“Ding-a-ling,” Jencks laid the parcel quickly on one of the oaken chairs in the hall, and hurried to the door, to be met by another parcel for “Miss Phronsie Pepper:  not to be given to her till to-morrow.”

“And the i-dentical size,” he ejaculated, squinting at it as he went back to pick up the first parcel, “as like as two peas, they are.”

Upstairs Polly was at work with happy fingers, Alexia across the room, asking every third minute, “Polly, how does it go?  O dear!  I can’t do anything unless you look and see if it’s right.”

And Polly would turn her back on a certain cloud of white muslin and floating lace, and flying off to Alexia to give the necessary criticism, with a pull here and a pat there, would set matters straight, presently running back to her own work again.

“You see,” she said, “everything must be just right, for next to Mamsie’s wedding, this is to be the most important occasion, Alexia Rhys, that we’ve ever known.  We can’t have anything too nice for Phronsie’s getting-well party.”

“That’s so,” said Alexia, twitching a pink satin bow on the handle of a flower-basket.  “O dear me! this bow looks like everything!  I’ve tried six different times to make it hang down quite careless and refined.  And just to provoke me, it pokes up like a stiff old thing in my face.  Do come and tie it, Polly.”

So Polly jumped up again, and laying determined fingers on the refractory bow, sent it into a shape that Alexia protested was “too lovely for anything.”

“Are you going to have a good-by party?” asked Alexia after a minute.

“I suppose so,” said Polly.  “Grandpapa said I would better, but O dear me, I don’t believe I can ever get through with it in all this world,” and Polly hid her face behind a cloud of muslin that was slowly coming into shape as a dress for one of Phronsie’s biggest dolls.

“It will be dreadful,” said Alexia, with a pathetic little sniff, and beginning on a second pink bow, “but then, you know, it’s your duty to go off nicely, and I’m sure you can’t do it, Polly, without a farewell party.”

“Yes,” said Polly slowly, “but then I’d really rather write little notes to all the girls.  But I suppose they’ll all enjoy the party,” she added.

“Indeed they will,” declared Alexia quickly.  “O dear me, I wish I was going with you.  You’ll have a perfectly royal time.

“I’m going to work hard at my music, you know,” declared Polly, raising her head suddenly, a glow on her round cheek.

“Oh! well, you’ll only peg away at it when you’ve a mind,” said Alexia carelessly, and setting lazy stitches.  “Most of the time you’ll be jaunting around, seeing things, and having fun generally.  Oh! don’t I wish I was going with you.”

“Alexia Rhys!” cried Polly in astonishment, and casting her needle from her, she deserted the muslin cloud summarily.  “Only peg away when I have the mind?” she repeated indignantly.  “Well, I shall have the mind most of the time, I can tell you.  Why, that’s what I am going abroad for, to study music.  How can I ever teach it, if I don’t go, pray tell?” she demanded, and now her eyes flashed, and her hands worked nervously.