What did make him come this afternoon?"
"Well, he isn't going to have Miss Mary!" cried Alexia Rhys, twitching her
pink worsted with an impatient hand. "Horrors! Now I've gone and gotten
that into a precious snarl. The very idea! She's our Sunday-school teacher.
Oh, Miss Mary!" she called suddenly.
Miss Taylor, just sitting down in the easy-chair, turned. "What is it,
Alexia?"--while Mr. Dyce frowned. At which Alexia laughed over at him.
"Please show me about my work," she begged.
"You little tyrant!" called Mr. Dyce, as Miss Mary went over.
"Do I slip one stitch and then knit two?" asked Alexia innocently. Polly,
next to her on a cricket, opened wide eyes.
"Yes," said Miss Mary, "just the same as you have been knitting all along,
Alexia."
"Well, I couldn't think of anything else to ask," said Alexia coolly. Then
she laid hold of Miss Mary's pretty, gray gown.
"Oh, don't go back to him," she implored. "Do stay with us girls, we're all
your Sunday-school class--that is, most of us. _Please_ stay with us,
Miss Mary."
Miss Mary cast an imploring glance over at the gentleman, which he seemed
to see, although apparently he wasn't looking.
"Phronsie, you and I will have to move over, I think"; for by this time he
had her in his lap; and so he bundled her across the room unceremoniously.
"Oh, I've lost my needle!" cried Phronsie, peering out from his arms in
great distress.
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