Polly looked hard at Maggie. She suddenly began to think her not at all a nice girl. "I was met by adversity," she said. "It is wrong of you to speak to me in that tone, Maggie; Mrs. Power behaved very badly, and I could not help myself; but she need not think she is going to beat me, and whatever I suffer, I scorn to complain. To-night, after every one is in bed, I am going to make lots of pies and tarts, and cakes, and cheesecakes. You will have to help me; but we will talk of that by-and-by. Now, I want to speak about the dinner. It must be simple to-day. We will have a beef-steak pudding and pancakes. Do you know how to toss pancakes, Maggie?" "Oh, lor', Miss," said Maggie, "I did always love to see mother at it. She used to toss 'em real beautiful, and I'm sure I could too. That's a very nice dinner, Miss, 'olesome and good, and you'll let me toss the pancakes, won't you, Miss Polly?" "Well, you may try, Maggie. But here we are at the village. Now, please, go as quickly as possible to Watson's, and the butcher's, and meet me at this stile in a quarter of an hour. Be very careful of the change, Maggie, and be sure you put the butcher's in one pocket and the grocer's in another. Don't mix them--everything depends on your not mixing them, Maggie." The two girls parted, each going quickly in opposite directions. Polly had a successful time at the farm, and when she once again reached the turnstile her basket contained two dozen new-laid eggs, two or three pounds of delicious fresh butter, and a small jug of cream. The farmer's wife, Mrs. White, had been very pleased to see her, and had complimented her on her discernment in choosing the butter and eggs. Her spirits were now once again excellent, and she began to forget the sore injury Mrs. Power had done her by locking the store-room door. "It's all lovely," she said to herself; "it's all turning out as pleasant as possible. The breakfast was nothing, they'd have forgotten the best breakfast by now, and they'll have such a nice dinner. I can easily make a fruit tart for father, as well as the pancakes, and won't he enjoy Mrs. White's nice cream? It was very good of her to give it to me; and it was very cheap, too--only eighteenpence. But, dear me, dear me, how I wish Maggie would come!" There was no sign, however, of any stout, unwieldy young person walking down the narrow path which led to the stile. Strain her eyes as she would, Polly could not see any sign of Maggie approaching. She waited for another five minutes, and then decided to go home without her. "For she may have gone round by the road," she said to herself, "although it was very naughty of her if she did so, for I told her to be sure to meet me at the turnstile. Still I can't wait for her any longer, for I must pick the fruit for my tart, and I ought to see that Alice is doing what I told her about the new curtains."