"Polly will wear a white gown to-night," said Mother Fisher, her eyes
shining, and the same funny little smile hiding in the corners of her
mouth; "but this morning she would better put on her blue gingham."
"Yes, that's best," said Polly, reassuringly, running off to get it out
of the big bureau drawer. "It's all done up spick and span," drawing it
out. "Mamsie, don't these Dutch women do up things well, though?"
"They do, indeed," assented Mrs. Fisher, with a critical eye for the
blue gingham; "but I really suppose the Swiss beat them, Polly."
"Well, they must be just perfect, then," said Polly, putting the blue
gown carefully over her head. "Mamsie, I just love this dress."
"Yes, it is pretty," said Mother Fisher, with an approving eye for the
dainty ruffles, "and you keep your clothes cleaner than you used to,
Polly; you're improving."
"I used to get them all mussed up just as soon as could be," mourned
Polly, her cheeks rosy at the remembrance. "Mamsie, how much trouble
I've made you." She stopped dressing, and sprang over to Mrs. Fisher.
Phronsie, trying to button on the waistband, and clinging to it, went
stumbling after.
"Take care," warned Mrs. Fisher, "don't muss it; it looks so nice now."
"There, there, Phronsie, I'll do that," said Polly, a trifle
impatiently, looking over her shoulder.
"Oh, I want to, Polly," said Phronsie, fumbling for the button.
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