"It hasn't gone, it's only going," answered Polly lugubriously. "It's Mary. She says mamma has been promising her a vacation for a long time, and that she's going to take it now, for it's such a good time when part of the family are away. I told her she mustn't; but she says she's going to, or else she'll go for good. I don't dare let her do that, but whatever am I going to do, Molly? She's going right off now, and you'd better go home to stay." And Polly rose and stalked tragically up and down the room, with her fingers buried in her curls. Molly surveyed her in pity; then she rose to meet the emergency like a heroine. "I'm not going to go home one single step, Polly," she declared. "I'll stay here and help you through with it." "But you'll starve, Molly," remonstrated her hostess tearfully. "Nonsense!" responded Molly. "Now you just sit down and don't go rushing round like this, and we'll talk the matter over, and take an account of stock." This was encouraging, and Polly felt her spirits coming up again. "Well?" she asked, as she seated herself on the sofa once more. "In the first place," said Molly, with a calmness born of inexperience, "we'll tell her to go. I have heard mamma say, often and often, that it's easier to do the work yourself than to have a girl around that's restless and wanting to be off all the time." There was something so impressive in Molly's manner, as she delivered herself of this sentiment, that Polly gazed at her with a new respect. She had never dreamed that her friend knew so much about housekeeping. "And so," Molly went on, "we'll just get rid of her and do the work ourselves. I've always been dying to try it, and this is a splendid chance. We won't do much sweeping and dusting, for it will only be for a day or two--How long was she going to be gone, Polly?" "A week," answered Polly briefly. "A whole week!" Molly's face fell. Then she resumed, "Well, we shall get on, in some way or other." "We needn't do much but get the meals and wash the dishes," said Polly, with renewed courage. "We shouldn't have time, if we wanted to," returned Molly. "Now, Polly, the question is: how much do you know about cooking?" "Not very much," Polly confessed. "I can boil eggs and make toast, and I have made coffee, once or twice, just for fun." "That's good," said Molly enthusiastically; "you're a treasure, Polly. I can do codfish and milk, and make molasses candy, and fry griddle-cakes. We shan't have such a bad time, after all." "We have ever so many cook-books," suggested Polly. "Can't we do something with them?" "I'm afraid they'd be tough, unless we boiled them a good while," giggled Molly. "But really, Poll, we can work out of them; try lots of new things, you know, to astonish your father. What does he like?" "Welsh rarebit," responded Polly promptly; "and baked macaroni, and lemon pudding, and--"