"You can't!" said Kitty, looking at the absurd thing.

"But what can I do, Kit? It's only a week till Christmas now, and I can't
begin anything else for Mother. I've lots of things to finish yet."

"Here's Father," said Kitty, as she heard his voice outside; "perhaps he
can fix it."

"Men don't know about fancy work," said Marjorie, but even as she spoke
hope rose in her heart, for Mr. Maynard had often proved knowing in
matters supposed to be outside his ken.

"Oh, Father, come in here, please; in behind the screen. You go out, King
and Kitty, so there'll be room."

Those invited to leave did so, and Mr. Maynard came in and smiled at his
eldest daughter's despairing face.

"What's the trouble, Mopsy midget? Oh, millinery? You don't expect me to
hemstitch, do you? What's that you're making, a young sofa-cushion?"

"Don't speak so loud, Father. It's a Christmas present I'm making for
Mother, and it won't go right. If you can't help me, I don't know what
I'll do. I've tried every way, but it's always wrong side out!"

"What a hateful disposition it must have! But what _is_ it?"

Marjorie put her lips to her father's ear, and whispered; "It's a bag; I
mean it's meant to be one, for Mother to carry to sewing society. I can
sew it well enough, but I can't make it get right side out!"