"Why, you see I can't do the dishes, all of 'em, till the boys
get through their breakfast," said Polly, with a sober face,
looking at the old clock, as she thought of the seams on the
sacks she was going to fly at as soon as the work was done in
the kitchen. How nice it was that Mamsie had promised she might
try this very morning while Mrs. Pepper was down at the
parsonage, mending the minister's study carpet. "Now I guess the
money'll begin to come in, and Mamsie won't have to work so
hard," thought Polly over and over, and her heart beat merrily,
and the color flew over her cheek.

"Tell me, Polly," begged little Phronsie, holding the apron
tight.

"Well, now, Pet, there's a snarl of thread in the work-basket.
Don't you remember, the spool rolled under the table, and nobody
saw it go, and the boys kicked it up and made it into a mess, an'
Mamsie put it into the little bag, an' I was to pick it out when
I got time? If you only could do that, Phronsie, just think how
it would help."

Phronsie gave a long sigh. She dropped the apron, and folded her
hands. "Would it help so very much, Polly?" she asked.

"Ever an' ever so much," said Polly. "You needn't do but a
little now, an' some other day p'raps you could do some more."

"I'm going to do it all," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head
determinedly. So she got her little wooden chair from against