"Can't you fix it?" asked Davie, soberly, coming up; "then we can't
have the cake."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Polly, springing up quickly; "don't be afraid;
we're going to have that cake! There, you ugly old thing, you!"
(this to the stove) "see what you've done!" as two big tears flew out
of Phronsie's brown eyes at the direful prospect; and the sorrowful
faces of the two boys looked up into Polly's own, for comfort. "I
can fix it, I most know; do get some paper, Joe, as quick as you
can."

"Don't know where there is any," said Joel, rummaging around;
"it's all tore up; 'xcept the almanac; can't I take that?"

"Oh dear, no!" cried Polly; "put it right back, Joe; I guess there's
some in the wood-shed."

"There isn't either," said little Davie, quickly; "Joel and I took it to
make kites with."

"Oh dear," groaned Polly; "I don't know what we shall do; unless,"
as a bright thought struck her, "you let me have the kites, boys."

"Can't," said Joel; "they're all flew away; and torn up."

"Well, now, children," said Polly, turning round impressively upon
them, the effect of which was heightened by the extremely crocky
appearance she had gained in her explorations, "we must have
some paper, or something to stop up that old hole with--some way,