"Why, Clem isn't at home," said Mrs. Forsythe, in a puzzled way; "you know
I told you she had gone over to your house. She wanted you to go down-town
with her, to buy some materials to take over to Miss Mary's this afternoon
and begin something new for the fair."

"Oh!" said Polly, in a faint voice, and hanging to the piazza railing.

"You see, she was all tired out over that sofa-pillow. I told her it was
quite too ambitious a piece to do, and she was so discouraged I gave her
some more money, and advised her to get something fresh. She had almost
made up her mind to give up working for the fair altogether."

"Oh, dear me!" gasped Polly, quite overcome.

"Yes." Mrs. Forsythe leaned comfortably against the door-casing. It was
such a comfort to tell her worries to Polly Pepper. "Clem said all the
other girls were making such pretty things, and it was no use for her to
try. She can't get up new ideas quickly, you know, and she was ashamed not
to take in something nice, and so she said she didn't mean to do anything.
I couldn't bear to have her give it up, for she ought to keep with you
girls." Mrs. Forsythe's face fell into anxious lines. "She gets unhappy by
herself, with no young people in the house and only my mother and me to
brighten her up. So I talked with her a long while this morning, and at
last got her to be willing to try again. Well, it's all right now, for
she's started to find you, and go down-town to buy the things," and Mrs
Forsythe smiled happily.

Polly sank to the piazza steps and buried her face in her hands.

"Why, my dear, are you ill?" Clem's mother deserted the door-casing and