have some weight with you,” added Polly, slyly. “Trix told Belle she was going to ask you for the dress, as you wouldn’t care to wear it now. That made Belle fire up, and say it was a mean thing to do, without offering some return for a costly thing like that; and then Belle said, in her blunt way, ‘I’ll give Fan all she paid for it, and more too, if it will be any help to her. I don’t care for the dress, but I’d like to slip a little money into her pocket, for I know she needs it, and is too good to ask dear Mr. Shaw for anything she can get on without.’ ”

“Did she say that? I’ll give her the dress, and not take a penny for it,” cried Fan, flushing up with mingled anger towards Trix and gratitude to Belle.

“That won’t suit her; you let me manage it, and don’t feel any shame or anxiety about it. You did many a kind and generous thing for Belle when you had the power, and you liked to do it; now let her pay her debts, and have the same pleasure.”

“If she looks at it in that way it makes a difference. Perhaps I’d better,—the money would be an immense help, —only I don’t quite like to take it.”

“Kings and queens sell their jewels when times are hard, or they get turned off their thrones, and no one thinks it anything amiss, so why need you? It’s just a little transaction between two friends who exchange things they don’t want for things which they do, and I’d do it if I were you.”

“We’ll see about it,” said Fan, privately resolving to take Polly’s advice.

“If I had lots of things like Fan, I’d have an auction, and get all I could for them. Why don’t you?” asked Maud, beginning on her third bonnet.

“We will,” said Polly; and mounting a chair, she put up, bid in, and knocked down Fan’s entire wardrobe to an imaginary group of friends, with such droll imitations of each one that the room rung with laughter.

“That’s enough nonsense; now we’ll return to business,” said Polly, descending breathless, but satisfied with the effect of her fun.

“These white muslins and pretty silks will keep for years, so I should lay them by till they are needed. It will save buying, and you can go to your stock any time and make over what you want. That’s the way mother does; we’ve always had things sent us from richer friends, and whatever wasn’t proper for us to wear at the time, mother put away to be used when we needed it. Such funny bundles as we used to have sometimes—odd shoes, bonnets without crowns, stockings without heels or toes, and old finery of all sorts. We used to rush when a bundle came, and sit round while mother opened it. The boys always made fun of the things, though they were as grateful, really, as any of us. Will made a verse one day, which we thought pretty well for a little chap:

“I think that Will is going to be as nice a poet as Mr. Shakespeare,” remarked Maud, in a tone of serious conviction.

“He is already a Milton; but I don’t believe he will ever be anything but a poet in name,” said Polly, working away while she talked.

“Didn’t your mother ever let you wear the nice things that came?” asked Maud.

“No; she thought it wasn’t the thing for a poor minister’s girls to go flourishing about in second-hand finery; so she did what I’m doing now, put away what would be useful and proper for us by and by, and let us play with the shabby silk bonnets and dirty flounced gowns. Such fun as we used to have up in our big garret! I remember one day we’d been playing at having a ball, and were all rigged up, even the