any minute, though," Polly remarked. "She doesn't approve of
people's sitting in the dark; she thinks it is lazy."

"She's half way to New York by this time," said Molly; "but I do
wish your mother was here."

"So do I," groaned Polly fervently, as she caught sight of the
empty fire-place, for there was not one single stick on the
andirons.

Now, to lay an open fire ready for the lighting is at once a
science and a fine art, and Polly was by no means versed in the
operation. Why, of all days in the year, this happened to be the
one on which Mrs. Adams had neglected to arrange her usual pile of
round sticks and kindlings and shavings, it would be hard to say.
Some little unexpected call on her time had made her forget this
regular duty, and had left her daughter as hostess to preside over
a cheerless hearthstone.

"What's the trouble?" asked Molly, as she detected the discouraged
ring to her friend's tone. "Don't you know how to lay a fire?"

"I never have laid one, all alone," admitted Polly, whose share in
the matter, it must be confessed, had been to tuck a handful of
soft, light shavings under the andirons and apply the match.
"But," she added valiantly; "I've watched mamma often enough, and
I know I can do it. We must have a fire; the furnace one is 'most
out, for Mary forgot to put in any coal, and it's just freezing
here. You sit down, and I'll go get some wood."