she might
get to the fair herself. She and one of her friends were to manage the
"fish pond," while Millicent was to be an aid at the flower-table, and
Peggy would assist in selling some of the fancy articles.

Peggy left the package at the office, and then hailed a car, that she
might not fail to reach the fair in time to witness its arrival. She
looked forward to having some rare sport. She only wished that she could
take some one into her confidence, for it is always so much more fun to
laugh with a comrade than to laugh alone. However, a laugh is valuable
at any time.

So thought Miss Peggy as she made her way along Thirty-seventh Street in
her new spring hat and gown, her eyes dancing with anticipation.

The poem on Cousin Appolina had been tucked into the box along with the
rest, but very much underneath. In that way Peggy felt confident that it
would escape observation at the fair, and yet be among the poems to give
Millicent a shock when they came back.

"For of course no one is going to buy those silly things," said Peggy to
herself; "and I hope it will be a good lesson to Milly. Such conceit as
hers in regard to that poetry I never saw, and it ought to be taken
down."

She found the rooms in a state of disorder. Various fashionable dames
who had the fair in charge were running about in a vain attempt to bring
some degree of order out of the confusion, and Peggy's coming was hailed
with delight.

"Oh, Peggy Reid! Just the person I want. Peggy, dear, do hold the end of
this scarf while I fasten it here."

"Peggy, just see if you can find the tack-hammer."

"Peggy, you have just come, and can see things with a fresh eye. Tell me
the effect of this drapery."

But notwithstanding all these calls upon her, Peggy managed to be
conveniently near the door when a messenger-boy appeared, bearing a box
addressed, in a printed hand, to Mrs. Pearson, who had charge of the
fair. Peggy took the box, dismissed the boy hastily, and carried it to
Mrs. Pearson.

"Something else? Oh, do open it, Peggy! I am so busy," exclaimed that
lady, precisely as Peggy hoped she would do. She opened the box--that
which she herself had so carefully tied up not long before.

On the top lay a type-written card, which read, "Sent by one of the
congregation, who hopes that they may bring twenty-five cents apiece."
Beneath were a number of little booklets.

"Why, Mrs. Pearson, do look! Somebody has sent some poems to sell,"
cried Pe