Polly,' said Bell, scathingly; 'and as they are yours, not mine, I
advise you to throw them in the brook, with the rest of the batter,
so that Hop Yet won't know that there has been a failure.'

'Some people blight everything they touch,' sighed Polly, gloomily,
as she departed for the kitchen.


'But when I lie in the green kirkyard -


'Oh, Polly, dear,' interrupted Margery, 'that apology will not serve
any longer; you've used it too often.'

'This is going to be entirely different,' continued Polly,
tragically.


'But when I lie in the green kirkyard,
With the mould upon my breasts
Say not that she made flapjacks well,
Only, she did her best.'


'We promise!' cried Bell.



CHAPTER VII: POLLY'S BIRTHDAY: FIRST HALF
IN WHICH SHE REJOICES AT THE MERE FACT OF HER EXISTENCE.