"We can't wash the dishes," said Davie, slowly, standing quite
still in the middle of the old kitchen, "'cause they're all done,
Polly."

"No, and we can't wash the floor, 'cause that's all done," said
Polly, wrinkling her forehead worse than ever. "Dear me, we must
think of something, Davie. O dear me, what can it be?"

"We might," said little David, slowly, "try to write some
letters, Polly. That would make Mamsie glad, I guess."

"O dear me," exclaimed Polly, in dismay, "I suppose it would,
Davie." She sighed, and stood quite still.

"I s'pose Mamsie would say, 'How nice,'" said little David,
reflectively.

"And you and I ought to get right at it this very minute,"
declared Polly, all her energy returning to her after that one
dreadful pause, "so come on." And presently the two had the old
table against the wall pulled out into the middle of the kitchen
floor, and Polly ran and got the big piece of foolscap paper
laid away carefully in the upper bureau drawer in the bedroom.
Across the top ran the letters set there by the minister in
obedience to Mrs. Pepper's request.

"I'll get the brown paper--let me, Polly," cried David, quite in
his usual spirits now. And he clambered up, and got out a
carefully folded piece laid away after it had come home wrapped
around one of the parcels of coats and sacks Mrs. Pepper had