Everything had gone wrong with Polly that day. It began with her boots.  
Of all things in the world that tried Polly's patience most were the troublesome little black buttons that originally adorned those useful parts of her clothing, and that were fondly supposed to be there when needed. But they never were. The little black things seemed to be invested with a special spite, for one by one they would hop off on the slightest provocation, and go rolling over the floor, just when she was in her most terrible hurry, compelling her to fly for needle and thread on the instant. For one thing Mrs. Pepper was very strict about—and that was, Polly should do nothing else till the buttons were all on again, and the boots buttoned up firm and snug.
 
“Oh dear!” said Polly, sitting down on the floor, and pulling on her stockings. “There now, see that hateful old shoe, mamsie!” And she thrust out one foot in dismay.
 
“What's the matter with it?” said Mrs. Pepper straightening the things on the bureau. “You haven't worn it out already, Polly?”
 
“Oh no,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “I hope not yet, but it's these dreadful hateful old buttons!” And she twitched the boot off from her foot with such an impatient little pull, that three or four more went flying under the bed. “There now—there's a lot more. I don't care! I wish they'd all go; they might as well!” she cried, tossing that boot on the floor in intense scorn, while she investigated the state of the other one.
 
“Are they all off?” asked Phronsie, pulling herself up out of a little heap in the middle of the bed, and leaning over the side, where she viewed Polly sorrowfully. “Every one, Polly?”
 
“No,” said Polly, “but I wish they were, mean old things; when I was going down to play a duet with Jasper! We should have had a good long time before breakfast. Oh, mayn't I go just once, mamsie? Nobody'll see me if I tuck my foot under the piano; and I can sew 'em on afterwards—there'll be plenty of time. Do, just once, mamsie!”
 
“No,” said Mrs. Pepper firmly, “there isn't any time but now. And piano playing isn't very nice when you've got to stick your toes under it to keep your shoes on.”
 
“Well then,” grumbled Polly, hopping around in her stocking-feet, “where is the work-basket, mamsie? Oh—here it is on the window-seat.” A rattle of spools, scissors and necessary utensils showed plainly that Polly had found it, followed by a jumble of words and despairing ejaculations as she groped hurriedly under chairs and tables to collect the scattered contents.
 
When she got back with a very red face, she found Phronsie, who had crawled out of bed, sitting down on the floor in her little nightgown and examining the boot with profound interest.
 
“I can sew 'em, Polly,” she said, holding up her hand for the big needle that Polly was trying to thread—“I can now truly; let me, Polly, do!”
 
“Dear no!” said Polly with a little laugh, beginning to be very much ashamed. “What could you do with your little mites of hands pulling this big thread through that old leather? There, scamper into bed again; you'll catch cold out here.
 
“Tisn't very cold,” said Phronsie, tucking up her toes under the night-gown, but Polly hurried her into bed, where she curled herself up under the clothes, watching her make a big knot. But the knot didn't stay; for when Polly drew up the long thread triumphantly to the end—out it flew, and away the button hopped again as if glad to be released. And then the thread kinked horribly, and got all twisted up in disagreeable little snarls that took all Polly's patience to unravel.
 
“It's because you're in such a hurry,” said Mrs. Pepper, who was getting Phronsie's clothes. And coming over across the room she got down on one knee, and looked over Polly's shoulder. “There now, let mother see what's the matter.”
 
“Oh dear,” said Polly, resigning the needle with a big sigh, and leaning back to take a good stretch, followed by Phronsie's sympathizing eyes; “they never'll be on! And there goes the first bell!” as the loud sounds under Jane's vigorous ringing pealed up over the stairs. “There won't be time anyway, now! I wish there wasn't such a thing as shoes in the world!” And she gave a flounce and sat up straight in front of her mother.
 
“Polly!” said Mrs. Pepper sternly, deftly fastening the little buttons tightly into place with quick, firm stitches, “better be glad you've got them to sew at all. There now, here they are. Those won't come off in a hurry!”
 
“Oh, mamsie!” cried Polly, ignoring for a moment the delights of the finished shoe to fling her arms around her mother's neck and give her a good hug. “You're just the splendidest, goodest mamsie in all the world. And I'm a hateful, cross old bear, so I am!” she cried remorsefully, buttoning herself into her boots. Which done, she flew at the rest of her preparations and tried to make up for lost time.
 
But 'twas all of no use. The day seemed to be always just racing ahead of her, and turning a corner, before she could catch up to it, and Ben and the other boys only caught dissolving views of her as she flitted through halls or over stairs.
 
“Where's Polly?” said Percy at last, coming with great dissatisfaction in his voice to the library door. “We've called her, I guess a million times, and she won't hurry.”
 
“What do you want to have her do?” asked Jasper, looking up from the so............