Priscilla and Polly proved to be famous travelers, for everything about the journey interested them. They thought it great sport to look out of the car-window and watch the telegraph-poles flash past and when this grew less amusing they made up words to the tune the train was grinding out.

“Going to the country! Going to the country!” chanted Polly, “that is what it says.”

“Priscilla and Polly! Priscilla and Polly!” sang Priscilla, “don’t you hear it?” And, sure enough, the tune did actually seem to change as they listened, and that set them to composing other words for the wheels to whirl out, and the accommodating train sang them all.

Then, it was fun to sit opposite each other across the aisle and count the white cows they saw. First there seemed to be more on Polly’s side than on Priscilla’s, but all at once they flashed by a meadow where quite a drove of cattle was grazing and Priscilla got all the benefit of the white cows in it.

But when, at last, they arrived at “the country” itself, Polly could hardly keep from shouting with delight. Why, it was just the most beautiful place she had ever dreamed of, and it was precisely as sister had said it would be. There were the blossoming flowers and the singing birds and the green fields all starred over with dandelions and daisies. The daylight was fading as they drove through the leafy lanes from the railroad-station to the house and Priscilla’s tired eyelids were drooping, but Polly was as wide-awake and alert as when she started out. She saw a big gate of “curly” iron set between two huge stone posts, a cozy little cottage that Hannah said was “the Lodge” nestling beside it, broad lawns and towering trees and then, after they had passed all these, a great house standing high and stately against the glowing sky. It was beneath the carriage entrance of this that they stopped and Polly was just beginning to feel strange and awe-struck when out came James, with smiling face, to welcome them and she felt at home at once. In another moment Theresa appeared and busied herself carrying in the wraps and umbrellas, while she gave Priscilla a radiant smile and Polly a not unkindly pat on the shoulder. She even assisted James to serve them at tea, and was so altogether amiable and accommodating that Polly concluded the city air had not agreed with her and that she felt better in her mind here. But she did not have much opportunity to think about it, for Hannah whisked her and Priscilla up-stairs and had them safely tucked into bed in no time and then, somehow, that was the end of things until the next morning.

It appeared that, in the stable, there was a little square basket, perched on two wheels, which was to be drawn by a wee scrap of a shaggy pony not much bigger than a St. Bernard dog, and this was Priscilla’s own private and particular turnout. She could not be trusted alone to manage her fiery steed and therefore Hannah always went along when she and Polly drove out, but, dear me! they didn’t mind that! Hannah was just like another little girl, she was so jolly and full of fun. What splendid times they had, to be sure, trundling along the country-roads behind “Oh-my.”

Polly thought Oh-my a very curious name and Priscilla had to explain that pony received it from Uncle Arthur who had said “He was little but, Oh my!”

“I don’t care if he is little,” asserted Priscilla, “I love him just the same.”

“Why, of course you do,” responded Polly. “He’s the best and smartest horse I ever saw. He understands everything we say and sometimes I think he likes jokes, ’cause when we make ’em and laugh he starts up quick as anything, and his sides just shake, as if he were laughing too.”

So Oh-my was made one of them, as it were; was included in most of their play and had to “make-believe” he was everything from an elephant in an Indian jungle to one of the rats that drew Cinderella’s pumpkin-coach to the ball.

April was gone in a flash and May and June followed mild and warm. Then, one day in late July the Sweet P’s had a bright idea. Polly had been telling Priscilla about when she was “at home, where the poor people live” and had grown quite excited over her description of the sickly, poverty-stricken children that thronged the tenements and swarmed out into the streets these breathless days, and Priscilla had sighed and said, “Oh dear! I didn’t know they were ever like that! I wish I could give them some money.”

“I earned quite a lot being cash-girl,” ventured Polly.

“I wish I could be a cash-girl!” murmured Priscilla.

“For the land’s sake!” Hannah exclaimed.

Polly was silent for a moment. Then she jumped to her feet with a bound. “I tell you what!” she cried. “Let’s make a fair. We can sew lots of pretty things and tie ribbons around them and Hannah can sell them behind a counter and you and I’ll be cash-girls. Miss Cissy and all the rest will buy from us and pay real money and we’ll give it to the people who have the Fresh Air Fun’.”

