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"Yes," said Polly, the flush not dying down. "Then that'll be nice, I think," said Phronsie, smoothing down her gown in satisfaction, "and I can finish my cushion-pin now"; for there was one little corner still untraveled by the remarkable design observed by the worker. But Mr.
"We can't ever find the needle," said Alexia, rushing after Polly into the library, and getting down on her knees to prowl over the floor. "Misery me!" with a jump "I've found it already, sticking straight into me!" So Phronsie's "cushion-pin" was thrust into the gay little pink-and-green-striped workbag, and Polly danced out with it and handed it up to her. Mr.
"So I perceive," said Mr. Dyce, running down to meet her. "Well, Phronsie, I must tell you I came partly to see you." "And I've got a cushion-pin inside," said Phronsie confidingly, as she toiled up. "Have you, though?" cried Mr. Dyce. "Take care, don't go so fast. Let some of these girls race ahead of us; we'll take our time. How d'ye, Polly, and Alexia, and all the rest of you?"
And to put her "cushion-pin" in it, and go to Miss Mary Taylor's with them all, sent her into such a dream of delight that she sat quite still, her hands in her lap. "Don't you like it, Pet?" cried Polly, disappointed at her silence. Phronsie drew a long breath, then stood up and began to hop up and down on her stair.
Polly stopped long enough in the final tussle with the snarl to set a kiss on Phronsie's round cheek. "Yes, I do, Polly," laughed Phronsie, with a wriggle of delight, "and I'm going to carry my cushion-pin in it, I am." "So you see I can't help you on your sofa-pillow, Clem," said Polly hurriedly, feeling dreadfully ashamed to have to say no.
Even Phronsie laid down her big needle which she was patiently dragging back and forth, with a very long piece of red worsted following its trail across the face of her "cushion-pin" in a way to suit her own design, to beg for the story. "Oh, Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, for the first time catching sight of this, "you can't work with such a long thread. Let me cut off some of it, do."
"Oh, no, no," protested Phronsie, edging off in alarm. "Why, it'll get all knotted up," said Polly, in concern; "you better let me take off a little just a little, teenty bit, Phronsie." "No, no," declared Phronsie decidedly, "I must hurry and get my cushion-pin done." "She thinks she'll get it done faster with a great, long thread," giggled one of the girls over in the corner. Mr.
"She means they were masked," whispered Jasper. "What did you get up for?" Mrs. Whitney asked. "Dear child, what made you get out of bed?" "Why, my cushion-pin," said Phronsie looking worried at once. "I couldn't find it, and " But just at this, without a bit of warning, Polly tumbled over in a dead faint. And then it was all confusion again.
She threw herself down on the floor beside the two. "My, what a sight of ribbons, Polly Pepper!" "I'm going to have a silk bag, Clem," confided Phronsie, dropping the little bunch of ribbons in her lap, to lean over to look into the tall girl's face, "and I'm going to take my cushion-pin in it." "Are you, really?" said Clem. "Oh, Polly, you see, I want you to " "Yes, I am."
"I think it's so nice there's a pink stripe in it, Polly," said Phronsie, patting her bag affectionately. "Yes, isn't it, Pet!" cried Polly, glad she hadn't snipped up that very ribbon for little sachet bags. "And the green stripe, too, is pretty, Phronsie." "It's pretty," cooed Phronsie, "and my cushion-pin is inside, Japser," she announced. "Is it really?" said Jasper.
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