e needle went in and out, and a buttonhole formed
itself in the firm, narrow line that makes of a buttonhole a work of
art.

"I wish I could rhyme words as well as I can stitches," Polly thought
to herself, as she held up a completed buttonhole, with the honest
pride of a good workman. "Sixes,--Trixes! that heart were Trix's! That
ought to be made to go. A double rhyme, too! I don't believe he
expects a double rhyme." And in and out and in and out her thoughts
plied themselves round and about the two words, and her cheeks got
quite hot with the pleasurable excitement of this new mental
exercise.

At last she tossed down her work, and, fetching a piece of brown
wrapping-paper, proceeded, with many erasures and tinkerings, to
inscribe upon it the following verse:

Were hearts the dice and love the game,
Of no avail were double sixes;
On every heart is but one name,
We nought could throw but _double-Trixes!_

"Rather neat," said Polly to herself, "rather neat! Now if he were to
send it with two bunches of roses of six each, I think it could not
fail to make an impression. I should rather hate to pay another person
to make love for me, though," she went on, with a little toss of the
head; and then she picked up her work and began again to "rhyme
buttonholes."

When Dan came home to supper he had much to learn. He was lost in
wonder over the rhyme which Polly repeated to him, but still more
impressed by the four great silver dollars she had to show; for her
impatient customer had already called for the verses.

"Jiminy!" cried Dan; "that's most a week's earnings for some of us!"

"Yes," Polly replied, demurely; "that's what Mrs. O'Toole would have
paid me for sixteen baby-dresses. Things even themselves out in the
long run, don't they, Dan?" As though Polly knew anything about the
long run, by the way!

Before Christmas Polly was driving a pretty trade, not only in ideas
but in sewing. She had in all ten dozen pocket handkerchiefs to mark
for Christmas customers, besides towels and table-linen, sheets and
pillow-cases. People had found her out, and she had to refuse more
than one good order for lack of time. But needlework alone, quick as
she was in doing it, would have given her but a meagre income, had she
not been able to furnish "also ideas."

One lady, for instance, came to ask her for an "idea" for a
Thanksgiving dinner, and Polly not only suggested the idea, but