Hannah turned away her head and coughed violently into her handkerchief, but Priscilla clapped her hands.

“Oh, do! Oh, let’s!” she cried eagerly.

“Sister can make the loveliest lace you ever saw,” continued Polly, “and she’ll do some for us if we ask her, and—and—— Oh! I know we could have a beautiful fair.”

Priscilla was so captivated by the idea that she could hardly wait for a chance to lay it before her mother. The dear little girl was timid even with those she loved best and it required considerable courage to go and knock upon the great living-room door and ask if she might, “please come in.”

“Is that my Priscilla?” asked a dear voice in response.

“Yes, mamma,” replied the younger Sweet P.

Mrs. Duer held out her arms and gathered her small daughter into them with a quick laugh of pleasure.

“Mother is always glad to see her little girl,” she said.

Priscilla smiled.

“What have you been doing to-day? Having a nice time?”

Priscilla nodded.

“Where is Polly?”

“Up-stairs,” whispered Polly’s partner.

“I wonder,” ventured Mrs. Duer, “if there is anything particular mother can do for her little girl?”

Priscilla ducked her head quickly.

“What is it you want, darling? Tell mother and, who knows, perhaps she can get it for you.”

Priscilla smiled and swallowed hard.

“What is it, sweetheart? Surely you’re not afraid to speak to mother! What do you want?”

“A fair,” murmured Priscilla with an effort, “We want to make one, Polly and I do, and tie it with ribbons and have Hannah sell it behind a counter. Polly and I will be cash-girls and give the money to the Fresh Air Fun’.”

Mrs. Duer hesitated a moment, for Priscilla’s description of the Sweet P’s plan was not altogether as clear as it might have been. But the anxious, small face, flushing and paling with eagerness, hastened her answer.

“Why, yes, you dear child,” she returned. “If you and Polly want to have a fair I see no reason why you should not have one. In fact, I shall be very glad to help you all I can. You may tell Theresa to give Hannah my piece-bag and silk-boxes and you can choose all the fancy bits you like for pin-balls and needle-cases and book-marks. And when you have shown what you can do I will fit out a table for you myself.”

Priscilla did not wait for more. She pressed her cheek lovingly against her mother’s for an instant and then hurried away to tell Polly the glorious news.

How they did work after that! They sat under the trees and stitched away until the robins must have wondered what manner of nests these large birds were building that required such an endless supply of threads and silks and sweet-smelling cotton-wool. Hannah was kept breathlessly busy, planning and cutting out and basting, for when fingers are willing, needles fly.

A little bird (perhaps one of the robins) told Miss Cissy what was afoot and the first thing the Sweet P’s knew there she was, declaring she did not intend to be excluded from all the fun and that if they did not mind she was going to have a finger in their Fresh Air pie. In spite of their good-will they had discovered that a fair meant pretty hard work and, sew as diligently as they might, they seemed to make very little progress after the first few days. But when Miss Cicely arrived everything was changed. She helped them with such energy that, before they knew it their stock in trade had outgrown the nursery limits and had to be shifted to the great picture-gallery. Then, suddenly, contributions began to pour in from every side. Grandpapa and grandmamma sent a huge boxful of the most wonderful articles and all the uncles and aunts followed suit, until it was plain that the Sweet P’s modest fair was developing into a very elaborate affair. Miss Cicely had said she would take charge of one of the booths, but she soon discovered she could not do it alone, even with the assistance of two such tireless cash-girls as Priscilla and Polly, and so she asked their permission to invite some of the neighborhood ladies to lend a hand. Then some one suggested that it would sound much grander if the fair were called a kirmess and, this being agreed upon, of course all the booths had to be arranged in the quaint fashion of those at a German village festival and the attendants dressed in the peasant costume. The Sweet P’s were to be arrayed in scarlet woolen petticoats; black-velvet, gold-laced bodices over white guimpes, with white aprons, black velvet caps, low, gilt-buckled shoes and dark-blue stockings. Oh-my heard them talking about it as they sat behind him in the little basket-cart that he drew so patiently over hill and dale for their amusement, and Polly was quite certain his feelings were hurt because he was not included in the plans for the bazaar.

“The poor, dear thing!” she confided to Priscilla. “He feels left out in the cold.”

