"Can I really go, Polly?" cried Phronsie, as soon as she could get her
breath, "when you all take your bags and work on things?" She set Clorinda
carefully down on the stair above, and stood up to look into Polly's face.

"Yes, child. Take care, you'll tumble over backward," warned Polly, with a
restraining hand. "And oh, Phronsie! I'm going to make you a little silk
bag, and you can take your pin-cushion to work on."

This was such a height of bliss that it quite overcame Phronsie, and she
sat down on her stair again to think it over. To have a little silk bag to
hang on her arm to carry her work in, just as Polly and the other girls did
when they went to each other's houses with their fancy work, was more than
she ever imagined was coming to her till she got as big as they were. And
to put her "cushion-pin" in it, and go to Miss Mary Taylor's with them all,
sent her into such a dream of delight that she sat quite still, her hands
in her lap.

"Don't you like it, Pet?" cried Polly, disappointed at her silence.

Phronsie drew a long breath, then stood up and began to hop up and down on
her stair.

"Oh, Polly," she cried, clapping her hands, "I'm going to have a little
silk bag, I truly am, Polly, all my own--oh!"

"My goodness me, Phronsie!" cried Polly, seizing her arms, "you'll roll
down and break your neck, most likely."

"And I'll take my cushion-pin"--Phronsie leaned over and put her face close
to Polly's cheek--"and I'll sew on it for the poor children, I will," and