d that," cried the irate
woman, thrusting under Polly Ann's nose one after another of the notes
of thanks she had received the day before.

They were from John and his family, and one by one Polly Ann picked
them up and read them.

John, who had not for years, probably, worn anything coarser than silk
on his feet, expressed in a few stiff words his thanks for two pairs of
black woolen socks. Julia, famed for the dainty slenderness of her
hands, expressed in even stiffer language her thanks for a pair of gray
woolen gloves. She also begged to thank Cousin Margaret for the doll
so kindly sent Roselle and for the red mittens sent to Paul. John's
mother, always in the minds of those who knew her associated with
perfumed silks and laces, wrote a chilly little note of thanks for a
red flannel petticoat; while John's sister, Barbara, worth a million in
her own right, scrawled on gold-monogrammed paper her thanks for the
dozen handkerchiefs that had been so kindly sent her in the Christmas
box.

"And there were n't a dozen handkerchiefs, I tell you," groaned
Margaret, "except the cotton ones I sent to Mary's two girls, Jennie
and Carrie, six to each. Think of it--cotton handkerchiefs to Barbara
Marsh! And that red flannel petticoat, and those ridiculous gloves and
socks! Oh, Polly Ann, Polly Ann, how could you have done such a thing,
and got everything so hopelessly mixed? There was n't a thing, not a
single thing right but that doll for Roselle."

Polly Ann lifted her head suddenly.

"Have you heard from--Mary?" she asked in a faint voice.

"Not yet. But I shall, of course. I suppose _they_ got John's things.
Imagine it! Mary Hemenway and a Duchesse lace collar!"

"Oh, but Mary would like that," interposed Polly Ann feverishly. "You
know she's invited out a good deal in a quiet way, and a bit of nice
lace does dress up a plain frock wonderfully."

"Nonsense! As if she knew or cared whether it was Duchesse or--or
imitation Val! She 's not used to such things, Polly Ann. She would
n't know what to do with them if she had them. While John and
Julia--dear, dear, what shall I do? Think of it--a red flannel
petticoat to Madam Marsh!"

Polly Ann laughed. A sudden vision had come to her of Madam Marsh as
she had seen her last at a family wedding clad in white lace and
amethysts, and with an amethyst tiara in her beautifully dressed hair.

Margaret Brackett frowned.

"It's no laughing matter, Polly Ann,"