Hannah laughed. “Cold, is it?” she repeated, fanning herself with her apron and trying to dodge the hot sun beneath the little canopy-top of the cart. “Well, he may be glad of it. I wouldn’t mind being left out in the cold myself for a bit these stifling days.”

“Well, heat, then,” Polly laughingly corrected herself but with a pretended pout. “I’m quite certain he feels left out in the—heat.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Priscilla. “Oh, poor pony! We didn’t really mean it! We didn’t really mean to leave you out.”

“But he mustn’t be left out,” insisted Polly, decidedly. “He just has got to be part of it, that’s all. We’ll ask Miss Cissy as soon as we get home what he can do to help.”

Miss Cicely knew at once. “He can take all the little boys and girls for a drive; fare, five cents. We’ll put ribbons and bells on the cart to make it look festive and we’ll get some nice lad, who is a careful driver, to dress himself up as a German Hans, and then you see if Oh-my does not make a nice pocketful of money for us.”

Polly clapped her hands. She was convinced that Oh-my understood and would be charmed with the idea. And certainly this seemed to be the case, for when the great day of the kirmess arrived he proved as earnest and excited a worker as any there. Up the driveway and down he scampered, prancing a bit at the turning where a low railing protected the road from the edge of a steep bank of the ravine, and mischievously making the happy children who crowded the basket to the brim shriek aloud with excitement that was half fun, half fear. He was, in fact, one of the most popular attractions at the festival and Uncle Arthur, who was in charge of the prize-parcel booth, threatened to put him off the grounds, he was so dangerous a rival and monopolized so much of the custom.

Polly and Priscilla fluttered about like two tireless, industrious Gretchens, filling orders and carrying bundles and doing their duty so thoroughly and well that it was a pleasure to watch them. The grounds were thronged and it was difficult to get about amid such a crowd, but their patience never wavered and the day bade fair to prove a glorious success. Polly carried a little chamois-skin bag filled with quarters and dimes and nickels and whenever there was a bill to change she seemed to be on the spot to assist in the transaction.

“Keep your eyes open, Pollykin,” Miss Cicely had advised. “And don’t let any one escape with the apology that they have nothing but bills. Make it easy for them to get change and then they will have no excuse for not buying.”

Polly laughed. “I’ll try,” she said, over her shoulder, as she skipped away, her eyes flashing and her breath coming fast.

But if the gaily decked booths, the pretty nurses and children and the gold-laced uniforms of the orchestra-men gave a festive look to the place in the daytime, the numberless chains of dainty Chinese lanterns and sparkling electric lights glowing among the trees made it appear like fairy-land at night.

Priscilla and Polly were in an ecstasy, for they were to stay up as long as the kirmess lasted and do their part to the very end. It was the proudest day in their lives, for even Oh-my had been led off to his stable at sunset, and it seemed very grown-up and important to be tripping about when all the other children were safely in bed and asleep. But Polly found her responsibilities heavier than ever, for whereas the place had been crowded with nurses and children during the daytime, it was thronged with gentlemen and ladies now; and gentlemen and ladies who seemed to carry nothing but big bills in their pockets, which frequently the saleswomen in the booths were unable to change. She was here, there and everywhere at once and as fast as her coins disappeared she went to Miss Cicely for more.

“Now, here’s another bagful of silver,” explained Miss Cissy. “Five dollars’ worth, in halves and quarters and dimes. Take good care of it, dear, and see that you don’t stumble in the shadows; these electric lights are shifty and it is easy to trip.”

Polly picked her way carefully over the patches of light and shadow in the grass and fastened her fingers more securely about the money-bag she carried. She was congratulating herself that she had not had one mishap all day and she was determined it should not be her fault if everything did not end as well as it had begun. She was proud of Miss Cissy’s confidence in her and anxious to prove she deserved it. These thoughts and a crowd of others were flashing through her mind when—alas for Polly! she never knew how it happened, but before she had time to prevent it, she had missed her footing, had fallen, struck her head sharply against the iron railing that guarded the driveway from the steep bank of the ravine and was only saved from pitching headlong down into the gorge by the slender bar itself. For one instant she lay quite still, then she struggled to her feet in terror, for in the midst of her pain and shock she realized that her precious bag was gone. The jolt of her fall had wrenched it from her grasp. Her hands were bruised and scratched by the sharp gravel-stones, a rapidly-rising lump upon her head throbbed heavily, but she lost no time in considering these. Her one thought was for the money-bag. On hands and knees she crept up and down and across the spot where she had fallen, groping for her treasure, but all to no purpose; the bag was nowhere to be found. Big tears of dismay welled up into her eyes, as second after second passed and still she had not recovered it. Suddenly she saw a figure coming toward her that proved to be Theresa hurrying to the house on some errand or other.

