and her mouth drooped sorrowfully.

"Oh, yes, I will, too," declared Clem cheerfully; "I'll give something ten
times better than that old dog sitting up on a cushion. And nobody would
have bought it when it was done, except my mother--I'd made her--so what's
the use of finishing it? Anyway, I've given it to Bridget; and now I'm
going to make the most elegant thing--you can't guess, Polly Pepper."

"What is it?" cried Polly, with sparkling eyes.

"Oh, that's telling," said Clem, in a tantalizing way. "You must guess."

"Polly," said Phronsie, with a gentle little twitch on her arm, "can you
find any pink ribbon?"

"Yes, yes; I mean no, not yet," said Polly, in a preoccupied way, her eyes
on Clem's face. "Oh, I can't guess; it might be anything, you know, Clem."

"But it isn't; I mean it's something," declared Clem, in great triumph.
"Oh, do hurry, you're so slow, Polly; it's too elegant for anything!"

Polly leaned her face in her hands, and her elbows on her knees. "Mm,
mm--oh, I know!" She brought up suddenly, nearly overthrowing Phronsie, who
had bent anxiously over her. "Take care, Pet, I came near bumping your
nose. It's a workbag."

"A workbag!" exclaimed Clem, in great scorn. "Well, I guess not, Polly
Pepper. What I'm going to make is ever so much better than an old workbag.
Guess again."