"How fine," she cried to herself, "our
garden party will be!--and we've gotten on splendidly with our fancy things
this afternoon. It will be too perfectly elegant for--" the flying feet
came to a standstill that nearly threw her over the sleeping figure, the
doll tightly pressed to the dirty little pinafore and the flushed cheeks.
"Oh, my goodness me!" cried Polly, down on her knees. "Why, Phronsie, just
look at your pinafore!" But Phronsie had no idea of looking at anything,
and still slept on.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Polly, in consternation, "whatever in the world has
she been doing! Well, I must get her up to the house."
"Hullo!" It was Jasper's voice. Polly flew up to her feet and hulloed back.
He took a short cut, with a good many flying leaps, across the grass. "Oh,
Polly, I've been looking for you!"
"Just see there." cried Polly, pointing tragically to the little heap.
"Well, dear me!" said Jasper. "Why, Polly"--as his eyes fell on the soiled
pinafore and the little face where the tears had made muddy streaks.
"I know it," said Polly. "Did you ever in all this world, Jasper! What do
you suppose she has been doing?"
"Oh, making mud pies, perhaps," said Jasper, unwilling to worry Polly;
"don't look so, Polly. Here, we'll carry her to the house."
"Lady-chair," said Polly, the worry dropping out of her eyes at the fun of
carrying Phronsie in.
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