"Oh, Mamsie Fisher," cried Polly, not stopping to hear the rest, but
deserting the writing table to run and throw her arms around her
mother's neck, "you're the bestest, dearest mother in all this world
--oh--oh! Now I sha'n't have but one letter to write! How fine!"

"And you must write that one letter very nicely, Polly, and take ever
so much pains with it," said Mother Fisher, her black eyes shining at
the happy solution; "and that is much better than to hurry off a good
many slovenly ones. Besides, it is not well to take your time and
strength for too much letter writing, for there are the boys, and Mrs.
Whitney and--"

"Grandma Bascom and dear Mrs. Beebe," finished Polly. "Oh, I couldn't
ever forget them, Mamsie, in all this world." She stopped cuddling
Mother Fisher's neck, to peer into the black eyes.

"No, you mustn't ever forget them," repeated Mrs. Fisher, emphatically,
"in all this world, Polly. Well, get to work now over your one letter
that's to be a bulletin!"

"I shall tear this one up," declared Polly, running back to get into
her chair again. "O dear me, what a horrible old scrawl," she cried,
with a very red face. "I didn't know it did look so bad" And she tore
it clear across the page, and then snipped it into very little bits.

"That's the result of hurry," observed Mother Fisher, wisely, "and I
would begin all over again, Polly."

So Polly took a fresh sheet and set to work; and Mrs. Fisher, seeing