she began to hop up and down again.

"Take care, and stop dancing," laughed Polly.

"And it shall be a pink bag," said Phronsie, dreadfully excited; "make it a
pink bag, do, Polly."

"Oh, I don't know that I can do that," said Polly slowly, "because you know
I took my piece of pink ribbon Auntie gave me, for that sachet case I'm
making for the fair. But never mind, child"--as she saw a sorry little
droop to Phronsie's mouth--"I'll find another somewhere, and it will be
nice, even if it isn't pink."

"It will be nice," echoed Phronsie confidently, as long as Polly said so,
and she clasped her hands.

"And come on, Pet, we'll go and find the ribbon and make the bag now, so as
to be all ready." Polly flew up from her stair. "Pick up your doll, and
give me your hand. Here we are!"--as they ran up to the top.

"I very much wish you wouldn't call her my doll," panted Phronsie, as they
reached the last step; "she's my child, Polly."

"I know; I won't forget," laughed Polly. "Now, says I, Phronsie, for my
piece-box!"

The invitation of Miss Mary Taylor to all the girls who were getting up the
fair for the poor children's week, plunged them into such a state of
excitement that those who had been lagging over their fancy work now
spirited up on it, or ran down-street to get more materials and begin anew.