"Can't we take your work-basket, mamsie?" asked Ben; "they'd
look so nice in that."

"Oh," said Mrs. Pepper, "that wouldn't do; I couldn't spare it, and
besides, it's all broken at the side, Ben; that don't look nice."

"Oh, dear," said Polly, sitting down on one of the hard wooden
chairs to think, "I do wish we had things nice to send to sick
people." And her forehead puckered up in a little hard knot.

"We'll have to do 'em up in a paper, Polly," said Ben; "there isn't
any other way; they'll look nice in anything, 'cause they are nice,"
he added, comfortingly.

"If we only had some flowers," said Polly, "that would set 'em off."

"You're always a-thinkin' of flowers, Polly," said Ben. "I guess the
cakes'll have to go without 'em."

"I suppose they will," said Polly, stifling a little sigh. "Where's the
paper?"

"I've got a nice piece up-stairs," said Ben, "just right; I'll get it."

"Fut my 'gingerbread boy' on top," cried Phronsie, handing himup.

So Polly packed the little cakes neatly in two rows, and laid the
'gingerbread boy' in a fascinating attitude across the top.

"He looks as if he'd been struck by lightning!" said Ben, viewing