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 "Yes, sir," said Pollyooly.

The Honorable John Ruffin surveyed her thoughtfully; then he said in a somewhat rueful tone, "I feel that something ought to be done in the matter of your dress. But, alas! the exchequer (not the public exchequer, of which I intend to be one day chancellor), but my own private exchequer is empty."

Pollyooly looked ruefully down at her oft-washed blue print frock, which had grown uncommonly short in the skirt; and, a faint flush mantled her cheeks.

"Mrs. Brown is going to make me a new frock, sir, when I get the stuff," she said.

"I must get the stuff—as soon as something in the nature of a ship comes home," said the Honorable John Ruffin. "My mother used to give all the maids what, I believe, are called 'dress-lengths,' every Christmas; and we must not let the fact that Christmas has stolen several months' march on us cause any breach of a time-honored custom. Only the time is not yet."

"Thank you, sir," said Pollyooly. "And in the afternoon, sir, when I have done my work and you