“What’s the matter?” asked the maid pausing in surprise.

“Oh, dear!” Polly almost sobbed, “I fell—— I tripped and fell, and my money-bag is gone—with five dollars in it.”

Theresa gave a pretended gasp of horror. “Gracious me!” she exclaimed. “You are in trouble, for sure, aren’t you? I don’t wonder you feel bad. Five dollars! That’s a big pile of money, when you haven’t got it! Like’s not your bag is at the bottom of the ravine this minute, floating down the brook. I declare I’m sorry for you, for of course if you don’t hand it over prompt and quick to Miss Cicely, she’ll think hard things of you, and maybe turn you out besides. Goodness! if it was me, I’d run away this minute and never come back here again. I’d be that frightened and ashamed!”

Polly stopped short in her search and looked up at Theresa with a new terror in her eyes. “What—what do you mean?” she stammered. “Why should I be frightened—and ashamed? It wasn’t my fault! I tried to be careful. Why should they turn me out?”

“Because, silly! That’s why,” replied the maid sourly. “If you don’t hand that bag over to Miss Cicely right away she’ll think hard things of you. She’ll say you’re careless and not to be trusted. Oh, dear, there is no knowing what she will say and do, she’ll be so angry at the loss of that much money. I wouldn’t risk it, if I were you. I’d run away before they found out.”

Polly gasped painfully. “It isn’t my fault,” she repeated, sobbing. “I have tried to be careful, I have, really and truly. I don’t think Miss Cissy will think those things of me you say she will, but—but—even if she does, I can’t run away. It wouldn’t be right to run away. If I can’t find the bag and she blames me, I’ll have to—to tell her all about it and stand it, somehow.”

Theresa gave a sharp laugh. “Well, do as you please,” she cried harshly. “It’s none of my business, I’m sure. But I can tell you this much, you won’t find your bag, and you will be blamed, so there! You’re mighty brave and courageous now, but wait till you’re turned out in disgrace, and then see how you’ll feel. I guess you’ll wish you had taken my advice then. Listen to me! if you want, I’ll hide you in my room to-night, and to-morrow morning I’ll smuggle you out of the house as quiet as a mouse, and no one will ever be the wiser. I’ll slip you down to the station, and you can go to your sister in the cars, and—and——”

For a moment Polly saw herself as Theresa pictured her: blamed, disgraced, turned out of this home maybe, where every one had been so kind to her, and it seemed as if she could not face it.

“Will you do as I say?” demanded Theresa eagerly, catching her by the arm.

Polly gave a quick, low sob and shook her head.

Theresa released her hold with sudden violence, turned short round upon her heel and, without another word, strode toward the house. Polly looked after her with misery and despair in every line of her pale little face. Then she fell to searching again, feeling about blindly along every inch of the spot where she had fallen. But still the bag could not be found. Time was flying, and Theresa had said if she did not return the money at once they would think hard things of her. She could not believe it! She could not bear it! She struggled to her feet and tried to gather her wits together. What should she do? What would sister tell her to do if she were here and knew the truth. Suddenly Polly gave a little gasp of joy and flew toward the house as fast as her feet would carry her. She had found a way out of her trouble, and her heart beat so quick with the relief of it, that it almost took her breath away. Up into the nursery she ran, and to her own particular little table upon which her bank stood. It was so heavy with money it would hardly rattle, and every cent of it was her very own by right, to do with as she chose. But how was she to get at the money? The bank was locked and she had given sister the key. She twisted and tugged at it fiercely, but only a stray copper or nickle slipped through the opening in the top, and at this rate it would take her all night to shake out the rest. She thought of James. James would help her! James was a good friend of hers. She flew down-stairs like a small whirlwind, and surprised the butler as he stood in the front doorway, watching the gaieties outside and resting for a moment from his labors. He heard her out patiently, though she was so excited her words came in gasps, and she made confusing work of her story.

