate too much molasses—I—I—'
"'Well, daughter, and what else?' said mother.
"'I ate too much cream,—I—I—'
"Mother waited patiently.
"'I picked out the marking you put into my knitting-work, and I sewed in another lower down,' cried I, desperately. 'O dear, O, dear, I did. O mother, I knew you'd feel bad! Say, what shall I do?'
"Mother was so surprised and distressed that she did not speak for nearly a minute, and then she said,—
"'It was a dreadful thing, Polly. Do you think you are truly sorry?'
"'O, yes, I guess you'd think so,' sobbed I, 'if you knew how I feel right in here. It's a little speck of it molasses and cream, but most of it's knitting-work; and I want to get right up and dress myself, and go and tell the girls how I cheated.'