Thus all Cousin Polly's proceedings were very direct, and, if necessary, daring.

When she cut her sash, I exclaimed--"My dear Polly!" just as Uncle Ascott was wont at times to cry--"My dear Maria!" "I'd nothing else to make it of," said Polly, calmly.

"It's better than cutting up my pocket-handkerchief, for it only shortens it a little, and Mamma often cuts the ends a little when our sashes ravel.
How many petticoats have you done, dear ?" "Four," said I.
"Well, we've three skirts.

Those long strips will do for Uncle Reginald's neckties.

You can cut that last sheet into two pieces, and we'll pretend they're tablecloths.