“So you fell and hurt yourself, and lost your bag of change, eh?” he commented. “Well, I declare, that’s rare hard luck, it is! No mistake! And you want me to open this affair and get the money out of it to make up for what you lost? Well, you’re a real up-and-down square one, you are. Now just you wait. I’ve a big ring of keys down-stairs, and I’ll bring it up and see if we can’t fit one into this lock, and if we can’t—why!——”

He did not wait to explain what would happen then but ran quickly below and before many minutes was back again and trying one key after another into the obstinate lock that absolutely refused to be fitted. Polly, at his side, twisted and jerked with impatience and excitement, and when at last James shook his head and said with a sigh: “It’s no use! there ain’t one in the whole lot that’ll do,” she almost broke into crying again.

The kind fellow gave her an encouraging glance. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “If we can’t do one way we’ll do another. If we can’t unlock the door we’ll have to break open the bank. Are you willing?”

Polly nodded eagerly. “Yes, oh yes!” she quivered.

“Well, come along then,” returned James and led the way down-stairs. Polly following dumbly. She could hardly wait while he got from his tool-chest the things he needed and set to work. Once, twice, three times the heavy hammer fell, and then, with a cry of joy, Polly made a dash toward the shattered bank and gathered up the stream of coins that poured out of it.

“Oh, James, I thank you ever so much,” she cried gratefully.

“Hadn’t you better count your money,” suggested the butler sensibly. “Are you sure there’s enough here? It takes a good many pennies and nickles to make five dollars, you know.”

The next moment he was almost sorry he had spoken when he saw all the brightness vanish from her face as quickly as it had come there. But she did not stop to lament.

“Take half, please,” she said, “and count it and I’ll count the other part and then we’ll add what we’ve both got.”

Poor James! He was not, as he himself admitted, “a lightening calculator,” and his progress was very slow, so that Polly had announced: “One dollar and sixteen cents,” while he was still stumbling over, “A quarter—and ten cents: that makes thirty-five! And five more: that makes forty,” and so on. Would he never get done? Would he never say, “One dollar!” Suppose there were not enough!

“One dollar!” announced James triumphantly, and Polly’s heart beat fast for he still held quite a little heap of coins that were uncounted. It was a great trial of patience to stand there and wait and wait, when so much was at stake. Polly wanted to jump up and down and cry: “Hurry! Hurry!” to urge him on, but she shut her teeth hard and kept the words back.

“One dollar and fifty!” droned James. “And a dime: that makes sixty: and five pennies: that makes sixty-five. And a quarter: that makes ninety: a dollar and ninety! I guess I’ve got most of the big pieces! And a dime: two dollars! Two dollars and ten cents! fifteen! eighteen! and another dime: that’s twenty-eight! And, hey there! If here ain’t a fifty-cent piece! That makes two dollars and seventy-eight. I say, two dollars and seventy-eight is better than nothing! And your one dollar and sixteen added to that! why that makes—that makes—three dollars and ninety-four. Now ten cents makes four dollars and four cents and six more is ten and—and—four dollars and ten cents and—and—that’s all!”

Yes, Polly had seen it was all. A couple of great tears crowded out the sight of James and the cruelly disappointing pile of money he held, and then rolled down her burning cheeks in two hot streams. But the next moment she had brushed them hastily aside, for the butler had grasped her arm with a jolly laugh.

“Oh, I say!” he shouted. “See here! What’s the matter with counting in this nice one-dollar bill lying there all hid away where we didn’t see it! I ain’t a lightening calculator, and I ain’t proud if I am handsome, but the way I add up four dollars and ten cents and a one dollar bill, brings it up to five dollars, with a silver dime over. Now, young lady, just you take this money and skip as fast as ever you can.”

Skip! Why Polly fairly flew and James, looking after her with a smile, patted his vest-pocket approvingly, muttering to himself: “I got a dollar’s worth of fun just seeing the worry go out of her eyes and the glad look come back again. I ain’t rich, but I’m satisfied I spent that money right!”