LITMIR.BIZ

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eyes fastened on Polly's face. "I don't know," she said slowly, "about their going now."

      "Oh, Mrs. Fisher," cried Mrs. Whitney, in dismay, "you can't think of—" but she didn't finish, on seeing Mrs. Fisher's face. Instead, she went softly out and closed the door.

      "I didn't mean—" mumbled Polly again, and then she tumbled down on her knees and hid her face on Mamsie's lap, and sobbed as hard as she could.

      "Yes, that's the trouble, Polly," Mother Fisher's hands were busy smoothing the brown hair; "you didn't mean to, but you said it just the same; and that's the mischief of it, not to mean to say a thing, and yet say it."

      "O dear me!" wailed Polly, burrowing deeper within the folds of the black alpaca apron. "Why did I? O dear!"

      Mother Fisher's hands kept on at their task, but she said nothing, and at last Polly's sobs grew quieter. "Mamsie," she said faintly.

      "Yes, dear."

      "I'm so sorry."

      "I know you are, child; but, Polly, there is no 'must' unless mother says so. And to fly into a passion—why, then you ought not to go at all."

      "Oh, I don't want to go now, Mamsie," cried Polly, flying up to sit straight on the floor, and brushing away the tears with a hasty hand, "I really don't, Mamsie."

      "Well, then you see you'll just keep the children at home," said Mrs. Fisher; "for I can't let Ben have all the care alone, and they'll be so disappointed."

      Polly gave a groan and wriggled on the carpet in distress.

      "You see, Polly, that's the trouble when we give way to our passion; it hurts more than ourselves," said Mother Fisher, "so I can't see but that you have got to go."

      "Oh, I don't want to, Mamsie; don't make me," cried Polly, squeezing her mother's hands tightly in both of her own. "I can't go now!"

      "Tut, tut, Polly," said Mrs. Fisher, reprovingly; "'can't' isn't the thing to say any more than 'must.'" And her black eyes had such a look in them that Polly ducked her head, taking refuge in the lap again.

      "And now you must get up," said Mother Fisher, "and get ready, for I am going to let you and Ben take the children; that's decided."

      "Oh, Mamsie!" Polly found her feet somehow, and flung her arms again around her mother's neck; "you won't trust me ever again. O dear me!"

      "Yes, I will," said Mrs. Fisher, quickly, and, seizing Polly's hands, she made the brown eyes look at her; "why, Polly child, did you suppose Mother would let you go and help Ben take care of the children if she didn't know you would do everything just right? Never say such a word as that again, Polly!" and the black eyes shone with love and pride. "And now hurry, child, for here's Ben coming," as steps sounded in the hall, and then his voice asking, "Where's Mamsie?"

      Polly flew up to her feet and stumbled over to the washstand. "O dear me!" she gasped, catching sight of her face in the long mirror on the way, "I can't—oh, I mean my eyes are so red, and my nose, Mamsie! Just look at it!"

      "That's the trouble of crying and giving way to fits of passion," observed Mrs. Fisher, quietly; "it makes a good deal of trouble, first and last," as Ben came hurrying in.

      Polly splashed the water all over her hot face with such a hasty hand that a little stream ran down the pretty brown waist, which only served to increase her dismay.

      "Oh, Mamsie!" Ben was saying, "we're not to go, after all. What a pity! Polly'll be so sorry." His blue eyes looked very much troubled. To have anything make Polly sorry hurt him dreadfully.

      "Oh, yes, you are going, Ben," Mrs. Fisher made haste to say.

      "Why, Aunty Whitney can't go," said Ben, in surprise. "Grandpapa just said she is going out with him."

      "You didn't say anything of the shopping plan, Ben?" ejaculated Mrs. Fisher, involuntarily, yet she knew she didn't need to ask the question.

      "Why, no," said Ben, in amazement; "of course not, Mamsie."

      "Of course not, too," said his mother, with a little laugh; "and why I asked such a stupid question, I'm sure I don't know, Ben."

      All this gave Polly time to sop her face quite cool, and she had buried her red cheeks in the towel to dry them off, when Mother Fisher, having made Ben acquainted with the joyful news, called, "Come, Polly, it's time to get on your hat and coat."

      "Halloo, Polly, you there?" cried Ben, whirling round, as Polly hurried into the little room next to get her out-of-door things.

      "Yes," called back Polly, on her way, "I'll be ready in a minute, Ben."

      "Isn't it no end jolly that we're going, Polly?" he cried, deserting his mother to hurry over to the doorway where he could stand and see Polly get ready. His blue eyes shone and his head was held very high. To think that Polly and he were to be allowed to take the children out shopping amid all the excitement of Christmas week! It was almost too good to be true! "Say, Polly, did you ever know anything like it?" He came in and pressed close to the bureau where Polly was putting on her hat.

      "Yes, yes, I know. Ugh!" Polly, with all her eyes on the red-rimmed ones looking out at her from the mirror, beside what she saw of the poor swollen nose, jammed on the hat over her face and jumped away from the bureau.

      "You needn't hurry so," said Ben, "'tisn't any matter if we don't start right away. Besides, I don't suppose Jane has Phronsie ready yet. But isn't it perfectly splendid that we can go alone, you and I, and, just think, Polly Pepper, can take the children?" He was quite overcome again at the idea and leaned against the bureau to think it all out.

      "Yes," said Polly, in a muffled voice. But she was in the closet now, getting into her coat, because if she stayed out in the room Ben would help her into it, and then he would be sure to see her face! So Ben, although he thought it funny that Polly, who was generally bubbling over with joy at the prospect of any pleasant expedition, should be very quiet and dull in the light of such an extraordinary one, set it down to the hurry she was in getting ready.

      "Oh, Polly, don't hurry so!" he cried, going over to the closet. "Here, come out here, and let me help you with that."

      "Ugh, no, go right away, Ben," cried Polly, wriggling off frantically, and only succeeding in flopping up one sleeve to knock her hat farther down over her nose. "O dear me! where is the other armhole?"

      "Do come out," cried Ben; "whoever heard of trying to put on a coat in a closet? Whatever makes you, Polly?"

      "And I do wish you'd go away," cried Polly, quite exasperated, and setting her hat straight, forgetting all about her face.

      But instead, Ben, after a good look, took hold of her two shoulders and marched her out into the room. And before Polly knew it, her other arm was in its sleeve, and he was trying to button up her coat.

      "Oh, Bensie," she mumbled; "I'm so sorry I was cross."

      "Never mind," said Ben, giving her a comforting pat. "Well, come on, now you're ready, Polly."

      And Joel and David plunging in tumultuously into Mamsie's room, followed by Jane ushering in Phronsie all attired for the trip, the whole bunch gathered around Mother Fisher's chair for final instructions.

      "See, Mamsie," piped Phronsie, crowding up closely, to hold up the little money-bag dangling by its chain from her arm; "my own purse, and I'm going to buy things."

      "Don't, Phron," said Joel, "push so," and he tried to get past her to stand nearest to Mother Fisher.

      "What are you doing yourself," said Ben, "I sh'd like to know, Joel Pepper?"

      "Well, that was my place," said Joel, loudly, and not yielding an inch.

      "Joel!" said Mrs. Fisher.

      "It was my place," he grumbled. But he hung his head and wouldn't look up into Mamsie's face.

      "It's my very own purse," cried Phronsie, in a joyful little key, "and I'm going to buy things, I am. See, Mamsie!" She held it up before Mrs. Fisher, and patted it lovingly,

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