had been pushed back against the wall, the dishes nicely washed,
wiped, and set up neatly in the cupboard, and all traces of the meal
cleared away; "I don't care; let's try and get a celebration,
somehow, for mamsie!"

"How are you going to do it?" asked Ben, who was of a decidedly
practical turn of mind, and thus couldn't always follow Polly in her
ffights of imagination.

"I don't know," said Polly; "but we must some way."

"Phohi that's no good," said Ben, disdainfully; then seeing Polly's
face, he added kindly: "let's think, though; and perhaps there'll be
some way."

"Oh, I know," cried Polly, in delight; "I know the very thing, Ben!
let's make her a cake; a big one, you know, and"-- "She'll see you
bake it," said Ben; "or else she'll smell it, and that'd be just as bad."

"No, she won't either," replied Polly. "Don't you know she's going
to help Mrs. Henderson to-morrow; so there!"

"So she is," said Ben; "good for you, Polly, you always think of
everything!"

"And then," said Polly, with a comfortable little feeling at her heart
at Ben's praise, "why, we can have it all out of the way splendidly,
you know, when she comes home--and besides, Grandma
Bascom'll tell me how. You know we've only got brown flour,
Ben; I mean to go right over and ask her now."